#its been long since the last time i heard bloody shadows and jesus

[fearsome-series]

“...and that’ll bring up third down.” The announcer was too close to the microphone; the little stab of reverb shot through Sam’s ears. She winced, but…nobody else was wincing. Then again, nobody else here in the bleachers tonight was a werewolf.

Her phone buzzed with a notification. That’d be the werewolves, her pack, all somewhere else, in the group chat. Claire was doing some art, Laura was talking about her pet…ferret? That human boy Manuel was talking about that mangy yellow little thing, too. Sam didn’t even know why Manuel was in the pack now. Sam sighed.

Glen, her boyfriend, poked her in the ribs with his elbow. “Hello. Sam? We got tickets to the football game, not the phone game.”

“The tickets are like…” Sam looked over at him; his scratchy little beard hadn’t really grown in yet, and it’d been a long ‘yet’.

“A ten dollar bill died for us to be here today,” Glen smirked.

Sam flicked off her phone, and her eyes looked down at her reflection for a moment. At her brown skin and light freckles, at her long braided hair. At her eyes that, right now, didn’t seem as excited to be here as she would’ve been last year.

Her ears caught a lot of things; the urgent whispers of huddled players, people shifting in their seats on the long rows of silver bleachers (plenty of room available, no one ever went), hell, even a mouse creeping its way across the track-and-field track that ringed the football field. She knew that field well, ‘cause that’s where the girl’s soccer team played too. And…

Glen’s phone, still playing in his other hand. She stole a glance at it. It was that guy again, Elliott Moss. Some ex-boxer. He was a bald man, who was always sitting next to a sports car or a pile of cash, gesturing. Sam didn’t know much about him, but god, ever since this summer, did Glen want to change that…

“Is Zach playing?” Glen asked, trying badly to look like he wasn’t looking at his phone.

“Nope.”

“God, he’s not even backup anymore. He’s a backup to the backup.”

“Hey, ‘least he’s on the team.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Glen said, and he wasn’t smiling now.

“They’re going for it…” Saved by the announcer’s shitty mic. Down on the field, play resumed. The quarterback, this blonde-haired kid named Shawn Bevins, faked a pass to the receiver, Jabari Morton, before handing it off to the running back, Finn…Finn Stevens. Finn put his head down, barreled forward, and -

Stopped in his tracks. One of the Middleton players, unable or too pigheaded to halt his inertia, slammed into him and knocked him to the ground. The ball fell out of his hands and bounced two or three times down the field, but nobody much seemed to care. The referee whistled, and the crowd around Finn tried to break apart.

‘Cause Finn was still laying in the grass. Was he injured? Did he get a concussion on top of a concussion to entertain forty-odd friends and parents with nothing better to do on a Friday night? No. He wasn’t injured. Sam’s ears heard scratching, tearing. Finn scratching at his skin. The crowd cleared enough to see him writhing, bloody scratch marks across his face, helmet hanging half off his head.

“The shadows!” He screamed bloody murder, as bloody as the flecks of red dropping into his mouth from his frantic scratching. “Oh, Jesus! The shadows, they’re moving!”

Glen looked up on the field, for once. “Is he on drugs or something? He’s totally on drugs, or something.”

“Yeah…” Sam watched as the players, including Shawn, including Zach, including her friends Ethan and Tyler, form a circle around him, look away, not into the crowd, but beyond them into the night, as he was pulled off the field. “Yeah, must be…”

***

CHAPTER ONE

First and Ten

“I won’t be crushed now, will I?”

Gef asked, the mongoose sitting perched on the edge of that big boulder in front of King High, his awful people fingers splayed out for grip. Laura groaned, holding out her backpack.

“I cleared out a pocket for you. Your own personal Gef pocket. It’s safe.”

“You know, Voirrey made me my own personal sanctuary! Why, the Irvings gave me a chair to push around for exercise. They didn’t try to assassinate me with Geometry books!”

“It was an accident, Gef, and you’re like, immortal. You can’t die.”

“Yes - but I can very well hurt! Besides, I love breathing too much to miss it for even a second!”

“Get in my backpack, you little freak.” Laura jiggled it, for emphasis.

Gef jumped onto her backpack, and clambered into the Gef pocket like a mountain climber barely making it up a cliff. “You know, with the Irvings I could have the run of the place - I followed them out into the world, concealed by hedges and walls.”

She zipped up all but a little bit of the pocket, enough for Gef’s head. “Do you see any hedges or walls? This isn’t farm country on the Isle of Man. Over there’s an orthodontist, a vet, and a Chipotle. That way’s the mall. Over there, the stupidly large campus of my stupidly large school. Not a lot of places to hide over here.”

“Hmph,” Gef grunted, and slunk down into the Gef pocket.

“Sorry for not wearing a hoodie for once in my life.” Laura had picked out jeans, a short gray skirt, and a black t-shirt with skeletons on it, doing various skeleton things. Not a lot of Gef-hiding places.

Summer wanted to meet at the big, gnarled tree outside the school; as Laura walked up, she caught sight of Summer sitting underneath the tree. Summer was also a werewolf, and also trans; she was wearing a hoodie, the big gray comforting hoodie of Nothingness she wore when she didn’t want the world to notice her much. The hood was drawn up, and she nodded quickly to Laura as she sat down next to her.

“Hey -”

“I’ve been thinking about things,” Summer said. “Since the House. Thinking about life.”

“Cool…?”

“Thinking about changing it. Embracing it. Getting a new lease on it. Every day I get closer to dying, you know? Every day I feel it…”

You are fifteen years old. “Yeah…”

“So I’ve got to, I’ve got to do something about it, y’know? I’ve got to - God! - I’ve got to do something to feel all alive and shit. To try to be happy that I’m not dead yet.”

“But…what, though?”

Summer pulled down her hood, revealing…a single streak of lavender in her hair. Not even a full lock. Just a jagged streak of purple. Measly, half-hearted purple. “How…?”

“Yeah, how?”

“Huh? No, how do you like it? How is it?”

“I’m…uh…it’s nice.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. It’s nice.”

“It’s…God. It’s supposed to be a sign of my new commitment to life, Laura. My new commitment to doing things that make me…that make…that do new things and aren’t expected and shit.”

“It…it does that. That thing you said it did, it does that…” Laura smelled another werewolf drawing close behind them; without looking, she knew it was Claire, Summer’s girlfriend. Just from smell? She’d only been a werewolf two weeks… “Hey, Claire,” she said without looking back.

“Hello, Laura!” Claire waved; Laura could hear it? “Hello…oh, um, you dyed it. It looks very…very life-affirming.”

“Thank you! See, Laura.” Summer pointed, a smarmy smile across her face.

***

On the bus that morning, Sam was consumed by curiosity on two points. One: what happened to Finn?

And two: who was this Moss guy, anyway?

Earbuds in. Phone on. Looks like he’s been banned from Youtube - great start - but he’s on Twitter…

“What is happening to beauty?” He was walking around his house without a shirt on. “Everything is ugly now. Buildings, people. All my beautiful cars, they were taken by the cops…” …ahuh. “Someone told me it’s Eurocentric beauty standards. No, it’s called eyes. They’re trying to destroy your soul and make you an agent of the Matrix…”

Sam flicked off the video. What the hell did Glen see in this guy?

Sam got off the bus and walked into school. Summer and Claire were over there by the tree, and she knew she should go over and talk to them, but…she found herself carried in the front door. Found herself at the table by the vending machines where Zach, Ethan, and Tyler had gathered all year, all last year, too, before school. It wasn’t too different from their spot in middle school…

Ethan was a reedy boy with dark hair and pale skin; Tyler was also pretty reedy, with blonde hair and scrappy little sideburns. Zach, though, was as a tackle: wide and with a thick-neck and jutting, acne-flecked jaw and ruddy face. The friends you get as one of the only girls at a sports camp in middle-of-nowhere Wisconsin.

“Yo.” Ethan said, though he and Ty were off to the side, tapping at something on their phones.

“Yo,” Sam said back, and sat across from Zach. “Mornin’.”

“Morning!” He said. “You came Friday, right?”

“Yeah, about Friday…”

“Yeah. We lost. It sucked, dude.”

“Not that…sorry. About that Finn guy…”

“Oh, Finn? Dude. Finn’s good.”

“Is he here?”

“He’s in the hospital, but he’s doin’ fine.”

“But what happened to him? That hit really messed him up.” Her ears caught Ethan and Tyler shuffling a bit, casting furtive glances at the two of them. Sam really could go without knowing how many people were staring at her all the time…

“Eh, who knows? Dude…got hit real bad. Concussions. CTE or something.”

“Don’t you have to be dead to test for CTE?”

“What? No. I said he had that, or something. Or something’s wrong with his head. Not my problem, y’know?”

“Maybe he took something bad,” Ethan said dryly.

“Yeah. Maybe…” Sam nodded goodbye, and ran off to class.

***

Manuel had many problems that morning, but first among them was that Mrs. Lury had assigned the groups for discussing the packet with the reading from A Separate Peace, and Manuel was in a group with, among others, Clarissa Clarke, who…

Slid her packet off her desk and smiled. She didn’t look at it fluttering, because her gaze was fixed right on Manuel, and that fact made his skin crawl, not only because he didn’t like eye contact in general but this was bad eye contact, this was judgmental eye contact, this was eye contact that asked a question and demanded an answer…

He reached down and picked up her packet.

“Why, thank you!” Clarissa Clarke said, her hands folded on her desk…meanly. “I’m relieved this group has a big strong man aboard.”

“Um…thank you, I think…”

“You should feel proud. Look at you. You know, you should go out for sports! 5’2’’, no muscles, no facial hair, they’d be so happy to welcome you in as one of the boys.”

I’m 5’5’’, he wanted to correct, even though he knew that was very much not part of the point Clarissa Clarke thought she was making - though, her point was to be insulting… “Um…no.”

“You’d know better than me though. I’m just a simple girl.”

“Yes…um, no.”

“You agree? Wow. I really wish I could say I’m surprised.” Clarissa Clarke rolled her eyes, and her whole head with her eyes, and flipped through her packet without actually doing anything until the bell rang, though Manuel started gathering his things a few minutes beforehand, so he could make it first out the door.

When he did, he looked at his phone. A text from Jessie, telling everyone to gather at the…

“Art gallery?” It was Alice, wearing her usual red jacket, who had her nose scrunched up in - confusion, Manuel assumed. “We have a dang art gallery?”

“Maybe it isn’t in this school - maybe she means -” Another text: it’s to the right of the library. “Oh. Um. That little room there.”

“Do we go to a rich kid school?”

“Well, we do have a planetarium…”

***

Laura had never noticed that narrow, but long, room to the right of the library. It had windows to either side of the door and everything, and yeah, that was an art gallery. It had paintings and sketches on the wall, and a lot of shelves and cabinets along the walls, and everyone was there. Gef poked his head out of her backpack.

“Where are we?” He slurred out.

“The…district art gallery.” She craned her head to look inside at a better angle; Emily was there, and Summer and Claire, and she caught a glimpse of the back of Steph’s green hair and their blue Air Force jacket. She saw Sam, too, leaning against the back wall, by a mess of blue and yellow swirls titled “my mother”. She popped back and started to open the door…

“Thanks.” A short brown-haired girl in a denim jacket squeezed through the door first.

“Oh - uh, we’re kinda doing a private thing -”

“I’m in the pack. My name is Megan. You’ve met me twice.”

“Oh…uh, I kinda…like…not…”

“You forgot me. Fine. Didn’t even smell me.”

Laura sniffed the air pointlessly. Yeah, werewolf. “Oh. You’re…”

“You’re on the list, buddy. Your pet too.”

“I’m not her pet!” Gef hissed.

“Then why are you living in her stupid backpack, loser? Oh my god. If you were with me, you wouldn’t be around.”

“‘Cause you’d kill him?”

“‘Cause I’m not allowed to bring a backpack anymore,” she said, and pushed her way inside; Laura followed.

***

Everyone was confused, but they were only waiting for a minute before the door opened and their pack leader Jessie walked in, in all their glory: pawprint earrings, red hair, and mint green fleece. Everyone shouted out a greeting, and Sam did too, a little “hey, Jess”.

“Guess who’s gonna be volunteering here part-time from now on,” Jessie said cheerfully. “Figured you’uns could use some help these days, and it’s better than runnin’ off to fight a feral werewolf alone again.”

“...yeah…” Emily murmured.

“In case any of you need an ear to listen to your troubles, or if the Horde’s back, or if any weird stuff’s goin’ on around here. Not that I expect weird stuff to go on around here on a regular basis. But if it is, y’all can come here whenever you’re a-huntin’.”

“I don’t think anything weird’s going on,” Alice said.

“No!” Emily said. “No. Not since the werewolf.”

“Yeah, nothing,” Laura said quickly.

“...no…” Manuel said.

“There is. There was,” Sam spoke up. “Last Friday at the football game, one of the players broke down. It wasn’t like an injury. He was scratching himself and talking about shadows. I tried asking his teammates about it, but none of them will say anything.”

“Odds that that’s normal seem pretty chancy,” Jessie said.

“I’ll help,” Laura said.

“Me too,” Manuel added swiftly.

“I should be the one looking into it. They won’t talk to me, but they really won’t talk to you,” Sam explained.

“Then we’ll tag along. If that’s okay with you?” Laura asked.

“...yeah. Yeah, it’s okay.”

“Sounds good. If you need any help, I’ll be here the rest of the afternoon.”

“Could we use this space even if you aren’t here?” Manuel asked. “We don’t want to risk being overheard…”

“None of you knew this room even existed. You’ll be fine saying anything here.”

“Oh. Right.” The group started to file out, and Sam started to race off, but realized hey, she should slow down and let Laura and Manuel catch up.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Sam said.

“No, but like…we know this stuff,” Laura reached down into her backpack pocket for some reason, like she was petting something. “I hunted a ghost.”

“Yes, and I survived a creepy eldritch House.”

“...I miss out on a lot, huh?”

“Yeah.”

[appxssionato]

Bloody Shadows - A more detailed verse info.

name: warren obuolys age: 200+ birthplace: russia homeplace: romania occupation: wanderer species: turned vampire

warren is a vampire that despite all of his suffering he keeps being friendly and charming, believing that the change starts from himself. even though, he dislike the idea of living an eternity, reason why he desires to be human again.

born as a human, warren lived with his mother in russia. he grew up like a normal kid, and the day he finally started his own life happened. in his twenties, warren became an aristocrat, becoming the imperial court’s jester because of his talent with love stories, music, tricks and gimmicks. a troupe from romania came to the imperial court, being ailess cardia’s troupe from his own theater. that was when warren and ailess met for the first time and started spending tme together. sharing a strong bond, warren kept going to romania, visiting ailess, being a dear friend. one day, after returning to russian and visiting his mother, he found out a group of creatures torturing her mother, sucking the blood out of her and being killed right in front of his eyes. in the attempt to save her, he was attacked too, but instead of the creatures taking his entire blood, he became one of them, being kidnapped and taken to romania to be their prisioner. 

it was the start of a lifetime of physical and sexual abuse, becoming more heartless as the time passed, forgetting about his own humanity and just going along with it until one day he finally was able to break free and kill those that hurt him. warren escapes, and finds a forest in which he sees another vampire, realizing that it was ailess cardia. ailess congratulates him for escaping and asking him to join him. by knowing that he had nobody, he decided to keep ailess on his side, not to mention that they did share a bond in the past. little by little ailess taught him things about vampires, and at first it was hard to adapt. warren mostly fed up out of animals but it was ailess the one that made him taste his first human, reason why he finally let out that cruelty that was actually in his nature.

warren started going to the village, learning about the situation that there was a sacrifice every full red moon. he didn’t care, after all it was food for them. warren was charming, very popular among the villagers though they didn’t know he was a vampire. entertaining woman and engaging sexually with them, they were often his prey, not caring about feelings or emotions. it was until one day, one of the woman tried to escape, she injured him and he finally killed her, but the injury was too deep that it took him long to heal. a young girl found him hurt, and she came for his rescue, healing him. this made warren to develop a strong bond with her, falling immediately in love due the warmth of her heart, he claimed that she was an angel.

warren kept with his routine, but nobody seemed to find out about his real nature. he started talking to the head’s village’s son, masaferry albastri, who was a timid and lonely boy that often came asking for advices. warren helped him with everything, giving him advices and claiming that he had a lot of knowledge, reason why masaferry considered warren his best friend, often saying good things about him and warren asking him to stop because he made him look like a good person, when he actually wasn’t but warren didn’t let him know that he was a vampire. 

one day he visits masaferry on the day of his wedding. masaferry had a crush on a certain girl for so long and she became his fiance due an arranged marriage between both families. masaferry looks sad, explaining that she didn’t have a choice, so warren tries to cheer him up telling him that at least he can be with someone he loves, unlike him. masaferry’s fiance happens to be the same girl that healed warren once, but he keep it as a secret. masaferry thanks him and tell the girl how much he loves her, but at night he realized that she is the one chosen for the sacrifice, that happens to be the same night as his wedding.

 warren finds out, and tries to calm masaferry down but the preoccupation shows in himself as well, telling masaferry to run away with her so they both can be saved. masaferry explains that he did so, but that the girl refused. warren tries to convince him to save her even if it’s by force, but masaferry breakds down saying that it’s his duty to protect the village and that there’s no another way. warren says that he will make sure she is safe because an angel like her can’t be killed in that way and that he wants her to be happy, letting masaferry realize that she was the woman warren was talking about before.

warren becomes aggressive, grabbing masaferry while he tells him that he can’t let her die. masaferry asks him to calm down, telling him it hurts in which warrens responds that he can’t be calm when he believed him that he was going to make her happy, yelling that he won’t let ailess to kill her. masaferry asks who is ailess, asking if it’s the vampire and questioning warren about knowing his name. warren tells him is nothing of his business, disappearing into the darkness. warren goes to see ailess, telling him that he wants to talk, and asking to change the sacrifice getting a negative response because is the moon the one that chooses, not him, explaining that the moon chooses the girl filled with the most light, so they can gain more magic that way. warren says it’s cruel because she is getting married, causing ailess to mock him. ailess keeps questioning warren, realizing that he was in love with that human and telling him it’s just an illusion.

ailess then makes warren to remember after he first came to the forest, when he served many women in the town, refreshing his memory and thoughts about love being an illusion. warren said it was different before he met her, and that she made him change his mind. ailess tells him that the other option is turning her into one of them, and warren refuses as he explains she makes him remember the humanity he has lost. ailess tries to knock some sense on warren, even though he comes off as cold, telling him that they don’t have the right to exist in this world and that they only have each other. warren finally agrees with ailess, telling him that indeed they are together forever, and he decides not to fight anymore and letting the girl to be killed.

the moment of the sacrifices finally comes, and the girl approaches him as ailess greets her. ailess starts to intimidate her, reason why she tries to go against him making ailess to tell her that it’s time to finish with this. at this moment, masaferry stands up, telling him to let her go. ailess can’t believe that the chief’ss son broke the rules and the girls tells him to leave, but masaferry is willing to fight and points ailess with a gun filled with silver bullets that could kill a vampire. the girl keeps refusing and ailess points out at that, masaferry tells her that she can hate him but he wants her to live. at that moment, ailess calls warren, telling him is his chance to save the girl. masaferry looks confused but he finally sees warren coming out of the shadows, he asks what’s going on, which warren replies that it’s obvious that he is a vampire. 

masaferry refuses to believe it, saying that warren is his best friend, warren makes fun of him because of that declaring that he didn’t mean to deceive him but he was trusting him, claiming that human are foolish species. warren walks towards the girl, telling her that she was foolish too because her kindness didn’t mean anything to him, masaferry is confused again and he isn’t able to move his body, warren laughs at him and asks him if his father didn’t teach him not to look into a vampire’s eyes. ailess explains that they don’t hate humans but it’s a way to survive, he explains that he has been taking care of the villge and that this is a good exchange, but masaferry refuses saying that it can’t be someone he loves. ailess seems tired, and asks the girl if her life is more important than the village, she replies it’s the village so ailess claims this is gonna be fast.

masaferry struggles, warren warns him that he is going to break his own body. masaferry tells him that it’s impossible for warren to kill someone, in which warren tells him that he doesn’t know his real identity. masaferry says he does, claiming that the real warren is the one stuck with his stupid complaints, that think about his own problems and understand people’s feelings, a man that deeply loved just one woman. warren mocks him, taking it s a joke as he was able to say that even after realizing he is a vampire. warren walks towards masaferry and violently grabs him, telling him that the days he was his “friend” were fun, because he made him think he was human again but that was nothing but an illusion, and then, he takes his gun.

ailess tell warren to shoot masaferry, but instead, he decides to shoot ailess, telling him that his original plan was to runaway with her but that he didn’t want him or masaferry to have her. but he realized that he was a vampire and that he couldn’t be with a human. warren asks ailess if he is not tired of eternity, so he thought it was time to finish it, but that he didn’t have to worry because he was going to stay forever with him as he promised, telling him he was going to join him soon in death. ailess’ bullet hole starts to heal and he says that it will heal in no time if he drinks the blood of the girl, telling warren that they should live together again, just the two of them. masaferry offers his own life in order to save her and warren, and warren tells him he is out of his mind. masaferry says he knows what he is saying and asks ailess to heal the injury with his blood and that it is not enough, he will become their slave. warren tells him it is painful and that he doesn’t understand what he is doing but masaferry says he understood something by looking at him.

masaferry tells the girl that even though they didn’t have a ceremony he will think of her as her wife, but tells her that he can’t ignore his friend either. he tells ailess to live together and take his blood, so they can stop with the sacrifices. ailess starts having memories on when he became a vampire and finally accepts the deal. they both turn masaferry into a vampire.

three shadows, non-existent anywhere, without any happiness or a heart beating hurt by sadness, without love and wandering around the world.

[jinterlude]

Protecting Each Other

↳ Header created by the amazingly talented @kimtaehyunq from the BHQ’s Banner Request Board.

—Pairing: Seokjin x OC (Sumin) —Genre(s): The Last of US!AU, Zombie Apocalypse!AU, Fluff, Romance, Angst, Fantasy, Slight-Action, & Slight-Humor —Warning(s) / Rating: zombies, semi-graphic description of violence (mainly shooting and killing zombies), weapons (guns and a sword), light graphic description of injuries, blood, brief mentions/hints of deaths of a loved one, light suggestive moments (mainly making out), & swearing / 18+  —Word Count: 16K —Summary: In just one year, the virus swept the planet, destroying everything and everyone in its path and drastically changing the world. However, at least one thing is for certain—Seokjin & Sumin will always have each other.    

—A/N: The moment you guys have been waiting for! It is the release of my BB Summer Collaboration Fic! Cue the cheers and confetti! I’m quite proud of myself with how this turned out! I would like to thank my soup friend and forever my number one supporter, Jey @softjeon. It is because of her that this story even came to be the way it is, so this story is dedicated to her. 

↬ It is also dedicated to my amazing people: @jinned​​, @hobiance​​, @j-sope​​, @mindays​​​, @ppersonna​​​, @miamorjoon​​​, @parksfilter​​​, & @mygsii​​​. Thank you guys for supporting me and just cheering me on when I needed it. You are truly one of a kind. ↫

» Feedback is always appreciated and thanks for giving my story a chance!  

Destruction. That single word echoed in Sumin's mind frequently—on an endless loop. The faint smell of burnt and decaying flesh invaded her poor nostrils as the exhausted young woman carefully maneuvered around the lifeless bodies. Her eyes surveyed her current surroundings, noting how colorless the world had become. How the suffocating silence circled her, engulfing her entire body. Oh, how she missed the times where the sounds of laughter and lively chatter greeted her like a dear old friend. Instead, it was either the painful silence or agonizing screams that said, "hello," to her.

No longer did she see the vibrant colors that caught her attention before the outbreak began. Shifting her gaze downwards, she noted her attire. A faint yet amused smirk formed on her lips as she thought about the irony of her previous observation. She, too, no longer wore bright colors. Now, she wore all black from head to toe.

Her leather jacket? Black.

Her shredded jeans? Black.

Shoes? Black.

Every article of clothing that covered her bruised and wounded body was dark. Well, at least she'd be ready to pay her respects if someone close to her tragically died.

Now, standing in front of a man, who's currently crouched down catching his breath, Sumin remained on high alert. Her right hand gripped the hilt of her Japanese sword to the point that her knuckles turned white. Meanwhile, her left hand held the trusty semi-automatic pistol in front of her. Her index finger rested nicely on the trigger—ready to pull it back at even the faintest snarl heard. She needed to be prepared to fall into action. She couldn’t afford to falter because if she did, then it would cost her significantly. Her hesitation would cost her the life of the person who was the keeper of her heart. She would lose her long-time companion—Seokjin.

Protecting that man was the reason she needed to stay alive. Sadly, he was her only reason to do so. Her family and friends had tragically died one-by-one over the years. To be exact, it was ten years. Ten fucking years since this outbreak came into the picture. Ten fucking years since the zombie attack destroyed any ounce of normalcy she established since she was a child. Then, in a blink of an eye, it was gone, vanished with a snap of someone's fingers.

Only her boyfriend remained by her side, and the protective young woman prepared to do everything and anything to ensure it stayed that way.

As Sumin continued to stare into the fog, searching for any strange shadows, her eyes picked up a faint sound. Her breath hitched as she clutched her weapons, prepared to attack at any second. Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a hand. Without a second thought, she swiftly turned around, pointing her pistol at the person's forehead. At the same time, the blade of her sword pressed into the intruder's neck.

But then, she dropped her weapons, both of the lethal items dangled by her side. A long sigh of relief exited her lips as the exhausted Sumin gave the person a dirty look.

"Jesus, Seokjin. I could've easily slaughtered you. You know that right." She scolded the young man, who only chuckled in response, which further irritated her.

Seokjin wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close as he planted a sweet kiss on her temple.

Sumin grimaced and pushed him away, "Ew. I'm all sweaty and bloodied up, Jinnie. No kissing until you and I shower," and just as she finished her statement, she dreaded it instantly. This sense of mischievousness twinkled in his eyes. His lips formed this playful smirk.

Oh, boy. Those two features never made a great combination in Sumin's book. If anything, what came next always left her either a blushing mess that couldn't string a coherent sentence together or chasing the idiot and threatening to punch him.

Silently, she prayed it would be the latter. Sumin wanted to make sure that she could still punch an undead person.

"Jinnie..." She began, forcing a sweet smile on her filthy face, "You better choose your next words carefully or else."

Seokjin's smirk grew, "I don't know what you're talking about sweetheart," He took a step forward, "I was about to suggest something that any loving boyfriend would do for his wonderful girlfriend." He shrugged as his eyes flickered towards Sumin for a moment.

Sumin's breath hitched but soon composed herself.

"Oh, so that's how he wants to play. Game on, Jinnie boy..." She amusingly thought, nodding her head slowly as an alluring smile crept on her face.

Without any warning, Sumin turned the pistol's safety on and tried to fire the gun as a precaution. She then tucked the firearm away in her thigh holster. She secured her prized weapon in its confinement, whistling softly to herself.

As she did that, this unsettling sensation washed over Seokjin's body. His heart raced as if he ran away from a hoard of starving zombies. He suddenly felt parched as Sumin continued to instill fear in him. Her body crouched as she tightened the shoelaces on her boots. How completely still she was as she did something so minuscule. His eyes continued studying her body language, noting how completely balanced she was. He subtly tilted his head, hoping to get a better look at his princess.

"Speaking of ass..." His eyes drifted down Sumin's back, but he forced himself out his unholy thoughts, "Wait, now is not the time to be checking out your girlfriend, Seokjin." He shook his head furiously. His ears perked up at the random sound Sumin made as she stood up. She dusted off her torn jeans before turning her body towards him. An overly sweet smile greeted the scared man.

Seokjin flashed a smile, chuckling nervously at her as he swallowed his saliva; his Adam's apple bobbed a few times. Sadly, it only made him thirstier.

His tongue swept the bottom of his dry lips. Then, he spoke,

"Princess," He began, clearing his dry throat, "Are you preparing for another battle with the undead?" A nervous chuckle escaped his lips, "You know, the more you whistle, the more anxious I become. Do you want that, Sumin? Do you want to be dealing with a nervous boyfriend while we fight for our lives? I think not!" He finished his rather dramatic yet short monologue.

Sumin's face went poker-faced as she nodded her head slowly. No words escaped her lips, maintaining the eerie silence that surrounds the environment. Her eyes narrowed as she homed in on her target. She cracked her neck, releasing the tension in her muscles as she took a step toward the poor man.

As she stepped forward, Seokjin stepped backward. The attractive couple continued this rather odd dance for a few minutes until - suddenly - Seokjin grabbed his pack and bolted away from the menacing young lady.

Sumin bolted after him, shouting at him to stop being such a coward and face her like a real man. Though, she was careful not to alert any enemies of their presence. The last thing she wanted to deal with, on top of Seokjin behaving like a child, was a mob of ravenous zombies.

Yup...definitely not on her nonexistent to-do list.

With her lungs practically begging for air, Sumin refused to let that man escape her grasps. She easily dodged the low hanging branches while keeping her eye on the prize. The prize of closing the gap between her and Seokjin, so she could punch the living shit out of him. What made the situation funnier was that Seokjin taunted her endlessly. Each insult that spewed out of that gorgeous man's mouth fueled her desire - that competitive drive - to tackle him to cold hard concrete.

Then, as if God answered her wish, Sumin's eyes gleamed with excitement as she focused her attention on his perfectly still body.

"HA! I knew you'd stop being such a little bitch and take my punch like a mature adult!" She exclaimed as she jogged up to him. Just as she drew back her fist, she swiftly caught on to Seokjin's odd expression. No longer did he wear this playful mask but now dawned an emotion that Sumin thought she'd never see again.

Complete and utter disbelief.

Carefully, Sumin placed a warm hand on the young man's broad shoulder; her eyes dripped with concern.

"Jinnie..." The concerned lady began but was soon interrupted.

"Do you know where we are, Sumin?"

"I...uh..."

"Imagine everything lit up. The entrance sign lit so brightly that blinded anyone who dared to stare directly at it. Now, add the sounds of the arcade and carnival games going off every second as loud chatter mixes in with the lively atmosphere. Children that scattered all over the fairgrounds as they ran towards their parents, screaming from excitement as they begged their parents to win them yet another gigantic stuffed animal."

Sumin still didn't quite understand what Seokjin was talking about until he said,

"Look at the broken-down stand in the far-right corner," He pointed in that specific direction, "You see those beaten up stuffed animals?" He asked as he intertwined their fingers together. He then guided the two of them towards the row of carnival games. The unhappy pair carefully maneuvered around the fallen debris, planning their steps accordingly. The last thing they wanted to do was deal with one of them having a broken ankle.

The more Seokjin and Sumin adventured down the row of destroyed carnival games, the more Sumin's face became solemn as sadness washed over her entire body. Her jaw clenched, and her breath hitched. She couldn't believe it. She took in every single torn down - practically shredded - dull banners as she passed the poorly maintained game stands. The same game stands she and Seokjin used to frequent every summer and the reason she came home with a massive pile of stuffed animals. It was thanks to that lovesick fool that she no longer had space in her closet for her cuddly friends. At the same time, it was because of those soft stuffed animals that got her hooked on Seokjin's charms in the first place.

God, the more she reminisced about her countless summer spent at this fair, the more she became depressed. However, she couldn't stop thinking about those specific moments in her life. After all, those days led her to the man that she absolutely could never imagine living her life without him.

"I wonder if this place was the first to go?" asked Sumin, voicing her innermost thoughts as her doe-like gaze switched to Seokjin. She noted how tight his jaw was as if he tried his hardest to maintain his composure.

"I hope not..." He trailed on as he continued to survey his surroundings, "Though, it wouldn't surprise me if it was since the annual summer fair always drew in a massive crowd." He finished, letting out a soft, airy chuckle.

The corners of her lips curved upward as Sumin read his mind.

"Yeah. Kind of how it drew us together for the very first time, right?"

"What do you mean, kind of drew us together? It matched two beautiful people together."

Sumin's face fell, "Are you sure? Because I remember our fateful meeting quite differently."

Seokjin gawked. He couldn't believe the words that came out of his princess' mouth.

"Oh, do tell how that day went, then, Minnie

"Gladly...!" She exclaimed with an intriguing twinkle in the corner of her eyes.

Seokjin scoffed playfully, "Oh, I can't wait to hear this."

The petite young female shot an irritated look at the attractive man before beginning her tale.

"Well, as you know, it started on that Friday evening. You had just gotten out of her last class of the week and..."  Sumin trailed on. Her words echoed in the back of Seokjin's mind as he, too, recalled their meeting so vividly.

For the twentieth time that evening, Sumin checked her appearance using her front-facing camera. Her trembling hands ran through her beach curled hair, positioning it in a way that made her look charming yet radiated innocence. It wasn't every day that she was set up on a blind date by a good friend of hers. However, she wasn't a stranger to the dating scene, so why did she feel so damn nervous? Why did her heart pound against her chest as if she ran from her house to the fairgrounds?

Suddenly a look of complete and utter dread washed over her face as this horrendous thought implanted itself in her frenzied mind. Without a second thought, Sumin subtly smelled herself, praying to every God known to man that her sweet rose perfume still lingered around her body. She sneakily raised her arms and took a quick whiff under her armpits.

"Oh, thank God. My tropical fruit-scented deodorant is still working." She thought as this massive sigh of relief exited her lips. She dropped her arm, and as she raised her head, her eyes went round. Her breath hitched as this feeling of embarrassment hit her like a tidal wave.

"Please don't be my blind date. Please don't be my blind date." She repeatedly chanted as a drop-dead gorgeous man started walking up to her. With every footstep, he slowly closed the gap between them, and as he closed that distance, Sumin's anxiety increased. The butterflies in the pit of her stomach flew into a flurry, which only caused the poor young girl to smile nervously. She also chuckled softly as she awkwardly waved her hand.

"Great. Now, that handsome fellow is going to think I'm this huge doofus." She mused as she quickly mustered the sweetest smile and introduced herself.

"Nice to meet you, Sumin. I'm Seokjin, but my friends call me Worldwide Handsome." The handsome fellow greeted back, playfully winking at her as he displayed this thousand-watt smile.

Sumin became lost for words. She slightly parted her mouth as she wrapped her mind around the fact that this attractive man seriously said that his friends called him "Worldwide Handsome." Her eyes flickered with annoyance before switching back to politeness.

But before she could ask him if he was serious, Seokjin beat her to it.

"I'm kidding. My friends don't call me that," Another wave of relief washed over Sumin, but once she heard Seokjin's next sentence, that moment of peace was over, "I call myself that. I've been spending my entire high school career trying to get my tasteless friends to admit that I'm good looks are enough for me to hold the title of 'Worldwide Handsome.'"

Out of nowhere, Sumin felt a slight twitch in her right eye. Her body heated up. Her breathing grew heavy as her nostrils flared slightly.

Yeah, they didn't even get past the formalities., and his words ended the date right there.

As the irked young lady opened her mouth, ready to apologize to him that she wanted to end the date, a high-pitch noise emitted from his lips. It was almost as if she activated her car's windshield wipers.

"Oh, my God, I can't keep this charade up any longer," He paused, continuing his fit of laughter. The laughter grew too much for him as he clutched the sides of his stomach. "Congrats, princess. You passed." He vaguely announced, further irritating Sumin.

The serious honey-brown haired woman stared at the tall immature man through slit eyes. Her mind battled if she should ask him to clarify or not. Part of her - scratch that - most of her wanted to go home, but, sadly, the curious side got the best of her, so she asked Seokjin what he meant by his strange words.

The towering, well-dressed man cleared his throat, "Well, my young and surprisingly beautiful princess, what I meant is that you passed the, 'can this potential girlfriend handle my arrogant side and be honest with her reaction rather be fake?' test." He answered, keeping this calm tone of voice.

Suddenly, Seokjin shot Sumin with a playful wink, as he dug out his wallet from the pocket of his light pastel blue zipper hooded sweatshirt. A faint, "ah-ha," escaped his plump lips as he waved his black leather wallet in front of the unamused female.

Sumin raised her brow, finding Seokjin's actions odd and silently berating herself for not going home yet. She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something in the back of her head told her to continue humoring the princely idiot.

Her conscience had better be right.

"Is that your hint that you want me to pay for our entrance tickets?" inquired Sumin as she prepared to dig for her wallet in her cotton candy-colored purse. However, as her fingertips grazed the zipper of the wallet, Seokjin gently grasped her wrists. For a split second, a single strand of electricity shot up through her right arm, igniting the nerves that laid beneath.

The longer Seokjin touched her wrist, the more Sumin's cheeks became heated. Just this once, Sumin was glad that it was Summer. She could easily blame the heat on her flushed cheeks, and not the fact that she felt this unspeakable spark between them.

Not wanting to become a blushing mess, Sumin gently tore her hand away from his grasp—much to Seokjin's dismay. Unknown to her, but he felt that spark as well. Never in his years of dating other women did he feel the same that Sumin did. The kicker was that she didn't even know that she had this hold - this magnetic pull- over him. Seriously. She could ask him to tell his friend Jungkook that he sucked at bowling, and he would gladly do it even though it was a death wish in doing so.

Wait, what happened? Where did those thoughts come from as he usually would never think about that, especially towards a woman he had just met? Pushing the confusion away, Seokjin lightly shook his head and plastered a sincere smile on his attractive face.

"Anyway, since we are losing daylight, why don't we go inside the fairgrounds, and yes, I'm gonna pay for your ticket. Don't argue with me on that, okay?" He kindly suggested as he maintained the wicked smile that caused both men and women to swoon over him.

Sumin chuckled, "Alright, you can pay for my entrance ticket, but I'm gonna pay you back by winning you a stuffed animal, cool?" She said with a sunny, innocent smile.

Seokjin's body slightly froze as he thought, "Okay, she might have beaten me in terms of having a smile that caused hearts to skip a beat," He quickly pulled himself back into reality and agreed to Sumin's suggestion.

Though, it wouldn't result in her trying to win him a stuffed alpaca. An hour into their date, Sumin wanted to succeed at winning him that cuddly stuffed alpaca but kept losing at the ring toss. Refusing to give up, the stubborn young lady shelled out another ten-dollar bill and slammed it on the wooden counter.

"Alright, Seokjin, prepare to- wait, what are you doing?" She questioned as Seokjin took the tiny plastic ring from her dainty hands.

The equally as determined man positioned himself in front of her and said,

"I'm gonna win you that alpaca, princess," He stretched his right arm, warming up his muscles, "So, prepare to be amazed by my professional throwing skills!" He announced; his voice was almost loud enough to be overheard by every single person at the carnival.

Sumin giggled softly, shaking her head playfully. Then, a brilliant yet bold idea popped into her mind.

With a seductive grin painted on her lips, Sumin stood on the tips of her toes and courageously planted a kiss on Seokjin's cheek. On the outside, Sumin appeared calm as a clam. However, on the inside, it felt like there was a tornado in the pit of her stomach. Then, a feeling of regret followed, but Sumin pushed it away. A good friend of hers told Sumin that she needed to be confident and more flirtatious. Now, she hoped that her friend's advice paid off.

"I'm sorry if that was too forward, I thought you could use a kiss for good luck?" Sumin quickly apologized, averting her gaze. Her cheeks became flushed as the bashful woman messed with the hem of her dress.

Then, a hand clamped over hers before the cold sweat from her hands left an embarrassing stain.

Sumin's eyes trailed upward and soon widened with how close Seokjin's face was. He was so close that their noses were merely inches away from bumping into each other.

As the doe-eyed Sumin parted her mouth to speak, Seokjin gently pressed his right index finger on her lips. Sumin's gaze flickered to his hand, noticing the plastic ring hanging on his pinky.

"First, thank you for that sweet kiss. It granted me all the luck in the world needed to win these rigged carnival games," He removed his index finger and stood up straight, "Second, now I'm even more determined to win you that alpaca so that I can get another kiss. Perhaps, this time, maybe on the lips?" He flirted, winking at her before he turned his back towards her and prepared to play the ring toss game.

Sumin mustered enough courage and composed herself.

"Let's talk after you win me, RJ."

"RJ?"

"Yeah, that's going to be the name of our cuddly stuffed animal."

Seokjin chuckled at how adorable Sumin was.

"Okay, RJ, it is."

Sumin cheered as she shook her hands in excitement, eager to hug the alpaca.

Her cheers faded into the back of his mind as Seokjin gently pulled himself away from that beautiful memory. It honestly felt so real to him. The smell of deep-fried food lingered around his nostrils while the sounds of Sumin's cute protests echoed in his ears. A reminiscent smile formed on his gorgeous face as he recalled the events that happened after he successfully won her RJ. She dragged him around each food stand and paid for any item that they wanted to try together, though Seokjin offered to pay for the more expensive food items. However, being the stubborn woman that she was, Sumin swatted his hands every time he reached for his wallet.

To this day, he could still feel the stinging sensation on the backs of his hands. Who would've thought that his princess had some strength to her?

"Why are you rubbing your hand, Jinnie?" Sumin's voice pulled Seokjin away from his thoughts. He glanced down and low and behold; he did rub his hand as if she smacked his hand a few minutes before. He ceased his odd action and then threw a warm and loving arm around Sumin's shoulders and pulled her close.

"Don't worry about it, princess, but I still think that you told some aspects of our first date incorrectly." He teased with a lop-sided grin. "If I remember that night correctly, it was I who tried out the ring toss stand first," He playfully tapped Sumin's nose, "And it was you came to my aid like the breathtakingly goddess protector I know you are." He finished before innocently pecking her sweet lips.

Sumin playfully rolled her eyes as the corner of her mouth curved upward. She then lightly shoved her foolish boyfriend, creating space between them.

"Anyway, where should we go next? We still need to find these so-called, 'Fireflies,' if we want any answers on this cure." She asked, surveying the abandoned fairgrounds. Her eyes flickered from every direction, ensuring that there weren't any abnormal shadows nearby.

A faint hum emitted from Seokjin's mouth as he, too, looked around. Then, something captured his attention as he was about to finish his search. He quickly focused his gaze onto the Ferris-wheel as he annoyingly pushed Sumin, repeatedly telling her to look into the distance.

The annoyed honey-brown haired girl lightly slapped his hand away, demanding that he stop being weird.

"I can't help it. You just make me a fool for you, Minnie." Seokjin flirted, causing his girlfriend to gag.

"I swear you are too much sometimes," She readjusted the strap that held her Katana, "But, when you want to, you do spout some intellectual things," She smiled brightly at Seokjin, "Let's head towards that Ferris-wheel and use it as our vantage point." She suggested, which of course, Seokjin agreed as he laced his fingers with hers. Then, the two hiked over to the gigantic wheel, hoping that it could give them some form of a clue.

Minutes later, the duo arrived in front of the rusty Ferris-wheel. The curious young woman broke away from her boyfriend as this strange magnetic pull forced her to step towards the poorly maintained ride. Her fingers grazed the rough cold metal as Sumin noted both the rust and vines that surrounded the wheel.

"It's so strange..." muttered the shocked girl as she stepped back.

Seokjin slowly nodded, unsure what to say next as specific memories plagued his mind. Thoughts of him and Sumin passing by this very Ferris-wheel as he begged her to go on it with him. Whenever he explained to Sumin why they had to ride this attraction, he always told her that it was part of the book of romance. Naturally, his sweetheart demanded that she sees this book so that she could see that so-called rule. The more he thought of that event, the more he chuckled.

His princess was always the skeptical one, but that made their relationship refreshing. They never behaved like any other couple, and he wouldn't want it any other way.

As he forced himself away from his beautiful memories of his lovely lady, he noticed Sumin doing something strange in the corner of his eye.

"Uh...sweetheart? What are you doing?" questioned Seokjin as he continued to watch his girlfriend with curiosity.

Sumin hummed as she glanced over her shoulder, "Oh, I’m gonna climb the Ferris-wheel and use it as our vantage point." She explained as she undid the belt that held her Katana and shrugged off her leather jacket.

"I see...I see..." Then, her words finally registered in his mind, "I'm sorry? Did you say that you were going to climb the Ferris-wheel? Miss ‘I'm afraid of heights’?" He asked with a quizzical expression on his face. The longer he thought about his girlfriend climbing up that poorly maintained carnival attraction, the more he became concerned. It didn’t help that those worries conjured up every worst-case scenario known to man and flooded his mind with them.

Yeah…

He definitely did not want Sumin climbing up there, and just as he shrugged off his jacket, Sumin spoke,

"Yup! Now, stay down here and keep watch, okay? You have my sword if you need an extra weapon." She said with a cheerful smile, reassuring her worried boyfriend. It was as if she read his mind and wanted to wash away his unnecessary concerns.

Seokjin looked utterly stunned. Every time he opened his mouth to say something, Seokjin swiftly closed it as he knew that he couldn't stop his headstrong princess from doing something if she already made up her mind.

Letting out a defeated sigh, Seokjin quickly hugged her and placed a warm kiss on her temple. As he pulled away, he told her,

"Remember what I told you the first time we rode this together?"

"Yeah...don't look down."

Seokjin uttered a quick, "good," as he released his loving hold on Sumin and watched her start her journey up the rusty fair ride.

His eyes remained glued on her body as he watched the love of his life climbed up the ladder of the neglected attraction. Seokjin's mind drifted to the first time he successfully got his princess to ride the Ferris-wheel as he stared at her fading backside, slowly becoming one with the sky.

Crossing her arms underneath her chest, Sumin blinked a few times. She tilted her head slightly as she tried to comprehend the fact that her boyfriend of almost two years wanted her to go to the Ferris-wheel. Also known as the fair's local death trap.

A short yet heavy sigh escaped the hesitant woman as her gaze focused on Seokjin, who currently nibbled on his bottom lip. A cute little habit that Seokjin had whenever he was deep in thought. That was one of the many quirks she learned about him over their two years of being together. The fun part of that sentence was that he always had her learn something new about him every day.

That was one part of their loving and entertaining relationship that she would never trade for the most expensive diamond in the entire universe.

Seokjin was priceless, and Sumin was incredibly lucky to be with someone like him.

Speaking of which...

"Okay, I got the ultimate bribery for you, princess!" Seokjin piped up, pulling Sumin away from her loving thoughts.

The corners of her lips turned up as curiosity burned in Sumin's eyes.

"Oh? And, what are you exactly going to bribe me with, huh, Jinnie boy?" She asked with hints of playfulness in her words.

Seokjin chuckled, "I'm glad you asked, my curious kitten," He then pointed at the nearby cotton candy stand, "If you go on the Ferris-wheel with me, I will buy you all the cotton candy your heart desires!" He exclaimed with eyes practically pleading Sumin to say yes.

A hum escaped her lips as Sumin lightly tapped her chin; her bottom lip jutted out as she "seriously" thought about his offer.

"I don't know, Seokjin, you know well enough that I'm deathly afraid of heights, you're practically asking me to risk my life just for tonight since you want to see the 4th of July firework show at the top of the wheel," Sumin lightly shook her head, "You're gonna have to do better than that, Jinnie." She stated, shrugged her shoulders.

Seokjin's eyes narrowed on her as he mentally cursed at how argumentative Sumin could get—when she wanted to be. He made a mental note to make sure that his princess never hung out with a particular headstrong friend of hers. If he didn't know any better, he knew that Sumin's good friend more than likely told her about his romantic plans for their 4th of July celebration.

"That pain in the ass..." He muttered to himself, rolling his eyes.

Unfortunately, for him, Sumin heard his words and assumed that he called her that. However, she knew better not to start a fight with him over an assumption. She learned that lesson the hard way after an evening of arguing with him over a hunch that almost caused them to break up just before the night of their big first-anniversary date. From that night on, Sumin learned to always ask for clarification. She vowed never to feel that devastating heartbreak again.

Mustering an innocent smile, Sumin eyed him accusingly, "I'm sorry, who's 'that pain in the ass'?"

Seokjin nearly choked on his spit. His body tensed. He then slowly focused his gaze onto the woman that not only made his heart skip a beat but also instilled fear into him. There was nothing in between those two feelings.

The nervous young man opened his mouth to speak but soon closed it as he had to pick his next choice of words carefully. Having a full-blown fight with her was certainly not on tonight’s romantic agenda. Instead, he wanted to share the most magical kiss with his princess and then confess how much he loved her.

While, yes, they had been together for almost two years, Seokjin and Sumin never said, "I love you," to each other. Their mutual friends told them that they took their relationship a little too slow for their liking. Still, Sumin wanted to make sure their feelings towards each other were genuine, and Seokjin respected that.

He wanted her to know that he was just as serious about them as she was.

Which motivated the handsome fool to say,

"Not you," He gently took Sumin's hands as complete and utter adoration burned in his eyes, "Which is why not only will I give you an endless supply of cotton candy, but I will bestow you the most romantic kiss ever known to man, if you agree to go on the Ferris-wheel with me," He quickly glanced at his watch, "We have exactly an hour to wait in that line, get on one of those carts, and slowly ride up to the top of the wheel where we will stop and enjoy the firework display," He smiled warmly at her, praying to every God out there that she would say yes, "So, how about it? You and me? All alone in that surprisingly roomy compartment?" He finished, eager to hear Sumin's answer.

Sumin remained silent as she glanced up to the Ferris-wheel, pondering for a moment. Then, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting, she opened her sweet lips and said,

"Yes. I will ride the Ferris-wheel with you."

Sumin suddenly shrieked, followed by this soft laughter as Seokjin abruptly picked her up and twirled her around. Bystanders would've thought that he just proposed to her, and she said yes. That was how ecstatic Seokjin was for finally getting Sumin to agree to ride the wheel with him, especially since he knew how afraid of heights she was.

That was true love right there, and it solidified the never-ending devotion he bore for her.

Gently placing his princess on the ground, Seokjin softly pecked her nose before intertwining their hands together.

With a sincere smile painted on his lips, the handsome young man guided the woman, he absolutely adored, towards the semi-long waiting line to get on the ride. The happy couple passed the time by talking about everything and anything popped in their heads. They talked about how their college courses went the past Spring Semester. They spoke of how goofy their group of friends was, especially when two of their friends sabotaged each other's audition for the theater department's Spring musical.

Sumin still couldn't believe that Jungkook and Hoseok became infatuated with the same girl, who auditioned to play the main heroine in the play.

Slightly shaking her head, she cuddled up to Seokjin as she wrapped her arms around his waist, covering her goose-bumped riddled arms. She buried her face in his chest, inhaling the addictive scent of his cologne.

Seokjin peered down with an amused smirk plastered on his face.

"I'm starting to think that you only restocked my cologne with this scent because you personally like it," He shuffled their bodies up to the front of the line, "Not so much that you think that it's a scent that works well on me." He teased, chuckling at how precious Sumin was as she vigorously shook her head.

She then looked up with her doe-like gaze, “I bought it because you said that you personally liked it and it worked well for you,” She untangled himself for her but only for Seokjin to wrap his arms around her waist and rest his chin on her shoulder, “Don’t pin it on me, mister.” She stated as the ride operator asked if they wanted to ride alone or together while the cart slowly stopped in front of the couple.

Seokjin quickly answered that they wanted to ride together before Sumin had the chance to say some sarcastic remark.

The ride operator nodded and waved them over, allowing them to cross the safety line. The carnival worker politely helped Sumin into the cart then helped Seokjin afterward. The worker quickly did the safety check, making sure everything worked properly before pushing the start button.

The second the cart moved upwards, Sumin’s breath hitched. Panic settled in the pit of her tummy. Her breathing grew sporadic as the carriage continued going higher.

Out of the corner of his eye, Seokjin noticed how tense his princess was and reached over to grab her hands. He gently caressed the backs of her hands as he whispered words of encouragement and peppered her faces with kisses.

“I know it’s too late to say this, but don’t look down.”

“Oh, you’re damn right it’s too late to say that!”

A low whine escaped her mouth as she continued to resist taking a peek down below. The extremely stressed out girl flailed her legs as if she hoped that maybe her kicking her legs would speed up the ride. It didn’t, but a girl could dream, right?

Sumin whined, “Ah, how much longer to the top, Jinnie?” She asked, her voice shaky as she placed a trembling hand on her chest. She felt how her heart practically hammered against her chest, and then it suddenly stopped.

Slowly prying one of her eyes open, Sumin saw Seokjin’s hands tightly holding hers. That explained why she suddenly felt this warmth transfer to her cold hands. However, she began to feel more than just his body heat; she started to feel his courage. The longer he held onto her, the more she felt safe with him. With Seokjin by her side, whispering words of encouragement and showering her with all of the admiration he bore for her, she felt invincible.

Seokjin challenged her by facing her fear of heights. He showed her that while yes, it terrified her to no end, she still had a courageous side to her that needed just a little shove.

Ah, Sumin hated when he unknowingly proved a point to her… God damn it…

Gently opening her other eye, a faint gasp escaped her gentle lips. Her eyes widened at the marvelous view. The city lights twinkled like the stars in the night sky as tiny streaks of red and white gradually passed by the fairgrounds.

What she currently saw, at that moment, was the epitome of a brand-new world—and she owed it all to Seokjin.

Without a second thought, Sumin grabbed Seokjin’s face and kissed his cheek sweetly, letting out a giggle as she pulled away.

A boyish grin appeared on Seokjin’s princely face, “What was that for, princess?” He lightly questioned.

Sumin maintained her loving smile, “For always pushing me to be better,” She said, resting her head against his broad shoulder, “You always know me better than I know myself.” She added as Seokjin rested his head against hers.

“Well, think of it as me returning the favor. You constantly pushed me out of my comfort zone, so naturally, I’d do the same for you.” He stated with a meaningful expression as the Ferris-wheel momentarily came to a halt.

Sumin’s brows furrowed as tiny creases formed on her forehead. Curiosity washed against her body but soon evaporated as the couple heard loud booms followed by flashes of colorful lights.

The easily enamored young lady stared into the night sky in complete awe. Her eyes sparkled like the fireworks that lit up the sky. It was during that moment that Sumin briefly forgot that she was an adult with responsibilities. Responsibilities that came with being a college student who enrolled in a full course load of classes. She forgot about the endless pile of assignments, group projects, and presentations.

For only tonight, the only thing - the only person - she needed to focus on was the attractive fellow that sat next to her.

Which reminded her…

Taking a slow, deep breath, Sumin emptied the nerves that riddled her body. She repeated that action a few more times until she felt weightless. For the past few

months, unknown to Seokjin, she practiced how to confess her love to him. After all, this would be a gigantic leap for them in their relationship.

With a final deep exhale, the shy brunette turned her body towards her boyfriend as the fireworks continued to decorate the black canvas that covered the town. Flashes of color illuminated the Ferris-wheel as Sumin slowly leaned in with rosy-colored cheeks.

“Seokjin…?” She softly called out to him, causing the boy to hum in response; though, his eyes didn’t leave the firework show.

“Can you look at me for a second? I need to tell you something.”

“Oh, that is not something any boyfriend wants to hear coming out of their girlfriend’s mouth.”

“I’m serious, Jinnie!”

“I’m serious too, princess! The moment any girlfriend says that  to their significant other, it’s—”

Seokjin’s lips were captured by Sumin’s. Her hands slowly reached up to his neck, gently grasping it as she pulled him closer. Their chests pinned against one another as the couple gradually became lost in each other’s embrace. Seokjin’s hands rested on Sumin’s thighs. At the same time, her fingers entangled themselves in between locks of his hair, gently tugging at them as their kiss grew more fervent.

Tiny moans floated into the air, mixing with the powerful booms from the firecrackers, as the two battled for dominance; neither one of them allowed the other to win, as Seokjin and Sumin remained in their tight embrace for what seemed like an eternity.

Reluctantly, Sumin pulled away as she remembered why she called for him in the first place.

“As I was saying before we passionately kissed each other,” She smiled brightly, chuckling as she wiped away her remaining lip gloss off Seokjin’s swollen lips, “I need to tell you something, and no, I’m not confessing a relationship sin nor am I breaking up with you, you dramatic doofus.” Sumin paused again, soothing the butterflies that fluttered in her tummy, “I wanted to tell you that…I’m in love with you…” She finally confessed with bright red cheeks as passion burned in her eyes.

A massive sigh of relief escaped her lips as she finally and courageously announced that she was utterly head-over-heels in love with him. Now, she didn’t expect Seokjin to say it back since they both agreed, at the beginning of their relationship, that they would say, “I love you,” at their own pace, but a part of her felt afraid. Scared that maybe she said it a little too soon for Seokjin’s liking and now scared him off.

Oh, great. Here came the regret of announcing her love too early, hitting Sumin like a massive tidal wave as her boyfriend remained silent with a straight face.

Sumin sucked in air between clenched teeth, nodding her head as she scolded herself for confessing her love. Slowly, she turned her body, and as she was about to create space between them, she felt a pair of hands cup her cheeks and pull her into the most mind-blowing kiss ever.

Her eyes fluttered close as she became lost in the kiss, and during that heated exchange, she heard Seokjin say in between pecks,

“I’m…in…love…with…you…too…”

With one and final kiss, Seokjin pulled away, though he would instead continue kissing her as he showed her just how much he loved her. As he unraveled himself from her body, he couldn’t help but smirk as he noticed how flushed Sumin’s cheeks were.

He wasn’t going to lie, seeing his princess, a total blushing mess boosted his confidence as this sense of pride surged through his body. He unknowingly puffed out his broad chest as he flung a warm around Sumin’s chest while the Ferris-wheel slowly resumed operating.

“You know, I don’t think our future anniversaries are going to top this one.”

“Yeah. I think you might be right, but I’ll still love you even if our next year’s date consists of us chilling on my roof and stargazing.”

“Huh. I think you just gave me an idea for our annual Autumn dates!”

Slowly opening her eyes, a faint smile graced Sumin's face as Seokjin's words echoed throughout her mind.

And true to her boyfriend's word, he did set up a stargazing date for their yearly Autumn dates.

It still baffled her mind that he was always consistent whenever he suggested something unexpectedly, but that was something that made her fall more in love with Seokjin.

Speaking of love…

Peering down with an exciting twinkle in her eye, Sumin took a deep breath before shouting,

“If I recall that night correctly, I did not confess my love to you until the week after!”

Not even a minute later, Sumin heard Seokjin’s fake laughter, causing the amused young woman to genuinely chuckle as she shook her head, slowly climbing down the Ferris-wheel. There was no point in staying up there if she didn’t see any abnormalities in the shadows.

As the fearless lady descended the ladder, Sumin could hear Seokjin make a few jabs at her memory—or lack of one.

“And another thing, my gorgeous yet always wrong princess! How could I’ve told the story wrong when my memory is ten times better than yours!? So, there! I win!” bragged Seokjin, completely forgetting the fact this booming voice could easily attract a horde of the undead.

A low growl escaped from the annoyed girl’s lip as she paused in her steps. Her gaze drifted upward as the anger bubbled within her chest. Her grip tightened on the rusty metal of the ladder; her knuckles turned white, which meant that the poor girl was seconds away from punching her oh-so-charming boyfriend.

Was it too late to leave Seokjin behind while she journeyed off to find the Fireflies? After all, her boyfriend could easily manage a bunch of zombies on his own.

Forcing out a sigh, Sumin continued her journey down, loving yet hating the fact that she could never leave him behind.

She loved him too damn much…

Little by little, Sumin gradually closed the gap between herself and the sweet ground that she wished her feet stepped on as opposed to the tiny stairs. As much as she didn’t mind heights anymore, she would rather be on the floor if she could help it. More comfortable to defend herself and Seokjin if necessary.

“Ah, I hope he’s doing….” She mumbled to herself, stopping abruptly when her eyes picked up something strange into the distance. She halted in her place. Her eyes squinted, hoping that it would help her vision become sharper. Then, her breath hitched as it grew sporadic. Her chest tightened as she gripped the ladder once again.

This heaviness of complete and utter dread crashed into Sumin’s body like a gigantic tidal wave that hit into a city. She slowly felt the wind knock out of her as the horrific shrieks drew near.

Then, her heart completely stopped the moment she heard Seokjin cry out to her in terror.

“Seokjin, just leave me!” She commanded sternly as the adrenaline-fueled woman rushed down the ladder, no longer caring if she fell from the ladder. Sumin was close to the ground anyway and could quickly get into a combat-ready stance while Seokjin dashed to safety.

Seokjin’s safety would forever and always be a top priority for Sumin…

As the worried young woman descended from the maintenance ladder, practically near the gravel, she heard Seokjin idiotically taunt the undead as they surrounded him, desiring so much to eat his warm flesh. However, the secretly terrified young man couldn’t let his fear consume him. He needed to protect Sumin as he could never imagine living his life without her. Since the start of this horrendous outbreak, the lovestruck man vowed to protect his beloved and ensured that no harm came her way.

He hasn’t failed yet, nor would he ever fail at keeping his promise because, just like Sumin, Seokjin’s utmost priority is his girlfriend’s safety.

Using his sacred promise as his motivator to keep fighting, Seokjin peeked into the scope and fired shot after shot with his semi-automatic rifle, readying another round of ammo as his ammunition clip emptied.

Just as he pulled out the emptied ammo, Seokjin felt something sharp swipe at his right arm, creating a gash on his bicep as blood streamed down and stained his black leather jacket; though, it didn’t matter as no one would notice it.  Well, the horde of undead caught it as the addicting scent of fresh plasma enticed them even more, sending them into a frenzy.

The injured man winced as the pain grew increasingly unbearable, but he refused to stop fighting. The moment he ceased firing, they would attack Sumin and more than likely kill her.

No…

Seokjin would never allow that to happen…

Not as long as his heart continued beating…

Exhausting his last amount of strength, Seokjin suddenly stopped firing and rammed the end of his semi-automatic rifle into one of the zombies before shooting a few bullets into its decaying body. As the adrenaline-fueled protector readied to fight off more zombies, he failed to realize that he had a few rushing at him from his flank. As their growls grew close, Seokjin knew it was too late to fire a few rounds at them while five more zombies ran at him from the front.

No matter which direction he focused on, those undead bastards would aggressively claw at him before devouring his juicy flesh. However, he couldn’t let that thought deter him from his personal objective; his mission of getting Sumin to the Fireflies, so those groups of doctors could create a cure that would one day restore humanity on this lonely planet.  

That’s why he had to keep fighting….

Breathing deeply, Seokjin readied his weapon, releasing bullet after bullet at the horde in front of him, ignoring the ones that rushed at him from behind.

But he also neglected his ride-or-die partner…

A loud grunt entered one ear and exited through the other, followed by the sound of a sharp object impaling one flesh after the other before bodies dropped right behind the handsome man. Their decaying, decapitated heads rolled towards the assailant’s feet before the person kicked to the side like a soccer ball.

Seokjin faintly scoffed as he glanced behind his shoulder and whispered, “And I thought it was my job to save you, p-princess…” as the last bar of his energy finally depleted. His face paled from the amount of blood that slowly drained from his arm. His eyes shuttered close as Seokjin gave in to the exhaustion that plagued him. His legs wobbled as his knees buckled in, ready for his entire body to collapse onto the pavement.

Yep…Seokjin depleted all of his energy…

However, as he was seconds away from dropping to the floor, Sumin quickly sheathed her Katana and grabbed Seokjin before he could. She then wrapped his uninjured arm around her shoulders as she hoisted Seokjin and supported his weight with all the strength she mustered minutes before.

“C-come on, Jinnie…” A few grunts left her lips, “You c-can’t give up on me just yet.” Sumin’s voice quavered as she struggled to reach for Seokjin’s assault rifle. Her fingertips grazed the strap a few times before she successfully wrapped them around the leather material and hung it around her boyfriend’s neck. Of course, she switched the rifle’s safety on before doing that. Insult to injury would be that she caused the death of her boyfriend.

“Alright…” She softly began as she surveyed her surroundings, hearing loud shrieks in the distance. Terror settled in her face, but Sumin didn’t allow it to show. No. The second she let the fear win, it was game over for her and Seokjin.

And Sumin would never allow that to occur, so she had to think of a place for them to hide.

Her mind went into overdrive as she thought of all the possible places for them to wait for the horde to lose interest in them quietly. The site also had to provide them enough cover that could not only disguise their scent but ward off the stench of blood as she patched Seokjin’s deep wound.

Sumin’s concerned gaze glanced at her boyfriend’s limp and severely injured arm as streams of blood stained his scarred hand.

Quickly shaking her head, the worried girlfriend forcibly pushed away any possible worst-case scenarios as it would neither help her or Seokjin in their current situation.

Suddenly, another thunderous, bone-chilling scream echoed in the eerie atmosphere, and this time it sounded nearby.

“Shit…!” She cursed through clenched teeth as she readjusted Seokjin’s weight against hers. “Okay, do you remember where the Hall of Mirrors was at?” She asked, guiding them away from the pile of lifeless zombies.

Seokjin groaned a few times. His eyes fought to stay open, but he found it difficult to do so. Shit, he barely registered Sumin’s question. That was how drained he was.

Sumin’s brows furrowed as wrinkles formed on her forehead. Her heart tightened from Seokjin’s lack of response.

“You know what, it’s okay, Jinnie,” Sumin forced an affectionate yet tired smile, “I think I remember where it was at,” She said, hunching her body as Seokjin’s weight slowly collapsed on top of her tired body. Still, she exerted enough of her depleting energy to keep them standing.

“Alright, let’s go.” She whispered, hobbling the two of them over to the entrance of the Hall of Mirrors. She kept her right arm anchored on Seokjin’s waist. At the same time, her left hand interlocked with his as she practically dragged them towards the entryway.

In between her grunts, she suddenly heard Seokjin let out this light chuckle. Sumin couldn’t help but giggle as her boyfriend’s delirious expression was priceless; though, she shouldn’t find his dying state hilarious. She believed the dehydration slowly crept on her emotional state and took a mental note to take a few big gulps from her canister. Just one of the many containers filled with water that Sumin and Seokjin filtered by boiling out the impurities from a river they stumbled upon a few weeks back.

But before she could dive into the hilarious memory associated with that river, a string of slurred words entered her ears followed with pain-induced groans.

Sumin forced air through her nose, “Seokjin, save what little strength you have. Okay?” She kindly suggested, though, it sounded more of a demand.

“B-But…princess…” Seokjin winced as his eyes opened slightly, “We can f-finally settle o-our bet once and f-for all.” He finished, stumbling over some words.

Sumin briefly halted their steps but swiftly resumed as they couldn’t afford to stop with a pack of starving zombies on their trails. 

With a raised brow, Sumin asked what he meant by his rather vague statement as she and Seokjin finally passed through the entryway to the Hall of Mirrors. Correction. The place was now a dark, spacious area surrounded by broken mirrors and cracked glass decorated the pathway.

“I mean, S-Sumin…” He coughed twice, causing the tired girl to become alarmed and even more concerned for Seokjin’s wellbeing, “Don’t you r-remember on our fourth a-anniversary that y-you a-and I made a bet—” Seokjin let out a loud cry as Sumin accidentally bumped his injured arm against the wall as her body finally gave up on her. The two of them collapsed onto the floor, panting heavily.

“Sorry, Seokjin.” The exhausted young lady mumbled as she took a minute to catch her breath before moving his body to a more comfortable position.

Seokjin made a face before continuing where he left off.

“As I w-was saying before you c-carelessly d-dropped me,” Sumin shot him an icy glare, resulting with him swiftly apologizing before resuming, “Anyway, you a-and I made a b-bet on our f-fourth a-anniversary because neither one of us h-had y-yet to come inside here,” Seokjin repeated, hoping that something – anything – triggered Sumin to have this lightbulb moment.

Then, like clockwork, she did.

“Oh, my God…” She trailed on as she took off her jacket and tied her hair up in a pony-tail, “Are you talking about that stupid bet that you created because you were too much of a chicken to go in this place by yourself?” She questioned, emphasizing a specific word.

Seokjin gawked but let out a few more coughs, “That b-bet isn’t stupid!” He declared, wincing loudly as Sumin carefully removed the torn leather jacket sleeve from his arm. The fabric lightly grazed his gaping wound, creating an endless wave of this unbearable stinging sensation.

Sumin smiled wanly as she gently held his injured arm, assessing the severity of the wound.

“I know you’re in pain, Jinnie, but the bet was stupid, and I’ll tell you why.” She said in a matter-of-fact tone, not realizing that Seokjin closed his eyes, surrendering to the darkness that slowly swamped his mind. Sumin didn’t notice this yet, but Seokjin sadly began reacting to the virus that caused this damn outbreak in the first place.

Minutes rolled by and still no snippy remark from Seokjin. Panic settled in Sumin as she immediately shifted her focus on him. She gently cupped his marked-up cheek; her eyes dripped with fear.

“Jinnie?” She lightly tapped his face while the anxiety settled within her chest, “You gotta stay away, okay? Just stay awake for me. P-please…” She desperately begged as tears formed in the brim of her eyes. “After all, you have to travel down memory lane with me on how that stupid bet came to be…” She stated in a soft-spoken voice as she applied pressure to his wound, refusing to give up on him.

Sumin’s eyes fluttered close, slowly breathing out of her nostrils. Her mind wandered off, transporting her back to that fun evening.

Harden stares. Smug smiles. Two people proudly stood in front of each other, hiding one of their hands behind their backs. The unusual duo anchored their bodies in front of the infamous entryway to the Hall of Mirrors, calculating the other person’s next move in their fun game of rock-paper-scissors. Rumors surrounded the infamous carnival attraction as legends said that a couple of fair-goers had unexpectedly grown ill and currently fought for their lives in the downtown hospital. Knowing that only enticed every single customer to want to brave it out and check out the attraction for themselves.

But not for Seokjin and Sumin. Nuh-uh. This quirky couple would rather look like complete fools in front of the infamous fair attraction than go inside.

And this all started because Seokjin stubbornly refused to go inside the Hall of Mirrors by himself.

Naturally, Sumin called him a coward; thus, it led them to their current predicament.

With an arrogant smile painted on her beautiful face, Sumin’s stare narrowed as if she had telepathic abilities, allowing her to read Seokjin’s next move.

“Stare at me all you want, princess, but you will never defeat the rock-paper-scissors champion!” taunted Seokjin with an equally cocky smirk plastered on his gorgeous face.

Sumin snorted; her eyes briefly flickered to the side.

“You and I both know that there’s no such thing as a champion of rock-paper-scissors. You giant doofus!” She quipped in a high-pitched voice, earning her a few odd glances from a few bystanders.

Yeah. That reaction resulted in Sumin’s boyfriend doing his infamous windshield wiper laugh, causing a couple of people to stop in their tracks with a confused expression.

The embarrassed college student hung her head low. Her cheeks heated from unwanted attention.

Shyly, Sumin lifted her head, uttering a few apologies to the strangers before shooting Seokjin a cold stare as he continued cackling for a good three minutes.

The agitated brunette blew air upward from her mouth before stalking up to her hysterical boyfriend and punched him in his bicep.

Seokjin yelped but showed no sign of his laughter ceasing any time soon, which further annoyed Sumin.

Finally fed up with her cackling boyfriend, Sumin shouted, “Enough! I’ll go inside the stupid hall of mirrors with you!” She walked towards the carnival worker, dragging Seokjin by his wrist while his laughter slowly faded away. He quickly wiped away the tears that formed because he laughed so hard that his stomach ached.

Ah, he hadn’t a good laugh like that since Namjoon broke their Chemistry professor’s beaker and set off the smoke alarms in the classroom.

Good times right there…

Softly shaking his head, Seokjin handed the worker two entry tickets. Then the employee granted them entrance into the Hall of Mirrors.

Gradually, the couple walked further into the hallway. The light from the sunset faded in the background as the young pair went deeper into the creepy attraction.

Without a second thought, Sumin wrapped her arms around Seokjin’s forearm and clung to her protector. The frightened girl shuffled alongside her boyfriend, disregarding the fact that she could’ve easily tripped him. Her heart pounded against her chest as she caught glimpses of her funny reflections in the mirrors.

Tiny whines left Sumin’s lips as she cutely stomped her feet because Seokjin wanted to admire his humorous reflection.

His action shocked her tremendously since it was Seokjin’s idea in the fucking first place that they played rock-paper-scissors to see if Sumin accompanied him or not inside this terrifying place. Now, she started believing that the attractive idiot she called a boyfriend hustled her.  

If that were the case, then what she was about to do next, she wouldn’t feel guilty whatsoever.

With both a devious smirk and gleam on her innocent face, Sumin turned her attention towards Seokjin, slightly tilting her head.

“Hey, Jinnie…”

“What’s up?”

“Wanna make a bet, especially since it’s our fourth anniversary together?”

Seokjin blinked a few times. His lips thinned as this uneasy silence covered them like a warm blanket on a Winter’s night.

His stare darted between Sumin’s innocent face and the random stranger squeezed by them.

The confused man opened his mouth but soon closed it as the longer he stared at his girlfriend’s doe-like eyes, the more he realized that there was a trap waiting for him.

With knitted brows and taking a step backward, Seokjin hesitantly took the bait and asked what kind of bet Sumin talked about.

“Simple, Seokjin,” She gestured to their rather cramped surroundings, “Since you and I both do not want to be in here any longer than we have to,” She then pointed towards the direction in front of them, “And judging from the bone-chilling screams that echo every five seconds, it seems that this place is only going to become even scarier.” She explained, though, not really getting her point across.

However, that was the beauty of their relationship. Seokjin always understood what went on in Sumin’s beautiful yet devious brain.

And sadly, for him, this was a bet that would result in his loss…

Looking briefly displeased, Seokjin sighed heavily before interlacing their fingers together and continuing their journey inside the spooky attraction.

“So…what happens if you lose the bet?”

“Me? Ha. That’s comical, Jinnie. Tell me. Who’s the braver one between us two?”

“Well, that depends princess on what we’re doing, you big goof.”

Sumin scoffed, rolling her eyes, “You just don’t wanna admit that I’m braver than you.”

Now, it was Seokjin’s turn to scoff.

“Uh-huh. Let’s see if you keep that mindset once we near the end of this hallway since I believe that is when we heard the most terrifying induced shrieks.”

“You’re on!”

And true to his words…Sumin freaked out first and punched one of the costumed workers in the stomach.

Yeah…

Safe to say that the carnival manager banned the couple from entering the Hall of Mirrors ever again.

Well, at least there was a positive aspect of this epidemic…

Seokjin and Sumin were allowed inside the attraction; though, the concerned woman wished it were under better circumstances…

A defeated expression washed over Sumin’s face. Yet, the anxious but determined young woman refused to allow Seokjin to succumb to the deadly virus. A few sniffles echoed slightly as Sumin maintained pressure on the wound, allowing the disinfectant to have some sort of effect on the injury.

“Come on…” The distressed girl repeatedly uttered as tears cascaded down her dirty and bloodied cheeks. Out of anger, Sumin threw the blood-soaked gauze and hurriedly applied another, cleaning and dressing the gash some more. The upset girl’s tears landed on Seokjin’s arm, unknowingly stirring the man from his pain-induced slumber.

A couple of faint groans escaped his precious lips as Seokjin’s eyes slowly fluttered open. He slowly turned his head; his gaze landed on Sumin’s.

A small smile displayed on the handsome man’s face before he started to reach out to Sumin with his injured room, stubbornly ignoring the severe shooting pains that surged through his veins.

“…n-now…why is m-my princess crying…?” whispered Seokjin as his bloodied hand cupped Sumin’s soft cheek, “Beautiful w-women shouldn’t s-shed any t-tears…” He added, successfully causing his concerned girlfriend to chuckle.

Sumin leaned into his warm touch, maintaining her solemn smile, before grasping his hand with hers.

“G-gross Jinnie…” She teased, forcing herself to make light of the situation for not only her sake but Seokjin’s as well, “I don’t want you touching me with your bloody fingers.” She added, removing her hands from his bloody one as she resumed tending to his wound. Using her jacket sleeve, the brunette carefully wiped away the tears that threatened to fall. The last thing she needed was her purposely causing more minuscule pain to Seokjin.

Seokjin tried laughing, but they soon turned into small coughing fits. The injured man rolled his eyes; though, he maintained his tiny, playful smile.

“Well, I’m s-sorry that I c-couldn’t w-wash my hands before doing t-this—” Seokjin suddenly yelped as he felt this unbearable pain shoot up his arm once again. Then, he felt a cooling sensation that followed shortly. Wondering what it was, Seokjin’s gaze followed Sumin’s arms and then noticed yet another gauze slowly soak up his tainted blood. Not even a minute later, that excruciating ache returned.

“Ouch woman!! Be a little gentler next time!!” cried the injured man, shooting glares at his girlfriend.

Sumin gawked, “You know what…I take my tears back now,” Her face became emotionless, “Since you’ll be fine now seeing as that you finally stopped stuttering caused by that excruciating pain you were in earlier.” She said blankly, blinking a few times before turning her back towards him to put away their shared medical supplies.

Tiny chuckles escaped Seokjin’s chest as he slowly sat up, examining his bandaged-up arm. He stared at his wound as curiosity slowly washed over him. His eyes trailed over to Sumin and instantly noticed that her left hand dawned a bandage. Then, it occurred to him. She must’ve fused her blood with the disinfectant and made a quick cure for his wound before the virus had a chance to completely take over.

With the corners of his mouth turning upwards, Seokjin shuffled his way over to Sumin and warmly placed a hand on her head. Love glowed in his eyes as he stared affectionately at her backside.

“Well, it’s thanks to you that I’ll be fine,” but not even a second after saying that, he winced; his hand rested on the side of his torso. “Damn, did those undead bastards get me somewhere else too?” He bitterly thought but was soon thankful that he didn’t feel any fresh blood on his fingers. However, he didn’t want to alarm Sumin yet again. He saw how anxious she became when those zombies severely injured his arm. Seokjin couldn’t put her through that heartache for a second time.

Through gritted teeth, the stubborn fool repeated that he’d be okay and that he could never die.

“As long as I’m breathing and standing before you, I will always protect you,” He pressed his plump lips to Sumin’s temple, “Again, nothing and no one can kill me.” He declared; his eyes burned with determination as if he made another sacred pact to himself.

A faint scoff escapes her lips, unbothered to show her face to him.

“What if someone is successful and does kill you? Then, what, Jinnie?” She asked; her breath hitched for a split second. “I-I can’t afford to lose you…” She added, muttering as her voice softly broke in the beginning. Then, Sumin closed her eyes, slowly exhaling through her nose as she desperately tried taming the anxiety that gradually swallowed her body. The thought of losing Seokjin always triggered it for her. There were days where she wished that she were this emotionless, ruthless killing machine immune to emotions such as love, but that wasn’t the case.

It was thanks to those beautiful emotions that Sumin was herself. If she was this robot, then she wouldn’t have met Seokjin.

And with that final thought, the uneasy young woman turned towards her boyfriend, facing him with a brave expression as Sumin swung her backpack around her shoulders and tightened the straps.

“And that is why I will not stop at nothing until I find that safe haven.” She declared suddenly yet firmly; her eyes sparked with this undying resolve for her personal mission. “You hear me, Jinnie? I will find us that secure place. I s-swear to you.” She finished, letting out a few sniffles as her eyes became glossy.

Seokjin remained speechless, unsure of how to answer Sumin’s question. He was also taken back from Sumin’s sudden declaration; however, his mind soon drifted back to her earlier question.

Truth be told, he never thought about his death since that was something, he couldn’t afford to even imagine it.

No.

The moment he thought about someone killing him, it would be game over. His body would succumb to the fear that Seokjin channeled countlessly into courage. He needed to be strong for him and Sumin.

He just had to…

Tapping his chin, Seokjin hummed in response before wrapping a warm around Sumin’s shoulders, pulling towards him. His chin now rested nicely on top of her head while his courageous girlfriend finally broke down and sobbed in his chest, dampening his shirt. She could only hold that brave face for so long.

“Aw, Minnie…” He cooed, softly rubbing her back and sweetly kissing her head, “You don’t have to worry about keeping me safe, and do you want to know why?” He asked softly; his eyes blazed with absolute devotion and admiration.

Sumin nodded her head but remained glued in his broad chest as more tiny sniffles escaped her precious lips.

Seokjin couldn’t help but chuckle in response, finding his girlfriend extremely cute at that moment.

“Well, the reason why you don’t have to worry about keeping me safe is that I’m already safe, princess.”

“Huh? How’s that possible, Seokjin?”

Then, he grinned widely before answering,

“Because I’m always safe whenever I’m with you, sweetheart.” He happily stated, earning himself a light shove and angry stare from Sumin. “Ah, that tiny push was worth it since you’re no longer upset and shedding your beautiful tears when they aren’t necessary.” He added, smiling brightly. His smile was so vast that his cheekbones practically touched his eyes, causing them to disappear.

Sumin made a face, “Unbelievable…” She trailed on, walking away from him, “After all these years, you still manage to become cheesier than your last attempt!” She shouted over her shoulder, wearing this amused yet teasing smirk on her face.

Seokjin shook his head, forever enjoying their endless game of cat and mouse.  

“I swear, I must be a masochist…” He humorously thought before chasing after his woman.

Inch by inch, Sumin peeked her head out; her gaze flickered toward every single direction, making sure the close was clear before leaving their hiding spot.

Seokjin’s breath fanned the back of her neck, creating goosebumps to appear. Tiny giggles emitted from her lips as Sumin hunched her shoulders, hoping that it would stop the rather affectionate man that she called her boyfriend.

However, it did not. If anything, the lovesick fool saw his girlfriend’s protests as a challenge. A challenge that he’d surely win.

Without a second thought, Seokjin wrapped a protective arm around Sumin’s shoulders, pressing his chest against her back. Then, he slowly lowered his head; his plump lips hovered over her ear.

“So…is the close clear?” He whispered; his hot, breathy tone caused the poor girl to become flustered as a small, yet enticing moan escaped her innocent lips.

Then, seconds later, a loud smack echoed throughout the dark, empty halls of the destroyed carnival attraction.

Seokjin grunted, rubbing the area where his girlfriend smacked him.

“Did you really have to go for my chest? You know how sensitive I am in that area.” He whined, pouting cutely as he continued rubbing his injured chest.

Sumin scoffed, ignoring his rather cute complaints, “Obviously. Why else would I slap you in your most sensitive spot beside your humongous ego.”

“Ego? That’s a weird name to call my—”

“Finish that sentence and no sex once we find the safe haven.”

Seokjin flinched. His face tensed from the mere thought of not being intimate with his girlfriend. Then, he hung his head low, “I’ll behave, princess.”

The triumphant young lady uttered a quick, “good,” before placing an innocent peck on his scratched-up cheek. She then gestured towards the exit, announcing to him that it was safe to run towards the fence that faced the abandoned, ruined mall. During the couple’s attempt at escaping the hungry horde, Sumin noticed a destroyed wall in front of the mall that she and Seokjin frequented for many years.

“You ready? Do you have enough energy to dash towards that gate?”

“I think I can manage, sweetheart.”

Tightening the strap that held her sword in place, Sumin slowly inhaled then released the pent-up stress and other frustration through her nostrils.

With a look of determination on Sumin’s smudged up face, the fearless woman charged out of the entrance; her gun fired round after round, emptying the clip before she quickly inserted another ammo clip. She briefly took note of how many clips she remained before she completely ran out.

Running behind her, with an infinite release of ammo from Seokjin’s semi-automatic, the protective yet still injured man guarded his girlfriend, protecting her like a royal knight for his princess as he safeguarded her from any harm. He shot down any undead bodies that rushed at Sumin, finding it a bit therapeutic as killing those zombies was another form of revenge for him.

Funny, huh?

Gradually, the abandoned mall became large as it appeared in the running couple’s sights. Their hearts drummed against their chest as they felt the adrenaline deplete from their bodies, but they couldn’t give up. Not just yet. They needed to find a safe haven and restore humanity to this rotting planet.  

They just had too…

Skidding towards the open gate, Sumin held it up, widening the gap so Seokjin could fit in the hole. She breathed heavily while her eyes homed in the rushing horde that slowly closed the distance between them. With her free hand, she aimed her gun at the dead crowded, firing a few times. The frightened girl landed head-shots and permanently killed them.

“Come on, Sumin!” hollered Seokjin as this wave of anxiety washed over him as well. Being on the other side of the fence did not sit well with him whatsoever—scratch that. Not standing right beside Sumin did not sit well with him at all.

Just as the worried man readied his weapon, Sumin scrambled through the hole, earning herself a small cut on the back of her hand.

Seokjin instantly noticed, grabbing her uninjured hand, and pulled her towards the ruined building. The exhausted boy tapped into any reserve energy he stored. At the same time, Sumin addressed his wounds earlier as they continued their mad dash for the broken mall building.

With the entrance doors in sight, Seokjin practically shoved Sumin inside before following after. He swiftly scanned his surroundings, looking for anything that could be used as a barricade. Seconds later, his eyes focused on a pile of pipes.

“That should work…” He frantically thought as he grabbed a couple and stuck in between handles. For added measure, he rolled over some of the fallen metal trash bins, completely ignoring the surging pain in his right arm. Even though Sumin wiped away the virus from Seokjin’s body, his gash still remained and gradually reopened.

A few winces escaped his plump lips, instantly alerting Sumin. She tucked her pistol in its holster before helping him push the trash bins.

Playfully shaking her head, Sumin gave him a look, teasing him in the process.

Seokjin rolled his eyes, scoffing before flashing her a boyish grin.

“You know I could’ve rolled that by myself.”

“Uh-huh. Sure,” Sumin pointed at his injured arm, “And that’s why your wound reopened, doofus.” She stated before maneuvering the metal bin in front of the door, securing its position.

Seokjin jokingly mocked her as he felt a slight tug on his wrist. He obediently followed Sumin, sitting down when instructed to. His eyes trailed up, noting how breathtaking his princess was despite the many cuts, bruises, and dried up blood that decorated her face. Soon, the corners of his mouth curved upwards as he continued watching Sumin redo his bandages. He couldn’t quite explain it, but he felt like he transported back to the day he first fell in love with her.

And it all because of the angelic smile that graced her beautiful face…

“Okay, all done.” Announced Sumin, tightening the knot on the bandage. “Next time you reopen up your gash, I’m gonna let it get it infected.” She warned with an overly sweet tone before placing an innocent kiss on his cheek.

Seokjin chuckled, jokingly saluting his woman before standing up. He grabbed his weapon and flung the strap around his shoulder, allowing it to lazily hang beside him as he and Sumin journeyed deeper inside the empty mall.

Walking past broken glass displays, where only a few shards remained hanging on the wall, Sumin mumbled the name of each storefront. Suddenly, she halted, tugging on Seokjin’s jacket sleeve.

Seokjin peered down, asking her if she was okay, and why they stopped in their tracks.

Without saying a word, Sumin simply pointed at the storefront. The concerned young man followed her finger and soon gasped.

“Is that—”

“Yup.”

Sumin took a step forward, walking towards the broken counter. She observed the discarded plastic cups and open cash registers. She clicked her tongue, devastated seeing one of their favorite food places utterly destroyed. She turned her head but quickly looked away after seeing the bloody hand prints that decorated the door that led to the kitchen.

The bottom of her lip disappeared as Sumin closed her tear pooled eyes. A few drops trickled down her cheeks, alerting Seokjin. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder before pulling her body towards his. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his cheek against her head as he whispered loving words, hoping to soothe away her sadness.

“It’s just not fair, Jinnie.”

“I know, princess, but at least we have each other.”

Sumin sniffled before mumbling, “Kind of like how Hoseok had Lainey?”

Jinnie chuckled at her sudden lighthearted comment as he pulled away from his now smiling girlfriend.

“No. I think you’re thinking of Renae, sweetheart.” He corrected. Though he secretly could be wrong as he too couldn’t remember which girl, he and Sumin successfully paired Hoseok up with for his third blind date.

Quickly wiping away any remaining tears, Sumin cleared her throat a few times before speaking,

“I don’t think so, Jinnie. It could be this one girl. Oh, what’s her name…?” She trailed on, snapping her fingers in hopes that it’d help her remember. Then, it finally clicked. “Ah! Bunny, I believe, was her nickname!”

Seokjin shook his head briefly humming before correcting Sumin yet again.

“Nope. Wrong again, princess. She ended up with Jungkook, remember?”

Sumin lips fell slightly open, silently berating herself for having the worst memory. Granted, she and Seokjin busied themselves with saving the human race and fighting off countless undead hordes, so that played into her favor.

With her brows knitted together and her lips thinned, Sumin thought long and hard on who the fuck ended up being Hoseok’s girlfriend. Alys? No, she remembered that she wound up with Namjoon. Kenzie? That was also another no since she ended up with Jimin—or was it her good friend Lindy? Oh, my God. Sumin drew a fucking blank on the name as she swiftly ruled out another friend of hers, Bean, who ended up being Yoongi’s adorable girlfriend.

“Fuck!” She mentally cursed as she gnawed on her bottom lip, desperate to figure out who ended up with Hoseok.

Seokjin, on the other hand, laughed at how serious yet adorable Sumin looked. He found it especially cute when her cheeks puffed out as the frustration slowly washed over her face.

Should he be a good boyfriend and help her? The amused young man quickly weighed his options, finding both the pros and cons to helping Sumin out but decided to assist his poor, agitated girlfriend.

“It’s Nina.”

“Nina? Oh! Nina! I’m a dummy. I can’t believe I forgot her.”

Seokjin gave a lop-sided grin as he wrapped a loving yet protective arm around Sumin and repeated, “It’s okay,” and “I still love you, stupidity and all.” He then guided her away from the ruined food court and resumed their journey inside the mall.

Laughter echoed throughout the three abandoned floors of the humongous building. For that brief moment, Sumin and Seokjin were simply two lovebirds on a simple date.

The loving couple recollected all the times they ended up at the mall after an extravagant dinner. Seokjin gently caressed the back of Sumin’s date, releasing a chuckle or two as she recalled the time Jungkook stole a black leather jacket.

“I’m still trying to figure out why he thought it was wise to steal the mannequin as well.” Sumin laughed, smiling brightly as she oddly felt relaxed.

Seokjin shrugged, “I have no clue, but with Jungkook, I never do. That boy has always been a strange one.” Suddenly, sadness clouded his handsome features, halting his steps, the more he thought about Jungkook and the rest of his close friends. He had yet to receive any news on their whereabouts. The last time he heard anything was 7 years ago.

7…long…years…

Before he could dwell on his friend’s untimely demise, he felt a warm hand cup his dirty cheek. His solemn gaze trailed down and met Sumin’s loving and comforting stare.

“Hey. Think positive, Seokjin.”

“How can I? For all I know, they could be long dead, and I wasn’t there for them, like the older brother I was supposed to be for them.”

Sumin sighed but quickly validated his feelings. Shit. She felt the same way about her close friends and family, and she allowed the guilt to eat away at her conscience. However, it wasn’t until the 3rd year of this pandemic that she turned the blame into resolve and swore that she would avenge everyone she loved.

Softly rubbing Seokjin’s marked up cheek, Sumin plastered a sweet smile and said,

“Once we find that safe haven, we will go look for your friends, okay? I mean, they have Namjoon and Yoongi with them, so the rest of them can’t be dead. Alright?”

The distraught boy nodded his head as the corner of Seokjin’s mouth twitched.

His princess always knew what to say, especially to light a fire underneath his depressed ass.

He sweetly pressed his lips against her forehead and muttered a quick, “thanks,” before taking her hand once more and resumed their exploration.

The completely smitten couple journeyed to the third floor, both of them finding it humorous that they actually walked up the broken escalators. Years ago, when it worked properly, the duo always rode it up to their designated floor. Even when it became evident that walking up the escalators were so much faster. However, they didn’t care.

They were proud to be called the “lazy” couple within their group of friends. Shoot. Sumin secretly found it amusing that they were dubbed that since she and Seokjin studied medicine before this horrific pandemic began.

Funny how everything turned out for the two of them. Seokjin became her protector, and she carried the cure that could potentially reverse humanity back to its original state.

Jogging away from Seokjin with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, Sumin peered behind her shoulder, enticing her boyfriend to chase her. Soft laughs escaped her sweet lips as she picked up the pace, wanting to increase the distance between their bodies.

“Be careful, princess!” advised Seokjin, feeling the anxiety slowly settle within the pit of his stomach. His worried gaze remained on Sumin’s retreating backside as the gap grew wider with each passing second.

Out of frustration, the concerned fellow ruffled his hair before running after his woman. Within minutes, Seokjin closed the gap between them and protectively wrapped his arms around Sumin’s torso as he shouted,

“Gotcha!”

Sumin laughed, smiling radiantly as her boyfriend peppered her face with soft kisses and whispers of adoration.

“You know that I love you to the sun and back, Sumin. Right?”

“Of course, Jinnie,” She turned her body, though, she was careful to not whack him with the hilt of her Katana, “And you know that I love you to the moon and back. Right?” She said sweetly and softly.

Seokjin hummed in response as his brows furrowed together.

Sumin gawked, lightly slapping his chest, and pulling away from him.

“I’m kidding, princess! Please come back! I need you in my arms, or else I’ll die.”

“Oh, my goodness. You’re such a drama king, Jinnie.”

“Well, yes, but that’s beside the point! Please give me a hug?”

Now, it was Sumin’s turn to playfully think about it. Then, not even a minute later, the stubborn young lady simply shrugged and walked up to her pouty boyfriend. She cupped the back of his neck, locking her fingers into place, and gently pulled Seokjin’s face towards hers. Their noses lightly bumped into each other as their dirt-stained foreheads pressed against one another.

The two of them, dawning warm smiles, remained lost in each other’s gaze for what seemed like forever until something captured Seokjin’s attention.

“Is that one of those luxurious contest cars?”

Sumin perked up her brow as she peered behind her shoulder. Her eyes widened as she untangled herself from Seokjin and ran up to the car, much to his dismay.

Curiosity got the best of her as her calloused fingers traced the cold metal of the car. She couldn’t help but admire how beautiful the car still looked despite its surroundings destroyed.

Well, until she heard a loud smash, causing the poor, unknowing girl to flinch as Seokjin swung his assault rifle back to its original position, blissfully unaware of Sumin’s death glare. He then carefully reached through the broken window and tried to feel for the door lock. His fingertips grazed the car door handle a few times before finally latching over the lock. Seokjin pulled it towards him, the two of them heard a click before swinging it open.

Like the gentleman he was, the attractive young man gestured towards the door, politely bowing his head at Sumin.

“Your chariot, my lady.” Joked Seokjin in a poorly imitated British accent.

Sumin chuckled lightly as she shook her head, brushing her shoulder against his.

“Why, thank you, my good sir.” She played along before removing her Katana from her back, making it easier for her to maneuver inside the vehicle.

Using the sleeve of her leather jacket, Sumin carefully brushed off the broken window shards from the car seat.

“You know, I’m thankful that the car battery died because you would’ve definitely attracted a crowd of zombies to us, you impatient dork.” She quipped, shimming her way towards the backseat. The exhausted lady let out a massive sigh of relief as she rested her head against the leather seats. Through a tired, cloudy gaze, Sumin squinted at the door and then realized something.

“Hey, Jinnie.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“You’re a jerk for having me shimmy my way towards the backseat,” She then reached over the backdoor and unlocked it, “When you could’ve just reached even further and unlocked this door as well.” She finished, opening it up and flashing him a knowing smile.

Seokjin rolled his eyes as he teasingly closed the door on her before finally entering the car. He quickly placed his gun on the passenger seat and then put both hands on the steering wheel.

With a boyish grin written on his face, Seokjin glanced over his shoulder and asked,

“Where to, princess Sumin?”

A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she leaned in her seat and poked her head between the two front chairs. With an alluring smile painted on her lips, Sumin hovered her mouth over his ears and whispered sweetly,

“To the stars…” Before grabbing his shirt and pulling him towards the back of the seat. Though, it was a bit difficult at first given how bulkier and taller he was than her.

A faint grunt exited his lips as Seokjin found himself plopped next to the love of his life. His eyes bore into hers as he couldn’t help but admire how breathtaking she was despite going through hell and back.

Without a single thought in his head, the utterly smitten young man cupped his girlfriend’s stained cheek, gently caressing it. Then, slowly, the two of them inched their faces closer. Their eyes flickered from each other’s loving gaze to their lips before the gap finally closed.

A gentle moan escaped Sumin’s lips as she entangled her fingers in Seokjin’s hair. She slowly massaged his scalp, resulting in a low moan from Seokjin as he anchored one hand against the door-frame and the other against Sumin’s hip. He slowly lowered her body onto the seat, careful not to accidentally bump her head against anything.

“I love you, Kim Seokjin,” Sumin whispered, briefly breaking their passionate kiss.

Seokjin, slightly panting, simply smiled before capturing her precious lips once more. He poured all the love he bore for the woman underneath him and hoped that she knew how much he loved her.

For that single moment, Seokjin knew that actions spoke louder than words. Releasing her addicting lips, he trailed fiery kisses down the side of her face all the way to the base of her neck. His teeth lightly grazed her soft skin, causing a few moans to leave Sumin’s mouth, further igniting Seokjin’s hormones.

His hands buried itself underneath her shirt, the warmth of her skin contrasted the coolness from his hands. Seokjin’s fingers lightly trailed upwards, and just as his calloused fingers grazed the fabric of her bra, they heard a loud, terrifying shriek.

The couple instantly broke apart, fixing up their disheveled appearance as Seokjin promptly peeked through the window.  Now on full alert, he hurriedly scanned the area; his ears picked up even the tiniest of sounds. Then, the thunderous, horrific cry echoed throughout the mall once more.

Not wanting to chance it, Seokjin quickly instructed – well more like demanded – Sumin to run for cover while he provided covering fire.

Her mouth fell open while her eyes went round. Did Sumin hear him correctly? What Seokjin planned was a suicide mission as the hordes would easily overwhelm him. Still, deep down, Sumin knew that as she studied his overall body language. The frantic young girl vigorously shook her head, rejecting his idiotic idea with her entire body.

“Well, do you have a better idea, princess?” Seokjin asked, giving her a look.

“Yes, you run beside me, and we protect each other,” Sumin paused, cupping both sides of his face, “Like we did every single time we faced these undead bastards and will continue to do until it’s no longer necessary.” She finished in a courageous tone of voice.

Seokjin was rendered speechless but soon composed himself. Sumin was right because if he ended up dead, then who would protect her in his stead? No one worthy of her that was for sure. He needed to remain alive for her sake.

And she needed to remain alive for his sake…

Taking a long, deep breath, Seokjin’s eyes sparked with fearlessness as he stared at Sumin. He gently took her hand into his and quickly pressed a sweet kiss on the back of it.

“Okay, as soon as I open this door, you better be running right beside me. Got it?”

“I should be telling you that, Jinnie.”

Seokjin snorted, ignoring her comment as he pulled on the door-latch and opened the car door. He quickly grabbed his weapon from the passenger seat before diving out of the car. He readied his semi-automatic and peeked through the scope, looking for any scouts. Luckily, he saw none, but they needed to hurry and find cover. Then, his ears picked up a soft grunt followed by a string of swears.

With an amused grin, Seokjin glanced to his side, noticing Sumin rubbing her chin.

“Let me guess you hit yourself with that Katana.”

“Shut up and run.”

Sumin repositioned her sword and began running with her pistol out and ready to fire. Seokjin quickly followed behind, mimicking his sweetheart's every movement. This continued for a few more minutes until they found a suitable hideout and ducked behind the concrete wall. The two lovers seized that relaxing opportunity and calmed their irregular breathing. The last thing the two of them needed was to pass out while fighting a raging crowd of zombies.

Slowly, the loving couple inhaled the sweet oxygen through their nostrils and exhaled it through their mouths. With each breath they took, Seokjin and Sumin felt both their physical and mental strength restored.

They were ready to fight once more…

Slightly tilting his head, revealing this lazy smile, Seokjin gave Sumin a quick glance-over, making sure she didn’t have any secret injuries.

“So, are you ready for round 3?” He jokingly asked.

Sumin snorted, “Round 3? It’s more like round 5 at this point, Jinnie.”

This time it was Seokjin’s turn to let out a quick snort as he stood up with his assault rifle ready to fire at any given moment. The second he stood up, the blood-curdling shrieks grew near. Seokjin gave those undead gnats about ten seconds – give or take – before they swarmed their position.

“Careful, princess. People might think you’re talking about our sex life.” He joked, shamelessly winking at her as he pulled the trigger, firing a few rounds at the undead horde.

Sumin rolled her eyes as she unsheathed her Katana and shot up from her spot.

“What people?” She quickly gestured at the two of them and then at the never-ending onslaught of zombies that approached them, “In case you haven’t noticed, Jinnie, we’re the only ones here, so you have nothing to worry about.” She bluntly stated, completely missing Seokjin’s sarcasm, before impaling one zombie and decapitating the second one before raising her gun.

Sumin then cocked back her pistol and aimed it at the enemy, emptying the clip as she landed head-shot after head-shot. She hurriedly reached for another ammo clip and loaded it into the pistol.

Meanwhile, with Seokjin, the poor boy shook his head as he observed how frantic Sumin slowly became. He swiftly focused his weapon on her direction and fired at the zombies that threatened to swarm her.

“With you around, sweetheart, I will always worry.” He announced as he quickly fired at the zombies that rushed towards their direction. He then spun around and fired at his original path.

Sumin’s face reddened but soon composed herself, though her cheeks remained rosy.

She quickly cleared her throat before speaking,

“And to think, I thought you couldn’t get any cheesier.”

“Only for you and always for you…”

Protecting Each Other is copyright 2020 by jinterlude, all rights reserved.

[whump-tr0pes]

HB4-31/Whumptober day 9

This is a series. Start here, continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3.

AO3

Masterlist

~

She’s here.

Content warning: emesis, mention of dissoci@tion, PTSD, unplanned pregnancy, mention of consensual sex, description of birth, past torture

~

Ellis lurched forward, their hand covering their mouth where they sat hunched over the puzzle. They leapt to their feet and dashed from the living room.

Finn stared after them, concern pinching their mouth. They glanced at Vera where she stood in the kitchen, framed by the half-wall, a cutting board full of chopped potatoes held aloft in her hand. Tori stood at the counter. Her arms wrapped tightly around her own chest and she shrank slightly towards Vera. She looked towards the bathroom. Her eyes were fogged and distant, and her lips pressed into a thin, nervous line.

Not Tori’s worst day. At least she knew where she was today.

Finn got to their feet and made their way across the living room and down the hall towards the bedrooms, pausing just outside the bathroom door as Ellis vomited loudly into the toilet.

“Oh, babe,” Finn murmured, dropping to their knees beside Ellis and gently pulling back their short black hair from their face. “I’m so sorry.”

Ellis dry-heaved, their stomach empty after throwing up on and off for the past two days. They groaned, slumping against the toilet seat. Finn smoothed back Ellis’s sweaty hair with one hand and rubbed their back with the other.

“What the fuck,” Ellis groaned. They reached for the handle and flushed the toilet. They got up on one knee and pushed themself to their feet. Finn helped to stabilize them as they leaned over the sink and washed their mouth out.

“I’m sorry,” Finn said softly, gently rubbing their hands up and down Ellis’s arms. “I don’t know what it is… Maybe it was something you ate, but… we’ve been eating the same stuff…”

“It’s fine,” Ellis said, already sounding better. “I think that was the last of it. Although, that’s what I thought yesterday…” They drew their hand over their face. It still shone with sweat, but the color was back in their cheeks. “Sorry that’s so gross.”

“I’ll try and get more Zofran from town tomorrow,” Finn murmured, and drew Ellis into a hug. “Although I hope this is over by then.”

“Probably will be, babe,” Ellis said with an awkward shrug as they pulled out of Finn’s grasp. They gave Finn a tired smile and walked out of the bathroom, back towards the living room. “I really am feeling a lot better.” Finn followed right behind.

“Still feeling sick?” Tori said. Her voice sounded thin, frightened, but… Finn heard the shadow of the person she was before. Ever since they escaped, Tori had been slowly, slowly emerging from the wasteland that had been made of her mind. She had only been able to be coaxed out by two people: Vera, and Ellis. Under the fear, Finn could hear the person who’d kept them all safe and cared for them for months as they all recovered from Gavin. She stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her muscles pulled tight under her skin. Always ready to run. Always ready to hide, or just stand there and take the shocks.

Three weeks later, and she still had days where she waited for the shocks. Finn blinked and shook their head to clear it.

“Yeah,” Ellis griped as they crossed to the couch and sat down again. They pulled the blanket around their shoulders and took a sip of their tea.

Vera covered the pot on the stove and turned it down to a low heat. She walked to Tori’s side and wound an arm around her waist, looking into the living room at Ellis. A wry smile twisted her mouth. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were pregnant.”

Finn froze. Ellis’s head snapped up and they stared at them with wide eyes.

“Oh, fuck,” Finn breathed.

The silence pounded in Finn’s ears.

“F-Finn,” Ellis whispered. “I am late. I thought it was just the, um, the stress, but…” Their hand drifted to their stomach and rested there, almost unconsciously. Their mouth hung open, their eyes unfocused. “Yeah,” they rasped. “I’m a week late.”

The room lurched around Finn, and they thought they might throw up.

“But I…” Finn stared at Ellis, dumbfounded. “But we…” They thought back over the last three weeks, the sex they’d had every day – multiple times a day, in every position they could think of and a few Finn had never even heard of before – since they and Ellis had been reunited. They’d gone through several boxes of condoms, blushingly having to go ask Gray to bring them more with every trip into town. They’d worn a condom every single time. Finn fell back a step, looking up in confusion as the walls moved around them, zooming out and zooming in at the same time.

A bolt of realization hit them and they met Ellis’s eyes, and Finn knew they were having the exact same thought.

“The first morning,” they said at the exact same time.

“Oh, god,” Finn whimpered, tearing their hands through their hair. “Oh, god, oh, fuck, I, I don’t…”

“Holy shit,” Ellis whispered from the couch.

Finn couldn’t focus their eyes. There wasn’t enough air in the room. “Oh, god, oh, what if I, if I, oh god, I don’t know how to, to be a fucking, parent, Ellis, what are we gonna do, I… oh, holy fuck…”

Ellis appeared in front of them, and Finn clutched at their arms. “Oh, Ellis, is this… is this okay? I’m sorry, I… I didn’t… mean to…”

Their eyes focused, and they realized Ellis was grinning. More than that, their joy was radiating off of them, crinkling their eyes, pulling their lips into the biggest smile Finn had ever seen on Ellis. Suddenly, tears were streaming down Finn’s face.

“Oh, god,” they babbled, sobbing in Ellis’s arms without being sure when they actually started crying. “Oh g-god, Ellis, we, we talked about it… so long ago, and I know that… so much happened, and I don’t… I never… I didn’t think it would, would happen, and, oh, god, are we ready?” Finn fumbled for Ellis’s hands and they squeezed. Ellis’s hands were so warm, and Finn realized their hands were freezing. “I mean, is this… do we… I mean, a baby? Oh, Jesus Christ, I… I don’t know how to…”

“Finn,” Ellis said gently, tilting Finn’s chin up until they met their eyes. “Shhh.”

“Do we even have the, the facilities? I mean, risk of complication is—” Finn cut themself off with a choke, paling, their eyes going wide and staring sightlessly at Ellis. “No. No no no no no no it’s okay, it’s okay, it’ll be okay, oh my god, delivering babies is a BLS skill, delivering babies is a BLS skill…” Suddenly, ridiculously, a perfect recall of Finn’s OBGYN chapter in medic education training flashed across their vision. A cross-section diagram of a uterus, the baby drawn almost comically placid as it slid out of a disembodied pelvis – squeezing a bowling ball out of a garden hose, their mother used to say. Finn felt a sudden lash of grief, thinking about their mother and the eternal question: is she still alive?

Then, just opposite of that diagram was an actual picture of a woman giving birth, a tiny head looking absolutely massive as it poked out from between the woman’s legs, steadied in the doctor’s hands like they were handling a football. Instructor Grant had told them to skip that chapter, since it wasn’t relevant to combat medicine… but the students had flipped to it just the same, with giggles and groans as their friends whispered ‘oh my god, there’s a naked woman on page 278’, only to discover that, yes, she was naked, but she was also pushing out a bloody, purple, wrinkled baby head, who looked very upset about the whole thing.

Oh, god. I should have read that chapter. I should have read that chapter and not just looked and gotten grossed out. Oh, god, oh god, oh god, oh god…

“Finn,” Ellis murmured, and gently took Finn’s hand. They laid it gently against their abdomen, right over where the baby was growing. Just a zygote, really. Probably no bigger than a few hundred cells right now, maybe the size of a grain of sand. Maybe? God, why don’t I know this?

As Finn’s hand settled against Ellis, gently pressing against the waistband of their sweatpants, Finn stopped. Every breath, every thought, every fucking cell of blood in their veins froze in place. They could feel the warmth of Ellis’s skin through the fabric, but more than that: it was as if that little bundle of cells, that baby, Finn’s baby, was shining through, reaching its little light out for Finn, shining warmth and strength and love right into their hand and into their body. The baby inside Ellis, their baby.

Finn crumpled to their knees and wrapped their arms around Ellis’s legs.

They sobbed against Ellis’s stomach, pressing kisses against the waistband of their pants. Finn’s face shone a smile, joy flooding through them, so hot and sharp it was almost painful. Ellis’s fingers stroked through Finn’s hair and Finn leaned their cheek against Ellis’s stomach, happy tears streaming down their cheeks and soaking into the hem of Ellis’s shirt.

Ellis tilted Finn’s head up, and Finn nearly crumpled again at the look of disbelief, of fierce joy, as Ellis looked down at them. It was as if years had been shaken off their face, as if, for a moment, the pain that laced through every moment of their life was lifted.

“We made a baby,” Finn rasped, their voice breaking.

“We made a baby,” Ellis whispered back. Then they laughed, and the sound went through Finn like a knife, and they loved the ache.

Finn glanced towards the kitchen. Vera stood motionless in the doorway. One arm wrapped around Tori’s waist, and her other hand covered her mouth. Her eyes streamed tears she looked at Ellis, then Finn, then Ellis again.

Tori’s eyes were focused, her shoulders squared, her hands laced under her chin. Her eyes shone as she looked at Ellis. Then, slowly, she stepped out of the protective circle of Vera’s embrace, and walked to Ellis’s side. Finn stumbled to their feet and swayed, dizzy.

Tori placed her hands on either side of Ellis’s face, her smile matching theirs. Their hands went gently around Tori’s wrists and they laughed together a moment. Tori didn’t shrink or cringe away, but laughed, quiet joy cutting through the fog of pain that shrouded her every day. Her eyes focused entirely on Ellis, and Ellis on her. The moment hung in the air, suspended, like a glass just before it shatters on the floor. Finn sucked in a breath, waiting for the crash.

It never came. Tori threw her arms around Ellis and held them as they wept.

They felt Vera at their side and they jumped. They turned to her, stunned. Vera practically tackled them in a hug.

“Congratulations,” she murmured, and she choked up on the word.

“Oh my god,” Finn whined softly, grinning, gasping for breath.

Vera pulled away, and Tori folded into Finn’s embrace. “I’m so happy for you,” she said softly, her voice warm, steady, and even. As she leaned back, Finn’s mouth bobbed open and closed, grinning like a fool.

Then Ellis was back in their arms, and they stayed. Ellis squeezed Finn tight, nearly crushing them in their embrace, as if they were an anchor against the roaring tide in their ears. Ellis was in their arms, living, breathing, here, alive, pregnant. For three weeks, Finn had been in agony, trapped with their family but alone. For three weeks, they’d been helpless, useless, branded as a medic while the rest were collared and tortured as playthings. It was as if Finn could feel the scar on their brain.

But Ellis… Ellis was here. Ellis was alive. Finn pulled back and stared at them dazedly, disbelieving. Their hands locked around Ellis’s shirt as they pulled them closer, pressing their foreheads together so hard it almost hurt. A tear fell from their chin and into their shirt.

Finn wet their lips. “I…” Ellis leaned back, that smile still so radiant, so beautiful. Finn blinked. “I hope it looks like you. I hope… oh… I hope it has your eyes.”

“I hope it has your brain,” Ellis said softly, and kissed them on the nose. “God knows we need another genius in this family.” Ellis laughed, and there was no snark, no anger.

Finn giggled, their voice shooting up an octave. “Oh,” they whimpered. They thumbed away the tears on Ellis’s cheeks. There was something rising in their throat, words that they could barely comprehend. Words they’d never once imagined in this order:

“I’m gonna be a dad,” they whispered.

Ellis’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Yeah, babe,” they said, and cradled Finn’s face. “You are. You’re gonna be a dad.”

Continued here

@untilthepainstarts, @womping-grounds, @free-2bmee, @quirkykayleetam, @walkingchemicalfire, @inpainandsuffering, @redwingedwhump, @burtlederp, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @whatwhumpcomments, @cursedscribbles, @whumpywhumper, @stxck-fxck, @omega-em-z-02, @whumps-the-word, @justwhumpitwhumpitgood, @justplainwhump, @moose-teeth, @slaintetowhump, @finder-of-rings, @inky-whump, @thatsthewhump, @orchidscript, @insanitywishes, @this-mightaswell-happen, @newandfiguringitout, @whumpkitty, @pretty-face-breaker, @cinnamonflavoredhugs, @inaridriscoll, @im-just-here-for-the-whump, @endless-whump, @grizzlie70, @oops-its-whump

[seemslegitflapjacks]

Chapter 8; Sketchy Shit

The year had been going on for a while. I honestly can’t tell you what happened since last time, but I’m having a blast. Ever since I’ve been hanging out with Randy and the team things are turning up for me. I’m finally back where I stood at my old school. Popular. It’s dumb, I know, but, it’s just so awesome. People don’t fuck with you, you have friends in every class, and everyone knows your name.

Right now, I’m sitting in the gym. I was talking with my friends until the coach threw her keys at me.

“Woods you open up the locker rooms.” She ordered as I gave her a quick nod in return, standing up as I hopped down the bleachers to go down the hall.

Today was stormy, the rain was so loud and hard it sounded like a waterfall overhead. The sky was an angry bluish-black color, lightning lit up the sky now and again, rolls of thunder chasing after it.

I didn’t like going down to the locker rooms, because once you opened the double doors that led to the hall they were on, it was pitch black. According to Randy some kids had busted out the bulbs with a basketball and the school never bothered to fix the lights. I couldn’t see anything in front of me, the only light I had was the weird glow from the slit windows on the doors back behind me. I felt along the left wall, quickly finding the door to the girl's locker room. I messed with the keys, trying to get the one that went to the door before I stopped. hearing a noise within the locker room.

I slowly turned the key in the lock, peering my head in. The sound came from the far back of the room. I stepped in, slowly making my way through the darkroom, the bangs of thunder rumbling the building a bit. That’s when I could make out the sound, it sounded like a baby crying. My heart dropped into my stomach, I didn’t want to go any closer to where the sound was, but my feet disobeyed my head as they pulled me forward to it. It was like I wasn’t even in control. My heart was slamming against my ribcage as a sick feeling came up my throat. I stopped in the hall of the showers, pulling back the numerous curtains until my eyes trailed to the right of me.

I saw watered-down blood running off into one of the drains, the sounds of the baby now closer than ever. I tore my eyes to the curtain, the deadly curiosity getting the better of me as I pulled the curtain back.

What I saw was horrifying, I almost threw up.

On the floor of the shower was a bloody infant with its neck twisted at an unnatural angle, bloody cries of agony coming from it. Terror surged through my body as I got the fuck out of there, screaming.

I stumbled out of the hall, having dropped the keys in the showers, all eyes turning to me. The gym teacher marched over, grabbing me by the shoulders.

“Hey, hey Jeff what's going on?” She asked, trying to make me turn to face her.

I didn’t know what was going on, everything was too much, I couldn’t handle all of this shit at once. My body was shaking, It was like I was a deer in headlights.

“Woods! Get it together!” She hollered, striking me across the face, bringing me back down to Earth, albeit very painfully.

The gym went silent, the teacher sending back one of the other kids to get the keys I dropped. I felt so embarrassed, I wanted to cry and bolt. She took me to the sides and sat me down on a bench, a few guys coming past me, giving me awkward looks. I’d probably do the same after seeing a screaming kid get bitch slapped by a teacher.

I sat there for a while, trying to cope with what the fuck I just saw. It had to be me losing my shit and not taking my meds. Ghosts aren’t real, it had to just be me seeing stuff. It was probably just the way the room was set up and how some shadows fell. It was just so weird, and scary. Even if it was in the shadows, how could I have heard crying? Why did the baby look so real? All these questions were making my head hurt...

“Jeff, sweetie you ok?..” I heard a soft voice ask, looking up to see the gym teacher.

“No ma’am..” I admitted, the woman sitting down next to me with her hand on my back.

“What’d you see back there?” She asked, looking over at me.

“You’re not even gonna believe me Coach G..” I mumbled.

“Any answer’s an answer sweetheart.” She told me.

“I saw a baby..” I whispered.

“You’re gonna have to speak up a little bit sweetie.” Coach G told me, leaning in with her ear so she’d hear better.

I hesitated, before letting out a sigh, answering again, “I saw a baby, a dead one.” I told her.

Coach G went silent, I looked over, the color drained from her face completely. She was almost as white as the tennis shoes she was wearing.

“Coach G? Are you ok?” I asked, concerned.

“Nobody’s ever told you about the incident?” She asked, her motherly brown eyes becoming cold and unnerving.

‘What incident?” I returned, a bit scared.

“Well, back in 2009, there was a girl, she’d been pregnant and had her baby in one of the showers. She didn’t want it, so she snapped its neck. Not too long after she died from bleedin’ too much.” She explained, a grave expression on her face.

I sat there, my face losing its color in fear. I’d just seen the ghost corpse of some girl’s dead newborn. I felt sick to my stomach, what the absolute fuck?

After that class, I fucking dipped, to say the least. I wasn’t spending the rest of the day in school knowing full well there was some creepy shit going on. I quickly texted Keith, asking him to help me ditch, to which he thankfully agreed. I waited in the pool room, raindrops slamming onto the skylight roof above. I leaned up against the wall, staring at the water, the buzzing of the lights overhead accompanying the thunder and lightning.

I waited there for a while, closing my eyes, opening them once more, only to see a floating body inside of the pool.

I screamed again, running for the door, slamming my hands against it as I forcefully shoved it open, running outside into the unforgiving storm. I didn’t even have to wait before I saw Keith’s car pull around the corner. I ran over to sit, barely giving him time to stop as I swung the door open and got in, slamming it shut.

“Jesus Christ, what’s up with you dude? You look like you just saw a ghost.” He laughed, locking the doors as he pulled off.

“Cause I just fucking did Johnson.” I snapped, shaking.

“Hey, calm down, you’re cool now dude.” He told me, reaching over with his free hand to pat me on the shoulder.

I exhaled a large sigh, looking at the road ahead of me as Keith drove us. The windshield wipers pushing back the water now and then. The silence setting over us again, my eyes trailing to the gloomy scene outside.

All I could think about was what I saw back at school. Was Coach G trying to pull my leg? Was that body in the pool even a body? Was I just being a forgetful bitch and not taking my meds? I groaned softly, leaning my head back as my eyebrows bent downwards in frustration.

I saw Keith glance over to me in the corner of my eye, gently patting my forearm with his hand.

I felt my hand snatch him, holding his palm captive within my own. Keith was taken by surprise, but I didn't care. I was so scared, confused, and upset. My heart slowing down as he gently began to caress the top of my hand with his thumb. The two of us sitting in a nice silence for the rest of the rainy drive back.

Once we got to his house, I kicked off my shoes, greeting a few of his absolutely weird pets before I trailed upstairs into his room.

I flopped myself face-first onto his bed, breathing in the comforting scent of his room. Cigarette smoke, black coffee, and teenage boy. I grabbed the blankets, curling myself up in them as I heard Keith coming up the stairs and down the hall.

“Ma maison est ta maison?” He laughed.

“Oui.” I chuckled, Keith, launching himself on the bed, landing on top of me. “Dude get your skinny ass off me!” I laughed.

“Hmmm, no you’re a nice pillow bro.” He snickered.

“I’ll pick you up, no cap.” I threatened.

“Bet.” He smirked.

“Bet,” I repeated.

“No balls.” He poked.

“None.” I giggled.

Keith tried to shoot a reply back, but I beat him to his words. I pushed my arms up underneath him as I picked him up bridal style, standing straight up.

“Told you I could do it.” I gloated.

“How-” He spoke, confused.

“I go to the gym,” I answered.

“Roid midget.” He mumbled, yelping as I dropped him back down on the bed.

“I’m not a midget,” I whined, Keith, staring at me in the eyes, before smacking me with a nearby pillow, bringing me down onto the bed.

We lost our shit laughing, smacking one another with the pillows on his bed, Keith got me a few times in the face.

After a while, we both got tired. I flopped on my back, calming down as I finished laughing, tears in my eyes. Keith laying his head down on my stomach.

“You have like, no business being so fun to be around dude.” He told me.

“You ain’t got no business being so funny either,” I replied, my arms resting at my sides as I stared up at the ceiling.

We laid together for a short while until we both fell asleep to the sound of the raindrops dripping onto his bedroom window next to us.

[nyctolovian]

Summary:

Just as Martin was convinced that whoever was outside was gone, he heard something else.

“What was that?” came a voice from under his bed.

Moth!Jon is a monster under Martin’s bed. What more could you ask for?

Day 1-2: meet-cute

TW: animal abuse

Martin thought he had a pretty neat deal when he bought this house.

From the outside, it looked snug and comfortable, which already ticked off some boxes in Martin’s mental checklist. It had been built with tan brick walls and had a hard cracked cement floor. Short and wide windows brightened up the house and had been added to the house in a rather playful pattern. 

The price was surprisingly low for a three-room, especially one that apparently came with some furniture left by the previous family. Sure, it was a bit of a wreck—cobwebs everywhere, carpets of dust, junk left from its previous owner, and the walls seemed to be peeling off. But it only needed some repairs and cleaning up.

Just in case though, Martin had asked the estate agent, “Why’s this house selling so cheap?”

With a pleasant smile, Ms Richardson calmly replied, “This property has been on the market for quite some time and I suppose the family just wants to sell it as soon as they can now.”

Martin hummed as he gave the house another once over. “I see…” he said. “So no major problems? Like a termite infestation or… I don’t know, uh, structural damage?“

Her face grew slightly stiff. “Oh! Nothing of that, I assure you.” There was a brush of overemphasis on her words as her grip on her clipboard tightened a miniscule bit. “Just a slightly old house. That’s all there is to it.” Her sunny smile returned with vengeance.

Martin’s mouth opened to ask another question but, from the corner of his eye, he saw something dark flash across the bedroom. He spun around. 

Nothing. Just some cobwebs and the bed. He frowned. “Did you… Was that a rat?” Martin asked. “You saw that, right?”

Ms Richardson looked much tenser than a second ago. Still, she maintained her composed demeanor and said, “I don’t think so. I didn’t see anything.”

A sigh escaped Martin. He really wished the estate agent would just be honest with him. If it was just a rat infestation, he just had to set some rat traps. The worst case scenario he could call pest control. It really wasn’t something the estate agent had to lie about. It was still a fairly good deal. 

He had visited several other properties that were either in worse condition or beyond his budget. It had been tiring disappointment after tiring disappointment. Honestly, this was the best one he had found so far. This was about as good as things could get with a budget as tight as his, he figured. 

Nodding to himself, he turned to Ms Richardson and said, “I’ll take it. Can I sign the papers now?”

The smile of gratification on her face was one that reached her eyes. Hastily, she pulled out the contract and shoved the pen and papers into Martin’s hands. “Just sign over here, here, and… here. … Alright! Now, this house will be all yours,” she said. Her voice had a tone of relief that one might have while ridding oneself of the responsibility of baby-sitting a relative’s annoying toddler. 

Martin honestly should have been more wary of this. However, he was overtaken with the sheer giddiness of owning his first house. At the ripe age of 32, but no matter! A milestone was a milestone regardless. He was excited to finally have a house to his name.

As soon as Martin could move in, he dedicated a full weekend cleaning up the house, rearranging some of the furniture and applying some wallpapers to fix the peeling walls. He hadn’t spotted any pests or rats the entire duration. Nonetheless, he placed some mouse and bug traps around the house just to be safe. Then, he moved all his belongings in and settled down comfortably.

Five days living in his new house passed, and surprisingly, Martin ran into no problems. No rats; the neighbours were, well, not lovely, but at least decent; no leakages; the roof didn’t collapse atop him in the middle of the night.

Nothing. Absolutely uneventful.

Things couldn’t be better. 

(But it did feel a tad bit empty, living alone.)

***

Bang!

Martin jolted awake. He turned his head and looked towards his door. What was that? There was a downpour outside, and it could have been thunder but he could have sworn the noise came from within his house.

He held his breath. It was pure blood-curdling silence for what felt like hours. Just as Martin was about to pass the sound off as a figment of his imagination, he heard a soft thump outside his door. 

His breath hitched. 

Oh god. Who was that? Was it a burglar? Was it a serial killer? 

Martin’s mind ran through every scenario like a video on 10 times playback speed, and every single one of them ended with him being brutally murdered. Slowly, making as little noise as possible, he pulled his sheets closer to himself. 

The crack of light under his door shifted with movement. 

His heart leapt to his throat and he choked on it. Martin lay as still as he could.

Oh god. Oh god. Oh god.

Something was there. Right outside his door. It wasn’t locked. 

Shadows under the door gap shifted languidly, morphing in and out of the stream of light. Finally, it shifted away. 

He stayed in bed, quivering, as the thumps continued within the living room. At last, the noises stopped. But Martin kept his eyes and ears peeled for any movement. But nothing happened for at least fifteen minutes. 

Just as Martin was convinced that whoever was outside was gone, he heard something again.

“What was that?” came a voice from under his bed.

Martin strangled a cry of sheer terror. He hurled himself as far as he could from the bed. He was about to open the door but fear of whoever was possibly still outside petrified him.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks at this point as he stared at his bed. Something moved.

Oh, Jesus Christ. Something shifted under his bed.

Then, it crawled out.

And whatever crawled out wasn’t human. 

Its shape was all wrong. There were too many appendages and what looked like half-a-metre-long antennas. As the dark figure rose from the floor, Martin recoiled. Something large on the monster’s back shivered erratically for a few seconds before pressing itself to the side of its torso. It bent its body towards him, but Martin could tell that if it stood at its full height, it would be several heads taller than him, and Martin was not a short man. The only thing he could discern in the dark were the monster’s eyes as they made contact with his. They were a pair bright glowing green orbs that pierced through the darkness and into Martin unrelentingly. 

His chest was bursting at the seams with pain at how fast his heart was racing. He was going to die. Either from slaughter by this monster, or from a heart attack. 

The monster spoke again, “I— This— I…” One of its spindly legs a step towards Martin.

Like cornered prey, he scurried as far as he could without running straight to the serial killer outside his door. “Don’t come any closer!” he hissed, backing to a corner of the room. “I’ve got a… I’ve got a…” His hand hit something that clattered against the wardrobe and he immediately grabbed and brandished it in front of him. 

A clothing hanger. It was as good a weapon as any at this point. 

“I’ve got a weapon!” Martin threatened, every limb trembling pathetically.

The monster took a step back. “I, uh, I didn’t mean to startle you.” It held its four upper limbs out in a placating manner. “I truly mean no harm,” it whispered. 

“You’re going to kill me!” Martin swung his makeshift weapon through the air in front of him.

“No, no! I…” The monster retracted its limbs. “I don't— I’m not going—”

Thump!

The noise from the door sent the both of them scrambling to the other corner of the room. The monster huddled close to Martin and if it weren’t for the second threat outside, he would have screamed bloody murder. Martin could feel a soft fuzz against his cheek as the monster crowded towards Martin.

“They’re not gone!” it whispered panickedly, tugging his shirt sleeve. “What do we do?”

Roughly, Martin brushed the monster’s hand aside. “We?! Since when was there a ‘we’? You were about to kill me a second ago!”

“Was not!”

“Was too!”

Another thump interrupted their squabble. 

The two froze to the spot, breaths held. 

“Y-you’re the one with the weapon,” the monster said, pressing itself closer against the wall. “You should go.”

“No, it’s just a clothing hanger,” he said. “You’re way scarier. You go!”

“But I—”

“You can use my weapon. Here, take it,” Martin said, shoving the clothes hanger into one of the monster’s numerous limbs. When it took ahold of the hanger, he gave the monster a shove towards the door.

It stumbled forward on its too long limbs, body hunched inward. It crept to the door and placed its hand on the knob. Slowly, gently, silently, the monster turned the doorknob and pulled the door open by a tiny fraction. Martin’s fingers pressed apprehensively to his lips without him realising as it stood rigidly still at the door for four seconds. 

The thing draped over its back quivered once or twice before it slipped through the thin crack of the door. 

There was about five seconds of silence, which were far too long for Martin to handle already. So he quietly moved towards the door and peered out through the tiny gap. He couldn’t see the monster anymore, but neither could he see anyone else. 

He was about to head out when he heard a loud bang and the monster shouting in shock. His legs rocketed him back towards his previous corner in a split second. His heart jackrabbit-ing and his tears of fear renewed. 

“Oh, good lord,” he heard the monster go.

Which was a strange thing to hear a monster say, first of all. But, also, there was a curl of relief in its voice, delight even. So either Martin was safe, or there were two monsters that could kill him in his house now. 

A quick scan across the room revealed nothing Martin could use as a weapon now and his clothing hanger was with the monster.

Great. 

Chewing his lip, he bounced between leaping out through his window and charging through the living room. He just paid for the house and he wasn’t keen on giving it up to a couple of monsters! But, rationally, he also knew dying for a house wasn’t quite worth it.

Before he could come to a decision, however, the door creaked open further. In popped the monster from before, cradling something in his arms. Its two other unoccupied arms were excitedly flailing and pointing at the shivering mound it was carrying. 

“It was a cat!” it said euphorically, voice trembling ever-so-slightly. Gently, it bent down further and let the cat in its arms hop off.

Martin stared.

The cat was a small thing, probably not fully grown yet. Its fur looked slightly wet and it was quivering from the cold. In the dark, he couldn’t make out the colour of its short fur, but its yellow eyes were adorably round and curious. Lithely, it twisted to look at Martin and then at the monster, before looking back at Martin again. Then, it began to paw at the chair and pushed a bag on the floor, making it fall with a soft fwump. 

“I think it’s hungry,” the monster said.

That snapped Martin out of his stupor. “And cold.” He looked up at it expectantly. “Uh, what do cats eat? I don’t have much. Do you think canned tuna would work?”

“I… I think so? Maybe? I-I don’t know.”

“Um… okay. We’ll just have to settle for that then,” he said, heading out.

Martin came back with a plate of scooped-out tuna to a rather strange sight. Squatting and wrapping its two lower arms around his knees, the monster stroked the cat from head to back. The cat let out a content little mewl at the attention, and the monster’s eyes practically glued to the little creature.

Crouching down, Martin placed the plate on the floor and pushed it towards the cat. Loudly, it mewed and bounded towards the food. Without hesitation, it dug right in, tail high in the air with joy. He and the monster watched it as it scoffed down the food. When it was done, it yawned and then shook itself.

“I should get a towel.”

The monster hummed. “Yeah,” it said softly, glowing green eyes never quite leaving the feline that was settling onto the floor now.

Martin stood up. “Can I turn the lights on?” he asked. “To, um, get the towel.”

The monster shifted nervously. “Uh, sure,” it said. “If… If you need to.”

“You’re not going to kill me after I see you in light, right?”

“Heh, no, I won’t. You helped the cat after all.”

“Alright then.” Martin said. He pulled the pull cord to his ceiling lights and the room was bathed in bright yellow light. 

He was blinded for a second but judging by the way the monster ducked his head under its black spindly arms for a little longer and shut its eyes, it was more sensitive to the change than him. 

Under the light, Martin could see it better now, and the first thing that struck him was that it was much fluffier than he had imagined. The entire body, including the length of its four arms and two legs, were covered in thick short black fuzz. At its neck, however, its fur grew much thicker, and it was practically a scarf of the softest-looking light brown fur. And it wore a thick brown coat over its back. What he didn’t expect was how… vaguely human the monster looked. Aside from the number and the fuzz, its limbs looked human. A mop of grey hair cascaded to its shoulders, with a pair of feelers drooping down to frame his face. The skin on its face was a gentle earthly shade of brown and its eyebrows were thick and bold. Then, its eyelids fluttered open and revealed the ethereally lovely pair of eyes.

 Peridots gazed up at Martin and shivered with movement in the light. His breath caught on his throat at the sight.

A shiver passed over the brown coat draped over its back and Martin realised with a start that it wasn’t a coat. They were large brown patterned wings, folded neatly behind it. Moth wings.

“Are you mothman?” Martin blurted.

The way the monster’s eyes lit up was the only indication of its amusement because it didn’t seem to have a mouth. Then, without a mouth, it spoke, “No, not quite.” Its hand moved animatedly. “Yes, I’m, well, a moth, but not a man. And no, not exactly mothman.”

“I-I see,” Martin said, simultaneously unnerved and fascinated by the creature before him. “Well, then, uh… I’ll grab the towel.”

He opened the wardrobe and rummaged through it for his softest clean towel, which he passed to the monster.

With a curt nod, it took the towel and gingerly lifted the cat up by its belly and placed it on top of the towel. Then, it wrapped the cat like a tiny burrito and laid it on the floor as carefully as it could. The little thing yawned and its eyes slowly slid shut.

“It’s sleepy,” the monster offered in commentary. It reached a hand over and began to stroke the cat again. 

As the two of them watched the cat doze off, Martin found himself at a loss for words, so he reached for the most familiar set of words. “I’m Martin Blackwood by the way. Um… He/Him pronouns.” Then, for god-knows-what reason, he added, “I’m human.”

The monster’s shoulders shook lightly with a chuckle. “Jon. Uh… Whatever pronouns… I guess, he/him as well. And, well, eldritch moth horror." 

"Jon?” Martin repeated. “That’s much more normal than I would have expected.”

“Yeah… My full name is Jonarathimusius Simmsoniumon." 

Martin’s jaw dropped. "Piss off! There’s no way that’s a real— You made that one up on the spot.”

“I did not.”

“Alright, but that means you came up with that name at some point in your life and that’s incredibly questionable behaviour.”

Jon folded his arms. “I’ll have you know, I didn’t come up with my name. I was just… born with it?”

“What, so you just—” Martin let his jaw hang as he flailed his arms about to find the words “—popped into existence and just knew your full name?”

“That’s exactly right actually,” Jon replied. If he had a mouth, he’d have the most shit-eating grin on his face.

“How does that even work? How did you even come into being? I just… I have so many questions." 

There was a slight frown on Jon’s face. He pressed a finger to his chin. "Honestly, I really don’t know much myself. I just woke up one day and I just… knew things.”

“How did you… become born? I mean, humans, we have to do…”

“Things, yes,” he said, the disgust in his voice signalling he knew what Martin was getting at and didn’t wish to entertain the thought any further. 

“Things,” he repeated. “I just want to know is there some sort of… monster-creating god. A witch? Or some monster factory?”

Jon’s eyebrows slid up. “Monster factory?”

“Oh, shut up. How the hell would I know?” Martin pouted.

“Monsters are a manifestation of, well, other being’s emotions and beliefs. If there is enough fear and horror in something, a being will simply just… come into existence, I suppose. There isn’t some sort of order that I’m privy to unfortunately." 

"Huh,” Martin said, sitting on his bed. “And where did you come from?”

“Uh…” Jon curled up tighter around himself. “There was a kid who lived here. Jude Perry was her name. She, well, she loved…”

“She loved moths?”

“Burning, burning moths.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. She enjoyed pinching moths by their wings and slowly burning them at a candle. I was a manifestation of… the moths’ fears.”

“That's…” Martin frowned. “That’s awful.”

Jon leaned his head against his knees. “Yeah. I woke up in the living room of this house, where she was burning the moths, and when she saw me… Let’s just say the moths never had their vengeance because the family quickly moved right out.”

Martin winced. “Would you have?”

“Hm?” Jon blinked.

“Would you have taken vengeance? Given the chance?”

“I… I don’t know,” Jon said. “I gave her quite a scare already when I emerged in her bedroom. But… vengeance per se, I’m unsure. I came into existence as a result of the moths’ fears… not rage. We’re far too timid to hold enough anger to manifest a monster through it.”

“So you’re the reason why this house was so cheap." 

"I, well,” he let out a chuckle, “I suppose I am.”

“Are you bound to this house or something?”

“Hm? Oh, no,” he shook his head, causing his feelers to sway gently in front of him. “I can leave whenever. But I just… I don’t know where I could go. I’ve only ever known this place and wherever I look it’s just lit streets after lit streets. I… don’t think I will do too well out there. Especially if I get spotted.”

“Can’t you fly?”

Jon let out a sigh and leaned back slightly. “My wings are fairly useless to be honest. It can’t hold my weight. I can perhaps hover a metre above the ground but not much else if I’m honest.” else.”

“Right,” Martin murmured. Jon was rather large. It would take a lot to lift him off the ground. “That's… That’s quite sad." 

The two of them watched the tiny creature swaddled in towel sleep, its body rising and falling with its warm slumber.

“Hey,” Martin said, breaking the silence. He reached for his phone on his bedside table. "I could— um, I could search for the quickest and safest route to wherever you want. I-If you want.”

The wings on Jon’s back fluttered lightly and iridescent green eyes wide with surprise. “You would?”

“Anywhere you want to go,” Martin said, smiling reassuringly.

Jon’s hands curled into animated fists as he shuffled closer to Martin on his other arms and leaned over his shoulder. 

Martin pulled out Google Maps and zoomed out for an overview of the area. “Where do you want to go?”

“I want—” Jon’s fists fell slowly to his side as he stared blankly at the phone screen. “I… I actually don’t know.”

“There’s a forest nearby.”

Jon’s face scrunched up slightly. “That sounds awful. Especially with this downpour.”

“Hm… An abandoned car park maybe?”

Hesitance flickered over Jon’s peridot eyes and his wings pressed a little closer to his body. 

“No?”

“I… I don’t think so.” He looked down at his knees. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be!” Martin said. “Take your time.”

Just then, the snoozing cat let out a little mewl, and its paws stretched upwards and waved in the air. Jon practically melted into a puddle and he cooed softly and leaned forward to take in the adorable sight. 

“Or,” Martin cleared his throat nervously. “I mean… Um…  I don’t know. Maybe… I might need some help with cat-sitting. If… If you’re okay with that.” His hands shot up. “Only if you want! No pressure! I… I really don’t mind!”

The moth monster’s eyes lit up and his feelers lifted slightly in what looked like glee. As though suddenly remembering himself, he ducked his head sheepishly and muttered, “I… I would like that. Actually.”

Martin felt heat slowly fill his cheeks and he found himself looking away as well. How ridiculous, he thought to himself. But he couldn’t deny the little flutter in his heart when he imagined what it might feel like, not being so lonely anymore.

[xparadisexlostx]

Palaemon

So this is a ficlet I’ve been working on for a while now. I don’t know if it’s really going to go anywhere, but I’ve worked on the first chapter, editing and deleting shit for a while and while I have some issues with it, I wanna post it just because of all the work I’ve put into it.

This story will have some body gore/mutilation, and especially as it goes on just elements of things that are Not Ok (and I mean that in a SHIELD brought Coulson back to life against his will and I fully believe they do shady/potentially immoral experiments way). 

I have a whole profile for Winnie that I’ll link when I find it lmfao.

“Data log six-four-seven. Project name: Palaemon. This is project head Dr. Winifred Fletcher.” She wanted to make her voice a monotone over the recording, but as she passed the guards at the entry point and headed up the drive she could feel a shiver of fear crawl up her spine that caused an unconscious little quiver in her tone. It’d been a long time since she’d personally done any field documentation. Years, even. Back when she’d been young and zealous and determined to make a name for herself at SHIELD. Now she had dozens of low-level researchers and new hires in those same shoes she had been, eager to run headfirst into danger if it meant getting her approval. She didn’t have time to deconstruct how she felt about that. SHIELD had always kept her too busy.

She pressed the button on her recording device again. “It is May twenty first two-thousand-and-fourteen. I have been called in to assess a scene at cite three-nine-nine. All seven agents deployed are active participants in Palaemon and were last administered compound HDR 3-00-1 six days ago: the fifteenth of May, two-thousand-and-fourteen. All participants were cleared by medical staff before deployment two days ago, with no unusual side-effects documented during examination.”

Her voice had returned to its normal, professional drone, but something was making her deeply uneasy.

She wasn’t afraid of death. She wasn’t even particularly afraid of pain. It wasn’t the dark gravel drive only illuminated by headlights, or the dilapidated building that leaned like its tired wooden bones might snap at any second that sent chills up her spine. Part of the lure of SHIELD was the thrill of danger, and the morbid, twisted curiosity that came from the unknown. She didn’t fear any external force… only herself and the consequences of her own actions.

Her foot pressed just a little too hard on the brake as she stopped, and it threw her roughly against the seatbelt, which locked like a retractable leash around the neck of an ill trained poodle. A little cough left her, and she groped blindly beside her for the gear shift before finally freeing herself of her bindings. She snatched a bag from the passenger seat and pushed open the door. Immediately the night air rushed around her, heavy and humid, clinging to her skin, laying on her chest, and making it harder to breathe. Cicadas were droning a loud, repetitive song in the trees around her, and by the time she began ascending the stairs to the porch, her heavy breathing had fallen in sync with the alien music.

There was a terrible smell coming from the house, like that of wasting fish and burned fat. And someone was crying. Soft piteous whimpers that turned into wails that escaped the cracks of the open windows. Winnie recognized the voice as Veronica Cooper---one of the field agents who had recently joined Project Palaemon. There were other voices, talking in soft, short sentences that she assumed were platitudes that would make the agent calm down, but she couldn’t quite make out the words. She did note, as she pulled on a pair of sterile gloves, that the attempts apparently failed. The crying only grew louder and more desperate. 

She opened the half cracked door and felt a hard lump form in her throat. When the stench hit her eyes they immediately began to burn in their sockets. Directly inside the doorway, a dead agent was lying prone on the floor, his face straight down in a puddle brown vomit streaked with blood that, upon further investigation, appeared to be his own. His body was covered in bites and scratch marks, his shirt was ripped away to reveal a bloated stomach, and in his still clenched fists he was clutching shards of glass. Winnie looked around, her headlamp only illuminating fractions of the hall at a time, each just as bloody and horrific as the scene in front of her. She determined he must be holding onto the remnants of a light fixture that had been ripped forcefully from the ceiling. Wires were hanging from the hole, and directly below, the metal fixture had been discarded---it’s lightbulbs torn out. Why? The shards were too small to use as weapons. Perhaps he’d been holding onto the light as he was being attacked? Possible. But…

From her bag she produced a tongue depressor as she knelt down by the body. Carefully, she pulled back his lips as best she could. Shards of glass glittered in the bright light of her head lamp. They were deeply embedded in his gums and crushed between his teeth. He’d been eating them when he died. That possibly explained the vomit. But what could possess a man to do something like that? 

“Doctor Fletcher?” A man’s voice called. An agent she didn’t know. She heard Cooper screech and then begin to violently sob. The old, thin floors shook as the vibrations from the other room carried down the hall. That same male agent swore, and there was a scraping sound of wood on wood as if someone had run into a table or a chair. She was going to have to make her assessment of the dead wait until she had dealt with the living.

Winnie carried on down the hall, gingerly stepping over and around everything she could. Blood was smeared along the peeling remnants of wallpaper. And there were no lights except for that which came from her flashlight. Fixtures were ripped out of the ceiling, and there was a lamp on the floor that had been violently shattered with three disembodied, mangled fingers laying in the wreckage. She passed the dining room, her light just barely illuminating three mutilated figures. Each with swollen stomachs and eyes that had been torn from their sockets. They had fallen close to the entryway, each with a single bullet hole in their heads. But she couldn’t stop to observe them the way she wanted to.

By the time she reached the living room, Cooper’s wailing was so loud it made her ears ring. There was no light at all coming from the doorway, and she frowned. Her confusion didn’t last long. The second she stepped into the room, headlamp blazing, Veronica Cooper began to screech and howl like a wild animal. She was handcuffed, but it still took two other agents to restrain her. They were trying to keep hold of her arms while a third agent was attempting to put a blanket over her completely nude upper half. 

“Will you cut that fucking lamp off?!” One of the agents hissed as Veronica bit into his arm like a rabid animal. Blood began to bubble out of the wound and dribble through Cooper’s parted lips before the third agent managed to forcibly pry her jaw off.

The doctor hesitated for a moment, needing to get at least a preliminary glance at the agent Cooper. She looked much like the dead bodies in the dining room. Her stomach was heavily bloated, and one of her eyes was missing from its socket. Claw marks and bites were all over her exposed upper body, and her hand was missing three fingers that Winnie assumed matched those she’d seen in the hall. 

She turned off the headlamp. 

Immediately Cooper went from a raving wild woman, to a crumpled, sobbing creature. When the blanket was brought back to her, she didn’t resist. At least not that Winnie could see. Granted, she couldn’t see much. The only light in the room came from a trickle of moonlight that snuck its way through the torn curtains.

“Agent Cooper.” The doctor stepped forward blindly. It didn’t draw any visible or audible response from the agent. “Agent Cooper, can you understand me? It’s Doctor Fletcher. Can you tell me what happened?”

No response.

One of the agents restraining her chimed in. “When we arrived at the house Agent Cooper and three others were alive. Cooper was in the hall, and we managed to restrain her. I heard crying coming from the downstairs bathroom. There was also gurgling and---running water. No one responded when I called out for them, but when I stepped into the room and they saw my headlamp, they started screaming. I ran, thinking I could calm them down or find some way to restrain them if I could get back to the other agents, but they pinned me down in the dining room, and Tillman and Renolds were forced to open fire. When the scene was secured we attempted to speak to Agent Cooper, but she was confused. She hasn’t said much aside from ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘please’ or ‘water.’”

She nodded and bit the inside of her cheek. “And the others? This was a seven man team. We’re missing two agents.”

“We searched the house and the two exterior buildings but they were clear. Best guess is when things got weird they bolted.”

 “Or they did this to them and fled the scene.” The man who had been bitten growled. He was holding onto Veronica with a vice grip now. She couldn’t see him properly, but the way the poor girl’s shoulder was awkwardly raised while the rest of her shadowy form slumped lifelessly toward the floor was proof of his tight hold on her. “We got a search team out in the forest looking for the-shit!”

Fletcher saw his shadow contort awkwardly as he tried to maintain his grip and distance himself from Veronica all at once.

“Jesus fuck-Renolds grab her. Grab her!” 

“What--why? You’ve-”

There was a thud as the agent dropped her completely and stepped back. “She’s licking the blood off my fucking arm!”

“Water.” Agent Cooper was hoarse from all her screaming, and there was desperation in her tone. The men shuffled awkwardly as Veronica attempted to get closer to the bleeding man again. “Please! Water!”

“Can’t you give her something?” 

“No.” Fletcher said, her response automatic. She wasn’t sure what was turning faster, her mind or her stomach. But she knew that they couldn’t give Veronica anything. Not yet. “There’s a medical transport outside parked behind me. They’ve been instructed on what to do, but ride with them back to HQ and help them keep her contained. Afterwards my staff will assess any injuries you have and release you back to your duties.”

There was a long silence.

She was glad it was dark. If her light was still on, she would have likely seen disgust on their faces. It was on hers. Here she was denying Veronica even the slightest semblance of peace. It was callous at best, and unforgivably monstrous at worst. But HDR 3-00-1 was one of the most bizarre drugs she’d ever worked with and these were their first human trials. Any drug, even a mild sedative, could interfere with accurate lab results. As soon as she’d been given a full examination, her team would give her the best care SHIELD could offer. Fletcher would make sure of it.

One of the men cleared his throat. “The search party will radio you directly if they find anything.”

The agents had to carry Veronica out of the house. She fought them all the way down the hall, but once she saw the light of the med-transport there was no containing her agonized screams. When her cuffs were released she began clawing at her own face, and when the agents pulled them away, she fought them like a wild animal. One of the med staff caught a foot in the jaw as they laid her onto the metal gurney and pulled the straps up to restrain her. Even after one of the men pulled off his jacket and draped it across her face to blot out the light, she continued to howl and buck against the restraints, nearly tipping the gurney onto the ground. The last thing she heard as they pulled the doors shut was Veronica Cooper’s raspy, haggard voice begging for water.

[softlass27]

Flufftober Day 29 – thunderstorm dedicated to @robertssvgden​, because she loves the idea of robron + seb and eve as a family unit, and she deserves nice things x

AO3 link here

As they stood shivering in the schoolyard, Robert glanced above them.

“The heavens are gonna open any second now.”

Aaron tilted his head up to see dark clouds rapidly filling the sky, the wind picking up with every passing minute. They’d been getting weather warnings all day, broadcasters promising that tonight was guaranteed to bring a seriously wild storm their way.

Paddy was stuck on an overnight callout with some heavily-pregnant cows, and Aaron’s mum had called him about an hour ago to say that she didn't feel safe driving on the motorway in this weather, so she was stuck in… some hotel, she was pretty vague on the details. She’d told him she was away to meet with potential new suppliers, but between her terrible lying and the sound of an unexpected male voice in the background, Aaron suspected wherever his mother had gone had nothing to do with work.

Either way, Eve had no one to pick her up or look after her, so his mum had begged him to take her for the night – possibly the weekend. Like she needed to ask.

So now they were stood in their usual spot with the other parents at Hotten Primary, waiting to collect two kids instead of one.

Just as the first few droplets of rain began to hit their cheeks, Eve came out of the doors, her eyes quickly scanning the yard until she spotted them and ran over, schoolbag swinging in the air. When she was just a few feet away from them, a violent gust of wind blew behind her, pushing her tiny body along the last few steps until she crashed into Aaron’s legs with a small oof.

“Windy,” she said, blinking up at them.

“Yeah, squirt.” Aaron took the bag from her before it blew right out of her hand.

“Is Mummy not coming?”

“Her and your Dad are both stuck because of the storm. They can’t come back just yet so you’re gonna stay with us tonight, okay?”

“'Kay,” she nodded, pushing her increasingly wild hair out of her eyes.

“Just need to wait for Seb, then we can get home and out of this crazy weather.”

As the three of them stood waiting for the Year 3's to come out, another, even stronger, gust of wind nearly sent Eve flying to one side; Robert snagging her by the hood of her coat was the only thing that stopped her from tumbling to the ground.

“Right.” He grabbed her securely by the waist and picked her up. “Think I’d better hold onto you before you actually blow away, missy.”

“Wish Seb’d hurry up,” she mumbled, pulling her hood up and tucking her face into Robert’s neck, out of the stinging rain.

“Don’t we all?”

As much as Aaron adored his son, he was a notorious dawdler, always chatting to his teacher or messing around with his mates on his way outside. He’d take the rest of the afternoon to reach the school gates if he could.

Eventually, Seb made his way to the yard, surrounded by his usual gaggle of classmates. Any inclination he’d had to keep chatting to them was swiftly curbed by Aaron’s firm get over here now gesture. He jogged over sheepishly, cramming a beanie on top of his head.

“You get lost or summat?” Aaron rolled his eyes fondly, taking his PE kit from him.

“I went to check if my art project was dry and – ”

“Yep, lovely, you can tell us all about it on the way home,” Robert grumbled, wrapping his free hand around Seb’s shoulder and ushering him towards the car. “We need to get inside before this storm kicks off properly.”

They all clambered in and set off, Robert navigating the usual school run traffic with practiced ease.

“Dad?” Seb asked after a few minutes of driving.

“Hm?”

“Miss Brooks told us this is gonna be the biggest storm Yorkshire’s had in more than 20 years,” he said, wide-eyed. “The biggest since 2003. Was that one really massive?”

“It was, I remember it,” Robert nodded, flicking the windscreen wipers to faster setting. “New Year’s Eve. It put a massive hole in the pub roof n’all.”

“My pub?” Eve chimed in, eyes turning even bigger than Seb’s.

“Yep, it caved right in. I didn’t see it happen though; I was living on the farm, and I had to help my dad get all the animals inside so they’d be safe.”

“Woah.” Seb sounded so impressed, Robert didn’t have the heart to mention that someone had unfortunately died as a result of said hole in the roof.

“2003. That's so long ago,” Eve mused, fingertips following the paths of rainwater sliding down the window. “Years and years and – ”

“Yes, okay,” Robert said loudly. “I feel ancient now, thanks for that.”

Eve and Seb just laughed, like the demon spawn they both were.

“Do you remember the storm too, Dad?” Seb asked, a hand over his mouth failing to suppress the grin on his face.

“Nah, I wasn’t living in the village then,” Aaron smirked. “Was a bit before my time, I’m a lot younger than Old Man Sugden over here.”

“How old are you, Rob?”

“50,” Seb said with a snort.

“100!”

“150!"

“Kids, come on, he’s not a day over 72,” Aaron drawled, only to yelp when Robert briefly took a hand off the steering wheel to swipe at him, which only made the backseat passengers cackle even harder.

The laughter was suddenly cut short, however, when a wayward tree branch hit the bonnet with a loud bang, before bouncing off onto the road.

“Jesus!” Robert jerked the car in surprise, before quickly regaining control and continuing down the road in silence, hands gripping the wheel tightly.

Aaron glanced back to see both Seb and Eve’s smiles had been replaced with slightly nervous looks, Eve biting her bottom lip anxiously.

“It’s okay.” He quickly reached a hand back to pat her knee reassuringly. “It was just a tiny branch, practically a twig, nothing to worry about. We’ll be home soon.”

By the time they arrived in the village, the rain was lashing down, pelting the roof of the car so loudly they struggled to hear themselves talk. There was hardly anyone outside, and the few that were looked like they were quickly retreating indoors. They passed Leyla leaving her office with her head down, tottering unsteadily on her stiletto heels, and David and Jacob quickly pulling potted plants and buckets of umbrellas back into the safety of the shop.

As they pulled onto the drive, the ominous first sounds of thunder could be heard rumbling overhead.

“Okay, inside, go go go!”

The four of them scrambled out of the car and dashed towards the house, Robert fumbling with the keys to unlock the door.

“In your own time,” Aaron grouched, hunching over to shield the kids from the worst of it as best he could.

“Hang on, I can’t feel my bloody fingers.”

Eventually, he managed to get the key in the lock and they burst into the warmth of the house, already drenched in the brief minute it had taken to get inside.

“C-cold,” Seb shivered, peeling off his sodden hat and jacket and dropping them on the rug.

“So cold you forgot how to use a coat peg?” Robert said exasperatedly, picking it up. “Why don’t you two go upstairs and have a couple of nice, hot showers while I get tea started? Eve, you can use our mine and Aaron's bathroom, if you want? Aaron’ll help you turn the taps on.”

“Can I use your fancy shower gel?”

Robert sighed and ruffled her damp hair. “If you must.”

Eve grinned and began to follow Seb up the stairs, only to freeze at a flash of lightning.

“The storm won’t put a hole in this roof, will it?”

“You think Robert would let that happen?” Aaron smiled at her. “Nah, we built our place to be extra strong,” 

“Storm-proof, even,” Robert added from the kitchen.

“See? We’re safe as houses in here, I promise. Go on upstairs, I’ll be there in a minute, yeah?”

Seemingly satisfied, Eve nodded and carried on up the stairs. They heard the sound of her feet running along the landing, presumably to what was unofficially dubbed as “her room”, since she spent so much time in it, before the door gently clicked shut.

“What’s for tea?” Aaron sighed, padding over to the kitchen and hooking his chin over Robert’s shoulder.

Robert hummed and leaned back against his chest while he chopped some veg. “Shepherd’s pie, should warm the kids up.”

“So domestic, you,” Aaron grinned, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. “I just hope the power doesn’t go out tonight.”

“Me too, otherwise we’ll have to keep them entertained the old-fashioned way.”

“What’s the old-fashioned way?”

“Er… how good are you at shadow puppets?”

A minute later, Seb came downstairs to find his dad frantically plugging every laptop and tablet into its charger.

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

Scars That Heal || Eddie Kaspbrak x Reader Series

• Ch. 5: Fright Night •

    The children, all seven of them now dry and dressed, coast down the street on their bikes, Ben in the lead.

    Ben, Y/n noticed, seemed in an awfully big hurry to get inside first. They had all ditched their bikes on the front lawn of the Hanscom residence and sped inside after Ben, eager not to lose his trail. Though Y/n and Richie lingered behind when Eddie had tripped and fallen over Richie’s bike. Each of them had been in such a hurry of their own to catch up with the rest, they had failed to notice the woman on the corner of the street, who was stapling a missing poster of Patrick Hockstetter to the telephone pole.

    When the kids reached the open door at the end of the hall, they could only assume it belonged to Ben. As they entered, their previous conversations died down as their eyes fell on his walls. Dozens upon dozens of pages, much like the ones in his folder littered each wall.

    “Wow,” Richie breathed.

    Ben smiled, shifting on his feet excitedly with pride swelling in his chest. “Cool, huh?”

    Richie reached the end of the room, readjusting his glasses with a thoughtful look on his face.

    “No, no, nothing cool,” Y/n felt guilty for the quiet chuckle she released at Richie’s remark. “There’s nothing cool.”

  Richie stepped closer to the wall, adjusting his glasses squinting over so slightly.

    “This is cool, right here,” he feigned a sigh. “Wait, no. No, it’s not cool,”

    Y/n chuckled once more, lightly whacking Richie on the arm as she joined him and Eddie by the wall. Ben stepped out of the way to make room for her and he looked across the room at Beverly, who was mindfully traveling the walls, soaking up all the information provided.

    Stan had joined Y/n, Richie, and Eddie by Ben’s dresser, a curious look on his face. He gestured to a particularly long piece of copy paper, with several things circled and written in red ink.

    Ben returned his gaze to the wall, and back at Stan.

    ��Oh, that? That’s the charter for Derry Township.”

    Richie scoffed, smirking at Eddie and Y/n.

    “Nerd alert.”

    Ben simply shrugged it off. “No, actually, it’s pretty interesting.”

    Y/n smiled at this and nodded impressed with Ben.

    “Derry started as a beaver trapping camp,”

    “Still is, am I right fellas?” Richie asked, a smirk on his lips and his hand outstretched waiting for a high five.

    No one reciprocated, though Stan did give him a disapproving shake of the head.

    Her eyes scanned the walls, and she felt the mood shift to that of uncertainty and she could almost feel a weight sitting upon her shoulders. Y/n hadn’t realized just how many missing kid posters were hung up and she felt herself grow uneasy, and the pit in her stomach only grew as Ben continued unfazed by Richie.

    “Ninety-one people signed the charter that made Derry. But, later that winter, they all disappeared without a trace.”

    “The entire camp?” Eddie asked in disbelief.

    Y/n was still transfixed on the papers tacked onto the wall, though still very much tuned into the conversation.

    “There were rumors of Indians, but no signs of an attack.”

    The rag clad girl gulped as her eyes landed on illustration depicting the signing of the town charter. The knot in her stomach tightened and she felt a wave of nerves and nausea though she could not say why. Something about the illustration bothered her and made her hair stand on end. Something that churned her stomach and drained the color from her skin. Something, she still could quite put her finger on.

    “Everybody just thought it was a plague or something. But it’s like, one day everybody just woke up and left. The only clue was a trail of bloody clothes leading to the well house,”

    Y/n’s eyes flickered to the illustration of the wellhouse, but they didn’t linger long. Her attention returned to the signing of the town charter when Richie spoke up.

    “Jesus. We can get Derry on Unsolved Mysteries.”

    Ben thought he heard the creaking of a door and he turned around quickly. Sure enough, Beverly had nearly closed his bedroom door, silently revealing his New Kids On The Block poster and he felt as if he might die. He sent her a pleading look, almost certain his face was completely pink, and a small smirk found its way onto her face. She returned the door to its original position without another word, hiding the poster where it would remain their little secret.

    Taking advantage of Ben’s diverted attention, Stan turned to Richie, Eddie and Y/n in a hushed whisper.

    “Why is he showing us this stuff?”

    Y/n was finally pulled from her quizzical trance and directed her attention back to the boys. Richie shrugged, also speaking in something of a whisper.

    “Maybe he’s just trying to make some friends, Stanley.”

    Bill, who had been drawn in by a small selection of slides on Ben’s desk, spoke up for the first time since they had arrived.

    “Where was the well house?”

    Everyone turned to face Ben. Y/n noticed that Eddie had picked up a bottle of what must have been cologne, and took a big whiff. The strong smell caught him off guard and Y/n smiled mischievously. She quickly and lightly smacked her palm against the bottom of the bottle, bumping it against his face and nearly knocking it out of his grasp. Some of its contents flew up against the glass and splashed his nose leaving droplets on his face as well as the rim of the bottle and she snickered.

    “I don’t know,” Ben answered, shrugging. “Somewhere in town, I guess. Why?”

    Feverishly, Eddie wiped his face. His nose was scrunched up in disgust, unable to escape the strong and overpowering musk that clung to his nose.

    Bill, who like the other kids - save for Richie who caught the tail end of Y/n’s little trick and was hiding laughter of his own - had not noticed Eddie’s discomfort. His lips pressed into a firm line and he looked away distracted with thoughts of his own.

×××

    Eddie turned the corner passing the old church, his feet carrying him down Neibolt Street. His backpack clutched tight, he brought his hands up to his mouth, hoping he could still do the trick he had been so proud to learn.

    Sure enough, he managed a few discernible notes. But the tune he held and all desire to practice the skill died down as he approached the familiar broken down house at the end of the block. Everything around it was either dead or dying and if one were to look at that and only that lot they’d think it was mid-October. His Mama always warned him against that house and going anywhere near it.

    No good could come from it Eddie Bear, no good. God forbid you ever find yourself around that house, or any one like it, you just keep to yourself and you keep on walking, you hear me, Eddie? You keep on walking. Places like that are a hotspot for death and disease and you’d be making a fool outta me if you do otherwise. Now tell me, is your mama a fool Eddie?

    “No, Ma.”

    “Good boy,”

    He could hear her scolding him even now as clear as if she was standing next to him. He could not say why he had stopped just outside the house, perhaps it was the memory of her warning him against such things or the way the house seemed to cast a shadow over the whole street but he found himself in a daze unable to move.

    Channeling his mother and her fearful worried cries, the stopwatch beeped rhythmically on his wrist as if telling him, “Keep on walking! Keep on walking! Keep on walking!” He brought himself out of his trance and the stopwatch, not unlike his mother, was now wailing at him, reminding him it was time for his afternoon pill.

    He unzipped his fanny pack, his small hands dug through its contents for the familiar plastic container. Popping open the cap, he grabbed the pill in his hands and raised it to his lips but he felt himself stiffen at the creek of an old door. He watched frozen as the front door of the dreaded house on Neibolt sat wide open.

    He knew it wasn’t open before, he was sure of it. Nevertheless, it was wide open and it was so dark inside the house it seemed to swallow up all light that entered. He could hear a bone-chilling voice echoing in the back of his mind, calling out to him.

    Eddie.

    His eyes remained on the front door, almost too afraid that if he looked away something would swallow him up. The voice he believed to be from the darkest depths of his twisted imagination continued.

    What are you looking for?

    But his mother’s shrill voice was louder in his subconscious and he had never been so thankful.

     No good can come from it, Eddie Bear. No good. Keep on walking!

    Thankful to be pulled from his trance he tore his gaze away from the house and continued on. He opened up his fanny pack, his hands still trembling. Unfortunately, the container slipped from his sweaty hands and hit the pavement cracking it open. All his meds spilled out onto the dirty concrete and he cursed himself.

    “Fuck. Mom’s gonna fucking flip.”

    Eddie picked up far too many pills to carry and he quickly crawled forward, grabbing the blue container to hold them all. He could already hear his mother’s lecture that would come.

    Do you have any idea how expensive these are Eddie? And you might as well have chucked ‘em down the drain! You need them, Eddie! You know how fragile you are, how could you be so careless?

    Nine, ten, eleven, twelve, he had picked up nearly all of his pills, not bothering to sort them in the container. He followed them like a trail of breadcrumbs, plucking them up and quickly discarding them into the container one by one. He reached for the last remaining capsule, it’s bright red hue making it easy to spot on the grey concrete.

    The last thing he expected was a long, discolored and bony hand with blackened nails wrap around the pill. The hand was shaking as much Eddie’s was and it slowly raised the capsule in front of his face. The hand was wrapped poorly in a dirty cloth, and Eddie realized it wasn’t just the fingernails that were black but nearly all of the fingers. It was curled around the pill, and Eddie could swear he saw every bone.

    The same raspy voice from before was now loud and clear.

    “Do you think this will help me, Eddie?”

    The figure attached to the hand leaned forward suddenly, giving Eddie a look at Its horribly disfigured face for the first time. It was a leper, Eddie recognized. Its face was a sickly grey, bulbous pink warts bubbled on the grey skin that hung off Its face. One of Its eyes was completely rotted and drool dribbled from Its chin and if Eddie had to pick what was most jarring to see, it was the shriveled up slit where Its nose was supposed to be.

    The first breath of air Eddie managed to get was the sharp gasp that left his mouth. He tumbled onto his back, his pills now completely forgotten. He scrambled away though his limbs felt like they were made of lead and no matter how much he tried he couldn’t seem to go fast enough. The leper could barely balance properly, and It’s twig thin legs wobbled as It walked. He charged forward after Eddie. Eddie hadn’t realized he had been heading in the direction of the Neibolt house until he felt the crunch of dead grass beneath his palms.

    All he could see apart from the drooling figure was the blinding sun poking from behind the leper’s head. Scrounging up every ounce of energy he could muster Eddie jumped back, somehow able to mind the rusted iron gate.

    The leper lurched for Eddie once more, swiping Its frail arm at him. Miraculously, Eddie was able to dodge the attack and he scrambled to his feet. He had to pull his legs up high as he ran to keep from tripping over the tall grass. The leper growled and Eddie zipped through the yard at a speed he didn’t know he had. But it didn’t matter, the leper was still hot on his trail, swinging Its arms back and forth as he sped after him.

    His fearful cries ripped from his throat as he ran around the side of the house.

    “Help! Help!”

    Much to his horror, Eddie felt himself lose his balance and he tumbled to the ground and the momentum rolled him forward across the grass. The leper was closing in and he scrambled to his feet once more, he risked the chance of capture and spared a glance behind him. The leper swiped at him and Eddie yelped in fear.

    Eddie thought he spotted a small hole in the fence just behind the shrubbery and he thanked any all-knowing force in the universe he had an exit. He feverishly swiped at the shrubbery, trying desperately to get by. But the leper must be inches away from him by now, his head whipped around and he unexpectedly stopped. What he saw made him stop in his tracks even though everything in screamed to move but the sight was all too strange he wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or not.

    The leper was gone and just across the yard a tall and lanky figure. It was dressed in a silver puffy suit, with bright orange pom-poms and it looked to be from across many different decades. But of course, the shocking image that mystified Eddie was the array of blood-red balloons that formed an upside-down triangle that defied the laws of physics. Its head was hidden behind the singular balloon at the base of the pyramid.

    The balloon simultaneously slowly rose, revealing the face of a clown. It was pale white apart from his lips that were painted blood red and the edge of his lips trailed up all the way above his brows, bisecting each yellow eye. He had three large tufts of orange hair and his forehead was chipped and cracking like cheap paint. The clown stared at Eddie, hatred in his eyes.

    And yet, the clown’s lips curled up into a smile, his bottom lip making a sharp ‘v’ revealing large buck teeth that reminded Eddie of a rabbit’s.

    “Where ya goin’ Eds? If you lived here, you’d be home by now.”

    When the clown spoke, Eddie felt as if all that was good and pure in the world had shriveled up and died and he felt his stomach plummet. It was a gravelly and squeaky voice, a voice that chilled him to the bone.

    He gulped in fear and Eddie felt the absence of air in his lungs and he had no idea if it was his asthma or the fear that gripped his heart. As if sensing this, the clown’s smile grew, a feat Eddie hadn’t previously thought possible.

    “Come and join the clown, Eds. You’ll float down here. We all float down here. Yes, we do.”

    The clown shook It’s head, speaking in a voice that might remind one of someone speaking down to a dog. A sharp and squeaky cackle left the clown’s mouth, startling Eddie out of his trance. He returned his attention to the shrubbery, desperately swiping aside the thin branches blocking him from the fence. A scream ripped from his throat in a combination of fear and hope that someone would hear him.

    Eddie scrambled for the hole in the fence, for once in his life not concerned about the possibility of any damage he might take in the process. He felt dirt and pebbles wedge into his the creases of his knees but nothing compared to the dangerous hammering of his heart against his chest. The sounds of thousands of balloons popping grabbed his attention once more and he glanced over his shoulder to see nothing but an empty yard.

×××

    Beverly closed the front door behind her, she made her way to the end of the hallway towards her bedroom. The entire apartment was quiet, and the only sounds that carried down the halls were the rattling of the old fan in the living room. She took a seat on her bed, opening up her bag she had taken to the quarry. She unzipped the main pocket and began sifting through her belongings when she heard something tumble to the ground. Curious, she picked it up.

    It was a postcard of Derry. Someone must have slipped it into her bag at the quarry. Beverly flipped the postcard over to find a little note etched in pencil.

    That was all she allowed herself to read before she stood from her bed and retreated to the bathroom, the only safe space in the house. Her heart was aflutter as she closed the door behind her, locking it.

    To: Beverly

    From: Secret Admirer

    Bev took another lingering look at the front of the postcard and the sound of her boot heels clicked against the tile as she headed for the bathtub. She lowered herself into the mint green tub, her legs dangling over the side and she rested her back against the other side.

    She held the postcard up to the light, excitedly. A smile tugged at her lips as she read the scratchy handwriting. She read aloud in a quiet whisper, and she felt a warmth spread through her chest and her stomach did flips. Not the kind she was used to, this was a giddy feeling and she never knew she could experience such a beautiful feeling.

    “Your hair is winter fire, January Embers, My heart burns there too,”

    Beverly was certain she had never smiled so hard. She read the poem once more, making sure she wasn’t imagining it and she brought it close to her heart.

    “Beverly,”

    Bev frowned, and her attention was drawn across the room. All she could hear at the moment was the sound water droplets falling from the faucet and into the drain. She couldn’t help but wonder if she had imagined it. Right on cue, the voice spoke again, calling out her name and she was almost certain it was coming from the drain in the sink.

    “Help me,”

    It sounded like a familiar female voice. Y/n? No, it couldn’t be, that wouldn’t make any sense. Then again, none of this did. Cautiously, she rose from the tub and inched towards the sink.

   "Help me, please" the voice spoke again, this time in a harsh whisper.

     She slowly approached the sink to examine it. Her heartbeat was still fairly slow, though it pounded against her ribcage and it was forceful. The voice from the drain continued, though now it was accompanied by a few other voices, all of which sounded fairly young.

    “We all want to meet you, Beverly. We all float down here”

    Maybe this was all a dream. She was imagining the whole thing, including the postcard. The poem seemed much too good to be true anyway. And yet, curiosity still drew her in.

    “Hello? Who are you?” She asked, peering down the drain.

    “I’m Veronica.”

    “Betty Ripsom.”

    “Patrick Hockstetter.”

    She leaned closer, racking her brain for some kind of explanation as to what could possibly explain this. Maybe if she could see them. Maybe they got stuck below the apartment building somehow and were communicating through the pipes? It was a long shot and it didn’t make much sense, but again, none of this did. The voices seemed to have read her mind and they spoke once more, encouraging her.

    “Come closer.” One said.

    “Wanna see?” Another asked.

    “We float.”

    “We change.” The last voice grew deep and hoarse, and it let out a distorted giggle that echoed through the pipes.

    A tape measure, it just might work. Beverly thought she last saw it in the living room. Where her father was. Well, hopefully, she could sneak in and grab it without him waking up. The last thing she needed was being bombarded with a bunch of questions she herself couldn’t answer.

    Beverly crept into the hallway, careful to avoid the squeaky floorboard near the corner’s edge. When she approached the living room, the sound of the rattling fan and the static of the television set grew louder. Her father was still fast asleep, past out in front of the TV, beer cans on the side table. But just across the room sat the tape measure.

    When she returned to the bathroom, she closed the door behind her gently once more, neglecting to lock it. She stood above the sink, tape measure in hand, and the bathroom now silent as a tomb. Extending the end of the yellow coil, it snaked further and further down the drain. She extended the measure until her fingers touched the sink, expecting a dull thud from the curve of the pipes but none came. Further and further down it went, defying the shape of the pipes. Finally, to her relief, she felt a thud, and a small metallic clang echoed up the drain.

    Beverly sighed and began reeling in the tape, up and up, and up some more. It had nearly reached the rim of the drain when Beverly noticed a change in color. The yellow strip blended into a bright red hue and she grimaced when she found the tape measure was now covered in blood. It was restricted by a thick rope of hair that was tangled around the lip, making it harder for Beverly to retract it and she grimaced at the ugly sight.

    Clumps of blood were threaded through the strands and it knotted at the ends where it gripped the blade. Beverly was too slow and vastly unprepared to rip her hand away from the unexpected attack. Strands of hair whipped out and curled around her hand and wrist. The tape measure dropped into the sink making a loud clang, though it was quickly drowned out by Beverly’s frightened screams.

    Beverly was pulled closed to the sink no matter how hard she fought. Her other wrist was quickly restrained in another lock of sentient hair and she grunted trying to escape its strength. Bev felt her throat grow raw from the screams that erupted from her throat. Twines of hair coiled around her neck, pulling her closer. Thick tendrils of hair burst from the drain and wrapped firmly around her head and curling around her face. She felt the hair grow and wrap around her body, restraining her legs so it was impossible to run away.

    “Daddy! Help!”

    Her words were barely discernible as they were lost in her screams but she knew that didn’t matter. The hair pulled tighter and she was jerked harshly towards the drain. The hair was now sprawled all across her face like roots spreading in every direction. Her voice never wavered and her screams grew harsher if at all possible.

    A dark red substance bubbled up from the drain and oozed out into the sink. It was blood so dark it was almost black and it was thick and slow but it bubbled like a stew being brought to a boil. Before her brain could instruct her mouth to close, gallons and gallons of blood spewed from the drain like a guiser. Her mouth was filled with the metallic taste and she felt every inch of her skin soaked in blood. It splashed off her face and hit the walls around her.

    It reached every corner and crevice of the room, it even splattered across her poem. The current of blood was so strong it moved the glass lampshade of the light above the sink. The pressure of the blast stung her face and the blood stung her eyes.

    Finally, the grip on her body loosened and she was able to wiggle free. She stumbled back and crashed on the slippery floor. Her screams withered into weak whimpers of fear and she felt her feet and hands slipped out from under her several times. Her heart felt as if it would explode in her chest and she never stopped scrambling until she felt her back hit the wall. She cowered in fear, her whole body was trembling and the blood was still gushing from the sink like a hose.

    Beverly closed her eyes and sobs shook her body. The blood had finally stopped and she barely registered the sound of the hair slithering back down the drain. Her sobs turned into weak screams and she was still wailing when her father swung the down open.

    “The hell’s going on?” He asked.

    He looked more annoyed than concerned and he looked at her, waiting for an answer.

    “T-t-the sink…” her lips quivered and she looked desperately around the room. “And the b-b-blood… I-it’s…”

    “What blood?”

    She gaped at him and she tried not to open her eyes too wide, lest more blood sting her eyes.

    “T-the s-sink. You d-don’t see it?”

    Her words were lost in her shaky breaths. No matter how hard she tried to get the words out, only incoherent mumbles tumbled out.

    Her father knelt down before her, and he tilted his head.

    “You worry me, Bevvie.” He looked her up and down, and he clicked his tongue. “You worry me a lot.”

    She stared at him astonished, thankful she had gathered enough composure to get a sentence out. Her voice quivered and it came out in a hoarse whisper, sore from the screaming.

    “But don’t you see?”

    He frowned distastefully and brushed away her bangs.

    “Why’d you do this to your hair? Makes you look like a boy.”

    His voice was filled with disappointment and disgust. He gave her one more once over. He rose to his feet and left the bathroom, closing the door behind him and leaving behind a sobbing Beverly.

×××

    All was quiet in the Denbrough residence. The only signs of life came from Bill’s room, his small bedside lamp was on and he lays in bed, watercolor pencil in hand. The leak in his ceiling had dampened once more and droplets of rainwater fell onto his sketchbook. It was opened next to his pillow where he had created a rough but accurate sketch of Beverly Marsh with her new haircut.

    The rainwater had landed on the shading of her hair created a small red splatter that reminded Bill of blood. He frowned, knowing he had to get up from his warm bed and go across the hall to retrieve the bucket they kept in the closet for these such occasions. The soft lamplight poured lightly into the hallway becoming his only source of light. Thankfully though, Bill’s eyes had somewhat adjusted to the dark.

    Bill felt the familiar dull ache in his heart when his eyes flickered to his brother’s bedroom door. It had not been touched since Georgie’s disappearance, apart from the times Bill had come in to silently grieve. It was still open a crack just as he had left it from his last visit. He cast the saddening thoughts from his brain, not allowing himself the emotional toll.

    Bill retrieved the bucket from the lower shelf, remembering where he had placed it from the last leak. He was sure to close the closet door quietly as to not wake his parents and he heard his feet patter against the hardwood floor.

    CLICK

    Bill froze. He recognized the sound as Georgie’s bedside lamp but it took seconds for his brain to register that as unusual. Bill looked over his shoulder to find a soft light flooding out into the hall from his brother’s room. He set the metal bucket down, it made a quiet clang, and cautiously he crept forward. Perhaps one of his parents had come to grieve? That couldn’t be. To Bill, that was just as likely as flying pigs, because ever since Georgie’s disappearance, both of his parents refused to talk about him. It’s like they had always had just one child.

    With cautious steps, he entered his brother’s room. He felt the heavy weight settle back onto his heart and chest, the room looked exactly how Georgie had left it. Bill felt all sense of caution and tension vanish as he stepped into his brother’s room. All of Georgie’s toys and trinkets where right where he left them. Even the turtle he built with Bill.

    With a heavy heart, Bill crossed the room to pick up the turtle and he took a seat on his brother’s bed. He felt a familiar lump in his throat and sting in his eyes, and yet no tears came. Bill had shed them all. He was so swept up in the overwhelming floodgate memories of his younger brother, he failed to notice the silhouette of Georgie being cast onto the door from the hall, watching him. It turned and fled and only then was Bill pulled from his thoughts when he heard the sound of wet galoshes scurrying down the hall.

    The boy rose to his feet, the turtle still clutched tightly in his hands. It gave him an odd sense of comfort that he could not explain and he followed the footsteps all the way downstairs. When he reached the entryway Bill tensed when he saw the living room light had been on, like it had been waiting for him. He stood across from the kitchen, moonlight was spilling from the skylight and it cast a pale green light on the tile floor. The sound of squeaky footsteps had stopped and so did he.

    A sharp, piercing beep rang in his ears, startling him, much like it had for Georgie the day that he died. But Bill saw a small figure, dressed in a familiar yellow rain slicker dart across the end of the kitchen and into the cellar. The sudden sight startled Bill and the plastic turtle he forgot he had been carrying fell to the floor, shattering into its original pieces.

    “G-Georgie.” The name left his tongue in a weak whisper and yet it felt foreign.

    Like it didn’t belong to the youngest Denbrough boy.

    Bill could hear the blood pounding in his ears but he followed the figure. He hesitated when he reached the cellar door, his gut screaming at him to turn around and go to bed and forget the whole thing. But Bill couldn’t, not when there was even a chance he could see Georgie again.

    Bill tried not to let the creaking of the old cellar stairs add to his nerves, though it didn’t help. The basement had flooded, Bill realized. Moonlight from the cellar windows had spilled into the room, hitting the water and casting an ominous glow that danced along the walls. Bill heard a disturbance in the water, he could hear the water sloshing around and the noise brought his attention to the sight of his little brother hiding behind a shelf.

    Bill couldn’t believe it. Georgie looked exactly as Bill remembered, the very same bright yellow rain slicker and matching galoshes. Even his hood was up, just as it had been when he waved Bill goodbye. Georgie looked to Bill, with the very same big doe eyes and spoke in a whisper Bill could barely hear.

    “I lost it, Billy. Don’t be mad.”

    Bill felt the grip on his heart grow tighter and he struggled to swallow the lump forming in his throat. He knew, even if by some chance he had never left his bed and he was still curled up safe and sound, dreaming he was seeing Georgie again, he would regret not speaking to him.

    “I-I’m not mad at you.”

    The moonlight bouncing off the surface of the water illuminated Georgie’s paled face in waves. He was hugging the wall, and his head was tilted down like he had been gazing at the reflecting pool. He wore a smirk but it didn’t look or feel right to Bill. His brother’s eyes were dark and the smirk held a malicious glint. Bill could see that this Georgie was as real as he was but when he looked at him, he felt as if he was looking at a ghost.

    In a way, he was.

    Georgie stalked forward, creeping around the corner of the shelf.

    “It just floated off.” His voice was barely audible above his breath and he stared at Bill. “But, Bill, if you’ll come with me, you’ll float, too.”

    “Georgie,”

    Bill’s voice came out in a weak plea, though he did not know what he was pleading for. Georgie’s smile widened and it didn’t sit well with Bill.

    “You’ll float, too.” Georgie giggled, and his voice began increasingly gradually in volume. “You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too.”

    His entire demeanor changed, he wore a scowl and his face began to rot. His voice deepened into a demonic growl and his chanting increased.

    “You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too.” A large bulbous head emerged from the water beside Georgie’s feet that Bill almost missed. “You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too. You’ll float, too! You’ll float, too!”

    The large swollen head now had it’s pointed chin just above the water. Dark hair clung to its distorted forehead, it’s glowing eyes were pointed in different directions, one eye on the fake Georgie and one on Bill. It was mouthing along to Georgie’s unsettling chant as one might lip-sync to their favorite song. It was mocking Bill.

    “You’ll float, too! You’ll float, too! You’ll float, too! You’ll float, too!”

    The clown, Bill realized it was, had an arm up Georgie’s back, much like a puppeteer would on its puppet. The next words to be spoken came from the clown, in a shrill demented shriek and he shoved Georgie into the water as he did so.

    “You’ll float, too!”

    Georgie’s tiny, now rotted body, hit the surface of the water with a giant splash. The face glared at Bill for a brief fleeting moment, before it burst forth from the water, charging after him. A terrible shriek erupted from the clown and it twisted violently as it flew after Bill.

    Not daring to waste another precious second, Bill turned and sped up the cellar stairs. He ripped open the door and slammed it shut after him, not caring if the noise woke his parents.

    The clown landed on the cellar landing, grinning maliciously up at where Bill disappeared. With one last hungry look, Its eyes rolled back into Its head and It slithered back into the murky depths of the basement.  

×××

    Y/n’s head shot up for the fourth time in the past hour, and she blinked several times. She lay on her couch, her favorite quilt draped around her shoulders. Y/n looked at the ticking clock on the wall above the TV and sighed, rubbing her eyes and the dark circles underneath them. The moment she feared had come.

    She had put off her attempts at sleep for as long as she could in front of the TV. She now feared sleep, afraid of allowing herself the vulnerability she was in when she was attacked. She had nodded off a few times on the couch, her head rolling on her shoulders only to be awakened by the cheering of the audience as Johnny Carson welcomed a new guest to the stage. Fearing the possibility of another nightmare like the one only nights earlier - a lie she told herself to stay sane, even though she knew deep down it had been very real - she rose from the couch and crossed the living room to turn up the volume hoping it would keep her from drifting.

    It didn’t, had she not adjusted the set, Beverly’s screams from upstairs would have woken her. Instead, she had nodded off, her feet tucked tightly under the quilt, and the blood-curdling screams were drowned out by the bustling late-night television program and her unconscious mind. That was until roughly an hour later she had been woken up by a sharp whistled from the cheering crowd as Johnny Carson signed off.

    Y/n switched off the TV set, the low hum brought a quiet ambiance to the room as the screen dimmed. She stood on the tips of her toes, ignoring the dull throbbing in her left ankle as she reached for the metal chain of the ceiling fan light. She cursed herself for not leaving the hall light on before turning everything off in the living room, now she had to rush down the hall to the safety of her room before her imagination got the best of her.

    Lights now on and the door shut tight, Y/n trudged across her room to her bed and shed her clothes. She had completely forgotten that she had been wearing her bathing suit underneath and she was reminded of the day’s events. Her eyes wandered to the mirror across the room and she found that she had been smiling. Y/n had not expected to have as much fun as she did. And it had not been Beverly so much as it was the Tozier boy who had brought her out of her shell.

    While it was true they had known one another for at least a year, and they only just really interacted, it felt as if she knew him a lifetime. In fact, during her time at the quarry, she felt as if she had known each of them for a lifetime. Like some cosmic force in the universe had always meant for these seven misfits - these losers - to meet and form an unbreakable bond. And yet, it felt as if there was something - or someone missing - like the last piece of the puzzle and it filled Y/n with a sense of hope. Hope for good things to come - new memories to be made.

    Y/n, who had peeled off her bathing suit and exchanged it for a fresh pair of underwear and an oversized t-shirt, slipped under her covers and snuggled into her pillow. And it was the new and budding sense of warmth spreading in her chest that replaced the icy grip of fear that allowed her to turn off her bedside lamp in peace. A darkness fell over her room, and her mind replayed the joyous memories of the day like a slideshow in her mind.

    The chicken fight with Richie “the trash mouth” Tozier and his cheeky remarks. The new kid, Ben Hanscom, and his kind and soft-spoken nature that brought a peaceful presence to the energetic group dynamic. She enjoyed the sarcastic remarks of Stan Uris and getting to know him and watch as walls of his own slowly came down throughout the day. The effect of comradery that Bill Denbrough so effortlessly instilled into the group. And of course, she enjoyed the company and stable feeling Beverly gifted to her, grateful she had overcome her fears and joined the fun, defying the little green monster that loved to tear her down.

    And of course, the kind and quirky boy, Eddie Kaspbrak, who had been nice enough to bandage her leg that day in the alley. She could tell he was a very hyper boy, with a great deal of energy bouncing around in that unusually small stature of his. And he had a very odd habit of staring, she noticed. But nevertheless, he had a knack for making her smile. She was smiling even now, eyes closed and curled under her blankets - despite it being another hot summer night, she made sure to take extra precaution, toes tucked in and safe, just in case.

    A weak laugh escaped her, though her body had grown so tired one might have mistaken it for an exhale. Her mind had wandered to the little prank she had pulled and how enduring Eddie had looked when his nose was scrunched up from the splash of cologne. And she was of course very grateful he was willing to jump with her when she was hesitant. And something she had not admitted to herself until now was the small flutter in her stomach when she interacted with Eddie. From his kind offer of taking the leap together, to the sportsmanship exchanged between them during the chicken fight. And though she had pretended not to have noticed, she had, in fact, caught the glimpses the hypochondriac boy had stolen while she had been sunbathing.

    The way he looked at her gave her butterflies, not while sunbathing, but innocent moments that made up the bliss of childhood. While she had been caught in an unflattering belly laugh from one of Richie’s jokes, he smiled fondly at her. Or even after she had snuck up on him in the water and splashed him, he still had beaming smile and mischief in his eyes.

    The way Eddie Kaspbrak looked at Y/n L/n was very different from the way most boys looked at Beverly Marsh.

    It was never out of lust, nor was it out of obsession, but admiration. The way one might watch the fireworks on a warm night in July. It was quick and it was fleeting, and you had to be looking at the right moment to catch him, for you see, his adoration for her soon would quickly be replaced by irritation at Richie, or a witty comeback to mask his feelings that even he was denying seeing as it was a foreign concept to him. But Y/n noticed it anyway, and while she brushed it off in the moment, it was times like these in the dead of night and the safety of her own mind that she allowed herself to consider these feelings.

    Only once more did she think of the safe feeling Eddie and the other losers brought her before sleep blanketed her conscious. And thus was the first time since her traumatic encounter and her injury that she had enjoyed a peaceful night’s sleep.

@seasidecrowbar ​ @bevxmarsh @supernovavisionary @readyforitbitch @edsloveshisrichie ​ @sivords ​  @ravenclawsprincess @pigwidgexn @kricketwritesstories  @sweetpeasserpentprincess23 @plum-duels @edmunds-torch @eddiegaykaspbrak ​ @rosi3e @welcome-to-derry @beepbeep-pennywise @candycorntroll @bibliophilesquared @ongaku-ato-kakikomi @cocastyle @peachysinnermon ​ @mochibarnes @captainshazamerica ​ @kaitlynjones12 ​ @songbird-writes ​ @traceylader ​ @eggytozier ​  @annimalq @lexylovesfandoms ​ @russian-romanova ​ @paigey-mcfreedomly ​ @whitetrash12345 @witch-of-all-things-soft

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[corpse--diem]

Blood On Your Knees | solo

Summary: A plan comes together. When: Sunday, June 7th Guest Starring: @streetharmacist and @detectivedreameater

“You have one week.”

Roy’s voice echoed in her head, followed only by the silence that came with that smirk of his. The one that knew Erin couldn’t fight this. Knew that he and he alone had all of the power between them. And now that Sunday night had arrived, it meant two things: Dale would be due for his weekly pick-up and that her time was up. This was happening. This was really, really fucking happening.

Trying to focus on anything but what she was about to do had been a complete joke. By the time Friday rolled around, she gave up on work all together and put her energies where they needed to be. Planning and preparation was a fluid motion once she let her brain do what it needed to.

When Sunday night came, it was all set. Every part. She was ready. And even if she wasn’t, she had no choice.

Just as Erin predicted, Dale didn’t see the blow coming when he strutted into the funeral home basement like he had every other Sunday before then. One good knock upside the head with the baseball bat laid him flat—no fighting, no bickering, no squirming around the inevitable. She couldn’t afford those kind of mistakes tonight, and she’d been right for thinking that. A cold chill went up her spine when she found the rope alongside the gun on the inside of his jacket. Seemed like Dale had plans tonight, too. She wouldn’t allow her imagination to wreak havoc. Put her nose to the grind and got to work.

It got easier once she cuffed him, rolled his behemoth of a body into a black body bag. Easier. Fucking weird thought too. But he still alive. Just out like a light. The corpse lifts had done the rest of the more backbreaking work for her, and before she knew it, she was slipping him into the back of the hearse. Like any other body on any other day.

The warehouse set up at Finney Docks was just a short drive from there. He’d woken up at some point, which made it easier to slip him inside. Blood dripped profusely from the splinter above his eyebrow. He tried to argue, to fight, to beg for his life--but when she cocked the gun against the back of his skull, for the first time since she’d known him, Dale shut the fuck up. Nic had shown her the very basics of how to handle the pistol in her hands, how to make it do the one thing she needed it to. Enough to handle herself right here and now. And maybe it was the gun, maybe it was the foreboding darkness of the dusty warehouse and a baseball that had struck the fear of God into him good and hard. Maybe he just knew his time was up, but he marched onwards into the building.

“Sit,” she instructed simply, giving him a shove towards one of two metal folding chairs in the center of the large room. Her hands were shaking but she gave no indication of it in her voice. It’ll be over soon, she kept reminding herself. It was her or him. Her or him. Those were the only two options.

His bloody, cracked smile unnerved and disgusted her in equal measures. He must have cracked a tooth or two when he face-planted in the basement earlier. It took him a moment, sluggish and disoriented, but he managed to sit.

“Guess this means you’re breakin’ up with me, sweets?” Dale chuckled until a cough overtook him. Spat blood at her feet. Metal handcuffs rattled against the chair as he struggled to get comfortable. For all his bravado, he was fading a little bit at a time.

There were a thousand things she’d been dying to say to this ogre of a man since the moment she’d figured out what he’d done. What he was going to do to her. And she’d be a liar if she pretended she hadn’t pictured whacking him with her baseball bat months ago. He deserved it. He deserved this--but now that she was faced with this--with him--the only thing she felt right now was sick. Roy’s smirk flashed in front of her again and she steeled up quick. Just get this over with, she told herself. But then his goddamn voice broke through her thoughts.

“Christ almighty. Of all fucking people, it ends with fucking you.” His laugh was low and sardonic now. He knew it was over, just as much as she knew did. Knew he’d gotten himself in too deep to back out. Knew he’d been outsmarted. Dale grit his teeth, trying to hold back his seething while she still had that gun in her hand. He honestly had to wonder if she even knew how to use the damn thing.

Fuck it. If he was gonna go down, he’d go down swinging.

“I guess you wanna know why? That’s why you brought me out here?” He asked. Knowing how this ended didn’t mean he couldn’t at least try to buy himself more time.

Erin shook her head, taking a seat in the other chair across from him. Raised a brow and shook her head. “I really don’t care why,” she shrugged. When it came down to it, it was greed. It was always greed. Greed and fear and idiocy. That’s what had put her father into an early grave, hadn’t it? Her elbows rested on her knee as she leaned forward, the gun still aimed at him. “I brought you out here so no one would hear you scream.” Not her best line, or the most original. Just the honest truth. 

He stiffened at that. Still, another strained laugh overtook him and this time he shook his head. “Oooh, real fuckin’ tough now, aren’t ya?” He craned his neck, taking a glance around, as if somewhere within the shadows would be a way out. “Nah, I don’t mean that. Think it’s pretty obvious.” He dropped his head back, giving it a good roll, easing some of the tension from his neck and shoulders. When no hint of recognition flashed over her face, just more confusion, he gave a hard pause. Oh, perfect. This was the set up he was looking for. Tit for fuckin’ tat.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know about Mama Nichols? The hell was her name. Didi? Deb?” He made a smacking noise with his lips when it came to him. “Diane.” He met her eyes with that question and her face gave her away the second he saw the blood drain from it. She sure as fuck hadn’t expected that.

“Oh, you’ve got no fucking clue.” He gave a heartier laugh this time, throwing his head back.

Erin stood so fast the chair behind her clattered to the ground. “I swear to God, Dale,” she tensed, both hands on the gun as she pointed it just inches from his face.

His smile soured. “I’ll tell ya if you give me a kiss--” he barely had time to make those obnoxious puckering motions before Erin pulled the trigger. She hadn’t meant to--didn’t even think when she did it. Some instinct had been prodded and a white hot bolt shot through her. She dropped her hand and the bullet obliterated his kneecap. The sound was deafening and the shot startled even herself as it gave a little kick. But fuck did his howl of pain sound sweeter than anything she’d heard in months. “Jesus Christ, you crazy fucking bitch!”

Holy fuck, she did that. She shook but didn’t move. Didn’t back off. “Talk,” she shouted above his crying and she pointed to his other knee. That anger was alive, unfolding and taking control. Doing what needed to be done. “NOW,” she instructed, kicking the leg she’d just blown a hole in.

“Your dipshit dad got behind! He--he--” Dale was stuttering, gritting his teeth through the pain, but he made sure to show that he was cooperating. He was still baffled that the mortician had it in her. “Chambers wanted to send a-a message. Fuck. Wanted to make sure he knew his place, that--that this wasn’t some friendly neighborhood loan shark kinda set-up he had going on.” Dale hesitated, taking a moment to holler out another string of obscenities  Found her eyes again just for a second. Something he didn’t want to say was written in every pore, every dark crease filled with dried blood. Knew his time was coming to a close real fucking soon. But she saw it. That fear. He swallowed hard, took a long look at the gun. Now that he knew she wasn’t afraid to use it, he was going to make sure this hurt as much as the fresh new hole in his fucking knee did.

“Last thing his old lady ever saw was my beautiful, shit-eatin’ grin.”

Erin couldn’t breathe. For a few seconds, she genuinely had forgotten how to. Everything was red. All-consuming, molten red.

The whole fucking time--

“You--” the rest of the words caught in her throat. Dale. She slowly lowered the gun as it sunk in. Bile rose in her throat and she was seconds from losing it. And if he hadn’t taken that time to kick the gun out of her hand with his one good leg, she probably would have. It was a stupid, last-ditch effort on his part and he hurled himself at her, slamming her back into the concrete below. Swore she saw actual stars when he slammed his whole head into her face, dizzying her up enough to give him time to hobble a few feet away.

It took some effort but she was on him before he could get even close to the gun or the exit. One good kick to the legs floored him. And another once he was down. Another, and another, one to the gut and another at his head. Her mother’s smile flashed in her mind’s eye and she finally stopped. Had to force herself to stop. No, no, no. He didn’t get to go out like this. This was too easy. Rage had replaced every other quaking emotion inside of her.

Erin caught her breath, wiping a shaking hand over her mouth.There was blood on her lips and she could feel the warm pulse where his bald head had slammed into her cheek. Her other hand waved to the shadows around them, beckoning them forward.

“This is gonna hurt,” she promised.

The element of surprise was an often overlooked thing. But it had its uses, and it had proved very useful for everyone tonight. Because even as Dale lay face down in a pool of his own blood, he hadn’t seen this last surprise coming, had he? How could he have? He had no idea about her. And when she’d stepped from the shadows, pulling them around her like a blanket as her body came back into the world of the visible, his eyes widened in disbelief. Red eyes formed in the room around them and shone directly down at him, a wicked smile below.

Marley walked calmly over to Erin and Dale, sputtering on the ground. She supposed she could’ve stepped in earlier, but this was Erin’s prey, and she was there to act when wanted. If he’d gotten to the door, she was sure she would’ve stepped in-- she wanted to see this man suffer, too. Perhaps not as much as Erin did, especially after that riveting exchange about her mother, but that didn’t change the fact that Marley would relish in destroying a man like Dale. A man who took advantage of those weaker than him. Well, now, he was the weak one.

She didn’t bother with the gun next to her, or the one on her hip.

Instead she kneeled in front of him, grabbed his chin, made sure he was looking directly into her eyes. “I would say I wonder what a man like you fears, Dale,” she cooed, “but I already know.” Still, she let it was through him, over him, consume him. He was crying out within a few seconds and she was smiling. The taste of it was like a fresh spring’s water and she lapped it up.

But it was time, now, and for Erin, she would make sure he suffered. Nothing quick, nothing easy. Her hand smothered his mouth and lips, and as she drew it away slowly, so did she draw away his breath. He gasped and gagged for air, wheezing as his lungs expended themselves. Minutes passed as he gaped for it, inhaling uselessly. His face turning red then blue then pale, eyes searching desperately.

But by the time she stood up straight over him, hand balled into a fist, he had stopped sputtering. She opened her hand and blew into her palm, as if blowing away the ash or dust of his breath. Turned back to look at Erin. “What next?”

In the end, the long sleep came for everyone. Even the fools that thought they were above it. It would get their hands on them and drag them down, one way or the other. The fae had spent a few days ruminating on the concept of mortality and he had to say, Dale’s blood went real well with the Hawaiian shirt he wore. Really brought out the desperation and stupidity in his eyes. Felix wasn’t the type to get up close and personal, even though the knife up his sleeve digressed. He saved that for special occasions. The real black tie events and Dale wasn’t one of them. As angry as he was about missing money, this wasn’t entirely his gig. Not yet. He was content to watch from overhead, arms leaned against the warehouse railing as shadows clung to him.

It was a familiar kinda tragedy that had befallen the Nichols family. Everyone had their moves to make in the great game. Dale had made his and now his knees were blown out. These things happened. Felix liked to guarantee that they did. But Erin, well, she had done all this on her own. Put the pieces together. He smiled from on high as he listened to Dale’s sputtering. What Marley did, she did well. Very well.

He lit a cigarette and took in a long, feel good drag. What a night. Be seeing you, Dale.

A small flame burned in the dark as he headed down the metal stairs. Wandered out from where the shadows draped over him.. Cigarette in hand, he came to stand by Erin as the breaths from the broken came and went.

“A real creative way to make one’s bones. I dig it,” he said, eyes on Erin from between the slight gap of his glasses. At Marley’s question, he smiled thinly. “Y’know, bones ain’t too bad a foundation to start with.”

For all the death Erin in her life, this part—where the lights went out behind a person’s eyes, and suddenly they weren’t a person anymore. This part, that exact moment, was uncharted territory. A morbid fascination kept her eyes locked on Dale, even as Marley strutted from the shadows. There it was again. Fear poured from him in unbridled waves.

Erin pulled one of the seats up, settled in, and watched. Marley was more terrifying than she had anticipated but she appreciated the dedication. She only flinched a little when his screams turned shrill, when he choked through sobs to beg for mercy or for his hell to end.

Had her mother plead for the same thing?

Her fists clenched tightly when Marley went for the killing blow. This part too was fascinating. Watching her work, taking her time in ending it using only her hand as a weapon. Her explanation hadn’t done the actual task justice. Whatever she was doing, she took her time. Made him struggle.

And then she saw it—the lights went out. It was over.

She heard Felix beside her, heard Marley’s question. Her throat was raw and dry and her focus remained on the corpse. There was no relief. No muscle in her unwound and only some of that anger was dissipated with Dale’s last breathe.

This wasn’t over. She didn’t know how or what that meant when it popped into her head, except that it grew louder. Clawing for attention above all other thoughts. Second only to it was Roy Chamber’s smile, slipping in like a weed. But they were waiting on her. She had to say or do something now. The plan. There was a plan. A snap as loud as splintering wood echoed in her head and she pulled herself together. Nodded at Marley, even if that small thanks felt wholly underwhelming in that moment. It was all she could manage. And Felix had his proof. Took care of the problem, just like she’d promised. Roy has his pound of flesh. Erin had gotten more than she’d bargained for from it all. Answers she didn’t know she had questions for. Fuel to a fire.

But it was done. It was all done.

“Not bad at all,” Erin finally spoke, clearing her throat. Her jaw ached and her lip cracked open again. Something to remember him by, she supposed. She stepped towards Dale, gesturing towards the very limb, very heavy shell of a man. A long sigh fell from her as she glanced between the two. “Give me a hand?”

Her night, at least, was far from over.

[violetsmoak]

Appetence [1/?]

AO3 Link:https://archiveofourown.org/works/20251420/chapters/47997634

Blanket Disclaimer

Summary: Red Robin is investigating the disappearance of a friend and stumbles into a spot of supernatural trouble. He doesn't expect to be saved by Jason Todd, miraculously alive five years after his death and now with the inexplicable ability to commune with the dead. Meanwhile, when Jason returned to Gotham he meant to maintain a low profile and not get involved with Bat business. That was before he found out how hot his Replacement is.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

JayTimBingo Prompts This Chapter: #cemetery #haunting #relics

Canon-Compliance: Alternate Universe; Jason still died but was not found by Talia when he was resurrected. All other events mostly follow the same chronology as New Earth continuity, with mentions made to events in New 52

Author’s Note(s): My attention span was really terrible today and I couldn't focus on either of my two other fics even though the next chapters of both are completely planned out. So I'm posting the start of the third (and final) story that I'm doing for the JayTimWeek/Month challenge. Also, I'm really excited about this one. I spent more time planning this than either of the other two and I can't wait to hear what you guys think!I've got work stuff to do tomorrow so there may not be anything updated until Friday.

Beta Reader: I’ll get back to you on that.

________________________________________________________________

The Bat-Signal cuts through the dark and hazy clouds lingering above Gotham City, and for a split-second, Jason Todd has the urge to drop everything and race for the roof of the GCPD Headquarters. It’s hard to ignore the nervous jump of excitement in his stomach, the phantom sensation of a domino mask on his face and the heavy drag of a cape at his shoulders.

Which makes no sense, since it’s been at least five years since I even wore that shit.

Taking a drag of his cigarette, the smoke mixing with the familiar summer smog, Jason turns his back on Gotham’s literal beacon of hope and steels himself against nocturnal threats of his own. The city is for the caped crew—because apparently, the Bat has a posse now, he thinks with only a hint of a bitter sneer—and Jason has been fighting in a different arena for quite some time now.

He takes a final drag of the cigarette, and then grinds it beneath his boots, and shoves his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. It’s a weathered and worn thing that reminds him of one Willis Todd wore in one of the few memories Jason has of him that doesn’t involve alcohol or fists. He thinks it’s less pretentious looking than a trench coat and probably gives off fewer ‘creepy motherfucker’ vibes like the sartorial choices of certain other people. It’s also less likely to snag on things when he needs to make a quick exit while digging up graves.

Yeah, it’s a thing in his line of work.

Gotham Cemetery is a sprawling necropolis, as dark and forbidding now as it was the night he dug himself out of his own grave. Half a decade of Gotham-style tender, loving negligence has left the somber green hills overgrown and the majority of the old tombstones fallen or rotting.

You’d think in a city with the highest homicide rate in the country, the mayor would spring for better maintenance. Then again, it’s Gotham. The dead don’t pay taxes, so fuck ‘em.

Which…enough said.

Gotham and the world think Jason Todd-Wayne is dead and has been for five years now; in a way, it’s the truth. He’s no longer anything like the boy that was beaten to death by a psychotic clown, no longer the shrimp who fastidiously dyed his hair black and jumped into someone else’s cape and pixie boots just so he didn’t have to be his own screwup self anymore. He outgrew wanting to be Dick a long time ago, outgrew wanting to be Bruce, too, and embraced a whole new other set of skills to put him apart from them.

Most occultists and even homo magi need to put conscious effort and intent into calling up or even seeing a spirit. Ever since Jason died and then mysteriously got better, the dead appear to him as blatantly and a solid as the living.

John told him he was a fool to come back here.

“Someone with your gifts, they’ll drive you bloody mad,” his mentor warned him when he left London. “And I ain’t talking about the dead ones, neither.”

“You’re just saying that because Batman wouldn’t hold your hand that one time,” Jason retorted, shrugging off the concern. He is Gotham born and bred, his blood is in those streets, and he has always wanted to come home, even if it wasn’t necessarily to a stately manor or its inhabitants.

He clenches his fists.

Inhabitants that wasted no time in replacing him after he died. Jason was rotting away in fucking Arkham, and Bruce was shoving another kid into the tights.

If it didn’t involve seeing him, I would hunt him down and break his jaw.

He surveys the graveyard proper. The everyday observer considers cemeteries to be places of peace and eternal rest; quiet, if a little bit spooky. To Jason, they’re as gruesome as any major battlefield.

Spirits pack the way before him; some of them look relatively normal if dated by their clothes; many others are disfigured and bloody from whatever killed them, whether natural or unnatural. They clamor and crowd, eternally shouting to be heard, or screaming as they relive their deaths in their own personal purgatories.

In the beginning, that din almost drove Jason insane. Bruce’s teachings kept him rational as long as it could in the months after he woke up, and then John’s training helped him temper his own awareness further. By now, he can function almost normally, automatically filtering the voices out as he goes about his daily business; it’s only in places like this, where the dead outnumber the living, where it’s harder.

Jason reaches up, adjusting the noise filters in his ears—mechanical devices that need regular winding but are still more reliable than anything running on electricity of batteries. They’re like steampunk hearing aids, only instead of magnifying sound, they drown out the constant moan of the ghosts when he can’t do it himself. Just one of many methods of protection he’s learned over the years. Some are physical, like the prayer beads wrapped around his wrist or the bottle of holy water in his pocket; others—spells and symbols and mantras—are carved all over his body in tattoos and blood writing. Anything to keep the otherworld away.

“Personal space is a key to a medium’s sanity,” John told him once. “That and a good bottle of single malt scotch.”  

Jason ignores the moss-covered path that winds through the larger and more prominent mausoleums. He deliberately doesn’t search out the one in the distance bearing the Wayne crest—

(Still remembers the feel of his fingernails splitting against the wood of the coffin, choking on clumps of soil and insects.)

—and instead seeks a small structure much farther away. It’s in the furthest part of the cemetery, the shabby section almost hidden by overgrown willows. Half of the name above the doorway is obscured by vines, but it’s easy for him to make out the name etched into the stone with bold letters.

HAYWOOD.

According to the public record, Sheila Haywood’s body was returned to Gotham at the same time as Jason Todd’s. Bruce paid for her funeral and internment, which was just as well since she had no other family, and then she was promptly forgotten about.

By everyone except Jason, it seems.

It took some doing and a few weeks tracking down everyone that had worked at the same refugee camp as his mother, but he’d finally managed to collect what possessions she left behind. A colleague of hers had put them aside when there appeared to be nothing of actual monetary value in them.

A gold coin, small bone carvings of stylized animals, dainty trinkets of garnets, amber and lapis lazuli, a compact mirror, some seashells, a decorative fan, quartz paperweight, and a brightly colored feather. There was a picture of Willis in there, too, young and almost Jason’s double. No picture of Jason, though, but he hadn’t expected it.

He kept the picture but left the rest in the small wooden box, which he now removes from his messenger bag and sets down in front of the stone bearing his mother’s name. He follows that with various tools and ingredients. Black candles arranged in a star shape around the box, a chalice, a jar of detritus—teff seeds, driftwood and soil, all from the place where she died—that he sprinkles around in a circle, a handful of smooth obsidian stones to mark a pentagram joining the candles, the dagger John gave him for his last birthday, vials of oil and holy water.

Murmuring a few protection oaths, he shrugs off his jacket, leaving his arms bare, and then digs out a pack of matches to light the candles; flickering shadows dance across the mausoleum walls. He takes up the chalice to combine the water and oil, and then reaches for the dagger.

Hate this part.

Training to ignore pain doesn’t mean it goes away, and he grits his teeth a little as he draws his blade across his forearm, not deep enough to nick anything vital, but enough that the blood runs easily into the chalice. Without bothering to bandage the wound, Jason holds up the chalice in front of him and centers himself.

“Phantasma inrequietum, te voco,” he intones. “Eloguiorum mei audi: Sheila Haywood, te nominas!“ The stagnant air in the mausoleum starts to pick up. “In nominee creatricis, te impero, hic locum decede.” Hand over the top of the chalice, he swirls the liquid within, and then tips it into the open keepsake box. “Per sanguinem hominis et per sanguinem filii tui, non remane et apage! ”He strikes a match and lobs it into the box, not even flinching as the whole thing flares into flame; he intends to watch it until it burns to nothing.

“That’s not going to work, you know.”

“Jesus fuck!” Jason explodes, whirling to the right and glaring at the interrupter. “What did I say about sneaking up on me? Or just—showing up around me in general?”

The apparition in front of him doesn’t look impressed.

Sheila is still beautiful—or, at least, the side of her body that isn’t covered with third-degree burns and sections of pulverized bone—and still sharp. Cold, untouchable and self-interested.

But unlike the way she was before, she’s all-too present in Jason’s life now.

“Goddamn it,” he snarls, and against every lesson John has ever given him, lashes out and knocks the candles and detritus hard enough to send it skidding across the floor. “What the hell. I’ve done everything. You had last rites, your body was cremated, I just torched the things that had any value to you, why the hell won’t you just move on?”

“You’re asking the wrong questions,” Sheila replies, as always.

Jason scowls. “And of course, you can’t just tell me.”

She gazes at him balefully, and he runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Sheila, we’ve been over this. You can’t stay here. One, you know spirits that stick around past their time go Dark Side, and I really don’t want to have to exorcise your spectral ass. Two, it’s fucking creepy for a twenty-year-old guy to be followed around by his mother wherever he goes. What the hell is keeping you here? What more do you want from me?”

“Your forgiveness,” she tells him patiently.

“I already forgave you. Years ago.”

“You still call me Sheila.”

“That’s your name.”

“I’m your mother.”

“Who sold me out and got me murdered.”

“See? You haven’t forgiven me.”

“I have. I’m just stating a fact, Jesus…”

“Apparently the cosmic balance doesn’t agree enough to let me move on,” the ghost says dryly. “And to think, I used to be an atheist.”

“This is total bullshit,” Jason snaps, grabbing his jacket and stalking out of the mausoleum in frustration.

Three years of this mediumship crap, and neither he nor John have ever been able to figure out why the ghost of Jason’s dead mother won’t stop haunting him. Wards and sutras that keep even the nastiest spirits away from Jason don’t even phase her, and she’s inexplicably coherent.

And persistent.

As Jason stalks back through the cemetery, he can sense her in his periphery, gliding along beside him, unconcerned with his irritation.

“Can you just…stay away from me? Like you did in the beginning?” he grumbles.

“You were just learning how to communicate without going insane. I wasn’t about to disrupt that.”

“How considerate of you.”

“I try.”

“Look, I’ve had enough of the ghost-stalker thing for today. I went out of my way for this, you know. I didn’t even want to come back here. And now I’m back to the fucking drawing board.”

“It may not have been a waste of a trip,” she replies and vanishes.

“Oh, you can fuck off when it’s convenient for you,” he grumbles, though he already senses what she was speaking of.

Several yards away, a small boy, maybe eight, is clinging forlornly to an angel headstone. Translucent tears stream down his cheeks, but every now and again his face shifts, like a television caught between two channels, and his mouth widens into an unnatural smile.

Jason could have gone the rest of his life without seeing that smile again.

Still, he sighs and heads toward the kid.

“Hey,” he says, keeping his voice low and maintaining a safe distance from the boy, whose head whips up to stare at Jason in sudden fear.

“Who are you?” he asks, voice thick with tears.

“I’m Jason. You okay, kid?”

“I can’t find my mom,” the boy murmurs, wiping at his face. “I keep going looking, but I forget the way home. And then…I always end up back here.”

He sounds on the verge of tears again; it’s something Jason can understand.

With the puzzling exception of Sheila, who appears to come and go as she pleases, most ghosts are stuck in certain patterns and paths when they die, frozen in an infinite loop until they break themselves out of it or until some arbitrary higher power decides they’ve suffered enough. And for some reason, Jason can break them out of it.

“You could always try again,” he suggests. “I think you’ll manage it this time.”

The boy shudders. “There’s scary people here.”

No arguing with that.

“I know. I see them, too.” Jason glances at the headstone, scanning the name and dates. “Your name’s Cole?”

“Yeah.”

“If you’re missing, there are probably people looking for you. They might have posted something online about it. I’ll check it out, but it could take a bit.” He holds up his phone, glad to see it’s at full charge and bars; that’s hit or miss around so many ghosts. “Can you hang around here until I’m done?”

The boy nods, silent, face flicking back and forth between sadness and the unnatural smile.

Fucking Joker…

Jason does a quick search of the kid’s name, pulling up obituaries in the Gotham Gazette in the past year. It doesn’t take long for an article to pop up concerning the Joker’s latest escape and a list of the dead.

He narrows his eyes, startling the kid.

“It’s fine,” he lies. “The internet is just really slow.”

“Or our phone is really bad,” Cole tells him with the blunt honesty of a kid that grew up constantly surrounded by functional technology.

“Everyone’s a critic…”

Another quick search for the parents, phone lists and social media, and he’s got an address. Crime Alley, of course. He brings it up on his map and enables a view of the street, holding the phone out to the boy. “Is this your house?”

Relief settles and settles over his face. “Yeah.”

“What if I helped you find your way home?”

Cole makes a suspicious face. “I’m not supposed to go anywhere with strangers.”

“Which is really smart. But you see, I’m not really a stranger.”

“Oh yeah? Why not?”

“Well, I’ll let you in on a secret.” Jason bends down, conspiratorial, and Cole’s eyes gleam the way any kid gets when hearing a secret. “When I was a little older than you…I was Robin.”

The boy gapes. “Like…Batman and Robin?”

“Exactly.”

“No way!”

“Way,” Jason smirks, crossing his arms. “And I’ll tell you all about it on the way to your house. Including the time that I stole the wheels off the Batmobile.”

“No way!”

Despite his scandalized disbelief, the kid is obviously hooked.

Jason’s heart clenches a bit at the open curiosity on Cole’s face, the reality hitting him that this boy will never have a chance to do anything mischievous or fun ever again.

From one dead boy to another, this sucks…

As he leads him out of the cemetery, Jason starts to tell the little ghost about his life. He edits out the less pleasant bits, like dying and returning to life half brain dead with the ability to see and hear ghosts.

He figures a good story is the least he can do for the boy.

⁂⁂⁂

Next Chapter

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Metamorphosis AU: Chapter 21 — The Rescue

The Premise: What if Claire had conceived on her wedding night with Jamie? How would this affect the plot points we all know and love?

We last left Claire in something of a pickle: Jamie’s been imprisoned at Wentworth, Dougal is trying to strong arm her into marrying him, and she very nearly just passed out due to near hypothermia from crossing a river in the dead of winter (while five and a half months along with twins). Needless to say, the men are not allowing her to be directly involved in the actual jail break, and we pick up with her waiting for them on the road.

I was going to wait til the weekend to post, but today’s been a terrible horrible no good and very bad day literally since the moment I woke up and I need a morale boost.

Major thanks to @diversemediums for patiently (and persistently) explaining that I was trying to hammer a square peg into a round hole and canon really was the best route. Also to @thatsoccercoach for being a super awesome short notice beta and providing the comedic relief commentary that I so very much needed.

You can find more here on the master list or over here on AO3.

Midday, Christmas Eve, 1743.

Murtagh, Dougal, and their men had left long ago, setting up the framework for their plan in the early hours of the morning. It was now nearly noon, but the sun had stayed tucked behind the clouds, allowing me to stay within the deep shadows that clung to the side of the road as I made my way to our predetermined rendezvous point.

It was a crossroads of sorts, where a broad, military high road intersected a narrow, winding country lane. There wasn’t a croft or structure to be seen, as it was really little more than a well worn path, but it would eventually lead us to our final destination: the refuge and sanctuary of the abbey of Ste Anne de Beaupré.

Our meeting place was just far enough away from the village inn to be inconspicuous and even farther away from Eldridge House, but it was still close enough for me to journey there on foot alone. The keeper had been suspicious when I’d said I was going for a stroll to get some fresh air — what with me being ungainly as all get out and the weather far from fair— but he’d made no effort to keep me within his walls.

The wind picked up from the east, blowing swirling, dried leaves and giant, fluffy snowflakes around my feet. I pulled my cloak tighter around me, hunching my shoulders in order to dip my nose under the knitted muffler around my neck as I braced myself against a large tree. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end and a chill shivered down my spine, despite my attempts to block out the intruding draft.

But it wasn’t just the wind.

I held my breath, unable to shake the feeling that I was being watched. Quickly scanning the intersecting roads for any sign of movement while keeping myself completely still, I tried to decide whether I should retreat even further into the undergrowth or remain where I stood, but the sense proved to be true before I could make a decision.

The branches of the low shrubbery across the way began to shake as someone — or something — moved amid them. They were far too short to hide anyone that wasn’t hunched over considerably and this seemed rather ridiculous, as whomever was watching me would realize I was on to them and would therefore no longer need to hide. I felt a measure of relief that our plan had not been found out, but it was quickly replaced with the notion that whatever it was might not be friendly.

I grabbed fistfuls of my skirts, ready to make a run for it should it leap out at me. I bit at my lower lip as I continued to watch the bushes rustle and I slowly began to inch myself around the tree I’d been leaning against. I kept my gaze rooted to the spot, not wanting to turn my back to what I was fairly certain would be some sort of woodland creature. The highlands were home to a great many beasts and, by the sounds of it, this one was quite large.

It’s a badger, Beauchamp… or stag.

I was torn between relief and even greater trepidation as all movement across from me stopped. An unsettling silence fell around me, the songbirds having all flown off at the onset of the rustling, and I was left to surmise about my fate.

How idiotic are you going to feel if it turns out to be a bloody deer?

The stillness drew on for what seemed like an eternity before I was joined by my mysterious companion, one paw emerging before its monstrous head and sleek torso followed.

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, it was a wolf.

Twice as big as any dog I’d ever seen in my entire life, it seemed to size me up for a moment or two, staring at me with unblinking, brown eyes. I held my breath, standing rigid as it seemed to make its decision. It turned to look back over its shoulder, making a low noise at the back of its throat, and quite suddenly two pups tumbled out into the open beside it.

I felt all of the fear within me melt away in an instant as I realized that this was not a lone wolf out on the hunt, but a mother with her children… navigating a forest full of potential harm.

Just like me.

The mother wolf’s nose dipped for a moment as she nudged her pups closer to her side and I found myself doing much the same, letting go of my skirts and lifting my hand for a moment to rest atop my belly.

“Hello,” I murmured when she looked up at me once again, keeping my voice low but wanting to greet the kindred spirit before me.

She didn’t respond, but the littlest of her pups wagged its tail so ferociously that it’s whole body trembled in excitement as it offered up an introductory howl.

A smile stretched across my face, warmth surging through me as I responded, “Pleased to meet you too.”

In half an instant, the mother’s demeanor changed as her head snapped to look towards the west. Another low command emanated from deep within her and the trio quickly retreated back into the woods. I watched them go, offering up a blessing over this mother and her children, feeling as though somehow she’d done the same to me.

God go with you, Mother.

The next moment I finally heard what she had, my heart soaring as I identified the sound.

The wagon.

Turning my attention towards the direction the noise came from, and subsequently my face into into the wind, I squinted as I tried to make out anything beyond the bend in the road. I could see nothing yet and tried to keep my excitement in check, just in case it wasn’t them, but failed as the sound drew nearer.

There’d been many a crofter with his cart to pass me by while I waited, but this time was different… the conveyance was considerably larger — weighed down with a heavy and precious cargo — and I held my breath, willing it to come within sight.

My heart leapt into my throat as I caught the low rumble of voices in emphatic Gaelic and it took me a moment to identify one as Murtagh’s. I crashed headlong out of the underbrush and moved forward with as much haste as was possible — far more than what was sensible — but I was in the open and on the road a moment later, picking my way down the frozen, rutted lane.

“Jamie!”

My voice broke through the stillness of the forest and reached around the bend, pulling the wagon into sight. Rupert was at the helm, with Willie by his side, and they skillfully brought the conveyance to a complete stop as I lunged forward, reaching out for my husband as his name tumbled from my lips once more.

“Jamie!”

In an instant, Willie was out of the wagon and onto the ground next to me, guiding me up into Murtagh’s outstretched arms.

“Is he alive?”

My eyes locked onto his and I found the truth to his words deep within them as he assured, “Aye, a nighean.”

Gripping his arm tightly as I peered over his shoulder, I caught sight of my husband for the first time. Jamie’s face ashen, the dark plaid they’d thrown over him making him appear even more pale than he actually was. What was visible of chest was covered in blood and his breathing was labored, the woolen blanket rising and falling in slow, painful movements. A small cry left my lips before I could stop it and I pressed my fingers against my lips to stem any further betrayal of just how emotional I was right now.

I needed to be strong.

Jamie needed me to be strong.

Swallowing hard, I dropped my hands and tried to step around Murtagh. There wasn’t much room to move around in and I lost my balance, tipping precariously towards the edge of the wagon, but he steadied me in an instant.

One brow rose as Murtagh commented, “He needs tending.”

That much had been obvious upon first glance, but the question he wasn’t voicing was this:

Can you do this?

I had no choice.

I didn’t trust any physician in this century to be within ten feet of Jamie, let alone treat his wounds.

I had to do this.

I had no words to answer him with — I didn’t trust my voice, even if I did — and merely lifted my chin in defiance, answering back:

I can and I will.

With a nod, Murtagh ushered me over to Jamie’s side, steadying me as I eased myself down onto the floor of the wagon.

“Jamie,” I murmured and his eyelids flickered for a moment as my palm cupped his cheek, but didn’t open.

“Talk to me, Jamie.”

A low moan escaped his lips and I counted that as good enough. I reluctantly let go of his face to pull the heavy wool plaid away and really discover the extent of his injuries.

He was completely encrusted in mud, a mixture of his own blood and what I could only describe as absolute filth. His shirt stuck to him in a large, red splotch and I cautiously peeled it away from the side of his abdomen, expecting a deep, open wound. I found extensive contusions and a few minor lacerations, but nothing that would have produced this amount of blood loss.

My hands felt along his ribs and I stopped short as my knuckles brushed against the inside of his right arm, suddenly finding the trauma I’d been looking for. His right hand, the one closest to me, had remained hidden beneath a fold of my skirt when I pulled away the plaid, but was now fully visible. I could hear Angus crowing about the valiant rescue in the far recesses of the world around me, but everything else faded away as I took in the extent of the injury.

I counted no less than three obvious compound fractures at first glance, the bones of his pinky and ring fingers protruding grotesquely through his skin. His middle finger was quite possibly broken as well, but it was the other two that gave me no small amount of disquiet.

The very tip of his pinky was completely missing, the manner of its severance unknown, but the finger ended just above the distal interphalangeal joint. What remained of it was already infected and showed signs of septicemia. His ring finger remained mostly intact in contrast to its neighbor, yet it still posed a great many concerns.

My head spun as I lifted my gaze in search of Murtagh, croaking, “How?”

“I dinna ken, a nighean,” he answered honestly. “All I ken is who.”

Swallowing hard past the lump that threatened to suffocate me, I echoed the word, sounding very much like an addled owl.

“Who?”

“Jack Randall.”

[bottled-bliss]

We could belong in this world

Inspired by this beautiful edit by @headedstraightforthekastle and my twisted need to put characters through all sorts of crap. Part 1/2

When Frank returns home, he glances at Karen’s jacket hanging on the back of the one chair he owns. She had worn it to work on an autumn day, thinking she might need it, but had found out the weather was warmer than she’d expected, so she’d ended up carrying it around for nothing. She had tossed it on the chair as soon as she came in and slowly removed the rest of her clothes before pouncing on him like a tiger. Frank had smiled against her lips, put both his hands on the small of her back and held her to him for some time, as she told him about her day at work; how certain she was that she’d found out who was the leader of the drug syndicate she was investigating. She’d been tired, but happy and proud of herself and Frank had shared her pride. In the morning, he had reminded her to grab her jacket but she’d refused, saying the day seemed too warm for it and that she would get it tomorrow. Or later, later was always an option. But she never came back. And it has been sitting there ever since, collecting dust, like a shrine to decay.

Sometimes, when his whole body doesn’t start convulsing at the mere thought, or when Murdock and Nelson haven’t beat him to it, he goes to her grave. He never brings flowers because he never bought her flowers when she was alive –one of the many things for which he curses himself- and there are plenty of those strewn across her headstone at any given time anyway; sunflowers and roses and daisies. They wilt and wither and then, they are replaced. That’s what he can’t stand, the replacement. But he has to admit he would have chosen daisies for her too. He likes to think it’s Nelson that provides them. He knew her better than Murdock ever did, he would have known she preferred the subtler things, the demure whiteness of a dog-daisy over the dark red roses Frank keeps finding there.

He realizes he hasn’t cried once. All those months and not a single tear. Not because he doesn’t want to; it almost feels as if he has been cursed with constantly being on the verge of tears, but not being able to actually cry. Some losses might be too great to experience like a normal human being would. He handles it well enough, all things considered. Life goes on, as Karen used to say. There should be an after. What comes after Karen Page? He’d go chase it, if he could find it- if it existed at all.

He doesn’t dream about her often either. Every once in a while, sure, as a reminder that even when he isn’t actively thinking of her, she’s on his mind. He has seen how fast memories can fade and he has to wonder if the lack of dreams means he’s letting go of her. But he never meant to do that. It hasn’t even been that long. There are times when the smell of her perfume lingers in the bedroom, like she’s only just left for work, like he’s going to hear the door shutting behind her, the sound of her footsteps echoing down the corridor. As long as she’s not forgotten, she’s not really gone. He can’t forget her. He won’t.

One night, after his repeated attempts at picking fights have borne fruit, bloody and bruised he stumbles to Curtis’s apartment, dispassionately dismissing his friend’s solid advice to quit being a self-destructive moron, as he gets patched up. “Jesus Christ, Frank,” Curtis exclaims. “Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

Frank knows he’s slowly slipping out of consciousness when he sees Karen, standing over him, her eyes full of worry. “Hey, sweetheart,” he mumbles, wishing that there was a way for her to know how much he’s missed her. “There you are. Come to get me?” he asks and as the apparition starts weeping, Curtis gives him a puzzled look. “It’s Karen, she’s…”

“Karen is dead, Frank,” he says, an expression of pained consternation on his face.

“I know,” Frank replies with an exhausted tone. The shadow of his lost love moves forward, reaching a hand out to him, but disappears before he has the chance to lift his own hand to try and touch her. The moment she vanishes from sight, weariness overtakes him and all the lights in the world dim out. In his sleep, he feels cool fingers delicately brushing his forehead, but it’s only a dream. Couldn’t be anything else.

He assures Curtis he’s going to go home and get some rest the next day, even though he doesn’t really want to. Honestly, he’d rather go someplace where he could have the living daylights punched out of him, see if he can discover something, anything that hurts more than this absence, this hole Karen left behind; a broken nose and a few loose teeth aren’t nearly enough, but he doesn’t know what would do the trick anyway. He decides to stop at Karen’s favorite coffee shop, sit down and have a cup of coffee and some breakfast maybe, delay his return to the empty, desolate apartment. The waitress brings him his order and promptly walks away, leaving him alone, the way it’s supposed to be. People go about their lives and he watches them through the window, thinking back to a time when he’d hoped to be one of them, to be dull and ordinary and in love. For a split second, he thinks he sees Karen’s reflection on the glass surface and turns his head quickly, almost certain she is going to be sitting in the chair across from his. There’s nobody there, of course. Coming here was a stupid idea to begin with. He leaves some money on the table and scurries off. He won’t be coming back anytime soon.

As expected, his apartment isn’t the least bit warm or cozy. It’s not even an apartment at all; it’s more of a cavern really, but it’s also the only place which holds the most memories of Karen these days. A wiser man would have moved out. He has considered it, but that would require moving her goddamn jacket from the chair, putting it away, for good maybe and turning his back to everything they had tried to build together. Frank lies in bed and stares at the ceiling until his vision blurs, while darkness falls in the city and gathers around his heart. He squeezes his eyes shut and when he opens them again, two hours have flown by, as the clock informs him.

But something feels different, something’s wrong. The hair on the back of his neck stands up and he grabs his gun immediately. He doesn’t know who is coming for him but somebody’s coming. His instincts are screaming at him as he carefully makes his way to the living room. Apart from the noises outside, everything is quiet. There are no red dots dancing across his chest, nobody lurking behind furniture. There is absolutely nothing worrying. He thinks about lowering his gun, when he sees a shadow under the door. It’s moving anxiously from side to side, not at all like a trained killer would move, no precision or skill involved. It takes him a couple of seconds to walk over and look through the peep hole. There’s no one outside. He unlocks the door and opens it to find the corridor completely empty. Just his imagination giving him something to fight then, he thinks as he goes back to bed. It makes sense.

Everything stops making sense shortly after that incident.

He finds Karen’s favorite book on the table when he comes back from work three days in a row and all three times, he wonders how it go there and whether he didn’t actually pick it up and put it back in its place, like he clearly remembers doing. It’s open on a different page each time too. Once upon a time, she had asked him to read it but he’d never gotten around to it. He might, eventually. Since the book doesn’t fly out of the shelf a fourth time, he puts it out of his mind.

It’s almost a week later that Frank steps into the bedroom, thinking he’ll have another quiet night of wallowing in misery, when the darkness in the room stirs, a shadow setting upon him. He barely has time to reach for his gun before Daredevil pins him to the wall. “Where is she?” he hisses as Frank pushes him back.

“The hell is wrong with you?” Murdock is the last person he wanted to see tonight, or any night for that matter.

“Do you know how my abilities work, Frank?” Matt is breathing heavily. He must be angry about something, except Frank hasn’t done anything that could have pissed him off lately. “You might have guessed but in case you haven’t, let me explain. It’s not just my sense of hearing that’s sensitive, you see. I can hear the couple on the first floor whispering about not being able to make rent this month while their kids are playing in their room, but I can also smell the detergent they use for their laundry. It’s Molly’s Suds, by the way. One of the kids probably has allergies.”

“Christ, I thought I was finally free of your rants,” Frank rubs his eyes. “Why are you telling me about it?”

“I’ve been following you for days. I was just making sure you’re staying out of trouble at first, not going back to your old habits.” He gives a short, unamused laugh. “But then my motivation changed, because I caught a smell on you, around you.”

“I don’t give a shit about your motivations,” Frank tells him. “You’d better stop following me, Red. I’m keeping my head down, you have no reason to stalk me.”

“If the only thing I can do for Karen now is look out for you, then I’ll do it and pray that she forgives me for my failures.” He seems like he’s about to cry and Frank feels sorry for him for a split second. Murdock inhales sharply. His head snaps to the side, like he’s just heard something confusing and then he turns back to Frank with a whimper. “You don’t know how guilty I feel about what happened to Karen,” he says. “You will never understand--”

“I’ll never understand how guilty you feel?” Frank growls. “You got some nerve, altar boy.”

“I can smell her all over you, Frank. Out there, in here, wherever you go, no matter how much you reek of booze or blood. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she’s been in this room recently.”

If things were different, if Frank were the same man he was a few years ago, he would have punched Matt’s teeth out. As it is, he can do nothing but stand there, hands to his sides, guts twisting and twisting. What he wouldn’t give to have Karen back in this room, laughing, sticking her cold feet on his legs to steal some warmth, eating cookies in bed while she worked on her lap top; he wouldn’t even complain about the crumbs now, he’d let her do anything she wanted. All this is making his head spin. A faint, silver light dances in his peripheral vision, dragging a wave of nausea with it.

“Everything fades after a while,” Matt continues. “Colors, memories. Smells are usually the first to go. So why is it still here, Frank? After all this time?”

“You’re imagining things,” Frank tells him with a strangled voice. “Karen’s gone. There’s nothing left.” Of her, of them, of him. They stand in silence as the burden of the moment weighs them both down. Frank has always known love makes you vulnerable, that’s why he’d tried so hard to avoid it. But while being vulnerable with Karen was perfectly fine, he’ll die before granting Murdock that privilege. “If I catch you in here again, I will shoot you.”

Matt chuckles dryly. “No, you won’t.”

After Murdock leaves him the hell alone, Frank plops down on the floor, elbows on his knees, his chin on his fists. Everything fades. He wonders how much longer it will take him to fade.      

That night, there’s a jumble of voices speaking to him all at once in his sleep, asking something or asking for something, but it’s really difficult to understand what each one wants with all the noise they’re making. They sound like a furious wind, raging around him as he tries to keep to his feet. Maria’s voice rises above the rest, giving him something familiar to cling to. “You chose to stay,” she says and he responds yes, yes and I would do it again. “You didn’t make the choice only for yourself. You formed ties that can’t be broken,” she tells him, but he doesn’t understand and the other voices grow louder and he can’t think and he screams just so he can make sure he still has his own voice, that it hasn’t been stolen and forced to join the racket. A whisper suddenly floats over the ear-splitting clamor, silencing it with surprising ease as it addresses him. “It’s just a dream. It can’t hurt you.” Frank feels a cold palm pressing against his cheek. “It’s okay, I got you,” it says and lulls him into restful sleep.

He’s walking to work when he sees Karen again. She’s a little bit ahead of him, head bowed, a waterfall of blond hair hiding her face but Frank knows, he knows it’s her. Not a reflection on a window, not a fever dream. His pace accelerates along with his pulse as he tries to catch up to her, but she’s gone in the blink of an eye. He looks around, trying to figure out which way she went, how to find her, while his mind insists he was mistaken. But she was there a moment ago, she was there, she was…

The next time he notices her among the crowd, he has to remind himself to be more critical. The eye sees what it wants to see, so it’s very possible that the tall blonde across the street is just some woman, a stranger whose hair caught the sunlight just right, blinding him long enough to create the perfect illusion. He feels like he’s going to explode while he waits for the light to turn green, it’s taking too long, too goddamn long. “Karen!” he shouts and a couple of people jump at the coarse sound of his voice. The woman slowly raises her head. Their eyes meet for a moment before a random guy passes in front of her and then, she vanishes into thin air. Frank forgets how to breathe for a while; he starts gasping and thinks he might actually cry this time. He’s growing desperate and desperate people do crazy things. Maybe that’s why he decides to call Nelson.

“Nice place,” Foggy sneers when he arrives at the shoddiest bar in town, where Frank has asked to meet him. “At least tell me their food is great.”

Frank almost laughs. “Their food is great,” he says, grateful for Nelson’s friendly presence. “Thanks for coming.”

“What was I going to do, abandon you in your time of need? Oh, don’t give me that look,” he exclaims when Frank raises his eyebrows. “You might seem all cool and aloof now, but you sounded miserable on the phone. It’s, uh… It’s been a while since I heard you use that tone.” He rubs his forehead. “So, what’s up?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Karen.”

Foggy looks happily surprised and nods. “Sure, that’s healthy. You should talk about it, about her. Get things off your chest. ”

“No, not just talk about her in general.” He tries to ignore the lump in his throat. “I was wondering, because she always got herself into some serious shit, you know, do you think that maybe…” he sighs. “Could she have faked her own death?”

“What?” Foggy scrunches up his face and stares at him in disbelief. “Are you seriously asking me that? You, of all people? You were there, Frank.”

He was. He was meeting her after work, he was going to take her out to dinner and ask her… something that didn’t matter anymore. She had turned the corner and smiled to him and he’d rushed to greet her with a kiss. They had been blissfully unaware of the world around them, so they failed to pay attention to the approaching car with the tinted windows; the first shot had surprised her just as much as it had surprised him. Frank had immediately wrapped his body around hers like a shield and received two of the many flying bullets in the back, as the car sped off. No license plates, he’d noted before turning to Karen who was pressing a shaking hand to her throat. He’d asked her if she was okay, hoping for a positive answer, despite knowing very well that the wetness making his shirt stick to his torso wasn’t sweat. “No, no, no…” Frank had stammered, trying to find the wound and apply pressure to it. “Hold on, baby, hold on. I got you,” he’d said but had fallen with her when she crumpled down onto the sidewalk. The gurgling sound of blood spilling from her open mouth as she lay dying in his arms seemed like the punchline to the cruelest cosmic joke.

Frank hangs his head.

“I identified her body at the morgue,” Foggy’s voice comes out in an angry whisper. “I made the arrangements for her funeral. Do you think it was just for show?”

“I think you’d do anything to protect her,” Frank mutters and he must sound so broken that Foggy’s expression changes. “That’s why I’m asking you.”

“Karen wouldn’t do that,” he says. “She might do that to Matt, easily, and me, with a pang of regret, I hope. But she would never do that to you, Frank. You would be the first person she’d tell. You don’t really need me to tell you that, do you? If Karen had to disappear, she would have chosen to disappear with you.”

“Foggy,” Frank sighs and his eyes move nervously around the bar. “I keep seeing her everywhere.  At the apartment, in the street, everywhere. Even saw her at the park this morning. I know I’m grasping at straws here, okay? But there’s gotta to be an explanation for this.”

“There is an explanation, a very simple one,” Foggy tells him. “You’re grieving, Frank. Of course you’re going to see her everywhere. I do too, sometimes.”

“It’s not that,” he grumbles. “She looks real, like I could reach out and touch her.”

“And have you? Reached out and touched her?”

“No, she…” Frank realizes how crazy it all sounds. “She always disappears before I can do anything.”

“Like a dream,” Foggy insists. “Like a memory.”

“Maybe,” he agrees. Reluctantly, but he agrees. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Let her rest, Frank,” Foggy’s voice cracks. “And let yourself rest too. Don’t go back to the way things were before.”

“You think I’m gonna kill him.”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t even tried. So relieved,” he places a palm over his heart and exhales slowly, “but surprised.”

“Yeah, I thought about it.” Frank shakes his head. Karen had gathered all the necessary information to take that scumbag down. All that was needed was someone to write the piece in her absence. It was a shame, a damn shame that she didn’t get to do it herself, but Ellison made sure to give her all the credit after Frank delivered her flash drive to him, notes and all. Was there sweeter revenge than beating someone from the grave they put you in? This was her victory, all hers. He could never steal it from her. “Decided against it.”

“A wise decision,” Foggy says, smiling kindly. “Karen would back me up on this.”

Of course she would. Frank can’t help but laugh.

He takes the long way back, the very long way back, the one that goes through the cemetery. This is something he’s become very familiar with, sitting among graves at night, having conversations with dead people in his head. He’d prefer it if Karen hadn’t joined their ranks, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. If he hadn’t been so careless, if he hadn’t made space in his life for the happiness she brought and kept looking over his shoulder, maybe she’d still be here. “Are you mad at me or something, is that it?” he says out loud, leaning against her grave. The cold breeze that blows by makes his cheeks burn even hotter. “I’m at the end of my rope, Karen, but I’m doing my best. So cut me some slack, okay?” It would be ridiculous to think that she could hear or answer him, but he still waits for a reply that never comes.

When Frank returns home, he glances at Karen’s jacket hanging on the back of the one chair he owns. He feels a howl building up inside his chest, his whole body aching with the effort it takes to suppress it. “Why won’t you give it away?” a voice whispers behind him. Even though it sounds distant and weak somehow, the words are clear. “There are a lot of people in need of clothes out there. It’s not like I’m going to wear it again anyway.” And then, a sigh.

If that voice belongs to a memory, why is it talking about things that are happening in the present? He turns around slowly, reminding himself of the facts; loss does funny things to people, loneliness makes it worse, Karen bled out on the concrete outside his apartment, Karen is dead and buried. She’s dead, she’s dead, she’s dead. But she’s standing right there, leaning against the door frame, frowning at the dust-covered jacket before looking up at him. “I really wish there was something I could do to help you,” she says. The sound is still muffled, like something’s covering her mouth, but he can see her lips moving; shadows don’t speak. He flicks on the light switch and blinks at the sudden burst of brightness, but Karen seems unaffected by it, as she watches him curiously. “This is new,” she mumbles.

“This is crazy,” he responds and decides to take a long pause so that he can properly question his sanity.

AO3 

Part 2

[emospritelet]

Dark Heart prompt: #92 “Are you drunk?”

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Send me a ship and a prompt from this list and I’ll write a ficlet.

i am working slowly on the next EC update but in the meantime all I can write is angst :)

AO3 link

Gold had drunk the rest of the bottle of whisky before passing out on the shop’s cot, which in the cold light of day wasn’t the best decision he had ever made.  He woke early, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth and his head pounding, and gave himself a severe talking-to.  One glance in the small mirror in the back room of the shop told him everything he needed to know; his eyes were a little bloodshot, dark shadows beneath them and a day’s worth of stubble on his cheeks and chin.  He could deal with that, at least; it wouldn’t be the first time he had slept at the shop, and he always kept shaving kit and spare clothing in the back, just in case.

He felt better for shaving and cleaning his teeth, but he desperately needed coffee if he was to feel more human, and so he looked through a few of his shirts hanging behind a painted silk screen.  He picked out a black one, to match his mood, with a black tie patterned with interwoven lines of tiny squares.  Once it was buttoned, the tie knotted around his throat and a gold pin securing its length, he nodded to himself in the mirror.  Better.

He left the shop and walked slowly up the street to the diner, his leg complaining at every step.  He never had taken the painkillers - although after awhile the whisky had numbed everything - and he certainly wasn’t about to take them now.  All his wits would be needed to deal with Belle.

He ordered black coffee, strong and bitter, and drank three cups as he sat alone by the window, mulling over how best to handle things.  She had said that she was only in town for a week, but from what he heard of Moe French’s ill health he suspected it might be longer.  They had a lot to sort out in the interim, and he spent some time thinking over the different proposals he might make, and what he was prepared to agree to.

Once the last of the coffee had been drunk, the caffeine spreading through his system, he pushed out of the chair, threw some cash down for the waitress and left, stepping out into the pleasant morning air.  The sun was out, and he fished his sunglasses from his pocket, cutting the glare.  It was early, but he suspected Belle would be awake, and as she had not been present at the inn, as far as he could see, he would try her father’s place.

“Mr Gold!”

He turned at the sound of MIss Blanchard’s voice, and she hurried up, flicking her dark hair out of her eyes and looking harassed.

“Thank goodness I bumped into you,” she said, hefting what looked like a bag of books over one arm.  “The kitchen sink started leaking last night: water’s just pouring out underneath!  I think one of the pipes might be cracked.”

“Right,” he said.  “Right, well, I’ll send someone over to look at it today.”

“Oh, thank you!” she said, looking relieved.  “I put a bucket underneath, but I have to get to school, and I wasn’t sure if it would be enough, and I couldn’t find where to turn off the water.  You have your key, right?”

“If you’re happy for me to let someone in to fix it, it should be done by the time you get home,” he confirmed, and she let out a sigh.

“Well, that’s one load off my mind,” she said.  “It’s the first problem I’ve had since I moved into the apartment.  Oh, and just to forewarn you, Belle’s back in town to visit Moe, and she’s moved into his place.”

“I can’t think why this would interest me,” he said coldly, and her mouth twisted as she blushed a little.

“It’s just - she has a baby,” she blurted.  “I don’t mean to push in where I’m not wanted, but - but you know how Moe could be, Mr Gold.  I went around a couple of times before he was taken into hospital, and - and I don’t think his house is the best environment for a baby.”

“Then no doubt Miss French will inform me if she wishes a change of accommodation,” he said smoothly, and raised an eyebrow.  “I presume it is still Miss French?”

Mary Margaret looked thoughtful, chewing her lip.

“You know, I never thought to ask, but I guess not,” she mused.  “She said she married a businessman down in Boston, but we mainly talked over old times, and about Gideon.”

“Gideon?”

“The baby,” she said helpfully, and his heart clenched.

So.  That’s what she named him.  The hero in that bloody book she was always reading.  Is she happy with her husband?  Does he comfort my son when he cries?

“Mr Gold?”

Miss Blanchard was watching him curiously, and he shoved the thoughts away.

“I’ll have someone take a look at that leak for you,” he said.  “Good day, Miss Blanchard.”

He walked off before she could respond, his stride swift, and reached his car without having to speak to any of the town’s other residents, which was a relief.  Thoughts of Belle were needling at his brain, digging and twisting as they tried to unearth his memories.  His regrets.  He pushed them away, starting the engine and pulling away at a sedate pace as he headed in the direction of the three-bed house at the edge of town that Moe French had rented from him four years earlier.

Belle’s morning was not going well.

Gideon had woken at just before four, his teeth causing him pain, and it had taken almost an hour for her to get him to calm down.  She had fed and changed him, and had settled in one of the battered armchairs with him nestled against her chest, the two of them slipping into sleep as the sun rose.  Seeing her father’s house in daylight made her sigh in despair; it was filthy, still with dirty pots stacked in the sink, garbage piled next the trashcan and dust on every surface.  She knew that he had never been the best at keeping the place tidy, but things had clearly gotten worse as his illness had progressed.  At least everything she had brought for Gideon was clean, and she set him in his high chair to give him breakfast, banana porridge with pieces of sliced pear.  He was still cranky from pain and lack of sleep, and some of the porridge ended up over her, but he ate most of it.

A knock at the front door made her look around, chewing her lip, and she gave Gideon a piece of pear to chew on, patting his head before wiping her hands on her porridge-covered pyjama top and heading for the door.  Her heart sank a little when she opened it.  Gold was dressed in unrelieved black, sunglasses hiding his eyes, every inch the ruthless dealmaker, and for a moment she longed to turn back the clock to a time when she had felt happy.  When she had lain in his arms next to the cabin’s crackling fire.  When she had told him she loved him.

His eyes swept over her, and she cursed inwardly at what he would see.  A stressed young woman in her PJs, covered in porridge and with tangled hair.  He was as immaculate as ever, and it made her feel young and stupid and helpless.  Which was no doubt his intent, but whatever thoughts her appearance might have given him, he kept to himself.

“Belle,” he said curtly.  “May I come in?”

She stood aside wordlessly, and he swept past her, dragging anger and resentment in his wake and making her shiver.  His eyes flicked over everything, his mouth twisting, and she wanted to sigh.

“Look, before you say anything, I know this place is a mess.”

“It’s not a mess, it’s a fucking health hazard,” he said coldly.  “You brought my child into this?”

“I’m going to clean it up!” she protested.  “I was just giving Gideon his breakfast and then I was going to make a start!”

“It would take you a bloody week to make this habitable,” he said.  “Pack your things.  You can move into my house while I get a team out to clean this place.  And fumigate it.”

Belle folded her arms, raising an eyebrow.

“Move into your place?” she said flatly.  “Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m concerned for my son’s health!” he snapped.  “As you should be.”

“Fuck you, Gold!”

He sent her a twisted smile.

“I believe we already ticked that particular sordid little box.”

“Jesus…”

She turned away, running a frustrated hand through her hair, and heard him sigh.  

“It’s only for a few days,” he said impatiently.  “Are you really going to let your pride make yet another stupid decision?”

She bristled at that, turning on her toes to glare at him.

“You expect me to move in with you?” she demanded.  “What the hell will the rest of the town say?”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what they say,” he returned.  “There’s nothing remotely surprising about my child staying in my house.  Unless you’re planning on not telling anyone I’m the father.  I mean you didn’t fucking well tell me, after all, so perhaps you’ve already lied about that, hmm?”

Her jaw worked.  She hadn’t, but she hadn’t exactly been truthful, either.

“I have plenty of room and enough spare bedrooms that you don’t even have to see me if I disgust you that much,” he added, in a wry tone.  “And most importantly, at my house no one is likely to ingest rat droppings.  This is non-negotiable.”

Belle struggled internally, but the plain fact was that he was right.  Gideon’s health came first.

“Fine,” she muttered, and he nodded.

“Good.  Now where is the child?”

“Kitchen,” she said shortly, and he turned away from her without another word, making his way to the kitchen.

After a moment of standing there seething, she followed him, and found him gazing down at Gideon with his hands clenched over his cane.  Gideon was staring up at him as he chewed his piece of pear, drool running over his chin, and Belle swooped in to wipe it off.

“He has my eyes,” said Gold quietly.

“Yes,” she said, straightening up.  “But thankfully not your nature.”

His jaw clenched, and he glanced away.

“Pack your things,” he repeated, and she stuck out her chin.

“It won’t take me long,” she said.  “I’d prefer it if you wait in the car.”

“Fine,” he said stiffly.

He strode past her, flicking his hair out of his eyes as he went, as though he were dismissing her very presence, and she watched him go, knowing that she needed to explain her actions, and dreading it.

[quakerjoe]

It's been a while since I've written a "Cuppa Joe" sermon, so to speak, and for that I apologize. I've been getting over-saturated by the news and haven't been in the mood. With that, I challenge you to read this. A "Shot of Joe" for the end of February... ----------------------------------------------------- Gun violence. It won’t end in our lifetimes here in the United States. We won’t see the end of it, but perhaps, just maybe our children or grandchildren will see a day when America is once again worthy of seeing themselves as the “Land of the Brave”. Right now, we simply aren’t, and it has a lot to do with the differences we all imagine as the End Game for our futures. Some seem to strive for a sort of Utopian society where we all have health coverage, free education on all levels, clean air and water, safe food, honest, livable wages for all, and a society where it no longer matters what color our flesh is or from where our ancestors come from or what religious backgrounds we have or what sexual preferences or genders we are. We’ll reach an age, with any luck, where we’re all just simply… Americans.

However, while some of us strive for that sort of end game in the US, there are others who crave a time more akin to the post-apocalyptic times seen in Mad Max films or they hope for a zombie apocalypse or some sort of breakdown of society where they can unleash their darkest desires, including crime without fear of punishment like rape and murder, the re-implementation of slavery, and moves to put women back where they “belong”; back in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant and free to beat and slap around for being “uppity”. You know; “Biblical Times”. Praise Jesus, right?

The fact remains that so long as we, as a nation, glorify war and death and murder, all for the selfish sake of owning guns, then we have no business thinking we’re free, because we’re not, and there’s no merit for even remotely considering ourselves brave. Last I checked, there isn’t a nation on the planet who can assemble any kind of army, traverse the massive oceans of the Atlantic or Pacific, reach our shores and invade us. Mexico will never have enough of an army to come close to being a match for our over-bloated military. Canada… They’re simply not interested and that’s not their style since forever as a nation of their own. (They did burn down the White House during the War of 1812, but they were British back then.)

Given the massive natural barriers between us and anyone who could possibly want to do harm to the US, it seems beyond INSANE that our military is so bloody huge. We’re already fairly untouchable, and the world knows it. They, like many of us, know that our military budget is only rivaled by that of the next 15+/- nations COMBINED after us, and all but one are allies. Most of THEM, on the other hand, have amazing health care systems and far better education systems. They invest in their PEOPLE and not corporations. They have better and more modern infrastructure. They’re fighting climate change. They’re not at war with other nations like the US is all around the world. They care for their troops and don’t just talk about it and put bumper stickers on their cars. 

Essentially, Americans are, in general, totally full of shit, mostly empty thoughts, and blasphemous prayers that mean fuck-all nothing. It’s how they cope. What the hell is wrong with Americans? They’re the loudest, mouthiest, and chicken-shit nation there is today. Those in charge use the military as mercenaries for the rich and powerful private sector.  We treat those poor patriots like they’re going off to save the world, but does anyone ever wonder who “wins” in these overseas operations? Who gets the goods in the aftermath? Big Pharma gets poppies from Afghanistan. Big Oil corporations get benefits from constantly destabilizing the Middle East, either through bullshit invasions like in Iraq, or through undercover ops via the CIA and private merc companies. Big. Fat. Rich. Fucks. They are the ones who reap the prizes from war. Our own troops get shot at for the privilege of putting on a uniform and being led to believe that they’re going on some sacred, patriotic crusade for Uncle Same and the country they love. Their prize? They get PTSD, debilitating wounds, lost time away from home, and pretty much fucked over and forgotten in the VA system and there’s never enough money in the Big Military Budget to take care of those who they conned into facing lethal force for a king they don’t know even exists. Their bravery and duty to country is taken advantage of by those who will use them to get more money, either for their own corporations, or from donors who put big wads of cash into a politician’s coffers. We watch on as corporate money bucks taxpayer money and gains control over politicians who USED to work for “We the People”. Too many politicians work for “We, the Corporations” and the rest of us can simply go to hell, plug in to whatever diversion makes you happy, and simply… fuck off. We let politicians go unchecked. Some of us have been screaming warnings about shit like “Citizens United” which essentially has made bribery LEGAL for politicians to receive. When a politician abused his/her power, he was held accountable to “We the Taxpayers” and be ousted in the next vote or thrown out of office through recalls and so forth. Now, politicians are expected to get a return on investment for their rich donors who now get massive tax breaks while the rest of us are being lined up for slaughter because it is easier to rob a million dollars from a million people, one buck at a time, than it is to steal a cool mil from one rich fucker in one go.

The guns… Oh, the guns! It’s a religion in the US. People are simply just that selfish. Knowing FULL WELL that if there were fewer guns, people would be safer, people will NEVER give them up. That would take empathy, consciousness, conscience, and total honesty, not to mention… BRAVERY. I mean, like I mentioned earlier, we’re nowhere NEAR to any danger of being invaded. We already have a method for overthrowing the government; it’s called “SHOW UP AND FUCKING VOTE”. If you don’t like what’s going on, RUN FOR OFFICE. But give up guns? Hell no! Americans are afraid of just about everything, the worst being white dudes. Old ones. Young ones. Generation after generation, they’re bred into fear; fear of everything not white-cist-male-heterosexual and of course “Christian”. Because, you know, Jesus LOVES the AR-15 and I’ve always seen him as a sort of fifty caliber Desert Eagle carrying motherfucker, don’t you? Americans are afraid of each other. They’re afraid, like the Native Americans before them, of immigrants. You see, once you fuck someone over, you get paranoid. You’re afraid that what you did will turn around someday and come to bite you in the ass. Genocide of the Native Population. African Slavery. Religious altercations against non-Christians. Keeping women from being equals at home and in the workplace. Going overseas and shooting up the place so we can rob them of their resources to make the rich even more wealthy. Keeping the LGBTQ community hidden, repressed in the shadows and imprisoned in their closets for fear of being fired, brutally beaten or even tortured and killed. One day, there is that possibility that ALL of that could come together and bit a white man in the ass. The harshest, most brutal parts of American history were all committed by…. Wait for it… WHITE DUDES! It’s why they’re the biggest gun nuts and ammosexuals there are on planet Earth. They know their time of supremacy is coming to an end. Not all of them are on “their side”. There are those, and in ever increasing numbers, who want that Utopian society with all the clean air, food and water, livable, honest wages, and for ALL citizens of our nation to prosper and live decent lives and not have to be homeless and to live in squalor. ALL of us. Americans. Even the shitbags, chicken-shit gun nuts. That’s what being a Liberal and a Progressive means, kids. No more super-rich assholes buying our government for their own self interests. No more abusing our patriotic military to use as cannon fodder for profit. No more shafting rules that deliver justice and that protect and serve “We the People”. We won’t see it. We’ll grow too old, as we work ourselves to death because retirement is no longer an option for survival anymore. We’ll die younger and younger because only those of privilege can afford health care while the safety net programs leave more and more “We the People” out in the cold to starve to death or to die of poor health. We’ll be dead because our water is getting contaminated; our air getting more dangerous to breathe; our food becoming a corporate mob owned operation that’ll have us by the short hairs to keep us all docile and in line. We’re going to die, and not in a nation that’s brave or free. 

The American Dream is just that. It’s time to wake up and decide if we’re going to pursue that dream, or let it all slip away into the nightmares that lie on the horizon because not enough of us are learned enough to see what’s going on. Not enough of us are mobilized to get politically active. That’s part of why keeping us all poor works for the rich and powerful. If we can’t afford to take time off from one of our several jobs needed to survive, we can’t afford to march, protest, or support candidates who want that Utopian End Game. Keeping us stupid, by buying up all the media outlets and only telling us what they want us to know and keeping us divided (divide and conquer; heard of that before?) keeps us from coming together as the “We” in “We the People”. Keeping our children stupid keeps this ball rolling, and shafting the education system repeatedly is well on its way to achieving that. Add to that: School Massacres! As people become more and more afraid of sending their kids to school, what will they do?

Three choices are before them. First, Home Schooling; keeping children stunted and limited in their educational input because face it- parents are not all rocket scientists and parents cannot all teach their children well enough on their own. “It takes a village”, they say, or at least a proper, public school. Second, if you’ve got the coin, there may be private schools and they’re typically religious-based, jamming their religion into you while you’re trying to learn basic math. Lastly, for the growing masses of the not-so-well-to-do, there’s fuck-all nothing. No school. Keep the masses dumb, and let them get into the work force as soon as possible. There’s always the military. We’ve already been warned that the influx of applicants to our armed forces is overrun with the not-so-bright and that it’s a matter of national security because they’re not intelligent enough to do the really important jobs needed in our armed forces. The rich love that shit. Keep the kids fed with “America is the Best!” and “USA! USA! USA!” when they haven’t a fucking clue why they’re saying it. Keep them all armed, because gun deaths maintain the fear the rich and powerful crave. Keep the general population stupid and paranoid and they can rule supreme forever, right? Possibly. We shall see.

~Quaker Joe

[writingthingsisdifficult]

Try again

Request: Lovely to see you back gorgeous! OK, I want to do the prompt thing. I've been trying to not think too hard. :| I'm going to give you things to use however you like, with Dean. In the same story as Dean, I mean. A haha. A pen; cobalt blue; January; and someone has to say "Lower". Obscure as fuck, I know. Well, buh-byeee *skips away*

Word count: 3284

This was supposed to be a short little thing, but I think I got a bit carried away. Anyway, enjoy. And I’d love it if you told me what you think of it. Just keep in mind that English isn’t my first language. Also: a little warning for arguing and fighting.

Dean frowned. He hadn’t seen or heard from you since January – when he so ungraciously told you to get lost. He didn’t know why he’d – yeah, he did, and it drove him mad. Everything would be easier that way. At least that was what he’d convinced himself, but now he knew better. It was pain – pure, excruciating agony, being away from you like that, but once he’d realised what an idiot he’d been, you were nowhere to be found.

It was like you were dissolved into thin air. First place he’d gone to look was the old motel he’d left you in. It was a long shot, but he had to start somewhere. Of course you weren’t there. And you were good at covering your tracks, but he knew you – and he wanted you back.

That’s why it came as a total shock when your name flashed on his phone, the familiar guitar riff drawing a smile despite the fact that he no longer could listen to the song without his stomach sinking through the floor.

“H-hello?” He answered the phone hesitantly, unsure whether or not it really was you on the other end.

“Dean!” Your voice was like gold in his ears, but somewhere in the back of his head a small voice screamed that something was off about it. He decided to play along for now and figure out what it was along the way.

“Y/N,” he breathed, trying his best to keep ten months of agony and longing from seeping into his own voice.

“Dean, I need you!”

Shit. Of all the things you could have said, this was the last thing he expected. Dreamt of, yes, but never really thought… “Y/N, what’s going on?” He had to make sure it didn’t just happen inside his head.

There was a short, but poignant pause on the other side. Then you muttered: “I’m in trouble. I need you.”

Dean was already on his feet with his jacket in his hand, searching for his car keys before grabbing his boots. Holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, he struggled to pull them on, hopping around on one foot. “I’ll be there,” he said, trying to convey all the regret from the last year into the phone. “Just gimme an address.”

There was a muffled cry, then high-pitched whimpering.

Working even harder, he pulled the shoelace so hard it snapped, and he cursed silently.

“Just come get me,” you sobbed.

The sound of you so scared and hurt broke his heart in even smaller pieces. He never should have left you in the first place. “I will, sweetheart,” he said in his most soothing voice, picking up a pen from the table. There was no paper in sight. “But I need you to tell me where you are.”

“Just south of McAlester, Oklahoma. The old farm off of Frink Road.” Suddenly you sounded hesitant, as is you were regretting calling him.

Dean hastily scribbled your direction on his hand. “We’re on our way,” he replied and picked up his ready packed duffle bag. Thank god they were already leaving this godforsaken dump anyway. He’d soon be with you, and he would drive all night if he had to.

“Y/N…” he began, intending to apologise for… everything, but the line was cut off. The beeps coming from his phone rang ominously in his ear.

“Sammy, get your ass in gear. We’re leaving. Now!” Three sharp raps on the bathroom door.

Sam poked his head through the opening with his mouth full of foaming toothpaste. “Wha – “ Catching Dean’s murderous glare, he ducked back in, spat, then gargled, before emerging again. “Where’s the fire?”

“Y/N called,” Dean answered through gritted teeth.

“Shit!”

“Yeah. So get your crap and get in the car.”

With a sarcastic smile and eyes that told Dean exactly how big of an idiot he’d been, Sam continued: “It must really be an emergency if she actually called you. What did she say?”

Swallowing the urge to argue and smack his little brother’s righteous grin off his face – mostly because fighting would take too much time, but also because Dean knew that Sam was right – he nodded and allowed himself one sardonic glare before busying himself with his jacket. “Didn’t say much. Just that she’s in trouble. And she’s not too far away,” he added, checking the address on his hand. “So come on. Let’s go.” He tapped impatiently with his foot, because he knew it annoyed Sam. Small victories.

“Weird,” Sam replied, ignoring Dean’s attempt to rile him up. It was just the adrenaline in Dean’s body trying to pick a fight. He wasn’t even sure if Dean was aware of it. “Y/N usually explains what… Hm, you sure it was really her?”

“What do you take me for? Jesus, Sam, I know my Y/N –“ He slammed his mouth shut. You weren’t his Y/N any more.

Holding up his hands in a peace offering, Sam nodded towards the door. “Okay, okay. Let’s go,” he said with sympathy in his voice. If he was lucky, he would get his brother back soon. Almost a whole year of sulking was starting to take its toll.

The fields rushed past the window as Dean sped through town after small town. He was going at least twice as fast as he should have, but Sam couldn’t bring himself to remind him to take it slow. There was a dark sort of determination to his brother he hadn’t seen in a long time, and he knew that no good would come from saying anything.

Outside, the sky was darkening, turning a cool shade of cobalt blue. Almost ten hours had passed since the phone call, and they had heard nothing more. They were getting closer, and Dean was getting antsy in his seat. What if she was seriously hurt? What if… she was dead? Would he be able to live with that guilt weighing down his shoulders?

“Relax,” Sam said, putting his hand on Dean’s arm. “She’ll be fine. Y/N always lands on her feet.”

“Yeah, but what if –“

Sam shook his head. “No use in what ifs. We’ll be there in a few, then we’ll see –“

Dean gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned bright white, and growled. “I swear to whatever god is listening: if anyone so much as laid a hand on her…” He never finished his threat, because the farm came into view, and he turned off the road, parking the impala in the darkness behind a row of trees.

He was out of the car and fetched his gun and a machete for good measure and marched across the road before Sam even got two feet on the ground. “Hey, wait up,” he whisper-shouted, jogging after Dean. “Take it easy, brother. We don’t know what we’re dealing with. Let’s not barge in there and make everything worse.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he slowed down too. “Fine. What do you suggest, Professor Mastermind?”

“I don’t know,” Sam replied with a snort and a shake of his head, “but let’s at least take the time to look around.”

The farm was dark. No lamps on outside, and the air was filled with a pressing silence. In the back of Dean’s head the same feeling as before, that something was off, woke, and he took a quick peek in a window. It was a kitchen, and it was empty. Not even a trace of being lived in; at least not that he could see in the faint light from the shining moon.

Sam tried the door on the right. It swung open with a soft creak, and Dean gestured for Sam to stand back, pointing his gun around the corner. Inside it was warm and stuffy. Like the house had been sealed for months. But there was a small sound coming from somewhere – a thumping, or maybe it was just the pulse in Dean’s ears. He crept along the wall, keeping his steps light in case the floor was loud, Sam on his tail.

Across the hall they saw a tiny, flickering light. There’s a shadow moving back and forth, and two voices whispering together, but it’s impossible to make out what they’re saying.

The Winchesters moved silently across to the door, like the ghosts they sometimes hunted, and Dean took a quick glance before retreating, almost knocking Sam over. He held up two fingers and then pointed to the room. Sam tilted his head in a silent question. What kind of monsters? Dean shrugged. There was no visible signs, to his eyes they looked like ordinary humans. But then he heard their voices and he knew they weren’t.

“Lower your voice,” one of them rasped, the edge of the sound prickling like static coming from an old TV. “Didn’t you hear the door? They’re here.”

The second man – creature? – grumbled, and huffed in response.

“See? I told you, they’d be here if she called.” In a horrifying twist, its voice transformed into your lovely tone. “Please, Dean, I need you.” It giggled. “Imagine, dude, we’re going to be the ones. The ones who killed the Winchesters. Boss ain’t got nothing on us now.”

The hairs on Dean’s neck rose in disgust. He’d been tricked, and they had dared to use you to lure him into their trap. Baring his teeth, he sucked in a breath and motioned for Sam to follow him. Whatever these things were, they were gonna regret messing with him.

The creatures didn’t notice them immediately when they stepped into the room, and just as he was about to pull the trigger, a movement caught his eyes, and he gasped loudly. You were there. Bloodied and bruised, but very much alive, and the sight made his stomach spin. You were stumbling across the floor, carrying something heavy, and the only reason he didn’t run to your side was that Sam held him back.

“Y/N!” Dean blurted out, causing your head to snap up, fixing your eyes on him, and lose sight of the creatures. They heard him, of course, and sprung into action. Fast as lightning, one of them leapt over the floor and grabbed you by the hair, forcing you to your knees, while the other one vaulted over Sam, gracing him with long claws.

With a pained groan, you twisted in the creature’s grip and swung your heel upwards, catching it in the temple, sending it flying into a bookshelf.

A shot rang through the room and the one who attacked Sam cried out in pain, but it got back on its feet and stalked towards Dean, whose gun was still smoking.

“Gotta take their heads off,” you grunted, wrapping whatever you were carrying around the creature’s neck and tightening with more force Dean thought was possible. The head suddenly burst off with a loud pop, and a thick green and yellow liquid sprayed over you like a fountain.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, kicking the remaining creature hard in the chest. It stumbled backwards, just in range of Dean’s machete, and he swung it, easily separating the head and body. A similar spray washed over him, and evaporated, leaving a dried coat of monster entrails on his face. But he didn’t particularly notice, because you were supporting yourself on a table, wiping your face free of goo, and the way the candlelight danced in your hair made it look like the glittering ocean at night.

Sam brought him out of his reverie. “What the hell was that? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Mimics,” you replied with a shrug. “Sorta like shapeshifters. As far as I can tell, they lure unsuspecting victims by mimicking the voices of loved ones, then feed off their brainwaves or something. Been tracking them for a while, and I was just about to finish them off when one of them caught scent of me. Been locked up for a few days trying to come up with a good plan.”

You took a few uncertain steps and wrapped your arms around Sam’s waist. “It’s good to see you, Sasquatch,” you mutter, inhaling the familiar scent of family and safety. Inside you, every emotion battled to float to the surface at once. It was hard to breathe properly and ignore the other Winchester simultaneously.

“I’ve missed you,” Sam said and kissed the top of your head. “And Dean has too.”

His words made you look up, then over at his brother – your once lover – who stood stiffly waiting his turn, and when Sam let go, he swooped in and gathered you up into a bone-crushing hug. There was so much you wanted to say then, but you couldn’t find a single word to fit in your mouth.

“You’re okay,” Dean mumbled into your hair, more to himself than to you, and you nod, wanting nothing more than to go back to the beginning of the year when everything was alright, and you had no idea of the suffering to come.

Dean let you go and stepped away, leaving the two of you in an awkward stance just looking at each other.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you turned slightly so you didn’t have to look him in the face. Instead your eyes caught Sam’s, who seemed to encourage you to turn back to Dean.

You bit your lip and glanced over to Dean, who looked like he had a million words just waiting to burst from his lips. But instead, he just repeated himself: “You’re okay,” like it was a miracle and a marvel to see you on your feet.

A sour taste rose from your stomach. Did he really think so little of you? “Of course I’m okay,” you snarled, to the obvious surprise of Dean, but you didn’t let that distract you. Instead you continued: “I’ve been in this life even longer than you, remember? I know how to take care of myself –“

“Well, evidently not,” Dean muttered, flicking his eyes over the dead bodies oozing on the floor.

“What?” Your voice was dripping with ice cold calm, and Sam took a step backwards. You were going to eviscerate his brother.

Dean didn’t seem to notice. “Didn’t look like you were doing too good back there,” he said, pointing towards the dark room. “Looks like we got here just in time –“

“I had everything under fucking control,” you spat, eyes narrowing from his nerve. “You were the one who gave me away. If you hadn’t stumbled in like a drunk bison, and then proceeded to yell my name, I’d have the mimics strung up and still had time to eat a midnight snack back at the casino.” Shaking your head, you practically growled. “Goddamn famous Winchesters always wanted by every monster out there. Just… just leave me alone.”

Snatching a sweater from the chair, you stomped towards the door and the chill outside air, ready to forget about Dean and his stupid, gorgeous face – again.

In the blink of an eye, he was by your side, grabbing your wrist and blocking your exit. “Don’t leave,” he pleaded, those sad eyes almost breaking your resolve to go back into hiding.

“Don’t le… Really, Dean? Now you want to talk? What happened to wanting me gone and out of your hair, huh? I was only a liability – a, a burden anyway. I’m just doing what you wanted. Let me go!” You twisted free from his grip and stood back with your arms crossed over your chest.

His eyes widened, and he swallowed hard. “Jesus, no, Y/N… how could you think –“

Flinging your arms out, you set a pair of cold eyes in him. “Then WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO THINK, DEAN?” You didn’t mean to yell, but there was a lot of anger rushing out through your mouth. “You told me to fuck off, then you left and took every sense of belonging and family with you, leaving me alone again. I HAD NOTHING, DEAN. NOTHING! Then you came along, offering me the world, and I thought I finally found somewhere… someone… and then…” Shutting up before your voice cracked, you pinched the bridge of your nose trying to force the tears back by sheer willpower.

Dean’s eyes glistened, and he sniffed. Or maybe you imagined it. You weren’t sure any more. But he put his hands on your upper arms and squeezed. “I’m so sorry,” he breathed, and it sounded sincere. “I’m sorry,” he said again, this time a little louder. “I was an idiot. Thought it would… that it would be easier, that I protected you by leaving, but I was wrong. As usual. Please. Just don’t leave. I don’t care if you don’t love me any more, I just want to be with you – “

Sam looked from Dean to you and then back. He’d never heard him sound so vulnerable, and he hoped you’d forgive him, for selfish reasons, he thought with a brief grimace; he liked you, but even more, he liked what you did to his brother. And he was so ready to have his little family complete again.

Deciding to not interfere, he slowly backed out of the room. There was a lot of cleaning up to do. He might as well get going, and with a last glance at the two of you over his shoulder, he went in search of something to dig a grave with.

Noticing vaguely that you were alone with Dean, you allowed yourself to lower your defences. “You broke my heart, Dean. I loved you. I… love you, and I don’t think I’ll survive another… another…” Clearing your throat, your squared your shoulders and lifted your head. “I’m not some doll you can discard when you’re done.”

“I know,” he said, looking into your eyes, letting go of your arms. “And I won’t stop you if you really want to leave. But…” His eyes brimmed over, and tears streamed down his face. “I want you to know that I still love you. That I’ll always love you. If you ever need me, just call. As long as there’s a breath left in me I’ll jump in the car and drive to you. Wherever you are. I…” His voice broke, and his shoulders slumped forward. Looking at his boots, he fiddled with his left thumb.

After a few long seconds’ silence, he looked up, almost expecting you to be gone, but now, given the choice, you found that you couldn’t. You were still there. Still standing in front on the man you would give your soul to save.

“How do I know I can trust you?” you asked. The words punched you in the chest like a boxer going for knock out.

“I… I don’t know how to… convince you,” Dean began, speaking softly, as if he’d just found his voice after a long time of illness. “Give me a chance to, to prove it to you,” he added, wincing from the horribly cliché scene, and he hesitantly took your hand. “Please.” Gone was the familiar cockiness in his eyes, there were no traces of confidence in his face. Only sorrow, and a faint trace of hope.

You closed your eyes and breathed in his scent. This was what you had been dreaming of: a second chance. Weaving your fingers into his, you opened your eyes again and blinked away the tears that clung to your lashes. When you leaned towards him, Dean immediately opened his arms so you could rest your head on his chest. Feeling the weight of the world lift from your shoulders, you whispered into his jacket: “Let’s try again.”

Tagging my wonderful crew:

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