#killing stalking chapter 17 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

godmadeaterribleerror · 2 months ago

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Chapter 17 - Make My Chest Stir

Series Masterlist

Author's Note: Happy fake season 5 premiere. Now are you ready for some SAD? Chapter Title from Pavlove by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 21.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You want to go home. Usual Warnings, and also just so sad.

Tags: Soldier Boy/Supe!Female Reader, canon divergence, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, heavy angst, pining

Read on A03!

Chapter 16 - Chapter 18

It had been one month, one week, two days, five hours, thirty-seven minutes, and thirteen seconds since Ben had lost Her. Failed Her. Held Her and heard her voice say his name.

The Thing kept time for him. It had forbidden him to forget for a single second that She wasn’t there. Because of him. She was gone, he’d broken his promise, and now the Thing’s only job was to look for Her in corners—in strange shadows and oddly placed objects that might be Her—and beat every part of Ben bloody with an anguish for Her. To remind him, as another second passed, that he had failed Her. That She wasn’t at his side, where she belonged. That She had trusted him, and now she was in danger.

The first week had almost killed him. He’d barely slept—and when he did nightmares of Her, just out of reach and screaming, would carve into his chest as the drums overtook him—so he’d wait until he was about to fucking collapse and then do it on the couch. Never on the bed. He didn’t go into the bedroom except to get to the bathroom. And every time he did, he had to fight the sick feeling in his body that She wasn’t there. He’d almost wrecked the apartment in wrath as well, smashing two chairs against the wall and shattering the TV. Then he’d been furious with himself for losing his fucking control, because She’d be upset the TV was broken.

How the fuck is that helping anything, Benjamin? She’d cross her arms and glare at him. Then make him clean it up while She watched, cross legged on the couch. Still not really that mad at him, because Ben would grunt and glower at Her but do it all the same. Then he’d steal Her chocolate from the cafeteria in a silent apology, and even though she’d already forgiven him She would smile at him and tease him for being a grump as he watched Her eat.

She was haunting him. Ben knew Her too well, She’d planted herself so deep in his every thought that She was everywhere. Not just scattered through the apartment—clothes in drawers he had to pretend he couldn’t see, unfinished books on tables, and an empty coffee mug in the sink—but plaguing his every move. He couldn’t eat or cook without hearing Her frown at instructions and ingredients.

What does “crisp up the edges” mean? Like, burn lightly?

Ben had to stop cooking. It was wrong when Her voice was there but he couldn’t kiss the top of Her head or wrap his body around her own, hugging her into him as they both frowned at the stupid recipe.

As such, at first he’d only left the apartment to get food—stalking back immediately after because if the Pussy Brigade kept looking at him with fucking pity he’d kill them all and that would defiantly make Her pissed—and to attend briefings. Boring, pointless fucking briefings where Butcher would say they still didn’t have a lead—at that point they didn’t know anything except that She was with Homelander and Vought said she was in “recovery”, so nobody had even fucking seen her—and Ben had to find another way to live with himself. With how he’d failed Her.

The Pussy Brigade had been pissed with him. MM’s glares had become somehow damn angrier than before, Annie and Hughie kept fucking sighing, Frenchie looked at Ben like he was about to rip everyone’s heads from their shoulders at the smallest word in his direction, and Butcher and Kimiko were acting like Ben was the fucking asshole. Like they weren’t the ones sitting on their fucking asses, and Ben was slowing them down. He had been attending their stupid fucking meetings and managing not to kill anybody when every single fucking one ended the same way, with Her not any closer to coming home. So every single one of them could go fuck themselves until She was.

Then he’d been called to the dining hall for another meeting, and found only MM and Annie waiting for him.

“You need to talk to her sister,” MM snapped. “She needs to know what happened.”

“No.” Ben’s grunt was meant to be final. He didn’t want to talk to Violet. He didn’t want to be reminded of Her, he already had to see Her perfect face whenever he opened his phone. He had no desire to see her in all the similarities and mimicked expressions on Her sister’s features, or hear her in the way they both always spoke with a frantic pace, as if the words might get away from them.

“We’re not fucking asking-“

Annie had stopped MM with a hand, looking at Ben carefully. “She’d want her sister to know.”

She would. She’d be pissed Violet didn’t already know. But Ben couldn’t. “One of you pussies fucking do it then.”

“It has to be you,” Annie had said Her name gently. “She would want it to be you.”

Ben had wanted to kill Annie. To tell her she had no fucking clue what She would want him to do, but she was right. Ben had to do it. This was a fitting fucking punishment for failing Her.

They’d called Violet. Annie had wanted Ben to see her in person, but MM had decided it was too dangerous. So they’d called her, using MM’s phone.

She’d asked Ben what the hell had happened, and he’d told her.

The line had gone silent for a long, painful minute before Violet spoke again.

“You’re going to get her back.”

Even though it felt like the words were clawing at his throat, Ben had parroted what he’d been telling himself since he’d lost Her. “Like I fucking said, we have to kill Homelander-“

“I don’t give a shit about Homelander,” Violet had snapped. “You’re going to get her back.”

“You think I don’t fucking want to?! You think this isn’t fucking killing me?” Ben had almost roared into the phone. He knew he’d failed, he didn’t fucking need this. Nobody needed to tell Ben he’d lost Her. He’d never be able to goddamn forget it if he tried.

“I know this is fucking killing you. And I don’t goddamn care.” Violet’s response had been cold. Furious. “She’s my sister, and I want her back. And if you care about her even a quarter as much as I think you do, you’ll want her back too. So go get her back.”

It hadn’t been a question or a plea. It had been a command. Ben was going to get Her back. Fuck Homelander, fuck Butcher and MM and Mallory. Ben cared about Her, more than he’d ever cared about anything, and if he didn’t get Her by storming the Tower he’d rip the world apart until he found Her and brought her back. Brought her home.

Violet had hung up the line, Ben had chucked MM’s phone back at him, and turned to stomp back to his room. To get his shield and fucking bring Her home. He’d spent a week doing it the team’s way, fucking sitting on his ass like a pussy, and that was fucking it. He’d get her back, his way, no matter fucking what.

MM had stopped him. Planted himself in Ben’s path with a glare.

“Move.” Ben had hissed. There wasn’t fucking time for this. He had to do something. Get Her back right goddamn now.

“Stop being a fucking child,” MM’s words had been blunt. Furious. And Ben’s vision had gone red.

“The fuck did you just say to me-“

“You’re being a whiny, pathetic, sulking child.” MM hadn’t flinched, and Ben had been certain he had a death wish. “I sure as hell understand why Violet’s angry. But she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. We’re going to get her back, but when it’s safe.” MM had said Her name, and Ben had almost broken the teeth in his own mouth. “She’s strong. She’s smart. She wouldn’t want us to compromise the mission for her.”

Of course She wouldn’t want that. She was always fucking throwing herself in the line of fire, taking bullets meant for everyone else because she could. But she shouldn’t fucking have to. Ben didn’t give a shit how strong She was, she shouldn’t keep fucking doing this to herself. He couldn’t keep fucking allowing everyone to just let her do this to herself.

“I don’t give a single fucking ass’s ballsack.” Ben had hissed. MM needed to be crystal fucking clear where his priorities were. Not with the Pussy Brigade, not with the mission. With Her. Always with Her. “I’ve already fucking wasted too much goddamn time pussyfooting around for you-“

“This isn’t for me, you dense motherfucker,” MM was still in Ben’s way, and Ben had been more than ready to fucking move him. “Or for Annie, or Hughie, or even fucking Violet. It’s for her.”

“Fuck you, you don’t know what the goddamn hell you’re talking-“

“She hasn’t broken out,” it was Annie who spoke, and Ben had turned on her with a scowl. “She’s still there-“

“I’m well fucking aware-“

“For a reason, you fucking asshole.” MM’s sneer had been cold. “We all know how strong she is. She could’ve broken out-“

“Her fire wasn’t working.” Ben’s fists had been curled at his side, and he’d felt fucking sick. “It just stopped. She can’t break out, she fucking needs me-“

“We haven’t damn seen her. We don’t know even if she’s in the fucking tower or not. And no matter what, we have to play this like she would.”

That had halted Ben. “What in Christ’s fucking asshole are you talking about.”

“We can’t play this like Homelander. Or Butcher.” Or you. Annie hadn’t said the last words, but Ben knew they were implied. “She’s the one who’s there. Who knows what is and isn’t possible, what precautions Vought does and doesn’t have. What they’re planning with Her. Right now we’re in the dark, but she isn’t. So we have to play this like she would, like she’d tell us to do if she were here.”

Ben had been silent, trying to find a good reason to not just fucking killing Annie and MM and storm Vought Tower to get Her back. He didn’t care about the mission or plan anymore. He just needed Her home. With him.

It’s not about us right now, Ben. Her voice had echoed in his head, gentle but firm. Don’t throw a temper tantrum, I’ll come home soon. Once this is over. Trust me.

She’d play it smart. He’d known that immediately, that She’d play it smart. She’d play it underhanded and unfair—with sharp words and dirty tricks—but fucking smart, and She’d get the job done. At any cost that She deemed truly unavoidable.

Ben really fucking wished She’d start realizing that she wasn’t an unavoidable cost.

But that’s how She’d play it. She’d use herself like a weapon and then crawl back to Ben with Her guts falling from her body. She’d be planning something. Ben knew Her, he knew that she’d be planning something. But She was so fucking afraid of Homelander. There was no certainty that she was Her right now, that her mind was currently capable of finding a way out of this.

“We don’t know where she is,” MM had said slowly, and Ben had remained silent. “And we don’t have a way to get her safely, except killing Homelander. Don’t be a fucking idiot, you asshole.”

“We won’t rest until she’s back,” Annie had added, tone a hell of a lot more soft than MM’s. “I promise.”

Ben had stormed past them, uninterested in their fucking promises, and tried to find a way around this. A good reason that he could just go get Her.

He could go to the tower. Demand Her back.

And I’m sure they’d be super chill about that. Homelander would just hand me over and apologize for the inconvenience.

He could just fucking kill Homelander right now. Stop waiting for whatever pointless fucking shit Butcher and Mallory were planning and kill Homelander now.

He’s not going to fight you. Not after we kicked his ass on the lawn. He’d see you and fly off.

He could bribe someone-

With what money, Pretty Boy?

If you’re so fucking clever, Ben had hissed at the voice. Then what would you do?

I’d play it out. I’d make a plan and then I’d play it out.

You always shut the hell down when you’re afraid, no plans, barely even full goddamn sentences. And you’re fucking terrified of Homelander.

Wow, I wonder why.

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben had snapped that last part aloud, and Her laugh had carried on the wind.

He’d sat in it, arguing with Her voice in his head for hours until his phone had buzzed on the table.

William Butcher; asshole, bother as much as possible.

Emergency. Dining hall, right now.

Don’t make me fucking drag you.

They’d all been waiting when Ben had arrived. Huddled around Hughie’s laptop with wide eyes and mouths hanging open like fucking idiots.

“Unless the emergency is you pussies doing a fucking circle-jerk-“

“It’s not,” Hughie had spoken over Ben, and his eyes had widened slightly as he saw Ben’s murderous scowl, realizing what he’d just done. “Uh, I mean you’ll want to see this. It’s important. It’s uh,” Hughie had opened and closed his mouth like a fucking fish, and Annie had taken over.

“It’s her. It’s-“

Annie said Her name, and might have been about to say more, but Ben hadn’t fucking cared. He’d crossed the room in two steps and ripped the laptop up from the table. Ignored the protests of the group as he’d stared at the screen.

They had been watching some fucking cable channel, with BREAKING NEWS written in bold letters on the bottom of the feed. It was a fucking interview, where a charismatic haircut in a suit was behind a desk, smiling at Homelander. Smiling at Her.

Her.

Alive. In public. In immeasurable fucking danger, but within an arms reach. She wasn’t speaking, just smiling and looking between Homelander and the host as they spoke. Laughing on a perfect fucking cue when Homelander made a horrible joke.

But Her eyes were fucking empty. That wasn’t her real smile, or real laugh, and no part of Her body was relaxed. She didn’t look harmed, but it was impossible for Her to look harmed. Her hair was styled perfectly, but she never wore it like that. She wasn’t speaking, even as Homelander compared them to Romeo and Juliet and called it the best love story ever told. She hated Romeo and Juliet. She’d lectured Ben at least twice about how it was a fucking cautionary tale, a tragedy, not aspirational. She was laughing at jokes Ben knew she wouldn’t find funny, and Her eyes were fucking dull. She was sat with her hands on the table, and he could see Her middle finger, tapping slightly.

“Unfortunately, Soldier Boy got away. What are your plans going forward to bring him to justice?” The Haircut had been asking Homelander, and She’d blinked. The only sign she’d heard.

“Well, I was so focused on saving the love of my life,” Homelander had placed a gloved hand over hers, and She given him a too sweet smile. “That Soldier Boy managed to run away. I could’ve caught him, of course, but she needed me. So I stayed. But we’re working on a way to find him, and eliminate his threat all together. Permanently.”

The Haircut had nodded, and looked at Her. “The public is dying to know more about you and Homelander’s plans, now that you’re reunited. What can you tell us?”

She hadn’t even opened her mouth, letting Homelander speak for Her. “Right now we’re just focusing on each other. Building a strong foundation for our future together. You’ll hear more when we’re ready to share,” Homelander had given a shark-like grin. “And it will be juicy. Right, honey?”

She’d nodded. No words, only a nod.

Ben had been about to smash the laptop and leave. Go fucking find Her. This was live, she was somewhere in the city right fucking now, and he’d made up his mind. She wasn’t herself, her eyes were vacant and she was never fucking silent. She needed him, and he was going to find her.

But then She’d looked right into the camera. For only a half-second—he’d almost fucking missed it in his anger—She’d made eye-contact with Ben through the camera. And her face had morphed. Twisted into one Ben recognized for just that split moment, before growing blank once more.

I’m okay, Benjamin. Trust me. I’ll see you soon.

She’d see him soon. And when she’d stood up—hand clasped in Homelander’s without fingers tangled, without touching him beyond his glove—she’d been wearing green. It had been a hideous dress, fucking frills and bows and lace and one size too small. But green.

And Ben understood.

She was playing this her way. She was asking him to trust her. She’d see him soon.

He fucking hated this. But She was asking him to trust her, and he did. She was still Her, perfect, and she was wearing green.

She’d see him soon.

Ben had chucked the laptop back at Hughie, and glowered around the table. “What’s your fucking plan.”

“We, uh, don’t really have one-“

“Then fucking make one.” Ben had sneered at Hughie. At all of them. “Now.”

Annie had frowned at him. “I mean, I don’t think that’s important, not when she just-“

“It’s the only fucking thing that’s important.” Ben had hissed. “If you goddamn pussy idiots want to play it like her, do it fucking right. No fucking room for error, or doubt, or goddamn hesitation. If we’re getting Her back by killing Homelander, then let’s fucking kill Homelander.”

Butcher had nodded. “Welcome back, Gov. Whatever it fuckin takes.”

Ben had left. He hadn’t answered Butcher, because he’d have just killed him. Split his face open in fury. The pussy didn’t fucking get it. Butcher’s whatever it takes was about the job. Ben’s whatever it takes was about Her. Getting Her back, making her safe. He was a goddamn fucking hypocrite, and he didn’t fucking care.

Whatever it takes.

Not Butcher’s whatever it takes—what Ben had once meant, a lifetime ago—where he was really saying at any and all costs.

Her whatever it takes. Where she was saying at my cost. At my sacrifice.

Her sacrifice was giving every part of Her. Letting Her worst fears and nightmares become reality.

Ben’s sacrifice was going to be his fucking sanity. His peace of mind traded for the torture of failing Her. Of having to let Her do this. But she’d done it, and he’d be fucking damned if she did it for nothing. She was playing this how she wanted, and Ben knew a lot better than to stand in her way. He’d play fucking nice, and do what the Pussy Brigade told him to, because She’d come home to him.

He’d failed his most important promise to Her. That was broken, shattered, gone into the fucking past.

Now he had to let Her do what she needed to do. And then everything would be keeping Her safe.

She’d need to be safe when she came home. Ben had to keep himself the fuck together, so he could hold Her when she came home. So he could be Her home, and make sure she still trusted him to touch her, care for her, and-

Ben had nearly run straight into the Kid.

He didn’t look like Homelander. There wasn’t anything evil on the Kid’s face, anything deeply gut twisting and skin crawling. Homelander’s face was fucking wrong. Weak. Inhuman. The Kid just looked like a damn kid. He had the same blond hair and blue eyes that Homelander did, but a lot of fucking people had blond hair and blue eyes. Fucking Annie had blonde hair and blue eyes. And, to keep it damn fair, Homelander didn’t look like Ben. Homelander wasn’t Ben. So the Kid probably wasn’t Homelander.

But Ben had lost Her for the Kid.

So he didn’t really give a shit about if the Kid was Homelander or not. Butcher had what he fucking wanted, and She had given it to him. Butcher had traded Her for the Kid. And Ben didn’t want a goddamn thing to do with either of them.

The Kid had been about to say something. Maybe call Ben fucking grandpa again. She’d have loved that. She’d have fucking fallen over laughing and then kissed Ben’s scowl, calling him an old grump.

Something hurt deep inside Ben’s chest. He might be doing this Her way, might have resigned himself to sitting on his fucking ass and working fully with the Pussy Brigade, but he didn’t need another fucking reminder that She was gone. Not when the Thing was keeping time. Not when Ben couldn’t escape Her voice.

He’d shoved past the Kid without a word.

It took Ben two whole fucking weeks to find a rhythm without Her. To pull his shit together for Her.

He didn’t sleep in the bed. He wouldn’t sleep in the bed, not if She wasn’t there. He changed the sheets because she deserved them to be clean. He brushed his teeth because she’d notice if he didn’t. He fucking perfected pancakes, so he could make them when she got home. He fixed the TV. He called Mallory to fix the TV. The TV got fucking fixed, and it didn’t really goddamn matter if it was Ben or Mallory or Hughie who did it. The TV was in one piece, and She’d be able to use it when she came home.

He found small ways to torture himself until She returned. Ways to remind himself She was gone, fucking gone and alone, while still holding Her as close as he could. Ben used Her stupid fucking flower shampoo once a week, just so he could smell her like a pervert. He watched all the movies and shows she adored and tried to learn all the goddamn million songs she loved. For such an intelligent person, She liked some stupid fucking shit. The music was slightly harder for Ben to get through, mostly because of the sheer goddamn whiplash. Bright pop to heavy guitar to—fuck him—showtunes. He managed to get one song down to a key, which brought his total up to two whole songs that Ben knew and could sing to Her. Moon River and Rainbow Connection. He’d have to learn a third, because the fucking banjo made him want to shoot himself. For TV, he could’ve watched all the movies and shows She liked because they were good—The award winning ones made by a bunch of pretentious whining art pussies—or he could watch the ones She loved because she was a fucking enigma of a woman. A low-budget film about a hot woman and the worst fucking “dread pirate” Ben had ever seen. A fucking movie about pageants and the FBI. A goddamn cartoon about talking cars and spies. Another fucking cartoon with a billion damn episodes about a family who made burgers. Another too long show about monsters and hunting them and being a self-righteous pussy all the time.

Ben didn’t actually hate that one. He liked how much they decapitated people, and that he could almost hear Her talking through the whole thing. He couldn’t see any deeper meaning in any of this fucking dimly-lit shit, but She’d find some. And he wanted to try and look for something so that when she inevitably made him watch it, Ben could blow her fucking mind with some sort of stupid observation or metaphor. Her pretty mouth would fall open, and her eyes would widen—half with disbelief and half with delight—and She’d be so fucking happy.

And that was where the torture part began. She wasn’t smiling at him. She wasn’t happy. She wasn’t even fucking safe. She was with Homelander. She was doing fucking everything for fucking everybody instead of resting against Ben and telling him about all Her perfect, strange, and pointless thoughts. Ben wasn’t holding Her, laughing with her or fighting with her over nothing. She didn’t even have a fucking way to know how much this was killing him. How every movie he watched and song he listened to made every part of Ben just fucking miss Her. He missed Her so fucking much.

That was the worst part, really. It wasn’t that Ben had to put up with Butcher’s fucking lectures or Annie and Hughie’s goddamn sympathy. It wasn’t seeing the Kid or having to play nice with the Pussy Brigade and their terrible ideas. It was that he fucking missed Her. Mallory and Butcher would start fucking bitching about plans and intel other boring shit and Ben couldn’t look to the side and roll his eyes at Her. He had to eat alone—Ben was pretty goddamn certain he wasn’t welcome at dinners without Her—and she wouldn’t throw food at him or talk to him through large mouthfuls. He had to go into the bedroom to get changed and see Her clothing, still mixed in with his. Static. Never fucking moving from place unless Ben touched them. Because She wasn’t fucking here. If She was here she’d know what to fucking do with all of this, she always knew what to do, but she wasn’t. She wasn’t smiling at him with a pretty mouth and adoring expression. She wasn’t snorting or giggling at him with that same perfect smile. She wasn’t watching the world with sharp eyes that became soft when She looked at Ben. She wasn’t looking at Ben at all, except through the camera. All he had of Her were moments where the mask would drop. Where Her eyes would flash with confirmation through the screen that She was still Her, but nothing more. She never had enough time for anything more.

Homelander was fucking parading Her around. After that first week—where nobody had even known if She was still in the damn city, or state, or country—She was everywhere. Red carpets and interviews and rallies where She’d stand, silent and empty, and Homelander’s side. Never speaking or moving, only smiling as Homelander guided her with a hand on Her lower back. She didn’t flinch when Homelander touched Her, but that wasn’t where She was supposed to be touched. She wasn’t meant to be herded around like a fucking sheep by Homelander. She was meant to be wrapped in Ben’s arms, safe and tucked into his side while she held his hand on Her shoulder. She was never supposed to be fucking silent. All She fucking did was talk, and when she didn’t it was because Ben was touching Her the right way—carefully and devotoutly—and all she could say was pleas of his name. But those were still goddamn sounds. Perfect fucking sounds. Ben didn’t even hear Her goddamn voice until around the third week, when everyone had been gathered around Hughie’s laptop in the dining hall to watch a film premiere for Fish-Boy’s movie and Homelander had dropped down from the sky with Her in his arms.

She’d looked fucking terrible. Still perfect, always perfect, but not Her. Ben couldn’t miss the slight gray lines under her eyes the makeup wasn’t covering, or the sheer fucking emptiness on Her face. She kept tapping her finger on the ridiculous fucking dress they had Her in—dark blue with lace and velvet that made Her face twitch almost imperceptibly whenever she looked at it—and Her cheek was being pulled into her mouth. That had almost been it. Ben had almost decided to just goddamn fuck it and go get Her now. She wasn’t fine, Homelander was still goddamn touching Her, and fuck it all Ben was getting Her back.

But She’d spoken. For the first time in three weeks, one day, nine hours, twenty-three minutes, and fifteen seconds, Ben heard Her voice. It had been mechanical, over-saturated, but Her voice.

They’d asked Homelander another useless, brown-nosing question about Fish-Boy and supporting sea animals, and he’d met them with too many teeth and cold eyes. And told Her to answer it.

“Marine wildlife and its safety and preservation is a cause that’s very important to us both,” She’d smiled at Homelander, and it hadn’t reached her eyes. “Which is why, after the premiere tonight, me and Homelander will be donating 2 million dollars to the Timothy Foundation!”

“We really care about octopi,” Homelander had kept talking, and She’d still been fucking smiling at him. “And squid, and ocean slugs.”

She’d blinked, and Ben saw the words flash across Her face.

Slugs aren’t cephalopods, you fucking idiot.

She’d said me and Homelander. Not Homelander and I. She was tired, and being fucking used like a puppet, but still Her. They were letting Her speak now, and when the pussy interviewer had asked Her to spin so they could see her full dress, Ben had seen it. A jewel hair pin, completely out of place. Too fucking elegant, too fucking Her for whatever the hell they had her wearing. Green.

So Ben had to keep waiting. It was fucking killing him—especially as they let Her speak more and more and he had to keep hearing Her voice speak words that weren’t hers—but he fucking pushed through. He wasn’t a pussy, he was a goddamn man, and if She could keep herself together then Ben could as well. For Her.

But it was still fucking destroying him.

The nightmares got worse. The longer She was gone, the less Ben slept. Half because the couch was not meant to be slept on—Ben’s legs kept dangling uncomfortably off the side and he could only fit one arm at time—and half because he couldn’t fucking sleep. Not without Her there, not when she was in fucking danger and that thought was chasing him into his sleep. His nightmares weren’t about Russia anymore, they were of Her, screaming and screaming and begging Ben to help Her. And Ben never could. He’d run and turn the fucking world upside down but he could never fucking save her from Homelander. He’d drop at Her side, give Ben a cold grin, and they’d both fucking vanish.

And Ben would wake up with the drums tearing out of his chest.

At one month, one long, horrible, mindless and suffering month of being without Her, the Thing became painful. It had been painful, reminding Ben of everything he’d lost and how the whole world was fucking shit because She wasn’t there, but now it was starting to grow bloody. It hadn’t gotten weaker with Her absence, if anything it was becoming a fucking monster. Stronger, angrier, more goddamn insistent to tell Ben that one fucking thing. The one he couldn’t figure out, the one he had needed to tell Her and had never been able to. It couldn’t use words, so it used memories to try and fucking kill him. To try and make Ben understand what he just fucking couldn’t. To make him rip himself further apart because She wasn’t fucking there. The Thing only offered him good memories, which was worse. The horrible ones—the images flashing in his head of Her fear and terror that would climb into Ben and make him want to kill whatever was making Her hurt—were justified. Ben had fucking failed her. And they reminded him to just keep fucking going until she was gone.

The good ones made him want to die.

The memories of Her legs tangled in Ben’s or wrapped around his torso. Of Her smiling at him with so much joy and Ben kissing her when she laughed because it would turn into a moan and those were the two best sounds in the whole fucking world. Of Ben touching her, casually and always, and her leaning into him and pressing her head into his chest. Of watching Her—he always watched her, she was like a fucking star and he couldn’t look away—and how he’d memorized every perfect fucking detail of Her face. Of how her eyes would light up when she looked at him, and She’d tell him she adored him. He fucking adored Her. She was fucking perfect, still fucking perfect, always goddamn perfect. And every single piece of Ben that mattered, his will and resolve and care and mind and blood, was trapped in the tower with Her. Leaving only his body and the Thing, wrathful and desperate, to ache. His whole world fucking ached because She wasn’t there.

And Ben couldn’t fucking do shit to get Her back.

The Pussy Brigade was working on it. Whenever Ben would yell at them or demand updates, they’d always say they were working on it. They’d leave for meetings and missions that they’d brief Ben on, but never let him just fucking help. Let him bring Her home. Ben couldn’t go out in public, not after the tower, not when he’d been declared Public Enemy #1 by Vought and was a threat to America in the eyes of the general population. So he was fucking benched.

“We’ve got another lead,” MM had been giving a briefing, and Ben had been half-listening. All these meetings always amounted to the same thing. Ben stayed behind, the Pussy Bridage found nothing, and She was still fucking gone. “It’s on Sage, old member of Teenage Kix’s might know some sort of fucking psychological weakness we can use against her.”

Most of the fucking missions were about Sage. Trying to figure out what she was planning, what her long-game was, how they could get her out of the picture for an easier shot at Homelander. The pussy had locked down all of the Seven, and was taking goddamn precautions. Limited press, limited public appearances, all the focus on Her and Homelander’s fake fucking love story. On how Vought was trying to take Ben down for justice, to avenge Her. Fucking protect the country.

“I don’t think she has psychological weaknesses,” Annie had frowned. “I think we need to be focusing on what her plan is-“

“Or we could just bloody kill her,” Butcher’s glare had been around the whole table, even at Ben. Which was stupid, because he was entirely in fucking favor of killing Sage. “Take her out permanently. Blow a hole in her fuckin chest that she ain’t gonna heal from.”

“If you find an actual window for that,” MM had snapped. “Then let us know. Until then, we’re following the lead.”

“It ain’t even a good lead, Mate.” Butcher had grumbled. “It’s fuckin useless. We’re not makin any progress chasing leads.”

Ben agreed. He might have even spoken up and told MM that Butcher was, for once, fucking right about something, but the asshole never knew when to shut his mouth.

Butcher had said Her name, and Ben had seen red. “Still with fuckin Homelander. And we don’t know what type of shit he’s doin to her while we sit on our asses-“

“Shut the fuck up, you fucking asswipe of a pussy.” Ben’s hiss had been a promise. A threat of blood on the tiles and Butcher’s brains scattered across the table. Butcher didn’t get to talk about Her. Didn’t get to say what she’d want, or imagine what pain Homelander was inflicting upon her, or even fucking think about her. She was lost because Butcher made her think she was worth less than the Kid, was worth less than all of them, was better off as a fucking pawn. So Butcher didn’t get to fucking say Her name.

“I’m fuckin defending her, Gov.” Butcher hadn’t stood down, because he was a goddamn self-assured idiot. “We’re all tryin to get her back-“

“I said,” Ben had pushed back the bench, standing with his fists clenched. “Shut the goddamn fucking hell up. You’re the piece of shit who said we had to wait. And you don’t get to fucking defend her, she’s not yours to fucking defend.”

“But she’s yours?” Butcher had sneered, rising as well with tensed arms. “She’s your fucking woman? Your Sunshine? You think she feels like you’re fucking defendin her, when she’s trapped with Homelander?”

She was Ben’s. Ben was Her’s. They didn’t fucking own each other, but She was Ben’s. To protect, to make happy, to hold and touch and-

“Watch your fucking mouth.” Ben could hear the drums somewhere in the distance. “Or I’ll fucking kill you. You’re a weak, pathetic, excuse for a man, a manipulative, lying, backstabbing pussy. You couldn’t defend her if you fucking tried.”

Butcher had been about to hit him. Ben had seen his fist curl, seen the flash of violence in his eyes, and fucking prayed Butcher was going to hit him. To throw a fist at Ben that he’d let land, to fucking feel it. Real, physical pain, instead of this never ending fucking ache. Then he’d fucking kill Butcher. It would be justified, the pussy would’ve thrown the first punch, so Ben could cover his hands in Butcher’s guts as he tore them out and nobody would say shit. He’d have proof, real fucking evidence, that he was fighting for Her. That he was doing goddamn something.

But Butcher hadn’t hit him. He’d just glared, and Ben had stormed out of the dining hall. Back to exile in their apartment. Without Her.

Hughie had tried to follow him. To fucking apologize.

“Soldier Boy!” His weak, nervous voice had called after Ben, and he’d felt fucking sick. He had never hated his supe name before, it had been his whole fucking life. He’d been fine with the Pussy Brigade using it, because to them he was Soldier Boy, and he got to be Ben to Her. But She hadn’t called him Ben in a month. He’d only heard his supe name. And now he fucking loathed it.

He’d kept walking, and heard Hughie’s heart speed up as he chased after him.

“Wait, please just,” Hughie had taken a large gasp. “Holy shit, you walk fast. I just want to talk-“

“Go fucking talk to Annie,” Ben hadn’t turned around. “We’re not fucking buddies, Kid. I don’t have shit to say to you.”

“It’s not about me-“

“I don’t fucking care.”

“It’s about her!” Hughie had stopped running, just yelling Her name after Ben. “I want to talk about her!”

Ben had turned. Not to talk. He didn’t have single fucking interest in talking about Her with anyone. But he’d needed Hughie to see his face when he spoke. “Don’t fucking say her name.”

“She’s, she’s my friend too-“

“I don’t give a fucking flying shit what she is to you!” Ben had roared, closing the space between him and Hughie with furious, long steps. “Or Annie, or Butcher, or fucking anybody. She’s fucking-“

“She’s something to you.” Hughie had, in an act of bravery Ben hadn’t imagined him capable of, cut him off. “She’s something really important to you. Something more to you. I, uh, I don’t really know what, but I know she is. And I just, I wanted to ask if you were okay. With her not here. You haven’t really talked to us-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben wasn’t about to talk about his fucking feelings. Not with Hughie, not with fucking any of them. Ben’s feelings weren’t important right now, and they weren’t for the Pussy Brigade to ever fucking see. Let alone fucking talk to him about.

“I’m, I think she wouldn’t want you to feel guilty.” Hughie had stood his ground, and Ben was almost impressed. “She cares about you. Like a lot, a kind of insane amount. And we all care about her, but she really, really cares about you. And like I said, she’s kind of more to you. So I just, I want to help.”

She was more to Ben. She was the whole fucking world to Ben. Fucking perfect, and she wouldn’t want Ben to feel guilty. She’d probably fucking apologize to him, or get pissed at him for being a dick to Hughie.

You’re being a baby, Benjamin. Her voice ran through his head. This isn’t anyone's fault. Not Hughie’s, not yours. I mean, a lot of things are your fault, but this isn’t one.

Ben didn’t fucking care. He’d still lost Her. He might miss Her, and it might be destroying him that She was gone, but he’d see Her again. Soon. And he wouldn’t fucking break, so that She could. When she was safe. With him.

“I’m not a fucking pathetic pussy who needs you to jerk me off about my goddamn emotions.” Ben had sneered at Hughie. “And she’s not fucking here. So don’t pretend you’d know what she’d fucking say or do or want.”

None of them fucking knew Her like Ben did. None of them had any clue what She’d want, they barely had a grasp of what She fucking do, and they wouldn’t let Ben tell them. They knew he wouldn’t leave, not until She was home, but they still didn’t trust him. Not like She trusted him. Not like Ben trusted Her. And any care they had for Her was worth nothing compared to how She was fucking everything to Ben. How he was fucking devoted to Her, how he-

“What would she want?” Hughie had asked, taking a slight step back but not leaving. “What do you think she would do?”

“She’d talk to Neuman.” Ben had shocked himself with the words, because they’d fucking fallen out of him with certainty. She would talk to Neuman. And She wouldn’t bother asking about Sage. She’d look for breaks in Vought, or Homelander.

Sage is too smart to leave a leak. Her voice mused in Ben’s head. We need an in. A way to pull Homelander’s attention and trust away from her, or find a breach that Homelander is responsible for. He’s not a fan of being told what to do. You need to exploit something she can’t control or predict. Neuman worked with them both. She’d have an idea what they clashed about, and we can use that.

Hughie had stared at Ben. “Neuman? What would Vicki-“

“She worked with Homelander and Sage.” Ben had echoed his imagined words of Her, saying Her name and trying not to let it hurt. “Would think chasing after Sage’s weaknesses was stupid. She’d think it’s a waste of time, especially after a fucking month with no result.” It’s the definition of madness, Benjamin. This door isn’t opening, you can’t brute force your way through it. Find another entrance. “She’d want to talk to someone reliable. Find another fucking way, that actually works.”

Ben had left Hughie gaping in the hall, and marched away. Back to the apartment. Alone.

Another week passed, and nobody had called Ben for a meeting. He was running out of patience. They were nowhere fucking closer to Her. He had to keep fucking watching her on the TV, watch Homelander touch her incorrectly and repulsively, watch Her smile in a way that wasn’t hers. He was kept from insanity by those small moments that proved She wasn’t gone, just not safe, but Ben was at the end of his fucking line.

He was about to do something. Every day he’d been getting closer to doing what he should’ve from the fucking start, because the Pussy Brigade kept saying they were playing this like She would, but they fucking weren’t. Ben knew how she’d play this, he’d even damn spelled it out for them, and they were still doing it fucking wrong.

He was going to do something. Today. Now. Ben was going to just fucking risk it, and everyone could hate him and he couldn’t give a single shit about that. He was getting Her back, his way, today-

His phone buzzed. Lighting up with a message from Hughie. It stabbed Ben’s chest to have to read it, because he had to look at Her face on his lockscreen and see the name She’d entered for Hughie’s contact. But he did anyway. He wasn’t a fucking pussy. He could read a damn text.

Hughie Campbell; Cocksucker, don’t be a cunt.

We’re having a meeting.

Please come ASAP.

When Ben arrived in the dining hall, everyone was gathered around Hughie’s laptop again. He was starting to think this was some sort of fucking mating ritual of theirs, with how damn often they did it.

“Oh, you’re here.” Hughie sounded surprised. As if he hadn’t fucking told Ben to come. “You’re uh, on time. The call hasn’t started.”

“What the fuck are you talking about.”

“We’re calling Neuman,” MM snapped, meeting Ben’s eyes with a glare. “Congrats, motherfucker. Looks like your idea might actually work.”

Ben scowled, but stalked around the table. He didn’t gather in their little fucking herd—standing off to the side as they all shot him glances—but waited. They were finally fucking being half as smart as She was, so he’d put up with their weird looks and goddamn attitudes to make sure they didn’t fuck this up.

Neuman appeared on the screen after five minutes of heavy silence. Ben immediately knew where she was. His old room, in the safe house.

For her sake, he hoped someone had fucking cleaned it before she arrived.

“Hi, guys.” Neuman’s voice crackled slightly, but the video remained smooth. “Mallory said you had some questions for me?”

“How are you, Vicki?” Hughie asked, apparently with no fucking sense of urgency. “Have you and Zoe settled okay?”

“We’re good,” Neuman shrugged. “I mean, a little stir-crazy, but good. I heard about the Anomaly, I’m really sorry-“

“This is actually about her.” As Annie spoke, Ben’s fists tightened at this side. “We’re, uh, we’re trying to find a weakness in Homelander. Kill him faster, get her back. And we were wondering if you had any ideas.”

“Ideas?”

“You worked with both the cunt himself and Sage,” Butcher drawled. “You can’t be fuckin clueless as to what they might be plannin.”

“I mean,” Neuman frowned. “I remember Sage was trying to develop a gas to use against Soldier Boy-“

“We got that already,” MM leaned forward, slightly over Hughie’s head. “We’re thinking more long term shit. Something we can use against Homelander, something that might make him turn away from Sage. She’s the real threat right now. We’ve got Soldier Boy to blast Homelander, but we can’t get a shot as long as Sage is keeping him in check.”

“Huh,” Neuman’s face twisted in thought. “I’m not sure. In November, right before Maine, I heard Homelander and Sage fighting about something. Homelander had gone somewhere and not told her. She said if word got out it could ruin everything she’d planned, and he said she wasn’t his boss, he was hers, and it had been for his own health.”

“Health?” Annie frowned. “He’s invulnerable.”

“Mental health,” Neuman corrected herself. “He said he needed closure. That he’d gotten it, and now he could move forward.”

“The hell would that asshole need closure about?” MM and Butcher exchanged looks. “He kills everyone he hates, everyone who threatens him. He doesn’t have a family-“ Ben didn’t miss the pause, or everyone’s quick looks in his direction before MM continued. “Or at least one that matters. No childhood, no friends, no past. The fuck-“

“He was made in a lab, no?” It was the French Prick who spoke up, looking around at his team for confirmation. “That is his childhood. Maybe that is what he needed to move forward from.”

Butcher nodded slowly. “Prick is bloody obsessed with family. That was his whole fuckin thing with Ryan and-“

Her. That was Homelander who fucking thing with Her. And Ben wasn’t going to let Butcher fucking say it. He stormed forward, into Neuman’s view.

“Where the hell is Homelander’s lab. Where they fucking grew him, or raised him, or any of that fucking shit.”

Neuman gaped at him, shaking her head slightly before speaking. “It was, um, I don’t really know. Sage said he couldn’t just disappear right now, and Homelander said he hadn’t even left the city. So he was in New York, but I don’t know where.”

“It’s a big fucking city,” MM muttered behind Ben. “I don’t think we’ve got the time to comb it for one lab.“

Kimiko was signing something to the French Prick. Fast, with a determined face and a lot of nods.

“What the fuck is she saying,” Ben snapped, and could feel MM’s glare through his skull. He didn’t fucking care.

“She said that sounds similar to where they kept her,” the French Prick said Her name for clarity, watching Kimiko carefully. “That we found that by looking for the dead scientist. That the Homelander probably was not paying his childhood home a visit for fond memories.” He looked over Ben, at Butcher. “She wants to tell Monsieur Butcher that when they made her into a monster, they tried to find weaknesses. She thinks they might have done the same for the Homelander.”

“MM,” Butcher said, and Ben looked back to see him frowning. “Call Grace. Tell her we need any records of Vought scientists she’s got. Lad,” Hughie turned as well, blinking at Butcher. “Keep talkin to Neuman. See what else she’s got while we work this.”

Butcher started to walk away, and Ben followed. Blocking the asshole in his path.

“The bloody hell is your problem-“

“I’m going on this one.” Ben snapped. “There’s not fucking shit you can do to stop me. We won’t be in public, this is the best fucking lead we’ve gotten in a goddamn month, and I’m fucking going to check it. Make sure you pussies don’t fuck it up.”

He thought Butcher would argue. Tell Ben to shove it, that he was still benched. But he just looked Ben up and down with a scowl and narrowed eyes, and shrugged.

“Your fuckin funeral, mate.”

Ben let Butcher walk around him, and stalked back to the table. Sitting silently off to the side as Hughie, Annie, and Kimiko all spoke to Neuman. The French Prick had left with MM, leaving Kimiko to type her thoughts on Her phone, but Hughie always repeated them aloud for Neuman, and Ben had fucking ears. Nothing interesting happened—New Noir was weird, Neuman was pretty sure Ashley was bald, and something called a Believe Expo was happening in a week—until the end of the hour.

“How are you guys holding up?” Neuman asked, and Hughie shrugged.

“I mean, we’re fine. Can you, uh, repeat the thing about the Deep-“

“What, that he’s an octopus fucker?” Ben couldn’t see Neuman’s face, but she sounded exasperated. “You already knew that Hughie. I’ve told you everything I have, I just want to talk to my friends.”

“We’re okay, Vicki,” Hughie glanced across the table to Ben, watching silently. “I mean, it’s rough, but we’re okay.”

“How is everyone, with the whole Anomaly thing?”

Ben really fucking wished they’d all stop looking at him like that. Like he was about to start fucking crying.

“We’re mostly just worried about her,” Annie said slowly. “I mean, we miss her. It’s weird without her here. But there’s not much we can do until we kill Homelander.”

“That sounds like Butcher talk, Annie.” Nueman said flatly. “That doesn’t sound like you guys.”

“It is Butcher talk,” Hughie admitted, rubbing his neck. “But he’s not always wrong-“

“I didn’t say he was,” Neuman interrupted. “I just wouldn’t trust his judgment with this. I mean, he’s being a hypocrite.”

Annie frowned, glancing up at Ben again. At his hands, curled into white-knuckled fists as he listened. “About what? Like, with Ryan?”

“No,” Hughie shook his head, giving Annie a sad look. “Becca. That’s what you’re talking about, right, Vicki?”

“It is. I mean, this is almost exactly like Becca. And you told me he was doing anything to get her back. But Soldier Boy-“

All eyes shot up to Ben, and he held their weak, nervous fucking gazes as Hughie cut off Neuman with a stutter.

“He’s, uh, Vicki he’s here. Soldier Boy, he kind of, uh, he’s listening.”

Neuman didn’t falter. “Good, he should hear this. Butcher had a wife, Homelander did to her what he’s done to the Anomaly. And Butcher did pretty much anything he could to get her back. Searched for her, killed for her, whatever he could to get her back. I mean, Stan even told me they cut a deal for it. If Butcher wasn’t such a heartless asshole, he’d care more about Soldier Boy and the Anomaly. About how Becca didn’t seem like the type who would want him to let what happened to them happen to anyone else.”

Hughie swallowed. “I don’t think he doesn’t care, or isn’t trying to help her. I just-“

“Hughie, don’t make excuses for him. I saw how Soldier Boy was about her. Like Butcher was for Becca. And if he’s still there, then that old asshole should know that Butcher did whatever it took for Becca. He might even be right, but he’s still a hypocrite.”

Ben left. If they all kept looking at him like that, with all that fucking pity, he’d lose his goddamn mind. He already fucking knew about Butcher’s wife. The Kid’s mother. He’d learned about her on the first go. She’d had Homelander’s son, got killed, Butcher had made her some sort of fucking promise, and Ben hadn’t given a fucking shit about any of it.

But he’d never known Becca Butcher. He’d heard Her talk about Becca, when she’d yelled at Butcher about Homelander and when they’d been planning to trade Her in for Ryan, months ago. But he’d never known about Becca outside of those sparse details. He didn’t know the lengths that Butcher had gone to. Lengths he wasn’t allowing Ben to go to for Her.

Ben was going to fucking kill him.

Jesus, Benjamin. Were you even listening to Neuman?

Shut up. His voice in his own head was a growl. Ben didn’t need Her voice to tell him off right now, because even in his head she was always fucking right, and Ben didn’t have any interest in being talked out of this.

You shut up. Butcher’s a dick, but he’s not an idiot.

He’s a fucking hypocrite, Sunshine. You’d be fucking home if he wasn’t such a goddamn cold-hearted pussy. I’d have gotten you day one if Butcher hadn’t stopped me.

You wouldn’t have gotten me, though. Butcher’s, for once, right. Homelander would’ve hidden me the moment you stepped foot in the tower.

Homelander hid Becca. Butcher still fucking fought to get her back.

Becca died, Ben. She’s like, really dead.

Ben faltered for a second. Becca had died. That doesn’t fucking mean anything.

I’d say it’s kind of important. If I’m really Becca two, then maybe Butcher’s just trying not to get me killed as well.

You can’t fucking die. And you’re you, not Butcher’s fucking dead wife.

I know that. All I’m saying is maybe Butcher just doesn’t want you to lose me, like he lost Becca.

I don’t think he gives a fuck about me that much, Ben drawled Her name in his head, and could almost fucking hear Her sigh.

He’s not heartless, Ben. I mean, he’s a cunt. But he’s not Homelander. He’s capable of thinking of others, sometimes.

Ben wasn’t a fan of how, when She was just a voice in his head, he couldn’t shut Her up by kissing her. He had to listen to Her, and she was always fucking right. She was too good, too kind, but right.

Ben didn’t kill Butcher. And, when he was called to the dining hall two days later for a briefing, there was finally a fucking plan.

“We’re heading to Queens,” MM was stood at the head of the table, Butcher a pace behind him. “A group of known Vought scientists and a handful of chem and bio majors at NYU interning with Vought all went missing round November, and they all got cars that were parked in Queens. Mallory found a building that’s getting electrically wired underground, and we’re going to check it out. Got it?”

Annie raised her hand, and MM nodded. “Do we have a way in? If it’s a Vought building-“

“Ain’t nobody been seen entering it since all those fuckin nerds vanished,” Butcher shrugged. “I’d wager we’ll just walk right in.”

“What about security, Butcher. Keycards. Locks.”

“We’ve got America’s strongest cunt comin with us,” Butcher shot Ben a smirk. “You think you can open a locked door, Gov?”

Ben scowled at him. “You fucking know I can, you pussy.”

“That’s the bloody spirit.”

“Do we, uh, what are we looking for?” Hughie glanced nervously between Ben and Butcher as he spoke. “Is it just kind of a pray we find something situation, or is there like something specific?”

Butcher didn’t stop glaring at Ben as he answered. “A weakness, Lad. Anythin that Homelander or Sage wouldn’t want us to see or know.”

Hughie nodded. “Like a weapon? Or a drug?”

“We’re not sure yet, kid. But I’m sure there will be something.” MM sighed, then muttered under his breath. “There better be fucking something.”

“Oh, okay. So it’s all of us, or-“

“Me, Soldier Boy, MM, Kimiko, and Frenchie. You and Starlight will stay and hold down the fort.” Butcher clasped Hughie on the back, and Hughie gave a sputtering cough. Idiot had just put water in his mouth. “Try not to fuck on the tables while we’re gone.”

“We’re not going to fuck on the tables, asshole.”

Butcher winked at Annie. “Long as you clean up after yourselves, I don’t care where you twats fuck.”

“It’s not your business-“

“As much as I’d love to have another long and graphic conversation about my co-workers sex lives,” MM cut Annie off with a glare at Butcher. “Can we get our fucking asses up and into the van?”

“I’m not the one who can’t keep it in my fuckin pants, Mate-“

“We all keep it in our pants!” Annie was almost shouting. “Everyone keeps it in their pants, it’s not our fault we’re capable of love, you lonely, bitter asshole!”

“Love ain’t lust, Starlight-“

“Can we please fucking move-“

Ben stood up, and the Thing was trying to fucking kill him. It was Her, she had to know that unspeakable fucking thing Ben couldn’t goddamn understand-

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” MM shouted after him, Butcher and Annie still locked in their pointless fucking argument that was making the Thing go feral.

“I’m fucking getting ready.” Ben snapped, not bothering to turn. “And I want a gun.”

He didn’t wait to hear MM’s response. If they wouldn’t give Ben a gun, he’d take one. And there was not a fucking world where they could stop him from bringing his shield or wearing his suit. This was fucking important, and their bitching and moaning about protocol and safety wasn’t going to help with fucking shit.

I feel like you just really want a gun, Ben. Her voice hummed, carrying through the silence of their apartment.

I do want a fucking gun. It’s a goddamn useful weapon.

You’ve done fine without one before.

No, I didn’t. I gave you my gun and I fucking lost you.

And how the hell would the gun have stopped that?

I don’t fucking know. But it would’ve.

You can just want the gun, you know. You’re allowed to just want something.

I only fucking want you. Ben's jaw was going to crack. The gun will help me get you. I don’t want the damn gun, I want you.

Aw, I want you too, Pretty Boy.

You as well.

Fuck you.

“I wish I fucking could, Sunshine.”

He’d spoken aloud again. He had to fucking control that better, or the Pussy Brigade would start asking questions Ben didn’t want to answer.

They were taking the Pussy Mobile. Butcher’s car only fit five—a limited they’d tested once and had no interest in testing again—and nobody seemed thrilled with Ben’s pitch of just leaving Butcher behind, so he found himself in their awful fucking van, pressed up against the wall without Her at his side. The ride was silent, and Her ghost—not a fucking ghost, she wasn’t fucking dead—whispered in his ear the whole goddamn way to the Bronx.

Do you think they ever clean this thing?

No.

I mean, they have to. They all get shot and beat up way too much for it to not be a biohazard.

It doesn’t fucking smell like they clean it.

But MM’s like, obsessed with cleaning. I don’t think he’d step foot in here if they didn’t.

Maybe this is where Butcher jerks off. MM cleans it and Butcher jerks off right after.

Her giggle rattled around Ben’s head. What type of porn do you think he watches?

Hentai.

How the fuck do you know what Hentai is, old man.

There was fucking hentai in the 80s, Sunshine. I’m not a damn dinosaur.

See, I don’t believe that.

Doesn’t fucking matter what you believe. You’re the one who’s going to fucking benefit from my years of experience and study.

Ben could see the flush of her face somewhere behind his eyes. Could just fucking hear Her heartbeat pick up, a million miles away.

Shut up.

Someone backs down real fucking fast when she’s horny.

I’m not the one who just promised to fuck me with tentacles.

I never said shit about tentacles.

Fuck you.

I want to.

You’re impressively horny, Benjamin.

It’s all for you, beautiful.

Thanks, that means a lot. I’ve always aspired to be an old man’s spank bank.

Brat.

Cunt. And you’re wrong. Butcher is actually into femdom.

Ben snorted aloud, and the French Prick gave him a strange look.

He was losing his fucking mind. He missed her, and he was losing his damn sanity over it.

This better fucking work.

Butcher had been—fucking annoyingly—right. They all but walked right through the front door, down into the basement, and found the elevator. Without any damn buttons.

Butcher hadn’t been right. Good.

“What the fuck are supposed to do now?” MM scowled at the sealed metal doors. “We don’t have a keycard, and there aren’t any more stairs-“

“I’m fucking thinking, MM, calm the bloody hell down-“

Ben’s attention was pulled away when Kimiko tugged on his sleeve, looking up at him with wide eyes. “What the hell do you want.”

She waved the French Prick over and began rapidly signing, occasionally pointing between herself and Ben.

“Mon Coeur,” the French Prick frowned, glancing at Ben. “I am not sure that this is a good idea.”

She shook her head, and repeated a lot of the same signs once more.

“But-“

She covered the French Prick’s mouth with a hand, pointing at Ben again before removing it.

“Very well,” the French Prick addressed Ben with a twitchy gaze. “She says both you and she could go down the shaft. Send the elevator up after you. But,” the French Prick looked back at Kimiko. “Mon Coeur, what if you cannot send the elevator-“

“That’s a good fucking idea.” Ben snapped. “Tell her that’s a goddamn good fucking idea.”

Kimiko flipped Ben off, and the French Prick sighed.

“She can hear you.”

“I don’t give a shit what she can and can’t hear. We’re doing that.” He turned over to MM and Butcher, still fucking arguing. “Me and her,” Ben pointed to Kimiko, still glaring at him. “Are going down.”

“The fuck are you on about.” MM grunted, looking between them wearily. “Frenchie-“

“Kimiko wishes for Soldier Boy to open the doors, then they will both jump down the shaft. They will survive, and send the elevator up for us.”

“Ain’t no way in Satan’s fucking taint we’re letting you out of our sight, Gov.” Butcher sneered. “Me and MM will figure it out, and you’ll follow our fuckin orders-“

“Fuck you, Butcher.” Ben marched over to the elevator. “I’m not going to fucking run or betray you. I’m not a fucking backstabber, and if I wanted to pull something I would’ve already.”

As Ben pulled the metal apart, ripping the doors open with ease, he still fucking heard MM’s low mutter to Butcher. These fucking pussies kept forgetting he had super hearing.

“He’s not lying, Butcher. If he was going to betray us, he’d have done it in fucking February. When she went soft of him.”

“MM, you of all damn fuckers-“

“I know what I’m fucking saying.” MM’s voice had gone cold. “I goddamn know who I’m defending. And I also know he’s not going anywhere. Not until Homelander’s dead.”

Not until She’s back. MM didn’t have to say it. He knew, just as well as Ben knew, that he was fucking stuck here until She returned to him. Technically he could run. He could fuck the whole lot of them and break out, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t leave Her—with Homelander or just in fucking general—so he wouldn’t go anywhere until She could go with him.

And Butcher fucking knew it as well, so the asshole fell silent, and let Ben pry the doors fully open.

Nobody ended even fucking needing to jump down, making the whole goddamn argument pointless. The elevator was stuck right at their level, and didn’t require a keycard to operate, so they were able to all fucking ride it down the normal way.

When they finally halted after far too goddamn long and the doors opened with a pleasant ding, the smell hit Ben’s nose first. The whole lab, tubes and equipment and computers, was covered in a goddamn horrible smell. It was rotten, and fucking disgusting.

“Merdre,” the French Prick spoke first, the group filtering off the elevator. “I am not the only one who is smelling this, non?”

“I sure as shit do,” MM glanced around the lab as they spread out and spotted the brain-crushed, pantless, very dead man who had a clean hole right through his fucking dick. “But it’s fucking putrid, it can’t just be Dick-hole.”

“If someone finds a candle or somethin,” Butcher drawled. “We’ll light it. Until then we’ve fuckin work to do.”

Ben stared around the lab, and his eyes landed on a large, red door. Sealed shut, burn marks scorched around it. It took only five seconds to open it. One to wish he hadn’t fucking bothered.

“Christ on a fucking Cross.” Ben muttered. “It’s not just Dick-hole.”

It was blood. Fucking bodies and blood and rotting flesh smeared and torn across the room. A slowly decaying body of a woman—untouched save for being tied to a chair and half her face having fucking fallen off in death—was in the corner, but everyone else had been ripped limb from fucking limb.

“Bloody hell,” Butcher muttered, a few feet behind Ben. “I’d say it’s a safe wager that Homelander’s visit wasn’t a happy fuckin reunion.”

“Holy fucking shit!” Ben turned to find MM’s face twisted in a nausea, hands raised like if he blocked the view it might vanish. “Some warning might have been fucking appreciated-“

“We ain’t got time for warnings, MM.” Butcher started moving around the lab, poking over papers and frowning at folders. “Faster we find what we’re fuckin lookin for, faster we get out of this place.”

It took four hours. Four whole goddamn hours for four grown fucking men and Kimiko to tear apart the whole goddamn lab and find absolutely nothing of use. Ben took half of the room—he moved faster than all four of the pussies combined—while MM and Kimiko searched their half closer to the elevator and the French Prick and Butcher searched closer to the door. Files and papers and records and half-finished experiments all amounting to goddamn zero. They overturned tables, ripped plaster off of walls, and shouted at each other to keep fucking looking. Still finding nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Kimiko gave up first, around hour two, and turned on the old TV in the corner of the lab. Squatting down next to Dick-hole and watching the only channel the piece of shit seemed to get, Vought News Network. The French Prick joined her almost immediately, and around hour three MM stood off to the side—away from Dick-hole—and watched with them.

By hour four it was just Ben and Butcher. Destroying whatever was fucking left. Finding nothing.

Butcher grabbed Ben’s shoulder, and Ben nearly fucking punched his face in on instinct.

“Calm your bloody shit, Gov, I ain’t tryin to fight.”

“Then what the fuck-“

“Nobody’s cleared the office. It’s the last check on our list.”

Butcher was right. Nobody had stepped foot in the maggoty, fly ridden and foul smelling office. They’d all shot it looks of repulsion, but nobody had actually set foot in the guts and innards.

“I am not fucking going in there, Butcher.” MM called from the TV.

“I ain’t askin you, but someone’s fuckin gonna have to-“

Ben didn’t wait to hear any more of their pointless arguing. He spun around and stomped into the room, ignoring how everything smelled so much goddamn worse when he had to be surrounded by it. He turned over severed legs, marred torsos, and one face still twisted in a scream, looking for fucking something. Anything. A single goddamn thing that could help them-

There’s a desk, Benjamin. Maybe check the desk.

Shut the fuck up.

I mean, it’s pretty obviously right there-

I said shut up.

Cunt.

Brat.

What would you do without me?

Fucking die. Ben would fucking die without Her. He was fucking dying without Her. Nothing fucking mattered, nothing was beautiful anymore. He was losing his mind, but it didn’t matter because She wasn’t here to lose it with him.

You’re just a voice in my head, Sunshine. I’m the one who saw the desk in real goddamn life.

Maybe. He could fucking see Her shrug. But I’m the one who pointed it out.

Ben rolled his eyes as he searched through the desk, and tried to ignore the wrath of the Thing inside him. How much he fucking missed Her. How he was dying without Her. How he was pretty fucking sure that’s why the Thing was growing so agonizing. He was simply just going to die without Her.

There, Ben. Files.

They’re covered in fucking blood.

Literally everything’s covered in fucking blood. Get the files.

It was a simple manila folder with CLASSIFIED written large black letters but no other apparent precautions to keep it classified. Ben thumbed through them, not really fucking sure what he was actually looking for.

It’s like porn, Pretty Boy. You’ll know it when you see it.

Half the files were redacted, the other half were full of a bunch of fucking science words Ben didn’t understand. But one, stained in rusting red and typed in faded, small letters, looked important. Ben squinted at the words, and he’d found it. He’d fucking found it.

He stomped out of the room, shoving the papers into Butcher’s hands.

“The bloody shit is this.”

“Read it.” Ben snapped. “Use your fucking eyes and read it.”

Butcher’s brow furrowed, scanning the page, and looked back up at Ben with a wide grin. “Well fuckin done, Gov.”

“What is it?” MM called, pushing off the wall. “The hell did you find.”

“Homelander’s fuckin recipe.” Butcher smirked back down at the paper, reading it aloud in a gleeful tone. “Due to the nature of the donor,” Butcher winked at Ben. “The boy will be immune and unaffected by the original formula of compound V. His DNA had been engineered to engage with specific elements of the drug (i.e. strength, durability, enhanced hearing and vision) and ignore others (i.e. immortality, complete healing factor) and as such additional shots will be null.” Butcher looked up at MM with a childlike grin. “Cunt ages no matter what. If we don’t get him, fuckin time will.”

“Butcher, we can’t just wait fifty fucking years for time-“

“Don’t lose your pants, mate, there’s more,” Butcher’s attention returned to the paper. “Comparatively, the compound V used in other super-abled subjects will overload the boy’s body, sending him into a temporary vegetative state. Unlike the original formula, modern V shots act as only an enhancer on the subject, and his body is designed for an exact amount, blah, blah, lot more of the same shit.” Butcher looked around the room, and Ben had never seen him look this genuinely fucking happy. “We’ve fuckin got it. We’ve finally fuckin got it.”

MM shook his head slowly. “You’re telling me, this whole goddamn time, all we’ve had to do was shoot the motherfucker up with V?”

“Occam’s fuckin Razor,” Butcher shrugged. “We’ll need to get a real bloody sharp needle, and some V, but then we’re fucking golden. Sage won’t matter if we can turn the cunt into a coma patient.”

“We could go to the Believe Expo,” the French Prick had turned away from the TV, but was still sat next to Kimiko and Dick-hole. “That is where they were previously transporting the V, it is a good start.”

“Bloody good idea, Frenchie,” Butcher nodded, a maniacal grin still plastered across his face. “Let’s head out, we’ve got some fuckin work to do.”

The French Prick started to rise, but Kimiko grabbed his hand and pulled him back down.

“Mon Coeur-“

She grabbed his head, physically turning the French Prick’s eyes back to the screen. Ben’s followed, even as MM and Butcher moved to the elevator, and he froze in place.

It was Her. In that same stupid fucking news room Homelander had been dragging Her to, wearing a fucking costume. An all red supe costume that she’d have made fun of. Called frivolous and gaudy and other pointlessly big words. It look ridiculous and out of goddamn place on Her body. On Her—too fucking perfect to be wearing so stupid—across from the Haircut, smiling.

No Homelander.

“Oi, Gov, let’s fuckin move-“

“Shut the fuck up.” Ben stomped to stand behind Kimiko and the French Prick, unable to rip his eyes from the screen as the interview began.

The Haircut spoke first. “Anomaly, thank you for joining us today.”

She smiled. No teeth, no light joy. Fucking empty. “Thank you for having me.”

Her voice was too high, too sweet, with no edge or amusement. It made Ben’s skin fucking crawl.

“Now, this is your first interview since you’ve returned from Soldier Boy’s captivity. How have you been recovering?”

“As well as I can be,” She wasn’t even blinking. Like a damn robot. “Homelander has been incredibly supportive and understanding, but it’s been hard to keep it in.”

The Haircut leaned forward. “Keep what in?”

“The truth,” Her face was a portrait of sadness and confliction. Her pout too large, her eyes too doe-like, timidness slathered on every feature. “It’s been so hard to recover, fully recover and move on, when nobody even knows.”

“What the fuckin hell is she doin?” Butcher and MM had walked up behind Ben, and Butcher’s grunt was low. Almost worried.

On the TV The Haircut, still smiling at Her, was blinking in surprise, shooting looks off the camera. “Um, that sounds very difficult-“

“I mean,” She gave a pained sigh. “I just can’t believe they’ve tricked you.”

Nobody in the lab was breathing. Ben wasn’t fucking breathing, trying to just focus on Her words over the rapid heartbeats around him.

“I’m not sure I’m following-“

“Starlight!” Her voice had gotten desperate. Turned into packaged, too loud, exaggerated desperation. “She’s been lying to all of you, working with Soldier Boy since the start! The CIA, they woke,” she gave a choked sound. “Soldier Boy, he never died, and they woke him up to use against Homelander. They’ve forgiven all his crimes against this great country and have been trying to use him to kill Homelander! And Starlight’s been helping him keep me away! They were going to use me as bait, because they knew he’d always save me, and then kill him!”

She broke down in tears as the Haircut gaped at Her. Pretty tears, with no sobs or screams or gasps. Just pretty, pouting tears.

“What the hell-“

MM’s words were cut off by the Haircut, giving Her a comforting, nervous part on the arm as he spoke. “That’s, wow. I mean, you heard it here first, folks. Soldier Boy isn’t in fact a terrorist, but a CIA plant, working with Starlight to kill our great heroes. I, uh,” the Haircut looked back to Her. “Is there anything you’d like to say? To Soldier Boy?”

She fanned Her face, wiping away one stray tear. “If he's listening, I just want him to know I’m not broken.” The Haircut pointed down the camera, and She turned to stare into it. Through the screen, right at Ben. “You tried to burn me, but I’m not broken. And I’ll see you soon.”

“For justice?”

She smiled at the Haircut weakly. “Of course.”

As the Haircut moved onto a commercial break, Ben stared at Her through the screen. In Her stupid fucking costume, giving the Haircut a fake fucking smile. And Ben’s blood felt hot.

When the TV clicked off, Butcher spoke first. “What the bloody fuckin shit was that.”

Ben turned to Butcher with a glare. They were not even going to entertain the idea that She’d flipped. Not when she was such a fucking genius. “She just fixed a lot of your fucking problems for you. Like she always fucking does.”

The French Prick frowned. “I do not see how this helps us-“

“The best lie is made of the truth,” MM watched Ben carefully, his brain clearly moving a lot goddamn faster than the rest of them. “And she just said all the right things, in the wrong way.”

“In a way that saves your fucking asses,” Ben snapped, and Butcher scoffed.

“If anything She just fuckin damned us-“

“Butcher,” MM shook his head. “He’s right. She just did us a huge favor. Nobody already aligned with Starlight will believe the whole kidnapped narrative. We can flip this easy to Soldier Boy aligned with Starlight and to protect the public, and she was just as dangerous as Homelander. We didn’t kidnap her, she was detained for crimes. Or we can let people start to look further into who she actually is. The footage of her and Soldier Boy fighting Homelander will resurface, same with Firecracker, and we’ll just tell the fucking truth. The ball is in our court now. The CIA can distance themselves, or not. That’s up to Grace. And he,” MM pointed to Ben. “Can go in public. He’s not a terrorist anymore.”

Butcher nodded, and as he and MM continued to talk about responses and how to play this, Ben could only fucking see Her.

Still Her. Playing it like Her. Planning something, fighting in Her own insane, fucking sacrificial way. With carefully chosen words and broken metaphors She’d never normally use that told Ben it was Her.

He couldn’t go get Her. He was certain now, because the crack in her voice had been real when she’d said he’d always save me. Ben would always fucking save Her, and she was telling him not to.

She was telling him She wasn’t broken. That they’d still burn together.

That She’d see him soon.

——————

It was going to take two months, three days, fourteen hours, eleven minutes, and forty-two seconds for—if everything worked—you to go home. Back to Ben.

But everything had to work.

The first week, they lock you up. You only see Homelander and Sage, asking you questions you couldn’t answer because they won’t take the gag off of your mouth.

Then Sage sits down across from you, leaning forward and speaking like you were a child.

“I am going to give you one opportunity for this, understood?”

You glare at her, and she sighs.

“I am going to proceed as if you confirmed. As you know, physical threats and acts of torture are not viable for long-term cooperation. So instead I’m offering an incentive. If you work with us, cooperate fully, then we refrain from actively targeting Butcher and his associates. We can kick the can down the road, make threats, but never actively pursue action.”

You look up at Homelander behind her, eyes narrowing, and he waves you off.

“Please, I can fucking control myself enough to not kill them, even if they deserve it for poisoning you against me.” Homelander steps forward until he’s leering over your body. “Until you say you’re ready, I won’t kill any of them. We’ll work on us. I’ll even, look I’ll pinky promise.”

You give him a flat look. Your hands are still wrapped and cuffed and you can’t pinky promise, even if you trusted him. Which you didn’t.

“We’re serious,” Sage says your name, and your attention returns to her. “Until you’ve come to terms with their treatment of you, we will ensure they remain physically unharmed.”

Sage was lying. Not about the promise, about the come to terms with their treatment part. She knows what Homelander had done. She knows you had chosen to leave. She knows about you and Ben, and even if she doesn’t fully get that you loved him she knows you’d never turn on him. Ever be ready to kill him.

She’s feeding Homelander’s delusions. She has a plan, one that even Homelander wasn’t privy to. But you need the gloves off. Your plan needed to be set in motion.

So you nod.

From there, time is long. You don’t wander through the tower, or see anyone Homelander doesn’t want you to see. They’d taken off the gag and handcuffs, but you’re still locked in Homelander’s room. You’d never actually been in Homeland’s room at Vought tower before this, because he’d kept you secret. In the white room, or the lad. You’d known he had one, just from knowing generally about the Seven from the news and media and billboards everywhere, but you’d never imagined it being real. As far as you’d been concerned, he didn’t sleep. He was mechanical, monstrous, and something as human as sleep wasn’t something he was capable of.

But he did. Homelander always, for at least an hour a night, would sleep. In the bed you were forced to use as well. He hasn’t touched you. By some miracle, Homelander hasn’t touched you. He makes you sleep in his bed and smile at him and say all the right things, but he hasn't touched you. Not like that.

Because he’s afraid. Of you. It’s the only thing that helps you hold down your vomit, allows your fire to stay under your skin. The knowledge that Homelander is afraid of you. It’s so easy to miss, how he won’t look away from you for more than two minutes at a time. How when you move he watches you far too closely. He won’t touch you with bare skin unless he has to for the camera, and even then it’s brief flashes of something like fear. The room is kept cold, and you know it’s meant to quell your fire. It doesn’t—and you still think Sage knows that—but Homelander seems to be unwilling to take you anywhere warm. TV sets are cold, ice is offered in large cups at outdoor events, and when you’re eventually allowed out of the room, the tower is almost numbingly air-conditioned.

It took another two weeks for them to let you leave the room. Two weeks to prove that you would behave, to make Homelander think you were coming around. Time spent being choked by artificial coconut, receiving PR training, and making small, careful moves. Carefully calculated smiles at Homelander off of the camera, small, fake flinches into his hand when someone else would come near you.

Play the part. Play the role you’d been given and fall apart alone. Let Homelander show you off wherever he could and ask all the right questions about his life and fame.

“Are all these people here for you?” You ask him in a too soft voice. You know they were all here for him—they were literally holding Homelander is America’s True Hero signs—but the question makes him laugh like you were a silly, stupid child, and that’s what you’d been aiming for.

“They’re here for us,” He says your name, grinning around at the crowd, and waving at the gathered people like he was the Queen of England.

Fucking pussy might think he is the Queen of England. Fucking bitches and moans like it.

That made it easier. Ben’s voice would mutter in your ears, and make this all easier. Easier to look around in awe, give Homelander one of your rare smiles, and get through this.

Then—when Homelander locks you back in his room and leaves to do who knows what—you fall over the toilet and hurl your guts of disgustingly fancy food, sobbing until it was all out. Covering your mouth with a hand so you wouldn’t scream, swallowing and drowning in your own tears. A small period, every day, where you just broke. Where you let yourself mourn and hate this and miss Ben. Wish you were anywhere but here, wish you could just go home. You just want to go home.

But you always pick yourself up, and amble through the apartment until Homelander returns.

He has food delivered to you. It’s pretty much whatever he wants—you think he’s not actually sure what food you like and can’t really be fucked to find out—and he’ll make you eat it with him, making sure you eat it, before informing you he’s going to bed.

Which means you’re going to bed.

You don’t sleep. You can’t sleep. Not when Homelander is on the other side of the mattress and everything is so cold. He hasn’t touched you, and that gets you through the night, but you’re not stupid. You know better than to try and predict what Homelander will or won’t do. To trust him to follow a pattern. Which means you lie awake at night, eyes closed and breathing controlled so Homelander thinks you’re sleeping, and try to drag your fire further up into your body.

The cold isn’t harming it. But it keeps going numb. All your fear and pain and hatred and anger keeps washing over you, feeling like it’s going to burst out of your body, and the fire grows dormant again. And when Homelander’s too close, when there are too many cameras, when you have to smile and laugh and pretend you’re not dying, the fire falls further away.

Ben would say you have performance issues. You’d try to punch him, tell him if anyone has performance issues it’s going to be the hundred-year-old man, and he’d laugh and remind you that you know he doesn’t have performance issues, and you miss him. You miss him so much. Because if you looked at him and said I miss you, and I love you, and I’m so sorry I should’ve just come home because I miss you and love you and you were right we should’ve just left and I’m so, so sorry, he’d just hold you. He’d pull you into his big, warm, safe body and let you scream until your voice was hoarse.

I was right. His voice still rumbled through you, even when he wasn’t there. Even when he was just a piece of you that was always dedicated to missing him. To loving him, all the time. I was absolutely fucking right, but if you keep trying to apologize, Sunshine, I’ll lose my damn mind. So shut up.

And you miss him more, as you became more certain you can’t let him get hurt. That your two jobs right now are to do this right, and do this careful, and never let them hurt Ben. Play your role and never let them hurt Ben.

When you were given a choice, a say in your outfit or hair or makeup, you always chose green. It made everything in your guts and lungs painful, because it always moved your brain from I have a plan to Ben. Ben, I love you, but you have to. You have to keep telling him you were fine, you have to tell him you hadn’t broken, without actually saying it. The only sign he’s seen you and understands was that he still hadn’t appeared in Vought’s lobby, demanding they return you to him with roars of your name and a lot of violence.

But you worry. You worry Ben will notice the days when you were just exhausted, when the cracks are starting to show because everything in you hurts. When a strange sort of beast that has started to wake in your blood wants to make everything hurt the way you are. Every time that happens—every time Homelander drags you somewhere and you have to smile and swallow down strangled noises and a vile taste when Homelander’s hand finds your body—you worry that Ben will come. You want him to come, you want more than anything in the world for him to just grab you and take you far away, but he can’t. Because this doesn’t work like that.

You resort to allowing him to follow you. For your love of him to walk a pace behind you, a phantom nobody can see but you.

In the first three weeks, locked in Homelander’s room and in front of cameras, it’s just you and that phantom. Nothing in Homelander’s apartment is Ben, he’d call the whole thing fucking pathetic—over-expensive bullshit, and that coffee table is too fucking ugly to even do coke off of—but he’s still there. Everywhere around you, but still just a figment of your love. In the air and thumping with your heart, and you love him.

But not real.

They keep asking you questions about your relationship with Homelander—you’re still not allowed to actually speak and Sage doesn’t think that’s sustainable—so they sit you down and run over the backstory.

“So, the story is you’re Homelander’s sweetheart,” a skinny man wearing plaid—you can’t remember his name, you’re pretty sure it starts with an S—is pitching you a life story, like you’re going to make it into an Oscar-bait coming-of-age story. “Childhood best friends to lovers, star-crossed, soulmates, made for each other.”

“But fate has other plans. Thing’s weren’t going to be so easy.” The shorter, bald one jumps in over… Sam. Sean. Steve.

It doesn’t fucking matter. Call that one Bald Pussy and that one Skinny McBrown-Nose.

You’ve been introduced to about a hundred different Vought employees’ dedicated to selling Homelander and Sage’s lie over the span of today alone. Bald Pussy and Skinny McBrown-Nose it is.

“You’re torn apart at every turn. He’s in the Seven, but you don’t want the fame.”

Bald Pussy makes a sad face, picking up again from Skinny McBrown-Nose. “You just want him.”

“You’re an independent woman, you want a career.”

“But he wants a family.”

“Fights, compromises, making up because whatever happens-“

“You’ll always find each other.”

They’re still bouncing off of each other, and your blood is trying to burst out of your body. You feel like something is killing you, ripping apart your head and heart and tongue and you miss Ben-

You think they fuck each other while they rehearse this bullshit?

The phantom is behind you. Whispering in your ear with a low, gravely, voice that—just within itself—pulls you down and holds you together.

I’d hope this doesn’t require rehearsing. They’re just saying words people vaguely associate with love. Soulmates and made for each other mean essentially the exact same thing.

I can’t believe this is what Vought has fucking come to. Paying a bunch of pussies to talk. Goddamn anyone can just say words about love.

Really.

Are you doubting me? I can be fucking romantic.

Uh huh.

Remember when I made you hot chocolate with all those weird pink marshmallows?

I had to walk you through that, and you got mad the marshmallows weren’t, and I quote, “proper fucking marshmallow color. They perfected marshmallows damn decades ago, fucking idiot pussies didn’t need to make them pink and add fucking candy canes.”

Shut the fuck up, I still did it. I’m a goddamn gentleman.

You are not a gentleman, Benjamin.

I fucking am, and I’m romantic. I can say shit about romance like those pussies, fucking watch me. Love, chocolate, flowers, orgasms-

You just said orgasms. That’s not romantic.

I can make it fucking romantic. And you fucking love the orgasms I give you. You love me.

I do. The pain is becoming softer, something that’s sitting where it shouldn’t be. A part of you that knows all of this is just plain fucking wrong, to be here—be anywhere—without Ben. I love you more than I’ll ever be able to say.

You must really fucking love me. All you ever do is talk.

Sage snaps your name. “You aren’t listening.”

Show time.

Knock them fucking dead, Sunshine.

Shut up and let me focus.

“Is it,” You give Homelander the most pathetic, nervous look you’re capable of. “Is it important for me to listen to them? I’m really tired, and I have a lot of downtime. You could give me a file, I promise I’d read it.”

“It is important,” Sage watches you carefully. “You need to understand-“

“I understand,” you sigh, and let a little bit of your genuine exhaustion show. “I’ll say whatever I need to for this to work for you. I’m just tired, I want to go home-“

That does it. You called it home, and Homelander turns to glare at Skinny McBrown-Nose and Bald Pussy. “You two have written this down.”

Skinny McBrown-Nose stutters out a response, “Uh, Seth, you said you were going to-“

“I told you I couldn’t, Evan, because I had that thing-“

“You mean your fucking dick replacement surgery?” Homelander sneers, and Seth—Bald Pussy had the S name, not Skinny McBrown-Nose—flushes and stares at the floor. “I do not care who writes it down, as long as you give it to her tomorrow.” Homelander’s sharp words make them both nod nervously, and he offers you a hand.

You take it, slow, tentative, and deliberate, and trying not to jerk it back and scream when cold leather wraps around your hands. This is working. Everything is where it needs to be right now. Not where it wants to be, not where it should be, but where it needs to be. You can scream when it’s safe to do so, when you can muffle the sound into Ben’s skin.

After that, Homelander tells Sage that you won’t be doing PR training anymore. You don’t hear the conversation—or, more likely, argument—but when Sage tells you she’s watching you through narrow eyes with a sour expression. She passes you a large stack of papers, tells you to memorize them fast.

That afternoon is spent flipping through the pages, trying to focus on the words and not rip them to shreds. Most of it is information you already know, just from the PR campaign Vought’s been pushing since January. Homelander’s secret lover. Two supes from the same small town, one stronger than any before and one who's very pretty. He loves her, because she’s sweet. She loves him, because who wouldn’t?

You have to take a five minute break after that. Five minutes of heavy breathing, thinking about happy things before you can keep reading.

As a supe, you have fire, but it’s not well controlled, and this you can only heal herself. You’re no longer immortal. Your name, Anomaly—there’s a footnote that says you’re dropping the the part of the Anomaly, to match Homelander—is because you have absolutely no control of your powers when you use them, which is why you don’t. You finished high school and never went to college, but you got experience in marketing from following Homelander around. Your parents were married for almost 30 years before a truly tragic car accident killed them both. You had them cremated, no gravestones or other possible evidence, and decided you wanted to start a family with Homelander. Then Soldier Boy kidnapped you, and your plans were put on hold.

Another five minutes. Happy things.

You—this you that’s been manufactured and designed to wear your face and not be you—aren’t a real person, with interests or hobbies or anything important to say about you except you love Homelander. The personality section calls you sweet and gentle, nice and loving. You enjoy cooking, clothing, and books. That’s it. Cooking, clothing, and books. You’re an independent woman, but you love Homelander, and you gave up everything because you love Homelander and he asked you to, and you’re smart but not smarter than he is, and you’re also a girly girl but you’re still smart, but still not too smart, not enough to be alienating or off-putting or annoying, and you’re not that funny but you’re really pretty, and you love cooking and clothing and books and Homelander-

Music. City Lights. Ben.

Music. Ben. City Lights.

Ben. Music. City Lights.

Ben.

Sitting with him. Eating with him. Laughing with him. Talking with him. At him. To him. Real and safe.

Music. City Lights. Pine trees and strawberries and malt vanilla. Movies and TV shows and music. The color green and city lights and Ben.

The tears fall, slow and silent, and your hand is itching to your throat. You still can’t breathe. This is lonely and you’re tired and you miss Ben. You’re not breaking. You won’t break. But you’re cracking. You can’t think outside of the cold, outside of your blood trying to spill into everyone else.

You're trapped. Homelander will come back and he might not touch you but you can’t be sure, you have to get on stage and pretend to be this half-person in the morning, and you don’t love Homelander, you love Ben. And he isn’t coming to save you, because you’ve been making sure he doesn’t, but you miss him. You want to go home. Not here, never here. This isn’t home, this is an execution room. Cold and dangerous and everything is wrong. Home is warm and safe and everything is yours. None of this is yours. None of this is you. You can’t break, you’re not allowed to break. You can’t go home if you break, but you can’t go home now, and all of this hurts. It just hurts, and you want to go home, and all of this hurt is trying to burst out of you and it’s so cold-

Fucking breathe. The phantom hums your name around your head, into your body. Breathe.

You can’t. You can’t breathe. You don’t know why, but this is it. This is the thing that’s going to make you collapse and not get back up. You’re going to fail because of something so pointless, that doesn’t even matter-

It fucking matters, Sunshine. All of this shit isn’t you. You’re a fucking pain, but you’re you. Not this weak fucking hussy bitch. Breathe.

Breathe. You’re you. You’re cold and alone but you’re you.

When you get home, because you will fucking get home. Don’t think for a goddamn second I’m going to leave you here, you will come the fuck home. And when you do, you can cry all you damn want.

You’ll break when you're home. You’ll go home soon, and you’ll break when you’re home. Ben was going to be angry, so fucking angry you were doing this to yourself. But he’d stay. He’d always stay.

You memorize the script, memorize the role, and play it well. Smiling. Don’t break. Say the lines they’ve given you and don’t break and spend a half hour of the Deep’s 90 minute movie throwing up in a bathroom stall. Alone.

It takes another week for them to let you roam the floor. You’re not allowed off of 99, or into actual meetings, but they unlock the doors and you’re officially introduced to the Seven. Sage knows you, and won’t stop watching you with narrow eyes. The Deep nods at you, and tells Homelander you’re smoking hot. Noir II nods in agreement, and then starts to talk before the Deep whacks him upside the head. Ashley—who is apparently a part of this—pretends she doesn’t know you, but when your hands shake you can feel her anxiety. A-Train just gives you a nod and a nice to meet you.

You have your first real conversation with him a day later, when he speeds into Homelander’s apartment in the middle of the day.

“We need to fucking talk.”

You yelp, jumping back slightly. “Please, I’m not-“

“Cut the bullshit. You’re not Homelander’s girlfriend, no matter what they’ve been telling us to say.”

You watch him carefully, not fully dropping the mask. “It’s, I don’t know. I’m confused, I’m not sure-“

“I said cut the bullshit.” A-Train snaps. “They don’t put cameras in Homelander’s room, he’s not going to find out about this. You can drop the act.”

You pause. He might be lying. He could be baiting you out, but he doesn’t seem like the type. If he didn’t trust you, he’d probably just keep yelling until you confirmed his suspicions. And, based on the way he keeps looking at the door, pacing back and forth, A-Train’s not supposed to be here. Talking to you.

“Fine.” Your face falls from nervous anxiety in exhaustion. Every fiber of your features is barely held together over the exhaustion. “What.”

“What are they planning. Your team.”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I’ve been preoccupied. You’re the one who’s allowed to leave.”

“They’ve locked us in since you and Soldier Boy’s little show outside. Sage is cracking down on our downtime, she’s still convinced there’s a leak.”

“There is a leak.” You hold A-Train’s glare. “And Ben and I’s little show got Ryan Butcher out.”

A-Train blinks at you. “Ben?”

“Soldier Boy,” you mutter. “I call him Ben. He’s my…” You trail off. He’s not your boyfriend. Or, technically, lover. But you do love him. He’s everything, and you love him. “Friend.”

“Friend?” He frowns at you. “Back at the diner-“

“It’s complicated.”

A-Train halts in front of you. “Whatever. I don’t care about your complicated relationship with Soldier Boy. I need to know what Starlight and Hughie and MM and the rest of them are planning.”

“And I told you, I don’t know.”

“Guess.”

“I can’t,” you hiss. “They might be planning to kill Homelander. They might be planning to kill Sage. Maybe just focus on Vought. I’m not exactly able to talk to them, so I don’t know.”

“What about you?” A-Train glares at you, hands on his hips. “Are they not going to try and come get you?”

“No. They’re not.”

“I thought those assholes were all about teamwork and morality-“

“Morality,” your voice is softer than you want it to be. “Is relative. In this scenario, it would be immoral to focus on one person in exchange for an opportunity to kill Homelander.”

A-Train gives you a look of disbelief. “You’re not being serious.”

“I am not the priority.” Your nails are digging into your skin, and something in your throat has become like a stone, but you keep going. You have to keep going. “I am doing what I need to do. They are doing what they need to do. Right now, that’s what this is about.”

“What, you think being some kind of self-sacrificing hero is going to help anyone.” A-Train scoffs. “Grow up. This is the real world, the big leagues. You’re not going to get a parade just because you did the stupid, selfless thing.”

“I don’t want a parade.” I want to go home. “And I am well aware of the real world. The real world is expensive and tiring and lonely. I have nothing, I’m exhausted, and I’m completely fucking alone. This is hell.” The anger is trying to leave your body through your throat. “I’m not making the hard choice for glory. I’m making it for the real world.”

A-Train glares at you for another long second, and then he’s gone in a whoosh.

Three days pass. Three days of being alone and missing Ben and trying not to break. You’re in front of a camera almost all the time now. They won’t stop putting you in the ugliest dresses known to man, but you make sure they’re green. You make sure to look into the camera and give Ben signs. Something else that tells him you’re okay, that keeps him from trying to save you. That you miss him, but you’re fine. You’ll see him once this is over. Once all the pieces fall into place, once it’s safe and will be simple.

You hope they’re trying to kill Homelander. Whenever you think about it you become a little lightheaded, because what if they're not. What if they’re trying to kill Sage, or the Deep, or Noir II. What if they just haven’t come for you because they’ve spent the past month planning to get you. A lot of this relies on them finding a plan to kill Homelander. Without you they’re not strong enough to keep him anywhere, and Ben can’t just ask him to stay still and take the shot. They’re going to need to keep him down, keep him still or trapped. They need to be looking for something, because all of this will be pointless if they aren’t.

When A-Train finds you again—in another marble bathroom, and another awful gown, throwing up into the toilet—you swallow down what’s left and speak before he has the chance.

“I still don’t know what they’re planning. But you need to find out.”

You’re met with a blank stare for only a second as A-Train takes you in. Still knelt before the toilet bowl, tears falling, cracks appearing at the surface. “Holy shit, what are you-“

“I’m vomiting. You need to go to MM and tell me what they’re planning.”

He shakes his head. “I told you, I can’t risk it. They’re watching our every fucking move, they even know I’m in this bathroom.” He freezes, staring at you. “Shit, they know you’re in this bathroom-“

“No, they don’t.” Your words are fast, sharp, said just before A-Train takes off. “They couldn’t put the tracker in my body. It kept burning and short-circuiting. They don’t know we’re talking.”

A-Train nods curtly. “Fine. But I still can’t fucking risk taking a trip to talk to MM right now.”

“You need to.”

“I can’t, I have a family that they’ll hurt-“

“I’ve got a family that they’ll hurt,” you snap, standing on shaking legs. “We’ve all got families that they’ll hurt. People we care about that we have to keep safe. I’m not asking you to kill Homelander yourself, I’m asking you to find out what my team is planning.”

“Why the hell do you need to know?” A-Train rolls his eyes. “You can’t help them, and you’re obviously having some sort of mental break that’s stopping your powers-“

“I am not having a mental break,” you take a rough step forward. “I’ve just been fucking kidnapped, again, so I’m crying. And I need to know so I can adjust.”

“Adjust?”

You laugh. It’s not a real laugh, it’s cold and tired and angry, but it feels good. You’re angry, and it’s not trying to explode from you because you can show it. “I’m working on something. I need to know what they’re planning so I can change my plans to match.”

A-Train frowns at you. “Your plans… You mean you’re-“

“Not just sitting on my ass? Actually trying to help? Yeah, I am. I may not be a hero,” You jab a finger into his chest, and he flinches. “But at least I’m not a fucking pussy.”

He’s gone again. It’s getting really annoying. But you don’t let yourself dwell on whether A-Train will help you or not. Because Homelander finds you the next day, and your timeline has to move up.

“You’re going on TV again. Tomorrow.”

“Okay,” your voice is soft, and something foul and molding is rooting in your gut. “Where are we going-“

“It’s just you.”

You blink at him with a parted mouth, and most of the fear in your voice is real. “Just, just me?”

“Well, obviously I’ll be going with you.” He waves you off with a hand, rubbing his forehead. “But just you on the TV. Sage wrote you a script, you’ll read it during the meeting.”

“Meeting?”

“We’re making you a supe outfit. You fucking need it. You’re a hero, you’re my partner, putting you normal fucking human clothes give the public the wrong idea.”

You wait for him to continue. You know better than to try and interrupt, or ask questions.

“You’re not human. They can’t think just anyone can have what we have. If people keep seeing you dresses like a fucking actress they’ll think you’re just like them. That we’re just like them.”

The silence is long enough for you to nod. “Okay.”

Homelander’s look of surprise at your compliance lasts only a second before turning into satisfaction. “Good.”

You’re going on TV, alone. You have a chance to knock the first domino down. You sit through the meeting and all the pitches and don’t speak or scream or vomit. Your costume is red, because Vought employs geniuses who understand that red and fire are often associated with each other. It’s revealing, there’s a corset and lace and high leather boots that hurt your feet. The script is bland, blatant propaganda, but it doesn’t matter. You won’t really need to memorize it anyway.

Homelander’s gone again that night, and you’re not sure this will work, but you give it a shot.

“A-Train?”

Silence. He’s not an on-call angel, you’re not sure why you thought he’d respond-

“What.”

You turn to find him glaring at you. “I need your help.”

“Why.”

“I can’t tell you.”

A-Train shrugs. “Then I’m not helping you. Nice talk.”

“Wait!” He’s not gone, just glowering at you, so you sigh and push the words out of your mouth.

“I’m going on TV tomorrow. Alone.”

“Good for you.”

“A-Train, I’m going on TV. Without Homelander. To give an interview.”

“I don’t give a shit-“

“I’m going to do something.” You snap. “I need you to pull Homelander away, so I can do something.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Do what.”

“I can’t tell you. But it’s important.”

“Is it,” he pauses, looking around the empty apartment like Homelander might jump out and laser him. You understand the instinct. “Part of your plan? For them?”

“Yes.”

“To help them.”

“Hopefully.”

“Huh.” A-Train crosses his arms. “Why should I help you.”

You scoff. You don’t have time for this. “Because if you don’t, then we’re all fucked.”

“I’m already fucked. I put my skin on the line for your team, and got put in lockdown. And they still haven’t done shit-“

“They’re working on it.” They have to be. “I’d know more if you would just do what I asked.”

“I told you I can’t-”

“And I told you need to, if you want to actually do something. But I’m not asking for that right now.”

He frowns at you. “What are you asking, exactly?”

“To pull Homelander away.” You repeat, sighing. “Just distract him from the studio.”

“Why.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m still not going to tell you. All I can say is it will help them if I do it. But I have to do it.”

A-Train is silent. Examining you before speaking slowly. “You think they’re going to win.”

You don’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Why.”

“Because, there’s not another option.” You swallow. “Please. All you have to do is make sure that Homelander leaves the studio. That he’s gone and busy.”

“And this,” he finally takes off that stupid visor, meeting your eyes. “This will help those idiots? Really help them?”

“It will.” You make your voice firm. It will help. It has to. “But I can’t do it with Homelander there.”

“You’re really not going to tell me what exactly you’re going to do?”

“Nope. It gives you plausible deniability.”

“Not if I’m the one who calls Homelander away, Sage already doesn’t trust me-“

“So make the Deep do it. Or Noir, or literally anyone else that deserves it.” You frown into the air. “I’d go with The Deep, though. He’s too fucking stupid for them to think he planned anything.”

A-Train takes a long breath, still glaring at you. “Fine. But if this doesn’t work-“

“It will.”

“For both our fucking sakes,” he puts the visors back on, shaking his head. “It better.”

It does. By some miracle, you get every single one of the words you’d been rehearsing for weeks out on live TV, and Homelander—pulled away for a PR crisis in which the Deep publicly admitted to fucking another octopus—doesn’t stop you. The cameras go off, the show goes to commercial, and you blink into the darkness of the studio. You have to trust they’ll understand what you said. Why you said it. That Ben or Butcher or Annie or someone will know what to do with it. That they’ll take your opening and use it, that Ben will be able to help them.

One step down. One step closer to going home.

You’d expected Homelander and Sage to be mad. You hadn’t slept last night, knowing that whether or not this worked you were going to have to think fast, act quick, and hope you’d done enough to make Homelander think you were just confused. Just a nervous, confused girl coming around to understand what he’d done for her, what his enemies had done to her. All you had to do was have convinced Homelander. When it came down to it, Sage’s opinion of you wouldn’t matter, not if you’d really, truly convinced Homelander.

At first, you thought you had. He drops into the silent studio, everyone’s hushed and nervous whispers falling dead as Homelander marches up to you and yanks you up. Your mask is still on, and some of the tears are real. A small allowance of grief, for yourself. For saying everything that was true, for having to say he would always save you and know who you were speaking about. But not be able to scream Ben. Ben, I love you, into the camera and just go home. You know Ben will understand what you were telling him. He’ll have heard your words, the one explicitly for him, and understand.

You weren’t broken. You were breaking but not broken. He hadn’t been able to burn with you, but he hadn’t failed you. Ben could never fail you. You’d see him soon. The words you've been staring into cameras since you’d been able to. You love him, and you’ll see him soon.

He won’t understand that you love him, because you’ve only ever thought that part. You’ve stared into countless lenses and thought Ben, I love you and I’ll see you soon while only letting your face say I’ll see you soon.

When Homelander drops you back into his apartment, that’s what will get you through whatever comes. One step closer. You’ll go home soon.

You put on your most meek face and soft voice, and start apologizing before Homelander can even say your name.

“I’m, I’m so sorry, I was just thinking about what they did and I couldn’t stop,” you shake your head and fall backwards onto the couch. “I didn’t mean to, please don’t hate me, I’m so sorry, please-“

It’s not Homelander that cuts you off—he looks annoyed but not angry—but Sage, stomping into the apartment.

“What did you just try to fucking pull?” She sneers, stopping above where you’ve curled into yourself. “You think you’re smart? That was insurmountably idiotic, I thought you’d know better than to try and go off script so blatantly.”

“I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry,” you double down. You make yourself look pathetic and scared, try to push yourself into the cushions. “I swear, I just couldn’t stop, I keep thinking about what they did-“

Homelander grins, clapping his hands together. “Finally, some fucking progress.”

“This isn’t progress, you idiot,” Sage snaps. “She’s tricking you.”

“Look at her, she’s sobbing,” Homelander gestures to you, and it takes all your effort not to flinch. “So she messed up, this is still good. She’s coming around, and now people will know about what a bitch Starlight-“

“This is not good. Soldier Boy is a threat now. A real threat to your image, a threat to her,” Sage points at you, and something twists in your upper gut. “Staying where we want her. We both know that not a word of what she said was true-“

“I’m sorry-“

Homelander silences you with a raised hand. “Don’t apologize to her, she doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about. We can deal with Soldier Boy, and he’s got nothing to do with her.”

“Really,” Sage’s voice is dry and bored. “You’re sure about that.”

“Of course I am, he’s Butcher’s fucking lapdog right now. They haven’t come to get her back, he’s not going to do it. They don’t care about her, and she’s finally getting that-“

Sage says your name, and your blood runs cold. “Would you like to tell him, or should I?”

It’s all you can do to stutter and shake your head. “I, I don’t know what you’re-“

She gives you an annoyed look. “Fine. But I expected better from you.” She turns back to Homelander, and all your fire is gone. Replaced by something feral, that’s trying to make everything else just as afraid and dreadful as it feels. “She and Soldier Boy are fucking.”

Homelander scoffs. “Please, don’t be fucking insane-“

“They are,” Sage’s gaze snaps to you. Looking you up and down. “Or at least she wants to fuck him. But he’s the only real threat to you right now, because he’s probably going to try and get her back.”

“I, I’m not, I don’t understand-“

“Yes, you do. You can’t be trusted right now, not while you’re still Soldier Boy’s pet.” Sage shrugs. “I personally don’t think you’ll be able to pull off that leash, but we’ll see. Now,” she looks back at Homelander, whose face is blank, jaw ticking. “I have to go deal with one of your other mistakes. Find me when you decide what to do with her.”

Sage leaves, something smug flashing in her eyes. She’d been waiting. This is what she’d been waiting for. Your move, so she could retaliate.

And now Homelander is speaking your name, slow and cold. “Did you fuck Soldier Boy.” You open your mouth, and he raises a finger, grabbing your jaw and forcing your eyes onto his. “And don’t you dare fucking lie to me again.”

You didn’t. You never actually fucked Ben. But you don’t think Homelander is going to care about specifics. “Yes.”

“On purpose.”

“Yes.” You can’t breathe. All your words are forced out of your body, and the feral thing inside of you is everywhere in your body. Trying to get out.

“Do you still believe that I hurt you.”

You’re going to scream, but his grip becomes tighter. “Yes.”

His eyes flash red. “After all I’ve fucking done for you? You’d turn around and fuck my father?”

“I didn’t-“

“No more fucking lies!” Your jaw might break. “I turn you into a supe, a god, and this is how you repay me?”

“Please-“

“I love you,” he pulls you up off the couch, and your hands fly instinctively to grab at his arm. “I fucking love you. I made you. Do you think anyone would want you like this? Weak? A fucking weak, ungrateful, lying bitch?”

“No-“

“Exactly,” Homelander hisses, pulling your face closer. “Nobody else. You’re strong, I made you strong, but don’t forget your place. Mine. You belong to me, just like everything else. You don’t love Soldier Boy, you love me.”

“I don’t-“

“I chose you because you’re nice.” Homelander sneers. “I chose you because you’re sweet. You were so pretty and nice, singing on that sage, and I fell in love with you right there. You’re just pretty, nice, and sweet. I made you a supe because I was tired of women who thought that their words made them worthy of me. Don’t think your fire, that you can’t even control, makes you my equal. You’re more powerful than Soldier Boy, but you’re not more powerful than me. Don’t get caught in the taste of someone weaker, and think that’s what you need.”

You speak on instinct, the words falling from you before you can stop them. “Ben’s not weak.”

“Ben?” Homelander face twists in hatred, and you think he’s going to kill you. Or try to, or just lock you up forever again. “Did you just call Soldier Boy Ben?”

“I, I’m-“

“I thought you were getting better.” Homelander drops you back into the couch. “But you’re still too human. Too weak. Too easy for them to manipulate, make you think what those roaches want you to.” His eyes narrow. “We’re going to have to fix that.”

You don’t hear the call he makes. You can’t hear anything over the blood, pounding in your ears. You want to go home. You should’ve just ran when you could, not taken a brief moment of Homelander’s fear and taken it as a reason to stay. You should’ve just run and gone home and now you can’t. Now you’re never going to go home. You’ll never see Ben again. Never be safe again.

“Sir, you wanted to see me?”

You don’t recognize that voice. You can barely focus on it, because the fear in your body hurts. It’s stabbing and snapping everything inside you, and you’re going to shatter into a million pieces.

Homelander’s guiding someone in front of you. Noir II, the one that talks. The one Homelander didn’t kill.

“Stand right there. Don’t move or I’ll fucking laser your brains out.” He turns back to you. “Kill him.”

You make a sound from your throat, and Noir II becomes rigid.

“Uh, sir-“

“I said don’t move,” Homelander snaps, still looking at you. “You know who he is?”

“Yes,” you breathe out. “He’s Black Noir.”

“You know that he and Ben worked together? He was in on the Russia deal?”

“I, uh, I’m just playing a role,” Noir II stutters. “I don’t know who Ben is-“

Homelander whips around, eyes glowing. “Don’t move.”

You can hear Noir II’s swallow. “Yes, sir.”

Homelander says your name. “He wanted to kill Noir for that. Like he’s going to kill you, for betraying him. For staying with me.”

You can’t breathe again. Ben knows you didn’t betray him, you’d never betray him. He’d never hurt you, you trust him with your whole life to understand that you weren’t still here because you wanted to be. You’d always chose Ben, you love him.

“So you’re going to kill Noir here,” Homelander steps aside. “And stop these pathetic delusions that Soldier Boy gives a fucking shit about you.”

“I can’t,” you whisper. “Please, Homelander-“

“Yes, you can. Use your fucking fire or something. Kill him now.”

You shake your head. “I can’t-“

“Christ, stop whining and just do it.” Homelander pulls you up again, dragging you across the room. Right in front of Noir. “The sooner you do, the sooner we can all move on.”

“Please-“

“Now.”

You can’t move. Every single muscle and tendon and blood vessel wants to leave your body. Everything is freezing, trying to spread like mold around you and you can’t breathe.

“If you don’t do it.” Homelander’s body is pressed against yours, shoving you forwards. “I will. But no matter what, you’re going to stop lying to me, stop trying to trick me, and understand what your role in this is. You’re not Maeve, or Stormfront, or Starlight. You’re not a hero or bitch who’s going to try and control me. I made you for me. Now kill him.”

You just choke on the air, and Homelander grabs your jaw again. “You can even do that fucking singing. Just kill him.”

He rips off Noir II’s mask, revealing a young man. He grabs your hand, pushes it onto Noir II’s face, and he’s afraid. You didn’t have to be touching Noir II to know he’s afraid. You can hear his heavy breaths, you can see the way he’s frozen, and you can’t. You can’t kill him, you won’t.

Noir II makes a sound that might be a plea, and your heart falls into your gut.

“I-“

Red flashed through the room, and Noir drops to the ground. Body sliced in two.

“You were taking too long,” Homelander moves in front of you, pulling off a glove that’s been splattered in blood. “I’ve got things to do. You’re still going to the Believe Expo next week, but you’re going to stop being a little girl and start telling the truth. Understand?”

You nod, still staring at Noir’s body.

Homelander sighs. “Don’t think I like being mad at you. But you need to stop trying to be something you’re not. You’re the first woman that hasn’t tried to fucking control me, and that’s one the reasons why I love you.” He turns your head to look at him. “I forgive you for Soldier Boy. You weren’t yourself. But never,” his hand moves lower, sitting against your throat. “Forget your place again.”

You hate him. You hate him so fucking much, but every part of your body feels far away. The whole world is just pure hatred and fear and it’s everywhere.

Homelander’s face twitches, hand tightening on your neck—your fear feels bigger, it almost makes you collapse—and he pulls his hand back as if you’d burned him. You couldn’t have, because everything is just fear and hatred and making the fire numb, but Homelander is staring at you like he’s seen a demon or a ghost. Then he’s gone. Leaving you alone again, with only a dead body for company.

You don’t have anywhere to go. You haven’t felt small like this in a while, this useless and pathetic. But you don’t have anywhere to hide, anywhere safe to just fall apart. So you sink to the floor, gripping your arms with nails and cold hands, and scream. For the first time in over a month, you just scream.

You want to go home. You can’t do this anymore, you just want to go home. You’re crawling up the stairs, away from the body to the bathroom where you can lock the door and break. Alone. Homelander wasn’t afraid of you anymore, he knew you were weak, and this might be your last time alone.

I’ll come get you. Ben’s voice is everywhere, but still not real. You just want it to be real.

“You can’t,” you whisper into the air, because it just doesn’t matter anymore. You’d lost everything already, the world is a blur, and there’s no point in trying to keep your sanity. “They’re ready for you. They’ll put you back to sleep.”

I don’t fucking care.

“But I do.”

Sunshine, I will come get you. Say the word and I’ll get you right fucking now. I’ll fucking destroy the tower and you’ll come home. Back to me.

“You don’t love me, Ben.” It hurts to say, but it’s the truth. Ben cares about you, but he doesn’t love you. Not like you love him.

Shut the fuck up. Don’t doubt for a fucking second that you’re everything to me. Homelander’s a fucking pussy, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.

“But you don’t love me.” Everything is cold. Everything hurts and Ben doesn’t love you and you’re never going to see him again. Never going to tell him that you love him. You’re shattering, breaking, falling into something monstrous that can’t be put back together. Nothing is good, you’re not safe, and you’re weak. You’re exactly what Homelander says you are, weak. You’re not smarter, or stronger, and you’re never going to feel anything but cold again.

When Ben’s voice sounds through the air again, it’s louder. Almost like he’s right in your ear. You can almost feel him. You’d recognize him anywhere, in any form, and this feels like him.

He says your name, there’s something warm and powerful in your chest. I’m waiting, because you told me to and I trust you. But it’s fucking killing me. Whatever you’re fucking doing, it better bring you back. I don’t give a shit about Butcher or Homelander or any of this but you. I’m playing nice because you’ll be home soon. But you better fucking come home.

I will. You don’t say it aloud, because all of the world suddenly feels far away. The only thing that feels real is Ben’s voice. Deep and warm.

Fucking swear it.

Promise.

Good. The voice is silent for a second. That’s never happened before. I miss you.

I miss you too.

Something around you sparks and flashes. It reminds you of Ben’s amusement in your body, rough and bright.

Don’t try and correct me, Benjamin.

I wasn’t going to say shit.

Yes, you were. I meant to say ‘too’. Statements that begin with an I are better suited to end with too.

Smartass.

I hate you.

No, you don’t.

The voice doesn’t remind you that you love him. It always reminds you that you love him. Instead it just keeps going.

If you hated me, you wouldn’t be wearing green all the time.

It’s a signal, Pretty Boy. I wear green so you pay attention.

I’m not a damn toddler, I don’t need you to flash a color in front of my eyes to pay attention.

Sure.

Shut the fuck up.

I agreed with you.

We both know you fucking didn’t.

Sure.

Brat.

Cunt.

Silence again. Then-

For the record, I’m always paying attention to you. You’re fucking impossible to ignore, even when you’re gone. It’s damn inconvenient, I’m starting to look like a goddamn mental patient. And I fucking miss you, more than I’ll ever be able to tell you.

Something rages inside your chest, something that feels bigger than the whole world and more valuable than oxygen, and then the warmth is gone. But you’re not screaming anymore, and all that’s cold is the floor of the bathroom and the air around you. Your vision clears with your head, you can feel the fire. It’s weak, not nearly enough to tear through Vought and escape, but awake.

You’ll survive this. You’d get through this. You’ll adjust, adapt, and keep moving. You will not break. You trust Ben, and you’ll feed the fire until you can make Homelander afraid again. He needs to be afraid again, to understand that he won’t fix you to what he wants, make you into anything. And when your plan works—in two weeks, two days, twenty-two hours, fifty-six minutes, and seven seconds—you’ll go home, and Ben will hold you. And you’d be safe. Soon, you’d be safe.

End Note: Big thanks to everyone who’s sticking through the rough so we can get to the happy. You’re all amazing <3

Thank you all for reading, and please leave if a comment if you are so inclined! Every single one is the highlight of my day, from your jokes to your thoughts and feedback!

If you like this story, reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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arctrooper69 · 8 months ago

Text

As Iron Sharpens Iron

"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." Proverbs 27:17

Beta-read by @dragonrider9905

Chapter 9:

Previous // Next

Warnings: Jealousy, hurt feelings, tiny bit of sexual tension

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The flight back to Ord Mantell was silent. Hunter sat stiffly in the cockpit after checking on Omega. The rest of the team sat in silence under the dimmed lights.

The situation played over and over again through his brain.

Omega dropping from the vents alone. Without you. It was so hard to dispel the fear that flooded his veins like ice water.

Were you hurt? Captured? Dead!?

Then you’d entered the room with that staff, that blaster bolt so narrowly missing your head.

Why was it so important to grab that staff? Why risk your own life and Omega’s just for a few lousy credits.

I thought I knew her better than that.

Then there was that all-consuming guilt-laced horror when the pair of you fought the guards so viciously and he could do nothing but watch. Powerless. Afraid. Angry at the smugglers. Angry at you for being so reckless. Angry at himself for being able to do nothing but watch it happen.

---

The others seemed to know better than to bother Hunter right now, but you had to know why he was so upset.

Part of you knew it was you - your reckless plan that could’ve gone wrong in so many different ways.

But how was it any different from one of his plans that always seemed to turn to chaos? That tiny thought voiced defiantly, only serving to fuel the anger and frustration that boiled through your veins.

Against your better judgment you strode into the cockpit.

“Hunter, I…” you stopped as he held up a firm hand.

“Go sit down, we’re about to land. We’ll talk about this later.”

No, I want to talk about this now! The impatience rattled around inside, barely able to be contained.

“But…”

“Now.” He commanded, pointing to the seats. “I’m giving you an order, try not to disobey this one too.” His words were sharp and impossible to argue against.

“Yes sir.” You answered harshly, matching his tone.

There wasn’t much discussion upon landing, either. Nor was there any argument when Wrecker and Omega took off to celebrate their Mantell Mix tradition.

Echo and Tech disappeared soon after. The bitter taste in your mouth festered as you watched Cid carefully place the staff in her back room. You stood and walked out of the parlor.

We got the staff, we got paid, and nobody got hurt. It sounded fine to you. In fact, it sounded like success, yet you couldn’t shake that growing hurt of disappointment and shame.

That should’ve been enough. I should’ve been enough. Maybe I could’ve done more. Maybe I should’ve done less.

But the reality of it all only served to solidify the nagging knowledge that you really didn’t belong here.

Sighing, you walked faster down the street away from the figure you knew was following you.

"What the hell was that!?" Hunter growled from behind you as you stalked back to the Marauder. Clenching your jaw, you purposely ignored him, just wanting to shower, grab some food and forget about the whole thing. You were starving and could definitely use a good long nap.

“Hey!” Hunter grabbed your arm, forcing you to face him. “No. You don’t get to ignore me when you nearly got Omega and the rest of this squad killed!”

You jerked your arm free with a huff which just seemed to aggravate him further. “Omega is fine.” you snapped. “I wouldn’t have let anything happen to her. I got the job done. You got paid. What more do you want from me!? You wanna hold hands and talk about our feelings?”

Heavy, angry breaths forced themselves from your heaving chest. You were fully aware that Hunter could easily hear how quickly your pulse thundered in your ears without a chance to easily reign it back.

“I gave you a direct order and you disobeyed it!” he snapped.

You scoffed, “You all do it all the kriffing time! I don’t see you shouting at Omega when she plays by her own rules! So what’s so different when I do it!? Huh?”

Hunter was silent. You could feel the anger simmering beneath his skin. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, sounding more like a groan of frustration. "For once in your life would it kill you to use your damn head!? You almost got yourself killed out there, and I…!” He stopped himself.

“What do you care?” You spit venomously, spinning around to face him again. “According to you lot I’m just a ‘useful asset’!”

“What?” Hunter ran a hand through his hair, visibly confused.

You took a breath. “I heard you talking to Tech!”

A look of realization began to appear on his face as you looked down. “That's not - “

“No!” You interrupted angrily. “You think I'm reckless and irritable and only useful when you need me.”

“No! I didn't mean it like that. I was - “

You held up a hand to stop him. “It's fine, Hunter.” You said coldly. “At least I know my place now so thank you for bringing that to my attention.”

“But I…” Hunter stuttered, looking completely bewildered.

“Stop.” You commanded. “I said it's fine. It hurt, but I forgive you. Everything's fine.”

He could only watch as you stormed down the ramp, leaving him in a cold silence as it hissed closed behind you.

He sat unmoving for what seemed like hours.

The hatch opened again after a few minutes and for a brief second, Hunter felt his heart race raising a hopeful gaze as the ramp slid down but it was only Wrecker clamoring up the ramp with a crate of thermal detonators. He set them down and raised an eyebrow sticking a thumb out behind him towards the open door. “What’s with her?”

Hunter sighed, “Don’t ask.” Shoulders slumped, he turned and headed into the cockpit. Maybe he could convince Tech to let him help with one of his projects. He could use the distraction.

Tech glanced up as Hunter all but fell into an empty chair. He raised an eyebrow. “Is everything alright?”

“She heard us talking the other night,” said Hunter.

A look of confusion flashed across his face for a split second before quickly realizing what his brother was referring to. “Oh!” Tech looked up, “So then, I assume she now knows how you feel, and judging from your facial expression and closed off body language, she does not reciprocate those feelings.” Tech paused and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry.”

Hunter shook his head. “No, she only happened to hear you say that she’s a ‘useful asset’!” He glared at his brother as though to blame him for the entire misunderstanding.

“Ah..” Tech put a finger to his chin in thought. “That is most unfortunate.”

Hunter slumped lower in his seat. “Yep… and what’s worse is that she heard me agree with you and now she thinks that’s how we all feel about her.”

“But that was only a small sample of our conversation and very much taken out of context. If she had stayed and listened a bit longer she would have realized this.”

“Well she didn’t, and now she thinks I hate her.”

Tech frowned. “Per our conversation, that is quite the opposite of the sentiments you expressed.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Perhaps you should speak with her about it. Explain to her that what she overheard when she was eavesdropping, was entirely incorrect.”

Hunter shook his head.

“Or I could tell her if you prefer,” Tech continued helpfully.

“No!” Omega leapt from her room, bypassing the ladder entirely, and landed on her feet with a thud, nearly tripping over Gonky as she slid into the cockpit in front of them.

Hunter’s head snapped up in alarm.

“No.” She repeated adamantly, “Do not. Please do not. The last thing she needs to hear from us is blaming her for the miscommunication!”

“Speaking of eavesdropping…” Hunter crossed his arms, looking at his sister who responded with a sheepish grin. He rolled his eyes, not able to help the smirk that pulled at his lips at her antics.

“What? It’s a small ship. I can hear everything.”

“I wasn’t blaming her.” Tech said defensively. Hunter’s face fell again as Tech brought their attention back to the matter at hand.

“Well she’ll probably think we are if you say it like that.” Omega told him.

“She won’t talk to me.” Hunter shook his head, “Besides, she left after I yelled at her.”

Omega looked up at him with a grimace, “You did sound really mad…”

Hunter winced at the blame that flashed nearly imperceptibly through her eyes. “She almost got both you and herself killed during that last mission!” His voice grew hard again. “She’s reckless and I hate it!” His voice grew softer, “I can’t wa- ”

A scoff interrupted his lament as both Tech and Omega sported alarmed looks. Hunter turned to see you leaning against the bulkhead, face contorted in a mixture of anger and hurt. He could see the telltale shine of unshed tears you fought so hard to hide. Hidden from the world but not from him. Hunter noticed everything - especially when it came to you.

You chuckled dryly. “Nice to know how you really feel.” Your voice cracked, desperately straining to hold back tears. “I came to apologize and hear what you were going to tell me before I left. I gave it some thought, you know? I thought, ‘maybe I did misunderstand him’.”

You shook your head, “But no…. I guess I was right.” You spun around, heading to your bunk, pushing past Echo who’d returned just in time to witness your words.

“Wait…” Hunter stood up, calling after you but you did nothing to let him know you’d even heard him.

Quickly taking a few steps forward, fueled by a burning need not to let you slip through his fingers again, he grabbed your arm, spinning you around.

You let out a gasp as your back hit the cold of the wall, feeling a strange warmth sink into your bones as he pressed you in place.

No. You didn’t want to be here. Hunter didn’t want you to be here.

But yet…

All was silent as you found your eyes drawn up to his. A painful longing drove a wedge in an ever widening crack in the wall you’d so carefully thrown up to protect yourself from him.

This is wrong. This is wrong. This is wrong.

“Please…” he was practically begging now. Then he froze.

There it was again. That scent. The one that drove him crazy. The one he’d smelt on you when you’d come out of the fresher just a few days ago.

“Hunter!” Your voice had an edge to it.

No matter the hurt, leaving was the best option. You couldn’t stand how these mixed signals, sending you spinning one way and then the other.

He groaned, “Will you please calm down and let me explain!?”

"Calm down!?" The moment was broken and the anger returned, hot and fierce, sending rivers of steel to reinforce the shoddily crafted walls, turning it into a fortress. He would not break through so easily.

Not now. Not ever. He made his choice.

You ripped your arm from his grasp and spun around, anger blazing through your eyes. “Go kriff yourself, Hunter!” You turned to leave but spun back around, eyes blazing. “Actually, no. Go kriff Tara!”

The anger and hurt bubbled over. If he wouldn’t be honest with you, at least he could be honest with himself.

Conscious thought was gone. Emotion spewed like venom. “I saw you getting cozy with her at Cid’s so you obviously have feelings for her!” You spun back around, forcefully grabbing your go-bag from the foot of your bunk and strapping your blasters tightly around your thigh and another at your side. Without a second glance, the ramp hissed open and you strode out, missing how Hunter’s mouth fell open in a confused, but reluctant understanding as the ramp hissed shut behind you.

Oh. The realization soaked him to the bone as if he’d been woken up by a bucket of ice water.

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starillusion13 · 2 years ago

Text

FRIENDS !? [MASTERLIST]

M.Masterlist

Pairing: poly!ateez x f!reader ( A Yandere Ateez Office Au)

Genre: Mature, Angst, Yandere

Warning: The upcoming events in the story will contain themes like stalking, violence, obsession, manipulation, possessive behaviour and restraining acts. Do not kill me for not warning you. This is an Yandere story so you are well aware of what to expect more.

Well just a glimpse of a new upcoming series. This is just a fictional work which doesn't represent them originally as stated here. I am too friendly *wink wonk*so you can interact with me.Network: @cultofdionysusnet

Taglist: (open! dm me/send ask/reply here)

Alone!? Oh we can’t survive like this in the rush of searching for a beautiful life. So we make friends on different occasions like some childhood friends while studying in a school, online friends, friends during family gatherings, friends on entering a new university, friends at our workplace and many more.

We remember the only friends we get attached to more and become close and the others just remain part of our memory staying in a little corner of our mind eventually.

"So you are telling me, we are .....friends?" You eyed the boy with a still confused face as why he is so much eager to help you and trying to convince you as his old friend.

"Yes cupcake! now please come with me for the interview to this office and to submit your resume. I am more than happy that they are looking for a new worker and apparently you are also searching for a job to start after this semester ends." The boy with so much of excitement and eagerness is waiting for your reply.

"okay, but look I still can't remember you and still trusting you. So how come you think they would react to my plain resume for this big company?" You are not sure of your capability for this company where so many highly qualified well-beings apply but still get rejected and this random boy claiming your bestfriend from old town is urging you to apply there.

'Why?'

You looked around the streets to take a final decision with a calm breath releasing,"I will apply but don't get high hopes of me getting into it. I am sure they are not going to take me in."

The boy in front of you smirked and put his hand firmly on your left cheek slightly brushing the lower lip for a blink," Oh trust me, they will love you to join their company."

But what happens when some people suddenly come to your life and claim to be your old friends but you can’t remember them. So, brace yourself because they are here to make your life a living hell. You are no one to build your paradise because they will make sure you to be their puppet. How you wish to be alone now!

“The pretty heaven of yours is going to turn into hell, sweety.”

▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️

Chapter 1 Chapter 9 Chapter 17

Chapter 2 Chapter 10 Chapter 18

Chapter 3 Chapter 11 Chapter 19

Chapter 4 Chapter 12 Chapter 20

Chapter 5 Chapter 13 Chapter 21

Chapter 6 Chapter 14 Chapter 22

Chapter 7 Chapter 15 Chapter 23

Chapter 8 Chapter 16 Chapter 24

Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27

Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30

THE END.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #poly ateez x reader #yandere ateez #yandere #yandere hongjoong #yandere seonghwa #yandere yunho #yandere yeosang #yandere san #yandere mingi #yandere wooyoung #yandere jongho #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff

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messedupfan · 7 months ago

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Chapter 17

Summary: Wanda looks over her plans for her future after standing up to Vision. You discover something shocking about your friend on a night out. And the kids join you for a special haircut as Wanda collects her prize.

A/n: Hello! I didn't plan on posting this so soon but eh what the hell. Hope y'all don't kill me. Enjoy!

Masterlist | All Stories Taglist | All Chapters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wanda stands in the middle of the large empty property that she now owns. She walks around the area as she visualizes a house. She sees the walls and the windows. She thinks about where the kitchen would be and the kitchen table for breakfasts and intimate family meals. Then she walks into a dining room where she’ll host holidays and birthdays. She pretends to climb a beautiful staircase as she envisions the separate rooms for her boys. A couple more rooms, maybe one of them is a guest room and the other is an office space. Then she sees a master bedroom. The image of climbing into bed after a long day has her heart racing as she pictures collapsing into your arms.

Her phone ringing breaks her away from her fantasy world and back to the land with overgrown grass. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and sighs. “Hello Vision,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “What can I help you with?”

“Mom?” Tommy's voice has Wanda softening her tone almost instantly.

“Tommy, hi, why are you calling me with your dad's phone? Is everything okay?” She asks as she starts to fill with worry.

“Dad says he has to go out of town for something… for work! I mean um… I mean he has to go out of town for work. Can you come pick us up?” Wanda sighs when she can hear Vision correcting their son. She doesn't understand the man. He is constantly making a big racket about being in Tommy and Billy’s life but this is the third time in the last couple of months that he has had her pick up the boys halfway through the week.

“I'll be there soon,” Wanda says in a soft tone. She does her best to not let her frustrations with his father affect her tone. Vision is being harsh enough as it is. “I love you, sweetheart. Let your brother know that I love him too, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Tommy says. “Bye, mom.”

Wanda hangs up the phone. She takes one last glance around the empty land and sighs. One day, she will be able to fulfill her dream. But that is years away.

“Vision, you can't keep doing this to them,” she says quietly once the boys are in her car.

“It's my work, Wanda. It's what pays the bills,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

“Oh I'm very familiar with your work,” Wanda retorts. “Who is she this time? Another TA? No, that pairing has to bore you by now. Besides, you don't need a dating profile in order to date a student.”

“You've been stalking me?” He asks, he's more intrigued than anything.

Wanda makes a face, “Gross. No. That would mean I gave a shit about your personal life. I have friends that use dating apps. And you weren't exactly discrete about it on your profile.”

Vision’s face starts to get red and Wanda knows that she has struck a nerve. Not only did she reveal that she knows he isn't being faithful in his current marriage, she revealed how she found out. She is almost certain that the mention of her friends being involved has painted a mental picture of her having a laugh about him with them. She’d put good money on Vision picturing you as the friend, causing him to grow even more upset.

“Vis, I don't care what you do in your free time. I care that it affects my kids,” she states firmly. “Either end the affair or give me full custody. Because I will not allow you to keep hurting them with this deadbeat father act you have going on.” She starts to walk towards her car expecting him to slam the door shut but instead, he follows her.

“Oh you'd love to have me out of the picture, wouldn't you? So that you can live happily ever after with, Y/n! That's it, isn't it?” He shouts behind her. Wanda stops and spins as she lets out a malicious laugh.

“What is with your obsession with Y/n? They have been nothing but kind to our boys when you fail them time and time again. They are always there for the twins when you've abandoned our boys. Y/n has covered for your ass over and over,” she takes steps towards Vision as she defends her friend to him. “They do nothing but try to make you look better to those boys. You should be thanking them instead of threatening them! You have no idea the kind of person they are. And it's not their fault that you are such a sorry excuse for a father. Gosh, your own family finds it difficult to be related to you.”

Vision shakes his head, “You are a vindictive cunt.”

“Call me all of the names you want. You can't hurt me anymore,” Wanda glares at her former husband defiantly. She scoffs. “You're a pitiful man. I hope karma gets you one day.” She walks away and doesn't turn back once as he continues to shout profanities at her. She does, however, raise her middle finger at him.

“Mom, are you okay?” Billy asks from the backseat once Wanda has joined her boys in the car. She turns back and reaches out to hold his hand. She smiles at him and squeezes his hand.

“Mommy is more than okay,” she says confidently. She doesn't recognize herself at this moment and it's a fantastic feeling. “Are you boys ready to go? You didn't leave behind any important homework or school books right?”

“Right,” the boys say at the same time.

“Okay, let's go home then,” she smiles at each of her kids before starting her car and driving away from Vision’s house. When she pulls into the driveway of her current home she can feel the ghost of the person she used to be. The woman that once believed living a life on eggshells was normal. That she was always meant to be careful around her husband. That her children were to be completely obedient and quiet. That woman and that life haunt every corner of the house. They start to hide when the boys laugh loudly at something that happens in the movie they’re watching. But when you stop by to return the tupperware, the ghosts seem to disappear instantly. As if they were never there.

“You know, Y/n,” Wanda starts as she closes the door behind you. “We are friends, you don't need an excuse to see me.”

“Okay, you caught me but we never really got a chance to ourselves last week and I thought since,” you are cut off when the boys come running towards you and wrap their arms around you as they crash into your body. “Oh! Hi guys! What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be with your dad this week?” You keep your tone light, you would hate to ever make them feel unwanted. You hug them back just as tight.

“Dad had a work thing,” Billy answers with a smile. “What are you doing here? Rachel isn't here.”

You look at Wanda, not sure how to answer. “That’s right, Rachel is not here. But Y/n had my container and I asked them to bring it back,” Wanda answers for you. “Come on boys, I'm sure Y/n has to get back home and you two need to get ready for bed.”

“Can you stay and read us a bedtime story?” Tommy asks with wide eyes filled with excitement as he steps back.

“Yeah? Can you?” Billy asks as he jumps back, just as excited.

You hesitate and that causes the two kids to start begging. “Please? You and mom tell the stories really well together!” You look at Wanda as you reminisce about the couple of times the two of you read bedtime stories for the three kids when you and Rachel were staying here.

“I thought you said bedtime stories were for babies?” Wanda says as she messes with her son's hair.

“They are but not when you and Y/n tell them,” Tommy defends. Wanda gives you a look that says ‘I tried,’ and it makes you laugh.

“Okay boys, go finish getting ready for bed and I'll join your mom for story time,” you agree and the kids cheer as they run up the stairs.

“Thank you for that. You know, you don't have to stay,” Wanda says as she tests the waters and puts her hand on your bicep. You shrug as your arm warms up from her touch.

“They think we're good together,” you say with slight innuendo. “Besides, it won't be long before they despise my presence. I'm sure their dad will poison them against me as soon as puberty hits. I have to enjoy their praises while I still can.” You smile at her as you maintain eye contact and stand a little closer to her.

Wanda bites her lower lip as her eyes travel to your lips. It's been a week and a half since the two of you kissed. You had been by every day since but neither of you have had a moment alone long enough to discuss anything. She had so much that she wanted to tell you that she couldn't. Not when the kids are so close. She would hate it if the kids got excited about something that may or may not happen. “I wish their father thought about the fact that we only have a few precious years left with them before they become moody teenagers. But,” Wanda shrugs. “I guess that's my fault for falling for a selfish man before my frontal lobe developed.” Wanda’s eyes meet yours again as she flashes you a sad smile.

You reach out and hold her shoulder. You open your mouth to say something but you're interrupted by a loud screech of, “We're ready!” from Tommy and Billy. You laugh.

“I guess that's our cue,” you say as you drop your hand from her shoulder.

“You go first, I have to put this away,” she holds up the tupperware and you nod then you climb the stairs and warn the boys that you are on your way. Wanda takes a deep breath as her body craves your touch. It was an innocent touch but it made her mind wander to not so innocent thoughts and she needed a second. She serves herself a cold glass of water and chugs half of it.

“Mom! Mom! Mom!” She hears you chanting with the boys and hearing you call her that almost makes her spit out her water from laughter.

“Okay! I'm coming!” She shouts as she gets to the bottom of the staircase. The chants don't stop until she walks through the door. You and the boys clap and cheer as she comes in. Wanda stops for a moment and poses. You start whistling as the boys cheer louder. “Alright, settle down. Settle down. What story are we reading tonight?”

The boys fall asleep halfway through the story. You were so engrossed in the storytelling that Wanda had to stop you in order for you to notice that they had fallen asleep. You shut the book and the two of you carefully snuck out of the room. You waited for her in the hallway as she shut off the lights and closed the door.

When the door was shut she turned to face you. The two of you stand there, both wanting to embrace each other. Maybe even share another sober kiss that would intoxicate each of you. Wanda wants to thank you for helping her find her strength. You want to thank her for always being there for you and your daughter. You want to tell her the deep feelings you've developed for her over the months. You want to hold her in your arms and never let go.

“Can I show you something before you go?” Wanda whispers.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” you answer, feeling a little awkward. You clear your throat and gesture for her to lead the way. Wanda takes your hand and laces her finger through yours as she guides you to her office. You were a little surprised that she led you here but you were more surprised with yourself that part of you anticipated her taking you to any other room. Especially with her kids here.

Wanda lets go of you and walks around her desk to shuffle through her files in the drawer. When she finds what she's looking for she looks up at you with a grin. “Close the door and come closer. It's a secret,” she says with a playfulness to her voice. You smile and shut the door to her office before joining her side. “So I have a plot of land,” she starts as she opens the folder. “And I want to build my dream house on it. These are some of the ideas that I have so far.” She shows you printed-out mood boards and detailed sketches along with images and measurements of the land.

“Wow, I think this is great,” you say as you flip through the pages. You look at her with a curious glance. “What inspired this?”

Wanda shrugs, “I'm tired of living under someone else's guidelines of what my house is supposed to have or not have. I'm a very overqualified architect, I know what I can and cannot do.” Her confidence makes you smile. “Besides, this is Vision-free land. He's never owned it. He's never lived on it. He's never traumatized me or the kids here. It's a land that is free to have an unlimited amount of good memories and none of them have to be tarnished by him.” Her grin widens and her shoulders relax at the thought.

“That's wonderful,” you tell her softly. “So, why are you sharing this with me?”

A blush appears on Wanda's cheeks and your heart picks up speed in anticipation for her answer. “I um, I could use your expertise in building it. Not anytime soon. I still have to get the money to fund the project but, there isn't anyone I'd rather have build it for me than you,” she smiles up at you.

You lick your lips as you consider kissing her. But you think better of it. Billy or Tommy could walk in at any moment and catch the two of you. It's enough to make you stand up straighter instead of hovering close to her. “I'd be honored to build your dream house for you, Wanda.”

Wanda rises from her chair and pulls you in for a warm embrace. “Thank you,” she says against your chest.

“Of course,” you respond quietly as you wrap your arms around her. You close your eyes as you embrace the moment. “I should get going. It's pretty late,” you state without letting her go. Wanda hums in agreement as she also makes no motion to break away.

Eventually, the two of you do break away and she offers to walk you to your car. You feel giddy as you remember the night of the kiss. Wanda’s mind is thinking about the same thing as she walks with you arm in arm.

“I don't know if this is weird to mention but we did make a bet on it so I feel as though I kind of have to tell you about this,” you ramble nervously as the two of you get close to the car. “Uh, you win the bet. That volunteer texted me the other day.” Wanda's smile drops and her demeanor shifts a little.

“Oh? And what did she have to say?” Wanda asks as she starts to feel her positive energy waiver.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” you say in an attempt to let her know that you're not interested in Nebula as you reach your truck. “Anyway, I'm thinking about getting my haircut on Sunday after I pick up Rachel. Should I give you a call?” You lean against the door as you watch Wanda. She gives you a tight smile and you know that whatever you thought might happen isn't going to.

“Yeah, I um, I think I have a few ideas ready. Just let me know where to be on Sunday,” she doesn't look at you as she speaks and you want to slap yourself for even mentioning another woman.

“Okay, I'll make the appointment and text you the details,” you fiddle with your keys awkwardly. “I'll see you on Sunday,” you say as you climb into your truck. Disappointed in yourself. This was not at all how this was supposed to go. It was starting to feel like there are forces out there trying to keep the two of you apart.

On Friday night, you stare at the message from Nebula as you consider responding while you sit at a booth with Darcy. It's becoming a common occurrence, hanging out with Darcy, Steve, and Bucky. Your coworker is typically the one inviting everyone out. You're surprised that he doesn't invite his girlfriend. In fact, you don't think you've seen Natasha since Wanda's New Years Eve party. And Steve hasn’t talked about Peggy in some time either. But you don't think about it too much.

“I know that face,” Darcy says as she steals a couple of fries from your plate.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” you put your phone in your pocket.

“You have many faces, Y/n. That face is one of regret and frustration,” Darcy continues to steal your fries. You shake your head and look around the bar to avoid looking at your friend. “Come on, lay it on me. Is Wanda seeing someone finally? Did your former child-bride reach out to you?”

“Daisy wasn't that much younger than me,” you defend as you take a sip from the beer bottle. “Besides, you never got to meet her. You don't get to judge.”

Darcy leans in closer with wide eyes, “She dumped you when your kid was in the hospital! What more do I need to know about her?” You shake your head. Then your eyes widen as they land on Steve and Bucky kissing. Your eyebrows knit together from the shock. “What?” Darcy spins around to search for what you could be seeing. Then she sees them. “Oh, yeah. That,” she turns back to you with a shrug. “I've known about that. Now back to you.” Darcy snaps her fingers in your face and waves until you look back to her. “Hello? What's going on with you?”

“What do you mean you knew about them?” You ask instead. “They both have girlfriends! They're cheaters! I didn't know I was friends with cheaters!”

Darcy sighs and rolls her eyes. “Calm down. The way I understand it, Steve and Peggy broke up sometime after that party at Wanda’s place. And Bucky and Natasha have an understanding. I don't know if it's an open relationship situation or a throuple or what. I don't ask them questions because I don't care. What I do care about is you. So, what's wrong?”

You shake your head before running your fingers through your hair and sigh. “I fucked up,” you go on to explain the bet you made with Wanda about Nebula. “Then we kissed and before I could get a chance to talk to her about the kiss, I mentioned that she won the bet and she completely pulled away. I haven't been able to get a hold of her since. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just, she likes to win. I thought she'd like to know that she won and she gets to choose my next haircut.” You shrug then shake your head and then rub your face.

Darcy reaches across the table and holds your wrist as a way to provide some sort of comfort. The two of you sit in silence for a moment. Darcy hasn't gotten to know Wanda enough to be able to explain her behavior. But she's known you for some time now and she knows that sometimes all you need is support. No encouraging words. No solutions to your problems. Just someone's presence.

Steve and Bucky rejoin the two of you. Steve sits next to you and Bucky sits across the table next to Darcy. “What’d we miss?” Steve asks as he throws his arm around your shoulders. You shrug in response.

“I'm an idiot,” you mutter.

“Oh come on, I asked what I missed. Not what I already know,” he teases and with her free hand, Darcy throws some fries at him. “Ow, hey!” She snaps her fingers and points to you and you start to feel a little ridiculous. “Oh, I'm sorry Y/n,” he says once he is paying attention. You shake your head and stand up muttering something about leaving. “Hey, no, come on. It was a bad joke. Stay, Y/n,” he tries to call you back to the table.

“You're so full of yourself, Steve!” Darcy says before she catches up with you. “Hey, lets-”

“No, it’s fine. I'm fine. It wasn’t about Steve. He's always like that. I’m just…” you shake your head. “I need to go home.” You tell her calmly. “I won't do anything stupid, I promise.”

Darcy sighs then nods, “Yeah, okay. I'll see you soon. Oh! That reminds me, I will be moving to Germany to join a research team for a year. I leave in three months.”

“Oh my goodness! Way to bury the lead!” You pull her into a quick hug. “Congratulations! That sounds like an amazing opportunity!” You pull away and admire her for a second. “You are possibly the coolest person I know.”

Darcy closes her eyes, tilts her head, and smiles. “I know I am,” she says happily. She opens her eyes and pats your arm. “Get out of here. And tell Wanda I said hi.”

You make a face, “Why would I tell Wanda-”

“Oh please, you think I actually believe that you're going to your apartment? She is your home. And I better be receiving an invitation to the wedding by the time I come home from Germany.”

You shake your head as you give her a final hug goodbye. You get in your car and consider driving to Wanda’s house. Her boys are with her so you try to not think about it. But as you're driving, you suddenly realize that you're close to her neighborhood. You sigh as you think about what Darcy said. Wanda is your home. You take the turn into her neighborhood and start to think about what you're going to tell her when you see her.

As you pull up, you notice the time and frown as you see that the house is dark. You put the car in park and stare at her house. It was pretty late. You shouldn't have expected that she would be awake just because it was a Friday night. You don't even let Rachel stay up past eleven at night. But you know that sometimes Wanda likes to enjoy a glass of wine and catch up on her favorite reality show before going to bed.

So you take your chances and call her. The phone rings a couple of times before you finally hear her voice. “Hey you,” she is speaking softly. You wonder if her boys are near her. Awake or asleep, there's a reason she is so quiet.

“Hey, did I wake you?” You ask as you start to regret being here.

“No, no,” Wanda says, her voice still low. “I’m catching up on my show. But um Billy had a nightmare. He’s sleeping next to me and I'm trying to not wake him.” Your eyes travel up to her window as you see the faint glow of the television through the blinds. “Are you okay? Do you need something?”

You don’t respond right away. You just think about her. “No, I'm okay. I just,” you sigh. “I never responded to that volunteer. I want you to know that. I’m sorry if I-”

“Y/n I don’t think now is a good time,” she interrupts.

“I’m parked in the driveway. If you don't want Billy to hear,” you tell her quickly. You watch the shadows of the curtains move and the blinds open after a couple of minutes. Her silhouette stands in the middle of the window. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Wanda is quiet as she stands still. You hope that she accepts your invitation. “Go home, Y/n. It's late and,” she trails off as she closes the blinds. “We don't have anything to talk about.” Your heart breaks at her words.

“Wanda please,” you beg, “let's talk about this. Maybe not tonight but soon.”

“Y/n, I,” her words seem to fail her as she goes quiet. You sit in your truck patiently waiting for her to continue. To say something. Anything. After a while you wonder if she hung up so you lift the phone off of your face and are slightly relieved to see that the call is still going. Then you watch the call end. Your eyes travel to the front door as it opens.

Wanda walks out and you step out of the truck to meet her halfway but she holds her hands up to stop you. You stay close to the truck. “Wanda, can you explain to me what I did wrong? Because I don't feel like I-”

Wanda waves her hand to cut you off, “Stop, you didn't do anything wrong. It's me. I'm… I wanted our friendship… I want us to…” she closes her eyes and shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I practiced this speech to myself since Wednesday but,” she sighs as she runs her fingers through her hair. She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “When we kissed, I did want us to explore the possibility of more between us. Hell, I deleted all of the dating apps I was on and blocked every person I hooked up with that night. I thought I was ready. But I'm not. And it's not because of you. You are great. You're great to me, you're great to my kids, to my entire family actually.” She opens her eyes and you can see the tears building up. “I'm in a better place than I was when we first met but I’m not ready for anything more than your friendship. At least not right now.”

You cast your eyes down to the ground for a moment to allow your heart to break. You bite your lips to keep from letting the emotions show on your face. Then, when you feel ready, you swallow your feelings and you nod. “Okay, yeah,” you look at her as you try to hide your sadness. “I can do that. I can be your friend. It’s okay, I understand that you still have a lot of healing or whatever to work through. It's okay, Wanda. I lo-”

“Don't,” Wanda cuts you off and you nod with your mouth shut. “I know that you care about me. A lot. I care about you too. A lot. But I… I don't expect you to wait for me to be ready. No. Let me rephrase,” she steps closer and holds your hands. “Don't wait for me. Don’t put your life on hold for me.”

You want to argue and fight for her but if this is what she wants then there isn't much else that you can do. You look her in the eye and ask, “Are you sure this is what you want?” Wanda nods. “Okay. I won't um I won't wait and I won't bring this up again. Not until you do. I understand.”

“Thank you,” she says softly.

“Will I still see you on Sunday?” You ask as you think about the bet again. “You still have a prize to collect,” you remind her playfully.

“Yeah, I'll be there,” she flashes you a small smile that drops as fast as it appears. You drop her hand and shove your hand into your pockets.

“Darcy wanted me to tell you that she said hi. I was hanging out with her before this,” you tell her.

“That's nice, how is she doing?” Wanda crosses her arms over her chest to keep her body warm as a cool breeze comes by.

“She's good, she'll be gone for a year. She got a big opportunity in Germany. But she's got three more months of being stuck here,” you inform her conversationally. Trying to move past the emotionally heightened moment.

“Wow, that sounds fascinating. I'll have to reach out to her. I liked meeting her,” Wanda says.

“I'm sure she'd love that,” you nod then you look at your watch. “I'll let you go back inside. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-”

“No, I'm glad you did. I'll see you on Sunday,” Wanda kisses your cheek before she walks away. “Goodnight, drive safe,” she shouts over her shoulder as she continues walking to her front door. You climb back into your car and drive to your apartment.

You allow yourself to cry and feel the heartbreak. You don't drink alcohol to forget it or make it easier. You don't smoke from the pack of cigarettes that you purchased on the way home. You just lie on your bed and clutch a pillow to your chest.

On Sunday you pick up Rachel from her mom's house and tell her that you lost a bet to Wanda and that she is going to pick out your new haircut. Rachel giggles with excitement.

“A mullet? Really?” You look at Wanda like she is crazy. “Are you trying to sabotage my dating life?”

Wanda laughs with a shrug, “It's not my fault your hair is long enough for it. Besides, I hear it's a very popular style for the They/Thems of the world.” You shake your head as she plays with your hair. The hairdresser laughs at the request as well before promising that the style is coming back. You tell him to just get it over with.

In the end, you don't completely hate it but you still don't feel like it's your style. However, Wanda's boys love it. “Mom, I want my hair like Y/n's! Mom, can we get our haircut too?”

“Oh, I'm sure that the schedule is busy and we didn't make an appointment for you two,” Wanda tried to tell them.

“Oh we have a couple hours free, I don't mind giving them a cut. The kids want to match their parent,” Clint says.

“Oh I'm not,” you stutter.

“We’re just friends,” Wanda corrects.

Clint nods as he eyes the two of you with a knowing smirk. “So am I cutting the kids' hair or not?” he asks a little loud, drawing the attention of the boys. The twins begin to beg over and over until Wanda caves. They cheer as they each hop into a chair. Clint disappears into the back to collect his wife to cut Billy's hair while he works on Tommy.

You sit next to your daughter and Wanda sits on the other side of her. “What about you? Do you want to get a haircut?” Wanda asks.

Rachel shakes her head with a scrunched-up face. “No, I'm okay.”

“Her hair doesn't grow back fast. It took a while for it to get this long,” you explain. “That's her mom's genetics,” you say lightly as you mess with Rachel's hair. She swats her hand away and goes back to playing games on your phone.

When the boys are done with their haircuts the group of you decide to grab some ice cream together and enjoy the treats at a nearby park.

Wanda is messing with your hair as you watch the kids play on the playground. “Why are you suddenly so obsessed with my hair?” You ask with a laugh.

“I don't know, I've never seen a mullet in person. It looks so… touchable. I don't know. I can't explain it,” Wanda replies as she continues to move her fingers through your hair. “Business in the front,” she touches the front of your hair and then moves her hand down to the back, “party in the back!”

You shake your head slightly, “You're insufferable, you know that right?”

“I know,” she says. As much as you are giving off the impression that you don't want her to touch your hair, you're happy that she is.

“I'm starting to rethink this whole friendship thing,” you grouch with a playfulness to your tone.

“Whatever, Uncle Jesse,” she pulls her hand out of your hair and holds her phone up. “Say cheese!” You roll your eyes as she takes candid pictures of you. Then she calls her boys over to pose with you. The three of you show off your new haircuts.

After going to a fast food restaurant for dinner, you and Wanda decide it's best to split from each other so that the kids can get ready for school on Monday. Everyone hugs each other goodbye.

“Baba?” Rachel asks for your attention as you're driving home. You hum to let her know that she has your attention. “When you do fall in love again. I hope it's with someone like Wanda.” You don't say anything as you keep your eyes on the road.

Chapter 18

Taglist: @princessprudy @sayah13 @agaymilflover @awkwardmandalorian @bentleywolf29 @thatshyboy1998 @artisannat @thisischaismagic @wqndanat @madamevirgo @likefirenrain @tearsofglitter @feltlikethat @the-writer-arcane @natashasilverfox @karsonromanoff @aloneodi @lovelyy-moonlight @red1culous @jovialsublimecomputer @natasha-maximoff @iliketozoneout @doudouneverte @druggedduck @notbornbutforged @when-wolves-howl @lifespectator @justyourwritter69 @wandaromamoff69 @awesomelygayasf @nekoannie-chan @diaryoflife @wuwu96 @wandanats-goodgirl @sincerely-indi @blueredg52 @sisiofthemultifandom @fuzzyuniversityeclipsefriend @arcturusseer @scarlettwidow34 @chasethemoon @raven-ss @canyonyodeler @sokovianbaby @alexawynters @bittysworld @hopeless-romantic17177 @spongebobtentacles @the-ox-fan20

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff au #wanda fanfic #wanda marvel #wanda x reader #wanda x you #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x gender neutral reader #wonderstruck series #wonderstruck #messedupfan

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leafyaa · 2 years ago

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I think I fell in love with you again

Kunikuzushi x fem! reader

Summary:

You've dated Scaramouche in your high school and college years but just as you wanted to announce your pregnancy to him he broke up with you without any reason. He left you to be a single mom for 7 years. But now that your daughter has been missing and abducted for a year and you've not been doing well and out of a sudden he showed up into your life again trying to apologize for his past mistakes..?

Genre:

Modern au, friends to lovers to ex's to lovers again lol, slight smau (actually almost none bc I'm too lazy), Thriller?

Warnings:

Angst, fluff, romance, stalking, killing, death, cursing, self-blame, death threats, murder attempts, missing child

Files:

⇢ File 1 ⇢ File 2 ⇢ File 3

Memory bubbles:

⇢ Memory bubble: The Time They Met ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time They Fell In Love ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time They Were Tricked ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time They Were together ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time Their life changed ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time She Left ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time He Lied ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time He Fled ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time He hated ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time He promised ⇢ Memory bubble: The Time He Left

Chapters:

⭒ prologue ⭒ chapter 1. ⭒ chapter 2. ⭒ chapter 3. ⭒ chapter 4. ⭒ chapter 5. ⭒ chapter 6. ⭒ chapter 7. ⭒ chapter 8. ⭒ chapter 9. ⭒ chapter 10. ⭒ chapter 11. ⭒ chapter 12. ⭒ chapter 13. ⭒ chapter 14. ⭒ chapter 15. ⭒ chapter 16. ⭒ chapter 17. ⭒ chapter 18. ⭒ chapter 19. ⭒ chapter 20.

Notes:

Hii! This is my first fic on Tumblr! I've written fanfics before which are on Wattpad but I'm not used to the way how to write on Tumblr bc it's a different platform so I hope I'll get used it soon ps. this is my new account where I'll be writing bc apparently you can't reply with a secondary blog smh

Status:

Ongoing, but also under editing (chapters until 10 are kind of weirdly written compared to the others so I'll have to rewrite them to the past tense as I've decided to switch that up again and I want to redo the file with profiles bc it's cringe wtf)

Taglist (open):

@swivi @kichiyosh1 @wwwrizchan @k1t0 @killumeow @pinkdreamerbailifflawyer-blog @samarill @xiaotopia @aqualesha @eattingshits @omoriaddict @mave-in @sketcheeee @xiaossocksniffer @elernity @ohmyfinggod @luvkvni @kunikissr @meadowofdarts @kaorieee @scaramochies @ekriis @rizakari @xxrexx @lovingveliona @magica-ren @lilybythevalley @theflatdoorkicker @lazy-sanns @reixtsu @fullw0rld @kunikuzushis-darling @childesgingerhair @kochothehoe @mercy-not-merci @ash1 @skyvella

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact au #genshin impact modern au #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche angst #scaramouche fluff #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #genshin au #modern au #ITIFILWYA

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sterekunhinged · 6 months ago

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LET'S GOOOOO Thank you to everyone who participated and became unhinged with me <3

tumblr fic here! by @cantgetoversterek

Worth Fifty Thousand Words by Definitively_Different_Drivel T | 344 words | tags: crack treated seriously, rated T for language/references to porn

Summary: Stiles gaped after Mrs. Brooks. Derek stood beside him, eyebrow raised. Stiles pulled out his phone, searching frantically. "You're not looking that up." Stiles typed away. "Fuck off, do you really think I can just- ignore that possibility?" Derek grimaced, scraping his fingers through the back of his hair. Stiles sputtered beside him. "Holy shit I found it! Oh my god, this was a bad idea, Derek, why didn't you stop me?"

In which Stiles hears some interesting information about his father's past career aspirations and proceeds to makes literally the worst decisions possible.

It kills me to love you by TalesoftheEnchantedForest E | 5958 words | graphic depictions of violence | tags: canon divergence, a hint of dark!Stiles, Pack Alpha Derek Hale but the pack's not in this fic, Getting Together, A bit of stalking, freak4freak, Cum drinking, brief armpit and feet kink, Jealousy, Marking, Bottom Derek Hale/Top Stiles Stilinski ,fucking on corpses, Breeding Kink, Mating Bond, Angst and Porn, Stiles is 17 at the beginning but it's not explicitly stated

Summary: "How did you know?" Derek asks because he didn't mention the date to anyone, and maybe that was a mistake he shouldn't repeat in the future. "I put a tracker on your phone," Stiles says casually, and yeah, that sounds like him. Stiles and Derek's relationship might not be the healthiest, but it works for them, so does it really matter?

Trading Ties by Definitively_Different_Drivel E | 4181 words | tags: Porn With Plot, Kidnapped Stiles Stilinski, Magical Stiles Stilinski, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Morally Ambiguous Stiles Stilinski, Accidental Knotting, Manipulative Stiles Stilinski, Dubious Consent, Kanima Venom (Teen Wolf), also acts like viagra because fuck it it's smut, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, spell for instant lube/prep, Topping from the Bottom, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Bondage

Summary: "You're awake." Hazel eyes bore into him as he cursed his luck. Stiles frowned, heaving his head up to rest against the back of the chair. He must be getting sloppy. "So," he eyed the man, took in the classic posture and subtle nostril flaring that lay beneath all that leather and gratuitous muscle. He cracked out a brittle laugh, playing the victim. "big bad wolf thought he could waltz in and steal the weakest link, eh?" The man eyeing him scoffed. "Bullshit. You're the linchpin." In which Laura and Derek return after Scott's pack is well established and they're stupid enough to kidnap Stiles as a test. Little do they realize that the guy they thought was the cowardly human strategist is actually a terrifying magical enigma. He's also disturbingly horny, which may be the key to avoiding Derek's impending demise.

Wolf Kissed by Gia279 E | 69,565 words | 38 chapters | tags: Mates, Mates by Choice, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Gets Bitten, Original Characters - Freeform, Scarification, Stiles Stilinski-centric, animal consumption, werewolf violence, Werewolf Culture, Gore, Violence, Biting, Full Shift Werewolves, Alternate Universe, Pack Dynamics, Hunters, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Torture, scars are important in werewolf culture, Explicit Sexual Content, Serious Injuries

Summary: Stiles has been smothered under the weight of running his dead mother's tavern for years. When the wolves return from the mountain, when Derek Hale strolls into his tavern and offers him a way out, he leaps at the chance. His abrupt departure fractures his town and turns everyone against his new pack. He's determined to set things to rights after he discovers that the Argents have twisted his choice to leave into something more sinister.

Bring Your Hunger by lanalua M | 2110 words | tags: Magical Stiles Stilinski, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Getting Together, Nemeton Stiles Stilnski

Summary: Derek was used to tragedy. Used to waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was tired. This, he decided to enjoy.

#sterek #unhinged boyfriends event 2024 #bamf sterek #masterlist #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale

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cupidkenji · 7 months ago

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Virginia vampire - 1/2

Pairing: Aaron Hotch x vampire!fem!reader Cw: SLOWBURN BRO, descriptions of hunting/blood consumption, angst, fluff, non-descriptive mentions of an abusive dad, cursing, typical criminal minds violence, possible ED trigger (more in disclaimer), idk bro you tell me Summary: You escaped your scientist father when you were 17. When requested by Quantico PD to deal with a stemming serial killer, you realize you recognize the wounds. You used to be the one inflicting them. Disclaimer 1: Reader is chubby! She's not physically described here at all but a fat woman is always the MC. Disclaimer 2: Reader lives strictly on blood. This story discusses themes of intense bloodlust/hunger, UNINTENTIONAL avoidance of blood (food), and physical consequences due to not eating (more so in the next chapter). This is NOT pro-ana or anything like that, and while these themes are explicitly negative, they are still there and may affect those struggling. Please look after yourself, this is all fantasy and is not meant to trigger you. That's all <3 WC: 9.6k - read part 2 here Like I said, please head the disclaimer as I would hate for anyone to feel negatively about this. I personally have struggled with a restrictive ED and would not write/publish anything I felt would trigger/contribute to pro-ED rhetoric. I'm actually rlly proud of this one I think it's cool and neat and I'm excited to share. I also looped eat your young by Hozier while writing this so would recommend as ambiance. Enjoy <33

The Quantico streets seemed to get darker the more you came out. It was late - technically early, as midnight had passed two hours ago - but still a time of pungent heathenism. Nobody out at this hour had good intentions. You knew yours were certainly questionable, discreetly following a man decked in club attire as he stumbled his way down the street. This was the worst part - having to stalk behind them, giving you nothing but time to humanize them in your head. He was probably going home, back to safety. The process of hiding a body is one you could recite with your eyes closed. It’s bitter and metallic, but familiar, and you seemed to project that harbored guilt onto him. It wasn’t as though he’d never see that safety again, you didn’t kill people anymore. Your unusual diet required this type of robbery, but you’d busted your ass for almost three years to figure out the perfect amount. The amount that keeps you just on the cusp of living, closer to death than most but still able to function effectively. The number of times you felt a heart cease it’s beating against your lips because you went too far would strike envy in the evilest of individuals. The amount you took was pure necessity - a full syringe, never a drop more. It would last you about half the week when rationed out. It was livable, doable, only ever being a problem if you couldn’t get more the exact night you needed to.

You hated preying on drunks, the alcohol in their blood making it taste rancid, but this was the easiest target you could ask for. Beggars can’t be choosers. He took a moment to catch his breath after he nearly toppled over, and you saw your opportunity on a silver platter. Contrary to the movies, stealth was not an inherent trait you get when you live on blood, you’d gained yours from experience. You never liked being so good at this, but as you rendered the man unconscious and silenced his fall to the ground, you relished in the fact that you were. The days of amateur hunting were long over, and the cries of people as the blood rushed from their necks are ones that echo - ones that sit with you.

You dragged the man to the innards of the closest alley, propping him against the wall and rolling up his jacket sleeve. You took off the bag hanging from your shoulders, removing a syringe and a flashlight. Since you hunted at night, it was impossible to find a vein without lighting. It was something you realized quick when you made the switch from neck to wrist. You turned the thing on, clamping it between your teeth and angling it down at his arm. Growing up with the world’s cruelest biologist as a father, you were well versed in the world of human anatomy per his insistence. You watched the vial fill with liquid, cursing your entire situation for being so despicable. The only way to properly describe your father was Frankenstein, eagerly allowing his only child to grow into the role of his monster. He’d handcrafted your DNA in a petri dish, ensuring that malice was weaved throughout your most instinctual needs. He was a well off man, respectively referred to as the brightest mind in our current age. He’d gained fame after presenting his magnum opus - the invention of literal vampirism. Somehow, something only he knew how to do, he’d made a string of DNA that derived the body’s energy from the nutrients in blood. He started with insects, impregnating beetles with the specific code, making embryos that fed purely on blood of the same species, which manifested into a hostile blood lust once the thing was born. He’d reached rodents and promised he would be ending his tests there, not wanting to breach the topic of morality and push forward with mammals. Unfortunately, your father was as honest as he was kind, so here you were.

You finished the extraction and pulled the needle from the man’s flesh, apologizing profusely under your breath. You patched him up, a bandaid over the small hole, and hid him amongst some garbage bags. Nobody out at this hour had good intentions, and you weren’t about to offer them a possible victim for whatever desire they may be looking to express. You hated that you had to hurt him at all, no matter how minimally. The least you could do was shield him from the people who truly intended harm. You tossed the now full syringe back into your bag, the flashlight following a second later, and exited the alley. The only thing that kept your feet moving was the few days of peace you would get now that you had food. Your head pounded with the feeling of blood just sitting in your bag, the body full of blood laying defenseless just a few feet away. It was a battle you fought everyday, seeing those closest to you as two separate entities - one was a person you loved, one just a plethora of functioning veins and arteries. Their lifeforce was the closest thing to ambrosia you could imagine. It’d taken you years to get control, though, and you refused to undo that for a couple minutes of gratification. You couldn’t. Losing control would grant your father the victory he ached for, and you would die before letting that happen. You rushed to walk away, choosing to propel yourself with the image of his disappointed face rather than the breathing blood bag leaning on a dumpster. He’d killed your mother before you even got to know her, you refused to be the reason someone didn’t get to know their parent.

–

The BAU was an unwelcome sight when the time was five in the morning instead of your usual seven. You’d been ushered to the building by a sleep deprived JJ, spouting off different remarks of remorse for the early hour but needing the team there immediately. The whole table seemed to share in the disdain, as half of them could barely hold their eyes open and the other half were practically chugging shitty break-room coffee. Aaron was, surprisingly, the last to walk in. Greeting everyone with attempted normalcy while visibly fighting off his own exhaustion. His hair was messy, his torso lacking the coverage of his uniform baggy blazer. The sight of him slightly unkempt from the spontaneity of the gathering caused the air to flee from your lungs. You’d had a bit of a staring problem since you started working here, but his appearance now displayed a casualness that was making you dizzy. The deviation from his standard presentation felt strangely intimate, a more personal version of him. You looked away quickly, you had to. He took his spot next to you, having reserved that place for himself when you were first hired. He greeted you personally once he sat down, something for just the two of you. You had looked at him, about to reciprocate when JJ officially started the meeting.

“Good morning, everyone. I’m sorry for the early start but we’ve been urgently requested by our local PD. They think we’ve got the start of a serial killer, three bodies were found last night with the same MO.”

“Three bodies?” Morgan’s words were laced with bewilderment. “As in three people were actually killed or three bodies were dumped?” The table knew what he was getting at. Three murders in a single night was quite the task. Especially considering the police had to find the bodies, meaning no pedestrian had seen anything worth reporting.

“They’ve left the crime scenes untouched for us, but they’re betting all of them happened in the same time span.”

As if he could read your mind, Hotch asked the main question that’d been circling your mind. “How are they being killed?”

“That’s why we’ve been asked for.” JJ started distributing files containing the crime scene details. “All the victims so far have the same stab wound in their carotid. Nothing had been stolen, and they were all found in alleyways. For the amount of blood that comes with puncturing an artery, there wasn’t a drop found at the scene.”

“No signs of torture?” Morgan was looking at the photos as he asked, double checking the information he was reading in the file.

“All of them were basically untouched from the neck down. There weren’t even indications of defense.” JJ shook her head as she spoke. “This guy definitely gets the jump on them.”

“A blitz attacker.” Prentiss concluded, closing her file as she reached the end of it. “Any witnesses?”

“None.” The worst answer JJ could have. “Police found them while on patrol.”

“Alright.” Hotch stood from his seat. “Prentiss, Morgan, I want you at the first scene.” The agents nodded at the orders, exiting the room to complete the task. He looked towards Spencer, drawing his attention away from the file as he addressed him. “When Rossi gets here I want you guys at the second body.” The man just uttered a “got it” and looked back down, waiting on Rossi’s presence to start moving. Aaron’s eyes made their way to you. “I want you with me. We’re gonna go meet the officers at the latest discovery.” You couldn’t meet his eyes, feigning preoccupation with closing your folder and simply muttering a noise of agreement before standing.

“I told the press to keep it quiet. Last thing we need is word of a mini spree leaking to the public.” JJ informed the remaining people of this on her way out, peeking her head back through the door to say it before returning to her office. You watched Rossi finally show up and retrieve Reid from the conference room as you were leaving, heading to the car with Aaron close behind.

Once you were buckled into the passenger seat, you started talking. “Three bodies in under twelve hours. Haven’t heard those numbers since the Barly Butcher in ‘64.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t reach that.” His eyes, although you couldn’t see them, went slightly vacant at the thought. He couldn’t imagine dealing with that level of killer in the modern age - he certainly didn’t want to. “One was too many. God knows we don’t need a Quantico butcher.”

You couldn’t imagine either. “No kidding.” The drive wasn’t shaping up to be a long one, seven minutes went by and you were already approaching the flashing lights of cop cruisers. You got out of the car, the sheriff swiftly coming over to talk. She had thanked you for taking the case, grateful that her precinct wouldn’t be dealing with this one alone. There were CSI already there, but you slid gloves on your hand and headed towards the body regardless. They were respectful, allowing you control of the scene, walking away as you got closer to give you space.

You turned the woman’s neck slightly to get a better view of the injury, the image shaking the ground beneath your feet and causing the water in your tear ducts to form a haze over your eyes. There were teeth marks around the incision. Such a minor indent that it was no surprise it went over looked. You could see it because you’d once been the cause of such a thing. The closer you examined, the more parallels you drew to your beginner days. The skin around the wound was curling upwards, a sign of applied suction. No wonder they couldn’t find any blood, it’d been sucked out. You nearly fell off your feet from where you were crouching. The unsub clearly knew enough about the human body to inflict such a precise cut, pair that with the obvious motivation to feed and you got the bone-chilling realization currently seeping through you. He’d made another one. You had a sibling, and he was hungry.

–

When the regroup was called back at headquarters, you lead an uninformed and slightly confused Aaron to meet the rest of the team. He’d noticed your determination at the scene, questioning your findings and being eager to get back when you made him wait to hear about it. You wasted no time as you entered the room, pulling up the image on the big screen to properly show them your theory.

“The unsub is drinking their blood.” Looks of defeat and absurdity were present in all of their eyes, but you continued explaining, zooming in so close that the image went slightly blurry. “If you look close enough there are teeth prints around the wound, not bite marks, but the type of print you get from resting your teeth around the wound and applying pressure. The edges of the wound are curling in and up, so it can be assumed some type of suction followed the stabbing.” Most of the team was squinting at the screen, absorbing the details you pointed out and already trying to form a timeline, a motive - something. “That’s why they couldn’t find any blood. It was consumed.”

“So we’re dealing with a vampire?” Morgan sighed, his eyes detailing a reluctant belief. He couldn’t argue with your theory yet, it was the only logical thing they had. “Maybe we should visit your dad, Y/n.”

You scoffed at the quip, images of the man throughout your early life flashing through your head. “Funny.” You furrowed your brows at him. “You’d have to find him first.” You had slipped from his grasp when you were seventeen. The home you spent your childhood in was vacant a few years later, effectively severing all your remaining knowledge of his life. You’d never had any way to contact him, only the relics of his stories that refused to leave you. The only thing he ever spoke about was himself, and most of his tales were burned into your memory like a branding. If you were honest, you’re surprised he’d never physically branded you, he’d surely thought about it. The dread started to build in your gut. You handled most cases with a healthy distance, some could regard it as a coldness but you preferred the simplicity of your process. This, however, was impossible to deal with impersonally. This threw you headfirst into a situation you had never bothered to prep for. Not only would you be seeing how your team feels about what was essentially an early version of you, but you didn’t want to prosecute this unsub. His path was one you walked for years before acquiring the life you have now. You hadn’t been a villain, there was a high chance he wasn’t either. The bloodlust was controllable, he just needed someone to teach him. Pursuing him with the vigor of a typical unsub would wreck you. You felt protective, almost maternal. Your father had made another monster, but that didn’t have to mean they live a life of his design. You could get him out.

“Can I speak with you?” You hadn’t even noticed the analytical gaze Aaron held, too focused on your own internal spiraling. “Outside?” He motioned his head towards the hallway, instructing you to follow him.

You always felt like a kid in the principal’s office when he called you away from the team. “What’s up?” You hadn’t even waited for him to fully shut the door before you prompted the conversation. You were fully prepared to raise hell and high water to find your unsub, and you needed all the time you could get.

“Is something going on?” He always took extra time to check on your wellbeing. You figured at first it was pity, some type of undermining or an indication he thought you were less equipped for the job than others. He’d never hinted at any of those, always showing genuine concern for you, and eventually you stopped thinking he had ulterior motives. “You’ve been skittish and antsy since you saw the body. You’re speaking faster and can’t look me in the eyes. You’re nervous. Why?”

“Hotch.” You sighed his name, and he tilted his head, leaning in slightly as though pulled in by the sound. “I am nervous. There were three people murdered last night. If this guy is drinking the blood of his victims seconds after he kills, there’s no predicting how long the cool-down will be. He could strike again tonight or he could be gone for weeks. I don’t want more people losing their lives because we waited around too long. I need to figure this out.”

He could tell you were withholding something, you saw it in the way he looked at you. Thankfully, though, he allowed you to keep your secret. Breathing out a sigh of his own and just nodding. “You know where to find me if you want to talk.”

You held back the look of pure adoration you wanted to send his way, settling for the appropriate neutrality. “I know.”

You both rejoined the team shortly after, ignoring the curious looks of your coworkers and instead inserting yourself into the conversation. Reid went over the typical blood fetishists, along with the multiple philias and phobias associated with blood consumption. All of them falling flat in one way or another. You suggested swabbing the victim’s neck for traces of saliva, Prentiss calling to request the task be performed the second you’d said it. With hours going by and the promise of lab results by tomorrow, you all said your goodbyes. You said a silent prayer under your breath for a body-less night and drove home with a plan. If he was like you, he’d be out again tonight, and you had every intention of finding him.

–

This was the first time in your life you’d ever felt thankful for your knowledge of nightlife. Patrol was amping up, tonight it was one too many cop cars on the street. Tomorrow it could be officers searching the area on foot. With no way to predict the criminal, there was also no way to predict the response, and that was scary as hell. Any attempts they were making to stop him from feeding would affect you just as bad. There hadn’t been a single event since you started hunting more ethically that you’d had to break routine. You wanted to help him, but you also needed to stop him from fucking up your regimen. You were wandering, aimless and anxious. You tried connecting to whatever energetic wavelength you might have with him considering your partial relation, getting nothing but a firm reminder of why that stuff wasn’t considered fact. You ducked away from the second police cruiser of the night, just barely evading the lights before their illumination painted your face red and blue. The alley was a welcoming partner, allowing her shadows to drape over you and create a solitude unique to that darkness. You’d heard the noises a second later - panting, consistent and ragged, followed by a period of silence before resuming. You clicked on your flashlight, shining it maybe ten feet ahead of you and feeling like someone threw sand in your eyes. He was here, dressed in jeans and a black zip-up, hood over the back of his head. You wouldn’t have been able to see him even if his hood was down - he was crouched over a woman, shoulders hunched and mouth greedily stealing what little life she had left to give. He was so small, you physically felt your lips curl in sorrow when you realized he couldn’t be more than fifteen. The woman’s fingers were still flexed, and you assumed she’d died less than a minute ago by her arm placement. They were crooked at the elbow but weirdly resting on the assailant, as though she’d been gripping his shoulders before her strength blew out with the wind.

You waited, just a moment, stilling to see what move - if any - he would make. He was completely entrenched in his task, but you were surprised your light hadn’t set him off yet. It was only when the river ran dry that he seemed to notice your voyeurism. His head snapped in your direction so fast that you jumped on your feet a little. You thought back to how volatile you’d been in his shoes, deciding the best way to approach him would be that of a rabid animal. You inched closer, seeing him mirror you with a slight back-step.

“Hey.” You talked quietly, breathily, trying to subdue any dominant undertones you could be carrying. “I need you to listen to me, ok?” You crouched, hoping to put the two of you on the same level. “I know you’re not trying to hurt anyone. You’re hungry, yeah? You’re hungry and I know it fucking hurts. Worse than you ever imagined it could.” You thought back to the days of captivity. Your father made you the absolute pinnacle of gluttony, feeding you even when you finally didn’t want it, engorging you with the only thing you could sustain yourself with. Going from a state of constant overflow to barely a drip-feed was agony, causing fits of hunger so extreme that it was a miracle he hadn’t hit double digits by now. “I can help you, alright? I’ve been there. It doesn’t have to be this way - I promise it’s manageable.” You really should have planned some sort of script for this, you were winging it and from the accusatory look he was wearing, you didn’t think it was working.

You asked if he knew your father, hoping to establish some reputability in his mind and prove you knew what you were talking about. The name, though, seemed to hit him like a bullet. He took off running and blew past you so fast it knocked you over. You jumped up as quick as you’d been put down and set off after him. The kid was fast, and you knew it wouldn’t be long before you lost him. He had the advantage of being half your height in a city full of narrow shortcuts. You pleaded with him in between breaths to just listen to you, promised you didn’t want to hurt him, all of it was futile. He ducked into a subway and slipped from your grasp before you even knew you had him. Your eyes teared up from frustration, so close to being the saving grace you were desperate to be but just managing to graze it before it leaped away from you. You felt the toll of such a run immediately sodden your legs and weaken your lungs. You didn’t have nearly enough fuel in the tank to give chase, but what were you supposed to do? You’d seen him, almost had him before the acidity of your fathers name melted all the progress you were making. Fitting, you thought. You slipped your phone out of your pocket, you were still an agent who had just found a body. Another victim in a string of serial killings; if you didn’t report it and were traced at all back to the scene you could be fired - or arrested. Hotch’s contact burned a hole straight through your pupils. How the fuck were you gonna explain this? You just happened to be on a classic midnight walk alone as a woman in the city currently housing a vampiric serial killer. You could almost hear the crease of his eyebrows as you told him where you were, requesting the team be awoken and the local PD be sent to you. You’re sure he could hear the ball in your throat as your vision got watery again. He promised he’d be there soon, telling you to hang tight. He was comforting, but there was a determination in his voice that told you he wasn’t letting it go this time. You didn’t know how to prepare for whatever that meant, but you knew some worms would be leaving the can.

Ten minutes later and you heard the familiar shout of your last name. “What the hell happened?” Morgan seemed worried you’d been attacked, scanning over you to check for any signs of injury. He wouldn’t find anything but your rapidly rising chest.

You watched the EMTs wheel away the woman in a body bag, locking your gaze on Derek when you started to feel nauseous. “I’m fine.” You crossed your arms, rationalizing that maybe a physical security would grant you the strength needed to conceal this mess. “I live right up the road. I go out walking sometimes when I can’t sleep. I just saw the body in the alley, guy was gone by the time I found her.”

He seemed relieved at your avoidance but also completely floored by the stupidity of walking so late. “Stop walking alone at night.” He was clearly protective. “That's why some of these cases are even possible.” He looked at you, taking your story as truth without a second thought and letting a sense of mourning flood his irises. “I don’t know how I’d cope with having to put you in one of those bags.” How charming. “You get me?”

You looked at him, putting on a face of regretful understanding and simply uttered back a quiet “I got you.” to hopefully dodge all the attention he was giving you.

He chuckled, looking behind you and gaining a sort of cringe in his smile. “Good luck with that.” He nodded towards whatever was approaching and joined the congregation of other agents and officers, essentially isolating you with the thing you’d been dreading most. Aaron Hotch.

“Aaron-” You turned around to face him but stopped talking when you saw the look he cast at you. Something so curious and pleading for the knowledge you withheld, he seemed to manually dim it with the aspect of his authority. He was your supervisor, but he cared for you as something deeper than that.

“We’re heading back to the BAU. I want you in my office when we get there. We need to talk about this.” He waited a second, letting the unusual professionalism sink into you before seeking confirmation. “Am I clear?” He was gentle in delivery, but the fear you’d betrayed him weighed heavy on you.

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, looking at him. He wasn’t mad, and you didn’t regret the decisions that got you here. Your mind was simply racing with any plausible lie you could tell him to escape this situation unscathed. He knew you better than you were even aware of, you didn’t know if you could get away with lying at all, let alone lying in excess. You just prayed he was feeling particularly forgiving, along with hoping he was especially tired due to the hour. If you lucked out, you might only have to relinquish your integrity instead of the truth.

–

The sound of his door closing felt like the final sign of your demise. He hadn’t slammed it, he’d shut it gently and moved to sit opposite you in his office chair. You couldn’t remember a time he’d been genuinely angry with you. Right now he simply reeked of desperation, of empathy, and it was that notion that kept your eyes from meeting his.

“What’s going on, Y/n?” He was so soft, the tone of his voice combing through your ears like hypnotism. You were so fucking guilty.

You stared at his name card and wondered immaturely how it would feel to share a surname with the man. “I told you what happened.”

He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the desk. “You told them what happened.” You begged him internally to just leave it alone. “Now I’m asking you to talk to me. You can’t even look at me. You seem to think that because you can conceal the standard signs of lying that nobody can tell. You slip past their radar because they don’t know your tells, Y/n.” Your heart sped up, he’d probably known you were keeping something from him before you’d even made the choice to. “The top of your middle finger covers your index when you’re lying or when you’re not telling me something, you know that? Every single time. You haven’t held a conversation in the past week without doing it.” He clasped his hands on the table, readjusting to really focus on you. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Something about him always had a way of wearing you down. You’d been smothering the feelings you held for him for years, so when he showed such devotion to you, he could wring you out like a sponge with just a sentence. You visibly deflated, shoulder slumping forward. “I saw him.”

He straightened, assessing how to tackle a statement like that. “You saw the unsub?” You just nodded. “Do you know how important that information is?” He seemed bewildered, even a little angry at the fact you didn’t tell them. “You know better than most how significant every sighting is. Why would you ever keep something like that from us?” He was speaking slightly faster, confused frustration filling his words as he continued. “It’s a miracle you weren’t hurt, Y/n. This was extremely reckless, I don’t understand how you could-”

“Hotch.” You’d never had to speak over him before. “He’s my family.” The words were coated in bile as they left you - this was a steep slope. You hadn’t anticipated sharing even that piece of information, your family history was far too close to your less than common genetic misfortune to ever be talked about.

“...What?”

Your eyes teared up. You were going to tell him, and you were also going to cry. “I have to tell you something.” You felt the quiver of your lips, heard the shake of your voice as it circled the air. What the fuck were you thinking?

“My father - um…lied to the public about his testing. He promised everyone that he would stop at mice, but he didn't plan on actually doing that.” You shook your head in tune with your words, speaking slowly as you thought of how to drop this bomb and cause the least amount of damage. “He kidnapped a woman, my mother. At that point he’d figured out a way to implement the DNA strand he was using on rodents into human sperm, and he managed to get her pregnant with it.”

His face went slack, an emotion reaching far beyond shock, beyond disbelief. “You mean…?”

“It’s not vampirism in the cinematic sense, Aaron. We don’t burn in the sun or have heightened senses or speed. It’s just a cruel mutation. Human blood is the only substance our body can process.”

“You - you keep saying ‘we’.” He was frantic, you didn’t blame him. “Are there more?”

“Just the unsub.” The look in your eyes was begging for acceptance, for empathy and tenderness. You hadn’t even expected him to believe you, but now you feared the possibility of him running for the hills and spilling your secret to anyone he came across. “He’s the only one I know of. I didn’t expect my father to do it again.”

“Jesus Christ.” You concealed a laugh at how expressive the confession was making him. You knew it was the worst possible time, but you’d never seen him so human. “Is this - I mean how do you live, Y/n? Are you killing people?” You understood the accusation, but that didn’t dilute the sting of it as it hit your ears.

“No, Aaron. God, no.” You rushed out a denial before he could think too hard on it. “It took me years to figure out the bare minimum I could live on, ok? It’s two full syringes a week, nobody ever dies. Ever.” He seemed out of it, you didn’t know how to gauge whether this was a good or bad reaction. You’d never told anybody. How did you even proceed in a situation like this? “Look, I know, ok? This is fucking crazy, but you can’t tell the team.” He widened his eyes at you slightly like the thought of not telling them was wilder than anything you just told him.

“You can’t seriously expect-”

“Aaron.” You were on the brink of losing your breath. “I’m not a threat. I’ve worked here for years. I’ve lived with this my entire life and I have control. We need to focus on finding the boy and that won’t happen if they know.”

“Boy?” He furrowed his eyebrows deeper than you’ve ever seen. “He’s- It’s a kid?”

You thought back to the encounter. You could cup him in your palms. “He has to be. He’s tiny, fourteen or fifteen I’d say.” You nearly broke as you thought of the child he’d never get to be.

“There’s no protocol for this, Y/n.” This was one of the first times you’d seen him speak with his hands. “I don’t even know how to approach it anymore. It’s hard enough dealing with a child unsub when they’re human. How do you suggest we deal with a vampire?”

“Hotch.” Your eyes held disappointment. He was coping with the situation, and you knew that, but his words still didn’t sit right with you. “He is human. A very scared and lost human boy. My dad overfed me as a kid, wanting to disable the signal that tells you when it’s enough. It’s why he’s killing so many, he must have recently broken out. You get…I don’t know, insatiable. You start and don’t know when to stop, it's just blind instinct. He doesn’t want to be hurting people.”

“You speak from experience.” You didn’t want to tell him he was missing the point, but there certainly wasn’t a mutual focus between the two of you.

“Nobody’s perfect, Aaron.” You spoke with tears lining your eyes, your past was the most shameful thing you carried with you. “I need to find him. I can help him.”

He sighed, baffled and exhausted at the entire situation. He nodded soon after. “I won’t tell them.” You felt the increase in oxygen as you practically gasped in relief.

You stood up, stopping with your hand on the doorknob. Were you running? Yes, most definitely. But he wasn’t speaking and you couldn’t imagine he wanted to stay in your company. “I promise I’m not a monster.” You didn’t quite know if you were trying to convince him of this, or if you were hoping to affirm what he was already thinking, but it was the only thing you could think to say.

He just stared at you, eyes vacant but clearly attempting to imitate the warmth that would normally reside there. “Goodnight, Y/n.” It was such a familiar phrase that it nearly made you puke from the comfort flooding your body. You scoffed at the casual nature of the remark in the face of such an unusual time, but were still unfathomably thankful for it.

“Goodnight, Aaron.”

–

Three days later, and you were really feeling the distance. He stopped the routine of checking in - he stopped speaking almost entirely. He spoke of you, giving you orders or assigning your assistance to others but never talking directly to you. He used to pull you aside sometimes just to ask about your day, now he wouldn’t even look at you. The bodies had only been piling, patrol increasing night by night all hell bent on catching the so-called ‘virginia vampire.’ The absolute last thing you needed was a media wave of infamy to drown the boy, but there was no stopping the press once they were off and running. You doubted it made a difference, internet access was fully forbidden within the iron fist that was life with your father. You were hopeful some type of DNA could be pulled from the bodies, as the clean up was nonexistent and some of the necks had still been wet upon police arrival, but you got nothing. Or rather, nothing within the system. Garcia had compared the results of the sample to every database in the country - sometimes branching beyond that - but nothing proved useful. It was foolish to be disappointed, obviously your father wouldn’t have registered the baby of his hostage with the required legal standards. You hadn’t even known what you wanted to find, but the presence of absolutely nothing was crushing.

With the new surveillance demands your local PD wanted to meet, the BAU ended up pitching in to night monitor with them. It wasn’t difficult by any means - just tedious. You sat in turned off cop cars for most hours of the night while trying to ignore the persistent burn of hunger that was lighting up your stomach. You knew it’d been too long since you went out, but you were out of luck. People weren’t on the street hardly at all, and even if there was a small population to prey on, the cops breathing down your neck made it nearly impossible. You’d been paired up with Morgan for the last two nights you’d done this, time moving faster with him there to entertain you. Needless to say, sitting in the dead silence of the Quantico pm with Hotch was not what you were anticipating when you came for your shift tonight. You were only two feet away from him, but you could almost gaze into the sinkhole that sat between you two. Cold and dark, brutally reminding you that you’d volunteered for this abyss when you spilled your guts. You stopped yourself from shifting in your seat as another contraction of hunger pulled at your abdominal muscles. You knew that if someone were looking, they’d be able to notice the decline in your recent performance. You were slower, more zoned out, antsy, irritable. You were good at suppressing those things, confident in your ability to conceal them, but you had a feeling the man beside you could tell. He’d been looking at you all night, analytical and lukewarm, letting the start of a conversation sit just on the tip of his tongue. The silence, though, was taking it’s toll on you. It seemed to morph into a ringing that bounced between your ears like it was determined to slip into your skull and bury itself there. You realized you would take the most awkward conversation over a night of partnered solitude.

You wrestled with what to say, deciding to stick with your streak of brutal honesty. “Will you ever wanna talk to me again?”

He sniffed, continuing to stare forward like he was expecting the question. “I don’t know what you want from me, Y/n.” You didn’t know either.

You took a moment to mentally gawk at his words, tripping over them in your attempt to process the answer and decide how to respond appropriately. “Anger?” You felt yourself ramp up slightly, your hands moving as you spoke. “Resentment? Sadness? I mean… you’ve just been cold and I can’t work with that, Aaron.” You looked at him, mouth slightly open as you laid your helplessness out for him to see. “I need something.”

“I just-” He shrugged, shaking his head while figuring out the words he needed to say. “You can’t expect me to adjust to that information in three days. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act around you.” It was deeper than that. You both held a sort of mutual understanding that these lumps weren’t as surface level as confusion. The woman he’d been infatuated with for years had confessed she lived on the blood of her fellow man, how the hell do you act after learning that?

You tried your hardest to be empathetic towards his situation. You’d lived with this arrangement your entire life, so it was hard to put yourself in the shoes of shattered expectation, but you tried. It hurt to hear him refer to you like you were a different entity all of a sudden - but to him, you were. “So ask me. Ask me any question you can think of. If you want to know something, I’ll tell you. I just can’t stand the silence, Aaron.” You put your hand to your forehead as you relaxed into your seat. “I miss you. I’m the same person I was a week ago.”

You heard him sigh and shift to be leaning forward slightly. “Do you have a…” He trailed off for a second, searching for the way to put it that would ensure you understood his question. “You know, a bloodlust? Do you feel what the kid is feeling?”

The air solidified in your lungs. Yes, you absolutely fucking did. However, you weren’t going to sit there and profess your never ending homicidal urges to a man who was already struggling to accept your bare minimum. You weren’t going to scare the man you cared for more than you already had. “Um…you could call it that, I guess. I do know what he’s feeling right now, but I don’t live in his mindset anymore. It gets less the more you live with it.” You weren’t lying, per say. It truly did get easier to manage, you were simply omitting the follow up of still being a bottomless pit for the substance. Just because you weren’t enslaved to it anymore didn’t mean the constant possibility wasn’t a part of your very being.

He looked over at you, and in the dim glow of the street light his eyes seemed fuller, pupils rivaling puddles of tar. “What does it feel like?”

Your lips parted to let out your breath as it elevated slightly. The car seemed to humidify in the moments between his last question and now. Was he actually asking that? “It feels like…this-” Jesus Chist how did you even put words to it? “this constant…pulsing…in your gums.” You thought back to the haze it used to cast over your mind. You could barely think clearly when you first got out, focused on stealing the life force from beneath the skin of others. “Your whole body just fucking aches for it.” The eye contact between you and him was searing past your eyes and sinking into your soul itself. It was different than any way you’d looked at him before, so full of remorse and pure want that you’re surprised he didn’t laugh at your patheticism.

You caught quick movement draped in a shadow from your peripheral and were knocked back into your actual purpose. You and him both exited the car, creeping up to the spot previously occupied by the figure. You didn’t see him, simply felt the force of him pelt past you and crash into your shoulder. You, to your surprise, held your footing and were running after him a second later. Hotch was just behind you, both of you sprinting desperately to catch the boy. But, just like the last time you’d walked this path, the nimbleness of his smaller frame won almost effortlessly against the two of you, and you lost him. This time, you’d lost yourself right after. You felt the nonexistent padding of concrete on the sidewalk bruise your body before you even registered you’d fallen over. The world wasn’t fading, you were very awake and very aware of the pain spreading to your entire right side. You determined - rather quickly - that your legs had just given out from lack of proper energy. The embarrassment of doing this in front of Hotch severely trumped the pain of hitting the ground.

“Jesus.” You heard the concerned mumble come from him as he crouched down to your level. “Are you ok?”

You said you were fine, but oxygen seemed to adopt the weight of a semi-truck and it got harder to accept the necessity into your body. You simply told him to stand up, following his lead and rising from your position with difficulty you hadn’t faced before. Your legs failed you for the second time, though, and you fell back onto your knees with a small sob of exertion being expelled from your chest. He crouched back down, stabilizing himself on his knees and letting you lean against him when you couldn’t hold yourself up.

“Y/n.” The shame of your current situation kept your eyes from his, only looking at him when he forced you to. “When was the last time you ate?”

You just shook your head, weakly trying to free yourself from his hands but failing. “Patrol’s been so high I just couldn’t - “ You sniffed slightly, gasping lightly as breathing became harder to do than the chase you just gave. “I couldn’t get out.”

He muttered ‘ok’ under his breath a few times, seemingly coming to terms with something, looking around in all directions before rolling up his shirt sleeve. The implication of the action registered instantly and you began squirming away from him. Mumbling words of disagreement that you knew he could hear.

“I can’t, Aaron. I can’t drink straight from the source - I can’t stop.” You felt your lips tremble as you recalled the feeling of impending doom clashing messily against the rush of excitement that coursed through you at the possibility. You hadn’t known that specific cocktail in years, you thought you’d go the rest of your life without feeling it again. “I can’t - please.”

“Well -” He started, pulling up his pant leg in search of the small switchblade he started carrying after being disarmed one too many times. “If we don’t do this, you’ll lose consciousness. That means they’ll take you to the hospital on an IV and you’ll have to explain why none of the nutrients are helping you.” You were so fucked. He was right, a rock and a hard place didn’t even break the surface of your situation. This was hell.

Your vision went blurry as the water in them doubled in quantity. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Then don’t.” Bastard.

“Aaron-”

“You’re practically catatonic, Y/n.” He let energy surge through the response, saying it more as an exclamation than a statement. “I’m not watching you die and I’m not letting you out yourself to some random workers because you’re scared. You need blood.” He positioned the knife away from any major arteries and dug deep, exhaling slightly at the sting. Softening his voice, he looked to you again, and moved his wounded wrist slightly closer to you.“Just let me help you.” You watched it run off his wrist and swore you felt the impact of the drops as they fell like a phantom pressure lighting up your skin. He was breathing heavy, you didn’t know if you were breathing at all; only being able to gauge the depth of your existence by how badly you needed what he was offering. You hadn’t felt yourself accept the invitation, only tasted the poison of it all once it bypassed your lips. You wondered if this was how Eve had felt when she succumbed to the serpent. If so, you didn’t blame her. You would have condemned all of humanity for this feeling too. It hadn’t ever felt this personal, this euphoric. You fed on strangers, never on someone who held as much importance as him. This trampled the idea of simply knowing him, this was a bond you could never backstep. It was done, and it was terrifying. The warmth he always seemed to emanate infested in you from the inside-out, beaming through your entire body and fending off any destruction being done by the famished vines winding around you. He held you against him as it happened, safe and welcoming, and it made a heat line your stomach with such intensity that it teased the idea of burning right through you.

He wallowed in the feeling for a few minutes, only stopping the exchange when he felt his head become too heavy for his neck to hold. “Enough, enough.” His way of tapping out, the words making you detach immediately with a slight gasp that prompted your panting breath. You realized he was panting too, eyes slightly wide and skull resting uncomfortably against the brick wall that sat behind him as he recovered. You assumed your face was painted with the horror that was flooding your system, but he couldn’t see the extent of the expression in the darkness surrounding you. “Does it always-” He was cut off by the approaching vehicles of your team and other officers. It was time for a shift change, and you felt a small sob intertwine with your exhaling breath and extend to the air around you. With your newly acquired strength, you got up and limped to the closest cop car. You forced away the urge to cry as you asked the officer to take you home, claiming an urgent need to check on your pets. Just add lying to an officer to your list of sins committed in the last 24 hours. You watched your team congregate around the still bleeding Hotch and bit your tongue. His actions had been so instinctual, so automatic in the way he rose to the occasion. He’d given you something nobody ever had, and you weren’t sure you would ever be looking at him again.

–

In the week that had dragged by since then, bodies were being found significantly less than they were. You’d successfully halted all interaction between your boss and you - which is much easier said than done - and had essentially treated him as though he didn’t exist. It hurt him - visibly - and you despised being the one to instill such a wounded haze to his eyes, but you couldn’t help it. No amount of oral hygiene procedures could singe the taste of him off your tongue. If you let the thoughts linger in your mind too long, you could almost feel the flow of his blood cascading down your throat. It threw you so effortlessly back to your freshly escaped fledgling days that it fucking horrified you how badly you wanted it. You really should have assumed that consuming the blood of someone you treasured would dramatically increase the craving. You weren’t prepared, not even slightly, and that would certainly manifest into some less than work appropriate advances should you acknowledge your boss again.

The lack of frequent bodies unfortunately didn’t reduce the amount of cops on the street, but you’d managed to slip back into your routine. It was about ten times harder than it used to be to both evade officers and find people outside but you were fed, and that was all you chose to focus on. You had left tonight’s guy under a park platform a couple blocks over, having to resort to unconventional means when hiding them post-theft. You hadn’t stopped your search for the boy, having been out every night since it started. Sometimes on the clock, sometimes off - always trying to think outside of the box. Clearly, that all proved futile, as there was a boy sitting on your front steps practically consumed by the surrounding shadows when you arrived home. You simply continued your trek, stopping maybe five feet away and giving him the space to control the situation. He looked up at you, pulling down his hood and standing to his full height. He was practically gleaming in the dim porch light, his skin seemed to reflect the moon in a way only rivaled by the finest china.

“What did you mean?” He was as timid as a mouse, looking at the ground as he spoke. “You saw me that night in the alley and you said you knew what was happening. What did you mean?”

You couldn’t say you were surprised your father didn’t inform him of your existence. Knowing the man, he would most likely deny your relation if questioned directly. “I’m like you, buddy.” You slowly let the bag on your back swing forward to a place of accessibility, grabbing the vial of the inky substance and flashing it slightly before returning it to your bag. “I’d offer you some, but I can’t imagine you’re needing it.” You swung it back to rest behind you again, settling the straps comfortably on your shoulders.

He furrowed his eyebrows, confused but apprehensive, as though the motion might upset you. “You live on that?”

You chuckled at his innocence, barely being able to comprehend the pure dichotomy you were talking to. You understood it fully, but such a sweet boy holding such intense homicidal capabilities was an absurd notion. “Took me a while.” You nodded as you confirmed his question. “But yeah, about two of these a week.”

Disbelief quickly befriended the features on his face. “You aren’t…hungry?”

You looked at the boy with undiluted sympathy, you knew the feeling he hinted at well. If you were him right now, you’d have probably lashed out in a jealous rage at such an ability to control consumption. You hadn’t believed it was a livable amount until you’d contained yourself within it’s limits. “A little, I won’t lie to you. But it’s well worth it to avoid killing someone. You get used to it after a while.” He simply looked down, and you realized you might have made him slightly guilty with your wording. In an eager attempt to pivot the conversation, you told him your name, hoping to get a proper introduction from him.

“I’m Daniel.” You crouched down after he said that, wanting to open him up a little more by shrinking below his height. “You know my dad?”

You smiled at the ignorance, it wasn’t often somebody didn’t know exactly who resided on your family tree. “I do. He’s actually my dad too.” You preyed with everything in you that you were coming off as comforting, docile. You wanted him to trust you. “How old are you, Daniel?”

“Twelve.” Jesus Christ.

You tried not to let the shock ricochet along your face. You wouldn’t earn his alliance by being wobbly, you needed to be a dependent structure for him to lean on. “You’ve got me beat, kid.” He tilted his head, the meaning of your statement lost on him. “I was seventeen when I got away. Quite an impressive thing for someone your age.” Praise, you hoped, would solidify you as a place he could receive affection. He definitely wasn’t getting it from your father.

His eyes went wide, lips parted as you saw his head lean forward in response. “You escaped?” His breathing sped up, microscopic, something you wouldn’t have noticed had you worked in a different profession. “How?”

You felt the bottom of your stomach rip and release every ounce of hope you ever carried. Something wasn’t right. “How?” You questioned him rhetorically, mentally pleading that he wasn’t about to confirm your suspicion. “Are you still with him?”

He nodded his head with such casualty it broke your heart. You knew it was all he’d ever known, but seeing him have such peace with his predicament was a sight made of pure devastation. “Yeah.” He sighed out the response. “He says there’s no use in running away. That if I decide to just stay out one night, he knows how to find me.” You notice his averted eyes, a sudden embarrassment becoming evident in his stance. “I’ve…kinda been too scared to see if that’s true or not.”

“Why don’t you come in?” It took all the effort you had to suppress the desperation begging to penetrate the look you were giving him. “I can protect you, Daniel. He’s not as tough as he pretends to be.” In all honesty, you didn’t know if that was true. He’d never sent you out on hunts when you were younger. He gave you any indulgence you wanted, absolutely trampling your hunger cues and making you a nightmare on anyone with a pulse once you finally broke out. You figured it was a fail safe for if you were ever on your own. He couldn’t have you, but you would start piling bodies and would eventually be put down when they traced it back to you. You didn’t understand his game plan here. Why did he suddenly want a high body count? Had he been starving Daniel out just to set him loose like some feral bull?

He frantically shook his head, stepping away from you slightly and waving you off. “No, I need to go back.” He started tearing up, remembering the true reason he’d stepped foot on your lawn at all. “I need you to help me, Y/n.” He swiped at his nose as he bit back the tears. “You have to get rid of him.”

You felt your own eyes go watery at the ask. “I’m gonna get you out of there.”

He chuckled, light and short, puzzling you for a moment at what he could be finding humor in. “It’s not even about me.” He looked down. “I just wanna stop hurting people.”

You covered the tremble in your lips in a pathetic attempt to mask the sadness that poured from you at his declaration. “I’m so sorry.”

He returned his head to the safety of his hood, refusing your apology with a shake of it. “It was nice meeting you.”

You stared at him, every instinct you had sparking with the urge to shield him. Absorb him into the atoms that made you up and let live through your screen of security. But you couldn’t, so you just sniffed, reigning in any emotion that slipped from your grasp during the conversation and sealing it back inside. “I’ll see you soon.” And then he was walking away, turning slightly to offer a wave before resuming his role as part of the abyss around you. Only one thought remained in your head - You were gonna kill your dad.

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zizzlekwum · 1 month ago

Text

Stranger In A Not-So-Strange Land

Masterlist

CHAPTER TEN

The BAU investigates a series of murders in Texas. Follows the events of Criminal Minds Season 2 Episode 17 "Distress."

Trigger Warnings: descriptions of a prior toxic relationship

Word Count: 6,304

Tag List: @leftoverenvy @itsmeanobody @ctrljuls @theclassicgaycousin @fatherfigured [if you want to be added to the tag list, please comment or send me an ask]

You’re late to work on your first day back at the BAU due to red tape, so you get there just as JJ is beginning to present the next case.

“Welcome back,” Hotch says quietly as you take a seat at the table between him and Prentiss. You give him a nod before focusing your attention on JJ.

“This is Houston’s Fifth Ward,” she explains, pointing the remote at the TV. “It accounts for a large percent of the city’s growing homicide rate due to gang violence and a bustling narcotics trade. Although in the last forty-eight hours, there have been three distinctive murders in the ward.” She clicks a button on her remote, bringing up pictures of the crime scenes.

“Distinctive?” Morgan asks.

“Three men, three different socioeconomic groups, all killed on the street with their necks snapped,” JJ continues. “There appears to be no other injury, and there’s no apparent connections between the victim, or motive.” She shrugs.

You open your mouth to say something but stop as Reid enters the room, taking a sip of his coffee. He nods at JJ to continue while he sits down to your left.

“The ward’s detectives are inundated with homicides,” JJ explains. “Gang violence is a big problem. Shootings, armed robberies, it’s an everyday occurrence, but this type of street attack is new to them.”

“Could it be gang related,” Prentiss posits. “Maybe some type of new initiation rite?”

JJ shakes her head. “The gangs in the ward use guns. In fact, no known gangs exhibit this type of MO.”

“What about dope?” Morgan asks. “These guys come up with pretty freaky ways of killing the competition to get their message out.”

“But wouldn’t they want to leave a sign to tell others it was them?” you point out. “Kinda defeats the purpose if people don’t realize the killings are a targeted threat.”

“Yeah, and there just doesn’t seem to be any connection between the victims and the drug world,” JJ adds.

“Homeless man, a construction worker, security guard.” Gideon lists the victims.

JJ nods. “Just three dead men and no witnesses.”

“We’re looking for a homicidal serial criminal in a neighborhood populated by criminals,” Hotch notes. “The challenge will be separating him from the rest.”

“We have no evidence, no apparent interaction between the unsub and the victims pre- or postmortem, and an indistinguishable MO,” Reid says. “Should be simple.”

“Like finding a needle in a stack of needles,” you say. “Wonderful.”

* * * * *

On the plane, the team continues to try to make sense of the victims. “We got a construction worker, outsider in the community,” Morgan starts. “We got a security guard— that’s an authority figure. And then we got a homeless man. That’s a powerless victim that no one would notice missing.”

“They’re all over the place,” you note, jiggling your leg up and down, not looking up from where your hands are folded in your lap.

“So who’s he targeting?” Morgan asks.

“Let’s see if any of the victims frequented the same stores or sites,” Hotch says.

“He used blitz attacks,” Reid adds. “He most likely lacks the interpersonal skills he needed to coerce his victims into coming close, and he also used the element of surprise, which means he may have stalked his victims prior to killing them.” You swallow hard. Prentiss glances over at you, frowning.

“Well, if that’s the case, I wanna go to the last crime scene to see where he may have been hiding,” Morgan says.

“I want to see the neighborhood for myself,” Gideon says. “I’ll go with you.”

“Good,” Hotch says. “The rest of us can go to the precinct and set up shop.”

“I’ll map out the area and see if I can find any places the victims would have visited in the neighborhood,” Reid offers.

“Good, maybe we can find a connection between them,” Emily says, still watching you. “I’ll help you with that.”

Reid frowns. “I can handle it.”

Prentiss turns her attention from you to Reid, frowning. “I… wasn’t suggesting that you couldn’t.”

“Isn’t that what ‘I’ll help you with it’ means?” Reid snaps.

“Reid,” Hotch interrupts before he has a chance to continue. “Prentiss will help you with the geographical profiling and victimology.”

“Fine,” Reid says sharply, looking down at the papers in his hands.

Hotch sighs. “Remember, this is a high crime area. Be vigilant. Nobody goes anywhere alone. Y/L/N?”

You glance over at Hotch. You notice him watching your bouncing leg so you make an effort to stop. “Hmm?”

“I want you to stick with Prentiss and Reid for now,” he says with a frown.

You nod. “Gotcha, boss-man.”

He glances between you and Reid again before turning his attention away, and you let out a sigh. You really don’t want to go to Texas.

* * * * *

After you, Prentiss, and Reid get situated in the conference room, you begin to get to work, using a map of the neighborhood to get started. JJ walks in after a few minutes.

“What’s that?” Hotch asks. You turn to face them.

“One of the detective’s wives made us cookies,” JJ tells him.

“Wow, homemade cookies?” Prentiss says with a smile.

JJ sets the plate on the table and you go over to grab a cookie. “Yeah, I guess that’s what they mean by southern hospitality.”

Reid walks over to the window and fumbles with the blinds. “I need to concentrate— how can anybody hear anything with all this work going on?” He slams the window shut.

“Well, you’re gonna have to get used to it,” JJ tells him. “Construction crews are working around the clock.”

“Saw it on the way in,” Prentiss adds.

“City’s trying to return to its splendor, and that means that Houston’s poorest are being kicked out of their homes,” JJ explains as you nibble on a cookie.

Reid opens his mouth to respond but is interrupted by Morgan and Gideon entering the room, followed by a detective.

“Unsub might be homeless,” Gideon reports. “Appears to have been living in a building next to where the security guard was attacked.”

Reid gestures to the map. “These are the locations of the last three murders, all near abandoned buildings.”

“To be fair, there are a lot of abandoned buildings nearby,” you point out.

Hotch nods. “She’s right. I noticed the neighborhood, maybe he was recently displaced.”

“Could be a motive,” Emily adds. “Construction worker, security guard at a construction site. Payback?”

“What about the homeless man?” Morgan asks.

“We get a lot of beefs down there among the homeless. That one could have just been a fight about space or food,” Detective Fuller says.

“Let’s get a list of residents who’ve been kicked out of their homes by the gentrification.” He turns toward you and Prentiss. “You, Y/L/N, and Reid check the shelters?”

“Yeah, we’re on it,” Prentiss says, standing. You nod. Then she pauses. “Unless… you okay with that, Reid?”

Reid furrows his brow in confusion. “I’m fine with that.”

You and Emily share a concerned look as you follow him out of the room.

* * * * *

At one of the shelters, the three of you are looking for someone in charge when Prentiss’ phone rings. It’s Hotch, alerting you of another murder.

A woman walks up to the three of you just as Emily is hanging up her cell phone. “Heard y’all are looking for someone in charge? I’m Angie, one of the administrators.”

Emily holds out her hand to shake. “Hi, I’m Agent Prentiss, these are Agents Reid and Y/L/N. We’re with the FBI.”

“Really?” Angie says, surprised.

“Really,” Reid snarks as Emily shows her badge.

“It looks like you have your hands full,” Emily says.

Angie nods. “With the demolitions in the projects and the abandoned buildings, there’s no place else for people to sleep.”

Prentiss smiled. “Well, thank God there are people like you who take the ti—“

“Do you have a list of everyone who comes through here?” Reid interrupts.

“Uh, we have a sign-in sheet,” Angie tells him, frowning. “But we don’t force anyone to sign if they don’t want to. Some who do don’t even use their real names.” She smiles. “Elvis eats here a lot.”

“Do you think we could get a copy of any lists you might have?” you ask.

“Why?” Angie asks, frowning.

“Have you noticed anyone who acts unusually aggressive towards the other residents?” Reid asks.

Angie crossed her arms. “What’s this about?”

“A series of murders in the area. The perpetrator may be a homeless man. Maybe someone who stays here.” Reid looks around. “He may even be in this room as we speak.”

“Reid!” Prentiss says sharply as Angie looks around, nervous.

“Have you noticed anyone who acts paranoid or displays explosive, unprovoked bursts of violence, more than just pushing and shoving?” Reid continues, ignoring Emily. “I mean, someone who really tried to harm others.”

“There are territorial fights over food and places to sleep,” Angie says. “The nurse treats people for minor injuries all the time, but no one seriously hurt.”

“If anyone does come to mind, give us a call,” Reid tells her, giving her his card. “Thank you.” He turns and walks away as you and Prentiss share a concerned look.

Angie looks at Prentiss. “A murderer?”

Prentiss holds up here hands. “I-I’m sorry. This investigation is still—“ She pauses, flustered.

You glance over your shoulder at Reid’s retreating form. “No one’s actually been hurt in a shelter,” you reassure Angie.

Prentiss nods. “We’re just— we’re acting in an abundance of caution. So please, let the police know if anything unusual occurs. Thanks.”

Angie nods, and you and Prentiss head outside to find Reid, who is observing the people outside.

“There’s a high presence of mental disorders with the homeless,” he says.

“Yeah,” Prentiss says, not really paying attention to what he said. “What the hell was that in there?”

“What?” Reid asks.

“‘He may even be in this room as we speak?’ We have nothing to support that.”

“We’re investigating a serial homicide,” Reid argues. “Should I have pretended there’s no danger?”

“You just scared the shit out of that woman,” you say. “She’s probably afraid of every dude who walks in, now!”

Reid shrugs. “Again, until we find this unsub, how is that a bad thing?”

Prentiss frowns. “What is the matter with you?” she asks, not unkindly.

Reid raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean, what’s the matter with me?”

“I’ve never seen you act like this,” she explains.

Reid frowns, upset. “Oh really? In the months that you know me, you’ve never seen me act this way? Hey, no offense, Emily, but… you don’t really know what you’re talking about, do you?” He turns and storms off, leaving you and Emily standing there, shocked.

“What the fuck?” Emily mutters.

“He… he’s not okay,” you tell her, frowning. “It’s not you.”

She nods. “I know, but….”

You put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m worried about him, too,” you admit. “But I’m not sure there’s anything we can do.”

Emily looks over where Reid is walking away. “Let’s just get back to the station,” she says quietly. “There’s nothing left for us to do here.”

* * * * *

When the three of you walk into the station, Reid begins filling in Hotch. “We just got back from the local homeless shelter,” he says. “The administration hasn’t noticed anyone new displaying aggressive behavior.”

“He’s not in a homeless shelter,” Hotch says. “I just talked to Gideon and Morgan. They think that he’s killing to protect some makeshift shelter of his own.”

“Are we ready for a profile yet?” Reid asks.

“We’re missing something.” Hotch frowns. “How did this homeless man learn to kill so efficiently?”

“You know what we need?” Prentiss says.

“We need to get lucky,” Hotch tells her. “We need him to make a mistake.”

Everyone goes back to what they were doing while Emily pulls you aside. “Okay, what’s up with you?”

“Huh?” you ask, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve been off ever since we were assigned this case.” She frowns, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

You sigh. “You’re not gonna drop this, are you?”

She shakes her head. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I….” You’re not sure how to word it, so you decide to just plow right ahead. “I was nineteen when I met my first boyfriend. We met online, which may seem crazy now, but where I’m from— or should I say when I’m from— that isn’t uncommon.” Prentiss nods, listening intently. You stare down at your hands, wringing them together and bouncing your leg. “Honestly, I try not to think about how many red flags I refused to see. It embarrasses me.”

Emily nods. “We’ve all been there,” she reassures you.

You laugh humorlessly. “Anyway, he was thirty. I mentioned I was nineteen at the time, right? Now, had I not still been a literal teenager, the age gap would’ve been less creepy, but I was just a kid. And he was the first person to have ever shown interest in me. We started off as fast friends, while I overlooked all the red flags, like I said, but then we started becoming something… more.”

You cringe before continuing. “You know how I said the first red flag should’ve been his age? Well, second red flag should’ve been that he was a convicted felon.”

“Oooh, yeah, that’s… not great,” Emily says sympathetically.

“To be fair— and this is the only concession I’ll give him— he was like twenty when his only friend, who also happened to be his fiancée, was killed in a car accident. He kinda went crazy and tried to rob a bank like, literally three days later.” You shake your head. “Dumbass got caught at a hot dog stand. And I’m not condoning it, but, I mean, temporary insanity exists as a legal defense for a reason.”

Prentiss nods. “No, I get it.”

“So yeah, red flags abound,” you continue. “And like I said, it was the first time anyone had ever been interested in me like that, so I was naive. I quickly became obsessed, but I didn’t recognize it as obsession and thought it was love. Stupid fucker ate that shit up. He eventually flew up to Mass to visit me for Halloween. I thought things were fine— other than the fact that I hated kissing him, but I chalked that up to sensory issues. He went back home, and that’s when shit started to hit the fan.

“Really soon after he went home, a celebrity followed me on Instagram— that’s a photo sharing website. Turns out that celebrity was the son of Lou Ferrigno, who was the Incredible Hulk. As I’m sure you know, I’m a huge Marvel fan.”

“Oh, I know,” Emily says with a chuckle.

“Anyway, I thought it was cool that the son of the Incredible Hulk followed me. I told the guy I was dating, and he got wicked jealous and spent the entire night at the 24-hour gym by his house.��

Emily blinks. “That’s fucking insane.”

“Yep,” you agree. “That’s when I started to lose interest, and got my first urge to break up with him. However, I was too nice, and knew that his family sucked— long story short, his step-dad was abusive and his mom allowed it— so I wanted him to spend Christmas with me and my family in Massachusetts, to have a good holiday.

“So I put up with his clinginess, along with other insane shit, until he flies up for Christmas. Christmas Eve night, while my extended family was over, he cornered me and tried to be clingy and I just shut down. He literally chased me to my room, and when I closed and locked the door, he stood and talked at me through the door. I had a meltdown and ended up cursing him out, after which my mom came up and convinced him to go downstairs, then reprimanded me about yelling and swearing while family was over. I spent hours in my room that night instead of enjoying Christmas Eve, and only came out after I called my aunt, who was in, like, Mexico or something for a holiday vacation, and she talked me down. I eventually went out and luckily, Fuckface was in the basement for the rest of the night. I decided to be nice and not break up with him on Christmas, and faked my way through the day.

“A couple weeks later, while I had been pretty much faking any interest in him to give him a couple nice weeks, I was invited to my friend’s baby shower. It was Patriots themed and everyone was expected to wear a Pats jersey. Since Fuckface hated the Patriots, I told him I wouldn’t make him go. He fucking thanked me, then had the gall to cry to my dad after I left that I didn’t take him with me. I came back home, missed the shower, and immediately broke up with him, but told him I wouldn’t insist upon him going home since, again, his family sucked and I wanted to be nice. Which, by the way, if you ever see me trying to be nice to someone to my own detriment ever again, please smack some sense into me.”

“Will do,” she tells you solemnly. “I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks.” You take a deep breath. “It all came to a head a few weeks later, when he found out that I had a date. He stormed upstairs and complained to my mom, right in front of me, that he just assumed we would, and I quote, ‘find our way back to each other,’ and what was he supposed to do? He then wondered aloud, in front of AJ, my nine-year-old little brother who had his own severe mental health issues, if he should hunt down my date and blow his brains out, and— again, I quote— ‘see that pink mist.’”

Prentiss takes a deep breath. “Fucking unhinged.”

You nod. “Seeing AJ becoming distressed, I yelled at Fuckface to shut up. He proceeded to storm over to me. I ducked, and he smacked my hat off of my head. Now, I’m convinced he tried to hit me, but my mom always insisted he was just trying to hit my hat off of my head. Not okay either way, of course, but one is worse than the other. I ran upstairs, afraid, and locked myself in my room and armed myself with the switchblade I got from camping that year that I kept next to my bed. I didn’t sleep at all that night, and he flew back home the next morning. That was the last I physically saw of him, but he proceeded to cyberstalk me for the following two years.” You take a shaky breath. “Anyway, to sum it all up, my crazy ex was from Texas, and even though I’m literally in a different universe, and Texas is so fucking huge that even if I weren’t in a different universe, the chances of running into him would be slim to none, I’m still anxious about being here.”

Emily puts a hand on your shoulder. “It’s a trauma response,” she tells you.

You nod. “I know. That doesn’t make me feel any less stupid for stressing over a nonissue.”

“It’s not a nonissue,” she insists. “It’s trauma. And even though you may be safe, your mind doesn’t fully recognize that.”

Sighing, you shake your head. “Maybe. I don’t know, I just—”

“Please help my daddy!” You’re interrupted by a young girl running into the police station, followed by a man with blood dripping from his nose.

“I-I need help, I was attacked!” the man shouts.

JJ hurries over to him. “Can I get some help here, please?”

You head over to the man’s daughter as he turns to JJ. “Please call my house to come get my daughter, please!”

You bend down to speak with the little girl. “Hi, I’m Y/N. We’re gonna take good care of your dad, okay?”

She nods as Emily comes over to you two and says something in Spanish to the girl. “Maria,” the girl says.

Emily glances at you. “Her name is Maria.”

You hold out a hand. “Maria, do you wanna come with me and Emily while my friends help your dad?” She nods, taking your hand, and you lead her to the unused conference room.

“Is my papa gonna be okay?” Maria asks as you direct her to a chair. Hotch sits down to her right as Emily takes the chair to her left, you staying crouched in front of Maria.

Hotch nods. “Yes.”

You glance at Hotch, who gives you a small nod. “Maria, do you think we could ask you a few questions?”

“It would really help us find the bad guy,” Emily adds. She waits for Maria to nod before continuing. “Did he say anything to your papa?”

Maria shakes her head. “No.”

“What were you and your papa doing before the bad guy came?” Hotch asks.

Maria takes a deep breath, squeezing your hand. “Papa took out the garbage. And then he jumped out and he hit my papa. I was screaming at him. I thought he was gonna hit me, too. But then he stopped… and he looked at me funny.”

You squeeze her hand. “What do you mean by ‘funny?’”

Maria looks at you. “He looked sad. He did say something. Not to my papa. To me.”

“What was it?” Emily asks.

“He said ‘are you okay? Why are you crying?’” Maria says. “And then we ran.”

“Maria,” Hotch says, giving her a small smile. “What you did was very brave. Can you help us with one more thing? Can you tell us what the man looked like?”

Maria nods. “He was white. And tall. And dirty.” She looks down at Hotch’s hand. “And he had a ring like yours.”

Hotch points to his wedding ring. “Like that?”

Maria nods again. “I remember his ring.”

You squeeze her hand. “Thanks. You did a good job.”

She opens her mouth to respond before focusing on something behind you. “Abuela!” She jumps out of her chair and runs toward a woman who just walked through the doors. Emily goes over to greet her while you and Hotch walk back to the conference room to update the team.

* * * * *

“He asked if she was okay and why was she crying,” Hotch says once he joins you, Emily, and Reid in the conference room. “He wasn’t aware of what he was doing to them.”

“Garcia’s on line one,” JJ says, pressing a couple buttons on the phone, next to an open laptop.

“Go ahead, Penelope,” Prentiss says.

“All right, cowgirls and boys,” Garcia says. “I’ve got the comparison satellite images of the before and after pictures, and I found something. Check it.” An image of the top of a building appears on the laptop screen. “See it yet?”

“Yeah,” Hotch says.

“Is that an SOS?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Garcia says. “It’s made of debris and other rocky bits of gobbledygook. This is the building where the security guard got killed.”

“He’s asking for help,” Hotch says.

“Wait, guys, listen outside,” Reid says.

“Chaos,” Hotch says. “The SOS.”

“He’s a war veteran,” Emily realizes.

“PTSD episode?” you ask.

Hotch nods. “He thinks he’s in a war zone.” He dials Morgan and Gideon, who are with the detective. “He left a distress signal on the roof of one of the buildings,” he tells them once Morgan picks up.

“The quick strikes are consistent with trained military tactics,” Morgan says.

“He must’ve served in a place that looked or sounded like this ward,” Emily suggests.

“Well, we were right about him being homeless, in a sense,” Gideon says. “Wherever he is, in his mental state, he’s certainly not at home.”

“He may not even be aware he’s killing,” Hotch says.

“Now how’s that?” the detective asks.

“When soldiers suffered from anxiety, depression, and flashbacks in World War One, it was called shell shock,” Reid says.

“Battle fatigue in World War Two,” you chime in. He nods.

“Now we refer to it as PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, war related, a side effect of which is slipping into dissociative states,” Reid finishes.

Prentiss nods. “The mind divorces itself from reality so it can cope with the trauma.”

“He’s reliving a memory,” Gideon says. “He’s trapped in his head in some war zone.”

“Hiding and defending himself from the enemy,” Morgan adds.

“Okay, but how do we find a man who’s trapped inside his head?” JJ asks, frowning.

“He’s got a wedding ring,” Prentiss points out.

“Someone’s probably missing him,” you add.

“Good,” Gideon says. “I’m on the way in with Detective Fuller. Morgan has one last crime scene to check.” He hangs up.

“JJ,” Hotch starts, “check missing persons reports, see if anyone matches the description. It would’ve been filed recently, the last two or three days.”

She nods. “Okay.”

* * * * *

JJ almost immediately finds a promising lead, inviting the wife of a missing man into the precinct. She and Detective Fuller lead the wife and another man into the unused conference room.

JJ turns to Hotch, just outside of the room. “Dana Woodridge and Max Weston. Her husband and his best friend, Roy Woodridge, has been missing since Tuesday.” Hotch nods and you follow him into the room.

“He was on his way home from work,” Dana starts. “He called before he left the office and said we needed to talk when he got home. He sounded upset.” She swallows hard. “That was the last I heard from him.”

“What was he upset about?” Prentiss asks.

Dana shakes her head. “He didn’t say.”

“Dana called me that night when Roy didn’t show up,” Max continues. “So the next morning we filed a missing persons report.”

“Mrs. Woodridge, where does your husband work?” Hotch asks.

“He’s a consultant at a security firm downtown,” she answers.

“Did your husband ever serve in combat?” Gideon asks tentatively.

“Excuse me?” Max says, frowning.

“Is he a war veteran?” Hotch asks again.

Max nods. “Y-yeah, we both are. We were in special ops. 75th Ranger Regiment, Bravo Company, Third Battalion. But Roy, he retired shortly after things went bad in Mogadishu.”

“That was back in 1993,” Reid says. “Let me ask you this— does he display any, uh, behavioral tics? Certain everyday things that make him jumpy or startled?”

“Why?” Dana asks.

“Does he?” Reid ignores her.

“Is this going to help find him?” Dana frowns, glancing at Max.

“Mrs. Woodridge, please,” Prentiss implores. “We need to know everything we can about your husband.”

Max sighs. “We all had a… hard time over there. You bring some things home with you.”

“Like what?” you ask.

“He has a hard time with loud noises,” Dana explains. “He can’t be in crowds. He has nightmares and wakes up in cold sweats.” She pauses. “The smells are the worst. He… if he smells something burning, like a barbecue, or gas, or fire… he gets sick.” Max rubs his face as Dana continues. “It really only got bad about a year ago.”

Gideon looks at Max. “What happened to him in Somalia?”

Max laughs uncomfortably. “Nothing. Combat happened.”

“What does that mean?” Gideon asks.

Max stands. “I’m gonna… get a drink of water.” Gideon follows him.

Hotch pours Dana a cup of coffee. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “Could somebody please tell me what’s going on?”

You and JJ look to Hotch. “There have been some people hurt, recently, and we think that there may be someone lost on the streets,” he explains. “Someone who thinks that he’s still at war.”

Dana shakes her head. “Well, Roy would never hurt innocent people. Why would he even be in this neighborhood?”

Prentiss goes to respond but the phone rings. JJ presses the speaker button. “Hey, Garcia. We have Mrs. Woodridge here with us.”

You can hear Garcia hesitate. “Oh, uh, well. I found an ‘02 white Ford F150 pickup truck.”

“Oh God,” Dana says. “That’s his truck.”

“It was impounded,” Garcia continues. “It had a flat tire and was picked up on Lyon Street about a quarter mile from Highway 59.”

“He takes the freeway to work every day,” Dana says.

You and Prentiss share a look. “Mrs. Woodridge, I’m very sorry,” Emily starts, “but this is definitely your husband.”

* * * * *

Back at the conference room, you’re updating the map when Gideon comes back in. “We need to put a SWAT team together. Plan a grid search, go building to building.”

“He’s reliving the war, isn’t he?” Hotch asks.

Gideon nods. “A specific incident in which he killed a child.”

“Guys, the SWAT team’s gonna have guns, right?” Reid points out. “What happens if he tries to fight them?”

You sigh. “You know what happens, Reid.” You and JJ leave the room and go look for Dana, who is grabbing another cup of coffee. She notices the cops suiting up in the room next door.

“Can I get you something, Mrs. Woodridge?” JJ asks.

“Those men are going after Roy?” Dana says. Her voice breaks. “Do they need so many guns? I mean, he’s just one man.”

JJ pulls her away from the doorway. “It-it’s protocol, ma’am.”

Dana looks at you. “How badly were they hurt? Y’all said that people were hurt.”

“Some people were murdered,” you tell her gently.

“Murdered?” she repeats quietly. She sighs. “He never really came home. I lost him fourteen years ago. It’s been like living with a ghost.” She grabs JJ’s arm. “Help him,” Dana pleads. “Please, help him.”

JJ swallows. “We’ll do everything we can.”

You go back to the conference room where Reid is messing with the map. “Reid, what are you working on?” Hotch asks, following you into the room.

“Three days ago, police shut down the freeway at 5PM for ten minutes. Cars were stalled and Roy must’ve tried to exit onto a surface street. Sadly, he ended up in an unfamiliar area with a flat tire.” Reid pauses. “He was changing that tire when an eight-story building on Market imploded five blocks away. He heard the explosion and the ground rattled like a mortar bomb had landed nearby.”

“You think that explosion is what triggered the dissociation,” you say.

“Exactly,” Reid tells you. “Since then, he’s been stuck in that state. Running when he needed to, sleeping when he could, camouflaging himself into his surroundings, and hiding from his perceived enemies.”

“He’s reliving the worst moment of his life,” Hotch says. “He’s gotta be terrified.”

Reid nods. “Yeah.” Hotch exits the room as Reid’s phone rings. “Yeah, Garcia, what do you have?”

“Why isn’t Derek answering his phone?” Garcia asks.

“He’s probably stuck underground somewhere,” Reid explains.

“Underground?”

“I’ll explain later,” Reid says.

“Oh, okay,” Garcia says. “Anyway, I finally got through all those recent police reports he asked me to check, which, by the way, was no hopscotch through the park because that precinct you’re at is kinda tragically behind on their paperwork.”

“They’re very undermanned,” you tell her.

“Oh, jeez, really? I can’t imagine what that feels like,” Garcia quips. You chuckle. “Oh no wait, yes I can, cuz—“

“Garcia, do you have anything for us?” Reid asks.

“Well, he told me to look for anything unusual, and it’s all… usual. Minor break-ins, apartment burglaries, televisions, stereos, car thefts, and smash and grabs. Common stuff in the world of burgling.”

“Nothing someone lost on the streets might use for survival?” you ask.

“No, nothing reported,” she says. “Like I said, it’s all petty. There’s a… some vandalism at construction sites. Communications radio missing from one.”

“Wait, stop,” you say.

“Did you say a radio?” Reid asks.

“Yeah, construction foreman reported that one of their trucks had been broken—“ Garcia’s voice cuts off as Reid hangs up, hurrying out of the room.

“Guys,” Reid interrupts Gideon, who is briefing the SWAT team. “He may have stolen a radio, a walkie-talkie.”

Hotch waves him over to the room Max is in.

Morgan walks into the room. “We were right. He had a nest of sorts right near every murder scene.”

“There was a burglary of a two-way radio from a construction site recently,” Reid reiterates.

Max nods. “That could be Roy. We only used UHF back then.”

“He’s looking for help,” Gideon says.

“And he’ll keep trying to contact operations command,” Max adds.

Hotch turns to the detective. “Detective, can we get a dozen UHF radios set up in this room, each of them tuned to each of the preset channel frequencies?”

“Right away,” Detective Fuller says.

“Wait a minute,” Max says. “When he calls, we need to be very careful with the communication, because we set up specific responses to contact op com so we could avoid hostile interception and to establish no danger signals. And we had specific names to identify our squad to the operator.”

“Do you remember the language you set up?” Gideon asks.

“I couldn’t forget it,” Max tells him. “Roy and I wrote it. The callout was ‘this is John Doe looking for Mark Rippen.’ Rippen was our hero at the time, number eleven, the quarterback for the Redskins in 1993.”

Gideon nods. “Now we know where he is in his head. If he calls in, we’ll be on the other end when he does.”

“What if he doesn’t call?” Detective Fuller asks. “What if he just kills someone else?”

“We’ll deal with that if it happens,” Gideon tells him.

Detective Fuller frowns. “Kinda easy for you to say. Now, this guy may be messed up, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has killed four innocent people. Now, why don’t we just do the grid search?”

“If you set up a grid search and he confronts one of your men, you’ll be planning a funeral,” Max tells him.

“I can guarantee you we’re right about his profile,” Gideon says confidently.

“He wants to get rescued,” you add.

Gideon nods. “All we’re asking is that you just give us a chance to bring him in.”

* * * * *

Once all the radios are set up, you all gather in the conference room.

“It’s channel eleven,” Detective Fuller says.

“You ready, Garcia?” JJ asks.

“I’ve got nat recon satellites all over the ward,” Garcia says over the phone.

“Stand by,” JJ says.

One of the radios makes a static noise. “This is John Doe looking for Mark Rippen.”

Gideon looks at Max. “Can you help us?” He hands him the radio. “You know how to do this better than we do.”

Max nods, taking the radio. “Roger that. This is number eleven, all clear.”

“Maxey,” Roy says over the radio. “Boy, am I happy to hear from you. I’m taking heavy fire. Request immediate extraction.”

Max takes a breath. “What are your coordinates?”

“Unknown,” Roy says. “I lost my land navigational aids. I went high but I don’t recognize anything. I don’t have a fix on my grid coordinates.”

You look at Max. “Is there any other way for him to signal his location?”

Max nods. “Did you put up any flags?”

Roy laughs. “Yeah, you bet your ass I did. I’m holding cover here!”

“Roger that,” Max says. “Hold your position.” He turns to Gideon. “He triangulated. We need to look for three large, colored flags. Maybe on rooftops. They’ll be identical in size and shape.”

“Did you get that, Garcia?” you ask.

“I got it,” she says. You can hear her keyboard clicking as she types.

“Number eleven,” Roy says over the radio. “Do you still read me?”

“Garcia!” Gideon says.

“I’m working as fast as I can,” she tells him.

“I can still read you, loud and clear,” Max says. “Stay put.”

“I found one!” Garcia exclaims. “I found one! I got them! I see… housing projects and a courtyard.”

“We need street names, Garcia,” Hotch says.

“Farmer and Capron! Farmer and Capron!” she says.

“I know where that is,” Detective Fuller says. “There’s some abandoned buildings right there. I’ll have construction sites to halt work and secure the streets.”

“He’s gonna expect men in fatigues,” Max says. “And a chopper as cover.”

“I can take care of the chopper,” Detective Fuller says.

“We’re in black SUVs,” Hotch says. “Tell him we’re security executives. You’re coming with us, we need to do this fast.”

“Tell him to stay there,” Gideon tells Max. “We’re coming to him.”

“Roy, we’re coming to you, buddy,” Max says over the radio.

* * * * *

You stay behind with JJ, Emily, and Reid as everyone else rushes out to meet Roy. Reid gets the call from Hotch and shakes his head at you and Prentiss. JJ is in the room with Mrs. Woodridge, who breaks down.

Later, once Mrs. Woodridge has left and everyone is packing up, Detective Fuller comes in. “Folks. Ah, look. Thank you so much for coming here,” he says. “No one ever makes this place a priority. We’re grateful to you.”

“I wish it had ended differently,” Emily says.

“Yeah,” the detective says. “Me too.”

You look around, frowning. “Has anyone seen Gideon?”

“Agent Gideon left some time ago,” Detective Fuller tells you. “Said he’d meet you all at the airport.”

JJ frowns. “Did he says where he went to?”

Hotch stands. “I think I know where he is.”

The rest of you pack up quietly and head to the airport.

NOTE: Fuckface, if you're reading this, fuck off and leave me alone and stop cyberstalking me.

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