#lies on floor banging my fist and screaming like a 2 year old

[ocdhuacheng]

I MISS YOU MEAT I MISS YOU CHIPS I MISS YOU CAKES I MISS YOU CHINESE FOOD I MISS YOU PIES I MISS YOU FRUIT I MISS YOU FISH I MISS YOU I MISS YOU

[veryveryverytemporarily]

Perfect

Sort of a match for robron week 2020 day 1.  And chapter 1 of 2 chapters.

Ao3 link here.

There must have been a reason why Robert arrived at the age of twenty-one still a virgin; some half-formed idea that your first time was meant to mean something and then it had gone on longer than he ever intended.

Of course, the press had loved it; hanging onto the railings outside the TV set where the teen drama that made him famous was filmed. Cameras flashing with one single purpose; to catch a shot of the purity ring that he wore on the fourth finger of his left hand.

He slowed from a run to a walk and reached for the ring where it still hung on a chain around his neck, leaned against the sea wall that looked out over the bay.

There were seagulls. He watched them soar over waves whipped up by the east coast winds. They looked happy enough – happy and carefree.

There was a frantic whispering behind him. Automatically he pulled his hood up and hunched his shoulders, waiting until the sound of footsteps receded. A glimpse of ankle socks and black school shoes on the newly tarmacked promenade, followed by a shrill voice screaming, ‘It is him; I told you!’

Alone again he clasped his hands together. His palms were sweaty, and not from the run; it was a big day ahead.

‘It’s too much pressure. If anything, it encourages more focus on the physical side of things; not less,’ his mum, Sarah, had said once upon a time. She hadn’t known he was listening outside the door. She’d held up a tabloid which had his picture on the corner of the front page, caught in the garden messing about with a hose pipe, the water gushing over him. He could see the headline still: How long can teen heart-thRob keep himself cool as temperatures rise around him?

He was fifteen at the time.

‘He should be able to live like a normal kid!’

But what was normal? How was he supposed to know even?

His dad thought the ring protected him. And his agent had loved it, pointing out the positives of a wholesome public image.

And then anyway everything had changed. His Mum had died. He’d painted on a smile for the cameras while the blackest times played out behind the scenes. Then there were the fights, and well, he’d been suspended from the show age seventeen, and he’d never gone back.

For a while there’d been Katie, and even though he wasn’t sure why anymore, they’d both agreed to wait until the wedding, and he’d thought he’d been redeemed. Even got a role with the Shakespeare Youth Company, a chance to relaunch his career.

But the paparazzi had got a picture of him leaving a hotel with the older woman in the fur coat, and she’d lied, and said they’d gone the whole way. Andy was waiting to take Katie away, the distance with his Dad became a chasm. He stopped showing up for rehearsals.

And now, a couple of years on, here he was.

He followed the smooth inner circle of the ring with his finger tip, elbows still resting on the wall. The tide was in. Maybe today was the day, he thought: How easy it would be to just unfasten the chain and let it fall into the cold grey waves, and after, to just turn around and walk away.

 ***

 ‘Where did you say you were staying?’

‘Filey.’

’At this time of year? And you’re staying in a youth hostel, did you say? Is there even one in Filey?’

‘A hotel.’

‘Well, who’s paying for that, love?’

‘It’s a job, like you’ve been banging on about? A photoshoot; all expenses paid.’

‘I don’t know. Maybe Paddy should join you.’

‘Mum, I’m seventeen, not seven. I’m fine. A couple of days and I’ll be back.’

Ever since she’d seen the dating App on his phone, she’d been on his case, doing his head in. So, what if he wasn’t old enough; he’d downloaded it more out of curiosity than anything. And anyway, he’d only used it once or twice and then deactivated, not because she was right, but because he’d got tired of turning down weirdos and pervy older blokes.

He walked into the dining-room, cutlery and linen laid out for breakfast service, sat down at an empty table. He flinched at the rare sighting of morning sunshine streaming in through the windows from outside, where seagulls divebombed hapless walkers hoping for scraps.

‘…a flawless family hotel with a reputation for fine cuisine…’ Adam had read out loud on his phone as they waited to say goodbye at the coach station the afternoon before. He’d sucked his teeth. ‘Does that mean they have like really small portions?’

Aaron frowned over the breakfast menu, then asked for toast.

 The photographer, Marc, had already sent scouts over a week before on a location search; the remote outdoors he wanted, sand dunes and haram grass, most of all privacy. And yes, he did know this was Costa del Yorkshire, but the natural light and the ambience were perfect for what he had in mind.

Aaron had caught up with him yesterday when he arrived, but he hadn’t met the model yet.

He was examining his plate with something approaching alarm, when the blond came in through the garden door; freckles, long hair, long limbs in a blue tracksuit.

He turned back to his breakfast, prodded cautiously with his fork at something on his plate that looked suspiciously like black pudding.

‘Need to put a name to perfection? Allow me to introduce myself.’

His eyebrows shot up; the blond was attempting to chat up the waitress.

He turned his chin discreetly so he could listen in.

From the corner of his eyes he could see that he’d raised both arms, curling his wrists to show off his biceps which as far as Aaron could tell were nonexistent.

‘See those guns? Those are for the ladies,’ the blond said, leaning way back in his chair. And then he puckered his lips and planted a kiss on his sleeve. ‘So, if you’re a lady, you could be in luck.’

Aaron either coughed or choked.

When the blond looked round, he banged a fist against his chest, indicating his plate.

Good for the waitress that she seemed quite savvy. She spoke with an Eastern European accent, gesturing with her pen.

‘So, what’s under the table, then?’

‘Oh, that’s for a special occasion. But play your cards right, and your name might just get added to the guest list.’

‘Let me know the date of the occasion, and I’ll pack my magnifying glass,’ she answered.

Aaron snorted again, this time he didn’t try to disguise it.

Their eyes locked, the blond with steely accusation as Aaron turned down the corners of his mouth.

What a dick!

Arrogant - but not just that, the whole conversation had been a complete car crash.

But it was none of his business, he had more important things to think about. He inhaled a mouthful of tea, decided on one more piece of toast, and then checked his phone to see if Marc had sent a message about when they were due to start.

 ***

Back in his room, Aaron put on some black eye liner, picked up his key card and put it in his pocket, then pulled up the handle on his makeup case and wheeled it into the hall.

What he really wanted to do was work in the film industry; a chance to use his skills in silicone prosthetics.  

‘First, I’ll take a cast, and then make a replica, and then paint it,’ he’d explained to Adam that time he’d asked him to be a guinea pig.

‘A cast of what?’ Adam had asked nervously.

‘Well not that, obviously! Your arm will do, you numpty! It’s a project, right, for my portfolio? And even if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t….’

He’d kind of blushed. It was a long couple of years ago now since there’d been that confusing time which had eventually led to him coming out. The time he’d tried to kiss Adam, which still made him cringe inside when he thought about it.

‘It’s alright, you idiot. I still love you, okay,’ Adam had said. ‘I think deep down I always knew even if you were in denial about it. And now you’ll be able to find a nice bloke, yeah?’

Which was easy enough to say; he’d waited while all the kids at school moved on from one crush to the next, and then started to date. Until he felt like he was the only one still wondering what it was all about.

Then when he’d started college, all at once a load of blokes started to hit on him, and he’d agreed to see the ones he liked, and started exploring and enjoying the physical side of things.

But he still hadn’t had an actual relationship.

‘Honestly bro! You’re so picky! No one’s perfect, you just need to give someone a chance, yeah?’ Adam had said.

But what if there was someone perfect? It was just a feeling; but what if somewhere there was someone meant just for him? Wasn’t that worth holding out for?

 He took the elevator up a couple of floors.

It had been his tutor’s gig, but then he’d got ill at the last minute and asked Aaron to go in his place. Male model, glamour, he’d said, then added hastily, not boudoir or anything like that, while Aaron felt his throat flush threatening to spread up to his face. ‘And it’ll be good to have something else to put in your portfolio with that…’ he’d hesitated as if he was searching for the right word; ‘…prosthetic. So, make the most of it.’

‘Bro! Is he gonna be ripped?’ Inevitably Adam had teased him about it. ‘What if it’s love at first sight?’

He’d ignored him, of course, but he couldn’t deny the slight fluttering in his stomach right now. He knocked on Marc’s door, waited until it was opened, then stepped inside.

A big double bed dominated the small room. There were prints scattered over it of local bays and coastal paths supplied by the scouts, and Marc’s laptop open with the fan blowing hard. Above the headboard there was a glowering seascape of a fishing boat in trouble over turbulent waters.  

There was an old-fashioned dressing table with a folding mirror opposite the bed, and on the upholstered stool in front of it, sitting the wrong way round with his elbows balanced behind him, was the blond from breakfast.

Aaron turned back to Marc.

Even before he’d got the question out, he knew the answer; but it was too late, and anyway, by then he’d decided to enjoy it.

‘Where’s your model, then?’ he asked, looking searchingly about the room.

He saw the blond half close his eyes.

  ***

‘You know that meme…the one that goes …oh hello it’s you… it’s going to be you…’ he said later, on the phone to Adam.

‘Yeah?’

‘Well, basically, it was that... only this was…goodbye, it’s not you…it’s not going to be you…’

‘Oh man! I suppose you could just come back.’

‘Nah, I’d better see it through.’

The thing was there was something he hadn’t told Adam, something he felt he shouldn’t tell because it wasn’t about him, and it wasn’t really his place. And a model and a makeup artist, well, before anything else there had to be trust.

  ***

Trust? – His very first job and he’d blown it.

Of course, Marc had introduced them and Aaron found out who the blond was; Robert Sugden - he remembered something about a teen on a daytime TV show when he was in primary school.

‘Are you sure he’s qualified? How old is he? Looks like a twelve-year old.’ Robert asked.

‘Basically, your fan base, then.’

‘Why, are you planning on joining? Succumb to the inevitable?’

Their eyes locked again, just like at breakfast, until Robert looked down at Aaron’s makeup case.

‘What products are you using? Dior? Guerlain? M.A.C?’

‘Erm, Wet n Wild, and just Boots own brand, really. It’s alright.’

He thought back to the weekend, trying to slip disposable lip wands in his pocket while Adam turned on the charm with the girl at the chemists.

It was Marc who broke the impasse.

‘We’ve got an hour until the transports here. Just get it done. And remember Aaron, raw and natural, alright?’

And then he’d gone, leaving them to it.

  Aaron sighed.

So the model wasn’t what he’d hoped for. The best most generous description he could come up with for this one was your boy next door type - and he wasn’t feeling particularly generous.

But he needed to put that behind him now. He needed to stop thinking of Robert as a person, and focus on him as an art project; nothing more, just something to put in his portfolio.

He checked the lighting around the mirror and unzipped the makeup case. Robert sat forward, eyeing his reflection, a finger smoothing down an eyebrow.

He chose a nude primer for the blond’s eyes to start with.

‘Swivel.’

‘You what?’

‘Just move round to face me,’ he snapped.

He squeezed out some of the primer onto his finger tip, took a breath and started at last, dabbing the make up on under his eye.

Finally, they were both quiet.

He gently worked the primer into the corner of his eye, then blended down just onto the cheek bone, while the blonde looked up at the ceiling with green eyes that changed every so often like turns of a kaleidoscope.

Now he was actually this close, the thing that struck him was how good he smelt. He must have showered, sat there now in faded jeans and a grey T-shirt, smelling like a field of flowers, or  like strawberries and melon, like those cups of chopped fresh fruit that you got with a plastic spoon from the chiller in the coffee shop at college, when you had a hangover.

‘Close your eyes a mo...’

He put some primer on his eyelids, picked up a brush and started to work it softly into his deep sockets.

The other thing was his skin. However reluctant he was to admit it, it was impressive. Fine, and poreless, just few hormone pimples on the T-line, he guessed his age around twenty. And then the glorious 3D effect that only freckles can bring, so you feel you’re looking into a sea of gold.

He sat back. He wouldn’t use primer on that, just some sheer foundation with uv protection and bronzer. Nude lips, he swallowed, shimmer on his eyes and eyeliner gel. Looked back at his jawline again.

He would need to blend down his throat.

He grimaced, he should have already thought of this. Rookie error.

‘Can you take your T-shirt off?’

‘And careful!’ he warned as the blond reached back pulling it up over his shoulder and off over his head.

It wasn’t a hot day, maybe it was where they were sitting with the sun coming in through the window pane, but the temperature in the room seemed to suddenly soar. And that fruit cup smell, now there was something sharp and tangy about it, making his mouth water when it was still hours to lunch.

He noticed he was wearing a chain, it seemed the safest thing to look at. There was a ring on it; and then he saw the writing. ‘True Love Waits.’

He blinked. He’d never seen one before, but he knew what it was instantly.

It was so unexpected.

And then the things about Robert that had jarred all at once seemed to make more sense; the awkward chat up lines.

His mind flashed back to breakfast; so when the blond had said, ‘That’s for a special occasion,’ he wasn’t joking; he’d actually meant it!

Robert had raised his hand around the ring,  his eyes watching Aaron’s face.

He thought about saying something -  something along the lines of... Look, I don’t judge, alright? Whatever people choose to do, or not to do, as long as it feels right for you and doesn’t hurt anyone else. But somehow he couldn’t quite say them aloud.

‘You’ll need to take it off.’ He gestured vaguely in the direction of the chain. ‘Maybe keep it in your pocket?’ he added gently.

He watched his long fingers move to the catch of the chain, then open it.

Of course he was still a dick. It wasn’t as if the ring made him a better person, or a worse person.

But it did make him a more complicated person.

And then Robert had turned again towards him, holding the ring out.

‘Will you take it for me? I won’t be able to wear it on the shoot, and I need someone to trust with it,’ he said. ‘Can I trust you with it?’

Aaron swallowed.

‘Course you can, course!’

[boogiewrites]

Don’t call her Annie.

Characters: Jim Hopper x Reader (OFC)

Word Count: 2100+

Summary:  Annette Horowitz is Joyce's younger sister. She hasn't been the perfect sibling or aunt but after she finds out Will is missing, she finds herself crashing back into Hawkins to do everything in her power to help, driven by a need to prove herself. She hasn't been around much in the past 20 or so years, but when she comes back home she finds old friends, old habits and old feelings she'd thought she'd finally escaped. Can she really change or is she just kidding herself?

A/N: You guys said you wanted it, here is the introduction.

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Warnings: Angst. Language. Fighting.

You can check out my other work on My Masterlist.

Tagged folks are at the bottom, if you’d like to be added or removed, just leave a reply and I’ll see it! Any positive feedback or messages are appreciated. Thanks!

The tires of your bike spray out gravel and you slam on your breaks in the driveway. This marked the end of your mad dash to get back to your sister after she'd told you your nephew was missing. You'd packed up and driven across the country that same day, this wasn't the first time you'd done this. It was the first time you'd had a real excuse to do it though. There was a car you didn't recognize in the driveway, you glare at it as you take off your helmet, unzipping your leather jacket and bounding towards the front door, your boots banging against the old wood porch. It always felt strange coming back here. You could hear loud voices fighting inside from the hole that was in the wall of the house, you had too many questions already. You try the doorknob and it's locked. Ruining your momentum you stand still and knock on the door.

"Get out of my house!!" you hear Joyce scream. You bang on the door, hard.

"Joy? You okay?" you beat the door continuously until it's opened. You look into the eyes of Lonnie. There was no one you hated as much as Lonnie. You doubted there ever would be.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you spit at him, shoving him hard out of the way and making your way to Joyce who was shaking in anger, her fists at her sides, breathing fast.

"I could ask you the same thing, Annie." he answers with venom. Before you wrap your arms around Joyce, who was beginning to tear up in anger, you stomp back towards Lonnie, backing him against the front door your finger pressing into his chest.

"You don't get to fucking call me that you piece of shit." you shove him and head back to Joyce. "I heard what she said, why don't you get the hell out of here?" you say as you don't look his way, you wrap your arms around your sister as tightly as you could.

She was the older of the two of you, but she hadn't been the "big" sister since you were around 12-years-old. After puberty hit you like an 18 wheeler, you'd grown up and out much more than her tiny frame had. You became almost comedically opposite in appearance. You were 5'8" to her 5'2". You'd elected to color your hair blonde. Too many curves came in too fast for your heart and brain to both simultaneously understand what to do with your new body and feelings fueled by raging hormones, so you found yourself in trouble much more often than she ever had. You'd learned later in life she was just better at not getting caught than you were. You were taller and sturdier, not naturally sweet or as polite as she was. The inherited genes you had both received were the big brown eyes of your mothers and that urge of protecting what was yours. At this moment you were particularly glad she was smaller than you, as you felt you could completely envelop her in your arms, trying to convey your emotions that you knew you were shit at expressing.

"I guess you haven't heard that he's dead." Lonnie says, still against the door. Joyce lets out an ugly sob, shaking her head. You squeeze her, pressing your face into the top of her head.

"I'm so sorry Joy." you whisper to her, while shooting daggers at Lonnie with your eyes.

"Use some god damn tact you neanderthal." your voice low, giving him a warning.

"You missed the funeral." your gut twisted at his words, you'd got here as fast as you could, you knew that.

"Be right back, Joy." you whisper in her ear as you let her go. "Maybe she won't throw your ass out of this house but I will, Lonnie." you shout at him, making your way back to him. "I don't care why she wants you gone. You should've never been here in the first place. You don't give a shit about them, get out." You hiss at him, your stance wide and ready to attack.

"Look, you haven't been here, you don't know-" he throws his hands up to speak and you knock them down, hard.

"YOU haven't been here for YEARS!" you scream, your arms in the air. "You don't get to say that you scum. Even when you were here, they were better off without you. I've hated you from the moment I laid eyes on you. I've been right about you since the start...you're a parasite." you see a duffle bag on the chair in the living room, assuming it's his. You pick it up and shove it into his arms. "I'm giving you one last chance, for her sake, to not beat the shit out of you and very literally throw you out of this house." you spew at him, pushing up on him, he wasn't that much bigger than you, but more importantly you weren't afraid of him.

"You're real cute, Annie, thinking you could-" You throw an uppercut under his ribs before he finishes his sentence, knocking the breath out of him.

"I'm not afraid of cowardly little boys who think they can hit women and children," you whisper, grabbing him by the hair. "Do I have to bash your skull in to make my point or are you gonna leave now?" you spit on him, shoving his head forcefully into the wall.

"Ann." you hear Joyce's soft voice pulling you away from maiming Lonnie.

"You need to leave." you say, slowly walking backward, away from him. You stand next to Joyce and he throws the bag over his shoulder.

"You deserve each other, your entire family has always been fuckin' crazy!" he shouts, retreating and opening the door. He mumbles under his breath as you move towards him again, he scurries out of the front door, you slam it shut behind him.

You rest your back against it and for the first time you look around the room you're in. There are holes in the walls, strings of lights, the alphabet is written on the wall, your expression must give away your confusion.

"I've got a lot to tell you, Ann." Joyce says, making her way towards you and placing her hand on your shoulder. "We should sit down." her face scrunches up in an unsure expression. You sit at the kitchen table, and she tells you everything.

You believe her because she's never lied to you before. You see and feel that she's being sincere and your heart breaks at everything she's had to endure without you here. Believing her was the absolute least thing you could do for her to attempt to even begin to make up for all your shortcomings. You feel so guilty for always falling short and running away when they started getting used to having you around again. But you'd never been good at dealing with your feelings. Especially when it came to feeling like you were falling into a domesticated lifestyle you'd find pictured on the cover of a magazine marketed to middle-aged women. Although it wouldn't be too long until you would be considered middle-aged, you'd always found the thought of a white picket fence as an analogy for being trapped in a cage.

You tell her you believe her, because you always have and you always will. This seems like what she needed, as her eyes weep and her mouth trembles, you hold her, letting her sob and mumble incoherently as her grief and exhaustion hit her in waves. "Everyone else thinks I'm crazy." she squeaks out.

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

You wake up from a nap, having showered and throwing your things into Joyce's room beforehand. You hear a man's voice in the other room, you crack open the bedroom door and listen. Once the voice is no longer filtered, you recognize it.

"Today?" he asks. Your body slumps at the realization. You can only hear him, you assume he's talking to Joyce.

"Jim." you whisper quietly, your eyes closing and you let out a heavy sigh.

"A motorcycle, huh?" he scoffs. Your eyebrow raises at you decide you'll continue to eavesdrop for now.

"I get that, but isn't it a bit...much?" he lets out a low chuckle. You roll your eyes and frown. What a square. Having a bike made much more sense to you than having a car did. You shrug off the comment.

"Sure, she always has been dramatic but," there a long pause in his words. "Maybe you're right. When I see her I'll let you know." you can hear the smirk in his voice.

You were always envious of the way he spoke to Joyce when you were younger. This brought back memories of hearing him sweet talk her when they didn't think they were paying attention. His tone just made your skin prickle up, you shake your body and arms once you shut the door silently. You go and sit on the bed, looking at the floor. You knew he'd been helping Joyce, you knew he'd been the Chief for a few years now, but you hadn't expected to see him so soon after getting back. You also hadn't expected how involved he was in this mess that found itself falling around your family. But here you were again, the childish feeling of being a third wheel to the two of them. You push back the feeling, rolling your eyes at yourself. Being home again always stirred up strange feelings you thought you'd forgotten. You pull on a pair of leggings, grabbing one of Jonathon's zip-up sweatshirts that Joyce had given you to wear. You had on one of your tank tops, the only other clothing item of your own available to you since Joyce had insisted on washing all your clothes. You put her house shoes on, they surprisingly weren't that small on you. You stood and stretched, ran a brush through your hair. You're slipping on the hoodie as you round the doorway into the kitchen.

He hadn't gotten a good look at you since you were 16, and now at 35, it took some work to see the wild little sister of his ex-girlfriend he once knew. You swang your hips out as you rounded the corner, all big blonde hair and thighs. He felt embarrassed for immediately noticing your body. He cracks a smile despite his disappointment in himself, and despite the angst you wore on your face.

"Annette Horowitz," he states slowly as you grab one of the beers you assume Lonnie had left in the fridge and sit at the table across from the hulking figure. He wore a grin on his face, the smoke from his cowboy cigarettes framing his face. "Last time I saw you, you ran away from me in a grocery store." he smirks, taking another drag. Joyce does her funny little silent laugh, scrunching her nose and looking at you. You hadn't told her about running into him a few years ago when you were home for Thanksgiving.

"Two Thanksgivings ago." you say in a sidebar to Joyce. She nods and continues smoking. "I didn't know if you recognized me," you lie, meeting his gaze. "It had been 20 years since we'd seen each other." Jim slides his cigarettes over towards you, you take one with a nod.

"Of course I did." he blows smoke out of the side of his mouth.

"Hop's got something you're going to want to hear." Joyce cuts in, gathering up the papers thrown all over the table. 

You'd noticed the papers but hadn't gotten past how Jim was looking at you to ask. So you sit like it's 20 something years ago and you're being babysat by the two of them, they're explaining their theories and you try to take it in. You'd heard plenty of questionable stories about the government over the years with the company you'd kept while traveling with hippies and activists to protest the Vietnam War. But being actually faced with it was something totally new. You'd knocked back at least 3 of Jim's cigarettes by the time they're finished with their story. You find yourself involved in the biggest cover-up in Hawkins history.

Chapter 2

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[setoangel01-fanfiction]

Encounter

Beautiful Disaster - Chapter 2 (Previous Chapter)

Rated: T

Chapter Summary: Ash confronts Johnny about his injuries - and finds out something much more horrific…

Fanfiction.net

A03

"What the hell happened to you?!"

"...A-Ash?" It took a few long drawn out moments for Johnny to mutter the word out and as suspected with a bloody, slightly swollen nose, it was fairly nasally spoken.

"W-What are you doing 'ere?" he ultimately decided to be coy, stepping back even if he knew there was no mistaking what was obvious in the dim light of the room.

"I could ask you the same question - but seriously, Johnny! What the hell happened to you?!" Ash whimpered, fiercely kept it on topic even if her throat felt tight and the image of him was blurry with cloying tears. None of this made a damn lick of sense! She desperately needed answers and she needed them now!

"N-Nothing." Johnny uttered abruptly, "Nothing happened! I jus' got a bit banged up when I fell off my skateboard." Johnny muttered the last part as an excuse but Ash was not buying it whatsoever.

Ash took a few seconds to try and absorb that outlandish lie; icy blue eyes flickering to said skateboard that was now propped up against the wall.

Johnny was masterful in the sport of skateboarding. Ash recalled him doing insanely difficult tricks that had her fur rise and prickle, spine tensing during the many times she watched him messing about with the skateboard in the parking lot at his place. He was absolutely incredible on it and by his explanation, had been riding since he was seven years old. There was no way in hell Johnny would have fallen from it and gotten as hurt as he did.

Perhaps a scraped palm or bloodied knee, but nothing like this…

Crossing her arms tightly over her chest which was still frantically throbbing upon the sight of him, Johnny suddenly began walking further into the better lighting as if trying to escape her harsh stare and words - he only looked worse. The sight of dark purple blotches of bruising on his cheek and knuckles had her swallowing back a lump. The crusted, dried blood obviously smeared across his face where the stains nearer his nostrils and leaking from his bottom lip was more fresh; a startling crimson that glistened on his gray skin.

Ash was having a hard time keeping herself from sobbing at the sight; the silent tears still drifting downward into the fur of her face but she ignored them. None of this made any sense and Johnny's excuses were forced and small - obvious lies. Johnny had never been a good liar, but the fact he was even attempting to do so worried her greatly.

"You're shitting me! You did not." It took a few seconds, but she finally spoke and Johnny flinched at the accusation.

Ash was sure to retain her feisty nature throughout these traumatic moments as if it was the only thing to hold onto. Desperately trying not to appear as shell-shocked as she really was. There was still a sensation of jittery electricity in the air - neither necessarily expecting each others presence tonight and if she was at all honest with herself, didn't appreciate these circumstances either.

Without uttering another excuse or flat-faced lie, Johnny decided to run.

Walking away from her, his back presented as he headed toward the dressing/bath rooms. It just dawned on her now that Johnny just walked away without answering her…

Johnny never did that!

…and Ash was not going to take it…

She quickly wiped her sodden face on her sleeve to help clear her vision before sprinting past him and standing with her arms stretched wide in front of him. Pathetic excuse for blocking since her arms were so short to do much in the way of impeding him but she had to try anyway.

"Where do you think you're going!? You haven't answered me, Johnny!" she said louder than intended but it didn't have it's normal effect for he decided to ignore her accusations and he slipped passed her short arm-barrier without a single word.

Once the shock wore off that it actually occurred, Ash belted out.

"Seriously!? You're really not going to answer me?!" Ash demanded, having to jog to keep up with his much longer strides (even if he, try as he might to hide it, was obviously walking with a worrisome limp).

Johnny still remained silent upon reaching the dressing rooms; refusing to look at her as he turned on the bright florescent lights of the bathrooms. Flinching a bit as he stole a glance of himself in the mirror; averting his eyes to the floor before he continued closer to the sinks that lined the one wall. Bathroom stalls and dressing rooms lining the wall just to their right.

In the bright lights of this new environment, Ash was bombarded with things she never imagined she'd witness. Aside from the obvious injuries, bruises and blood, Johnny's clothes were wrinkled, covered in dust and scratches scattered over the canvas of his signature leather jacket, green jumper, and the knees of his jeans. Even the front of his beloved Converse shoes were scuffed and tattered to all hell as if he'd just ran a marathon...and was that specks of dried blood?

Inwardly, Ash was praying this wasn't happening but the ache that twisted her stomach painfully in her abdomen told her it was horrible reality.

It was becoming far too much for her to take - like the whole world as she knew it was caving in.

"Johnny! Just tell me! How did you get hurt and don't you dare give me that bullshit of you falling off your skateboard!" Ash abruptly yelled in sheer frustration and barely concealed emotional agony; her tiny fists trembling by her sides as she stared up at him.

The gorilla didn't answer immediately as he approached a line of sinks and stopped in front of one near the middle. Ash's mouth was open and ready to spew out more fearful accusations and questions when Johnny suddenly spoke.

"...I already told you what happened…" he muttered under his breath; eyes refusing to even flicker in her direction.

"You mean you lied to me!" Ash shouted and she didn't miss how his shoulders flinched at her harsh words, "You're a lousy liar, Johnny, and you know it!"

"..."

"Johnny!"

"...you're in the men's room…" Johnny grumbled whilst turning on the tap; actually believing changing the subject would work this time.

He was sadly mistaken.

"Oh puh-lease. We're the only ones here and I highly doubt your gonna be whipping your junk out in front of me so I really don't care about that. Now, are you going to fucking tell me why it looks like your face got well-acquainted with a brick wall about, I dunno, a dozen times! …Or am I gonna have to start guessing?"

Johnny didn't respond to her goading; running his hands underneath the tap to wash his hands and the blood off his knuckles as Ash remained staring slack-jawed at his profile. His darkened brown eyes steadfast on his task; she hated the pain she saw in the normally bright chestnut gaze…The spell of anger she'd been under abruptly fell away and her fists unclenched and remained loose at her sides.

"...Johnny," her voice was much less forceful this time around.

Ash finally accepted that approaching this in anger was going absolutely nowhere. It was instead just turning into a one-sided screaming match so Ash decided to take a few deep breaths to keep her calm for perhaps he would better respond to it.

She was wrong.

"It's none of your business." he whispered and she barely heard him over the rushing water and pounding of her rapid pulse in her ears.

"E-Excuse me?"

"I said, it's none of your business." he said more forcefully this time around but it was still half the volume of a normal speaking voice. It was obvious Johnny wasn't prone to raising his voice other than during a belting chorus of a song.

Silence reigned for a moment before she inwardly composed herself and spoke gentle words she hoped he would respond better to.

"You're my best friend so you kind of are my business…"

"..." Johnny refused to reply.

"Johnny…" Ash sighed, arms tightening around herself as if to semi-control her absurd panic; quell her frantic needs to scream, to cry, demand to know what happened. Another deep breath exiting her trembling mouth before she trusted herself to continue speaking.

"Johnny - it's Ash. You know, if you've forgotten. You can talk to me - you've always been able to talk to me before." Her words were calm, gentle as she stared at him hoping against hope that he'd at least look at her.

Silently recalling all the times he was such an open book to her regarding his life outside of the sweet soulful singer he showcased to the world. He told her all about imprisoned father and the gang activity leading up to the arrest (even Johnny's own involvement), tragically deceased mother, and even most of his life back in London. Ash had grown to know him so well throughout the course of this crazy rollercoaster ride of the competition, rebuilding, and where they were now. At this moment, she was frankly terrified as to why he was hiding such pertinent information from her now of all times…a time when he seemingly needed it most.

"Johnny, please." the words felt quite foreign on her tongue as she choked them out, "I-I'm just…" she sighed, "I want to know what happened to you - that's all. Just tell me what happened…I want to help."

"..."

"Did you get in a fight or something? I mean, hell, I know your always having to fight of the hoards of crazed fangirls but this is ridiculous." Ash chuckled out; trying a different tactic to break something out of him; anything! She was slowly going out of her mind with desperation for some kind of explanation.

"..." He didn't budge.

"C'mon. You can tell me anything. I'm sure we can work it ou -"

"Nothing's going on!" Johnny suddenly yelled and Ask stepped back in pure shock. She had never once heard Johnny raise his voice outside of singing and hearing him address her in such a way scared the hell out of her.

"Johnny." she whispered out his name; chest heaving with frantic breaths.

Johnny was finally looking at her; the shock in his eyes giving her the indication he didn't intend to do that whatsoever. They left her almost immediately when he turned back toward the sink; slumped forward on the porcelain and for a long time, she just listened to him breathing. Hands obviously shaking as he shut off the tap.

"...Ash, 'm sorry. B-But I'm okay. It's okay! Nothing happened that you need to worry about… I-It turned out just fine! Alright!? Now please just drop it!" he said much quieter this time but she still heard the uncommon fire lacing his voice and if anything, it made her more determined to get some answers.

"No!" she shouted and Johnny flinched at the reverberating demand, "I-I'm not going to drop it! Look at yourself! What happened?" Ash met his voice with her own forceful tone.

"..."

"Johnny?!" she growled.

"..."

"JOHNNY!" she shouted and tried approaching him but he moved; stepping outside of her grasp as she tried getting closer to him.

Ignoring how he was dodging her small paw from clasping onto his arm, he suddenly twisted his torso and like something out of a horrific horror movie; Johnny let out a blood-curdling scream and collapsed to the ground in an unceremonious heap.

Ash froze; eyes wider than should have been possible as he suddenly fell to the floor, clutching his side.

"Oi, fu-" Johnny muttered; pain lacing every iota of that broken curse.

"Johnny!" Ash screamed out in terror; running to him without caring how much he just tried to avoid her touch. The sheer shock of seeing him doubled over on the floor where he was just standing tall in front of her.

It tore her heart to pieces…

Johnny didn't move other than a few tremors that ran through his body as he pushed himself to sit up against a nearby wall. Hand shaking as he clutched at his side; a good half a foot below his right armpit.

Ash was able to approach him; ignoring his wide, terror filled eyes when she pulled at his hand that clutched his side. A look flashed across his face but she didn't have time to read it. Gently, she pulled at his hand and as if accepting of whatever fate awaited him; Johnny's face fell as he allowed her to pull his hand away and open his jacket.

What greeted her had whole world screeching to a terrifying halt.

Tiny hand stilled as she stared at the red stain that had been hidden so well by the leather barrier; blood-soaked green shirt and a slit in the fabric was all too obvious…

This was no accident or random fist fight -

Johnny had been stabbed…

[family-business-one-shots]

Never, In Fact, Homeless - Part 3

Relationship: Dean X Daughter

Words: 1,832

Summary: When the Reader gets captured, will the boys save her in time? And what secrets will be revealed if they do?

Warnings: Torture (probably really bad because I have no idea what I’m doing, but torture none the less), being tied up/gagged, lots of angst

Tagging: @mysaintsasinner @infamati--et--obliterati @deathtonormalcy56 @sis-tafics @winchesters-favorite-girl @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish @alexandriajanae4 @27bmm @comfortablynumb-cherrybomb @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou

A/N: Told you I’d get this posted today! Hope you all enjoy it and don’t hate me!

Part 1 Part 2

A sharp, throbbing pain in the back of your head forced you into consciousness. Hurt and confused, you glanced up, squinting in the bright light that assaulted your eyes.

As they slowly adjusted, you were able to make out some of your surroundings. Tied to a chair in a large, cavernous room, you could feel the ropes biting at your wrists, your ankles, your chest. All around you, there were broken down machines and conveyor belts, giant hooks and catwalks hanging from the ceiling -- you must have been in that abandoned factory.

But what happened? From the little that you could recall, you knew that you and the agents had gone into the factory, splitting up to cover more ground. Once you’d made it inside, you searched the first floor, senses on high alert for anything out of the ordinary. You remembered hearing something behind you, a noise that echoed eerily in the quiet building, and you turned around, eyes searching. Then, out of nowhere, you felt a heavy object smack the back of your head, hard, and you fell into darkness.

Now, you were tied up, alone and, if you were honest, afraid. A week of training was definitely not going to be enough to fight your way out this situation, even despite the years you’d had before that. Panic was beginning to set in.

Suddenly, a loud bang reverberated through the silence, followed by the sound of approaching footsteps, and you sat up straight, scared though you may have been. Whatever this thing was, it had another thing coming if it thought you of all people would go without a fight. You were your father’s daughter, after all.

When your captor stepped into the room, however, you gasped. Tall and broad chested, his shaggy hair fell in his eyes as he walked over to where you were, to a table you hadn’t noticed before. With the sleeves of his jacket pushed up to the elbows, his impossibly strong arms, the ones that had held you tightly when you were a baby, gleamed with sweat.

“Agent Page?”

He glanced in your direction, and the expression he wore made your blood run cold. Eyes hard and mouth sneering, he looked almost… murderous. It was so unlike him.

“Agent, what’s going on?” you asked, trying not to let your voice betray just how terrified to hell you were. “What happened?”

He was silent, staring at the table in front of him. Under normal circumstances, you knew he would have untied you if he could, or at least explained something, anything at all. What the hell was going on?

“You know,” he said finally, so low you barely heard it. “After you left, everything was perfect. No more having to deal with the pain in the ass burden you were.”

“What?”

Picking up a wicked looking knife, he began walking toward you. “We were so much better off without you. Finally, we were free to hunt without distraction, without needing to constantly save your pathetic ass. I mean, let’s be honest here, you’re one of the worst hunters I’ve ever had the displeasure to work with, Y/N.”

As soon as your name left his mouth, you froze. This was wrong, this was all wrong. He wasn’t supposed to know. You’d dyed your hair, put in contacts, hell, even used the name of your dead grandmother as an alias. You’d said nothing, not one word, that even hinted at anything. He wasn’t supposed to know.

How did he know?

“I-I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you lied. He was getting closer to you, twirling that goddamn knife around like a toothpick. Then, when he was almost on top of you, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled hard, making you cry out. “Why are you doing this?”

“Oh, this?” he said, yanking even harder. You yelped in pain. “This is revenge.” Releasing your hair, he slapped you across the face, and you saw stars. “Pure, old-fashioned, revenge.” Ever so lightly, he touched the tip of the knife to your cheek, then pushed down as he dragged it across your skin, leaving a deep cut. “For all the crap you put us through for all those years. For every goddamn time I had to listen to you whine about your stupid problems.” He slammed his fist into your throat, leaving you gasping for air.

“Uncle Sam,” you pleaded, unable to draw in a breath, tears streaming down your face. “Please”

He smiled maliciously. “Oh, no, sweetheart. It’s a little too late for that. You and I are just getting started.”

After around the second or third hour of the torture, you’d lost count of how many times you blacked out, whether from the pain or another crippling blow. Your body ached all over, covered in cuts, bruises, and horrible welts from when he’d brought out his belt. From how wet and sticky your stomach felt, you had a vague thought that you might have been losing a lot of blood. Everything was burning, screaming out with the effort it took to stay conscious for even a few minutes at a time.

Somewhere in the vast room, you heard a door open, and you whimpered pathetically. Every ounce of your strength and will had been decimated; you just wanted it to be over, regardless of the outcome.

As he walked back into the room, fear raced through you when you realized that he wasn't alone.

“Agent Plant, please! You have to help me!” you called desperately. “Something’s wrong with him, I--”

“Shut up, bitch,” he barked, silencing you immediately. He’d never talked to you like that, ever. If it was possible, your terror increased even more.

“A-Agent Plant?” you asked, voice small and almost child-like. “Dad?”

Turning toward you, he snarled. “You're not my daughter. You never were.” He advanced on you, spinning the same knife from before in his hand. “You forfeited that right the minute you ran away.” Hand tangling in your hair and pulling your head back, he leaned in close, mouth curling into a sneer. “I've been waiting for this moment for so damn long, you have no idea. All those times you were too weak, too pitiful a hunter to defend yourself… I'm going to make you pay for what you did, for everything you’ve done.”

With that, he tied a cloth around the back of your head and shoved it in your mouth, gagging you. You started struggling, straining against the ropes tied around your limbs. He grew angry, smacking his open palm across your face. Then, a nasty grin on his lips, he sliced the knife into your forearm; your tears stung as they fell into the open wound.

Just as he raised the knife to cut into you again, a deafening shot rang out and he dropped to the ground. Screaming through the gag, you screwed your eyes shut as another shot was fired, a loud thud following soon after. You were so confused and disoriented, filled with fright at the sudden turn of events.

Quick footsteps approached the chair, and you felt a presence crouch down in front of you. While a calm voice spoke to you, deft fingers reached around to untie the cloth covering your mouth.

“It's alright, sweetheart, I'm not gonna hurt you.”

At his words, your eyes burst open, alarmed. He missed the panic your face betrayed, however, his own eyes trained on the ropes he was trying to cut through. Breathing erratically, you froze, fear winning out over any rational part of your mind. He was going to hurt you, make you pay for how much of a disappointment you’d been, how much of a burden you still were. He was quite possibly going to kill you for what you'd done, kill you like the horrible daughter you were.

The moment your bindings were released, you jumped to your feet and backed away from him, knocking over the chair in your haste. You shuffled backward until you hit the cold metal wall, where you cowered, one arm over your stomach to try to stop the blood flow.

“Woah, hey, we're not gonna hurt you, Mary,” Sam said, holding his hands in front of himself in an attempt to calm you down. But all you could see were those hands, the same ones that had carved into your skin just hours earlier. Recoiling, you retreated further into yourself, gasping for air through your tears.

“No, please! I'm sorry, Uncle Sam, I'm sorry,” you sobbed. “I promise I’ll stop being a distraction on hunts! I swear!”

Sam stopped, confusion coloring his features. Eyebrows furrowed, he glanced at his brother, wondering if he'd heard you correctly.

Dean stepped forward and you shrank back. “Mary, please--”

“No!” Near hysterics, your chest was heaving with the effort it took to stay standing, to even stay awake. You knew somewhere in your mind that he wasn't the same thing that had attacked you before, but in the haze of all the pain and emotional trauma, you had no idea what was what anymore. “I'm sorry for running away, daddy! I won't be a burden anymore, I swear! Please don't hurt me again, daddy, please!”

For a second, Dean didn't seem to understand. Then, all at once, everything clicked into place. He stared at you in disbelief, mouth agape, as if he were seeing you for the first time. “Y/N, baby? Is it really you?”

You began crying harder, afraid that it was all a trick.

“Sweetheart, you're bleeding badly. Let us help you,” Sam implored.

“No!” you shrieked, body teetering dangerously close to the edge of shutting down. “Uncle Sammy, please! I'm sorry!”

Looking at his brother, Dean’s voice was full of trepidation as he shouted, “She’s gonna bleed out if we don’t get her somewhere! What do we do?”

“I don’t know!” Sam yelled back, equally anxious. “Maybe call Cas?”

“Yeah, that’s good!” Dean replied. Shutting his eyes, he tried to ignore the fear welling up inside of him. “Cas! Buddy, we need your help!” When there was no response, he began to feel desperate. “Please, Cas! It… it’s Y/N.”

With a flutter of wings, Castiel appeared in the warehouse, face tight with worry. It had been a long time since he’d seen his niece.

Too long.

“Cas!” The angel turned to look at Sam, who was trying his hardest not to freak out. “If she doesn’t calm down soon, she’s gonna bleed to death! Put her to sleep or something, please!”

Castiel focused his attention on you, still in distress and bleeding quite profusely. Taking a step forward, he attempted to reign in his growing apprehension. “Y/N, look at me.”

Startled, you spun toward his voice. You stared at him as your breath caught in your throat, ghastly blood stained tear tracks running down your cheeks. “Uncle Cas?”

Two fingers touched your forehead ever so softly, and you crumpled into darkness.