#like not tacked along with Billy

[daydreamerdrew]

Lazarus Planet: Alpha (2023) #1

[queers-gambit]

What Goes Around, Comes Around

prompt: ( requested ) Billy's known for his temper and being obsessed with his pretty little girlfriend - which gets her severely injured by his past transgressions.

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!cheerleader!reader reader and Billy are both 18+, seniors in high school

word count: 6.7k+

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

note: you're a liar if you didn't immediately start singing Justin Timberlake's "What Goes Around... Comes Around".

warnings: remember there are different responses to trauma! some people shut down, stop talking; others jabber and chatter nervously. reader is the latter. we got angst, we got literal hurt and comfort, established relationship. term "going postal" is used, cursing, technically underage drinking, not edited, author mildly gave up at the end. triggering content: depictions of physical violence, depictions of injury and blood, depiction of abuse, violent plots, Billy's girl gets physically assaulted (but it's minimally detailed).

DO NOT read if this content can potentially trigger you. you are NOT missing anything, you will miss NOTHING by skipping this, but i do try to keep the details as neutral as possible. again, prioritize yourself, mental health, and emotional state - this ain't worth the read if it's gonna upset you, i promise. author loves you all

"That's fucking her, I swear to God."

"You sure?"

"100%. That's Billy's little bitch he's obsessed with."

The three guys smirked at one another, eyeing you across the living room as you giggled and drank with a few friends in adorable, fashion forward outfits. Someone started a game of beer pong, you on the sidelines to cheer, giving them a full-show of your form.

"She's hot," Jake mused. "I can see why he keeps her so close."

"Nah, not tonight," Lawrence frowned, "heard they got in some huge fight at school. Like, she walked home and he sped off in his car."

"Hm, heard he's ridiculously protective of her... She must've really pissed him off," the third boy, Steven, nodded. "So, he's not here tonight?"

"Doubt it," Jake nodded.

"Go find out," Steven advised. "There, the basketball bros - one of them would know. Or a cheerleader," he eyed the crowd. "Chrissy's over there, Brittany's beside her - they'd be the best bet in my mind."

"We seriously considering this?" Lawrence asked with a small, nervous chuckle. "I mean, it's kinda crazy, isn't it? We're gonna send Billy Hargrove a message by roughing up his girl? There's not some better way?"

"I'd love to hear it," Steven scoffed. "Billy's too comfortable at the top of the school, broke my fucking nose and deviated Jake's septum. Didn't he fuck your sister the first week he was here, Lawrence?"

"I mean - "

"Broke her fucking heart, didn't he?" Jake tacked on.

"Well, yeah," Lawrence sighed, shrugging.

"You tell me, dude, was that shit fair?"

"No," Lawrence looked down.

"So, yeah, I know, it's bad to hit a lady - but what about my boot? Huh?" Steven smirked, nodding. "Go find out what you can. Last thing we need is Billy walkin' in the party, right?"

Jake nodded with enthusiasm, leaving Lawrence behind. He hesistated but then did as Steven asked; asking the present basketball team members if Billy gave indication he was coming. The cheerleaders assured he wouldn't dare show up when you were there after a very public fight, and if he did, it would be to cause another scene.

So, after reporting back to Steven, a plan was formed. Lawrence didn't seem fully on board, but in an effort to save his own skin, he went along with what Jake and Steven were plotting - even if that meant roughing up a woman. Something his mama and grandmama vehemently taught him not to do...

Something churned in his stomach when he heard how the two lads were nearly foaming at the mouth to get their revenge. So, he casually went to grab another drink - pausing where a few of your friends were. "Oi," he whispered, earning their attention.

"Hey, Law," Chrissy smiled.

"Hey, Chris," he sniffled, glancing around. "Listen, uh, you seen Billy 'round?"

"No? Why?"

"Hmm, just, uh... Heard his girl was all upset, thought maybe her drinking all that much was a bad idea without him around."

"Oh," Chrissy blinked, looking up at her boyfriend, Jason, as he approached the group with two drinks in hand. "I didn't think about it like that, Law."

"What's wrong?" Jason asked.

"No, nothing, Lawrence just pointed out how shitty it is to drink without someone watching your back," she pouted.

He nodded, "You lose your friends, man?"

"No, just tryna look out," Lawrence shrugged. "Few girls here drinking a lot, not a lot of defenses 'round them."

Jason frowned, "That's kinda their man's job, isn't it?"

"What if their man isn't here?"

"I'm gonna be right back," Chrissy smiled, parting ways with her girlfriend in tow - and when Law looked, they were using the kitchen telephone. He prayed they were phoning the Hargrove residence.

Lawrence sighed in slight relief and nodded to Jason; the white boy just nodding back silently and letting the other athlete pass him by to head back for Jake and Steven. He grabbed an unopened beer on his way to maintain appearances.

"Hey, we got it," Jake smirked at the third boy, "she just went outside, we should move now."

"Huh?" Law mumbled.

"C'mon," Steven growled, pushing off the mantle and stalking for the backdoors to follow your retreating form.

"Wait, what're we doing?" Law asked, trying to keep up with the drunken, elongated strides of the two dickheads he called 'friends'. "Hey! Guys, c'mon - what's going on?"

"Just - shut up, pussy boy, let's go, fuckin' keep up," Steven sneered, shoving the glass door out of his way and nearly cracking it.

Outside, the in-ground pool was alight with multicolored lights. There were teenagers littered all around the pool deck; some lounging and some standing, all drinking. There was a kegstand in play, ping pong table hosting another game of Beer Pong, and the thick stench of cigarette smoke in the air.

"She's over there," Jake pointed, their sights turning to see you leaning over to huff on your cigarette while Tammy May Flipsen lit the end of it. Your smile was genuine as you thanked her, just stepping two feet away to gaze up at the stars - a perfect time to strike.

The alcohol in everyone's system made them slow, vulnerable, and downright stupid; leaving Steven and Jake the opportunity to seize either of your arms and literally rush you around the corner of the house without anyone intervening.

Once in the remote side yard, the sickening plan commenced.

Lawrence could barely approach, managing to watch with tears in his eyes as the noises of the party masked the noises of pain you emitted; two nearly full-grown men took out their anger towards your boyfriend on you. You cried, begged for reprieve, sounded so confused and broken that it shattered Lawrence's heart - briefly thinking what if someone did this to his sister...

That made him spring into action. "Hey! No! No, this ain't right! Get off her!" Lawrence barked, shoving the two away from your body on the ground. "That's enough - back off - fuck is wrong with you!?"

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!?" Steven demanded.

"Bitch has it coming!"

"What? You fuckin' her, too? Got you pussy whipped like Billy Boy?"

"Just fuck off, beating on a girl!" Lawrence snapped, but it was a huge mistake. Jake and Steven shared a single look before launching at the third boy, beating him as they had you - but much harder. He swore he earned a concussion, their heels stomping his neck, collarbones, wrists, ribs, ankles; exactly the same as they did to you.

"Tryna defend her now!?" Jake heaved, giving a swift kick to Lawrence's kidney. "Huh? You're so scared of Billy but you're gonna mess with his girl?" He laughed. "She must have a magic cunt or something!"

"You're so fucking pathetic, you have to beat up a girl!?" Law shot right back, earning a swift kick to the jaw from the lad that used to play soccer (or American fútbol). "Huh? Two on one? Such big men, aren't yah?" He sneered again, spitting blood to the side.

"Leave it," Steven halted Jake when he charged again, "they're both pretty fucked."

"Well, that dumbass should learn a lesson 'bout interfering!"

"Law's learned - he has, bro, and if he wants, he can learn again," Steven spat on Lawrence's form, Jake doing the same to you - both eventually stalking away like bored toddlers walking away from broken toys.

Slowly, Lawrence grunted as he pulled himself up to sit against the side of the house. "Fuck's sake," he whispered, wiping his eyes and wincing when he felt the sore skin - trailing a finger up, wincing again when he discovered split skin above his eyebrow. "Ohhhh, fuuuuck," Law drawled when you slowly peaked up from your fetal position on the ground. "Hey, hey, you all right? Stupid question," he hissed in pain when he moved to try and assist you.

You cried out when his grip laid on you, but powered through to let him help you sit against the house, too. "Holy shit," you whispered, blood dribbling from your mouth; teeth feeling loose, a headache already assaulting you, and cuts stinging in the bitter night.

"I'm so sorry."

"N-No, you - it would've been so much worse if you hadn't..." You trailed off, sniffling, "You didn't have t'jump in, you got hurt 'cause of me."

"You got hurt 'cause of Billy," Lawrence frowned.

"Huh?"

"That's why they're so pissed off," Lawrence explained, spitting more blood to the side; his jeans stained with mud, blood, and grass. "Billy got their asses few weeks ago, they're still pissed... I heard them," he deflected smoothly, "talkin' about teaching Billy a lesson through you. Didn't feel right, but I should've stopped them so much sooner. I-I'm sorry I didn't do more, Y/N."

"You did more than anyone else," you whimpered, drawing your knees into your chest to lock your arms around them. "I don't even know them, they go to our school?"

"We're all in AP History with Snyder."

You paused to nod absently, not even bothering to try and recall any interactions you might've had with Steven and Jake. Instead, you eyed your savior, mumbling, "You're Lawrence, right?"

"Yeah," he breathed.

"Your sister's... Cara? Sarah? No, no," you paused to think, his frown deepening as you seemed so nice and authentic. "Your sister's name is Natalie, right?"

"Yeah," he half-smiled. "You know her?"

"She's a sweetheart, has those cute glasses? Yeah, I like her; she just joined cheer, right?"

"Yeah, that's her."

You eyed him for a moment, ignoring the blood dripping off you both from the beat down; then whispered with a sniffle, "Is that why you helped? 'Cause your sister's on the cheer squad, too?"

"No," he replied instantly, sounding quiet (like you), "I'd like to believe if I saw something I know is wrong... I'd be the type of person to step in, try to stop it."

"You did tonight."

"I should've done more a lot sooner."

"You could've been really hurt, Law."

"Like you?"

"I'm just - look, two guys? Beatin' on me? Yeah," you scoffed, wiping blood from your split lip, "like I ever stood a chance. But you didn't have t'do all that, they wanted Billy, found me instead. You could've walked away, but instead, you jumped in, and you could've been really hurt. That wouldn't help anyone."

"I'm still sorry..."

You sniffled, but before you could respond, you heard footsteps thundering over the lawn; a voice shouting your name in frantic, panicked little outbursts. Looking up, you caught sight of a black leather jacket and unruly blonde curls, frowning deeper. "Oh, fuck," you whispered, withdrawing into yourself, "oh, no, no, not now. Not now, Goddamnit. Think I can make a run for it to the street before he sees me?" You asked Law quietly, nearly hissing your whisper.

"Ain't that Billy?" Law asked, finger pointed.

"He can't see me," you rushed in a panic, eyes wide and tears welling. "Lawrence, he can't!"

"Why?"

"He'll go on a fucking rampage, Lawrence! Ever heard going postal? Yeah, Bee gives that shit new meaning."

"They'd deserve whatever Billy wants t'do," Law frowned, tensing up when Billy had turned, caught sight of you two, and made an angry beeline for you in the grass. "U-Uh, Billy's approaching," he warned you as your boyfriend arrived, trying to pull back to give privacy, but wincing in pain that made him stop.

"The fuck is going - ? Oh, my fuckin' God," Billy trailed off, then whispered when he saw you huddled on the ground; your dress in tatters. Your head was bowed, knees drawn in, refusing to meet his eyes; making your leather-clad boyfriend lower himself to a knee. "Baby? Hey, look at me, sweet girl, lemme see... C'mon, baby, please, look at me."

You only sniffled.

"It was Jake and Steven," Lawrence told Billy, trying to find his feet; falling over and just giving up.

"Hell happened to you, man?"

Lawrence frowned, looking nervous, but your voice answered, "He saved me, Bee. Jumped in, took some of the beating."

Billy looked between you and Lawrence, but focused on you - seeing the injuries to your face and chest in full light. "Oh, my God," he breathed, looking you over in shock. Those pink, pillowy lips you adored licking and sucking on were parted in shock.

You half-smiled, "Think you pissed a few of the wrong guys off."

"Jesus Christ, sweet girl. What happened? Tell me, please, before I start making assumptions," he demanded, reaching for your cheek - making you recoil hard enough that your head banged on the house supporting your exhausted body. "Hey, hey," he whispered, looking physically wounded by your action, "'s just me, baby, it's just me, it's Bee, I'm not gonna hurt you. C'mon, sweetheart, lemme help you."

You sniffled, letting him reach for you again and caress your cheek so he could direct your head left and right; giving him a full view of your injuries that continued to weep. He stiffened as he took note of a new cut or bruise upon every new sweep of his eyes, his anger skyrocketing with every passing moment.

"It hurts," you whimpered. "Apparently, you beat the shit outta those guys weeks ago - guess they were waiting for an opening to strike back."

"You don't deserve this," he growled angrily. "Fuck - look at you! Goddamnit, I'm so sorry, princess, this is my fault. All my fucking fault, shit," he hissed, looking close to tears, "I put you here, I'm so sorry, baby."

"Got Lawrence his ass beat, too," you pouted.

"Sorry about this, man," Billy instantly offered the other boy, who was practically slumped over in the grass. He still managed to give a thumbs up. "But, uh, thank you for stepping in. You know, not a whole lotta people would."

"Nah, it was the right thing to do," Law frowned, waving him off.

"You said Jake and Steven did this?"

"Mhm," Law nodded. "Jake Chastain and Steven Barton."

"Yeah, I know 'em," Billy shook his head, "and I'll fuckin' kill 'em - "

"Can we get cleaned up first? Before we go murdering high school jocks?" You pouted in pain.

"Hey, man. You got a friend here or something? Someone to help us?" Billy asked Lawrence, still caressing your face with his thumb sweeping the apple of your cheek.

"My sister's 'round, yeah..."

"Want me to grab her?" Billy offered awkwardly.

"I'd actually appreciate it," Law whispered. "Gotta get home, yeah?"

"Yeah, man. Stay here, I'll grab her," Billy agreed. "What's her name?"

"Natalie, she's a cheerleader. Um... Y-You dated her beginning of the year?"

"I remember," he sighed, standing to his feet. He told you earnestly, almost sweetly, "I'll be fast."

But the thing is, you knew Billy all too well by now. "Wait, no," you gasped, trying to stand, "Bee, don't!" It was too late, he was already gone by the time you and Lawrence stumbled out from hiding; just in time to watch Billy point Natalie towards where you and her brother were. Then, he turned and surged up to an unsuspecting Jake and Steven; launching an all-out brawl against the two.

Neither of them stood a chance when Billy was THIS angry. Nobody did. In fact, if Jason, Tommy H., and two other guys hadn't pulled him back, surely, there'd be a lot more than a couple of broken bones. However, when Billy told the other basketball players in a spit-flying rage that these two cowards had attacked his girlfriend (a few turning back to get a look at you), it launched a new, mutual anger. Chrissy and a few other cheerleaders wanted to step in when the "fight" (more like attack) started again, but when they saw you, Lawrence, and Natalie, nobody said a single word. Nobody interfered. Nobody interrupted, and luckily, nobody else joined in...

Before Jake and Steven could lose their lives or sustain serious injury that would result in any arrests, Billy was pulled back by Lawrence - of all people. "Hey, hey," the beaten boy barked, "hey, man, chill - chill! These guys deserve it, yeah, I fucking know, but look, hey!" He grabbed Billy's shoulders to prevent him from turning back for the fray. "Hey! Your girl needs you, man. She needs you more than these bozos. C'mon, you can't go to jail over this shit, right? Right? How mad you gonna be if you get bagged 'cause of these jackasses?"

This seemed to force Billy back to reality and out of his homicidal rage. A few dudes who played football stepped in to hoist the unconscious jocks over their shoulders just to leave them on the curb a couple houses down the street.

Billy raced back to you.

Chrissy and Natalie were helping wipe blood from your skin and hair; clothes damaged, ripped, stained, beyond repair, and another cheerleader was holding a bag of frozen peas to your head as you leaned on her stomach. He slid his jacket from his shoulders, easing you off the girl's belly to leave it around your trembling form and then taking the girl's spot, supporting your body as you were tended to.

Eventually, Chrissy sighed, "I think that's the best we're gonna get you, honey. You want us to come over in the mornings? Help you get dressed and do your make-up?"

"No offense, but I don't think that's necessary... It's not like what happened is a secret," Natalie whispered, looking you over.

"Make-up might irritate the injuries," the other girl offered softly. "But it might cover some of those bruises, I just would avoid the cuts."

"I'm okay, girls, but thank you," you assured softly. "Bee's here t'help."

"Yeah, taking you straight to the hospital," he decided stiffly from behind you.

"What?"

"Think I'm not gonna get you checked out after this? Two men attacked you, I gotta make sure ain't shit's seriously wrong, baby. Don't fight me on this, please."

Billy's mind was warped with memories of sitting in ER's and other clinics with his mother nursing a broken wrist or damaged eye socket. His father's anger had always been a temperamental switch, something Billy felt he always had to outdo. Being in the hospital with you felt too similar, another bolt of rage zinging through his blood; hating the idea that you were the victim, and like his mother, he wasn't able to protect you.

Unlike his mother, this situation was directly his fault. He didn't even remember why he beat the shit outta Steven and Jake all those weeks ago, but whatever the reason, it cost him now. Cost you both.

The party continued inside the house, but Billy walked around the side yard, down to the front, then towards the street full of parked cars with you secure in his arms. After getting you settled safely in the passenger seat of his Camaro, Billy rightened and shut the door; seeing Lawrence and Natalie approaching their own car, the bag of peas now held to his jaw and cheek.

His sister was under his arm, helping him hobble. Billy gulped, realizing Lawrence was beat to hell, too, and if he hadn't jumped in, Lord only knew what state you'd be in now. When the two men caught one another's eye, Billy offered a nod of respect and thanks; the other lad returning it as if to say he was welcome. Billy raced for the driver's door, sliding in, and without turning any music on, drove off towards the hospital.

You were grumpy to be there, but one look at you had the medical staff moving at a quickened pace to help you; offering speedy aid. You were cleaned and cared for; questions regarding the level of assault making you nervous, but you answered honestly that two classmates had jumped you at a party. This meant the police were called; tears in your eyes and down your cheeks when you had to tell Chief Hopper (a close family friend) exactly what happened.

Billy provided their assailant’s full names and promised they wouldn't be in the best shape when (slash if) the two were found.

After hearing your story and writing the names down from Billy, Hopper sighed in empathy, "Kid... Don't admit t'anything."

"I'm not, I'm just making a casual note," Billy countered. "You know, people don't take too kindly to people hittin' a woman. Less so when she's drunk, alone, and they fuckin' stomp on her - "

"All right," Hopper tried to halt his built up anger. "Let's just take a breath here - "

"Uh, Chief?" His deputy interrupted. "Them boys? Uh, a... Jake Chastain and Steven Barton? They were just wheeled in from an ambulance."

"Interesting," Hopper noted, sparing Billy a small look. "From where?"

"A neighbor called them in, said there's a party few houses from her on Hawthorne."

Jim Hopper sighed and turned to you and Billy with his hands on his hips. His face was passively angry. "Sound familiar?" He asked, tongue sweeping over his teeth.

"Yes," you answered for you both, "that's where it happened, Chief."

His eyes softened when he looked back at you. "All right," he nodded, looking to his partner. "Go stand by their room, keep an eye - I'll be there in a second, but the victims made a positive ID. Doc's will treat 'em and we'll book 'em." When left alone, Hopper took a suspicious look around the hospital floor before sliding the curtains shut around your bed; moving to your other side, removing his hat, and kneeling. "Listen, kid," he whispered, taking your hand softly, "I got a daughter at home, too, and if anyone - and I mean, anyone - laid a hand on her the way you were tonight, I'd burn this town to the fucking ground."

Billy snorted in amusement, "Know the feeling."

Hopper nodded, "So believe me when I say, I need to know, off the record, what really happened tonight. Your father will need to know that I am doing everything to help - but I need to know the truth."

"I don't know what to tell you, Hopper," you frowned, matching his quiet tone, "I've told you what I know. I was a few drinks in, stepped outside t'smoke, and that's when they grabbed me, took me t'the side yard, and started wailing on me. I dropped, they kept goin', that's when this other boy stepped in. He got beat up pretty good, too, but he helped get them away. Billy showed up, we came here - "

"I hit them," Billy interrupted, making you squeak lightly. Hopper just laid his other hand over yours so he cocooned it; glancing around the under skirts of the curtains to make sure you remained alone.

Then he asked, "When?"

"After I made sure Y/N was okay," Billy explained, petting a hand over the back of your head; never looking away from Hopper. "I found her friend's sister, made sure someone knew where they were, and then I hit them... And I didn't stop hitting them."

"Kid - "

"Some teammates pulled me off, don't worry - it could've been so much worse. But when the others found out what they did to my girl?" He hissed quietly, "They took matters into their own hands by themselves, sir. My girl was attacked, I couldn't let that just slide, Chief, I hope you understand."

Hopper sighed, "Well, I can't condone the violence, but since it was a group effort, be a helluva lot more paperwork bringing you in versus those two who started it."

Billy nodded absently, your free hand laying over Hopper's to stack. "Did you call my dad?" You asked nervously.

"Not yet," he frowned. "I gotta check on the suspects, but I can after."

"Could you not? For me, please?" You sniffled. "He'll just worry and would get all pissy 'cause his trip has to be cut - "

"He's not home?" Hopper asked in earnest confusion with knitted brows.

Your head shook, "Chicago for the week."

"He left eight days ago," Billy snipped.

"Bee," you reprimanded sharply.

"Hey," Hopper squeezed your hand, "it's okay, you're over 18, I don't have to call him. But El and I are gonna drop by later with dinners and to check on you, her little friend, too, probably. You know, the, uh... The little red head?"

"Max?" You asked.

"Yeah, her. Nice girl."

"She's Billy's step-sister," you snickered, wincing when your broken ribs protested.

"You should rest," Hopper bid, "and thank you for being honest," he stood to his feet while nodding at Billy. "Tell you what, I won't report you starting the fight - technically... It'll be reported as a randomized group effort after they were caught assaulting Y/N."

Billy nodded, too shocked for words as Hopper patted your hand, placed his hat on, and exited the little curtained room. "Wow," your boyfriend breathed. "Since when are you friends with the Chief of Police?"

"He and my dad go way back," you eased.

"All cops like him?"

"Fuck no, you know that." After a beat, you reached for his hand to lace your fingers with him, "Hey," you bid, "I-I'm really sorry."

"Baby, just - don't even start - "

"No, for earlier, for our fight," you interrupted, "and for feeling petty enough to go to the party alone when I know you don't like that... For drinking, not being more aware like you taught me. I didn't use the buddy-system when I went t'smoke, it was a major fuck-up, I know, but I'm just sorry. I feel like I've disappointed you or something - "

"No, hey, sweet girl," he rushed, sitting on the edge of the gurney to stare at you directly, "don't you ever feel that way - you didn't do nothing wrong. Hear me? You didn't put yourself in this position, you didn't deserve what happened, you didn't - no, just," he sighed deeply, "you didn't do any of this, sweetheart. Okay? If anything... If anything, this is my fucking fault and I'm the one who is so sorry."

Your head shook, but Billy continued,

"They did this to you because of me." Tears filled those sweet baby blues. "Because I don't have a hold of my temper - I fucked them up, so, they fucked you up. This is my fault, I'm so sorry. But look, hey, I'll fix this, okay? I swear to God - I'm gonna fix this."

"The cops got 'em, we don't have t'do anything else," you mumbled. "You don't have to do anything else, Billy."

"Maybe not, but I can't let this go - look at you," a single tear dripped. "Fucking look at you, my sweet girl. In the fucking hospital 'cause of me - I can't - this ain't right. I gotta make it right."

You couldn't answer because a technician was arriving to take you for a CT, MRI, and X-Ray - all of those scans that would tell them what was going on internally. Hopper was seen outside the two boy's rooms - Billy following your bed closely as you where wheeled away. Every scan or test he could remain close for, he was; stepping back when needed, but being sucked right back to your side when able.

By the end of the night, you were released into Billy's care because all patients with head injuries had to have some kind of chaperone, and a few floors up, Steven and Jake were being handcuffed to their hospital beds by Hopper.

"Real lucky I wasn't there when you hit her," Jim Hopper seethed quietly, tightening the cuff on Jake to an uncomfortable grip. "Your parents would need money for your funerals - not bail," he offered one single more glare before leaving the next shift of deputies on duty. He sped all the way home and held Eleven in a suffocating hug.

Turns out, you sustained decent injuries from that night.

A (cleanly) broken ankle. Six different broken ribs. Split lip that required two stitches. Stitched earlobes from where piercings were ripped out. Severely bruised collarbones, bordering on broken. One blackened eye. Along with other generic bruises and cuts, more seemingly discovered as the days drug by slowly.

Billy was ready to mow down anyone in his way at any point, but his only ability to get through the school day was that he saw you everyday afterward. He dropped whatever sport and / or club that held his interest, collecting coursework you missed, then driving Max and "Jane" Hopper to your place. He would've lashed out if this was any other situation, but because you asked him to behave and bring you the materials you needed, he did. He played nice.

The two assailants, Steven and Jake, had been arrested by Jim Hopper. They apparently had a rough ride to the station, but that wasn't here or there. What they did to you was far worse that nobody batted a single lash when the two were brought in the station for booking, looking freshly beat up and bloodied. A judge also rejected their bail.

Billy brought you whatever work you missed during your recovery at home, most teachers shocked to see him so diligent in showing up and making the collections. He didn't understand whatever the teachers told him about the work, but you did - and it was fascinating to him, watching you work or study. He usually sat by your window to smoke, but on the occasion, you asked for a toke and wouldn't care about where the smoke blew. So, as weeks passed, he stopped specifically going over to your window; just leaving it open for ventilation so he could remain at your side.

Anything you needed, he got. He did. He gave you. Guilt was one helluva motivator and Billy was chalked-full; so, he did the only thing he knew he could, being acts of service.

You were laid up, it made sense. He could bring you into the shower, get naked himself and help you bathe. He could carry you downstairs, cook for you, help out around the house by keeping it clean because he knew it stressed you out. He would collect the mail, water plants, do dishes, just turned into a househusband that made your stomach and cheeks feel all warm and fuzzy. Never did you think Billy had the ability to be domestic, but here he was, in your great-grandmother's kitchen, wearing a stained apron while trying to bake cookies while you worked on a physics project.

"Hey, Bee?"

"What's wrong?" He asked instantly, setting the hot tray to the stove.

"No, hey, calm down," you smiled with a small laugh. "I was just wondering... You know, like... What's gotten into you?"

"Huh?"

"You know what I mean," you huffed, setting your pencil down. "You literally haven't let me out of your sight except when you're at school."

He shrugged, "You need help."

"You don't ask if I do."

"I don't need to ask when I can just see it."

"Billy."

He sighed and begrudgingly scraped cookies off the hot tray to rest on the cooling sheets. "Your dad asked me to stay close," he offered.

"Bullshit."

"No, really," Billy insisted. "He's in and out with work, so, he asked me to stick around, just in case."

"Okay, fine, but it's more than that. Billy, tell me the truth, baby, please. It's not a bad thing, I'm just curious what's really going on."

"I'm just... I'm just nervous, you know?"

Your head cocked, "Why's that?"

"Look what happened to you," he chuckled ruefully. "All fucked up, can't even go t'school until your ribs are healed - all 'cause of me. 'Cause I fucked up and went too far - "

"William," you snapped, making his wide, shocked eyes meet yours. "I'm not gonna listen to this anymore. Okay? I know you're sorry, you tell me everyday, andI know you're feeling guilty, but this isn't your fault, you're not the one who put hands on me - "

You flinched when he lobbed the cookie tray into the sink, causing a ruckus, his voice yelling over the noise, "FOR FUCK'S SAKE!"

"William!"

"I'm trying to protect you!" He yelled, tears swelling when he whipped around to face you. "I-I don't know what else to do! Look, okay, say what you fucking want, but the truth is, those two assholes came at you 'cause of me. Okay? 'Cause I had to be myself and beat the shit outta them 3 months ago, they never forgave - they didn't forget. I put you in this situation, that now? Now, yeah!" He laughed without humor. "Yeah! I'm fucking nervous leaving you alone! Fuck knows what could happen to you, and who's to say there aren't more people out there just waiting for this kinda opportunity! Baby!" He rushed for you at the kitchen table, your mouth sewn shut in shock as he found his knees in front of you and took both your hands in his. "Baby, listen to me. You're the only thing - no, I'm serious!" He insisted when you looked ready to protest this sentiment you've heard before. "You're the only thing I fucking care about, that I want to protect, and they all know it - I don't exactly hide it. I love you so fucking much, they'd do this again - they'd fucking hurt you to get to me and that idea just..." He sighed, looking lost.

You pulled a hand free to instantly caress his cheek, turning his attention upward until his eyes met yours. "Billy," you whispered, "baby, nobody's after us. This was just a freak accident, this was a fluke, okay? You're worried anyone else is gonna come at me, at us, but I know nobody else is that fucking stupid. They wouldn't test you, and Jake and Steven took advantage of an already bad situation. Okay? We had a fight - which was pretty public. So, people knew we were at odds, and when I showed up at that party alone, started drinking, it was their perfect opportunity to strike."

"You can't say that, we don't know if anyone else is gonna test us," he sniffled. "I've made a lot of mistakes... Pissed a lot of people off. One of them might've grown a pair."

"Okay," you relented, "then I guess we're gonna have to stick together, you know... So you can keep me safe, right?"

He chuckled dryly, "I'm trying, princess."

"Well, we can work out a better way - one that doesn't run you into the fucking ground, Billy, Jesus," you searched his face. "Are you sleeping? At all?"

"'Course I am - "

"Don't lie to me."

He sighed, deflating a little, "I sleep... Only when I stay here."

"Billy, you stay only a couple nights a week when Daddy's home."

"I know."

"So, you basically only sleep when Daddy's out of town and you stay here?" You squeaked, watching him nod; pouting and feeling your own guilt brew. "Baby... Look, can we just agree that this isn't either of our faults? Right? Yeah? If I'm not allowed to think this was my fault, you aren't either."

"I was the one they wanted t'hurt," he shook his head. "They did this 'cause of me, sweetheart, how can you be so - so - fuck! So fucking understanding a-and forgiving?"

"Because I love you," you answered like it was common knowledge, even giving a small giggle.

"That doesn't... But that doesn't even - "

"What? Mean anything? Bee, it means everything," you smiled at him. "I love you, so, when you make mistakes, I forgive you - even though there's nothing you've done. I mean," you winced slightly, "sure, maybe we could reduce the kids you bully or beat up, you know, limit the enemies we might make. And this is something that can be redeemed, can't it?"

He stared at you from the floor, slowly deflating, "Can it? I've fucked up so much, doll, I don't think I deserve whatever forgiveness you wanna give me."

"You can't keep beating yourself up," you snipped. "Hey? Hear me? Look, it happened - it fucking sucked, but it happened and it's fucking over. We both need one another to help move on, okay? So, I need you back, Bee, I need my man back because we need to get through this together. You don't get to sulk in your guilt, I don't get to stew in my regret, we need to help each other out of this."

Billy sniffled, "How? How do we move on when you've still got stitches in your lip?"

"They'll dissolve in a few days," you shrugged meekly. "We move on together, okay? Maybe you pick up basketball again, try to distract yourself. Billy, we need some normalcy again, right? You know?"

"Doll, being away from you makes me feel like my lungs are gonna pop," he shook his head. "I'm afraid something might happen if I'm not there, it's fucking scary after finding you in your own blood."

"Then I'll be at every practice," you eased. "You can drive me to and from school, then you know where I am - you'll know I'm safe."

Billy stared at you a moment, fully dropping to the floor as his energy finally drained. He ran a hand through his hair, rustling the curls, admitting in a soft voice, "I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to not feel so guilty, how to move forward."

"There's no playbook," you agreed. "Guess it means we gotta figure it out ourselves, but again, we do it together. C'mere," you sighed, lowering yourself to the floor with your booted ankle held out.

"No, don't - "

"Fuck off, I'm not totally unable to do shit," you grunted, adjusting yourself and reaching for him. "Come here, please, I wanna hold you! Been cuddling me this whole time, lemme be the big spoon, please."

"Just told me to fuck off, sweetheart, kinda sending some mixed signals, aren't'cha?" He chuckled, turning so his back was to your chest; leaning so you supported him in his slump. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he muttered, holding the arm around his collarbones. "I really - if I knew this was gonna happen, I'd never of fought them."

"I know, and I forgive you," you whispered in his ear. "But we can't keep doing this back and forth, okay? I forgive you, Billy, no more apologies."

He sighed, "Yeah... All right..."

"Steven and Jake are arrested, we won't have t'see them again. Hopper will make sure of that," you smirked against the shell of his ear. "And the doctors said I should be good to return to school next week, but I'm out of cheer and everything."

He groaned, "Just something else I've fucked up for you."

"Oh, please, I love the time off," you teased. "Gives me all the time I need to watch my man on the court, huh?" He half-chuckled at your words. "You know I'm ahead in all my classes now, too? Teaching myself at home is far superior than the teacher's bitching at us for eight hours."

"You're gonna love college, baby," he chuckled, the two of you lulling into a comfortable silence. You held him tightly, nuzzled into his neck; both sitting in your emotions, trying to navigate a way out.

"We good?" You whispered.

"We're good," Billy agreed, just as soft. "No more apologies... Try to have less guilt. But you're gonna let me stay close, right?"

"I want you clinging to me so hard, I can't fucking breathe," you smirked. "And if Daddy really asked you to stick around, then you're welcome to stay here longer, even if he's here... Where I can have you close to me," you whispered, licking the skin under his ear. He stiffened.

"No - you better not," he squirmed when you licked again, adding a little teeth in a scrape.

"Billy," you pouted. "It's been weeks!"

"You're still hurt," he argued, turning on the floor to look at you. "I'm not gonna be responsible for breaking another of your ribs 'cause we were horny."

"I'm doing so much better, though!"

"Tell you what," he smirked. "Next business trip of your dad's, I'll fuck you all weekend - wherever you want, however you want."

"He has one in two weeks."

"Mhm, and you have a check up before he leaves."

You eyed him for a moment, "When did you become responsible?"

"I've always been."

"No, this is new. You're remembering dates and my doctor appointments and my dad's work schedule."

"Maybe I just like taking care of you," he whispered against your lips with a growing smirk. After pecking you lips, he quipped, "So, shut up and let me."

"Yes, sir."

requesting rules and masterlist

Stranger Things masterlist

[passivenovember]

Steve's never tried a weed brownie before.

Hasn't really wanted to, if he's honest, because the rag-weed shit he gets from Tommy all throughout high school is fine. Even though it's mostly shake and stems and seeds, and the bag Tommy puts it in always looks like it's been mauled by Scotty, his 15 year old schnauzer.

It has to be the same bag, Steve thinks, but maybe that's the 20 minute high talking.

So he's never tried a brownie.

But. Billy Hargrove comes into his life like a storm cloud. Black and gray with impending doom, snagging the air around him with little fish weights until everything is heavy. At first.

But. Then Steve makes him laugh once during a game of shirts and skins, and. It's like the belly of the thing has ripped open, y'know, and the streets of the thing flood with rainwater, and all that existed before is washed down some swallowing, insatiable gutter along with mulch and twigs and the shaky belief that Steve's straight.

They're friends and Steve watches Billy laugh and smile, feels all ten fingers against his chest when Billy shoves him, some sort of atomical reaction to Steve making him laugh, and.

Steve can't believe he ever thought Heaven was in Nancy Wheeler's pants.

--

So.

Billy Hargrove is the Earth after the flood, and the ark carrying everyone to safety. He's the animals inside and the God that sits, watching the world swallow itself.

He feeds things, to Steve.

Lines. You got a really pretty mouth, Harrington. You're smart, you know that? Not. Book smart, but street smart. Dirt road intelligent, I guess, in this shitty fuckin' Hickville hellscape--

Feeds Steve art. That's Samuel Baruch. He's my favorite. Look how he paints cloth, how he tracks the divets and the folds and the shadows. It's like a photo. It's like a window--

Steve makes Billy laugh when he says, "That lady kind of looks like you." Feels all ten fingers on his arm, pushing, when he says, "You'd look cute in a bonnet." Steve nearly falls over. Almost goes easy, but he doesn't.

Billy grabs him. Holds him as he smirks, "Where the fuck would I find a bonnet?"

Steve looks around the art hall, eyes wide and owlish, "Indiana?" He says, out there. In here. And.

Billy stares at him. He's the canvas and the lady in her bonnet, the divets and the folds and the shadows, the artist himself when he wets his thumb and sticks it in Steve's ear. "Dumbass," He says.

Steve finally gets everyone's thing about art.

He snaps a mental image of the afternoon and tries not to smother it in his hands.

--

So.

Steve. His eyes open, bit by bit. And what he finds is blinding. Like he fell asleep in the back of his mother's station wagon and awoke to the screaming light of high noon.

Billy's like the sun, longer Steve knows him. Storm clouds be damned.

Like. He talks about art. And he feeds lines and compliments for shits and giggles, never really noticing that Steve falls for it, a dumb catfish stuck on Billy's sharp, unforgiving hook.

He does all that but he smokes. Weed and cigarettes. He drinks.

He takes Steve to parties and says, "Ever try this before, Bambi?" But it's just Jack Daniels. But. Billy leaning with his elbow on the wall next to Steve's neck, close enough that he can smell Billy's sweat and cologne. He's smiling and his lips are cherry red, rio red, and.

He wants to roll in it.

So. He says, "No," Because, "I haven't."

It's the truth.

So Billy feeds it to him right out of the bottle. Makes him get on his knees. Slaps Steve's wrists away when he tries to hold the vessel himself, because.

Something's happening. Here. There.

Steve stares up at Billy through his eyelashes, trying not to go blind.

--

He blacks out and wakes up in the face of some bitch in a red bikini.

He's still drunk, so it takes him longer than it should to realize she's a poster tacked to somebody's, and he's not at home, and someone's snoring on the rug next to him.

Steve wiggles his toes. Fingers. Tries to remember what happened after Billy's hair caught the dining room lamplight but it's all a blur of sea stone eyes and bright white teeth and all ten fingers, rubbing at him while he threw up under the four way stop on Douglas Street.

Steve groans.

He rolls onto his side and tucks into himself and falls asleep, hoping Billy got home okay.

--

It's silver when a warm, flat palm shakes him alive. "You gotta go," Someone says, their voice rough like flannel bed sheets.

Steve blinks up, into the silver light, and sees Billy. Considers padding from the mattress to sleep inside of Billy's throat, where he'll be warm. It's a familiar urge. It's entirely new.

Steve aches. "What time--"

"--Just before five. My dad gets up early for work," Billy says, like that's supposed to mean castles are crumbing in their kingdom, but he's staring at something on Steve' face.

Really puts things into perspective, because maybe it's supposed to be an emergency. The first wisps of smoke from a forest fire, but Billy has bed head. And pillow lines on his face. And he's looking at Steve like there's something stuck in his throat.

Steve rubs at himself, trying to clear exhaustion and embarrassment. Really, just rubbing it into himself like lotion. "It's Saturday." He says.

"We're poor," Billy tells him, "My dad--"

"Where am I?"

Billy stares at him for a moment and then chuckles, shaking his head, "With me," He mutters.

Steve wants to curl into it like a cat.

--

He's rushed out of the room. He has to climb through the window while Billy keeps watch like a guard dog, and Steve lands on his ankle funny so it isn't until later when he's showered and hung over and falling onto his own mattress that he realizes Billy was in a panic.

That was Billy panicking, like Steve gets when his dad tells him to clean his room before he gets home from work, but Steve was full of concrete and wouldn't do it. Just like that, but worse.

Steve tosses and turns and tries to decipher what there was to be panicked about. Billy's room was clean.

Not just clean but spotless, like someone took a billow pad soaked in bleach and scrubbed every wall and baseboard until nothing remained except that bitch in her red bikini.

The only witness to Steve crawling out through an open window.

--

The more he thinks about it the more it feels like an episode of The Twilight Zone.

He combs through the memory of waking up in Billy's room. He tries to piece together hazy, half-baked image of beige carpet and the bookshelf and the little makeshift vanity that housed all of Billy's hair products.

Steve searches for a spot of the boy he knows. He calls Samuel Baruch's name and hears it shatter against empty, maroon-colored walls and the bikini girl's airbrushed rack.

He tries to envision a wayward sock, left out in the cold. A cup of water on the bedside table. Used tissues on the bedsheets.

Anything.

Steve blinks around his own room and wonders if clutter is a luxury only afforded to boys in houses paid by Monday through Friday workweeks.

He tries to imagine Billy in that room inside the house on Cherry Lane, happy, sleeping until noon in his own boyhood nest while his father gets ready for work.

It sits heavy in Steve's chest. A fairytale.

--

So.

Billy asks him during homeroom on Monday if he's ever had a weed brownie. Really, he scribbles it on a note and has Mary Sandoval stick it under Steve's elbow on her way to the bathroom.

Steve presses the note open on his desk until it's delicately wrinkled, mulling the question over in his mind. He spent the weekend driving himself crazy trying to come up with a reason to invite Billy over, a nook to slip into so he can ask the hard questions.

This could be it.

Steve peeks over his shoulder, flushing pink when Billy wags his tongue.

He has a black eye.

Steve snaps like a piece of rotted driftwood. He turns back to the note and scribbles no, but I'll try one if you have it. Has Mary take it back with her.

Figures. Billy should see his room. Steve should open his eyes.

--

"Why does it smell like that?"

"Like what, pretty boy?"

"Like. Gasoline."

Billy tilts his head back, laughter shooting like fireworks against Steve's ceiling, "It's just the dope. It's how it smells when you bake it into the--"

"--I don't like it."

"Why not?"

"I just think brownies are supposed to smell like chocolate," Steve says, handing the bag over with a wrinkled nose, "It's not a very appetizing smell."

"It's just weed."

"Weed smells gross, too."

"You don't like weed?"

"No, I just--"

"--We don't have to do the edibles if you don't want--"

"--I want to," Steve tells him. "Please." Instead of I'd do anything you asked me to. You're the influence my grandma warned me about. You're the lighter and the cigarette and the smoke in my lungs. Getting me high.

Billy nods, "Since you asked so nicely," and severs the baggy, tearing the first brownie in half.

"Woah," Steve says, embarrassed, "I know I've never had one before but I think I can do more than half."

"They're strong."

"I'm strong too," Steve says. When Billy blinks at him, confused, Steve flexes.

The noise Billy makes is like a duck getting run over by a clown car. It reverberates off the walls and Steve aches to stand and chase it. "You can always start out small and take more if you need to, hot rod."

Steve crosses his arms over his chest. "How strong are they?"

Billy shrugs, fiddling with the chewed plastic lip of the bag. "I kissed a boy on half," He says.

It's the first time since Billy came to town that he won't stretch to meet Steve's gaze.

Steve takes the bag from him and shoves the brownie into his mouth, coughing over the dry exterior.

"Easy, man, easy," Billy smacks him between the shoulder blades, grinning and rubbing his back once Steve swallows.

[princeescaluswords]

Shipping Madness Part 72,000

I'm watching rage explode among some viewers of Agatha All Along. They are very upset that Agatha didn't get a "happy-ish" ending and some are calling it 'bury your gays.'

Agatha lived for four centuries, give or take a few decades.. She was a power-hungry con-artist and serial killer who deceived and murdered at least 30 women on-screen (with the implication there were more) in her quest for power. She did have a love interest, Rio Vidal, an incarnation of Death, whom Agatha also hated because Death took her child. What type of happy ending were these members of the audience expecting?

An ending which featured domestic bliss, with Agatha and Rio doing things like shopping for microwaves at Costco, would have been incongruous and incoherent. It ended the way that both Agatha and Rio indicated it would end, even though Agatha managed to come back as a ghost. (Which Death hates, by the way)

Agatha comes to be Billy's ghostly mentor (something similar happened in the comics by the way) after Agatha is shown to have transferred her feelings for her long-lost son to Billy and once says so explicitly. She figured out that Billy was Wanda's son and that he had created the Witches' Road. It was easy for her considering she created the very idea of it with her deceased son and used it in her long-running con. Every aspect of the story was set in motion by Agatha and related to Agatha's narrative.

Nothing was taken from the character. Her sexuality wasn't tacked on to her character to make her a target, and her emotional relationship with Rio wasn't given short shrift. This isn't Bury Your Gays.

There might be legitimate reasons for being dissatisfied with the ending of the story, but a series which proposes the line "Death Comes for Us All" is a comfort because "It's one thing we all have in common," wasn't treating it's main character as a disposable prop.

[apocalypse-shuffle]

“Birthdays” w/ STU•M & BILLY• L | GHOSTFACE(s)

“You know, as I get older I understand more and more why so many adults just don’t celebrate their birthday. Like so much bad shit happens around my birthday once it comes around I’m just not…excited anymore.”

There’s a weighted breath of silence after that from the guys. Being literally on top of Billy - only one of your legs laid over Stu’s torso - you can feel the big exhale he lets out and when you look up at him the expression on his face is oddly tender.

His sure hands - resting over the dark skin of your naked hips - squeeze in something like reassurance—

—“Lame,” Stu cuts in from where he’s settled along Billy’s side.

Like being tugged by a string you and Billy simultaneously cut a look in the other’s direction. Except Billy looks like he’s seconds away from cuffing Stu in the head and you’re caught somewhere between being insulted and curious.

Forcing Billy’s free hand from where he was rearing it back, and pressing his arm back to his side, you turn to raise a brow in Stu’s direction.

“Why’s that?”

Sharply Stu sticks his tongue out at Billy before averting his attention to you, his expression softening.

Laying sideways on the bed he props his head up so he can look at you better from your slightly elevated position.

“I just think it’s a little stupid is all; defining the success of your birthday by other people’s standards and then dropping the whole idea when it doesn’t work out.”

He makes a sound that’s somewhere between a scoff and a snort, nose scrunching cutely, and you know that if he wasn’t actually making you think right now you’d’ve leant over to press a kiss to the tip.

“Like,” Stu continues, ��you let somebody else who doesn’t even know you plan your birthday. Of course it’s gonna suck.”

You find yourself nodding along and underneath you Billy finally relaxes. You can still feel the way he rolls his eyes though and know what’s coming before he’s even inhaled.

“Wow Stu, didn’t know you had it in you to rub that many brain cells together.”

This time when one of you rears back a hand to dole out a cuff it lands.

Billy recoils from you with an over exaggerated “Ow!” The laughter in his voice doesn’t dissipate though, nor does he seriously dislodge you from your allotted position.

“It was a joke! I was joking!”

You talk over his verbal flailing with an exasperated huff. “Stop being such a dick.”

Beside you two, Stu giggles, nonplussed, and cuddles in closer.

“Yeah, you dick,” he tacks on, arm wrapping around your waist to give him better leverage to press his lips to yours.

Neither of you pay attention to the way Billy snipes back at you both, but when he’s finally finished bitching neither you nor Stu reject his advances either.

NOTES: I'm growing close to aging yet another year and am having feelings, so here. Hope you enjoyed!

btw: This shit is short but you can still leave a comment if you want. Idk.

[panickedpenguin]

A kinda Must Love Dogs modern harringroveson au. Steve is a pencil pusher at his dads business but has an unbriddled talent for art, especially the macabre monsters that he draws crawling out of swimming pools. Steve is also in need of a date, it has been decided. So roommate Robin creates a profile on a dating app with little input from Steve, mostly just tacking onto the end 'must love dogs' so he can try for a fun-loving personality. Steve gets a few responses, men and women alike, and goes on a couple horrendous dates. Then he meets up with Billy.

The funny bit is that Steve doesn't even have a dog. He takes Robin's pomeranian to the dog park date with him (its robins exes dog, she doesn't even like little dogs). Billy shows up with this bruiser of a pitbull, short and buff and blue nosed. But that dog isn't his either, it belongs to his sister Max.

It comes out that Billy recently moved to town to help her step mom and step sister after his dad ran out on them. Step mom is doing her best with her alcoholism and Max is trying to control her anger issues and Billy has his own history of abuse to contend with. Steve was not prepared for the level of human that Billy was, for honesty and bite and bitter joy. He's really into it and they decide to meet up for another dog date the following week.

So then comes along Eddie. Eddie works at the local radio station, sings metal and hard rock at all the events and also owns one giant behemoth of a dog. Long haired black wolf looking thing that most people are afraid of but who clearly adores Eddie. Steve has known of Eddie from high school but their paths rarely crossed, with Steve being into sports and Eddie being a delinquent nerd, but Steve had always known he was attractive. Running into him at the dog park after his time spent with Billy hits him hard across the face, like woah, who is this witty flirt with a tongue ring?

Billy also runs into Eddie at the dog park a couple days later, meeting him for the first time and instantly hitting it off with talk of bands and rock n roll.

The three of them dance around eachother for months before it's finally realized what they are doing, how they are all essentially dating eachother without even communicating it, and how they should all actually date for real. This is when Eddie learns that neither Steve nor Billy own a dog and is accordingly devastated and betrayed. They all go to a punk show as an apology.

[phantomwritezstuff077]

The Runt - Billy the Kid

Warnings: mentions of bad relationship with food, mentions of murder.

Chapter Seventeen

Laurie and Billy cantered their horses together side-by-side as they rode across the wide stretch of desert in the direction of the town Lincoln County.

With Segura free, the duo had to fulfill their promise and catch up with the rest of the gang who had already arrived in the town. Laurie was mostly quiet the whole journey, only really speaking whenever she and Billy stopped for the night – which was when Billy tried to teach Laurie how to read. 

Laurie didn’t keep track of how long it took to get there, but when they did they slowed their horses to a walk, looking around the unfamiliar town. Artax was exhausted, huffing and puffing as he took slow but steady steps, trying to catch his breath while he nickered and tossed his head. As Laurie looked around, she noticed a lot of the civilians – both young and old – were staring.

Billy seemed to have taken notice of this as well and he exchanged looks with Laurie before they continued on in silence, however the more the people stared, the more Laurie could feel her heart starting to race. Even Artax was getting a bit antsy. But as they passed the staring civilians, the town began to have a very lively vibe to it and Laurie couldn’t help but smile at the giggling children who were playing with marbles.

However, their stop wasn’t in town, it was along the outskirts and that was where Billy and Laurie headed, coaxing their horses into a slow lope as they cantered over to the small farmhouse they had spied in the distance.

There was already somebody outside, resting in one of the chairs and reading the newspaper. 

It was Pat.

“Billy,” Bob greeted, not even bothering to greet Laurie as Billy and Laurie slowed their horses to a stop. Laurie immediately dismounted Artax and began to untack him, not wanting him to be tacked any longer than needed.

“There they are,” Frank said as he slowly approached Billy and Laurie. Artax stiffened, pinning his ears as a low whinny escaped his throat, sounding almost like a growl. Nilly turned around with a slight smile as he shook Frank’s hand, Frank eyed Artax with disdain.

Once the horses were untacked everybody sat down for a meal, Laurie practically inhaled her plate of food, not wanting to waste it as she sat there silently. She never really had the best relationship with food, when she was still under Jesse’s “protection”, he would cut her food rations by half whenever she messed up, and that ure fucked her up big time. And now her relationship with food was… complicated.

“That food ain’t goin’ anywhere, runt,” Jesse joked, seeming to know full well what he was doing in making that comment and it caused Laurie to stiffen and put the half eaten bread down.

Jesse then looked at Billy. “Billy, listen.” He took a deep breath. “We got a good thing going here. Frank was right. This guy, Murphy, he owns a big store in Lincoln County. But, uh…” Jesse paused and looked at the fellow gang members before his eyes settled on Billy again. “A whole lot more than that.”

“Yup,” Frank agreed, swallowing his food. “I told him about you, and that little pet you got following you around.” He was clearly talking about Laurie, and that jab was hurtful. “But he’s already heard about you. Both of you, actually. And he wants a meeting with the both of you.”

“Okay,” Billy said, looking over at Laurie who just nodded. She suddenly didn’t feel so hungry after Jesse’s comment. Billy saw that she didn’t want to eat anymore but he held his tongue, not wanting to put her on the spot in front of the whole gang. 

“He’s got a couple of guys working for him really running the operation here,” Frank began as he mixed the rice with some gravy. Laurie just sat there and listened, pushing her plate of food away despite the rumbling in her stomach. “It’s, uh, Johnny Riley and Jim Dolan. Couple smart fellas. They got a company called The House, and they run it out of Murphy’s store. That's where they all want to meet the two of you.”

Billy nodded, a pang of worry hitting his heart as he watched Laurie avoid her food completely before he quickly snapped his gaze back to Frank, “So, when do we get to meet ‘em?”

“Once some of us have finished eatin’ we’ll head over to his store,” Frank replied, continuing to eat. Laurie stood up and excused herself, she figured that if she wasn’t eating the food or talking with anyone she might as well leave and just be alone for a while.

She found herself climbing into a hollowed fallen tree just outside the camp and sitting down. She pulled out her worn sketchbook and continued the drawing of an Oryx she had seen while coming into Lincoln County with Billy. However, her mind kept wandering to what Jesse had said to her about the food, she knew damn well what he was doing with what he said.

Re-sustaining power — reminding her of who was actually in control and that Billy couldn’t protect her forever. She kicked the wood in frustration, throwing her sketchbook to the side as she ran a hand through her hair, hiding her face in her arms as she took a deep breath and tried to gather her spiraling thoughts.

This was all a lot, she had just murdered a guard while breaking Segura out of jail – and she was still dealing with the guilt she carried for that. She and the gang had a new job gig, and now Major Murphy wanted to meet herself and Billy personally…

There were too many things happening all at once and she didn’t know how to feel about it. She felt overwhelmed with all of this and she just wanted to cry. 

And cry she did.

Notes:

HI GUYSSSSS!!

It has been so long since I last updated omfg i'm so sorry about that.

Tags:

@slutforsnow

[delopsia]

Little Wolf | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 6,300 Cross Posted Here on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Fem!Reader, wolf!reader, outlaw!Rhett, unprotected sex, mild breeding kink, pregnancy, usage of firearms (you get shot at), general running from the law stuff with a dash of running Perry over💃 and a cute little bonus scene at the end

"Quit staring at that saloon girl before you make her uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry, ma'am; I just thought she was pretty. Didn't mean nothin' by it."

Curse your sensitive hearing.

Shifting your gaze to the floor, you tilt your head back down, feigning interest in this old lumberjack's tall tales. His hand trembles as he lifts his glass of beer, the golden liquid sloshing around the inside. Yet, that cannot and will not stop him from downing the entire glass. A skill acquired only after decades upon decades of afternoon drinking and drunken midnights.

This isn't usually your cup of tea, but it's the only thing stopping you from burying your face in your palms and screaming into them. 

No good woman should be so affected by an outlaw like Rhett Abbott. Fugitive. Rogue. Robber. Wild-eyed cowboy with a smile that warms your heart like an open campfire.

You need to stop this.

Whoever thought it was a good idea to place a Saloon and a Jailhouse in the same building should be hauled out back and put down with the nearest rifle. Because how the hell is a woman meant to focus on her job when there's a good-looking outlaw just waiting to meet her eye?

"D'you know that Abbott boy?" Your ogling has been caught, that old gentleman's eyes may be clouded, but they're sharp as a tack. 

"No sir," folding your hands in your lap.

"'ts for the best; that's the kind of man you want to stay clear of," as if to punctuate his statement, he slams his glass against the old oak table, "fetch me another one of these, would ya?" 

Your nose twitches. 

Though you've only been working at this establishment for three days, you've learned something very key. All the men in this town are the damn same. Nice until they feel they no longer have to be. Their sweet tones are nothing more than a clever ruse, fading away the moment they want something.

The glass is sticky in your hand as you carry it back to the bar; had he been nice about it, you would request a new one. Lumberjack will have to get over it.

Every movement you make is carefully watched by dazzling ocean blues, the kind of color that threaten to drown you in them. Rhett Abbott. Jailed for the attempted robbery of Luke and Billy Tillerson and the suspect of Trevor Tillerson's murder. The ghosts of this town whisper their mountainous accusations as if they are true.

One mouth tells you with confidence that he is a wanted killer, and another claims him to be responsible for destroying his crops and killing his milking cow. This morning the mailman accused him of breaking into the mailroom because a handful of letters were misplaced. 

It's difficult to pry your thoughts off that quiet outlaw. 

Your senses have always been rather sensitive; maybe those are to blame. Ears always managing to pick up on his noises, the way he hums when you look at him, beckoning you to speak to him. Nose so sickly aware of the peppermint he's sucking on, eyes always straining to catch glimpse of his handsome face in your peripheral.

When you're not entertaining customers, your fingers distract you with daydreams of what it feels like to touch his hair. Running your hands through it, watching how those eyes flutter. You have to toy with the leather body harness beneath your dress to keep from losing your mind.

Even when you're forced to pry the jeweled dagger from your boot, daring this old lumberjack to try and touch your ass again, you can't forget him.

"Who gave you that dagger there?" The bartender asks you in passing; you've already forgotten his name, something along the lines of Kirk. 

"My husband," it slips from your mouth so quickly that you've hardly processed his question. The bartender's eyes narrow. "He uh...passed a few years ago."

"Ah," visibly taken aback, "well, I'm...I'm sorry to hear that." 

That outlaw keeps staring. Filling your bones with jelly and forcing every last second of your shift to drag by like molasses. Almost. You're almost free when the bartender abruptly stops you. 

"I need you to stay and close up for me," he's not telling; he's ordering, "I need to tend to a family matter."

Before you can utter a word, the door is slamming shut, echoing through the unfamiliar, empty saloon. So quiet that you can hear the faint breathy noise that leaves your outlaw. Even the sound the lock makes as you slide it closed sounds far too loud.

"So watcha fixin' to do now, little wolf?" 

A tiny shiver runs up your spine. 

Ugh, wait, no, that's not something he's allowed to elicit out of you yet. 

"I 'oughta rip those iron bars off the wall and kick your ass," growling, you turn to face him, eyes ablaze with something new. Something that only Rhett Abbott does not fear. "How am I supposed to get you out of this one?"

Rhett taps on the bars with his boot, "rip these off the wall and kick my ass."

The twitching of your tightly-wound muscles threatens to do just that, but that creates noise. Noise attracts nosey onlookers. Nosey onlookers attract men with firearms; you'd like to avoid getting a scar on your other hip.

Or right between the eyes, for that matter.

Boots click across the floor as you approach his cell, heart hammering a little heavier with every step. All it could take is one wayward visitor to see you interacting with the outlaw, and your plan will be foiled. But you can't help it. It's been three weeks since the last time you've see his face. 

Your hand shakes worse than the lumberjacks when you reach through the bars, only steadied by the scruffy cheek that leans into it. It's hard to believe that this is where he's been this whole time, and not...

"We were almost out of there," kissing your wrist, "we had the money, but then Perry—"

"Perry caused this?" That lying, good-for-nothing moron. "He told me he didn't know what happened to you."

Dryly, Rhett laughs, "he outta know. He's the sidewinder that pulled a LeMat on Trevor when he didn't need to." 

And if that's not enough to get a rise out of you, you don't know what will. Liquid fire bubbling in your veins, threatening to take over if you don't get a handle on it soon. It collects in your ears, joints, and tailbone, tingling as the blood there begins to boil. 

"I hid the money in the old milk crate by the well," all this, and he's still managed to get away with the money. "All we need to do is break outta here, pick it up, and we're set."

"Set until when?" His hair is tangled, catching on your fingers when they try to run through it, "until the next time Perry asks you to help him rob someone?"

Those perfect features contort, smile falling, eyes searching your expression, "what do you mean?"

"I thought you were dead," your voice breaking, as watery as your eyes, "do you know how fucking horrible that feels? To watch the clock pass the time you were supposed to be home?"

Rhett's gaze drops to your hip, reaching out to touch it. Palm so warm that you can feel it radiating through your clothing. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't what I'm looking for, Rhett," how are you meant to sound serious when you've every reason in the world to melt into a puddle of tears? "I don't—we can't keep doing this. One of these days, one of us isn't going to make it, and what then?"

His hand tightens, stopping you from moving away. 

"What happens to that family you've always promised we'll have?" This isn't the time nor the place to be discussing matters such as these, but now that the dam has broken, your mouth can't stop moving. "Or what happens to the poor bastard that has to suffer through losing their partner over some fucking money?" 

By the time your words have stopped, you've become breathless, so worked up that you've forgotten to take a breath.

Rhett's silent, but you can hear the gears turning in his head as he processes your words with care. Each syllable carefully wrapped and understood. A new habit developed after he mistook your words during an argument a few months ago. 

But then he stands, reaches through the bars, and pulls you into him the best that he can. This old iron makes this hug the chilliest one you've ever felt, but the kiss pressed into your temple threatens to change that. 

"We won't have to do this again," he says, after a while, "there's more than enough money to get us by for the rest of our lives." 

You're about to speak, but he's already heard the words that lie unspoken on your tongue.

"As soon as we're out of here," Rhett's hands curl around your cheeks, cradling them like glass. You nod. "I promise I'll give you every bit of that lil' family you've been wantin'."

Weak, you blink until your vision is no longer blurry, "even if I want eleven kids?"

"You scare me," he chuckles, "but if you want eleven, then I'll give you eleven."

And you'd kiss him, but he's talking again.

"On one condition," stealing a chaste peck from your lips, reading your mind so, so easily, "you gotta quit tellin' everyone I'm dead."

Beaming, you lean up to catch him again, savoring how those chapped lips feel against your own, bitten and swollen, "I think I can live with that." 

Voices echo just outside of the building; men, multiple of them, maybe five or six. An icy hand grips your heart like a vice. Squeezing. Sending snow flurries tumbling through your body. Shit, shit, shit. 

The bartender's coming back. 

"I don't—" tripping over your own tongue, "do I? Now?"

"If you think you can do it quick enough," but he already knows you can because he's stepping back before his sentence is finished. 

But that ice has already settled in, and as you pull on these thick, cold bars, you find that you've got the key in the ignition, but you can't turn it. Again. Harder this time. An old engine in your gut twitching and grinding as it attempts to start. No dice.

A tingle is settling into the tips of your ears. Familiar. Telling. You've almost, almost got it. Metal groans as it distorts. Muscles trembling with the effort of it all. But you can only move them an inch at best. Not enough for Rhett to squeeze through.

The front door handle rattles. 

"Hold on," licking the pads of his index and middle fingers, he reaches behind your neck. Wet fingers find two pressure points at the base of where your neck meets your skull, pressing down. 

A shiver ripples down your back. Shaking pools of fire from the crevices of your spine, flooding your bloodstream until your eyes glow with it. Is that your heart or a heavy fist beating on the front door? You can't tell.

That old iron squeals as you bend it. Ears pinned. Jaw clenched under the strain of it. 

Ears pinned.

Shit.

"Maybe I gave you a little too much juice," rambling, Rhett squeezes through the gap you've created. He just barely fits through, "how long?"

Something heavier strikes the front door as you scurry out the back; you've no idea where you're going. Have no memory of when Rhett grabbed your rapidly warming hand. Winding past corner after corner, a maze that doesn't guarantee a safe exit. With every step, your heart rises higher into your throat. Fragile; one wrong move, and you'll burst. Every inch of your skin tingles, invisible pins and needles prodding at you. 

"Few seconds," your voice is already fading. 

Wood splinters as you take a hard right. Racing down a hallway that's identical to the one you were just in. Are you going the right way? How is Rhett so sure that you're supposed to go left here?

Joints are starting to swell. Difficult to move, like they've been filled with putty. In your mouth, your tongue feels too large, so heavy that you can't form a word. 

Rounding another corner, your vision begins to collect with spots. Static clouding your vision. Foreign voices are yelling for you to stop. Rhett's saying something about 'this is the one, this is the door'. And it doesn't matter if this is the door or not.

because you can't stop moving.

Your shoulder hits something heavy. It should hurt. You know it should. But the feeling is lost to the overwhelming ringing in your ears as you burst out the door. Muscles shift. Bones crack as something familiar washes through your body. 

Time stops. 

Or at least, it feels like it does. Hyperaware of every little pop and crackle of bone and muscle, how delicious it feels to stretch these muscles after weeks of disuse. 

The next time your eyes open, your view of the world has shifted. Higher than before, too aware of the newly formed snout in front of you. 

"Come on," someone's tugging on the leather harness around your torso; Rhett, "come on!"

Stumbling over your own four feet, you start to move, racing alongside him toward the back of the building. It's a straight shot out of town from here. You can come back for the money in the milk crate—

something whizzes past your ear. 

No, no, no, that's the Sherriff. 

Spinning on your heels. Turning back. Rhett skitters past you. Unable to come to a stop. Fuck, fuck, fuck. People are spilling out of their homes. Men, women, and children alike. All to watch the spectacle of a wolf and an outlaw. Fuck, fuck, fuck, where do you go?

Your answer comes in the form of a tug on your harness, a familiar weight settling on your back. There is only one man on this earth who is crazy enough to climb on top of a wolf. Firm legs squeeze on your ribcage. 

Forward. 

Blindly, you follow his lead, unsure of where he's sending you. Dirt kicks up under your feet, sending a plume of it floating through the air like a veil. The main stretch of town isn't but five paces ahead of you. 

There's pressure on your left.

Veering in that direction, a stray bullet whizzes overhead. The tip of your left ear begins to sting. It's impossible to focus on. Not when your sharpened gaze fixates upon a familiar grey cowboy hat. There's a face you don't want to see.

"Perry?" Rhett echoes your thoughts.

A tacky button-up jumps out in front of you. Arms outstretched. Rhett's weight shifts left. Heavy enough to send you moving leftward too. The man's fingertips graze your flank. Nothing more. 

"Stop!" Perry's shouting, waving his hands above his head, "stop!"

Rhett's ears aren't sharp enough to pick up on it. You're unsure if he'd listen, even if he could hear that far. The fragments of a buckshot squeal past. Once on your right. Then overhead. Perry's not moving. Rhett's not telling you to stop.

Five strides away. Raising your head uncomfortably high.

Four. Bracing for impact.

Three.

Perry realizes your intentions too late. His head knocks painfully against your breastbone. Knocks the breath from your lungs. With an audible thunk, his back hits the ground. Below your feet, his body is surprisingly squishy. 

If anyone asks, you didn't realize he was there.

By the time you stumble into another town, dark has fallen. You've long since returned to your former body, dressed in nothing but Rhett's button-down. The remnants of your dress are nothing but tatters, clinging to your exhausted frame. Had you known you'd be doing this, you would have planted a bag of clothes to pick up on your getaway. 

"Have those ears gone down, Princess?" Rhett's hands squeeze your naked thighs, where they're wrapped snuggly around his hips. 

The left one twitches; God, that's sore. "Not yet," though you're hesitant for them to morph back. Still processing that you're now missing the tip of your left ear. 

It's hard to miss the big 'Hotel' sign that displays proudly at the edge of town, just as visible as Perry had been when you ran him over. You hope you broke a few of his ribs. Maybe an arm. Something he'll have to live with the pain of.

"Tail?" His question is met with a swift thump from the foreign appendage right against the curve of his ass. 

Squirming, you pull yourself a little higher, eager to leech off more of his body heat. Your chin is sore from resting on his hard shoulder, and there's only one other place you know to rest your head.

"What're you doin'?" Rhett's words are slightly distorted from how you've squished your cheek against his, rough stubble tickling your sensitive skin. 

"Capitalizing on the situation," shivering at the breeze that wanders under your meager clothing, "you haven't cuddled me in three weeks, mister." 

That get's him; it always does. 

Dramatic, he rubs his cheek against yours, grinning when you giggle and return the motion. Every second of it is worth the irritation it may cause to your skin later; it's been so long since you've seen those hooded eyes crinkle, can't remember the last time you got lost in the sea of those ocean blues. 

Just before reaching the hotel, Rhett stops, "think those little legs can hold ya up now?" Even though he's asking it, he lets you squirm down from his back. There's only one way to find—

your ass hits the dirt. Tail pinned between you and the ground, each and every muscle in your legs cramping. This whole wolf thing was a design flaw.

"Guess I got my answer," as if you weigh nothing, Rhett scoops you back up, cradling you in his arms. Limp, your legs dangle, skin twitching with the worst of the cramps. In hindsight, maybe you should have at least stretched before you, and your husband decided to play horse and cowboy. 

"Are you about to put me between these shrubs?" You chirp, painfully aware of the answer. 

"Yes, ma'am," placing you between the two towering plants, he ruffles your ears, the motion flopping them back and forth, "can't have no outlaws gettin' ahold of ya, now can I?"

He doesn't leave you there for too long. But it gives you enough time to fully take in your surroundings. This town is large, you've barely even seen a quarter of it, but it's uniquely quiet. Residents have long since tucked into their beds, ready for tomorrow to come. The only sign of life is the light that peers through the windows of the local saloon, a muffled piano playing, accompanied by the cheers of a couple of men singing about a ball of fire.

They seem to be having a great time.

"Room eighty-six," Rhett announces, and to any onlookers, they'd probably think he's talking to a bush, "you look mighty cozy down here." 

"Man," pouting as he scoops you up again, "I was just starting to make friends with these guys."

There's nothing quite like the struggle of trying to unlock a door while you're being carried like a bride, but you make it work. Only dropping the key when you're halfway into the room. 

The next thing you're aware of is your body soaring through the air. Stomach curdling as you fall into the soft mattress, surrounded by the fluffy comforter. 

"Did you just throw me?" Incredulous, you sit up, mouth agape. 

That shit-eating grin of his is all the proof you need; guilty as charged, "What can I say? You're the perfect size for tossin' on beds."

Your ears flatten against your head, "quit calling me little."

Bending down to meet your eye, Rhett reaches out with a singular index finger. You know it's coming, but you're too stunned to dodge it.

The asshole bops you right on the nose.

"But you're my little wolf," he says it so innocently that you nearly drop the argument right here and now. 

Your legs may be out of order for the time being, but there is no amount of exhaustion that can stop you from grabbing the collar of his shirt and yanking him down, falling into a messy heap on the bed. Devilish hands dance at your sides in perfect unison with his laughter.

"Big mistake, darlin'," placing big, wet kisses against your exposed neck, making you squeal. 

Heels digging into the bed, you try to push yourself out from under him. Those tired muscles are giving it everything they've got, slipping out from his grasp with surprising speed as you roll over onto your belly. You've still got some fight left in you.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts, and his hands catch on your harness, yanking you right back down, "where you think you're goin'?"

Fuck this stupid fucking enchanted harness. You knew it would bite you in the ass one of these days. Floundering only makes it worse; because he takes hold of the base of that flailing tail of yours and squeezes. 

The gasp that it wrenches out of you is so instinctive that you hardly realize it was you who made the noise.

"Sweet, sweet little wolf," there's pressure between your shoulder blades, pushing you into the mattress. Ass in the air, all for him to see. "Look at you, so fuckin' pretty in my shirt."

It's hard to miss how he makes sure to tuck your tail between your legs when he leans down to rest his body against yours. There has only been one instance where he hurt you by trapping it between your bodies, but he's made sure never to let it happen again. Wet kisses pepper over your neck, sucking gently beneath your ear in that annoying fashion that makes heat blossom in your core.

"Rhett—" 

"Y'can play coy all you want," teeth nipping where ear meets skin, "but that little tail's a waggin'." Curse your instincts.

Canting your hips back into his, you crane your neck to the side, swallowing his groan with a kiss. The angle strains your neck, not made to be turned in such a way, but you can hardly focus on it. Rhett's lips taste like heaven, entertaining so delicately with yours that it quiets all the noise rattling around your head.

"You'd best be careful with those hips of yours," he grumbles, though there's no attempt to stop you from blatantly grinding on his rapidly hardening cock, "or I might wind up givin' you that baby earlier than you thought."

Your tail smacks his inner thigh. "Maybe that's what I was wanting you to do."

And that is the last thing you say before your back is hitting the bed again, head spinning to catch up. The moment your thighs part, he's settling between them, hips forcing them wide. Oh, it's been so long since the last time you've felt that pressure between your legs, old jeans rubbing against what little of your panties remain. 

"Yeah?" God, those eyes have nearly gone black, "that what you want me to give ya?"

Nod.

For a hot, burning second, he's quiet; you can practically see those gears turning in his head. Did he just realize you were being serious?

He grabs the edge of a pillow. "Lift your hips." You don't know what for, but you obey.

Oh.

The pillow feels strange beneath your hips, forcing your back into the most delicate of arches, putting you on display for his greedy eyes to swallow up. The pillow is pretty flat, but it feels massive at this angle. 

You hardly expect the gentleness that comes with this. How carefully Rhett comes to lay on top of you, tummies pressed together as he drowns you in another kiss. Fitting against you so perfectly, shoulders just broad enough to cage you in, hands that know you like when he rubs behind your ear. You're far from a feline, but he just about makes you purr against his lips. 

Nothing can stop you from tangling your fingers in the curls that rest against his neck, drinking in that heavy grumble as his mouth opens to yours. A little swipe of his tongue against yours, retreating, before he comes back even bolder, tilting his head to the side to properly explore you.

Nails bite into his shoulders as hips grind against yours, jean-clad cock so close to where you want him. Taunting enough to make your head spin with want and need.

Then he's leaning back, peeling that white t-shirt from his body, distracting your hungry eyes with miles upon miles of perfect, milky-white muscle. The curve of his pectoral fits perfectly in your hand, jumping when you flick your thumb over a dusky pink nipple. 

"Don't know why we even kept these on ya," one little pull is all it takes for the fabric of your panties to give way, mere shreds of what once was. 

It's almost strange not to see him fumble with one of his gaudy bull rider buckles, too big for practicality but not big enough to carry the smugness of placing number one in this past season. Just big enough to confine the heavy cock that falls free as he steps out of his jeans, smacking against his thigh.

"'ts the matter?" Cocky as ever, "fixin' to start droolin'?"

"Uhuh," shameless. Absolutely fucking shameless. Shaken into a stupor over the sight. 

A wandering index finger slides up between your folds, glistening in the poor lighting of this hotel room, and rises to Rhett's thin lips. He smiles at your taste.

That dripping head nudges against your entrance, applying enough pressure to feel you flutter but not enough to press in. On their own, your hips squirm, changing the angle and letting him slide up between your lips. Oh, that's—that's different.

"'Dya like that?" Tentative, he does it again, length messaging your neglected, swollen clit. "That tail of yours is just a goin'." 

All on its own, it thumps back and forth between his thighs, unable to get a full swing in. One of these days, you'll remember to control it, but today isn't that day. How are you meant to stop when he chuckles at how it's tickling him?

"What would you do if my tail weren't there to tell you what I liked?" Intentionally flicking it up to smack against his heavy balls. God, how his breath hitches at that. 

Your smug satisfaction is short-lived, cut off by the blunt mushroom tip that pushes into you, forcing your lips to part with a gasp. Completely bare, raw, withnothing there to stop him from delivering upon that promise he made. You've done it like this before, but something about the intent makes it feel so much different. 

"Fuck," bracing his weight with his right hand, planted next to your head, while his left traces the stretch of your quivering entrance. You can only imagine how obscene this must look from his perspective; those eyes shamelessly fixated on how he disappears inside. 

Easing into you inch by inch is an overstatement because Rhett's moving millimeter by excruciatingly slow millimeter. And you are going to lose your ever-loving mind if he doesn't hurry up.

"Patience, wolf," he hisses, although, by the sounds of it, he's struggling with the concept of patience himself, "don't want you sore for the next round."

Blink. 

Double blink.

"What?" Leaning all the way down now, forearms caging you in as he touches the tips of your noses together, "don't tell me you thought I'd only cum in you once, darlin'."

Riled up by his own words, he slides deeper, quicker, fat head nudging against a little bundle of nerves on its way past. It's impossible to stop the high-pitched whine that ripples up from your chest, spasming around him as his hips become flush with your own. 

"At this rate," you're trying to hit him with your tail again, but it's disappeared; only those expressive ears remain, perked high on your head, "we'll be dead by round two."

Rhett's not the wolf here, but he's the first to growl. You know you've gotten into his head when he wrenches his hips back, leaving you so abruptly empty that you worry he's pulled out completely. Only for him to slide back in so fucking slowly. Has you squirming by the time you feel his swollen balls meet with your ass again.

"So tight for me, sweetie, fuck, you feel good," starting to work his hips properly now, still irrationally slow, each meeting of your hips so sharp that the room resonates with the sound of your bodies smacking together. "Y'like that? All nice and slow?"

Whimpering, you nod, hands smoothing up his biceps and across his shoulders, nails biting into what skin they can get ahold of. Careful not to draw blood, though Rhett's never complained about having any more marks added to the catalog of scars he carries.

"Can you tell—" cut short by a thrust that rips the words right out of your mouth, "can you tell that I haven't been fucked in a while?"

As if to return for the way your nails are raking down his back, he nips at your jaw, tugging the skin between his pearly white teeth, "believe me, you ain't goin' that — oh, that fuckin' long ever again."

Soothing over the freshly bitten area with a kiss, Rhett leans back onto his haunches. Big hands seizing each of your thighs, guiding them up until your legs are properly hitched on his broad shoulders. 

"I know I said I was goin' slow," his eyes fluttering as he picks up his pace, "but I can't hold back when it comes to this cute little pussy of yours."

The pillow is doing you no favors, tilting your hips to the perfect angle as he starts to fuck you in earnest. Nothing can stop the way he massages that gooey spot that never fails to make you whine into the open air, your sounds dancing with the deep, guttural sounds you're downright milking from the cowboy. 

A calloused thumb nudges past your parted lips, pacifying your cries as you suck on it, working the pad of it like you would the head of his cock.

"That's a good girl," his praise makes your ears flutter with pride; your tail is back by its own accord, wagging double-time like you're a goddamn labrador, "so sweet for me."

Those grunted words travel directly between your legs, heat stirring as you feel yourself grow wetter. Even more so when he plucks his thumb from your lips and begins to work over your neglected clit, rubbing the swollen little button in tight little circles that never give you a chance to recover. You've nothing but the sheets to ground yourself with, clutching the fabric so tightly that you fear they'll rip.

"Look at you, little wolf," he marvels, in absolute awe of the sight below him, "fuck, you're gonna look so beautiful, all swollen with our baby."

You can't tell if it's due to his words or the slight change in angles, plush head kissing a certain little bundle of words, but whatever it is, it's got your legs trembling around Rhett's shoulders. They can hardly stay up, shaking so hard that they slip right off. Only allowing Rhett to come back down to meet your lips, giving you no escape from how his cock plows right into you.

"Gonna fill this little pussy of yours up with my cum," and that's not just a warning that he's murmuring against your mouth; it's a promise, "over and over, until your cunt is so swollen and sore that you can't take any fuckin' more of me."

Humming, you force your quivering legs to hook around his hips, heels digging into his ass, "please, Rhett—ah~!" That thumb is spinning harder against your clit. Too much, too much, but not fucking enough. 

"Jus' keep takin' my cock for me," the motion of his hips are becoming unstable, falling out of their rhythm, "'m breed you like y've been beggin' me to."

And he doesn't need to tell you he's close; those breathy little grunts are enough of a sign all on their own. Each whispered, thrown-away obscenity kindling the fire that's growing in your core, cinching you tighter and tighter around his fat length. His thumb is falling off your clit, gripping your hip to prevent you from sliding up the bed, but that doesn't matter.

Teeth sinking into that pretty collarbone, clenching and unclenching around him. Electricity rippling from the tips of your toes up to where he's ruining you, your eyes fluttering into the back of your head as you cum around his cock. Muscles tighten, trembling so hard that you can feel the shockwaves up in the tips of your ears. 

So completely, utterly lost in the abyss of it all that the shaky moans you're working out of Rhett feel like heaven. His hips stall as an unfamiliar heat spurts against your swollen walls, filling you so, so well.

You can't move as your orgasm leaves; it takes all of your energy with it. So exhausted that it takes you a moment to hear the 'I love you's that Rhett is whispering into your skin, following each reminder with a chaste kiss. 

"Y'still with me, little wolf?"

Weakly, you nod, "uhuh."

That earns you an amused chuckle that shakes his whole body, reminding you of the length that's still lodged deep inside of you. Your eyes flicker to where your bodies meet; how obscene it looks to be split open on him, even after you've both cum.

"G'na stay in you," running his thumb against your cheek, Rhett smiles with all the sweetness of a pound of sugar, "can't risk any drippin' out, now, can we?"

"I can handle a little risk," flicking your tail up to smack him in the ass, can't help but laugh when he jumps, "just means you'll have to cum in me again."

Rhett rolls his eyes so hard that he winds up giving himself a migraine.

"Excuse you."

Rhett stops in his tracks, a deer in headlights, as he peeks back around the corner, "did I knock another pillow out your nest?"

No, your pillows are all accounted for, and so are your blankets and the box of snacks by the freshly built bedside table. You're not worried about those, even in the slightest. The silence only serves to make your husband nervous, placing the cardboard box he's carrying onto the floor.

"Darlin'?"

It's impossible to fight the shit-eating grin that spreads across your face, "come here."

He's got no idea what you're summoning him for, but those shoulders visibly drop as he crosses the room. Clueless as you take his big hand and guide it to your swollen belly. 

Those eyes of his go comically wide. "Good lord, 'r those little bank robbers havin' a brawl in there?" God, you hope they have his eyes.

"They've been keeping me up ever since you left," you'd roll onto your back, but you're genuinely concerned about what organs they'd crush, "make your kids quit heckling me."

There's that laugh you were looking for, so completely amused by the little kicks against your poor belly. He's got nothing to say, too busy leaning down to press kisses to your tummy, chuckling with every unruly kick. There's no telling how many are in there; Rhett's thinking two, but you're concerned that there's a third hiding next to your liver. Or, it could be just one very, very unruly baby with just as much rebelliousness in them as their father.

"I know y'ain't fixin' to listen to me," he says, in between kisses, "but please quit kickin' the over lovin' hell out of your momma's belly."

Another kick. You think that one was aimed at his nose.

"We've got our work cut out for us," your words strained around a yawn, watching contentedly as he settles down next to you. 

It's hard to cuddle when you're this pregnant, but Rhett's figured out how to comfortably make it work. Foreheads pressed together, one hand reaching over to rub the back of your neck, ghosting over your ear on its way. It's a strange feeling; you don't think you'll ever adjust to having the tip of it missing.

"Can't be any worse than what adventures we used to get up to," can robbing the wealthy be compared to raising children? 

Another yawn overtakes you, lasting so long that those damned wolf ears spring out. Curse pregnancy and making it so easy to shift forms that you do it by accident.

"I hope they get your little wolf thing," Rhett muses, scratching behind them, "I can hear the little tails thumpin' already."

That...might be your own tail that he's hearing. Thumping away against the mattress, such a common thing as of late. In the past, it would have bugged you, but Rhett loves it so much that you can't hate it. 

"Do you want me to stay and take a nap with you?" 

Practically purring, you nod, "you just read my mind."

You can't reach your favorite blanket, a fluffy, pale pink thing that was given to you by the elderly couple next door. Rhett's got it, pulling the material up over your exhausted frame and tucking it in. The wife really wasn't kidding when she said it was the perfect thing to snuggle up in, warm but not too much so. 

Rhett's chest is the perfect pillow to snuggle up in; big, inviting and made just for you. He presses a kiss to your forehead, "I'll be here when you wake up, little wolf."

"Thank you, Mister Outlaw."

[the-cult-of-russo]

Just Beneath The Flames (Part 3)

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Warnings: cursing, smut at some point probably lmao, zombie shit, typical canon violence. You know the drill.

A/N: Massive shoutout to @idaofinfinity for being my biggest cheerleader with everything I'm writing right now. I love all the kind words and hearing what you think, it always makes me smile. I'm so happy you guys are enjoying this story, so far, it's been fun to write.

—-----------------

You had no idea how long you and Billy had been sitting there but it felt like forever and it had gone dark. Billy had gone from intently staring out at the dead, looking like he was ready to jump out of the treehouse, to just sitting there blankly staring at the wall opposite and the silence was uncomfortable.

“I’m sure they’ll be okay,” you murmured lamely, not even feeling comfortable saying those words but trying to be comforting anyway. All you got in response was a sniff and it wasn’t really directed at you. This whole thing was making you antsy and you shifted where you sat.

“Who’s that?” he asked after the longest silence in history. You glanced at what he was looking at, seeing a picture of you and your brother tacked up on the wall. It was the only proof he’d existed and you never traveled without it. Everywhere you set up camp it was there. 

“Me and my brother Sam,” you replied, feeling your throat close up at even muttering his name. He glanced at you and seeing the anguish you couldn't hide on your face, he seemingly decided to shut up. He sighed, looking back outside. The sea of the dead had passed not too long ago but both of you knew it wouldn't do any good going right down. They could come back and then either go to the camp or you and Billy would be stuck here longer. You’d just been waiting for the roamers below to leave but it seemed like they were dead set on staying as they growled and groaned, stumbling around the tree. 

“We should wait,” you cautioned lightly, knowing what was going through his head. He glared at you then, a bright fire behind his almost black eyes.

“I can’t wait. I needta get back to see… they could be…” his mouth clamped shut audibly, a dark look passing over his face. You felt bad for him, you knew this bullshit far too well. It was why you preferred being alone now.

“If you go down there now, you’ll end up getting your legs bit. What good would you be then?” you asked, giving him a firm look and a raised brow. He took a deep inhale and you idly wondered if he was refraining from clipping you around the head. 

“I can’t just sit here with my thumb up my ass, Y/N,” he growled. You nodded, standing up and moving to the other side of the treehouse. You grabbed your bow and your arrows and moved back to the doorway with Billy watching you curiously. You crouched at the doorway, loading an arrow in your bow and focusing as you aimed it at one of the dead. You let your arrow fly and it went right into the temple, making it drop to the floor. You could have done this a little earlier but you didn’t want to risk anything drawing the crowd back. You fired arrow after arrow, some of the shots taking a little time to line up as they kept moving and being up here made it a little difficult. Especially when they went around the tree or under the treehouse. The darkness also didn’t help. But eventually, the last body dropped and you swore you heard Billy let out a sigh of relief. He didn’t wait or say anything before he was clambering down the ladder quickly. You left your bow inside before you followed him, you’d collect your arrows later. 

You didn’t really need to go with him, these weren’t your people. Yet you did feel a pull to them and you also wanted to know if they were okay. A part of you also worried about Billy and what he might find if they weren’t. Billy didn’t seem to mind you coming along, he didn’t even acknowledge it as you walked side by side, both on high alert for any stragglers. It was just past halfway there when he started to slow down and when you looked at him, his face was pale and his eyes looked wild and panicked.

“Billy?” you questioned warily, wondering if he might have seen something. He stopped and a hand came to rest on the tree next to him, the other coming to his chest and then you noticed he seemed to be having difficulty breathing as his chest heaved.

“Billy?” you asked again, more firmly this time as you moved to stand in front of him.

“I can’t… I can’t breathe,” he bit out, eyes darting around. You blinked at him with a frown before realization dawned on you. He was having a panic attack.

“It’s okay, just take deep breaths,” you murmured softly, moving closer to him. His frantic eyes landed on you then.

“I just said… I can’t breathe…” he muttered angrily through his heaving gasps. 

“Listen to me, okay? Just focus on me. It’s fine, you’re gonna be fine. Do it like this, in through the nose, out through the mouth,” you soothed in a gentle voice despite his tone, showing him what to do as you breathed in slow and deep through your nose and out through your mouth. His hand suddenly seized yours in a death grip and you’d admit he was squeezing it so tightly that it hurt like a bitch. You didn’t say anything though as he copied your motion and you repeated it with him. It took him a few goes before his breathing started to regulate and it was only once he took a few normal breaths that his eyes stopped looking so wild and he let go of your hand. He looked shocked almost by what had happened, frowning in confusion before he shook his head and started walking hurriedly again like nothing had happened. You caught up with him, keeping in step with him as you eyed him carefully.

“Sorry… I uh… I don’t know what the fuck happened,” he muttered, sounding put out as he refused to look at you.

“It’s okay, it was just a panic attack,” you reassured lightly. He didn’t stop walking but his head whipped to you with an offended look on his face.

“I don’t have panic attacks, alright?” he huffed and you rolled your eyes.

“There’s nothing wrong with having panic attacks, Billy. It doesn’t make you any less manly or anything. It’s normal in this world, the whole thing is pretty traumatic,” you frowned. He didn’t reply and you didn’t push it, he looked rather uncomfortable that you’d witnessed it. 

Before long you were weaving through the trees to get to the camp and you saw everyone milling around, the kids presumably in the tent that seemed to be set up for them. Your body relaxed infinitely seeing that they were okay and Billy made a beeline for Frank, almost barreling into him as he gave him a hug.

“The fuck man?” Frank snorted, patting Billy’s back.

“Where have you been? We were going to send a search party out,” Karen asked, watching on amused as Billy wouldn’t let go of Frank.

“We started to take bets on if you two were banging each other,” Foggy grinned impishly and you gave him a blank look at his words.

“We got caught up in a herd,” you replied, a grave look on your face. Billy moved away then and Frank’s eyes assessed him carefully.

“We thought they mighta come from this way. We couldn’t uh… we couldn’t come right away ‘cause they took fuckin’ forever to leave. She has a treehouse and we were up there, we had to wait it out,” Billy muttered with a frown. 

“Which way did they go?” Frank asked as his eyes went from Billy to you.

“South, past my camp. I think it should be fine though as long as nothing brings them back around this way. There might be a few stragglers in the forest but it should be safer now they passed through,” you explained softly. You felt a little better now they were gone, a little less like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop. You were just glad everyone was safe.

“Alright, that's good,” Frank mused, nodding seemingly to himself.

“Well, I’ve had too much excitement for one day. I think I’m gonna head out and get to bed,” you snorted ruefully, eyes drifting to Billy as he hugged Karen and they spoke quietly. You weren’t used to so much drama, not anymore. 

“You just stay safe, alright? And thanks… for keepin’ Bill safe. I know what he’s like, I bet you had a real hard time of it tryin’ to get him to stay put and wait it out,” Frank said with a knowing smile on his face. Your lips curled up a little as you nodded. 

“I’m just glad he listened,” you replied with a playful eye roll. 

“Well, don’t be a stranger. Feel free to drop in at any time,” he smiled, patting your arm before he walked over to the others. You didn’t really want to stick around and get another round of goodbyes as you’d been here earlier so you turned to make your way home. You barely made it two steps before someone grabbed your wrist and you whirled around to see Billy.

“I just… Thanks… for… you know,” he muttered awkwardly. He wouldn’t look at you and you knew he was uncomfortable about the whole thing.

“Don’t have to thank me. Like I said, shit like that’s pretty normal in this world. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you said softly, hoping to put him at ease. He nodded, still not looking at you and holding himself tightly. He was still holding your wrist so you were unable to leave. His eyes finally met yours then, obsidian orbs feeling like they were looking right through you.

“Be careful out there,” his tone was heavy and serious and you nodded.

“I’ll try,” you smiled, unable to give him anything better because it wasn’t like you could predict the future. Anything could happen. He nodded tensely again and finally let go of you.

“Don’t follow me this time,” you smirked teasingly, finally earning a smile from him.

“Think I learned my lesson on that one,” he snorted, making you smile. You both looked at each other for a long moment and you felt that weirdness creep in, like you didn’t know what to say. So you just nodded before you turned around and headed back home. This time luckily you were unfollowed and there were no herds. You came across two stray roamers but you didn’t mind as you put them down. It almost felt normal once again. 

Five days later you were sitting in your treehouse and sharpening your knife. You were feeling a little antsy. This was the longest you’d set up anywhere since you had a group. After the fall of your entire group, you’d roamed around like one of the dead ones until you found this place. But now you were feeling far too cooped up. You were considering hitting up some stores, always ready to go looking for something that might prove useful or food to store for the upcoming winter. But they were a while away on foot so you were trying to motivate yourself for the trek. The closest stores were all picked clean and you knew because you were probably the last one there to take what was left. 

“Knock knock,” the voice floated from below and you stilled your motions, peeping out of the doorway to see Karen standing below your treehouse with a grin. You smiled to yourself and threw the ladder down.

“Come on up,” you smiled, making her grin widen as she made her way up. You hadn’t seen anyone from the other camp since the herd ordeal, you hadn't really had a reason to go. And while Frank had told you that you could go at any time, you didn’t really want to if you didn’t have a reason. It felt weird, like you were intruding almost. Karen was a little breathless when she got to the top and snorted at herself as she flopped to sit on the floor, wiggling out of her backpack.

“I hope you don’t mind me just turning up. Billy told me where you were, or more like he drew me a little map,” she laughed lightly, waving around a scrap piece of paper in her hand.

“But I’m not very good with directions and I got a little lost… found you in the end anyway,” she beamed and you snorted a little.

“I don’t mind,” you shrugged with a smile. It was nice to see her, you really liked her. 

“I got you a gift,” she grinned mischievously, rummaging around in her backpack for a moment. You were about to tell her she didn’t need to get you anything but then suddenly, in her hand you saw a chocolate bar and you felt like the world had stopped turning for a moment. When was the last time you’d even seen one of those things? You couldn't even remember. She handed it to you and you took it carefully as if it was some sacred object as you blinked at it.

“Where the hell did you find this?” you asked incredulously, turning your eyes to her and her shit-eating grin.

“Some of the guys went on a run to the next town over, picked up some things. There were a few candy bars and obviously the kids got first picks and then me and Sarah. There wasn’t enough for everyone and the guys were fighting over the last one. Billy took it and we all thought he ate it, but when I asked him where to find you he gave it to me. So technically, it’s a gift off Billy,” she shrugged with a smirk. You were a little surprised at the gesture but you wondered if he felt like he had to make up for the panic attack thing after he’d handled it so badly. 

“Well, tell him thanks,” you grinned, ripping it open. You didn’t even care as you ate it greedily with a moan, Karen watching you amused.

“I know, right? It was like the best thing I’d eaten in my life,” she giggled. She wasn’t wrong. Candy bars and snacks were something you took for granted in the old world, never really understanding that at some point in your life you’d never see them again. You doubted you’d ever see one again after this so you tried to savor it yet still ate it like a woman starved at the same time, unable to help yourself.

“Holy shit, that was amazing,” you murmured after you’d done, unabashedly licking the chocolate from the wrapper and she smiled at you.

 

“So, how have things been?” she asked amicably as she shifted to be more comfortable on the floor.

“The same old shit, you know how it is,” you snorted, making her laugh.

“Yeah, it’s kinda boring without TV and things to do now,” she mused with a sad smile.

“Yep. But the boring is a little better than the overexcitement of running for your life so…” you trailed off ruefully. You did miss it a little though. The being on the road constantly, the never having to sit down with nothing to do but have your morbid thoughts consume you. It had given your brain something else to focus on than all you’d lost and now it was all that was going on in your brain on a loop. You didn’t miss being hungry or feeling unsafe and tired, but you were itching to be out there once more. You didn’t like it but couldn't shake it. You should be happy you found somewhere safe, especially after meeting Karen’s group. But you didn't feel happy at all. You felt trapped and uncomfortable, it all felt far too stale. 

“How’s Billy doing?” you asked, going back to sharpening your knife. 

“He’s doing okay… Not gonna ask about everyone else?” she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice that made you look up. She had a sly grin painting her face that made you tilt your head as you realized just why she was looking at you that way. You huffed and shook your head.

“Not like that, I just… After the herd thing… he was a little… I don’t know,” you shrugged, not feeling comfortable with outright telling her he’d had a panic attack. With how he’d reacted with you, you were sure he didn’t want everyone knowing. It almost felt like betraying his trust somehow even though you were sure he didn’t really trust you anyway. Karen's amused face slipped as she nodded with a small smile.

“He’s been through a lot… lost a lot, just like Frank. I’m pretty sure he has some PTSD but he refuses to even acknowledge it,” she murmured with a frown. He seemed to type to do that, try and sweep his problems under a rug because he thought it made him seem weak. 

“He seems okay though, things have gone back to normal,” she added at your thoughtful face and you nodded. You both spoke about mundane things for a while, both talking about your pasts. You learned she used to be a journalist and also worked for Matt and Foggy who had been lawyers back then. It was nice to get to know her better and you felt like you bonded a bit. It was both a blessing and a curse because it felt good to connect with someone again but you didn’t want to get attached. They’d probably all wind up dead at some point, everyone did. You convinced her to leave before it got dark, not wanting her to walk back in the blanket of the night sky and she’d relented, asking that you’d turn up for dinner at some point soon. You’d acquiesced to get her to leave before she wound up lost in the dark woods and then she left, refusing you to walk her back. Once she was gone, the treehouse felt uncomfortably silent and you didn’t like it. The silence only made your mind louder and you growled, getting annoyed with yourself. The whole time, with and without your group, all you’d wanted was to find somewhere safe to settle down and take root. Somewhere where maybe you could start a life of some kind, even if the world had fallen to pieces. But now here you were, mostly safe and in a good place, yet you didn't feel settled or satisfied. You hated how this new world had changed you, made you rougher around the edges, harder. You’d had to do things you never thought yourself capable of doing and it had changed you. There was a darkness lurking inside of you now that you couldn't seem to get rid of you and really didn’t like it. You decided to get an early night to try and avoid your thoughts and memories plaguing you. Maybe it was best if you left, best if you just looked at a map and picked somewhere to travel to. It would give your mind some reprieve from the constant attacks, give yourself a purpose. Maybe that’s what you were lacking. You’d finally achieved your goal only to find you had nothing left to do, nothing left at all. 

~

You rummaged through the cupboards angrily, knocking things over in the process in your frantic search but you only came back empty-handed. Again. You let out a frustrated growl, slamming the door shut with a loud thud as you stood back up and raked your hand through your hair. You really had no idea what to do. Your brother was on borrowed time here and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do to stop it. He needed a lot of medication for his heart condition but when the world fell, he’d had some with him. Pretty soon into the hell the world had turned into, you’d been more than aware you needed to stock up and thankfully, you’d been able to since people hadn't cleaned out pharmacies completely. But after 7 months, his meds ran out and you couldn't find them anywhere. You’d find one but not others but he needed all of them to be able to survive. The most important was Warfarin and you hadn’t been able to find it in almost two months. This was the fifth pharmacy you’d hit up and yet again, there was nothing. 

“We can’t find anything,” Lucas frowned as he came into the room you were in. You looked at him, anguish all over your face as he watched you sympathetically. You appreciated the guys coming every time to try and help the search. 

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do,” you lamented, biting down hard on your lower lip as you felt it tremble.

“We’ll head back home and look at the maps again, find another pharmacy,” he murmured as he rubbed your back soothingly. You sniffled with a nod but deep down you knew it was useless. Each time you went you had to go further and further out to find a new pharmacy and you hated being away from Sam not knowing if he’d be there when you got back. You were always aware in the back of your mind that this could happen to Sam, knowing how bad his heart was. He needed a lot of pills and a lot of monitoring but you’d stupidly convinced yourself he’d be okay. That you could handle it. But you couldn't handle it and if he didn’t get his meds soon then he’d be dead and you’d have failed him. Lucas led you out of the empty pharmacy where Oliver was waiting by the truck with a sad look on his face.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he sighed and you knew he meant it. Sam was amazing and everyone in the group could see it. There wasn't a mean bone in his body and he always made time to make people smile and try to brighten their day. They’d all seen his light get dimmer these past few months and everyone was worried. Sam was all you had left of your family, of your old life. You had no idea what happened to your parents but you knew they were most likely dead. You and Sam never spoke of them. But Sam was your entire world and he had been since before the end. You’d doted on him, being close siblings that helped each other with everything. There wasn’t anything you wouldn't do for him then and now but this was something out of your control and you loathed it. 

When you got back to the camp, a bunch of tents near a quarry, you made a beeline for Sam’s tent, knowing he’d be in there. He’d been feeling pretty lethargic lately, looking paler than usual. You felt like a time bomb was waiting to explode, especially when you couldn't get the meds he needed to stop him from getting a blood clot. It was late, everyone else asleep with how long it had taken you to get there and back. Lucas and Oliver went to their respective tents as you moved over to where Sam’s was, next to yours nearest the water. You felt a weird sensation as you got outside his tent, like trickling water down your neck that made you feel uneasy. You told yourself it was because you knew you’d failed yet again and you couldn't face him and tell him. You knew how it would go, how it went every time. He’d smile at you and tell you it was fine, that you were trying your best. But your best wasn’t good enough and it sure as fuck wouldn't save him. You heaved a sigh and unzipped his tent, climbing in. He was on his side, half in his sleeping bag. He hated zipping it all that way up, said it made him feel trapped. You toyed with the idea of not waking him, waiting until morning to give him the bad news that you'd failed once again and that you’d be gone again soon to look some more. He hated you leaving, he’d tell you he’d rather you just stayed. But you knew you wouldn't be able to sleep at all if you didn’t tell him now so you crawled over to him and shook his shoulder.

“Sammy?” you said softly, giving him another firmer shake when he didn't move. But there was no response and your heart stuttered in your chest for a moment as you felt that sensation again.

“Sam?” you asked harshly, rolling him on his back. His eyes were closed, lips slightly parted, but again, no response. Your hand went to his neck quickly to feel for a pulse but you couldn't find one.

“No… no,” you muttered in horror, tears welling in your eyes as you gripped both of his shoulders and shook him roughly.

“Wake up, Sammy! You need to wake up!” you insisted, desperation in your tone because he couldn’t be gone. His body jostled with the movement but he still didn’t stir, still wasn't breathing and you let out a broken sob as you covered your mouth. He was dead. He was dead because you were a terrible big sister who couldn't help him. He was dead and you hadn't even been here in his last moments. You felt like you couldn't breathe through your heaving sobs and then his eyes snapped open. You felt a spark of hope hit you right in the chest but it was over before it barely began as milky eyes looked back up at you. You felt far too many things in that moment, mostly complete devastation that you’d lost your little brother who meant everything to you. But more than that, you felt blind rage that you’d failed him, that you hadn’t been able to save him or even be there for him. You felt anger at the fact his radiance had been reduced to nothing more than one of the dead monsters. He groaned, a snarl on his face as his hands reached for you and you grabbed your knife ready, your hand trembling.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” you muttered emotionlessly, sniffling before you plunged the knife through his eye as he sat up and made a move to grab you. You let go of the knife as if it had burned you, his body falling back down with a thump. All you could do was glare at his body with your knife sticking out of his head until the sun came up and Lucas found you there.

~

The next day you were in an awful mood. Your night had been plagued with memories worse than anything your brain could concoct as a nightmare and it had left you feeling the same anger as you’d felt the day your brother died. Trying to clear your head, you’d gotten up early and decided to go hunting. It gave you something to focus on as you went after a rabbit that you’d been tracking for a little over an hour. You were a ways from your camp now but you didn't care, trying to only focus on the task at hand. While your brain was somewhat distracted, you still felt that simmering anger bubbling under your skin. The rabbit finally came to a stop and you were relieved and not all at the same time. You were relieved because you didn’t want to stray too far from camp and get caught in a bad situation or get lost, but you also hated the fact it meant this whole thing was almost over and soon enough you’d be back alone at camp and dwelling on everything. You got your bow ready, pulling it back as you looked at the rabbit. You let your arrow go and it hit your target, but less than a second after your arrow landed from the left, another one did and you felt your anger hit you again. You stomped through the trees, head whipping around to the left to see a bewildered Billy looking at you through the trees.

“Mine hit first, it’s mine,” you bit out, not meaning to sound so hostile but you really weren't in the mood. 

“Right…” he drawled warily as you stalked over to the rabbit, crouching as you yanked the arrows out of it and tossed Billy’s behind you carelessly. You put your arrow back in your quiver and grabbed the rabbit by its foot, standing up. 

“Everythin’ alright?” he asked, sounding cautious and your bitter laugh sounded rough to even your own ears. 

“Nothing’s alright, Billy. I lost everyone I came to care about and now I’m alone. I finally have somewhere safe to call home but I hate it. I feel like my own skin doesn't fit anymore. I have nothing to fight for, nothing to live for, so no, nothing’s alright,” you hissed, clamping your mouth firmly shut after your rant as you realized you were ranting to someone you barely knew and it was ridiculous.

“You know what, it doesn't even matter,” you huffed, starting to stalk off back to your camp. It was a lot quicker getting back since you weren’t trying to be stealthy and your anger was making you practically power-walk all the way back. You dropped the rabbit on the floor, getting your knife out before you sat against the tree and started to prep it. It wasn't long after that Billy was there yet again, you hadn't even realized he’d been following you back. 

You didn’t bother to acknowledge him as you worked on the rabbit. You knew it wouldn't take you too long, not like the deer had. Not only was the rabbit considerably smaller but you felt like you’d done this a million and one times before, whereas with the deer, it had been your first time. Billy hovered for a long moment before he heaved a sigh, moving to sit on the floor in front of you. You glanced at him briefly, not really in the mood for company, before you looked back at your task at hand. 

“I get it, how you feel. Well, some of it anyway. I lost people too, some before the turn and some after, but I mean I got my group and that’s what I’m fightin’ for. Maybe that’s what you need too,” he murmured carefully.

“That’s the last thing I need. I already watched my old group get picked off one by one, I don’t feel like reliving it,” you muttered bitterly, finally getting the rabbit’s skin off and then working on the meat. You heard Billy blow out a sigh but you didn’t bother to look at him. 

“That’s it, come on,” he said firmly, quickly standing up and finally drawing your eyes to him.

“What?” you asked confused, shaking your head.

“I said, come on,” he repeated firmer, holding his hand out to you. 

“I’m busy,” you stated, like it was obvious as you gestured to the rabbit.

“I wasn’t askin’,” he smirked, raising a brow before he grabbed your hand and yanked you to your feet. He started tugging you away and you were far too confused to fight him as the rabbit lay half-done by the tree. 

“Where are we going?” you asked, putting your knife away as he finally let you go when you seemed to be following him willingly. 

“I know what you need. I remember back in the Marines, the whole time I’d be out there all I’d think about was finally bein’ back home. To get some rest, have some sense of security. But then I’d be home and I’d feel all kinds of wrong. It was like I didn’t belong there, didn’t fit in. I missed the… the adrenaline of it all. The fight to live, the constant battle. I belonged out there on the battlefield, not the streets of New York. I’m startin’ to think you’re a lot like me. This world… the way it is now, it’s a lot like bein’ overseas, like a warzone. And then you get that moment where everything seems to settle, where it's calm but it doesn't make you feel safe, doesn’t satisfy you. And I… I get that,” he rambled, glancing at you. You felt something wash over you and you weren’t sure what it was. Maybe it was relief at someone feeling the same way, someone who you related to.

“You still didn’t answer my question,” you smiled wryly, already feeling a little better. He smirked as he looked at you again and you both broke through the treeline. You saw the black van you knew belonged to the group and he started to lead you over to it.

“You need a purpose, need shit to do to keep you busy, to feel useful. Somethin’ that’s not so safe. We need gas for the van before we wind up runnin’ out. Won’t have much to last us soon. There’s a highway about a 2 hours drive north from here, bunch of cars up there to siphon gas from. When we passed it, we couldn't even get through, looked like it’d been there since the start, when the rush happened,” he explained and you nodded. You remembered how frantic everyone had been when everything started going to hell, how everyone thought getting out of the city was a good idea, only to get stuck in a jam of cars. You’d seen those highway graveyards before and they were creepy. But the idea of a job to do did make you feel less tense and you knew Billy was right. You’d lost your sense of purpose now you had nothing to do and no one to help. 

The ride there was mostly silent but it wasn’t uncomfortable, mostly contemplative. 

“You should let go of that guilt before it buries you,” Billy finally spoke, a knowing tone to his voice. Your head whipped to him at his words as you just stared at him for a minute. 

“What?” you asked slowly and he chuckled but it sounded a little sad.

“I know what it’s like… to carry around guilt for shit that honestly, was out of our control. Sometimes bad shit just happens and there’s not a damn thing we can do to stop it. It sucks and hurts like a bitch but drownin’ in the guilt won’t help anyone,” he murmured as he stared out at the road. You scoffed and shook your head, dragging your eyes from him to back out of the front window.

“Maybe it was my fault though. Maybe if I was better at my job I could have saved at least some of them,” you muttered bitterly. 

“You were a vet, Y/N. And yeah, some of those skills is better than nothin’, but it ain’t like you were a fuckin’ ER doctor. We all have our limits, doesn’t make it your fault,” he chided, giving you a look. 

“I just feel like… no matter what I did, it wasn’t ever enough. Every time I tried to help, it didn’t work. And with Sam… I tried for months to find the meds he needed and I couldn't find them and he wound up dead. And I wasn't even there when it happened because I was out looking for the shit he needed to stay alive. I feel like a failure,” you admitted, your voice cracking with emotion that you tried to stuff down.

“You’re not a failure, Y/N,” Billy frowned softly. 

“Well I feel like one,” you countered with a huff.

“You did what you could, I don’t doubt you gave it your all,” he muttered, still frowning. 

“Yeah and it wasn’t enough. I did my best and it wasn't ever enough. And I don’t get it…  Out of all of them, I’m the last one standing? Seriously? We had a survivalist in our group for fuck sake and if I had to take bets on who would be the last of us, it would have been him, not me. I’m just some Vet from New York who spent her spare time from work vegging out in front of the TV and eating takeout. Why the hell am I the one that made it out?” you asked angrily as you shook your head. 

“‘Cause you’re stronger than you think you are. You got a fight in you,” he argued, his tone light. Your head snapped to him again with your eyes narrowed to slits.

“My brother didn’t die because he didn’t have fight in him. He died because he was sick and I fucking failed him,” you hissed and he frowned at you.

“I don’t mean it like that. What I’m tryin’ to say is that you don’t need to be a survivalist to make it out here, don’t need a set of skills to get through. Yeah, it helps, but I ain’t all you need. Sometimes all you need is that primal drive to survive,” he said softly as he gave you a meaningful look.

“And I don’t know a damn thing about your brother but I’d bet my life on him not wantin’ to see you beat yourself up like this. He wouldn’t want you blamin’ yourself for his death. You said yourself, he was sick. That ain’t on you,” he insisted, glancing at you again. You looked away at the weight of his gaze, your fight leaving you as you knew his words were true. Sam would hate seeing you now, see you acting like this. It didn’t mean it stopped you feeling guilty though. The rest of the way went back to being silent and soon enough, Billy was pulling to a stop just before a sea of abandoned cars. You got out of the van, looking around at the eerie scene. Some of the car doors were left open and you could just picture all the panicked people fleeing as they couldn't leave in their cars as the dead rolled in. 

Billy suddenly passed you two empty duffel bags and you looked at them curiously as he got out three empty gas cans from the back of the van.

“I’m gonna get the gas. You can look in the cars, see if they have any good shit. We need food, clothes, shit for the winter. Coats and all that, stuff to layer up. Make sure you get yourself some shit too, there’s more bags in the back,” he gestured to the van and you nodded. You got to work quickly, rifling through the cars as you looked at what they had. You’d found a bunch of good shit. There were a lot of canned goods and you’d managed to fill a bag with them. You’d also found some clothes and blankets which you knew would be helpful. You’d found yourself a thicker winter coat you were excited about and you’d even found some clothes for the kids. You weren’t quite sure what size they were, unsure of their ages. But you’d guessed by sight and you hoped they’d fit. You’d put three bags in the back of the van and now you were looking in the trunk of a car with another empty bag. You’d had to put down a few stray dead ones here that had been trapped in the cars. The smell had almost made you throw up. You grinned to yourself as you found a whole pile of comics in the boot, thinking the kids might like them and it would give them something to do. You quickly stuffed them in the bag as Billy approached you.

“I got the gas, we good?” he asked. You’d already informed him of the other stuff you’d found and he’d been pretty excited to get back to camp and show everyone what you’d found.

“Yeah. We could come back another time, look through some more cars. It’s like they're never-ending,” you snorted as you glanced out at the many cars you hadn’t even got to yet. Just as Billy opened his mouth to respond, the sound of tires squealing grated on your ears. It felt like time slowed down for a second afterwards as Billy shoved you to the floor, his body over yours protectively and then the sound of gunfire pierced the air, the bullets hitting the metal of the cars and shattering the glass. You were in far too much shock to say anything, blinking up at Billy who was wearing a thunderous face.

“Stay here,” he growled. Before you could try and stop him, he was off you and at the edge of the car. He grabbed his handgun and started shooting at the people who were raining fire down on you. It worried you even more how it was rapid gunfire, you had no idea what artillery they had but it didn’t sound good. You sat up, still hiding behind the car as you stared at Billy as he kept popping his head out and firing before retreating near the trunk. Billy reloaded his gun deftly and you idly wondered where the hell he’d be hiding the extra bullets. When he cocked his gun again, he peered out from behind the car and you grabbed his jacket, pulling him back just in the nick of time as a bullet whizzed right past and landed in the car behind. Billy looked stunned, completely shocked that they almost put a bullet in his head but it didn’t seem to make him see sense, it only pissed him off more as he started firing like a madman. There was so much noise it was making your brain hurt, but then it got even worse when Billy made a mad dash for a car a little in front to the right.

“Billy! What are you doing?!” you hissed, looking at him like he was crazy. The asshole was going to get himself shot at this rate. You had no idea how many there were of them but they definitely had more gun power than you two, you were both better off trying to make a run for it the other way with the safety of the cars for cover. He ignored you though as he did it once more, getting even closer to the gunfire. Your brain was going a mile a minute as you tried to figure out the best way to get Billy to see that he should be running away from the bullets and not towards them when you heard the tires screeching once more. Only this time, it sounded like two separate sets of them. You frowned and you kneeled up, peeping through the glass on the window to see them driving away with not only their own car, but Billy’s van too. Billy let out a feral yell, no longer hiding as he jumped up and started chasing them, firing his gun as they fired right back. You felt like you were on the verge of having a heart attack and the only saving grace seemed to be how bad their aim was as they reversed quickly before high tailing it out of there. 

You stood up on shaky legs, eyes taking in the carnage of the graveyard of cars but a loud bang made you jump and whirl around. Billy was angrily punching a car and you loitered uncertainly as you watched him. His chest was heaving, eyes wild as he stopped and tried to compose himself. He rolled his shoulder before running his hands through his hair and making it all crazy.

“They took the van. I can’t believe they… It had… all the food to last us through winter, fuckin’ clothes… Curt’s medical supplies,” he sounded a mix of upset and beyond pissed and you felt the guilt start to eat away at you. If he hadn't brought you here then this wouldn't have happened. Not only were the group now without transport, which was hard enough to come by these days, or at least hard enough to find reliable transport, but they also lost a bunch of supplies. Not only the stuff you’d just loaded into the van but apparently there had already been things in there. The medical supplies were the worst, you knew from experience how hard it was to get those back. You weren’t really sure what to say to him to make him feel better, not when this was because of you. So you just watched him pace hopelessly, looking like he was lost and full of rage. What the fuck were you supposed to do now?

Taglist: (if you’ve been asked to be tagged and aren’t here, it wouldn’t let me tag some people.)

@firexfate

@blanchedelioncourt

@ariesbutalibra

@sunshinedaisies-anddeath

@snowkestrel

@music-indie-tv

@idaofinfinity

@sweetserendipity65

@ramadiiiisme

@k-marzolf

@celestialams

@woowwwee

[mixsethaddams]

So... *rubs my grubby little hands together*

Who's been Vecna's spy in Hawkins all along?

No, it's not Will. We know what happens to him when Vecna is actively using him and it's too hard to ignore.

We also know from seeing Billy being flayed that Vecna is very clever to not go too far off the beaten track when it comes to how his hosts will act. Billy's hair got a bit neater, his clothes got a bit tidier, but otherwise he was just the same dude.

It's safe to assume that any change in the OG party members would have been spotted almost immediately by El. So Lucas and Dustin are, in my mind, out of the running. Lucas went looking for Will by himself in s1 after he fought with the others and was obviously invested in getting his friend back. Dustin, by his own observation, would have set off all the magnets and compasses that he carries around. Erica is out too, because of her willingness to get hands on is s3 & s4 to foil plans. Max isn't an option either because aside from the obvious reason of Vecna trying to kill her, she was too close to Billy. This is another way we can discount most of the main party; she would notice just as soon as El would.

I also personally believe the main grown ups of Hopper, Joyce, and Murray to be out of the running here too. Joyce very much fucked with Vecna's plans in s1 by refusing to believe any of the lies she was fed about Will and Hopper has had no real character changes through the seasons to warrant suspicion. Murray is just that little bit far enough outside of the main Hawkins orbit for Vecna to think of him as an option, and doesn't have enough allies in the town early on for him to be considered useful enough. Nancy and Jonathon I'm also discounting because of Jon's proximity to Will, and Nancy's willingness to shoot at anything larger than a golden retriever.

So now. Let's get down to brass tacks. Who is the spy?

Mike is an obvious option for a couple of reasons. When Will was still possessed, Mike was the one that broke him out of it and it was Will's encouragement that helped Mike talk El through her fight with Vecna. Is seeing and hearing each other so loudly through the fog more of a psychic bond than a spiritual one? As much as I am a Byler truther at heart, something tells me that Blue Meets Yellow In The West might be a Mike Vs Will showdown, and not a joining of forces. Mike has also had some significant changes happen. El noticed straight away when he started signing things 'From Mike' instead of 'Love Mike'. He stopped calling Will when they moved to California. He didn't rush to El's side when the other girl's were bullying her, he just looked around, bemused. Not only is this wildly removed from the person we got to know in s1 and s2, but it's so different to someone that his best friend describes as 'The Heart' of them all. Will felt something off about Mike too, when he got to California. Was that sense of Vecna being around just his presence in the Upside Down, or his psychic link to Mike?

Second up, we have Robin. Robin appeared with very little backstory and even Rebel Robin leaves a lot of guesswork and blank spaces. She just happens to speak Russian? As well as how many other languages? Interesting. Did Vecna think that his spy should be able to communicate with the people who were aware of his monsters? Robin also sustained very little damage in the Russian tunnels. She was held captive just like Steve but came out basically untouched. Was this the enemy recognising an ally? Or was it Vecna protecting his asset?

And Robin, of course, leads us to Steve. Oh Steve, beautiful Steve. Let's talk about Steve. Let's talk about Steve, who we know nothing about, who's family we have never met, who went through the biggest arc of all by inserting himself right in with the main group and earning their trust. Let's talk about the jock who can't win a fight until he's up against a literal soldier because maybe he knows how this solider was trained. Let's talk about all-of-a-sudden-has-blonde-highlights-wears-cherry-lipgloss-forgot-how-to-get-a-girlfriend-but-knows-how-to-connect-with-smaller-kids Steve. Let's talk about Steve who throws parties in his big house and invites everyone so he can see them all at the same time and make sure everyone knows who he is.

And isn't it just wild that our boy Steve got tortured so bad by those Russians but it was all superficial damage? No broken bones, no broken nose, hell, he doesn't even have a scar. What a coincidence that they mixed up the truth serum too, huh?

Do his parents really not come home of their own accord? Or do they just get this feeling that maybe they should extend their trip? Steve saw Billy up close and didn't even try to hold on to his King crown. Vecna saw Billy up close and felt bolder, so he let himself slip more into Steve's aesthetic. He added the hair, the lipgloss, lost the swagger, because he'd found Billy and he thought he was so close to winning. He got lazy.

Steve watches everyone closely. Steve knows everyone will tell him their secrets. Steve knows how to rip a demobat apart despite never seeing one before and knowing nothing about their weakspots, or that their blood isn't poisonous if it gets into his mouth.

Steve has been Vecna's spy all along. And in s5, Steve will sacrifice himself for his friends. Eddie was never Kas. It's always been Steve.

[fizzigigsimmer]

Harringrove Hannibal AU Prt 3

I was thinking about my favorite scene in Hannibal, the night he turns himself in, and more about Steve... I think it goes something like this for Billy and Steve.

When The Ripper is caught it doesn’t happen with a bang but with a whimper. There’s no stake out and no grand showdown between law enforcement and the most dangerous serial murderer of the last twenty years like Steve had always expected. There’s just a call to Special Agent Jim Hopper’s cell phone in the dead of night and a raw voice on the other end rasping ‘He’s here. Hurry.’

Every cop in the entire state descends upon Steve’s little cabin on the lake, which before Billy had been Steve’s solitary retreat. During the three years that Steve and Billy have been playing cat and mouse Billy has been to the cabin numerous times, a few of them even as the rare invited guest. That says a lot to Hopper, who even on the night of Hargrove’s arrest pauses before he reaches the bottom step with his gun raised to point center at Billy’s chest, subconsciously unwilling to stain Steve’s sanctuary with blood. Billy has never had the same reluctance.

He showed up at the cabin three years ago in a shiny red sports car, striding right over the lines Steve has drawn around himself to keep the world at a distance. Invading Steve’s solitude like he invades Steve’s space whenever they are in the same proximity. He’d stood there in his GQ ready suit, looking around the rustic log cabin, corrupting the air of Steve’s intimate sanctum with the scent of his cologne. Occasionally over the years Steve will catch wisps of Billy here or there in the house or around the grounds, making him feel as if he is always watched and that Billy is always just a step out of sight. Can't tell if that is what his therapist describes as paranoia or what the heart would call wishful thinking.

That morning, Billy’s eyes took in the pictures tacked to his fridge of Steve’s partner Robin, along with Dustin and Mike from forensics. He’d lingered on the one photo Steve keeps of Will Byers and El, fellow members of the world’s most exclusive club.

They’d found the bodies of dozens of stollen kids, but only twelve survivors after the brutal massacre at Hawkins National Laboratory in the summer of 1978. The papers coined them the Hawkins Twelve.

Steve remembers the way he’d tensed when Billy had touched the faded polaroid, ready to snap and push until he drove Hargrove out of his space, because he doesn’t invite people here to the place Chief Hopper raised El and gave him and Will refuge from the ravenous curiosity of the public, for exactly this reason. But Billy just looked at the picture and then looked at Steve with those eyes that make Steve think of black holes and asked, “These your siblings?”

He’s the first one who sees it without having to be told.

Thinking of Will and El still brings a bitter pain to Steve’s chest. If Steve had known then what he knows now… he’s not sure he wouldn’t still do it the same way. That he wouldn’t have invited Billy to sit down at his table and offered to get him a drink. That Billy wouldn’t still be here with him now. He’s never met anyone with the kind of pull that Billy has. ‘Look at me’ those eyes demand, right before his hands tear you asunder.

Asunder. That’s a Robin word. Robin had this thing with words, this ongoing love affair with their rhyme and their origin; but mostly she just liked teaching Steve new ones by way of adding them to a whiteboard in the breakroom and tallying the ones he knows, and giving him shit for the ones he doesn’t. It’s an odd little game, but they were always an odd little pair – before Billy.

“I think we’re stuck in a zero sum game Harrington.” Billy says from where he kneels between Steve’s parted knees in the cabins single bedroom, ten minutes before the call. About thirty minutes before the police and the FBI have the place surrounded. In the darkness of the unlit room he looks like Steve’s lover, shirtless, hair matted on one side and sticking up in tufts in the back, but there’s enough moonlight shining through the window to highlight the flaws in the illusion. The bruising of his knuckles and the deep scratches on his chest. His hands cradle Steve’s thighs, his flesh mottled and cut up to match Billy’s, and settle on his hips, the pad of one thumb stroking over a protruding hip bone. His brow furrowing ever so slightly in displeasure a the thinness he finds there – the product of lengthy periods of sleeplessness and low appetite.

It’s so ridiculous, that concern in the face of the carnage of the last three years – what Billy has put his his mind and his body through. His heart through. Steve huffs a small laugh. Mostly at himself. Because there’s blood in his teeth and he can still taste Brenner’s flesh in his mouth, from when he bit the man like a cornered animal in a cage. He’d been drugged at the time but he still hazily recalls it, along with the heat in Billy’s eyes and the proud slash of his smile. Love is a zero sum game. Or at least that’s what people say.

“Baby?” Billy’s tone is seeking but the hot hands at Steve’s side are demanding as they squeeze. Always have been, always will be, and Steve sighs. He raises a hand to tuck the hair fallen in front of Billy’s face behind his ears and look his fill at the beautiful face beneath. Billy turns into the palm of his hand but sharp eyes devoid of empathy stay locked on Steve. Those eyes burn, full of hunger and carefully controlled desperation. They are past the stage in the game when they can hide from one another.

Billy wants to start a new chapter.  To build on the ashes of their burned bridges and crumbled cities. Steve wants to burn. But even more so, he wants Billy to burn.

Hopper thinks Billy is a sociopath but Steve knows he’s not. Steve’s the numb one. Steve’s the one who went cold and struggles to feel things or know the difference between dreams and waking. Billy feels everything. He overflows with feeling. Burns bright with them like a dying star and even now… even now Steve just wants to curl up in the center of his heat and let Billy flow through his veins until he burns like a sun.

“You had to take her too. You can’t help herself.” Steve says, grounding himself for this one last play. This final shot aimed right at the heart, he has held back through all the death and all the loss. But Billy has finally gone too far. He needs to know and there is only one way to show him.

“Buckley made her own choices Steve. I’m sorry that it wasn’t you.” Billy says, soft with the cruelty of care. The unspoken implication being that Robin may have chosen to distance herself, Billy wants to be closer. As if Steve would reward him for ruining the closest thing that he has had to a friend since before the lab, that wasn’t of the lab and smothering the last little bit of light in his dark world.

“You don’t want me to have anything if it’s not you. You want me to look at you and never look away because it’s the only thing that will make you finally feel seen. You call me baby not because it gets under my skin but because I’m under yours.” Steve cradles the sides of Billy’s face tenderly with the hands that Billy has taped, memorizing the supple feel of his skin and the softness of the hair on the back of his head.

Steeling himself Steve pulls away, letting his hands drop as he pulls the trigger and shoots dead what has lived between them for three long, vibrant, years.

“But I don’t want to be there anymore Hargrove. I’m letting you go. I’m not going to look for you and I don’t want to know if Hop ever catches you. It doesn’t matter to me anymore. You’ve won.You killed who I was and you left nothing to salvage. I’m dead to me. And now you’re dead to me too.”

Billy doesn’t say anything. Steve knows that Billy can see the lies in it, as well as the truth. The truth is always the most effective weapon, and the truth is after this latest brush with death and the loss of his best friend Steve is done. He won’t let Billy matter to him anymore. That’s what matters.  

Billy’s fingers dig into his sides as he takes a slow breath, nostrils flared. Billy could kill him for this. Probably wants to. But Billy could always kill him and will probably always want to, just a little.  

The night that Billy Hargrove is arrested he leaves Steve’s bedroom without a word. He makes a single call from the kitchen on the landline this place is old enough to have, and grabs a packet of smokes and a lighter from the junk drawer and goes to the porch to smoke and contemplate what Hopper should find when he gets here.

Steve’s body will be the thing that finally breaks Hopper. Not the dead daughter or the crazy surrogate one, but the golden boy.The child he turned into a weapon to hunt his own demons with. There’s more than one way Steve’s body can put an end to Billy’s pain, to the raw ache in his chest and the hunger that gnaws at his belly with unfulfilled desires for closeness and understanding. He knows better than this. Despises that he let himself get so tangled up and wrapped up in a useless dream he shouldn’t even want.  

The thing is this whole thing started with a game. Hopper dangling Steve in front of Billy’s nose, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist the honey trap. Billy playing Hopper and Steve against each other, trying to wiggle his way inside Steve’s head under the guise of turning Hops golden boy into his tragic downfall; but truthfully, he’d really wanted to get inside of Steve because he was just plain fascinated. Enthralled. Steve’s a survivor like him. Different cage and different murder at the end, but like recognizes like.

And now he can’t imagine a better friend or partner to shape the rest of his days around. That’s what gives life meaning, he has realized.  

Maybe a little too late. Billy’s never been good with going slow or taking time to nurture things. Hasn’t had a single good reason to practice or anyone to practice on even if he did. Harrington’s punishing him. Killing his darlings just to spite him the same way Billy has killed all of his. And when he views it like that, Billy can’t help but smile around his cigarette.  

If Harrington wants to see him suffer, he supposes that’s fair. All considered.

“Your move Pretty Boy.” He says to the darkened dwelling behind him as he hears the first wail of a siren in the distance.

[twittercomfrnklin2001-blog]

Tales From the Crypt: Demon Knight

Although it wasn’t originally planned to be part of a projected TALES FROM THE CRYPT film franchise, Ernest Dickerson’s TALES FROM THE CRYPT: DEMON KNIGHT (1995, Criterion Channel) shares more with the series than just the tacked-on opening and closing with the animated Crypt Keeper (shot by another director, so don’t blame Dickerson if you find them a little forced). Dickerson uses the same neon color scheme of many of the series’ episodes along with its mixture of queasy violence and humor. There’s less sense that it’s a horror fable, though. Instead, it seems like the start of a different franchise that never happened. And the first twist is so big, the only thing I can tell you is that the plot revolves around a battle between William Sadler and Billy Zane over a key filled with holy blood. There are demons involved, and some people are tempted to accept possession as a way of life. Dickerson keeps the whole thing moving very well, and the camera work is quite fluid. It also has a terrific main set, the interior of a church that’s been turned into a motel. The cast is filled with distinctive types like CCH Pounder, who gets most of the best lines, Dick Miller, Jada Pinkett, Thomas Haden Church and John Schuck. There’s also a whole lot of acting going on, much of it quite entertaining, with Zane something of a standout. The problem is that it all needs to be a little more. Only Pinkett’s temptation scene has any zing to it. It’s got a nice surrealistic feel. The others are either bland or embarrassing. For the rest of the film, the colors could be brighter, the jokes could be funnier and except for Pounder and Miller, the acting could go a little more over the top. Although poorly reviewed at first, the film has garnered more appreciation in years since, partly because Pinkett’s casting is still somewhat revolutionary. Overall, though, it just doesn’t go far enough to make it to cult status.

[debtsunpaid]

well there's a ruffle of feathers that hardly goes unnoticed; should've guessed that an almost-rumble would leave anyone wound a little tight. frank lifts his hand right back up off the guy's shoulder, an open palm of surrender that turns into a peace sign. " hey man, it's cool. i read ya. no touchy. "

it falls when he's sure he's not gonna have to go blocking any punches, thumb hooking through a belt loop. sure is a rowdy little guy he's wound up tagging onto, that's for sure, but ain't that just the way it goes? meeting all the most interesting people in all the oddest places. life on the road in a nutshell.

" aw, thanks. i'm not probably not winnin' any contests against no tacks, but i like to think i'd land on miss congeniality, at least. " he's polite enough not to wrinkle his nose as the elbow goes up; been there, smelled that. smelled worse.

" nah, man! a little trouble keeps it interesting. " and hey, he's had worse responses to a sit-down invitation, too! he grins, slow and easy, and doffs his harley cap as he scoots past, leading the way toward the side of the bar that's got the most distance between them and the still-sulky gaggle of local antagonists. " big john, ha! that's funny. you mean it like robin hood or jimmy dean? "

the nearest empty spot isn't exactly in the corner, but it's a near thing — perfect for keeping an eye on your fellow man without fading off into the shadows. he flags down the waitress as he slides into his seat and drapes an arm along the back of the booth, putting in for a beer, the greasiest basket of fries they've got, and whatever isaac wants to drink.

" not like i'm complainin', but i gotta know where to get yours from, right? or i could try to guess your actual name, lemme see now . . . " he snaps his fingers, tongue against teeth. " . . . steve. or, nah — maybe billy? shoot, i've never been good at guessin'. you haven't been in town long, have you, 'cause i'll be real damn embarrassed if i'da met you before now. "

to that , all isaac can manage is a rattling huff of air - the kind that comes laced with restraint and longing so deep you'd think he'd been the one itching for a fight . he didn't start it , but you'd better fucking believe he'd finish it .

if he wasn't so goddamn tired . if he wasn't slways so tired .

the handful of limped paces put into his escape is stalled , quite suddenly , by yogi bear's big fucking mitt clapped against his shoulder once more . a shudder rolls down his spine at that one , unbidden , half the re-raising of his hackles and the other half cool , liquid fear . maybe this fuckwit isn't the peacekeeper he's claiming to be . maybe him and minerva hadn't split up for this one . fuck .

" yeah . yeah , you - ... you've got a point . " he grumbles , admittance dragged out of him like a snarling cat . he sniffs once , twitching his nose ; and then , in a gesture that he hopes is subtle , scratches his neck to get a noseful of himself . eugh . he'd be sorry if he hadn't been caked in leather on an 80-degree day - that's got an ounce of excusability to it . isaac properly turns his front to the man , trying to catch a glimpse of what he's working with .

trustworthy . alright .

" oh , i haven't fucked your night up enough yet ? ... sure . don't have anywhere else to be . " he hefts his meager weight over to the side , arm outstretched in a mock bow . " lead the way , big john . "

[biillyhargroves]

i see so many teacher aus where billy teaches littles and that’s all well and good but listen to me. hear me out. that man would teach high school seniors exclusively. he teaches, like…ap english literature or some shit. he has a skull on his desk that he uses to dramatically reenact hamlet. every single student falls in love with him during the poetry unit, when he earnestly recites emily dickenson. he has a no bullshit policy, has been known to shout “sometimes a cigar is just a cigar!” when his students purposefully and annoyingly over-analyze the text for brownie points. he stands outside his classroom during passing periods and defends the scrawny little freshmen nervously flitting about, always reminding his upperclassmen that they know better than to pick on the newbies. he has a this classroom has gone x days without quoting shakespeare sign that is always set to zero because of billy and billy alone. he plays his music while his students do quiet work, turning it up louder whenever one of them complains about it being “dinosaur music.” he treats his 17 and 18 year-olds like kindergartners, has a candy bucket and passes out stickers and has a secret stash of scented markers that he’ll let them use if they behave themselves. he has a classroom library that he stocks from garage sales, a bunch of ratty paperbacks, and he always makes sure to get multiple copies of popular books so that his students can keep the ones that resonate. he is everyone’s favorite teacher. he coaches the basketball and swim teams and his athletes use his classroom as a hideout, a hang out. he’s got an open door policy, let’s the quiet kids pass their lunch period with him so long as they don’t disturb him while he’s grading. he is the teacher that ever visiting alumni has to say hi to. he always gets hand cramps around college admissions season because of the amount of recommendation letters he writes for his kids. he’s the teacher that makes an impact, the one that all of his students remember five, ten, fifteen, twenty years down the line. he has a display in his classroom of college graduation photos former students have sent him, every one tacked next to the heartfelt thank you card the student sent along. that is teacher!billy. thank u for ur time.

[quokkacore]

phenomena | s.jn

summary: the majority of your adult life you’ve been practically married to logic and science. until your superiors at the FBI assign you to work with special agent johnny suh on the so-called x-files project—cases that were never solved due to unexplained phenomena. as time goes by, and you chase case after case, you find yourself drifting further from logic… and closer to johnny. (part of the 90s love collab)

pairing: conspiracytheorist!johnny x doctor!reader

genre: x-files!au (with johnny as fox mulder and reader as dana scully), fbiagents!au, coworkers-to-lovers, slow burn, sci-fi, angst, fluff, comedy, crack-ish at times, fakmarriage!au at the end

warnings: language, murder, eating, blood, general violence, police presence (txf is fbi level copaganda but oh well), johnny is a low key dick initially, sexual references, general american ignorance, implied sexual harrassment in the workplace, mental hospitals, reader witnesses a distressing panic attack, guns, body image, referenced child/animal abuse, repressed memories, mentions of anti-semitism & nazism, christian allusions, occultism, mild gore, slight body horror, some 90s pop culture references, i am not !!! an fbi agent so there may be some inconsistencies, suggestive content but no actual smut, Karens being thirsty for johnny, johnny is a Single Man and is Kind of Gross, both reader and johnny get knocked unconscious Several Times

song recs: gorillaz - dirty harry // john mellencamp - martha say // elton john - whitewash county // arctic monkeys - all my own stunts // kesha - spaceship // the cranberries - dreams // exo - oasis // the cure - friday, i'm in love // billy joel - we didn't start the fire // david bowie - starman // phoebe bridgers - chinese satellite // tom petty - wildflowers // selena - bidi bidi bom bom // soda stereo - persiana americana // bruce springsteen - dancing in the dark // the cranberries - linger // bruce springsteen - human touch // r.e.m - it's the end of the world as we know it (and i feel fine) // david bowie - heroes (or just listen to the playlist i made instead)

word count: 34.3k (YOWZA u should prob read this on a browser)

a/n: a fic this long......never again

X-FILE 62-J: THE PINEWOOD PATTERN

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—08:00 hours, Monday, March 16th, 1992

The morning you met Johnny Suh, his glasses were crooked. It was two years after you'd started working for the FBI, and you were 28 years old. 

You'd spoken to your Division Chief—an older, balding man named Carson Brooks—the afternoon prior, just before you left home. He, along with two other men had asked you about the man in question. 

"Agent L/N, tell me. What do you know about an agent named John Suh?” 

You had furrowed your eyebrow, staring up at him. “John Suh? He had quite the reputation at the academy. Let's see… Oxford educated psychologist. He wrote a monograph on serial killers and the occult… helped the FBI catch Ezekiel Braun in 1988. He’s generally considered to be the best analyst of the violent crimes division. I’ve never met him personally. There’s a nickname for him around the division, though. They called him that in the academy, too." You had to hold back a chuckle, "Spooky Suh."

One of the men next to him nodded—a senior officer whose name you couldn't quite remember—before leaning forward. “It has come to our attention that he’s devoted himself to a project outside of the bureau mainstream. Agent L/N, are you familiar with the so-called X-Files project?”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, trying to recall where you’d heard the name. “From what I understand,” You said, looking up at the man, “They’re cases that are related to unexplained phenomena.”

Your division chief straightened his glasses. “Agent L/N, we’d like for you to assist Suh on these files. You are to write field reports and assess the validity of his work.”

You blinked, not letting your face crack. “...Am I to understand you want me to debunk the X-Files project, sir?”

Your eyes scanned the room. So far, the third man, the one smoking the cigarette had been the only one to not speak.

“Agent L/N,” Your division chief replied with a pursed smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “We expect you to make the proper scientific analyses required for these cases. We trust you won’t disappoint us and will be looking forward to seeing your reports. You are to meet with Agent Suh tomorrow morning.”

That had been the day before. Now, here you were, on your way down to the basement, which was apparently John Suh's natural habitat within the Bureau headquarters. The lighting was relatively low in the hallways, shelves upon shelves of cardboard archive boxes seemingly closing you in. When you finally reached the office door at the end of the hall, you rapped your knuckles against the wood twice.

“Sorry, no one down here except for the FBI’s most unwanted!” A deep, sardonic toned voice lamented. You made an amused face to yourself, before quickly composing yourself. 

Professionalism above all else, Y/N. First impressions matter.

So you took a deep breath before opening the door slowly. Your eyes scanned the room, widening slightly despite your mantras of professionalism. The man had his back to you, so he didn’t catch it, thankfully. He was too busy studying photographic slides on a lightbox on his desk, hunched over in concentration. 

But amongst those metal filing cabinets that were all that same atrocious shade of gray, the entire room was pretty much a mess—papers scattered across the desk and pictures tacked to the walls haphazardly to the point where it was hard to tell what color the wall he was sitting in front of was. Among other things, you caught newspaper clippings, pictures of bright beams of light igniting the night sky, a diagram of the human skeleton, and in the middle, a large poster. On it, a large UFO was hovering above a pine forest skyline, the words “I WANT TO BELIEVE” printed in bold, white letters across the bottom.

The man in question turned in his swivel chair to face you. You took note of the crooked glasses propped up onto his round nose, wide eyes studying you up and down. The sleeves of his white button up were rolled up to his elbows, and his tie, just like his glasses, was crooked. Still, you mustered a curt smile, urging yourself to remain professional in spite of how handsome he was.     

"Agent Suh," You declared, holding out your hand, "I’m Y/N L/N. I've been assigned to work with you."

John shook your hand, eyeing you somewhat skeptically. "Agent L/N. I've heard a lot of things. So, who did you piss off to get stuck with this old nut?"

"Actually, I’m looking forward to working with you. Division chief Brooks has asked me to do an evaluation of your work ethic and the overall project, I’m hoping we can work well together."

He pursed his lips, obviously trying to hold back a laugh. Finally, he broke into a grin. "So, they want you to babysit."

You bit back a huff as he turned to look back at his slides. Well, yes, he was right in a way, but you weren't going to admit it. Not with the slightly condescending tone he'd taken with you. Running your tongue against your front teeth in annoyance, you did your best to remain cordial. You plastered your polite smile back onto your face and crossed your arms.

"If you have any doubt about my credentials—”

“You’re a medical doctor,” He said, pulling out a folder with a clear plastic front, “You teach at the academy, did your undergraduate degree in physics…”

He looked at the blue folder in his hands. “Einstein’s Twin Paradox: A new interpretation. Y/N L/N’s senior thesis, now there’s a credential: rewriting Einstein.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you bother to read it?” Your tone had a dangerous roll to it. Already you were starting to doubt how much you would enjoy this. 

“I did!” He stood up from the swivel chair, revealing to you just how tall he was. As he walked to one of the gray filing cabinets on the other side of the room, he turned his head and flashed you a crooked smile. “I really liked it, actually. It’s just in my line of work, the laws of physics don’t seem to apply.”

John walked back over to his desk, picking up some of the slides on the lightbox and popping them into a slide projector a few feet away. You stepped out of his way as he made his way to the light switch next to the door, engulfing the room in darkness except for the lightbox, which gave the room a dim, industrial white glow. Turning back to the projector, he pressed the on button, before he looked back at you. His face had turned serious, wide eyes peering at you in the dark.

“Maybe I can get your medical opinion on this.”

Turning your head to the first slide, your eyes settled on the body of a young woman lying amongst old leaves. She was in a white nightgown smudged in dirt, and her arms were spread out as if she were waiting for someone to embrace her.

“Oregon female,” John said, “Aged 21. No known cause of death. Autopsy tells us jack.”

He changed slides, and the image projected on the wall changed to a close up of skin, two small red dots puckered up about a few centimeters away from each other. “However, these were found on her lower back. Doctor L/N, can you ID these marks?”

Walking closer to the projection on the wall, you sighed softly in thought. “Needle punctures, maybe?” You asked, “An animal bite? Electrocution?” 

“The coroner wasn’t able to ID them either.” He pressed a button on the projector, and it whirred as it changed slides. This time, it was a figure of a chemical composition. You furrowed your eyebrow. 

“This was found in the surrounding tissue. How’s your chemistry?” He asked, sounding amused. You glanced at him in dislike, then at the composition, racking your head at the sight of so many cyclohexanes. 

“It’s organic… Is it some kind of synthetic protein?”

He didn’t answer, and your mouth fell open in confusion, shaking your head. “I… don’t know, what is it?”

John laughed. “Beats me! I’ve never seen it either. But it’s also been found in Amaranth, South Dakota…” He clicked the button on the projector. It changed to an image of a middle aged man laying face down in a ditch. He did it again, and a younger man appeared strewn in the middle of the desert, eyes glazed open. “...And again, in Verona, Nevada.”

“Do you have any theories?” You asked, squinting as to avoid looking at the glare of the projector, and instead stare at him. He made his way closer to you. The light of the projection caused the image to warp and distort, projected onto the right side of his face. 

“Oh, I have plenty of theories. What I want to know is why it’s bureau policy to claim these as unexplained phenomena when there’s clearly a pattern here.”

He sighed, before stepping closer to you. He wasn’t necessarily invading your personal space. But from this proximity, caught in the light of the projector you could make out the soft flecks of amber in his brown eyes, the soft curve of his lips. “So, doc,” He murmured, voice low and raspy, “Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

Oh boy, you thought, here we go. 

“Logically, I would have to say no. The energy capabilities required to travel through space, as well as the technology you're implying would exceed a spacecraft's—”

"Conventional wisdom," He said, raising his eyebrows. He crossed his arms, pointing at the projection. "Do you know that this girl in Oregon is the fourth person in her graduating class to pass away under suspicious circumstances?" 

 He shifted his weight to lean on one leg. “When there’s no logic, and there’s no convention, is it such a crime to turn to the fantastic for explanations?”

 You frowned. “She had to have died from something. Whether it was natural, then it’s possible the medical examiner missed something. If she was murdered, then maybe it was a cover-up, or a sloppy investigation.” 

Leaning your head forward towards him, you put your hands on your hips. “What I find fantastic is the idea that you would be willing to look anywhere except the realm of science for answers. The answers are there, you just have to be willing to look for them.”

    “And that’s why they put the I in FBI,” He quipped, sounding quite amused at his joke. He turned on the overhead lights, then made his way to sit down at his swivel chair. He leaned back against the black cushion. “So, L/N. You, me, a flight to Pinewood, Oregon, bright and early tomorrow at eight AM. How’s that sound?”

 You bit back a smile. John Suh was… quite the character, that was for sure. Smug. Intelligent. Maybe just a tiny bit off his rocker.

But you didn't really have much of a choice, and you were growing curious as well. 

 "Alright,” You conceded, “I’ll bite.”

 John grinned. “Awesome.”

You set your purse down next to the projector, before turning it off. “I’ll be right back,” You told him, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

He nodded, turning back to the files next to the lightbox.

 “And John?” You leaned against the doorway, watching as he straightened his posture to look up at you, expectant of your words. His eyes, from behind those crooked, round rimmed glasses, were poised on your frame. 

“Yes?”

“Your glasses are crooked.” You turned to exit, smiling to yourself when you heard him move, and softly mumble, “Oh, shit.”

PINEWOOD, OREGON—11:32 hours, Tuesday, March 17th, 1992

The plane touched down with only the slightest bit of turbulence. John Suh was sitting right next to you, snoring softly as you pored over the four different medical reports. The reports of the first three victims—Kaya Tate, Jisung Park, and Alex Gallagher—were basically the same word for word, other than specific physical details of the victims, like hair color, height and weight. All of them were found in the woods and were estimated to have died somewhere between one and four in the morning. Possible causes of death included exposure and cardiac arrest, but there wasn’t enough evidence to list anything. The oddest part was that of the three of them, all of their pupils were shrunken. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

 When a person dies, what occurs next is called primary flaccidity. In this state, all of the muscles relax—their head might fall back as the neck loses strength, the jaw falls open, fingers loosen their grip. And the pupils should dilate. But here, they weren’t. Not in the slightest.

You frowned, looking over the first three reports again. There was no sign of red marks anywhere. At the end of all three medical reports, the same signature was seen: Aaron Choi, MD. 

Flicking through the medical report of the fourth victim—Kaya Tate—you looked over the similarities of the other autopsies, and the one unavoidable difference: those damned red markings John had shown you yesterday. With a sigh, you skimmed over the report one last time, before one final difference caught your eye at the very end. This report wasn’t signed by one Aaron Choi, MD. No, it was signed by Hank Rodrigo, MD.

You didn’t have time to think over it much as the pilot made the announcement that the plane would be landing soon. John jumped awake at the sound of his voice. His eyes cracked open, and he frowned as if he were upset at being woken up. 

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” You greeted when he gave you a sideways glance. 

“And here I was, hoping for a kiss to break the spell.” He laughed sleepily, but you frowned as you pulled the reports off of the tray. You didn’t answer as you put them away and put the tray back up in preparation for the landing.

John stretched his back, inhaling deeply before staring at you awkwardly. “...Sorry. I’m being inappropriate.”

You shook your head, but then smiled. “Thank you for apologizing. Some guys at the bureau can be real creeps.”

He frowned. “...You’re trained in self defense at the academy for a reason, y’know.”

Rolling your eyes, you zipped up your bag. Still, you couldn’t let go of the smile on your face. Still, you put some sarcasm into your tone when you next spoke. “Of course I am.”

When the plane landed, you picked up the rental car the bureau had provided, and put your suitcases in the trunk before getting in. John drove, popping in a cassette of his that played some rock song you didn’t know the name of. 

Martha say she don't need no stinking man making no decisions for her

She don't need his money, she don't need him between the sheets

She ain't gonna sleep on the edge of the bed for no stinking man...

“Kaya Tate’s medical report was signed by a different examiner,” You pointed out, even though you knew that he’d already realized that.

“And there it is,” He said, not taking his eyes off of the road. “Those marks are pretty hard to miss. If they all had similar circumstances in the autopsy, who’s to say the first three kids didn’t have the same markings? And why would Doctor Choi avoid putting that in the reports?”

For a moment, he looked at you, and raised an eyebrow. You mirrored his expression at his implication. “So, you think the medical examiner has something to do with the murders.”

“Maybe?” He glanced briefly in the rearview mirror. “He’s a person of interest. Not necessarily a suspect. I’ve arranged to exhume Alex Gallagher’s body. Maybe we can come to some conclusion of our own—”

He was interrupted by the sound of the song from his cassette distorting, static blaring in between the music and the sound of the vocalist’s voice.

At first, you thought it was something to do with the cassette… until the windows started rolling up and down of their own accord, and the lights on the dashboard started to flicker. You felt the car even swerve slightly, despite John’s firm hands on the wheel.

Within a matter of seconds he managed to pull over and put the car in park. As soon as it had started, it was over, but as John turned the motor off, he met your eyes. He looked just as perplexed as you did. 

“What just happened?”

He didn't answer, unbuckling his seat belt. As he got out of the car, you did the same thing, wondering what kind of failure could cause a car to go haywire like that. 

Wordlessly, you watched as John took a good, long look at his watch, before walking over to the trunk and popping it up. From his suitcase, he pulled out a can of spray paint. He pulled the cap off of it and leaned over, aiming at the asphalt. You raised your eyebrows.

"What are you—" 

The sound of the paint can interrupted your words. You watched as he sprayed a big X on the street, right in front of where he was standing. Your mouth remained slightly open, unsure of what to say. When he stood up straight, he placed the can back in his suitcase, and looked up at you. Slamming the trunk shut, the both of you exchanged stares: his blank as if vandalizing forest streets were a part of his day to day life, and yours somewhat perplexed. 

When the two of you got back into the car, it turned on with no issue. John's cassette started up again on the same song. Again, you exchanged a wordless stare, the both of you now equally unsure.

“Welcome to the Twilight Zone,” John muttered, putting the car in drive. You didn’t reply.

 Hi-de-hi-de-hi, brother,

Hi-de-hi-de-hey now, Martha...

Ten minutes later the two of you rolled into the cemetery. It was an uphill slope, a small field atop it, connecting to the woods. John drove until a small, yellow bulldozer caught your eye and you pointed it out. He parked as close as the road permitted, and the two of you exited the car, ready to head up the hill.

As the two of you pulled out your FBI badges, an officer came running up to you. He darted between tombstones and stopped in front of you, pursing his lips awkwardly. You both help up your badges. "Special agents Y/N L/N and John Suh," You said.

The officer nodded sheepishly. He seemed young and rather inexperienced. "Officer Mitch Swenson. The chief couldn't be here right now, ma'am."

"Oh?" John continued walking towards the grave, which was fully undug. A crew was in the process of using a pulley to lift the coffin out of the ground. "Couldn't, or didn't want to? He didn't seem very happy when I contacted him on the phone. Didn't even tell me his name."

Officer Swenson looked down. "I'm sorry to say that he's opposed to this intervention, sir."

"Unfortunately," You told him, "After so many unexplained deaths, we're obligated to involve ourselves. If he has an issue with our jurisdiction then he can take it up with—"

A loud snapping noise stopped you in your tracks, and your head turned just in time to see the ropes on the pulley snap, dropping the coffin. It quickly began tumbling downhill, towards you. You barely had time to step back. Before you could be trampled by a goddamn coffin on what was quickly becoming one of the strangest days of your life, you felt a strong hand grip your forearm and yank you back harshly. 

The coffin barrelled right into the back of a tombstone, cracking open ever so slightly. Your back collided with John's chest. Neck craning back to look at him, you realized both your chests were heaving in shock. He was staring at the small opening in the coffin.

You pulled away from him, charging towards the coffin. John and Officer Swenson did the same, as well as some from the lifting crew.

As soon as you got within five feet of the coffin, a putrid odor hit your nose and seemed to hit everyone else's. John's hand went to cover his nose. Officer Swenson turned green. You held back a gag.

Still, despite the heinous stench, you leaned forward, trying to get a good look inside. Fully expecting to see a decaying corpse, you squinted, trying to make out the shape of the face.

"Holy shit," You heard the young officer say off to your left. Your eyes widened, just as you made out some features of the cadaver.

"Make sure no one else sees this," John ordered someone, as you made out a snout and very thin arms. As your eyes widened, John turned to you. You turned your head to him, and he flashed you an awkward grin.

"...I'm guessing he was no student athlete," He joked, scratching the back of his head. You shook your head in disbelief, face frozen in shock.

"I… is that a—?"

CORONER'S OFFICE, PINEWOOD, OREGON — 14:48 hours, Tuesday, March 17th, 1992

"A chimpanzee."

You didn't give John's unsatisfied tone much of a second thought, continuing to ensure you had everything ready for your analysis.

"You think it's a chimpanzee," John said again a few seconds later, snapping a picture of the body, which was spread out on a metal table. 

"Or an orangutan," You replied, not looking up from your tools. Pulling out your tape recorder, you finally met his eyes. "I was thinking it might even be a bonobo, but it's too big. Mammalian, that's for sure."

"Y/N, we're in Oregon! Where would someone get a monkey—why would someone put a monkey in some dead kid's coffin?"

You shook your head. "John, you can't possibly think this is anything other than a sick joke, can you?"

He huffed, too engrossed in taking pictures of the body. He looked like he had just discovered sliced bread.

"This is amazing. It—it's unprecedented… I want a full report," He demanded, "Toxicology, x-rays, tissue samples, genetic testing, the works. We can get those tissue samples and x-rays done now, everything else we take back to DC." 

You laid a measuring tape next to the subject's body, before putting your hands on your hips. 

"You’re kidding," You said, glaring at him from the other side of the table, "Try telling Alex Gallagher's family that his body was replaced with an alien. You'd probably lose a few teeth doing it!" 

John lowered his camera, taking a deep breath. He thought for a few seconds before answering. "I'm not crazy, Y/N," He insisted, "I have the same doubts you do." 

Flexing your fingers to see if the surgical gloves fit adequately, you sighed. 

"Please leave for a moment," You mumbled, "I need to record my observations and I can't do that properly if you're flashing that camera in my face and talking about little green men." 

He frowned, not meeting your eyes. He looked like he wanted to protest, but he shook his head to himself as he turned around. Soon, he was out the door. 

During your analysis, you made several observations: the subject was 157 centimeters in length, and weighed 56 pounds. Long limbs and fingers, and large ocular caverns that suggested it belonged to the ape family, as you'd told John minutes ago. It was in an advanced state of decay and desiccation. 

When you turned the subject over, you couldn't help but look at the lower back. Lo and behold, there and ready to give you a headache, were two bumps. They were no longer red, tinged gray, same as the rest of the body, but they were there.

Only when the x-rays finally developed two hours later did you discover the cherry on top: a small metallic implant in the subject's nasal cavity, embedded in the skin, which was extracted and placed in a small glass vial. The vial was placed in your blazer pocket, which you'd removed to put on the PPE gown. 

When you were finally finished with the report, you put your blazer back on and discarded the PPE and surgical gloves. All you'd managed to do was give yourself a migraine at all of the oddities piling up in this case. When you got back to DC? A bubble bath was in order. With a very, very large glass of wine.

As you approached the door to the lobby, the voices of two men arguing got louder and louder. Rolling your eyes, you sighed at the feeling of your head pounding. One sounded angrier, the other significantly calmer. When your hand was on the knob, you realized who the calmer voice belonged to.

"Shit," You whispered to yourself, flinging open the door. A middle aged man yelling at John—who looked very blasé about the whole situation—was waving his finger in his face. Behind him stood Officer Swenson, another officer, and a young girl dressed in an oversized windbreaker and jeans, who looked like she wanted to evaporate into thin air. 

"You people think you can march in here and do whatever you want," The man growled, "I don't see why—"

"What's going on here?" You asked, stepping between the man and John. The man scoffed at you, eyeing you up and down. 

“Who are you?”

You pulled out your badge and flashed it to him. His scowl deepened. “Special Agent Y/N L/N, FBI. I’m Agent Suh's partner for this investigation. Now, what is going on? And who are you?”

The man’s face twisted in disdain at your authoritative tone. “I’m Doctor Aaron Choi, the county medical examiner. Now, the audacity of you and your partner—”

“Dad, please,” The girl exclaimed, sounding embarrassed, “Let’s just go home!”

 The man waved a hand in her direction, tone dismissive and angry. “Lia, be quiet. I’m talking. The audacity you two have to come here and interrupt our procedures—”

“Doctor Choi, this is the fourth unexplained death of a student from the Pinewood High class of ‘89,” John pointed out, “After the county was unable to come up with any conclusive evidence, the FBI was forced to become involved. I take it you weren’t informed of the exhumation and the analysis of Alex Gallagher’s body?”

Doctor Choi shook his head. “I’ve been away with my family. We just got back.”

That explains the different medical examiner on the latest autopsy, you realized. 

“Doctor Choi, I’m sorry you feel that way,” You said, “But it’s our obligation to come and investigate. Now, I’m sorry, but it’s getting late, and we have to get going. I can give you my cell phone number if it were to make you more comfortable, but—”

“No. That’s quite enough,” He snapped. He turned to the young girl, nodding his head at the door. “Lia, let’s go.”

The girl sighed, and met your eyes before she turned to follow after him. She looked desperate; you assumed it was because of the scene her father had caused. The two officers followed after them.

As the two of you watched them leave, you turned to John. He simply shrugged, looking done with the whole situation. “Talk about a warm welcome,” He grumbled. You glared at him. 

“Let’s just go,” You huffed, rubbing at a spot above your eyebrow, “I still need to get started on this report.”

The two of you exited the building, and John explained that tomorrow, he’d arranged a visit to a mental institution in the town over. That there were two more students of the class of ‘89 were staying. Both of them were reportedly a part of Alex Gallagher’s circle of friends.

 In your pocket, the vial holding the metal implant seemed heavier than it had been when you first extracted it.

ALOYSIUS GRANT MENTAL INSTITUTION, CRESTHILL, OREGON—10:47 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

The wing where Chenle Zhong and Nancy Goldstein were staying was relatively quiet. As the nurse explained their circumstances, Nancy remained glued to a book in her wheelchair. Next to her in his bed, Chenle lay perfectly still, lips parted slightly, eyes wide and unmoving. 

You were informed that Nancy had developed delusions and become extremely paranoid as a result of post-traumatic stress. Chenle was living through something called a living coma. He never moved, never spoke. The only indication you saw that he was still alive was the constant rise and fall of his chest. Both of them had been in an automotive crash in the autumn of 1989, and had been like this ever since. 

“Nancy,” The nurse said softly, “You have guests, can they speak with you?”

Nancy lifted her head, “I can’t,” She answered, shaking her head. “I’m reading to Lele right now.”

“Does… does he like it when you read to him?” John asked, and she nodded.

“It calms him down,” She said, “It distracts him from everything.”

You looked down, thinking about her words and what she must have gone through—Chenle as well. At the feet of Chenle’s bed, you noticed odd specks of… ash? It was sprinkled sparsely in front of the bed, on what was a seemingly pristine floor.

You wanted to pick it up, but didn’t want the nurse looking at you strangely. So you turned your attention back to the conversation between John and the nurse. He lowered his voice and leaned in towards her, as if he didn’t want Nancy to hear. “Would it be possible for us to run some medical tests on Ms. Goldstein?”

The thing was that Nancy did hear, and at the mention of medical tests, her large eyes nearly popped out of her head, and she started to tremble in the wheelchair. “N-no tests,” She pleaded, before throwing her book to the side and raising her voice, "No tests! You can't take me there again!"

She began to thrash in the wheelchair, hyperventilating and begging in between breaths to not go anywhere. She threw herself out of the wheelchair but was unable to stand, and instead remained on the floor, crying. 

"Nancy, sweetie, you're going to be fine," The nurse said gently, leaning down to placate the poor girl who was shaking her head. She looked up at the both of you. "Can you help me please?" 

John leaned down to gently assist the nurse in helping Nancy up, and you picked up the wheelchair, which had fallen onto its side. You gripped one of the back handles of the chair to steady it. Your other hand smudged along the ground to try and pick up some of the powder. As the pair helped her sit down, your eyes caught something. 

Nancy's shirt had ridden up during the ordeal, and there, along the small of her back, you saw them. The same marks that Kaya Tate, Jisung Park, and Alex Gallagher had. 

When Nancy refused to calm down, wailing and begging not to be taken back to wherever she thought you and John wanted to take her, the nurse ushered you out.

 "I'm sorry," She told you, "But you're upsetting my patients. If you absolutely need to come back, then do it some other day when she's calmed down." 

The two of you set off towards the exit down the stairs, your heels click-clacking quickly along the floor as you walked in front of John. 

He held open the exit door for you, and as soon as you were out the door and headed toward the parking lot, you whirled on him. 

"How did you know she would have those marks?" You asked, almost angry at him. John shrugged. 

"A hunch," Was all he answered.

"Dammit, Suh, cut the crap. What the hell is going on here?"

"What, so you can go off and write it in your little reports?" He fired back, raising his voice at you for the first time. Your head snapped back at the sudden disdain in his voice.

"I'm here to solve this case just the same as you are," You growled, "Now tell me the truth. I think I'm entitled to it."

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, scowling at you. He leaned closer to you and lowered his voice. "You want my honest opinion? Fine. I think those kids have been abducted by an alien force. I think that they run tests on those kids, which is why Nancy Goldstein freaked out, and why Alex's body and hers have those markings. That's what I think."

You tapped your heel along the sidewalk in frustration and thought. "John, do you realize how insane that sounds? I—Why, there's nothing to substantiate—"

"Nothing scientific to substantiate," He corrected.

"Science is all there is, John!" You shook your head. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. The  both of you knew that this conversation would lead nowhere. Looking down, you remembered the ash smudged onto the palm of your hand. 

"Look," You said, quieter now. "This was on the floor around Chenle Zhong's bed."

"'S that… ash?"

You nodded. "I know what you think, John. Let me tell you what I think. I think those kids might be involved in some sort of sacrifice of some sort. Think about it, they're always called into the woods. The medical examiner doesn't want us looking at the bodies. And now, ash."

John's eyes darted back and forth, considering the options. He walked over to the car, unlocking it so the both of you could enter. 

"We can head into the woods tonight," He offered finally. "That way, we can both look into our own hypotheses."

"Sounds good to me," You answered, "Tonight."

THE WOODS, PINEWOOD, OREGON—20:26 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

A few hours after sundown, the two of you drove to the edge of the woods, armed with flashlights and your handguns. You'd tied your hair back and changed into a dark blue windbreaker, along with sweatpants and running shoes. It was a bit windy, and you could see storm clouds rolling in.

"Stay close by," You'd told John. "And be quiet."

"Yes, mom," He sighed. You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to punch him in the arm. 

Once the two of you were out of the car, you split up, trying to stay within earshot of his footsteps. You spent about ten minutes wandering around, flashing your light around, taking slow steps as you scrounged for any hints. 

Above you, thunder rumbled, the occasional strike of lightning lighting up the sky for milliseconds. Leaning your head forward, you squinted in the dark. No way. 

The whole ground around you was covered in ash. If not the exact same ash as what was in front of Chenle's bed, it was very similar—sprinkled on top of the leaves and dirt. As you kneeled down to pick some up, your eyes widened at the same texture and pigment as the one of today. 

"What the fuck," You muttered under your breath, mind racing a mile a minute. These woods were creepy enough without the implication of a ritualistic cult, or close encounters of the third kind, or whatever John believed was happening. But now you had the possibility of a connection between these woods and two seriously disturbed kids.

A sudden mechanical rumbling made you snap your head up. You squinted, lifting your other hand to shield your eyes from the sudden brightness that lit up the trees. 

"John?" You asked when you heard footsteps. Your heart rate began to speed up, hand reaching for the gun tucked into your waistband. 

When you realized that the sound was coming from the direction of the light, you called his name out again. "John?"

A tall figure emerged from the light, and you soon realized what was pointed at you—a shotgun. Definitely not John Suh.

Not hesitating, you pulled out your gun. "Special agent Y/N L/N, FBI! Identify yourself!"

The figure only stopped until it was about ten feet away. You squinted, making out some familiar features. Surprisingly, you realized it was the officer who had been at the coroner's office with Doctor Choi. 

John came stumbling up to you, chest heaving. "Chief!" He sounded strangely enthusiastic. "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"You're trespassing on private property," He announced, seemingly unamused by John's tone. 

"We are conducting an investigation," You countered, lowering your gun. 

"You are trespassing," He said adamantly, "Now get out, before I have you both arrested."

John glanced at you momentarily. You frowned as he shrugged, obviously wanting you to stand down. The staredown continued for a solid ten seconds before you groaned softly. Tucking your gun back into your waistband, you followed the chief out of the woods, right back to your car, which was right next to his.

As John drove away, you watched as the flashing police lights faded into the distance. "What's he doing out here when he's got a whole town to take care of?"

John shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows. "I don't know," He hummed in that deep voice of his, "But I don't like him one bit."

The two of you drove in relative silence after that. The storm finally came down, drops of rain cascading angrily onto the windshield. Thunder rolled overhead, and the lightning grew bright.

In the dim light, your eyes turned to watch John, hoping he wouldn't take notice. You watched him alternate his eyes between the road ahead and the rearview mirror every few seconds. Your eyes raked over his features—a strong brow bone, a round nose, lips that seemed to curve upwards in a natural smirk.

You looked back up at his eyes, and his own gaze glanced at the watch on his wrist before returning to the road.

"You're staring," He said, sounding like he’d caught you with a hand in the cookie jar. You felt the scoff leave your lips before you could catch it, your cheeks heating up.

"I am not—"

A flash of lightning lit up the sky, far brighter than any of the other strikes. Then, an odd sensation filled your body: for the briefest of moments you felt absolutely weightless, unable to feel the carseat beneath you. Then a moment later when the light faded, and the feeling disappeared.

The car rolled to a stop, the engine’s rumble dying. You frowned even though you were glad that you’d have a chance to change the subject. “What happened?”

Johnny looked at the lights on the dashboard, and pressed on the accelerator tentatively a few times. He raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “Uh… we lost power.”

He seemed calm enough. Until he glanced at his watch again. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he let out a single, excited laugh. “No fucking way,” He murmured, rushing to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Uh, John, where are you g—”

He was out of the car before you could finish your sentence, heading into the downpour. You groaned, unbuckling hastily and following him. Already, he was drenched, and within seconds you were too. He was walking towards something on the road, a few feet in front of the car. When he turned to look back at you, he looked like a preschooler who had just discovered Sesame Street. His fists pumped into the air, his eyes squeezed shut and he began to jump up and down.

“Fuckin’—I—WOO! WOO HOO!”

“For the love of god,” You grumbled, standing right next to him despite his loud cheering, you tried your hardest to make out what had gotten him so excited. When the next flash of lightning lit up the street, plus the lights of the car helping illuminate the road, you saw it: a big, bright, neon X. Almost the exact same place the car had started acting strange yesterday.

“We lost time!” He yelled over the sound of the downpour. "I looked at my watch before the flash! It was 9:02 then, now it’s 9:13! That’s eleven minutes—GONE!”

You shook your head, stepping away. You threw up your hands in confusion. “What—John, that’s not possible! You’re saying time disappeared, time can’t—it can’t just disappear! That’s not just crazy, it’s—i-it’s a universal invariant! It’s impossible!”

John shook his head at you, eyes wide in wonder. Right before he started walking back to the car, he let out one last gleeful laugh. “Not in this zip code!”

Much to your displeasure, your headache returned soon after. You were more than content to let John ramble on while you zoned out, rubbing your forehead. What little you picked up was that people who claimed to be abductees always mentioned a bright flash of light and losing time, anywhere from five minutes to several hours.

You weren’t sure what to think at this point. You had half a mind to drive John to the Aloysius Grant Mental Institution and leave him there with Chenle and Nancy.

When you got back to the hotel, you ran straight to your room. When you tried flickering on the light, you found that it wouldn’t turn on. With a sigh, you realized the storm had to have blown the power out. Peeling off your wet clothes before you did anything else, you stripped to your underwear before pulling on your bathrobe. Shivering, you scrounged in the darkness of the room for anything, a flashlight, some candles.

Surprisingly, they did have a candle, a holder and some matches. As you lit it, and went over your bedtime routine (yes, you were a grown woman going to bed at 9:30 PM, you were tired), you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling settling in your stomach. Everything felt so off here, and there were so many things you couldn’t explain.

As much as John wanted to convince you, he couldn’t explain them either. The whole situation felt bizarre in a dreadful way. As you marched into the bathroom for a quick shower, you tried to reassure yourself everything would connect eventually.

When you took off the bathrobe, your hand went to rub at your lower back. The stiff mattress wasn’t doing you any favors. You let your eyes flutter shut, fingers rubbing at the muscle below your skin.

Until your fingers brushed over something that you knew hadn’t been there before. Your eyes snapped open, and you turned your back to the mirror, craning your neck to see. Your fingers ached to touch the spot again, but in your sudden alarm, your fingers began to shake.

There. At the small of your back, just above the waistband of your underwear, there they were. Two bumps. Just like Nancy’s. Just like Alex’s. Just like Kaya’s.

You didn’t know what overtook you. All of a sudden, you were putting your bathrobe back on and strutting stiffly out of your room. Before you knew it, you were knocking insistently on John’s door.

You didn’t stop until a very confused looking John opened up, holding a candle. “I—”

“I need to show you something,” You said shakily. His demeanor changed instantly when he saw your frantic state. He nodded wordlessly, widening the door and stepping to the side. Once the door was closed, you faced him, before untying the robe. His eyes widened slightly despite your shaking hands, and the tips of his ears turned red.

“Woah, at least take me out to dinner first—”

“Johnny, shut up!”

He froze at your tone, your slip up—calling him Johnny instead of John. You were too distressed to care, tossing the robe to the floor before turning, trying to poke at the marks on your back.

“What are they?” You asked, and John reached out a hand as if to placate you.

“Hey, hey,” He murmured, “Deep breaths. Can I get a closer look?”

Nodding, and trying to do what he said, you let him step closer, before kneeling. Tentatively, he ghosted a hand over the marks. You tried to ignore the goosebumps, shivering from what you assumed was the cold.

“What are they?” You repeated. “John—”

He spun you around, putting a gentle hand on your hip. You peered down at him, panting softly. “It’s okay,” He said softly, “They’re just mosquito bites.”

Your eyes fluttered shut in relief, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady your wobbling knees. “You’re sure?” You asked, looking down at him.

He nodded, amber eyes staring up at you. You were suddenly hyper aware of his hand on your hip, unable to break his gaze. He cleared his throat, standing up but not stepping away from you. “Yeah, I got some out there too. I’m positive.”

You put the bathrobe back on, then crossed your arms. “I need to sit down,” You mumbled. He gestured to his bed, sitting on the chair next to it. You raised an eyebrow, not wanting to impose. He shook his head, setting down the candle on the table.

“You’re shaking,” He said, “Go ahead.”

Inhaling deeply, you tried to compose yourself. Your hand rubbed at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling tense. You chewed on your lip, wondering if you should ask the question itching to come out.

“John?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. He nodded, eyes earnest.

“Yeah?”

“How did you… Why are you so interested in this stuff?”

His eyes lowered, rubbing his palms together slowly. He took a deep breath, resting his elbows on his thighs. Finally, he sighed.

“I was twelve when it happened,” He whispered. His gaze turned solemn, almost angry. “My little sister, Maggie, went missing in the middle of the night. Just… disappeared, like she vanished into thin air. No note, no phone calls, no discernible trail or evidence at all. Gone, just like that. How does an eight year old girl disappear without a trace?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, not answering. Outside, the rain had stopped, but John’s eyes were a storm of their own, several emotions swimming around in pools of golden brown.

“It tore my family apart. My parents got divorced, everyone else refused to talk about it. There weren’t any facts to confront, nothing to give anyone closure, and the search just stopped.”

“What did you do?” You asked softly. He shrugged, pursing his lips.

“Eventually, I ran away to England. Came back, got recruited by the bureau.” He offered a sardonic smile, no joy behind it. “Apparently, I have a natural aptitude for applying behavioral models to criminal cases. My success allowed me a certain amount of freedom to pursue my own interests. That’s when I found the x-files.”

“On accident?” You leaned to lay down on your side, propping your head up with one hand. He nodded.

“At first, it looked like a dump for UFO sightings, cryptids, alien abductions. Real Hollywood kind of stuff. But… I was fascinated by it all, I read all the cases I could get my hands on. Hundreds of them, Y/N. All the paranormal phenomena, the occult, and then…” He sighed, lowering his head.

“What?” You leaned toward him, trying to read his face in the dark.

“There’s… classified government information I’ve been trying to get my hands on. Someone keeps blocking my access.” He looked to the side, palms still rubbing together. “The only reason I’ve been allowed to continue my work is because I've made connections in congress.”

You shook your head, “I don’t understand, are they afraid you’ll leak this information?”

When he met your gaze, the anger had returned, now far less subdued. “You’re a part of that agenda,” He murmured, “You would know.”

Your mouth dropped open slightly, and you shook your head before scooching closer to him. “I’m not a part of any agenda,” You answered. “You need to trust me.”

He sighed, before standing up to move onto your bed, leaning very close to you. The usually playful glow in his eyes was nowhere to be seen. “I’m telling you this, Y/N, because you need to know. In my... research, I’ve worked very closely with a man named Hans Kruger. He’s taken me through deep regression hypnosis, and through my repressed memories I’ve been able to return to that night my sister disappeared. I remember a very bright light outside and a presence in the room, and the sensation of being paralyzed, unable to answer her cries for help. Listen to me, Y/N, this thing exists.”

“But how do you know—”

“The government knows! And I gotta know what they’re protecting.” He leaned even closer to you, face inches away from yours. “Nothing else matters to me, and this is as close as I’ve ever—”

   The ringing of the telephone made the both of you jump away from each other, and John stood to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

   He made a face as the person on the other side answered. “What? Who is this? Who is—”

   Pulling the phone away from his ear, he looked at you. He seemed confused, alarmed. “That was a woman,” He said, putting the phone back on the housing, “Who told me that Nancy Goldstein is dead.”

 You frowned. “The girl in the wheelchair?”

 HIGHWAY 227, PINEWOOD, OREGON—23:11 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

 Quickly, the two of you dressed. The crash wasn’t hard to find in such a small town. Surrounded by witnesses and two police cars, a large semi truck was stopped in the middle of the road. Once there you produced your badges to get past the police cars. John went off to ask one of the cops questions about the accident, and you walked over to the body, which was draped over with a white cloth.

 Right next to it, a man, who you assumed was the driver, was being questioned. Showing the officer next to the body your badge, you crouched down to peel back the cloth covering the body.     

Poor Nancy Goldstein, wet with rain and blood, lay strewn in the road. A dribble of drying blood was running down her mouth. Her once white and purple polka dotted hospital gown was tinged with red, brown and gray. You sighed in sympathy. But your eyes travelled down at the watch she had on, and the sympathy made way into confusion. The hands had stopped, right at 9:02.

You took a deep breath when you recognized the coincidence. That's all it had to be, right? A coincidence?

 "You said she just ran out in front of you?" The officer speaking to the man asked.

"Yes, officer," He answered, "Just came charging out from the trees and right into the truck."

Nancy Goldstein, running. Not even walking, no, full on running. You stared at the body, eyes travelling to her legs. Somehow, they were specked with flecks of dirt, mud and small wood chips. It was consistent with someone moving through a wet, muddy area while barefoot. You swallowed anxiously, trying to figure out what was going on in this town.

 When you got into the car with John, you raised an eyebrow at him, getting ready to speak. Before you could, however, his cell phone rang. He pulled out the device and answered the call with a tired, "Suh. Who am I speaking to?"

You watched as his face turned confused. "What?"

 You couldn't hear what he was told, but when his face twisted into disbelief, and then anger, you knew it couldn't be anything good. "Of course. We'll be there as soon as possible," He said, tight-lipped.

 When he hung up, he immediately started the car. He didn't meet your eyes. "Fuck!" He growled, causing you to jump.

 "What?" Your eyes widened at his sudden outburst, barely having time to buckle your seatbelt before he sped away. "John, what happened—"

"Fuck if I know!" He snapped at you, before shaking his head and sighing.

 "There was a fire at the hotel." His tone was softer now. Your stomach sank. "Our rooms were the ones that were most affected."

"You've gotta be kidding," You sighed. He didn't answer, simply kept his eyes on the road.Only when the two of you got there did you realize just how bad the situation was. The fire department was there, hosing down the inside of your room. A crowd had come to watch the firemen work.

"There goes my computer!" You groaned. John kicked the car door.

"Fuck! The x-rays and pictures!" He seemed just about ready to explode.

Your eyes drifted back to the blinding, orange glow of the fire, crossing your arms in frustration, exhaustion.

Suddenly, a tap on your shoulder caused you to turn. You were met face to face with a familiar looking young girl in a bright blue denim jacket. She looked just about on the verge of tears.

 "John," You called, not looking away from her. When he saw the girl, he came up to the two of you.

 He raised a finger at her. "You're Do—"

 "My name is Lia Choi," She declared, voice wobbly, "You have to protect me."

 You quickly ushered Lia into the back of the car. When you closed the door, John raised an eyebrow at you. "She might know something," He murmured.

 "I know," You answered. "She seems terrified."

 He nodded. "You hungry?"

  "Um… yeah, why?"

  "I'm starving," He admitted, gnawing on his lips. "Let's get something to eat and question her there."

 "How the hell are you thinking about food at a time like this?"

He raised an eyebrow, making a face. "What, and you aren't?"

You rolled your eyes, but didn't disagree.

 The car ride took about ten minutes, and you pulled into the small diner with little to no issue. By then, it was a little past midnight, so it was starting to empty out. It had started raining again. You sat next to Lia, as she seemed somewhat more intimidated by John. He paid for some burgers and fries for the three of you, and then Lia finally spoke.

"I… There's something in the woods."

You exchanged glances with John, who rested his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers. "What do you mean, something in the woods, Miss Choi?"

 The young girl shook her head, looking sheepish. "Please, just call me Lia," She said.

 Taking a deep breath, you flashed him a look that said let me try. "Lia, do you know that there's something in the woods, or is it just a feeling?"

 She stared at the table, looking for words. "I've never actually… seen anything. Not really. But I… I have these dreams. They're not like normal dreams, I-I have no idea how to explain it, but they just feel so… wrong. It's like my body's vibrating the entire time, a-and when I wake up, I'm there. In the woods. Every time. They—they've started happening more and more, and I don't know what to do, I-I'm just so—"

 "Woah, slow down there, kid," John said, holding up his hands. She'd started rambling, and it didn't take a genius to say that she was on the verge of tears. His dark eyes looked gentle, sympathetic. "Deep breath, Lia."

She let her eyes close, breathing slowly. "I'm sorry," She mumbled. "I just don't know what to do anymore."

Looking at John again, you spoke up. "We understand," You answered softly, "Can we ask you some more questions?"

 As she nodded, the one waitress working the place, who looked one strong gust of wind from falling over, set down your three plates. Sticking a fry into your mouth once the waitress left, you met eyes with the young girl.

"You said, 'I've never seen anything, not really.' What do you mean by that?"

Lia poked at her fries, not seeming that interested in the food. She pursed her lips, before sighing. "I… We saw something, once. I think. My friends were all out there—celebrating graduation. It was… maybe 11:30? I-I can't really remember. But we saw a bright light, and then this huge thing flew over us. When it was gone… Kaya checked her watch. It couldn't have been more than ten seconds after, but her watch said it was almost 2 AM, and then Chenle checked his watch, and so did Jisung, and… they all said the same thing.

"I didn't think much of it. I tried not to. I thought we just missed the time going by, somehow. But then Nancy and Chenle got into the crash, and then Kaya turned up dead in the woods… Then Jisung, and now Alex…" She shook her head, blinking back tears. "It can't all be a coincidence."

"How old were you when that happened, Lia?"

 "I was 17. I'm turning 21 in June."

John stared at her for a long time. "...And why did you decide to call me when you heard about Nancy's death?"

Oh?

You raised an eyebrow to look at Lia, who looked down. "They called my dad about it, and I know that Nancy's death has to do with whatever's in the woods. M-my dad, he… He keeps telling me he can keep me safe. But I don't think he can."

"So you called us?"

She nodded, not looking up at either of you. John and you exchanged a glance.

"Lia," You asked lowly, "Do you think your father—"

Your words died when blood began to spew from the girl's nose, your eyes widening and John's expression growing alarmed. He reached for the napkins, handing them to you to hand her quickly. Her eyes shut and her brow furrowed, obviously distressed. John pursed his lips.

  "Does this normally h—"

 "Lia Choi."

The three of you turned your heads to see Aaron Choi and the police chief standing next to each other, glaring at you and John.

Dr. Choi walked over to Lia, handing her another napkin. "Sweetheart, come on, let's go home."

John narrowed his eyes. "I don't think she wants to leave."

"I don't give a shit about what you think," The man snapped. He turned back to Lia, "Let's go home. You'll be safe there. Remember, I said that Chief Zhong and I would keep you safe—"

You exchanged a glance with John. You could see the gears turning in his head. Skywalker moment. "You’re Chenle Zhong's father?"

The chief scowled at him. "You stay away from my boy. He has no business in any of this."

Dr. Choi managed to pull away, with minimal protest from Lia. She managed to give the two of you one last apologetic glance before being pushed out the front door by your father.

"You gotta love this place," John grumbled, reaching for Lia's plate, "Every day's like Halloween."

"They know." You were sure of it. "Choi's been hiding evidence from those medical reports, and Zhong might just have enough authority around here to get access to our rooms to set them on fire."

"Why would they want to destroy evidence?" John asked, but it wasn't really a question. It sounded more like a parent trying to get their child to figure out something obvious on a math problem. "What could they possibly want with that corpse?"

You looked down at the table, heart pounding suddenly. When you met his eyes again, they were burning with curiosity and determination.

"Makes you wonder what's in those other two graves, huh?"

PINEWOOD MEMORIAL CEMETERY, PINEWOOD, OREGON—01:26 hours, Thursday, March 19th, 1992

Getting into the cemetery was easy. Finding the graves, with only your flashlights in the pouring rain, was a lot harder. You pored over different headstones for almost forty minutes, until John called your name.

"Did you find them?" You asked, turning to him. He was scowling down at the headstones. You didn't understand why… until you looked down to see the dirt piled up, and the two holes in the ground.

"Empty," He groaned.

"What is going on here?" You cried. John stared at the hole in the ground, before a look of epiphany dawned on his face. He turned to you, slowly.

"I think I know who did it."

You looked to the sides in thought. "Who? The chief?"

John shook his head, mouth tipping open. You leaned forward, hoping to hear his words better over the rain.

He chewed nervously on his bottom lip. "The chief's son."

When the words registered, you leaned away. All the fight in you seemed to deflate, and your face twisted into a confused mess.

"What?"

He nodded, and you raised your eyebrows. "Chenle Zhong? The boy in the hospital. The boy who's been in a goddamn coma since 1989. That Chenle Zhong? He somehow got here, dug up these graves, and is somehow responsible for the murders of four different kids?"

John's eyes fell shut, and he took a deep breath. "Nancy Goldstein was wheelchair bound but ran in front of a car, it's not entirely impossible. All of this fits a profile of alien abduction. She was killed around 9—the same time we lost time in the car."

"A profile." You crossed your arms, trying to stop the shivering racking your body. March showers in the Pacific Northwest—you wouldn’t be surprised if all of this was just a delusion induced by hypothermia.

"Look, something happened during those 10 minutes," He insisted, "Time, as we know it, stopped, and it has something to do with the forest."

You shook your head in disbelief, unable to hold back your shocked sigh. All you could do was stare, watching as John's expression hardened.

"You think I'm crazy," He murmured defeatedly, "Just like everyone else does."

He turned on his heel, starting to walk away, when a soft scoff caused him to turn back. "What?"

You wore a smile of disbelief. "The hands of Nancy Goldstein's watch stopped at 9:02," You admitted, looking up at the sky before meeting his gaze. "I made a mental note of it because of how insane the coincidence was. But…"

"The forest is controlling the kids," John said with a nod. He sounded more hopeful now, as he took a step closer. "It summons them here!"

"A-and the marks are…"

"The remainders of some sort of experiment. They put that weird chemical into the bodies—"

"Which leads to genetic mutations, like the one we saw in Alex Gallagher’s body!"

John nodded, a hopeful grin spreading across his features, the rain causing his hair to fall into his eyes. "And the woods summoned Nancy Goldstein here tonight, but the one who brought her was—"

"Chenle Zhong," You gasped. Meeting eyes with John, the two of you exchanged surprised, awed, slack jawed smiles, before promptly bursting into giggles at how silly it all sounded, the sheer absurdity of it all. Like the plot of some crappy Fox TV show.

"This—Johnny, this is insane!"

"That’s just how all the x-files work!" He exclaimed between laughter, "This isn't even half of it!"

That did it for you. The idea that there had to be something even stranger, something that paled in comparison to this. You had to reach out for his shoulder to stop yourself from falling, bending over and clutching your stomach to the point of tears. John’s laughter never let up either, not until the two of you were panting, out of breath from cackling so hard.

"I can't believe any of this," You sighed, shaking your head once more.

"It doesn't matter. As long as we're on the same page," John said with a shrug, "It'll make things a whole lot easier. Now, let's get back to the car—"

A high pitched scream filled the air, and the two of you locked eyes before darting in its direction.

Right into the forest.

Mud squelched beneath your shoes as the two of you ran. It was damn near impossible to see anything with the rain and the darkness of night, the way your flashlights swung back and forth with your running.

Your light reflected onto a piece of black metal, causing the two of you to slow down. John flashed his own light side to side, before landing on the white door of the car, the crest emblazoned on it: PINEWOOD POLICE DEPARTMENT. You sighed at the revelation, turning slightly.

"Shit," He muttered, "Do you think—?"

"John." You took a step to the side, focusing your light onto something on the ground. "Look."

When he turned his head to look at what you were seeing, you heard him inhale sharply.

Dr. Choi's body lay strewn on the muddy ground, blood streaking down his temple. You couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

Another scream pierced the air, the sound distinctly female. You exchanged a brief glance with John, before nodding in the direction the noise came from. "You go! I'll check his vitals."

"Be careful," He warned before darting off. You knelt on the ground, reaching out to feel for a pulse over the carotid artery. You let your eyes fall shut in relief when you found one a few seconds later. All you needed to do now was assess his injury.

But they snapped open when the mud squelched behind you, and when you turned your head, you saw a flash of black and beige. A loud thwack! cracked against the side of your head, and you fell to the ground, vision turning dark.

When you came to, you weren't sure how much time had passed, but it couldn't have been too long. It was still dark, and while the rain had calmed, it wasn't over yet. Sluggishly,  you reached for the flashlight, and struggled to stand.

Stumbling, you tried to surmise where the noise was coming from, but the world felt like it was spinning. You were confused, disoriented, that the sudden brightness knocked you on your ass, quite literally.

Brightness?

White, seemingly industrial light lit up the forest so suddenly that you reeled back in surprise, falling into the mud. You blinked dazedly. If this were a Loony Tunes short, there would be little Tweety birds flying around your head right about now.

Still, you knew you needed to get up. So you did, still stumbling as if someone had spun you around to hit a piñata, and carried forward. The shouting had stopped now.

In the distance, where the light was the brightest, you could hear the shouting. One of the voices was distinctly John's, but as you got closer, it stopped.

And by the time you got into the clearing? The light disappeared, and so did the rain. Gone at the same time.

There were three men standing in the clearing, seemingly in a triangle. John's back was turned to you. In front of him? Someone was lying on the floor (had you not been so dizzy, you would have recognized her as Lia), and…

"Chenle?" The police chief asked, voice shaking. Your eyes turned to the young man, whose dark eyes were wide in confusion and fear. He was barefoot, clad only in a pair of gray sweatpants.

"...Dad?" He asked as Chief Zhong walked to him, before crushing the young man in a hug.

"J-John?" Your voice was small. The man in question turned to you, eyes widening at your state. He stepped towards you, face full of concern. When you buckled, he gripped you by your forearms.

"Y/N, are you alright?"

"Th-there was a light," You murmured, "It was so…"

He nodded, smiling sympathetically. "I know," He said, "But I think you have a concussion."

"Uh…" You stared at him blearily. "...You're really strong."

He held back a snicker. "Am I now?"

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—10:04 hours, Wednesday, March 25th, 1992

After a stop to the emergency room, a minor concussion diagnosis, a flight home, a few days of bed rest and finally that bubble bath (sans the wine, unfortunately), you were finally allowed to present your findings to your superiors, in the report you'd written in the past few days (you were advised to rest over the weekend, and you did just that and wrote the report all Tuesday).

You marched into that office, John already sitting in one of the two seats in front of the desk. He didn't speak while you presented your findings. Again, Chief Brooks was accompanied by the same two men.

"And what of the boy?" Division Chief Brooks asked, "Chenle… Zhang, you said?"

"Zhong," You and John corrected in unison, exchanging a sheepish glance when you both realized what happened.

"He's in custody. So are his father and Doctor Aaron Choi. He claims to not have remembered anything."

"I understand you and Chief Zhong had an exchange in the woods?" The older man asked, staring at John.

He nodded. "Yes, sir. I asked him what the need was to take the Chois to the woods, he seemed desperate—said that if it got his son back, then he'd do it."

"So, what, are we to believe all of this—the abductions and the mutations and the mind control without any concrete evidence?" The second officer asked.

"There was an x-ray of Chenle’s that revealed a small piece of metal lodged in his nose, just like Agent L/N's report mentioned with—"

"The Gallagher boy's implant, yes. But that could be anything, Agent Suh. It hasn't been surgically removed so we can't verify what it is."

John clenched his jaw. "But—"

"Agent Suh, with no evidence of the implant existing we simply cannot continue to waste bureau resources," The chief explained, "The fact of the matter is the original implant, as well as your other evidence, was destroyed in that fire and—"

"What if it wasn't, though?" You asked.

It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room. All four men's eyes snapped up to look at you. John’s eyes were wide in shock.

You met eyes with him briefly as you reached into your blazer pocket, placing the small vial holding the implant onto the table.

"None of the tests I ran on the implant were able to reveal what kind of metal it is," You sighed, "It all came back as inconclusive."

"I—" For the first time, the third agent spoke for the first time. "How did you manage to salvage it?"

Tilting your head back and forth, you tried to sound professional. "I kept it… on my person at all times after I extracted it. I felt it was too important to lose."

The three men exchanged a silent conversation with their eyes. You looked at John, whose expression towards you had shifted from shock to awe. You offered him a sly smile.

"Well, then." Division Chief Brooks sounded frustrated—like a father allowing his children ice cream after being worn down by them. "Considering this… new piece of evidence, I—I suppose I could authorize the continuation of the project."

You breathed a sigh of relief. John’s shoulders sagged.

"However, Agent L/N, I will expect your reports on every single one of these cases within three days of them being closed, unless medically justified. Failure to do so will result in the termination of the project."

"Understood, sir," You said.

The third man lit a cigarette, before pointing to the vial on the table. "That implant will be kept with us, it's evidence now. Any and all evidence will be handed over to us," He ordered, taking a drag.

You nodded, but something told you John wouldn't approve. He didn't say anything, but you knew he'd have something to say sooner or later.

"You're both dismissed," Division Chief Brooks told you both.

Once you were out of the office and out of earshot, John stopped in the middle of the hallway. He put his hands on his hips and stared at you.

"I—That was… Wow. Y/N, how did you even do that?"

"Honestly?" You bit back a grin before lowering your voice. "...I hid it in my sports bra."

He broke out into a shocked smile. "In your—amazing. Y/N, you’re a genius."

"Am I now?" You asked, raising your eyebrows. You started down the hallway again, and he followed. "Thank you," He mumbled.

With a wave of your hand, you shook your head. "I'm just doing my job, y’know? Plus, I enjoyed working with you, John. I think we make a... decent team."

He looked down at his feet, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Well," He said, "If we are going to keep working together, can I ask you to do something?"

"Sure," You replied. By now, you were headed down the basement steps.

"Just… call me Johnny. John feels too… formal."

"Johnny," You sounded the name out, before smiling. "Yeah, it suits you better."

X-FILE 144-A: THE BELDAM'S GLENN BLOOD RITUALS

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE EVERETT TURNPIKE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—07:32 hours, Thursday, February 11th, 1993

"Brief me again on this case?" Johnny sighed as he drove ahead, "I was too tired when you explained on the flight here."

You nodded, rubbing your eyes and putting on your glasses. Outside, rain hit the roof of the car, and the sky was that bluish gray tinge of an early morning drizzle. That, paired with the soft guitar from the radio along with Robert Smith's voice made for gentle ambience.

I don't care if Monday's blue

Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love...

 Pulling out the folder from your bag. Truth be told, you were tired too—you'd been called just before 3 in the morning by someone at the bureau telling you you'd been assigned to work a murder case in Beldam's Glenn, New Hampshire. A fairly small town, less than 10,000 people.

You'd had an hour to pack some clothes, then take a taxi to the bureau to grab some things from the office and pick up the file briefing the incident. Then, just before four you arrived at Reagan International, where you met a seemingly bedraggled Johnny. His suit was a bit wrinkly and there were dark circles rimming his eyes.

By now, you'd been working with Johnny for almost a year. You'd learned in that time that he did not enjoy waking up before 5 AM. 

"Good morning," You'd greeted, and he shook his head.

"It's not morning yet, and it certainly isn't gonna be a good one," He'd grumbled in response. 

"Okay, Oscar the Grouch." 

Now, in the car, flicking through the folder, you read out loud the information. A fifteen year old boy identified as Mark Lee had been found dead in the woods, near an area rumored to be where satanic cults practiced blood magic. His eyes and heart missing, torn clean out.

"...Ouch," Johnny muttered, stifling a yawn.

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Ouch."

"Any witnesses or anything?" 

"No," You mumbled, reading over more details. One in particular caught in your eye. "Huh… Additionally, animal tracks in the form of hooves, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, were found leading to Lee’s body."

Johnny tilted his head. "Hooves?"

You hummed in confirmation.

He raised his eyebrows, facing you for a second before turning his attention back to the road. His eyes were wide. Somehow, you already knew what he was going to say. "Do you think there's a small possibility—"

"No." 

Johnny huffed. "Oh, come on! Y/N, humans are innately spiritual beings. Is it so crazy to think that just maybe a creature akin to a demon could exist?"

"I don't know, Johnny. Maybe there is. But I think now that the middle ages are over and we have more logical explanations for things like this, we shouldn't immediately jump to conclusions."

For a long time, he didn’t speak. Another thing you learned during your time with Johnny was that while it was relatively easy to smother his wild conclusions during calmer discussions, it was damn near impossible to get him to let go of them completely. You knew he'd mention it again later, but for now, you were content to just drive like this with him. You were… comfortable with Johnny. 

He had a sort of dry wit that, paired with his suave persona, made him incredibly charismatic. Once you got to know him better, it surprised you that no one around your department of the bureau really liked him.

Dressed up to the eyes

It's a wonderful surprise

To see your shoes and your spirits rise...

He shrugged. "Maybe you're right. Look, there are the cop cars."

Johnny pulled over on the side of the road, one man holding an umbrella seemingly waiting for you both. You looked at the man in the driver's seat, and he nodded toward the back seat. "There's an umbrella in the back."

"Thanks," You said, grabbing the thing. You both stepped out of the car, tugging the vinyl umbrella open. You did a once over of the officer—sheriff, actually, once you saw the badge on his chest. Johnny stood behind you and grabbed the small umbrella from you, so that he could fit under it.

"You're the FBI guys?" The sheriff asked. The two of you pulled out your badges, presenting yourselves. He offered a smile, but it was obvious the middle-aged man was shaken up.

"My name is Bill McNamara," He said, beginning to walk towards the trees. The two of you followed. "Thank you for coming on such short notice." 

He led you to a spot crowded by a few more officers scattered across the space, a white sheet hiding the body, a few feet away from a large, mossy cracked tree stump, so wide it was probably older than 100 years when it fell.

"Is this Mark Lee?" Johnny asked, and Sheriff McNamara nodded. Another officer peeled the sheet back. The poor boy was, in fact, missing his eyes, and there was a large hole in his chest. Even after several years as an MD and an FBI agent, corpses still filled you with dread.

Johnny, in his proximity from behind, nudged you slightly and pointed to the ground next to the boy. 

"So," You said, turning your attention back to the officer once you noticed the hoof tracks, "Have there been any reports of missing animals in the area? Cows, sheep?"

"...Goats?" Johnny added. You nodded stiffly. Sheriff McNamara shook his head. When he spoke, he seemed resolute.

"They say this area is popular for blood rituals, witch's magic. Now, these rumors have been around for years—since I was a kid, actually."

"Any basis to those rumors?" You asked. The Sheriff gave you a look. 

"Agent L/N, just look at the body!"

"Lots of homicides involve victim desecration," You pointed out, "Is there anything else that might point to that?"

The sheriff put his free hand on his hip. "I know he and his friends listen to that disgusting devil's music."

"I didn't like Madonna's latest album either, but I don’t think it's bad enough to call it that," Johnny mumbled sarcastically. You gave him a subtle elbow in the ribs, flashing him a dirty look. The sheriff didn't seem to notice his banter.

"No, I'm talking about that heavy metal stuff. It takes root in our children, poisoning their minds."

He led you over towards the tree stump. Johnny took a more serious approach. "Have Mark Lee or any of his friends ever been spotted at any of these supposed rituals?"

"More rumors," You muttered. The sheriff shook his head, stopping in front of the stump. 

"Not that I know of," He said, before gesturing at the stump, "This is allegedly their altar. What do you think?"

Johnny's seriousness seemed to only last in short bursts, because he fired back with, "Honestly? With a few rounds of sandpaper and some cans of shellac, it'd make a pretty nice coffee table."

The sheriff replied, "Oh… Uh… Well, from the looks of this wax on it, it was probably being used when he died."

You rolled your eyes, turning your head to the side in embarrassment. But then a flash of white, and translucent pale yellow on the ground caught your eyes.

"Do you know if Lee was out here with anyone?" Johnny asked, not saying anything as you stepped out from under the umbrella. You heard the sheriff say, "We presume he was alone."

"You sure?" You asked, picking up the library card, and the piece of wet paper. "This Franklin Pierce High library card belongs to… Haechan Lee. And the paper here is torn at the stamp so that it doesn't say which library it's from, but it's safe to say that it's from there. The title at the top is torn, too, but it says '...In America'."

You stepped back under the umbrella, raising an eyebrow as you handed them to him. "I'm surprised your people missed this."

The sheriff balked, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I'm sorry, Agent L/N," He murmured, "I'll admit, we're all a bit… shaken up here. This isn't something that we've ever dealt with, which is why I called the FBI. I'll have my men escort you to Franklin Pierce. That kid, Donghyuck Lee… He's Mark’s best friend. He's most likely there."

The sheriff stalked off, and you raised an eyebrow at Johnny before lowering your voice. "Better hide your Metallica albums… I could barely take him seriously."

He shrugged. "Well, the body's clearly displayed in a ceremonial manner. Plus, those goat tracks are highly unusual, Y/N." 

"I was under the impression he made you skeptical once he started speaking," You hummed, crossing your arms. He shook his head.

"I didn't wanna feed his imagination. Poor guy's clearly overwhelmed."

"I think he fed your imagination, Johnny. This is nothing but some murderer taking advantage of local folklore. I mean, there's nothing that odd about—"

The sound of slapping and bouncing against the vinyl of the umbrella caused you to jump back, crashing into Johnny's chest. Your shoulders tensed up as Johnny dropped the umbrella and let out a startled, "What the—"

You caught the umbrella as it fell from his hands, but it was too late for him. Something large, wet and brownish green hit him in the forehead before landing on the ground and flopping away. 

Your mouth dropped open and you met Johnny's equally shocked expression as you both registered the multitude of toads raining down on you. 

A few seconds later and it stopped, but now the ground was covered in toads, now jumping away in different directions. Neither you nor Johnny spoke for a good fifteen seconds, until he wiped his forehead free of… mucus. Your shoulders dropped slowly when he finally spoke.

"So… wanna get coffee before we head over to the school?"

Your face dropped from confusion to disbelief. "Johnny, toads just fell from the sky."

"Yeah, but I still want coffee."

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—09:04 hours, Thursday February 11th, 1993

Coffee on the table, you sat at a desk situated in the school office. Your laptop, the case file and a copy of today's newspaper were laying on top of it. A few feet away from you, the school psychologist and the secretary you'd borrowed the desk from were speaking to each other. You paid them no mind, looking over the file as you typed up your preliminary report.

You continued typing until the door opened, Johnny stomping in tugging a scrawny looking teenage boy—who was most likely Haechan Lee—by the upper arm. Two girls followed meekly behind, as well as a middle-aged woman, who you assumed was a teacher. All three of the kids seemed to be on the verge of tears. You raised an eyebrow at the sight. Johnny looked pissed off, and he asked the psychologist in a clipped tone, "Hey, Doyoung, could Agent L/N and I use your office to talk to the kids?"

Doyoung looked at the boy in Johnny's grip, then at the secretary, then you, before he nodded. Johnny opened the door and made a motion for the kids to go inside. "Sit down at that table. Don't speak unless spoken to," He ordered, tone stern. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek at his voice as you stood. What had gotten into him?

You pulled him away from the doorway, lowering your voice. "You good?"

Johnny sent the boy a glare before sighing. "Kid tried jumping out the window in front of the entire class to escape. I'll calm down. Just pisses me off that he thought something that stupid would work."

You bit back a smile, patting him on the shoulder. "Pull it together, Suh. He can't get away like this."

Johnny nodded, looking down at you warmly. "Ooh, last name. I'm in trouble."

"Shut up," You huffed, only half-joking. You were about to turn when you remembered something you'd read from the cover of the newspaper.

"By the way," You murmured, "National Weather Service reported tornadoes in northern Massachusetts early this morning. The toads probably got picked up from the winds."

Johnny sighed, before walking into the psychologist's office.

He turned to the woman. "Mrs. Walker, we'll take it from here, go on back to the other kids in your class."

"Are you sure?" She asked, pushing a black, stray hair back into her tight bun. Johnny nodded.

"The one day I'm called in to sub and all of this happens," She muttered to herself. 

You spared a glance at the middle-aged woman, giving her a polite smile. She did the same, and you followed behind Johnny, pulling out your tape recorder from your pocket and closing the door behind you. 

Johnny crossed his arms and leaned against the door, you standing in front of the table and setting the tape recorder on the table. 

"This is going to be recorded," You told them. None of them protested, so you hit the record button.

"So, let's get this out of the way," Johnny began, "None of you are under arrest. We just want to ask you some questions. First, I want you to state your names for the record. Understood?" 

They all nodded, and they introduced themselves: the dark haired, tan boy was in fact Donghyuck Lee, the shorter curly haired girl was named Amy Espinoza, and the taller redheaded girl was named Phoebe Howard. 

The questions were basic and thus, so were the answers. Donghyuck and Mark were childhood best friends, but not related. Mark introduced Amy to him with Phoebe's help. Donghyuck took the book Witch Hunt: A History of The Occult in America out because he and Mark wanted to make the whole thing seem legit. When asked why they really wanted to go out there, Donghyuck looked down. He held his hands together between his thighs.

"We wanted to… you know."

"We really don't," You said, raising an eyebrow. He looked like he wanted to sink into the earth then and there.

"Mark and I had a bet that whoever got past second base with the girlsfirst  would do the other's biology homework for the rest of the year."

Amy nudged Phoebe. "Told you," She grumbled quietly. Phoebe glared at her. 

You continued the interrogation. The incantation taken from the book was apparently one meant to summon Azazel. They'd gone out there just before midnight because the book said that was the best time. 

Donghyuck insisted they didn't kill him. "I'll let you search my car and everything, that's how we got there."

"Did you see what happened?"

Phoebe took a shaky breath, before burying her face in her hands. Amy nodded. "...We did. We ran but it had already… gotten to Martin."

You and Johnny exchanged a glance. "It?" You asked. 

Donghyuck nodded. "Lady, you're gonna think we're bullshitting you—"

"Language," You and Johnny scolded in unison. Donghyuck at least had the audacity to look embarrassed. 

"We got out there," Amy continued, "Martin lit a candle on the stump and did the incantation. The wind… changed. It suddenly got a lot colder and we started hearing… I don't even know."

"It sounded like, I guess what you would call speaking in tongues," Donghyuck said. "And then suddenly, there was this thing a few feet away from us. Maybe over six feet tall, and at first I thought it was a goat, but… it wasn't."

"What did it look like?"

Phoebe cried even harder, and the other two exchanged a weary glance. "It had… glowing orange eyes, and long dark hair." Amy shuddered. "It looked like it had goat legs, but a human torso. It was like…"

"It had a… a woman’s chest," Donghyuck mumbled. Your eyes landed on Phoebe, who seemed to be extremely upset. You exchanged a glance with Johnny. He seemed to understand what you were saying, and nodded wordlessly.

"Phoebe, are you alright?" You asked, feeling that something was up. She was shaking like a leaf. With a sigh, you turned the recorder off, and pointed at Amy and Donghyuck. "Both of you, wait outside on that chair. Don't move."

The two of them left, and you nodded at Johnny to sit next to you. 

"Phoebe," Johnny said softly, "Is there something going on that the other two don't know?"

She wiped her eyes, lip wobbling. You put a hand on his shoulder, taking over. "No, there isn't," She mumbled, "I'm just… this whole thing's freaked me out."

Johnny raised an eyebrow, and you sighed. She didn't sound very convincing. Something wasn't right here. Still, you knew it would be hard to get anything out of her when she was so upset.

"Alright. You—you're free to go." You took a deep breath, hesitating before you spoke again. 

"...But if you do want to tell us anything, you can come to us and we can—we'll speak off the record, if it makes you feel better."

Johnny frowned. "I think maybe—"

You flashed him a strong glare, cutting him off, before turning back to Phoebe. She sniffled, eyes darting between the two of you. When she settled on you, she allowed herself to relax a little bit more than when she'd been looking at Johnny. She nodded wordlessly, fiddling with a silver charm bracelet on her left wrist, and you gestured towards the door. "Go wash your face, drink some water. Tell your friends they're free to go. 'Kay?"

She gave a small smile at your gentler tone. Once she was gone, Johnny was on you. "We could have pressed her further. Why did you even offer to go off the record if we haven't ruled her off as a suspect, that's breaking bureau protocol—" 

"We'll talk about this later," You answered as you stood. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the three teenagers leave.

He lowered his voice as you opened the door. "Y/N, I can't believe—"

"You're letting them go?" The secretary—Beatrice, you believed was her name—asked, glaring at you. Her coiffed blonde bob bounced as she shook her head disapprovingly. Immediately, Johnny straightened. 

"There's not enough evidence to keep them here," He said, "Besides, they're minors. It's always tricky with them."

"It's so obvious that they did it." Doyoung crossed his arms, "They've clearly been influenced by all that stuff on MTV."

You sighed. "The FBI recently concluded a years long study researching any correlation between homicides and media consumption and found that it only occurs in 0.01% of cases. If there were any it would mean thousands of people murdering tens of thousands of other people. It'd be the biggest conspiracy in human history."

Doyoung scoffed, giving you a mocking glance. "Yeah, and J. Edgar Hoover never admitted the existence of the mafia. Really trustworthy source, the FBI."

Johnny barely contained his scoff. He glowered at Doyoung as he gently pushed your upper back towards the door. 

"Our investigation is ongoing."

ROSE GARDEN HOTEL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—19:57 hours, Thursday, February 11th, 1993

Johnny's door opened to a sight of you, no makeup, in sweatpants and hair tied up. You took in his appearance. He had on a similar pair of sweatpants, and a white t-shirt. His hair was pushed back, and he was wearing his reading glasses. 

"What's up?" He asked, letting you in. 

"I found something," You murmured, holding up your laptop as he closed the door. You sat at the foot of the bed, and he sat next to you. You opened the laptop, green text flashing onto the screen. His shoulder brushed yours due to the proximity. 

"'The grisly discovery of a young boy's mutilated body in the woods in the early morning has local law enforcement worried about the organization of conspiratorial dark forces.'"

He nodded. "Okay, is that from this morning's newspaper?"

You didn't answer, but rather read another quote from the article. "'The Jew is known to sacrifice teenagers and remove their organs during their religious rituals.' This is from a Nazi newspaper, from 1934. I found another similar case from 1967, where they pinned it on LSD users. The details are always the same, they just fill in the blanks with whoever was being persecuted at the time."

Johnny met your eyes. "And this time, it's occultists."

"Maybe this is some hidden organization, but I'm not sure. But something's just… not right. I have a bad feeling." 

"Something to do with that girl?"

You nodded. "Is there anything you picked up? Something I might not have noticed?"

He chewed on his lip. "Now that you mention it, I did notice something a few minutes ago, but it doesn't have to do with her. Come on."

He stood, and you set the laptop down on the bed before following him to the bathroom door, where he flicked the light on.

"So, we're in the northern hemisphere." He marched to the sink, leaning over it.

You leaned against the doorframe. "Last time I checked, yes."

He pressed the plug into the sink drain, before turning on the faucet. "The Coriolis Effect dictates that due to the Earth's rotation, water should swirl clockwise, right?"

You nodded, having an idea of where this is going. He motioned for you to come closer. He turned off the faucet. By now, some water had filled the sink just enough. He removed the plug, and you watched as the water went down, whirlpool swirling counterclockwise. 

"Johnny—"

"Something is here, Y/N. It's strong enough to affect this, then who knows—"

"Johnny, the Coriolis Effect works on storms and large bodies of water. Sinks and bathtubs usually don't fall under—"

He groaned, tipping his head back. "Of course," He grumbled, "It's been like this since day one."

You squeezed your eyes shut in frustration. Yes, in your time working with Johnny, you'd seen some truly unexplainable things. A pyromaniac that could light things on fire with his mind, a prehistoric parasite that turned its host violent, a serial killer that entered houses by squeezing his body through impossibly small spaces like an octopus. 

But still, you always had your doubts. "Johnny, once cases are over and we have our explanations, and I've seen things for myself, have I ever not believed you—"

"You don't trust me during these cases, Y/N, that's what matters! It's always been like this, I'm always right, but you never believe me, you go off and write your little notes about me like I'm some field experiment—"

You frowned and crossed your arms. "Johnny—"

"Have I ever gotten anything wrong? 90% of the time, my conclusions are the correct ones—"

"We come to those conclusions together! Don't start taking credit for them now."

"Oh, so you believe it only when your name is also on the report, huh?"

"Don't twist my words, Johnny. You know what I mean. I believe my conclusions first, and then I listen to yours and based on circumstantial evidence and once I discard all logical scientific explanations, then I turn to the extraordinary. I don't jump to conclusions like you do!"

"Why can't you be a good friend for once and fucking listen to me—"

"Because I'm not your friend, Johnny! I'm your fucking coworker!"

The silence that filled the room once you were done was deafening. It was only then that you realized how loud you'd gotten. The shocked disappointment in Johnny's eyes seemed to be even louder, though. 

Immediately, you realized your mistake. Yes, you'd grown close to him, but that was necessary for working well on these assignments. Keeping your work life and your personal life separate was paramount for you. Evidently, Johnny didn't feel the same, and as a result, you'd hurt him.

For a long time, no one said anything. Simply staring at each other, small space ripe with tension. Your eyes softened when he looked away from you, leaning his back against the counter. You took a step closer, until he was right in front of you.

"Johnny, I—"

"Can you get out, please?"

You stared at him for a few moments, trying to think of something to say. 

Ultimately, you didn't. You took a deep sigh, and grabbed your laptop on the way out.

Being an FBI meant you had little to no personal time, working pretty much 7 days a week and being on call for anything at any time, in any part of the country. You knew that when you started your training.

You'd entered with a statement and left with a question. Could you really call Johnny a friend? You really only saw him during work. You didn’t meet outside of it—but considering how much you worked, always on call and spending nights holed up with him in hotel rooms or in your office going over evidence of different cases, at what point did you start spending more time at work than at your day to day life?

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—10:11 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

You were looking between the notes you’d scribbled down on a small notepad using a pen you’d stolen from Johnny the day before. It was while you were transferring them to the report on your computer that you jumped in your seat when the office door burst open. Mrs. Walker guided a sniffling Phoebe Howard into the room. Johnny, who had been speaking to Doyoung to ask him about other students, turned his head. 

Doyoung held up a hand, to which Johnny nodded, and the shorter man walked over to the two of them. "Phoebe, are you alright?"

She shook her head, breaking into tears again, unable to speak. Doyoung turned to Mrs. Walker, who simply patted her head. "Lab project," She murmured, "They had to dissect pig embryos. She just… broke down. I've seen it happen before. Some kids are just more sensitive than others."

"No, no, it's not that," Phoebe blubbered, "Can I…"

Despite everything that had happened last night, when you looked at Johnny, you saw he'd done the same. A tense, knowing stare was shared between the two of you, and then Phoebe spoke.

"Can I speak to Agent L/N please?"

Your head snapped to her when she said your name. You stood, and nodded.

You lead her out the door while ignoring Doyoung’s frown and Mrs. Walker's confused look. Johnny followed behind at a distance. 

The three of you went out the door, to the outdoor lunch tables. You had Phoebe sit down, Johnny and you remained standing. 

"What is it you wanted to talk about, Phoebe?" You said gently.

She took a shaky breath, rubbing her hands together. "So… Do you know who my stepdad is?"

Thinking back to when you'd made a basic profile on the three kids yesterday afternoon, you nodded. "He's the gym coach here, right? Grant Howard?"

She nodded. "So… he married my mom when I was 6. And he adopted me when I was 8. One year after that my mom got a new job, a-and she started travelling a lot, y'know? So I was alone with him a lot more. I-I don't know when it started, but…"

The sinking feeling in your chest grew as she started to cry again.

"S-sometimes when she wasn't here, h-he would invite people over. They'd come i-in with these red cloaks and they—would bring small animals. Kittens a-and puppies, birds sometimes… They would take me down to the basement, to a room where the walls are painted red and there's this dirt floor, and they would—they would stand in a circle and sing and they would give m-me knives, o-or screwdrivers and…"

You sat down next to her, rubbing her shoulder as she let out a gut-wrenching cry. Looking at Johnny, the hand that wasn't in his trench coat pocket was balled into a fist. He was looking down, eyebrows furrowed.

"I didn't want to!" She wailed, "They would hurt me if I didn't, they said they would hurt my mom if I said anything! I had to be the one to kill the animals and then they w-would drink the blood—I don't know how I blocked it out or why I never remembered it until Mrs. Walker put the—the pig on the table, and I… I… I just…"

"It's okay, honey," You murmured, nodding. She buried her head into your shoulder, sobbing freely, and you rubbed her back to soothe her. 

Again, you looked at Johnny, who didn't look at you. You realized just how difficult it would be to keep this off the record—this was something that involved a child being abused, you couldn’t let her go home to a dangerous situation. 

This just got a whole lot more complicated. 

HOWARD RESIDENCE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—15:49 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

Phoebe was to remain at school. Donghyuck and Amy would pick her up, and she would spend the night with Amy. She wouldn't be going home until the situation was thoroughly investigated. She'd been left with Doyoung, who would speak to her as a mandated reporter, and would later go back to attempt to finish the project. You left her your number in case she needed to speak to you again. 

You'd spoken to Mrs. Walker as her final class was out, just before you and Johnny left. The lab was spacious. A large python lay sleeping in a glass case in the corner of the room. The space was ripe with the smell of blood, which didn't surprise you, given the amount of pig embryos she was having her students dissect all day long.

The woman had a soft voice, and seemed very sympathetic to Phoebe's struggle. "I absolutely understand, I might have her do something else for her grade, but I'm afraid I might not be able to find any other activity on such short notice."

You nodded, sighing. "Of course. Thank you for considering, regardless." 

Your eyes fell to her desk, where a small basket of random items glinted with a small charm bracelet, the same bracelet you'd seen on—

"Ah, the students usually ask me to hold onto their things when we get messy like this," She said with a smile when she noticed where you were looking. "You said you're a doctor, so you understand, right?"

"Oh, yes. I can't really wear anything at all," You said with a soft chuckle.

"Not even a ring? Oh, your husband must be disappointed." 

You felt your face heat up, scratching your neck awkwardly. "I'm not married."

She smiled. “Oh, good for you then. It’s literal hell. And, you get to ogle your partner all day.”

You choked on your spit, coughing awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

She laughed, waving her hands, “Oh, Agent L/N, don’t be so modest. You can’t deny that Agent Suh is an absolute dish. Why, if I were 25 years younger… oh my, the things I would—”

“I really must be going, Mrs. Walker,” You insisted quickly. “I’ll contact you should I have any other questions for you."

“Could I have your phone number, in case anything comes up? I-I’ll admit, this whole situation has frightened me a bit.”

You nodded sympathetically, ignoring how uncomfortable you’d felt a moment ago. Pulling out Johnny's pen and your notepad, and you jotted down your number there.

“Y/N?” A knock sounded, and Johnny popped his head in the door. “We need to go.”

“Yeah, I know,” You replied, tucking the notepad back into your pocket. You bid Mrs. Walker goodbye, and off you went, kitten heels clacking as you went.

As for your time with Johnny? The entire ride there was tense.

“Were you expecting that?” He asked a few minutes into the ride. You raised an eyebrow.

“The secret cult that forced a nine year old girl to murder puppies and kittens?” You answered in a clipped tone, “No, John. I can’t say I was.”

He hummed. "Okay… no tape recorder today?"

"I forgot it. Left it at the hotel."

He nodded, and that was that. 

Her mother and adoptive stepfather were, to say the least, shocked at their daughter's confession. You spoke to the girl's mother in the living room, Johnny spoke to her father. Mrs. Howard, whom Phoebe had insisted had never said anything was beside herself, crying as she spoke to you.

“Mrs. Howard, you’re absolutely sure you’ve never witnessed any violent behavior from your husband?”

She nodded, sniffling. “He’s always treated me and Phoebe very kindly. In front of me, at least.”

You hummed, looking down at the carpeted floor. “You said this is your husband's house, and he’s lived here longer than you have? Have you been in all parts of the house? Is there maybe an area a guest might not know about?”

She looked up at the ceiling in thought. “After hearing what Phoebe told you both, it made me realize that I’d never been in the basement. Grant’s always said that was his woodworking space, and he didn’t want anyone in there.”

With a nod, you looked at her. “Could my partner and I maybe take a look at--” 

A commotion from the kitchen cut you off.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING OF THE SORT! I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE ACCUSING ME OF, SUH!”

You shot up, and so did Mrs. Howard, just in time to see Grant Howard push Johnny into the cabinet. Your training kicked in, and you stepped between the two, holding up your hands to placate the man. 

“Calm down, now,” You growled, dangerously low, “Or I will place you under arrest for assault of an officer.” 

“Grant,” Mrs. Howard called, “Breathe.”

“Leave, both of you! If you want to see my basement, get a damn warrant and you’ll see there’s nothing down there!”

You tugged Johnny away by the wrist, leaving out the front door. “What happened?” 

Johnny shook his head in aggravation. “I asked to see the basement, said that it would clear my suspicions of him. He said he didn’t hurt Phoebe, and I said I didn’t believe him. Then he snapped, grabbed me by the collar and shook me.”

He unlocked the car. “Should we try and get that warrant?”

You got into the passenger seat, shrugging. “I can do it.”

Johnny nodded. “Hopefully we’ll find—”

A ringing from Johnny’s phone caught him off guard. He fished the phone out from his pocket, answering, “Suh.”

“Sheriff, what’s going on?”

You could hear him through the speaker, and you didn't like what you heard. 

"We'll be there right away," Johnny said, face turning serious.

ROOM 471, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—17:37 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

"You're saying she just… had a seizure?"

"I was sitting at the desk, and she was about halfway through the dissection when she just… collapsed on the floor," Mrs. Walker said, voice trembling, "She was shaking and her eyes were rolled up into her head… Agent L/N, it was terrifying."

You sighed and looked at Johnny, who was speaking with the sheriff. When you looked back at Mrs. Walker, she was shaking her head. "I feel a dark force is among us, Agent L/N," She murmured, putting a hand on her chest, "So many horrible things in such a short span of time."

"Agent Suh and I are working hard to solve the case, Mrs. Walker. I promise we're doing our best."

"Y/N," Johnny called, "We gotta go."

You bid the older woman goodbye, and she gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Once you were out the door with Johnny, your voice lowered. "What do you got?"

"Not a lot. The Howards have been notified, but Grant Howard isn't being allowed into her hospital room."

"Who called the police?"

"Clinton."

"Clinton?" 

He shook his head, grimacing to himself. "Shit, sorry. Beatrice Pratt. The secretary." 

You stared at him. "Pratt and Clinton don't sound alike at all."

"Well, yeah, but…" He scratched his head and lowered his voice. "The pantsuit and the bob remind me of the first lady."

You frowned. "I wear pantsuits all the time."

"Yeah, but you don't look like Hillary Clinton."

You sighed. You didn’t have time for this, especially when he was still mad at you. "Okay. Sure, whatever. I talked to Walker. I… I'm not so sure about her."

Johnny tilted his head. "Why not?"

"I don't know. I don't have a lot to go off of, but it seems just a little bit odd that she shows up the morning of Mark Lee's death, replacing a man who apparently hasn't missed a day in a fifteen year career."

"Maybe he had an emergency. Happens to everyone."

"Johnny, he contracted flesh eating bacteria. Does that sound like something that happens to everyone?"

He didn't answer. Obviously, he hadn’t been expecting that. "Ohhh-kay, then. Let's do this. The sheriff said that the warrant should be ready within a few hours. Howard would probably beat my ass if he sees me again, so you check out that basement, and I can do the background check on Walker. Sound good?"

"Actually, I don't think you'll need a warrant."

The two of you turned, stunned, to see Grant Howard standing in front of you both. His eyes were rimmed red and he was clearly restless, shifting his weight onto his legs constantly. 

"Agent L/N, I'll show you the basement."

HOWARD RESIDENCE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—18:09 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

"My entire life," The man said, sounding tired, "I was taught that humans are no better, no worse than animals. Do what thou willst, rather than do unto others." 

He pulled open the basement door, gesturing for you to go first. Immediately, you were on edge. If you had your back turned he could easily push you down the stairs or hit you in the head.

"You go down first," You ordered. He nodded understandingly. "You were saying?""My family has kept this religion for seven generations. My great, great, great, great grandfather was born in 1777, Agent L/N, and he was the one who brought us into it. We've been keeping it alive since, with two other families. It kept us in good health, we had no money problems."

When the two of you got to the bottom of the stairs, he turned the light on and you realized Mrs. Howard had been right, it did look like a normal woodworking space. Until Mr. Howard pulled a rug up from the ground to reveal a hatch, which he pulled up to reveal another set of stairs.

"I was raised to believe that Christianity was synonymous with hypocrisy. And for years, I believed that." He led you down this pair of stairs again, where he lit his flashlight. The room was a bit smaller than the basement but still large enough to keep a large group of people like Phoebe had said. Also identical to her story were the red walls and the dirt floor.

 "Believed?"

"Believed," He confirmed. "I believed until I saw it in my own religion as well, not even an hour ago. When I got to the school to gather my things and was met by the heads of the other 2 families, asking me to pin the murder of Mark Lee on my own daughter. That if she were permanently affected by what just happened, we could get away with all of it. That was when I knew that I was better than an animal. I need to keep Phoebe and Linda safe."

"So one of you did murder Lee," You murmured, trying to get a solid confession. However, he shook his head. "I didn't. The others insist they didn't either." 

"Who did, then?"

He sighed. "Agent L/N, you have to understand, I'm trained in these arts so I know when there’s a difference somewhere. Something is here. Something bad."

 You frowned. "Alright. Did you or did you not abuse your daughter?"

"I never laid a hand on her. The others, however… they wanted to make sure she would stay quiet through fear, and they wouldn't listen to me. We have a ritual that blocks out memories, every time we would perform that ritual when we were done. The plan was to reveal the memories when she turned 18, and then allow her to join or reject the religion. It's a rite of passage."

"Why even use Phoebe in the first place?"

He shook his head. "The magic of an innocent soul is a powerful thing. It's one of the most powerful things we could ever use in our magic. That's also why we used those sacrifices. She was the youngest of all of our children. The others were all past 11 at that age."

With a sigh, you led him up back to the main basement. "Would you be willing to give me a written statement of who the heads of these families are?"

He nodded. "Of course. I just want my daughter and my wife to be safe. They believe that whatever's here wants a sacrifice. That it took Mark Lee as a warning to us, and unless it gets a sacrifice from us…"

"It'll strike again," You finished."And it won't stop." He sounded desperate. You found your notepad, but the pen was nowhere to be found. "Do you have a—"

Your cellphone ringing interrupted you. You groaned quietly, scooping it from your pocket. "Hello?"

"Y/N?" You heard Johnny's voice say. His tone was urgent. There was a faint crackle of static, but as you listened it began to get louder. "I'm at the school. You need to hurry, Y/N, there's something—!"

The static overpowered the sound of his voice, and then the call dropped. "Johnny? Johnny! Hello?"

Your heart dropped, and you tucked the phone and the notepad into your pocket. "I need to go. My partner's in trouble."

"I'll go with you," He offered.

You shook your head. "No. You're under arrest."

"What? But—"

"You just admitted to animal abuse, your complicity in child abuse and conspiracy. If I take you to the school, how do I know you won't take the other two and bolt?" You snapped. "Against that beam, there.

Pulling out some handcuffs, you forced him against the side of the stairs, where you handcuffed him to the railing. "I'll come back for you later," You growled, "Don't move."

Rushing up the stairs, and out the door, into the rain, you ran towards the car. Johnny needed you. 

Your friend needed you.

FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—18:30 hours, February 12th, 1993

You burst into the school, trying to keep calm despite the horrid feeling in your gut. You eyed the office, which was right next to the main entrance. The lights were on, you could see your laptop was on. But the seat was empty, and so was the rest of the office, or so it seemed to be from where you were standing. Taking a deep breath, you pulled out your gun, and entered the office slowly. 

"Hello?" You called, looking into the window of Doyoung’s office. Empty. The principal's office? Empty. Your mouth felt dry. 

Where was Johnny?

"Y/N?"

In a moment your professors at the academy would've been ashamed to see, you shrieked, and turned the gun in the direction the voice came from. But when you realized it was Johnny with a styrofoam coffee cup, whose eyes had gone wide at the sight of the gun pointed at him, you lowered it.

"Don't fucking scare me like that," You muttered as you tucked the gun into its holster. A second later, you raced forward, engulfing him in a hug as you realized that he was okay.

"Y/N? What's… going on?"

You pulled away once it registered what you'd done. "Sorry," You mumbled. "What happened? Where did the thing go?"

"Y/N, what are you talking about?"

You shook your head in confusion. "You called me. You said you were in danger. My heart fell out of my ass, Johnny, what happened?"

Johnny's face contorted at your statement. "Huh? Y/N, I never even touched my phone. I was running the background check on Walker—who, by the way, is pretty much clear in the system. But… I don't know."

Staring at him, you put your hands on your hips. "Johnny, I heard your… never mind. We have to go. Howard confessed."

His eyebrows shot up. "He did it?"

"No, but he admitted to conspiracy and has names. Come on, we have to go."

For the millionth time today, you made your way from the school to the Howard residence, where you found the door was still open. As you opened the door to the basement, you looked at him.

"He's down here."Johnny turned on his flashlight, and you followed him down the steps. The room was eerily quiet, and when Johnny flashed the light at where you said he was, it was empty.You huffed at the sight of the empty handcuffs. How had he slipped out of them?

"Y/N," Johnny said, flashing the light a few feet away, "Look."

You turned to see what he was pointing at. Your eyes widened at the sight of bones, tinged pink with the small chunks of meat still attached to it.

"Do you think it might be some kind of acid?" You asked, and Johnny shook his head.

"There's no sign of a reaction on the floor," He answered, flashing the light around the basement floor. He stopped a few feet away. You felt yourself grow even more confused.

"Is that—?

""Snakeskin," Johnny whispered, "...There's a python in Walker's class."

"B-but, that's not possible," You muttered, "It would take a snake hours to consume a grown man, and weeks to digest it!"

Johnny grabbed your wrist, shaking his head at your rambling. "C'mon, Einstein," He told you, "We gotta go pay Walker a visit."

ROOM 471, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—19:01 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

The school was a lot darker than when it had been when you had been there previously. Seeing the halls, which you'd grown used to being full and lit up, suddenly so dark and empty made you uneasy.

 It was raining a lot harder now. The sound of the rain pelting the roof made it harder to listen for anything. When you got to Walker's room, it was also dark. She said she'd be here until eight grading papers, but the room was empty. There were some broken beakers on one of the lab tables, and when you really strained your ears to listen, the sound of soft yet strained breathing could be heard behind the desk. 

"Mrs. Walker?" You called, slowly walking towards the desk. Johnny tried the light, but to no avail. The rain must have knocked it out.

The woman was on the floor, nose bleeding and leg bent at an angle at which legs weren't meant to bend at all. She seemed to have been hit in the head, a sizable lump protruding from her temple.

"Th-the snake—" She mumbled, "They took the snake—He hit me,"

"Who, Mrs. Walker, who?"

"Kim," She spat out, "Pratt. I think they—think they killed that boy."

Doyoung and Beatrice. You and Johnny exchanged glances, and you remembered what Grant had said.

"Did you see where they went, Mrs. Walker?" Johnny asked. She blinked hazily.

"Said something about the conference room," She muttered.

"We'll call paramedics for you, okay?" You stood, trying to reassure her gently. "You'll be fine."

Johnny had already picked up the phone. Thunder crackled overhead as he dialed the number, but you could hear the busy tone all the way from where you were standing

."Damn storm is jamming the signal," He said, "Y/N, we gotta go, now."

"Johnny, what about—"

"Y/N," He growled, "Now."

Something about his tone set you off, and you did as he said. He immediately shut the door, and sped up his steps down the hall. 

"What was that about?" You asked, turning on your flashlight and trying to keep up with his pace. 

"Y/N, do you have that pen you borrowed from me yesterday?" He asked, not slowing down. Thunder rumbled overhead.

"What?" He had a point, probably. He always did when he got like this. "No, I dropped it I think."

"The pen was on Walker's desk. Next to the phone. Next to Phoebe's bracelet. It was my pen."

You inhaled sharply as Johnny tugged the door to the conference room open. "What are you implying?"

"Walker was clear in the system. But when I was talking to the principal yesterday, she couldn't even remember hiring her. What are the odds that a woman pops up out of nowhere the same day a murder happens?"

You pulled a filing cabinet open, looking through random folders. "Okay, yes, we agree. But what if—"

"Y/N, did you not see how tall she was?"

You shook your head, turning to pull out some papers from a file. "Sure, she's a bit taller than average, but she's shorter than you—"

"She's slouching to look smaller. Trust me, I did that when I was younger. If she stood up straight, she would be taller than me. Donghyuck said the thing that grabbed Mark was tall, had female breasts, and had dark hair. She fits the profile."

You sighed. "I mean, maybe you—"

A thud! and a groan from Johnny had you turning your head. Your flashlight landed on Johnny, on the ground, unconscious. Your body turned cold. 

"Johnny—?"

But then you felt something hit you in the back of the head, and everything went dark. 

Your eyes cracked open at the sensation of being dragged, and as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you realized two things. 

One, you arms and legs were bound, and there was a gag placed in your mouth. You craned your head, and Johnny was in the same situation as you, only he was still unconscious. 

And two, you were being dragged by Hillary Clinton. 

Shit, no. Maybe you'd hit your head harder than expected. Your vision cleared up further, and you realized it wasn't, in fact, Hillary Clinton, but rather Beatrice Pratt. Doyoung was dragging Johnny, and then you realized what was going on. 

These were the others that Grant Howard had been referring to. They seemingly hadn't realized you were awake yet. You were in the school gymnasium, headed towards a doorway in the corner. The room was dark, occasionally lit by flashes of lightning.

"—The showers, right?" Doyoung asked, sounding out of breath. Beatrice huffed. 

"Yes. The blood will get washed away there."

You couldn’t move your hands, no matter how much you squirmed. Your eyes looked at Johnny, who was beginning to stir. His brows furrowed, mouth trying to form words. 

“Oh, you’re awake,” Doyoung hummed, disdain dripping from his voice, “Lovely.”

Johnny’s eyes cracked open, immediately glaring at Doyoung, who chuckled. “Please. I’m terrified.”

“Doyoung, shut up,” Beatrice snapped. “Open the door.”

Doyoung let Johnny’s legs fall onto the floor. Johnny groaned in discomfort as Doyoung opened the door, propping it open with something.

He approached Johnny again, but before he picked him up to drag him further, he landed a swift kick to Johnny’s gut. Johnny let out a muffled moan in pain, and you thrashed against your restraints.

“You just had to come and ruin everything, huh? This is a once in a century opportunity, and you--” He proceeded to kick Johnny again, over and over, “Just--won’t--quit.”

“Doyoung!” Beatrice snapped. “We don’t have time for this. Don’t you sense it getting angrier? If we don’t sacrifice them now, it’ll take us like it took Grant.”

Doyoung turned to her, breathing heavily through his nose. “Fine,” He bit out.

They dragged you into the bathrooms, leading you to the showers, where they dumped you both next to each other. You rolled onto your side to look at Johnny, whose eyes were screwed shut in pain. His breathing was labored. 

You squirmed again, trying to free yourself as the shower roared to life. Curling in on yourself as cold water soaked your body, you tried to think of a way to save both Johnny and yourself. Doyoung and Beatrice pulled out large daggers from their  coat pockets, and raised their arms to the sky. They began chanting in latin, but the roar of water, the shock of the cold temperature, and the panic beginning to set in caused the words to blur together. 

This was it. You and Johnny were going to die. 

Until the two of them crumpled on top of you. You jumped as Doyoung’s weight toppled onto you, eyes squeezing shut in pain. His elbow had landed on your stomach. For a moment, as you lay there reeling in pain, and you wondered if this was a part of the ritual. But then…

"Agent L/N?" Your eyes shot open, and you met eyes with Amy Espinoza. She managed an awkward attempt at a polite smile, fiddling with what she was holding in her hands. Your eyes widened when you registered the shotgun. A flashlight was duct-taped haphazardly to the barrel, probably so that she could see wherever she was aiming.

"Mmh-hffpnffh?" You couldn't stop yourself from trying to speak, unable to contain your surprise. 

A second set of hands turned off the shower, and you craned your neck to see Donghyuck Lee, holding an old baseball bat underneath his armpit. He pulled Beatrice off of Johnny, making a disgusted face. "I always knew there was something up with her," He grumbled, "She never laughed at my jokes."

"Yeah, 'cause you're annoying as shit," Amy countered, pushing Doyoung to the side. "Can you guys sit up?"

She untied your hands, and you got to work on untying your feet before pulling the gag off of your mouth. 

"What are you two doing here?" Johnny asked, voice raspy and out of breath. 

You stood up, wiping water off of your face. "Where did you get that gun?"

 "Oh." Amy suddenly sounded embarrassed. "I, uh… Stole it from my dad?

"Donghyuck helped Johnny stand. "We went to visit Phoebe in the hospital, Mr. Suh—"

"Agent Suh," Johnny corrected, bringing a hand to his stomach. "Whatever. Anyway, we went to visit and once she woke up she told us something… not good."

"Mrs. Walker is the thing," Amy said. "Phoebe said she was dissecting the pig and she saw her grab the bracelet she'd given her—"

"And she did something and her eyes turned orange, like the thing we saw in the woods!" Amy continued. "The officer that was there didn't believe her, but we did."

"So we decided to take matters into our own hands," Donghyuck said. "She killed our best friend, so we thought—"

"That coming to your school with a shotgun and a wooden baseball bat, to kill a demon was the best course of action?" You didn't sound amused, and the two of them exchanged a look.

Amy looked down. "Well… when you put it like that…"

"It doesn't matter," Johnny said. "You kids need to go home now. It's not safe for either of you." 

"Like hell we're going anywhere! We were able to save you guys, so—"

“You kids got lucky this one time," You pointed out, sounding stern, "Agent Suh and I are trained for dangerous situations like this. You two aren't, and we certainly aren't about to expose you kids to one. Go home."

You searched your pockets, not finding your gun. You crouched to look through Doyoung and Beatrice's pockets, handing Johnny's gun to him and putting your gun back into your holster.

"But—"

A large crack of thunder startled you all, and the ground seemed to rumble as it did. Johnny looked past you and the kids, at the end of the shower hallway, and inhaled sharply.

"Oh, that's so much worse than Hillary Clinton," He mumbled. You didn't even see what he meant, but in that split second something in you took over. You pulled Donghyuck behind you, Johnny grabbing Amy and doing the same. 

At the same time, Amy aimed the gun to where Johnny had been looking, the light landing on...

Donghyuck gasped. "Holy shit."

It was like exactly what Donghyuck had said, except worse. Glowing, orange eyes, goat legs, stringy black hair. Johnny was right—standing like this, she was much taller than him. Her jaw was unhinged, open impossibly wide. She was panting heavily, hobbling slowly towards you. 

You and Johnny pulled out your guns, shooting instantly. One hit her in the shoulder, the other in the stomach. Her jaw opened even further, and a blood curdling screech echoed throughout the tiled room. 

Then she broke out into a run. 

You forced yourself to stand still, shooting another round before she jumped over you. Out of the corner of your eye, Donghyuck swung the bat, hitting her in the leg, causing her to fall face first to the ground.

 Taking that advantage, Johnny fired another round into her back. She shrieked again, and you and Johnny took the opportunity to run out the door, pushing the kids with you.

"Go! Both of you, now," You ordered once you were in the gym again. They shook their heads. Donghyuck held up his bat.

"We're not leaving without—"

"Donghyuck, this isn't a movie," Johnny insisted, "Now go!"

 Amy grabbed his arm. "Hyuck, they're right, we have to—LOOK OUT!"

You turned to see what had once been Mrs. Walker stick its head out of the doorway. Amy was able to fire one last shot into it, with her shotgun. You didn’t see where it hit—the door shut and you heard one final wail. 

A few moments later, the lights flickered on. You stood there, clothes dripping onto the hardwood floor for a good minute or so, until you looked at Johnny, who wore a pained grimace. "I can check," You told him. "Stay here with the kids." 

"You sure?" He asked. You nodded, holding out your gun and slowly making your way towards the door. You spared the odd trio one final glance. 

Johnny—soaking wet hair falling into his eyes—was standing in front of them, aiming his gun at the door. Donghyuck was holding his bat up, Amy's MacGyver-esque flashlight gun making you squint.

Then, you opened the door. You could feel your heart hammering a mile a minute. Very slowly, you scanned the room. You stopped when you glanced at the showerhead Beatrice and Doyoung had placed you under—the same one they should have been under, knocked unconscious. You swallowed a lump in your throat. 

Because they weren’t there, and neither was Mrs. Walker. What you did see, however, were two large streak of blood dragged up the wall and to a window, staining the green tiles.

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—20:47 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

The four of you made your way back to the main building on high alert. The rain seemed to have stopped once the thing was gone. Amazingly, there wasn't even a cloud in the sky. Even the air felt different—cleaner.

Shockingly, this time when Johnny tried the phone again, it worked. In order, he called the sheriff, who had no issue believing the ordeal you had gone through. Then the principal, who was incredibly confused as to how four of her teachers could vanish in one night.

 And then, you turned to the kids and gestured to the phone. "Alright, your turn now. Call your parents, both of you."

If they were more afraid of the murderous hellspawn they'd just helped you fight off, it didn't show. "Please just let us go now, Agent L/N," Donghyuck pleaded, "My mom will never let me leave my house again after this."

Amy shook her head. "My dad's gonna kill me if he finds out I stole the gun again."

Johnny made a face. "Again?"

She turned even paler when she realized her screw up. "I'm not going to omit witnesses from a report because you'll get grounded," You told them. "You're good kids, with good intentions. You just lost someone and had another friend go through something traumatic, we get that. But what you did tonight was incredibly dangerous, reckless, and—and—"

"Stupid?" Johnny offered.

"Johnny!" You snapped, lowering your voice. He shrugged.

You sighed, trying to get them to understand. "Alright, listen. There's a Yellow Pages over on that desk. If you don't call them, I will, or the sheriff will. Which would scare your parents less, huh? Getting a call from their kids, from the sheriff's department, or from the goddamn federal bureau of investigation?"

If they didn't get it before, they definitely understood now. Amy took the fall first, telling her dad she'd brought her car to the school, had gotten into trouble, and needed him to come by to talk to the police. She left out the gun, much to your amusement.

While Donghyuck did the same, you pulled Johnny into the hallway to speak to him.

"Are you okay?" You asked, "Doyoung seemed to kick you pretty hard." 

"I'll take a few days off once we get back to DC, I'll be fine," He murmured. He leaned against the wall and winced.

You nodded, but weren't sure how to respond. Finally, you spoke again.

"Look, about last night," You said softly, and he looked up in thought. 

"What about it?" He didn't seem to want to meet your eyes.

You took a step forward. "Johnny, other than when we first met, have I ever treated you like you were crazy?" 

Your voice was quieter now, gentler in its approach. He looked to the side, crossing his arms. "...No."

You shrugged, before sighing. "It's not that I don't trust you. I have my scientific conclusions. You have yours. Every time I see something I can't explain I try to explain it with what I do know. Tonight was… insane, and you were right. But honestly? It just reinforced my wanting to go the scientific route every time we have a case."

He frowned. "Why? You saw Walker."

"Exactly." You crossed your arms. "If I went into every single case, expecting to see that or something even worse? God. I… I don't know how you do it, John."

He smiled, but still didn't meet your eyes. "I didn't mean what I said last night either. Y'know… that. Or at least, I didn't realize I didn't mean it until today. I… I care about you, Johnny. I really do. You're smart, and you're really funny, and you give me perspectives I wouldn't consider otherwise."

He looked at you, and you put a hand on his upper arm. "I'm glad I have a friend like you to work with," You admitted, "And I'm glad you're okay."

His smile grew, and he let out a chuckle. "There's no one else in the bureau I would rather be murdered by Hillary Clinton with," He said, with the most endearing tone possible. You burst into laughter, Johnny joining you. He stepped closer, pulling you into a hug as you continued to laugh. Your eyes shut, and despite Johnny's cold, damp clothes pressing against your cold, damp clothes, it still warmed your chest. The two of you stood together for a while, enjoying each other's embrace. His chin rested on your head, and you sighed happily. Johnny gave good hugs.

"Uhh, Agent Suh?"

Johnny and you broke away immediately. Johnny cleared his throat."Uhh, yes, Donghyuck?"Amy and Donghyuck exchanged a glance from the office doorway. "Uh, my mom said she'll be here soon. A-and I saw some police lights across the street, so…"

"Oh." Johnny straightened his tie. "Thank you."

A few seconds later, the sound of sirens came into proximity. You took a look at these two kids, and despite the stress they'd caused you, you felt an odd fondness in your heart. 

“Come on, you two," Johnny murmured, "Time to go."

X-FILE 229-B: THE SAN CEFERINO SHIFTER

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—07:08 hours, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

On this particular summer morning, you were enjoying the air conditioner for as long as you could wait. You'd be flying to San Ceferino, California, twenty minutes outside of San Francisco. 

The assignment was at a gated community where three women had been found dead within the span of three weeks. You and Johnny would be sent in to investigate due to a strange, unidentifiable residue being found on the bodies. A local detective had contacted the bureau for help.

The kicker? For some reason, due to some sensitivities of having their community "invaded" the head of the community had requested you be placed undercover.

So what was the bureau's idea? "Moving" you and Johnny into the community, posing as a newlywed couple. 

Yikes.

This seemed like a bad idea to you, but you didn't say anything. Because if you spoke up to your superiors, they'd ask why, and you'd be forced to explain. 

"I got the flight tickets and our fake profiles!" Johnny entered your shared office, causing you to look up from the case file.

"Oh, nice. Who are we?"

He curled his lip, making a face. "Whoever makes up these names should be demoted, I swear to god. My name is Fox. Fox Kang. Who the hell names their kid Fox—"

You stifled a laugh as you grabbed the file from him, flipping to yours. Dana Baker. A bit ordinary, but the more inconspicuous, the better, you figured. 

"God, I kind of don't want to go," You hummed, "It's hot enough as it is here in Washington. I don't wanna imagine the California heat."

"Well, suck it up," He said, but he didn't sound dismissive. "We're leaving in three hours. We still have to pick up our undercover wardrobe and get to the airport, y'know?"

Frowning at the profile, you nodded half-heartedly. It stated that your backstory was that of college sweethearts at Cornell in the 80s. He was class of 1984, you of 1986. You were moving to California two months after getting married, because "Fox" got a job offer just outside of San Francisco. 

"You're staring at that paper like you're Nancy Kerrigan and it just broke your knee," Johnny pointed out, "You okay?"

"Huh?" You looked at him, swallowing. "Oh… yeah. I'm fine. I'm just a bit… unsure about the whole marriage thing." 

Johnny shrugged, offering an amused smile. "Really, Y/N. We've been working together for two years and you still find me that unbearable?"

You laughed, standing and circling your desk to stand in front of him. "No, not at all. I'm just not the best when it comes to undercover work."

Johnny leaned against the desk, smiling sympathetically. "Well, I'm no Tom Hanks either. But if you think about it, we spend all our time together anyway. It's not that big of a stretch to say we might as well be."

"We definitely argue like one," You fired back. You both laughed, simply staring at each other in silence once it quieted down. Johnny's eyes studied you up and down, dark eyes warm. He was wearing his glasses today. 

You wondered if he was judging your outfit, because he did that sometimes with other people. Apparently, before he became interested in criminal psychology he'd wanted to become a fashion designer, or so he told you. Six months later after he'd told you that and you still weren't sure if he was joking or not.

"What are you looking at?" You asked. He shook his head. 

"...Nothing. Let's get going?"

The two of you picked up your faux suitcases—the bureau had a department full of fake clothes for agents going undercover needing to fit a certain persona. The two of you were nothing close to the white picket fence suburban life, so you were better off picking up some fake clothes.

You laughed when you saw the first outfit Johnny had been given. A pastel yellow LaCoste polo shirt, and grayish blue dress shorts. He glowered at you when he saw your face.

"Oh, yeah, very funny."

Your outfit wasn't much better. High rise, light wash jeans and another polo, this one bright red, a pair of dark red casual loafers to match. Johnny didn't laugh, but it was clear he was trying not to.

You decided to sleep on the plane. There wasn't a lot to look over, as you'd received the file the night before. By now, you knew the drill. 

You dreamt you were back in that hotel room in Oregon. Johnny was kneeling beneath you, but you still hadn't taken your robe off. He was saying something, but you couldn't understand what. His eyes were full of a warm emotion that you couldn't quite place.

Until he raised his arms to try and remove the robe. This time, when he spoke, you could hear him clearly. "This is what you wanted me to do, right?"

Your hands grabbed his. "What? Johnny, I… Well…" 

He stood, face impossibly close to yours. There was an odd smile on his face. "Don't worry," He murmured. "I want to, too."

Slowly, your hands let go of his and he began to pull off the robe. You didn’t protest. When you were bare, his hands slid to the skin of your waist, and he pulled you against him. His forehead pressed against yours.

"Johnny, are you sure?"

"Y/N," He said with a smile, "We are beginning our descent into LAX. Please put on your seatbelts and put up your trays."

You jumped awake in your seat, eyes impossibly wide. A laugh from beside you caused you to turn your head. Johnny was giggling into his palm. 

"What?" You asked, voice raspy from sleeping. 

"Oh my god, that was beautiful," He declared, "You were sleeping so peacefully and then, oh my god, that was hilarious."

"Ha, ha, ha." Your tone was devoid of any emotion. You rubbed your eyes, yawning slightly. "What time is it, here?"

"Three hour time difference. It's one PM." 

You nodded. And you still had a six hour car ride. Lovely. 

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE I-5, CALIFORNIA—15:22, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

"Couldn't they have just flown us to San Francisco and have us drive from there?" Johnny complained after being cut off by yet another car. 

You sighed. "Budget cuts, I guess. We're not infiltrating the mafia, or taking down human trafficking rings."

"Yeah, we just fight the boogeyman and the little green men," He agreed. You laughed. 

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we hadn't gotten assigned together?" He sounded wistful, not taking his eyes off of the road. 

"I don't know." You picked at a loose thread on your jeans. "I would probably still be teaching at the academy. I think Brooks was considering placing you with Jung if I wasn't up for it."

"Jaehyun Jung?" He turned his head, making a face. "Really? He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," You insisted, "He just thinks like me, science before all, except… less nice about it."

"You sure?" He asked, fiddling with the radio, "Every time we're in a room together, I catch him staring at me like he's trying to shoot lasers into my head, the prick."

You shrugged. "He's nice to me."

"That's just 'cause he's trying to get into your pants."

You hummed. Jaehyun was pretty handsome. "Would that be such a bad thing?" 

He coughed, shrugging. "Well, it's your love life. You do you."

The air turned awkward. Johnny fiddled with the radio, but in this particular stretch of the interstate, all that came up was a Latin beats radio. Trumpets, and soft snare drums filled the car. You immediately recognized Selena's Bidi Bidi Bom Bom, a song about a girl realizing her heart went crazy whenever her lover passed by—while you didn’t listen to a lot of Latin music, you had a friend who did and always played this song when you met up.

Me tiemblan hasta las piernas

Y el corazon igual

Se emociona, ya no razona

No lo puedo controlar

"Oh, I hate this song," Johnny mumbled, reaching to turn the radio off.

"No, wait! I like it." You pushed his hand away. He groaned, but didn't turn it off. 

Y me canta así, me canta así…

Bidi bidi bom bom, bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

So, the two of you continued on listening to Selena, Johnny silently pouting. 

"So, what were you dreaming about on the plane?"

"Huh?" You cleared your throat.

"Yeah, you said my name in your sleep."

You shifted in your seat. "Oh… Um. I can't even remember."

He hummed, but didn't say anything. The drive continued on, both of you alternating between discussing mundane things and the case. All of them had been found in their homes, with no sign of a struggle—which suggested they knew their assailant. They'd all been strangled to death. No odd fingerprints could be recovered from the crime scenes. 

The first victim lived alone. The other two's husbands had solid alibis that were confirmed by the police. 

Which meant that it had to be someone in the neighborhood. There was reportedly a strong sense of community there, which was part of why the bureau had you going undercover. 

Around six, the two of you rolled into San Francisco, for a brief stop to talk to the detective who had contacted the bureau, a woman named Wendy Son. 

The two of you rolled into the precinct, and upon showing your badges, were prompted to the woman’s office. She had her light brown hair tied up in a ponytail, wearing a black pantsuit similar to what you would wear, had you not been dressed like a soccer mom.

"Oh, thank you for coming," She said once you sat down. "I have some extra material here that I wasn't able to fax you."

She pulled out a folder, setting it in front of you on the desk. Johnny opened it to reveal more images you hadn't initially seen. 

"We sent the sample to Los Angeles because their laboratory has a higher capacity," She told you both, "They still weren't able to identify it, but apparently it apparently has an a mild tranquilizing enzyme. That might also be why there wasn't much of a struggle." 

Johnny hummed. "There aren't any cameras in San Ceferino, are there?" 

Detective Son shook her head. "Only around the perimeter and the gates." 

"Maybe there's something there," You said, "Could we have access to those tapes?"

She looked back down at the pictures. "I could certainly get it to you by tomorrow afternoon, though. Come in past two and I should have it by then."

Johnny nodded and smiled at her. "That would be great, thank you." 

She smiled, and you'd have to be blind to not notice the blush on her face. She handed him the keys to the house that the heads of the community had arranged to have semi-furnished ahead of your arrival. The rest would be arriving tomorrow in the morning, during which time you would go through the motions of being a newlywed couple moving into their “forever home”.

Johnny apparently was blind, though. He didn't say anything about it once you were both back in the car. You couldn't really blame her. 

Johnny was… well, he was Johnny. He was incredibly handsome, and funny. Any reasonable person interested in men would find him attractive. 

"Detective Son likes you," You told him as you were getting onto the road that led to San Ceferino.

"Does she?" He answered, smiling smugly. "She's pretty."

You don't know why that ignited something in you. "You think so?"

He nodded. "She seems nice. But I'm not interested."

The odd sensation in your chest simmered down. "No?"

"Not really. I'm not interested in something long distance. Plus, I work too much to have a relationship."

You nodded. "Yeah. I understand."

You arrived as the sun was setting, around seven. The two of you pulled into the gate to the place, where you introduced yourselves with your fake names to the guard. He checked his roster of approved people and let you both in. 

San Ceferino consisted of four different cul de sacs, each house practically identical. The house you would be staying in was towards the end of the second one. The house was a pale pastel yellow, orange rays of the sunset making it seem a deeper color. Your car rolled into “your” driveway, and with a sigh of relief, Johnny turned the car off. 

“I’m so tired,” He groaned, “Should we try and introduce ourselves today or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” You said, letting your head fall back against the headrest, “These people are probably all having dinner or something, it’d be weird for us to do that now.”

He nodded, and got out of the car to open the trunk. You got out to grab your suitcase, and as you were getting out you realized that just maybe the universe disagreed with your decision to wait to meet others around the neighborhood.

A woman was crossing the street. She seemed a bit older than you both but was still dressed almost identically. You walked over to Johnny, who had his back turned, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Fox,” You mumbled, “We’ve got company.”

He turned, and upon spotting the woman flashed a comically fake smile. You offered the friendliest smile you could muster, but the way her eyes lit up when doing a once over of Johnny and then drooping in disappointment once she spotted you. If she thought she was subtle, she was dead wrong.

“Hi,” She said, impossibly enthusiastic, “I’m Anne Morrison. I’m the head of the Homeowners Association.”

You nodded in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you,” You said, holding out your hand, “I’m Dana. This is… my husband, Fox.”

“Fox,” She repeated, turning to look at Johnny, “That’s a lovely name. So, what brings you two to San Ceferino?”

“Oh, I got a job offer in San Francisco a few months ago,” Johnny answered. He was good, you decided. “We looked at some houses in the city, but it’s so busy there, you know? We were living in Maryland, so the transition between small town and big city… it’s not for us.”

She nodded, eyes wide. “I absolutely understand. My ex-husband wanted to move to the city now that our kids are in college. I don’t enjoy any of the hustle and bustle, really.” She chuckled, “So guess who got the house in the divorce!”

You and Johnny exchanged a glance, then laughed as if it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. “Oh, my goodness,” You wheezed, clutching your hand in your chest, “I can imagine!”

“So, what do you two do?”

“I’m an architect,” Johnny said.

“I’m a publicist.” You scratched at your cheek when you felt a mosquito try to land. Her eyes zeroed in on your hand.

“You two are married, right?” She asked, “How come you’re not wearing your rings?”

You froze. Did the bureau even have fake jewelry? Why didn’t either of you think of that detail?

“Oh,” Johnny shrugged, coming to the rescue. “It’s so stressful having to take everything on and off at the airport, so we decided not to wear them today. Right, honey?”

He wrapped his hand around your waist, and you nodded. “I never wear jewelry when I’m on a plane. Too much hassle.”

She nodded, mouth slightly agape. “Oh, I see.”

Johny cleared his throat. “What do you work as?”

She grinned. “I’m a chemist.”

“I hated chemistry in high school,” Johnny groaned jokingly. Anne apparently thought this was hilarious, swatting his arm. He laughed again, but it was empty, awkward. You leaned your head against his shoulder in hopes that she'd get the message. 

“Well, Anne, it was lovely meeting you,” You declared, “But we’ve been awake since five in the morning travelling. We’re exhausted, we really should be getting inside.”

Anne sighed, eyes turning away from studying Johnny’s face to you. “Oh, go ahead. You two must be so tired.”

Johnny nodded, pursing his lips. “We’ll speak soon?”

She smiled. “There’s an HOA meeting on Friday night at another member's house. You should come and see what we’re all about, consider joining.”

"Swing by tomorrow!" You grinned, "You can tell us the details then."

"Of course, of course. Well, I'll leave you two to it. It was nice meeting you, Dana." She raked her eyes over Johnny one more time, "...Fox."

When she was out of earshot, Johnny pulled the suitcases out of the trunk and scrunched up his nose. "That was... awkward."

Your hand pulled up the extendable handle of the suitcase, looking back at her to see her close the door to her house, which was at the very end of the cul de sac. 

You looked back at him. "So, a chemist. And she's involved with the community, everyone probably knows who she is."

He shrugged before closing the trunk. "Let's keep an eye on her. She gives me the creeps."

The two of you made sure the car was locked before making your way towards the front door. He fiddled with the keys

"She might even have a motive," He said, as you stepped inside. "Ah, c'mon, aren't you gonna let me carry you over the threshold?"

"Not the time," You said, picking up your suitcase to carry it to the bedroom. "We were talking about a motive. Evidently, she likes looking at… married men. If it's her, she might be doing it out of jealousy."

"Exactly," He agreed, following you up the stairs. "Maybe there's something else at play—jealousy or something. how old were the other victims?" 

"Between 25 and 35. She didn't say how old she was, did she?" You rolled into the bedroom, sitting on the bed and immediately flopping down onto it. Johnny rolled past your room, looking for the separate bed the bureau had said would be there as well.

"Finally," You sighed with a smile. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stifled a yawn. For a second, you considered falling asleep just like this, uncomfortable jeans be damned. 

"Y/N?" 

You cracked your eyes open, frowning at Johnny who was standing in the doorway. "What?" 

"There's only one bed."

You almost stopped breathing for a moment. "Huh?" 

He shuffled on his feet. "There's only one bed," He said, speaking slower.

"What do you mean there's only one bed?" You sat up.

Johnny sighed. "I mean there's only one bed." 

"But the bureau said—"

"Well, the bureau lied," He interrupted, "Because there's no other bed."

You  crossed your arms. "I could take the couch."

"That's supposed to get here tomorrow." 

"Oh," You frowned. What were you going to do? 

"I mean, I could sleep on the floor," You said, "So that way we don't have to sleep, you know…"

"Together?" He offered.

"In the same bed," You corrected, turning your face. It felt hot all of a sudden. 

"No, I couldn't do that to you." He set his suitcase next to yours, then sat next to you. "The bed seems big enough. I'm sure we'll be fine."

You were too tired to argue further. "Sure…" You didn't sound too convinced. 

"Great," He sighed, "I just gotta tell you. I snore a bit."

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—08:43 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

That night, surprisingly, you slept like a baby. You initially thought you'd overthink it all with Johnny lying right next to you but… it was comforting, knowing he was there. You hadn't slept next to anyone since you were 26.

Life as an FBI agent was demanding. Because of this, you'd given up on the idea of having a meaningful relationship ages ago. And due to the nature of your work, it was easy to throw yourself into it to drown out the desire to have someone to come home to. The fact that whenever you did get free time, if you spent too much of it alone… 

But now, lying awake in the morning, seeing Johnny's sleeping face curled up into his pillow… You remembered. 

He looked peaceful. Even at 33, like this he barely looked a day past 27. You could make out the details on his face, old acne scars and the occasional mole. The smile lines along his cheeks and the corners of his eyes… maybe in another lifetime, another universe, you could have gotten used to—

No. You shot up, heading towards the en suite to go to the bathroom. You were still sleepy, that was all. The time difference between Washington and California was having second effects. 

You pulled down your pants, blinking sleepily, and promptly had a heart attack when you sat down. Your knees barely missed your nose, your stomach dropped, and a shriek tumbled out of your lips before you could even register what was happening. 

Standing, now wide awake, you had half a mind to pull up your pants as Johnny tumbled into the bathroom, eyes wide in alarm.

"What happened?" He asked, voice raspy from disuse. You didn’t answer, but instead stared at the offending lifted toilet seat until he got the message. 

"Oh…" His face turned awkward, lips tilting from side to side. "I got up a few hours ago. I must have forgotten to put it back down, sorry." 

You didn't answer, yawning instead. He shrugged. "I've never… lived with another woman before, so…"

"Never?"

His eyes looked down. "...Never."

"Not even with that ex-girlfriend from Oxford you told me about?"

"Mary? No."

You held back an amused grin. "Johnny, when was the last time you even went on a date?" 

He pursed his lips. "I… am starving. Do you want me to go to the supermarket to pick something up for breakfast?"

You blinked, putting your hands on your hips. 

"...Breakfast sounds great."

Johnny promptly changed and left while you got into the shower. Once you were out, you brushed your teeth, did your general morning routine and waited for the car to roll back into the driveway, doing a quick background check on Anne in the meantime. 

No criminal record whatsoever, but that didn't automatically discard her from your list. Mostly because she was the only one on it, so far. 

Johnny rolled back into the driveway just before 9:20. You helped him take the bags into the kitchen, when he said, "Think fast!" and tossed you a small box.

"What's this?" You asked, opening the box. You sputtered at the sight: two simple gold bands. He looked at you like you were a moron.

"Wedding rings," He said, plucking one of the rings out from the box, "Hopefully so Anne lays off."

"You didn't have to go out and buy actual—"

"It's fake gold." He waved his hand dismissively, sitting down at the island and slathering an ungodly amount of cream cheese across a bagel. 

You settled on some coffee after hesitating to put on the ring. As you were finishing up, a knock at the door caught your attention. You looked at him, and he shrugged. "Moving van won't be here till 10:30."

So, you sighed, but still headed to the door. Johnny followed behind, second bagel in hand. When you swung the door open, you were met with Anne and a man you hadn't met yet. A wide Cheshire grin was plastered onto her face.

"Dana, hi!" She greeted. Her eyes landed on Johnny. "Good morning, Fox."

"Morning, Anne," You said with a nod, catching her attention again. You turned your eyes onto the man and held out your hand. "Hi, I'm Dana."

He shook your hand with a friendly smile. "My name's Scott Hernandez. I'm on the HOA board."

Johnny walked up to the door, putting a hand on your shoulder. "I'm Fox," He said, face speckled with crumbs and mouth full of food. You wanted to crawl into a hole.

"Hey, man," Scott said, eyeing Johnny, "Uh… Welcome to the neighborhood!"

"So," Anne asked, eyes raking over Johnny's chest, "How was the first night?"

Johnny swallowed his bagel before speaking. "It was lovely. We just snuggled up together and slept like little baby cats." He turned to you, eyes warm. "Isn't that right, honey bunch?"

Your neck snapped to look at him, holding back a look of disgust. "That's right…" You racked your brain for something sweet to call him and a moment later came up with, "...Poopy head."

Poopy head? Nice one, L/N.

Johnny’s smile faltered for a second, but neither Scott nor Anne seemed to notice. You flashed them both a bright grin. "So! Would you like to come in?"

Scott and Anne nodded. "That'd be great, thanks," He said. You led them into the dining room, where Johnny managed an awkward laugh. "Sorry it's such a mess, we just got up about an hour ago and I immediately went to the supermarket."

"Oh, don't worry, Fox," Scott hummed, sitting at the island, "Moving is so stressful. Especially with…"

Anne flashed him a dirty look. You raised an eyebrow at the interaction. "With what?" You asked, tilting your head as you feigned innocence. Anne sighed, shaking her head.

"Three women have been… murdered over the past few weeks." Scott looked down. "Police haven't been able to catch who's responsible."

"That's horrible," Johnny murmured, standing next to you. "Did you know them?"

"We know everyone because of our HOA responsibilities," Scott answered, "I wasn't that close to any of them, but they were all very nice women. It's awful, what happened to them. You knew Yolanda, didn't you, Anne?"

She nodded, eyes glassy. "Her son and mine used to play together. She was such a nice woman. Lovely family, too. It just breaks my heart." 

"I'm sorry for your loss," You told her. She offered a sad smile.

"But what, is it someone from the community or what?"

Anne shrugged, eyes full of concern. "The police don't really know, but it would make sense if they were from the community—"

"It couldn't possibly be someone living here," Scott huffed, "Everyone knows everyone, why would someone want to—"

"Scott is just in denial," Anne said, waving her hand. "Did you two really not know?"

"Not at all," Johnny replied, eyes wide with fake worry, "These past few weeks have been so hectic we barely had time to sit down. Right, honey?"

You groaned, partially putting up an act and partially in disgust at the name. "It's been a nightmare!" 

You made up some problems, like a crappy travel agency, yard sales, things going missing, stuff like that. Johnny occasionally chimed in, embellishing your stories. Occasionally, Anne or Scott would ask a question, and Johnny would answer with something he pulled out of his ass. 

"So that's why Fox isn't allowed coffee, anymore," You said a few minutes later, rolling your eyes. Scott was cackling, Anne giggling into her palm. Johnny glared at you, but there was no malice behind it. 

"But anyway, I'm guessing you two didn't come here to hear about how anxious I get with caffeine." Johnny turned to the pair. "What brings you to the... Kang-Baker residence?"

"Oh, we came to talk to you about joining the Homeowner's Association," Anne explained, "Not everyone in the neighborhood is a part of it, but it's very convenient to join." 

They laid down the basics, and as they talked, you realized just how much you appreciated living in an apartment rather than a house. Yes, it was a bit small at times, definitely not as idyllic, but 300 dollars as an initiation fee, and monthly payments of 150 dollars? You had half a mind to call the bureau and tell them that the real crime was the extortion from the Homeowner's Association. 

You didn't really see any advantages—probably because you didn't even own this house and wouldn't have to worry about selling it later. It just sounded like a nightmare. What did they mean you could only paint your doors pastel colors if you joined?

When they finally left, you looked at Johnny. "Maybe I'm not cut out for the American dream after all. That HOA stuff sounds even worse than the time we got attacked by the flesh eating virus."

He held back a laugh. "That bad, huh?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, this is much more irritating. The moving van will be here any second, come on, let's go."

127TH PRECINCT, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—14:29 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

After unloading the furniture boxes (empty boxes with nothing really in them), you and Johnny settled on lunch—some crappy junk food—and drove all the way to the police station where Detective Son worked. 

"What did you think about that Scott guy?" You asked Johnny, who shrugged. 

"Seemed nice enough. We'd have to look into him too, since he's also involved in the community."

You nodded. "I'll run a background check once we get h—back to the house."

He glanced at you, but said nothing. "...What are you doing once this is over?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What, once we get back to DC?"

He nodded. "Well, yeah."

You stared ahead at the car in front of you. "Oh, well… I'm not sure. Probably finish writing that stupid report for Brooks and then curl up on my couch, watch some movies, drink some wine. I don't know."

He snickered. "What, and watch Pretty Woman for the 700th time?"

Smacking him in the shoulder lightly, you huffed. "Which is no better than watching Full Metal Jacket 700 times, and you know it, Johnny Suh."

He shrugged. "Well, if sex on a piano is what does it for you then who am I to judge?"

"Shut up." You rolled down the window, the heat too much to handle. 

When you finally got to see Detective Son again, she handed you the cassette and made her way towards the door. When she spoke, she looked only at you. "I'm actually headed out to check out another call we got just now," She explained, "But feel free to use the VCR in my office to look it all over."

She left, not even looking Johnny in the eye. You turned to Johnny, who was wide-eyed. 

"And you said she likes me."

In her office, you went over several days' worth of sped up hours of footage of six different camera angles. By the third hour of watching sped up, grainy footage, Johnny huffed. "I don't think we'll get anything," He said, "Especially considering the killer didn't even need to break their way in—"

"Hold on, hold on." You shook your head, eyes zeroing in on a dark shape in one of the cameras. You walked up to the VCR machine and hit the rewind button.

"Watch camera six."

He narrowed his eyes, fixing his glasses as he watched the dark shape run out from the treeline and up the wall, then out of the camera's view—presumably inside the community. You rewinded one last time, pausing just as it leaped onto the wall.

"There."

"That's too big to be a cat," He murmured, standing to get a closer look at the grainy black and white still image, "Right?"

"Could be a big cat—bobcat or a lynx, maybe, but…"

"It's movements are too… jerky for it to be a cat."

You hesitated, before nodding. 

"Could this be the thing we're looking for?" Johnny asked, and you crossed your arms, giving the dark blob a skeptical look.

"Looks like we have some digging to do."

One more hour of poring over the footage, plus another hour of looking at the archives of the police department turned up nothing on big cats in the area. There'd been no calls to 911 to report big cats in the neighborhood, and looking over the tape again showed nothing else, not even the thing leaving.

Which made Johnny’s theory that it was still there weigh even more.

By 7:30PM or so, Detective Son had returned. "I brought coffee," She said, entering the small space, "Find anything?"

You shrugged. Johnny looked at her. "We saw a weird blob go inside. It never came out and we couldn't figure out what it was."

She frowned. "There haven't been any reports of wild animals there in years. Not since that huge military base opened up."

Johnny's eyebrows knit together. "Army base?"

She nodded. "Fort Talbot. It's about fifteen minutes west of San Ceferino. There aren't a lot of roads that lead to it, they're pretty private."

You locked eyes with Johnny, who was probably thinking the same thing as you. Military base? That was new.

 “I don’t suppose you could take us to see it?”

She shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, we could try, but there’s a fence around the perimeter about a mile or two away from the actual base. They’re not gonna let you in.”

“No, we’re not military,” You sighed. “But thank you for telling us about that.”

SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—20:44 hours, Thursday, February 12th, 1993

When the car rolled into the driveway, the two of you had found that Anne was at your front door. You shot each other a quizzical look when she turned at the sight of your headlights. “What’s the cougar doing here?” He sighed, and you elbowed him.

“Hush. Be nice.”

She reached the car once you’d both stepped out. “Oh, I was wondering where you two were! I wanted to invite you over to have dinner. The spinach quiche I made was a bit too big for just me!”

At the mention of the meal, your stomach panged in hunger. All you’d had since you left the house was that coffee Wendy had given you. Plus…

Johnny seemed to read your mind. “We’re starving. Quiche sounds great, thanks so much, Anne.”

She beamed at his praise. “Oh, come on! Wouldn’t want it to get cold.”

Anne took the both of you into her house, leading you to the dinner table where she’d already set up spots for the both of you. “It’s not too much, is it? I’m sorry if I’m being overbearing. I really do want you to ease into the neighborhood, and plus, living in this big old empty house gets… lonely.”

As you sat down, you frowned in sympathy. You watched as she began to slice the quiche for you both. “Don’t worry, Anne. I understand where you’re coming from. It’s so lonely in my—or, it was so lonely in my apartment before Fox and I met. Sure, you can distract yourself during the day with all of the stuff you have to do, but at the end of the day you come home to… nothing.”

She handed Johnny a plate, and he took it. “There you go, Fox.”

He smiled, handing the plate to you. “Thank you.”

Her eyes followed his hand, and blinked when she spotted the ring on his hand. “Oh, I see you have your rings now.”

Johnny’s smile grew into a grin, as he held out his hand, flashing the band around his ring finger. You did the same. “No more pesky metal detectors,” He declared, “So why not?”

Anne nodded, eyes lowered. She handed him another plate, then served herself. And then, finally, you all started eating. It occurred to you as you took your first bite that if she was she easily could have laced the food with whatever was in those women’s systems when they died. But that would be too different from the killer’s modus operandi. They only went for women and they killed them in their home. Autopsies didn’t find anything recent in their stomachs at the time of death, so you concluded to take a bite. 

Besides, it smelled good. If you were going to die, then it would be nice to die by the hands of some good quiche.

“So,” You began, “You said your kids were off at college?” 

She nodded, digging around her food with a fork. “My oldest is in grad school at USC. He’s currently in South America doing research on bats, or something, I really can’t remember. My second is off backpacking for the summer, she’s graduating from UCLA next year, and my youngest left for college two years ago. He managed to get a full scholarship to Duke, can you believe it?”

You smiled, nodding. “Wow, that’s impressive.” 

She sounded proud, but there was a sadness behind her gaze. “It’s hard, it really is. Especially trying not to worry. They rarely call and only come home during the holidays. Drives me up the wall not knowing what my kids are up to!”

Johnny laughed. “My mom was the same when I went to college. My freshman year she called me once every day. My roommates always made fun of me for it.”

She chuckled. “Oh, that’s how all moms are,” She turned to you, “I imagine it’ll be the same when you two have kids.”

You almost choked on the food in your mouth at her words. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Johnny go white. Somehow, you managed to hold it back, hitting your chest lightly as the food made its way down. “Oh, well… it’s a bit early for that, I think.”

“We only got married six months ago…” Johnny murmured awkwardly. 

“Oh, I totally get it,” She said, “But, y´know, accidents happen. Especially when you’re still in the honeymoon phase after the wedding. I had my first less than a year after we were married, we weren’t even trying!”

You chewed on your lip. “Well, if something happens…” You met eyes with Johnny, whose gaze was unreadable, “Something happens.”

Not looking away, Johnny licked his lips subtly, before picking up a napkin. Anne didn’t notice, surprisingly, and seemed satisfied with your answer.

You ate a little bit more, when Anne asked, “So, tell me, how did you two meet?”

Remembering the file, Johnny perked up. “We met at a party in college. I was in my junior year, I think? Right, honey?”

You shook your head. “Your senior year,” You corrected, “Because I was in my sophomore year. I remember it like it was yesterday. He came up to me and was wearing this horrible button up shirt—”

“You ended up stealing it from me!” He joked, and you held up your index finger.

 “I use it to sleep. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that in public. Much less to attract a mate.”

Anne cackled, and the two of you laughed too. Again, you managed to make up a story: he was drunk and accidentally spilled some punch on your pants. He’d tried to help you by washing it in the bathroom but only made it worse.

“When I got back to my dorm, it was around three in the morning, my leg was sticky and I was miserable, but we ran into each other a few days later and he was very apologetic about the whole thing.”

“I was mortified,” He said, “I mean, here’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life and I managed to screw it up by ruining her pants. I was so sure I’d screwed up.”

Anne raised her eyebrows. “So, you knew from the start that you liked her?”

Johnny’s eyes landed on you again, turning wistful. He leaned over and grabbed your free hand. “The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.”

You tried to smile, but suddenly your chest felt like it was caving in on yourself. You let your hand rest in his for a moment, before pulling away. “Oh, Fox. Don’t get all sentimental on me now.”

Clearing your throat, you didn’t miss the way Johnny’s eyes fell slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, where’s your bathroom?”

She pointed up. “Upstairs to the right.”

This was your chance to get some dirt on her, and put some space between you and Johnny. As you walked away, you touched a hand to your cheek and it came away burning. 

“Get it together,” You muttered to yourself.

The quick search yielded nothing. She had nothing in her drawers, all of the papers on her desk were related to her work at a hair care company. You always could have missed something though. You couldn’t take more than a few minutes, you certainly couldn’t risk her coming up to check on you and finding you sifting through her work documents.

Before you came down, you did your best to leave everything as you found it before heading back downstairs. 

When you sat back down at the table, things were a bit more tense. You sensed it immediately. “Everything alright?”

“...Yeah,” Johnny mumbled. 

“Fox and I were just talking about how… difficult marriage can be.”

You nodded, wondering if that was all that had happened. “Oh, it’s no walk in the park, that’s for sure.”

The rest of the dinner was not as lively. There were more awkward silences, more lulls in the conversation, less laughs. When you finally left, his elbow intertwined in yours, you looked at him. “What happened while I was gone?”

He shook his head as you both crossed the street. “I don’t like her,” He told you in a hushed voice, “She started talking about how it won’t be like this forever and it’s only fun now because we just got married or whatever.”

“What, was she trying to open something up between you and her?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t exactly been subtle, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she was.”

The two of you marched up into your house, and while Johnny was showering you did a background check on Scott Hernandez. Nothing also. A perfectly ordinary citizen, no criminal record at all. 

Then, it was your turn to shower. As you did, you couldn’t help but think back to Anne’s words. The whole situation, feigning domesticity was proving to be bad for you: you couldn’t help but imagine a small child with his wide eyes and your nose, his lanky limbs and your hands. 

The amount of time you put into your work made you fully aware that it would make having children difficult. Truth be told, you hadn’t really put much thought into settling down. The right person had never been there.

But what if he had? What if he’d been by your side for the past three years?

He had to be putting on an act when he’d said it.

The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.

Thinking back to the moment you’d first met him, and he’d come across as slightly patronizing and dismissive of your conclusions. But thinking about when he’d first turned to look at you, that particular morning in 1992…

You turned off the shower. Alone time wasn’t doing you any good, either.

When you emerged from the shower, you sighed as your eyes landed on the toilet seat, which was lifted. You set it back down with a huff before getting dressed.

Once you stepped out of the bathroom in your pajamas, toweling your hair, your eyes fell to the pile of dirty clothes on the bed. “Please don’t put your sweaty clothes, where I have to sleep,” You told him, tossing the clothes into his face. He let out a soft groan, picking them up. 

“Oh, come on,” He grumbled, “They don’t even smell that bad.”

After he set them off somewhere (you didn’t see where as you were shutting your laptop off), he sat back down on the bed, leaving a space open for you. "So, what if we looked into Scott tomorrow?"

“That sounds like a good idea. Tomorrow night there’s that HOA thing we need to go to. We might be able to pick up some more stuff there.”

He nodded, and as you stood in front of the bed he waggled his eyebrows and patted the spot next to you. “Come on, Dana,” He murmured sarcastically, “We’re married now.”

You didn’t smile. He took that as a sign to continue. 

“Plus, if something happens, something happens.”

You grabbed a pillow and flung it into his face. “You’re the worst,” You grumbled. He laughed, but it was muffled from the pillow.

Slowly but surely, you realized with the sound of his laughter, this feeling was soon going to become something you couldn’t ignore.

HERNANDEZ RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—09:02 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the door opened, Scott Hernandez had a welcoming smile on his face. “Dana,” He said, “Good morning. Did you need anything?”

“Oh, I just wanted to ask if there was an official guidebook or anything for the HOA? Fox and I are still considering joining, but we’d need to go over everything.” You scratched at the cardigan you were wearing. Why did the bureau have to give you something so thick and scratchy when they knew you were coming to California in the middle of July?

“Come in! I’m sure I have a rulebook. Plus, if you have any other questions you could always just come over.”

He led you up the stairs. “I keep all of my stuff in the office,” He explained, “That way my kids don’t mess it all up.”

You offered a soft laugh. “Oh, you have kids?”

“Yep.” His voice was warm. “Two kids, a nine year old and a six year old. They’re not here right now, though. My wife took them up to Washington to see their grandparents.”

“Ah, that’s sweet.” As he led you into the office, your eyes studied the room. A picture frame behind him of a professional family portrait, a houseplant in the corner a big clunky computer on top of the desk, and a cabinet pushed to the side of the room.

Your eyes fell onto the things placed on top of the cabinet, a stapler and some other office supplies. But when your eyes caught a different type of metal that wasn’t the standard gray color, you focused on it. A small medallion, decorated with a ribbon. When you recognized the logo, your eyes widened slightly.

“You’re military?” 

His eyes turned to you, eyebrows raised. Then he looked to the side. “Oh… no. My brother was. He passed away in the Gulf War.”

You looked down, but something about his tone didn’t sound quite authentic. “I’m sorry for your loss,” You answered anyway. 

The silence hung overhead for a few moments, before he pulled out a small booklet. “Here’s a copy of the rulebook.” He held it up, waving it back and forth, “This has pretty much everything.”

“Oh, really?” You straightened your posture, feigning a smile. When he handed it to you, your smile grew bigger as you looked down at the small book. “I’ll be sure to show Fox when he gets home. I really appreciate it, Scott.”

He waved his hand. “Don’t mention it. If you need anything else, just come on over. I work from home, so I’m here pretty much all day.”

Scott studied your face, and a second later you looked away. “So, I should get going,” You murmured. “I’ll see you tonight? I don’t think nor you nor Anne said where it would be.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Here, actually! Tonight, at 7.” 

“Great,” You answered, “I’ll see you tonight.”

When you got back to the house, you walked to the office, where Johnny was waiting. “Hernandez has military links.”

His head shot up. “He does?” 

“There was a military medallion on his cabinet in his office. He looked like he was gonna piss himself when I asked about it.”

“And what did he say?”

“Said his brother was a Gulf War veteran. I didn’t believe him for a second.”

“So could he be our guy?”

You took a deep breath. “Honestly? I don’t know. I could try to look through his office tonight at the HOA thing.”

“You?” He shook his head vehemently. “You fit his profile. All of his victims were around your age. You’re not going somewhere you could be alone with him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then what?” 

He looked at you as if you were dumb. “I’ll go.”

“But—”

“No.” His gaze turned stern, before walking all the way up to you. He put his hands up on your shoulders. “Y/N, he could kill you.”

“Has that ever stopped me before?” You asked, tilting your head. “Johnny, it’s in the job description to deal with people who could kill me. What’s so different now?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His eyes were wide, urgent, and his face was inches away. You shook your head, trying to prompt him to speak. “What?” 

Johnny pursed his lips, studying your face. And then, finally he shook his head. “Nothing.” 

He stepped away, and left the office, leaving you speechless. You leaned against the desk thinking about what just happened.

For the rest of the day, he was relatively distant. During lunch—you went out to buy some sandwiches—and he barely said thank you, before you ate in tense silence. You could only wait until 7 o’clock rolled around. In the meantime, you placed a call to Detective Son, telling her to look into Scott Hernandez and his family. You typed up the rest of your preliminary report, and then all you could do was wait. 

When five thirty rolled around, you started to get ready. You took only about five minutes, before stepping out, fully dressed. When you stepped out of the bathroom, Johnny had his back turned to you. It was almost as if he hadn’t noticed you were right behind him, because he was humming softly to himself, tapping his foot to a non audible melody. You could hear him humming it though, and after a few seconds of listening. you were able to recognize the song.

He froze when he heard your giggling. “What?” He asked, turning his head.

“Is… is that Bidi Bidi Bom Bom?” You asked, leaning against the wall. He straightened his posture before shuffling on his feet. 

“...No.” 

You raised your eyebrows. “Sure, it isn’t.”

He raised his eyebrow, but it wasn’t as serious as he had been before. And when you spoke again, his mouth grew into a crooked smile. 

“You like Selena,” You sing-songed. 

“Alright, enough. We’ve got a job to do.” He was biting back a laugh. You knew him too much to believe the opposite. 

When the two of you finally walked the few houses towards Scott’s house, he held out his arm for you to hold onto. Taking a deep breath, your hand hesitated before it grabbed onto him. Approaching the house, you could tell that it was alive with a lot of people on the inside. You wouldn’t necessarily say it was overflowing, but you could tell it was definitely close to filling up. 

“Let’s go?” He asked, and you nodded. He led you to the front door, where he rang the doorbell before the two of you waited. 

A minute or so later, Scott opened the door with a grin. 

“Hey, you two! You’re just in time.”

You put on your best smiles. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Johnny sighed. You didn’t miss the tense undertone in his words.

The two of you made your way into the room. Across the room you heard someone call for you both. You held back a groan. You really didn’t need this right now. 

“Hey, over here!” Anne called, beckoning you over. Johnny heaved the sigh of a man ready to end it all, and then you both made your way to her and her group. All of them seemed to be the same age as her. 

“Ladies, these are our new neighbors I was telling you about.” She pointed at the both of you .”This is Dana Baker, and this is Fox… the architect.”

Oh boy. 

And the talking began. You and Johnny having to rehash the same details over and over again. It felt like having to navigate a minefield. You had to recall all of the lies you’d told Anne and Scott, this time in front of an audience of women very clearly ogling the man who they fully believed was your husband. 

You made idle chit-chat after that, but eventually, about twenty minutes had passed until they sat everyone down. The living room was full of grown ups, including a few young children. The thought of everyone being in such close proximity to someone, something that could hurt them all the way it had hurt those other women.

It was easy to tune them all out. It was then that you realized that suburban life would never really be for you. This was all so dull and monotone. You were sure that if you had decided to actually go into the medical field and settled down… you would probably lose your mind. 

They went over some things you didn’t pay attention to: lawns and whatnot. It was so tiring you had to stifle a yawn on more than one occasion. Anne was going on about some infraction that didn’t even sound that bad to you, when it occurred to you to slip away, Johnny be damned. 

You patted Scott on the shoulder as Anne went on. “Where’s the bathroom?”

He nodded back once, “Upstairs. Green door. We’re almost done, though, are you sure you can’t wait a little longer?”

“I had the genius idea to drink two whole bottles of water before we left,” You murmured so as to not make too much of a scene, “I really don’t think I can.”

He sighed, before nodding. “Go ahead.”

Gotcha. You slipped up, sparing Johnny a glance. He was glaring at you. If looks could kill, you didn’t even want to know where you’d end up going. You made your way up the stairs, remembering the way to the office from this morning. You slipped into the office, making your way to the cabinet. The medallion was gone, which made you wonder why he had done so. 

As you shuffled through the drawers of the cabinet and came up with nothing, you had to remind yourself to keep count of how long you’d been up here. You moved on to the desk, shuffling through the papers on the desk and then the ones on the drawer. In the first drawer, you found an ID: Alma Hernandez, Lazarus Programming.

In the second drawer, nothing. 

In the third and bottom drawer, you found something: a pair of dogtags. Neither of them said Hernandez. Instead, they read Simon Walsh. 

Simon Walsh? That was new. You stashed them back into the drawer, suddenly remembering how long you’d been up here. Probably a bit over five minutes. As you made your way back down to the living room, you ran into Johnny. 

“Hey,” He said, “I was just coming to look for you.”

He looked disappointed, bordering on anger. In the small space, you could feel his proximity. You couldn’t help but shake your head.

“I had to take the chance. I wasn’t sure if there would be a chance after this.”

He sighed. “I can’t believe you. Come on, they’re serving pizza.”

You laughed, letting him grab your hand as he led you back into the living room, where you two ate a few slices of pizza. Enough to feel satisfied, but not enough to feel too full. In theory, if you had to make a detainment or worse, have a confrontation then it’d be a bad idea to have stomach cramps. 

You two kept to yourselves, occasionally speaking to other couples who introduced themselves to you. Once you’d finished gorging yourselves on the food, he kept his hand around your waist the entire time. It was a gentle touch, but comforting. You couldn’t help but feel tense.

“After we get home, I’ll tell you all the details I saw.” You looked up to see his face, watching you tentatively. 

“Alright,” He murmured, leaning closer to your face, “But I wanna talk about something together first.”

Raising an eyebrow, you leaned away from him. “What, are you okay?”

Johnny nodded, smile reassuringly. “Yeah. I just realized something earlier today.” 

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—21:17 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the two of you left, Anne had bid you both goodbye. She’d said Scott had gone to bed with a headache, which made you feel a bit uneasy. The entire way home, Johnny kept himself relatively close. The entire way home, he was silent. It wasn’t until the both of you were inside of the house that he leaned against the front door. As he led you to the couch )which had finally arrived), you tried to remember all of the details you’d seen as you looked through Scott’s office.

When he sat you down, you placed both hands in your lap. He scratched at his shoulder, before meeting your eyes.

“Simon Walsh.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widened at the same time his had. “What?” You asked, shaking your head. You were suddenly aware of everything going on. You were in an ongoing murder investigation. It was quite possibly linked to a very secretive military base. Three women had been murdered. A fourth would be soon if you didn’t hurry.

“Johnny, I don’t think…”

“No, please. Just a few minutes, okay? I’ve been dealing with this for years. I need to get this out of my system and then we can talk about this back in DC. Please, Y/N.”

Your gut felt heavy at the same time your heart felt incredibly light. It was by far one of the strangest sensations you’d ever felt. Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded. 

“Alright, John. Five minutes. Then we talk about what I found.”

He nodded with a small smile. Gently, Johnny grabbed your hands, rubbing the knuckles with his thumbs. He was silent for a while, tilting his head back and forth as he tried to figure out what to say. 

“What I said last night at Anne’s. I meant it. That first time I saw you, I… I knew. I knew we didn’t get along initially, but I just had this feeling in my chest. You were so smart, and eventually we realized how much we clicked…”

He looked up, leaning closer. You swallowed softly as his eyes met yours again. He managed a soft chuckle. “Y/N, I tried to hold it away. But it got stronger every single day. You understand me. Even though we push back against each other, you don’t think I’m crazy. You take them into consideration and don’t brush them off. I really appreciate that. I look at you and… I’m home.”

Looking to the side, you sighed. “Johnny, I really don’t think this is appropriate. Especially not right now—”

"Y/N, I know what your dream on the plane was about."

You inhaled sharply, alarmed gaze meeting his own. His eyes had turned soft, warm. You knew you had to push him away. The name Simon Walsh was on loop in your head, but you couldn’t find it in you to push him away.

“What?”

“I heard you moan my name,” He sighed, “Trust me, Y/N, I know what I heard.”

He leaned even closer, cupping your face. You could feel his breath puffing softly onto your skin. His eyes were knowing as his voice dropped to a whisper. 

“You want me too, don’t you?”

When his lips met yours, you couldn’t find it in you to pull away. He pulled you closer, and your arms found their way to wrap themselves around your neck. His lips were soft, but demanding. You could tell he’d been waiting for this a long, long time. 

You don’t know when he laid you down onto the couch, but honestly… you didn’t really mind. Johnny was warm, comfortable. And yes, July in California was hot, humid, but… up until Johnny put his hands on you, you’d never realized how cold you’d been, even before your arrival here.

He deepened the kiss, hands sliding down to your waist. They toyed with the hem of your blouse, humming against your lips. You gasped against him, hands sliding into his gelled hair.

Your eyes snapped open. Johnny never used this much gel in his hair.

Two things happened in the next two seconds. You pushed Johnny off. Johnny would never prioritize his feelings like this over a case. You hadn’t seen Scott as you left. All of this pretending, playing house had gotten to you. You were in real danger now.

The other thing that happened? Johnny burst through the door, wearing clothes he hadn’t been wearing when you first left. He was panting heavily. There was a bruise on his cheek and his wrists were red.

You backed away from Not Johnny, who turned to you, gaze now furious. A wave of nausea passed over you, breathing heavily. Whatever Not Johnny had in his system, he had passed onto you with his spit, and you could feel it settling into your system. You looked up at Johnny, before pulling out your gun. Taking a deep breath, you looked at your work partner, closest confidante, love of your life.

“I had a feeling,” You mumbled, realizing how the sinking feeling in your stomach was actually dread.

Stumbling, you heard Not Johnny let out a ghastly screech. You fired your gun at him before passing out. 

SAN FRANCISCO METROPOLITAN, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—10:39 hours, Saturday, July 14th, 1994

The room smelled sterile. You knew this smell. You’d lived it for several years before in medical school rotations. This had to be a hospital, you realized. Slowly, you let your eyes open. You let out a soft groan at the discomfort of having been stuck in one position for so long.

“You awake?” A deep, familiar voice asked. Your vision was blurry, but you could still recognize it was Johnny. His eyes were rimmed red from exhaustion, but he looked relieved. 

“No. I died, actually.” Your voice was raspy. Johnny scoffed, shaking his head.

“You’re impossible,” He mumbled, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“What even happened after I passed out?”

Johnny took a second to gather his thoughts before speaking. “You hit him in the face. It wasn’t pretty. He freaked out a bit, and then he took off. I couldn't catch him. Called Son, she came in with the precinct and they looked through Hernandez's house."

His gaze turned somber as you sat up with a soft huff. Your muscles were stiff.

"They found the real Scott Hernandez, his two kids and his wife, in their basement. Autopsies are being performed today, but it looks like they've been dead a few weeks."

Your eyes shut. Two kids, a man, and another woman. Seven victims total.

"And that thing is still out there," You mumbled, "If only I hadn't been so stupid—"

Johnny put his hand on yours. "Don't say that. Even if you hadn't gotten knocked out, he would still be way too much for just the two of us to handle. Y/N, you shot him in the face and it barely stopped him. He wasn't human anymore."

You shook your head, burying your head in your hands. "Still… I know you, Johnny. I should have seen the signs, but he was so—somehow he knew everything—"

"It's something to do with touch," He said with a nod, "He knocked me to the ground and locked me in a closet before he found you. I was a bit out of it, but I remember he touched my wrist for a few seconds and then he turned into me. My head still hurts, too. Maybe he can also copy some memories from the people he touches long enough."

When you didn't answer, he grabbed your face. He looked desperate. "Y/N, you're only human. I would have fallen for it too."

"I fell for it because he told me exactly what I wanted to hear," You whispered, feeling tears spring to your eyes, seemingly out of nowhere, "He played me like a fucking fiddle and I fell for it."

His thumb brushed away a tear. "Don't think about the what-ifs, Y/N. It's already happened, and now we need to focus on what's gonna happen next. We need to find a way into Fort Talbot. Somehow. Turn your report into the bureau and we can figure it out from there. There’s something going on there. Human experimentation on soldiers, or something."

"We're never gonna get clearance to search a military base, Johnny. It's impossible."

He shook his head. "Y/N, if you were able to convince Brooks to let me, Spooky Suh, FBI's most unwanted? keep running around hunting ghosts and aliens and Bigfoot all over the country, you can figure out a way to get access in there. I know you can."

You were shaking now. "We won't be safe if we do. You think the military won't retaliate? We'd be dead, Johnny," Your words were garbled and your voice wouldn't stop cracking, "There has to be another way."

He shook you gently, shaking his head. "Dammit, Y/N, I can't do this without you."

"They placed me with you for a reason, Johnny," You snapped, "To debunk your work, to reign you in and shut you down—"

"But you saved me," He insisted, "You did exactly the opposite. And as a result we kept working together, and you kept me honest. You… you've made me a whole person."

He rubbed his face with his hand, pushing a strand of dark hair out of his eye. "Y/N, as frustrating as it's been sometimes working with you, your stupud science and rationalism have saved me a thousand times over. I owe you everything. Y/N, you owe me nothing."

His forehead brushed yours, and his eyes fluttered shut. "I can't do this without you," He murmured. And despite the fact that you knew that this was your Johnny, you shook your head. The deja vu was making your head spin. 

"Tell me something the real Johnny would know," You whispered, putting a hand on your chest.

He thought for a second, before sighing. "I had three moments when I realized I was in love with you. When you first walked into my office that morning, I had a feeling," He said, voice full of conviction, "It grew into something concrete when you told me my glasses were crooked. And the moment I knew—I mean, I already knew from that first moment but this was when it truly hit me—was when you told me you'd kept that stupid fucking nasal implant in your sports bra so that you wouldn't lose it."

He laughed warmly, obviously thinking back to the moment. "No one else has ever believed me the way you do. And I doubt anyone else ever will. You're my one in…" He looked to the side, trying to remember the number, "Five billion."

Your hand came up to caress his face. He seemed to melt against your touch. 

This time, when your lips met, everything felt right, despite the feeling that the world was crumbling around you. His hands squeezed your face gently, as if you were about to disappear. When your hands slid into his hair, it felt slightly sweaty still, but it wasn't tacky with gel. 

This was your Johnny. You knew it with your entire being.

Yes, Johnny was sarcastic, stubborn, eccentric and had low impulse control. But he was also highly intelligent, empathetic, hilarious and yes, you could now admit that he was the most beautiful human you'd ever seen in your 30 years on this planet. 

If it had to be him and you against the world, so be it. The truth was out there. You and Johnny would just have to be the ones chasing it.

taglist: @doderyscoffee​ @always-wishing-for-rain​

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Whitney:

- 6’1

- misogynist

- needs glasses but hates wearing them

- great skincare routine

- has like 4 thousand followers on Instagram

- along with Billie and Cary one of the characters I will just tack a bunch of negative traits onto