#need to be strapped down and my hands taped to a keyboard or something

[necrobratz]

also does anyone wanna be a beta reader for the john fic im writing…. i am not at alllll used to writing rdr charas and i wanna write them GOOD and im soo worried im not doing it right <3 also having beta readers/friends to talk abt it with and stream ideas makes it so much easier to write like it makes me sick

[littleredwing89]

AGENT OF CHAOS - PART THREE

AGENT OF CHAOS - PART THREE

Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Everything flew by him in a blur as he sped through the streets of Gotham. His foot slammed down harder on the accelerator desperate to get there faster. Every second counted. He knew all too well what The Joker was like. The way his face slipped as you defied him, terrified Jason. He’d seen that look right before receiving a crowbar to the face.

Warnings – Language. Kidnapping. Stalking. Mild Violence. Angst. Hurt.

Word Count: 4,870

A/N: This is the final chapter everyone, sorry for the little delay, I was working on a few of the actions scenes to ensure they were good. I really hope you all like this xoxo

~~~

It had been almost a month. Every lead turned into a dead end. Nothing. Much like the Joker himself, no one knew a thing. The whole thing was tearing Jason apart. He’d barely slept. He’d maybe had 3 hours per night. If that, and he was convinced the only reason he got sleep was because Bruce had slipped him something in his coffee.

The fourth cassette tape came with a dead yellow rose and a rotten apple. He pushed play on the recorder and swallowed thickly as the grainy camera zoomed in on your face. You looked pale. Your cheeks looked hollow and your once colourful eyes looked gaunt. Haunted.

“Well Jason, I’m a man of my word...I’ve been looking after her so good”, Joker laughed hysterically and smoothed his hand down your cheek, smacking it lightly. The slap caused you to jolt in the chair. A sharp gasp flew out of your chapped lips.

Jason felt Bruce’s hand squeeze his shoulder reassuringly. The notion sent a brief wave of calm through Jason. Maybe this was how Bruce felt all those years ago...when he received similar tape of ..of himself. Jason turned back to the screen and focused his eyes. Searching for a clue. Anything. Something to bring you back to him.

“She’s been such a good little princess bird boy...she’s done everything I asked...and more”, Joker whistled happily as he tapped your nose with a wicked smile. Jason felt his heart stop and looked directly into your eyes through the screen. Good he wanted to hold you in his arms and never let you go. 

The tape skipped and replayed the same thing back, “...and more”. It skipped again, “...and more”. Jason growled and the tape paused before going completely black.

His fist smashed into the computer keyboard, pieces of black plastic scattering across the desk. Jason released a loud sobbing noise and sank to the cold stone floor of the bat cave. His eyes scrunched shut tightly, imagining you were in front of him. Giving him that silly smile you always did when you first woke up. It was one of his favourite smiles. You had hundreds of different types of smiles. The one you gave him when he hugged you randomly. The one you’d give him when he told you a stupid joke. The one you’d show him when you were both standing down one of the grocery aisles for no reason at all.

“Jason...son - we will find her - I promise you”, Bruce’s deep voice shattered Jason’s illusion of you in his mind.

“It’s been so long...what if-”, Jason ran a hand over his face. The stubble was longer, causing him to itch.

“Don’t”, Bruce warned, “don’t think like that. We will find her”.

~~~

The last cassette tape Jason received was covered in a dark, red sticky substance. Jason knew what it was but he didn’t know if it was yours. Before Jason could even think about playing it, Bruce had prized it from his fingers.

“Jason we need to analyse the blood, it might give us a clue”, his voice was stable and deep. He attempted to reassure Jason with a firm grip to the shoulder but it did nothing. Jason felt empty without you.

“We need to watch-”, Jason started but was interrupted by Bruce.

“No, I’ll watch it. You need to get some sleep, let me do this Jason. Please”, Bruce pleaded desperately, “You haven’t slept in over 48 hours”.

Jason laughed but it was hollow and sharp, “You really think I can sleep knowing she’s stuck with that fucking psycho?!”.

Bruce sighed and ran a hand over his face, “Jason I know you want to get Y/N back”, he placed the cassette onto a high tech scanning machine, it bleeped repeatedly as it scanned over the material, “But we all need to be working together and that means recharging our batteries”.

Jason scoffed and pushed past Bruce looking over the computer scanner typing something into the system, “So you’re telling me you went and had an eight hour sleep when Joker caught me?”.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, “Jason”.

“JUST STOP!!”, Jason's voice cracked as he shouted and for a moment, he sounded like the broken man in the abandoned shopping mall that long Halloween night many years ago.

“I-I need to do this Bruce. I-I have to, for Y/N”, his voice was scratchy and raw. 

Bruce simply nodded and turned around. He extracted the cassette from the blood stained cloth and pushed it into the player to the right. Bruce took a secondary glance to Jason, giving him one last option but Jason just stared at the screen, waiting to see what the tape would show.

The second the tape played, the batcave was filled with your screams. They sounded broken and dry. Jason’s heart shattered. The shards stabbing him painfully. As you came into view on the camera, your long h/c hair was matted and stuck to your face. Blood staining it a deep red.

The Joker came into the view of the camera and smiled wide, his teeth showing.

“Jason, I see why you’re so attached to this woman, she’s very fiery...her spirit is impenetrable”.

A flicker of evil flew through his eyes at that word and a sick smile slid onto his lips, “but that’s fine. I’m sure I can find more penetrable spots”.

You tug harshly at your binds as he turned and came closer to you, a small blade held in his gloves hand.

“Hold still princess or I might accidentally cut an important part of you...or slit something”.

The blade cut the straps of your top, and the material fluttered down uselessly to the floor, exposing your padded black bra. The Joker whistled appreciatively and winked back at the camera.

“I say Jason...maybe I’m missing out not having a significant other...especially when they’re as beautiful as this”.

Jason had edged so close to the screen Bruce had to pull him back. Tears were running hotly down his cheeks and he swore he tasted blood from biting down on his bottom lip.

Your voice echoed through the empty warehouse room and through the camera speakers, “GO FUCK YOURSELF”.

The Joker smirked down at you and the blade was pressed against the skin of your neck.

“You should watch your manners, princesses don’t speak like that”.

You gulped and looked into his soulless eyes and laughed. It almost sounded as maniacal as his.

“I’m not your fucking princess”.

You spat at his face. Your spit mingled with blood from the earlier smack around the face.

“He’ll come for me...I know he will. And when he does, it’ll be all over for you”.

Something snapped and you saw his eyes darken. His face twisted and the scowl was demonic.

“You filthy fucking bitch!”, he roared and dropped the knife to wipe his face.

Joker turned to the camera and glowered, “I hope you’re watching Jason whilst I teach this rotten little whore some manners!”.

The first blow caused you to cry out in agony. It was harsh and fast. The sound to Jason was ear splitting. The second hit was drawn out and heavy. Designed to bruise. The third was sharp and felt like hundreds of tiny needles piercing your skin. The Joker was laughing wildly all the way through it. Never ceasing his treatment. As he swung his arm back for the fourth hit, the camera jarred and caught a window. Streams of light shone through. Jason could just about make out a sign. It was blurry.

“REWIND AND PAUSE IT BRUCE! There!!!”, he called and waited for Bruce to zoom in.

“Can you clear up that image...that looks like a road sign...”.

Bruce skipped the tape back several seconds, muting the sounds on the screen. The sounds of you getting smacked in the face shaking him to his core. 

“THERE!!! LOOK!! Can you see?!”, Jason pressed his face as close as possible to the screen as Bruce paused it, the image flickered but the road sign was obvious. 

ACE CHEMICALS.

Before Bruce could even react, Jason had launched himself across the cave, guns strapped to his thighs.

“Jason!”.

Jason ignored Bruce and grabbed his helmet, securing it into place whilst dropping extra magazine clips into his inner jacket pockets.

“Jason, we can’t just go in there all guns blazing. That’s what he’ll want! We have to think about this”, Bruce reasoned and moved into his path.

Huffing in annoyance, Jason’s modulator covered it easily, “I’m going to get her whether you come with me or not”.

Bruce looked stunned for a split second before softening his voice, “You’re letting your emotions get the better of you - they’re clouding your judgment Jason”.

He knew he was right, deep down. But the pressure. The torture you must have endured. Everything. It weighed down on Jason and began to suffocate him slowly. The more time he wasted, the worse it was going to be. He couldn’t do it.

“Let me get into my suit and we’ll tackle this together”.

Nodding briefly, Jason watched Bruce make his way across to the darkened corner of the cave where his suit was behind a glass panel. As Bruce pressed his palm into the wall, the biometric scanner bleeped. The case slid open slowly and Bruce began to take out the suit piece by piece. The batarangs refracted the light they caught from the computer screens.

Fuck. It was taking too long, these precious seconds. He could be half way there by now. His bike was too far away, in the garage at the front of the manor. He side eyed the batmobile and swallowed thickly.

“Fuck it”.

Taking the keys from the secret sliding panel on the desk, Jason leapt into the batmobile before starting the engine and speeding out of the cave. He swore he heard Bruce shouting, he was certain he heard several curse words too. Unlike Bruce. But it was taking too long. He couldn’t wait. He couldn’t leave you. You needed him. You couldn’t wait any longer.

~~~

Everything flew by him in a blur as he sped through the streets of Gotham. His foot slammed down harder on the accelerator desperate to get there faster. Every second counted. He knew all too well what The Joker was like. The way his face slipped as you defied him, terrified Jason. He’d seen that look right before receiving a crowbar to the face.

“Come on...come on!!”, Jason cursed to himself, hitting the steering wheel in fury. All the money Bruce had and it wouldn’t go any faster? He took a sharp turn heading towards the abandoned warehouse behind ACE Chemicals. He was so close. So much closer to reaching you. He’d deal with Bruce later. He couldn’t have waited any longer. Bruce would just have to get over him ‘borrowing’ the batmobile.

Swerving another corner and narrowly dodging the underpass columns, he pulled up in front of the derelict building. Almost all of the windows were smashed and hued green with mould. Maybe some of the toxins spewed from the factory had helped taint the glass further.

Grabbing both of his pistols, Jason left the car and headed towards the building fire escape. He could hear voices chattering.

“Joker said to keep an eye out for Batman”.

A goon; Jason noted peering around the brick wall spotting two of them. He noticed the metal railings above them creaking slightly in the strong winds.

“It’s been over a month now and there’s been no sign of any of the Bat freaks, it’s fine, let’s go grab a beer. He won’t even notice”, a second one encouraged the other smirking.

“You really want to cross him? He’s fucking nuts. I’m surprised the girl has even lasted this long with him, you know what he’s like”.

Jason’s fist tightened around one of his guns at the mention of you. It had to be you. Silently firing his grapple gun, he flew up the side of the building and made his way towards the goons.

“Trust me”, the first one spoke again, “He won’t even realise we’re gone, plus we might find some chicks to-”.

Perching on the railings above them, Jason leapt down cracking the base of his pistols onto one of their heads.

“Pleasure to meet you both”, Jason kicked out at the second goon hearing the sick crack of his ankle snapping.

Spinning on his heel, Jason grabbed the other goon and threw him face first into the brick wall knocking him unconscious immediately before turning back to the other man on the floor whimpering in pain.

“Where is she?”, Jason’s voice was strained even with the modulator protecting him.

The man refused to answer, dragging himself away from Jason with his hands, mud covering his palms.

Taking a large step, Jason reached the man on the floor and purposely stood onto his swollen ankle before aiming the cocked pistol towards his skull.

“I won’t ask again, where is she?”.

The screech from the man was deafening as Jason applied a hefty amount of pressure to his fractured bone.

“Basement!! She’s in the basement!! Please!!”, he begged as his eyes flickered nervously to the gun.

Jason rolled his shoulders before smashing the hilt of his pistol into his skull knocking him out cold. He turned back towards the fire escape and grappled back up to the roof. He’d have to make his way through the building to get to the basement. To you. And if he knew Joker, he wouldn’t have made it that easy. The two idiots on the front door were a sick joke. Tormenting Jason. Getting you back wouldn’t be an easy task.

~~~

Silently dropping through the window on top of the building, Jason landed onto one of the rusty steel girders. It was dark but his helmet adjusted the night vision so he could see clearly. Several goons patrolling an old foreman’s office in the centre. You had to be in there. He needed to take these idiots out quietly before getting to you.

Swinging across to the next rafter, Jason looked down at the first unsuspecting moron. With the stealth of a panther, he landed silently behind the goon before wrapping his arm around his meaty neck. He struggled against the iron grip of Jason’s forearm but the pressure only intensified the more he thrashed. Eventually the squirming stopped and the goon fell limp in his arms. Jason dragged him across to a darkened corner and dumped him behind some barrels.

As he grappled back up to roof beams, he looked down across at the two henchmen digging out a packet of cigarettes. The idiots had left their guns resting against the far wall. Jason had to chuckle to himself, Joker really was hiring morons. Weren’t these guys supposed to be protection? 

Jason creeped across the rafters towards the two men and grabbed both of his pistols. He had to be silent. He couldn’t alert Joker to his presence.

“This is my last smoke”, one complained bitterly as the cigarette perched between his thin lips.

“I’ll get the next packet, quit your whining”, the second growled and patted his jacket for a lighter, “Fuck, where did I put my lighter?”.

“You’re a fucking moron. You asked to come for a smoke and you don’t even have a light!!”.

Now was his chance. Jason landed between them both, his boots thudding as he hit the concrete floor, “You know, smoking is bad for your health”. Before either of the goons could react, Jason lifted his elbow into the larger man's throat before smashing his pistol into the other man's temple, causing him to drop onto his knees. He slipped his guns back into his holsters quickly before turning to the other goon. He dodged the larger man’s grapple before twisting with ease and kicking out his kneecap. The man gasped but the elbow to his throat had killed off his voice.

Jason threw a heavy right hook into the larger man's nose and watched the blood trickle down his face. This seemed to only infuriate him more and he launched himself towards Jason viciously. Gripping both of his arms, Jason flipped the man over his body and slammed him into the floor hard before hammering punch after punch to his face, knocking him unconscious.

He turned quickly to the other man who was scrambling on his knees for the gun resting against the far wall.

“Sorry bud, but that can’t happen”, Jason grunted and landed a heavy kick to the goons stomach. The man yelped but it was quickly cut off by Jason as he slammed his boot into his face. He dropped onto the floor instantly.

Jason panted heavily and looked around the room, his helmet advising him of one more goon loitering around the door of the office. Looking down at the floor he noticed the floor grates wrapped around the room and more importantly under the henchmen’s feet. Perfect.

He lifted one of the grate coverings quietly and slipped under the flooring. He crouched down and edged around the room. The last goon was much larger and bulkier, with a machine gun strapped around his wide chest.

This goon seemed smarter than the others. Looking around and even checking up in the rafters. He grunted and pressed a button on his jacket, “No boss, still no sign of them...nothing Sir”.

The voice that patched through sent a chill down Jason’s spine. It was a tone that would be forever cemented in his mind, a reminder of his own torment.

“If you get ANY inclination the bat or any of his costumed freaks are in the building, you tell me immediately”.

“Yes boss”.

The static of the radio crackled before cutting off completely. Jason cursed mentally. This had to be precise. Perfection. He had to disable the henchman’s radio unit. Padding over his jacket he searched for the disrupter shooter he had. It wasn’t there. Fuck. He’d fucked up in his rush and left it behind. Fuck. Bruce was right. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Then he heard it. A soft ping from above him. He knew that sound. Jason looked up from the grate and spotted Nightwing hidden in the shadows with his own disrupter. Pointed directly at the goon’s radio system.

“Thought you might need a hand”, Dick patched into Jason’s com line.

Jason growled under his breath, “Thanks”.

“Shall we take this moron out together?”.

“Yes”, Jason muttered before switching his com off and inched closer to the goon.

The second Nightwing flew down from the roof beams, Jason jumped out of the floor grate and kicked out the back of the goons knees. He cursed loudly before Nightwing’s foot landed in his face.

Jason swore he saw a tooth fly out of his mouth along with a glob of blood. He aimed several hard punches to the side of the henchman’s head whilst Nightwing disabled his gun and radio with a graceful poise.

“All this for the girl? She’s nothing but a shell”, the goon smirked across at Jason before choking at the next punch.

“Joker’s hollowed her out...she’s nothing”, he spat out.

His temper flared and his hand subconsciously reached for his pistol. Dick realised and before anything could happen, he landed an electrical ecrisma blow to the goons head, knocking him out cold. His body crashed onto the floor with a loud thump.

“Jason-”.

“Don’t”, Jason cut him off, “I’m fine”.

He took several steps towards the office door and swallowed thickly. You. You’d be in there. You’d told Joker with the last ounce of confidence left that he’d come for you. He’d never leave you. You were right. Jason would never have stopped looking. Ever.

His hand rested on the door handle, trembling only slightly. What if he was too late. What if this was just another trick?

Drawing his hand back almost as though the door had burnt him. He frowned. He couldn’t think like this. No. He had to be strong. Just like you had been in all those videos. You’d been fierce. Your spirit still pouring through to him.

Jason glared angrily at the door and took a step back before kicking it open furiously with his combat boot. The door flew open wildly and as the dust settled. He saw Joker stood in the middle of the room, a sick, satisfied smirk sat proudly on his demented face.

~~~

“Jason my boy! It’s a pleasure to see you again”, his chuckle was deep and sinister, “I see you're still hiding your face though...is that because of what I did?”. The Joker’s eyes danced with delirious joy at the memories.

“I’d have thought you’d have embraced all your scars by now Jason...”, The Joker edged forward leaving you tied up behind him.

Jason rounded The Joker, clicking a button to the side of his mask, revealing his face, his eyes hidden with the domino mask, “I’ve got nothing to hide from you, clown”.

Jason let his eyes run over you for a second. You were bruised and bloodied. Clothes torn and tattered from mistreatment. Your eyes. God. Your beautiful E/C eyes. Red raw from countless tears. Somehow you still managed to give him a smile from behind The Joker. His heart fluttered. God he’d missed your smile.

Tearing his eyes from you he looked back towards The Joker and held his pistols out at him, finger hovering over the trigger. Jason felt the burn mark on his cheek stinging all over again. Pain ever present.

“You don’t have the guts”, The Joker laughed again and walked forward pressing his forehead into the barrel of the gun.

“You wouldn’t dare pull that trigger. I’m your Ace card Jason. You can’t kill me. You want to but you can’t...something will always stop you”.

Jason felt his hand shaking slightly. Everything was throbbing in his mind.

“Even after everything I’ve done to your girl, you still can’t pull that trigger”, The Joker taunted further and grinned sadistically.

“If only you knew where I’d touched...what I’ve done...”, he pushed further into the cold metal of the gun and winked at Jason, “Go on, do it, I dare you...if you don’t- I’m just going to keep coming back and who knows what I’ll do to our little princess next-”.

BANG.

A gun shot blasted through the air. Smoke drifted slowly from the barrel, dancing into the darkness around them.

“JASON!”.

Nightwing had thrown one of his ecrisma sticks to Jason’s gun, knocking it off target. The bullet shattered the brickwork behind them, dust erupting.

Crashing down through one of the broken windows on top of the office roof, Nightwing flew towards The Joker tackling him down onto the damp, concrete floor before he could launch himself at Jason.

Still startled, Jason watched Dick wrestling with The Joker on the floor, punches flying back and forth.

Dick turned to Jason, “Y/N-Jason!! Go get Y/N!! I’ll handle this!”.

The Joker was shrieking with laughter underneath Dick, blood pouring down his lip and from his nose.

“Ahhhh another boy blunder!! I must be lucky!! Two for the price of one!”.

Dick threw another punch and reached for the second ecrisma stick on his back, “I can’t wait to cart you back to the Asylum. I hope you’re looking forward to your 5 star stay in a windowless cesspit!”.

Jason could hear Joker continually laughing at Dick, until the sharp sound of electrical buzzing cut him off with a loud scream.

He almost fell over his own feet as he raced towards you. Jason quickly untied your hands and the second they were free you flung them around his neck, sobbing into his neck. Your tears dropping onto his brown leather jacket.

“Oh baby”, Jason stroked your hair and held you tightly to him. He was worried he was crushing you but you seemed to be squeezing him back just as hard.

You didn’t stop sobbing. The overwhelming emotion of being wrapped in his safe, strong arms make your knees buckle. Jason caught you with ease and lifted you up, “It’s ok baby, I’ve got you. I’ve always got you”.

Jason was one step away from breaking down himself but he needed to be strong for you right now.

You pressed your skin against his, the scratch of his stubble a welcome sting against your cheek. His scent overwhelmed you. Leather. Gunpowder. Smoke. And something distinct you’d never been able to place.

“Jason”.

“Shhh, it’s ok - nothing is going to hurt you, I’m here now - I’m a bit late but I’m here”.

~~~

It had been one week since you’d been back home. Two weeks if you counted the first week you and Jason spent holed up in the manor. Bruce had insisted. You sat in the bathtub, knees pressed up against your bare chest. Silence. All you could hear was the faint crackle of the bubbles every now and again. The clinical white tiles of the bathroom made you feel a little cleaner.

However,  no matter how many baths you took, showers you stood in, you still couldn’t wipe the feel of the slick purple gloves off your skin. Your skin. Skin that was now marred with yellowish bruising. Almost faded physically but not mentally. Looking over the marks you felt yourself transported back into the desolate warehouse. The dank smell of stagnant water filling your nostrils. You choked and coughed loudly, suddenly feeling the oxygen clam up your throat. Drowning in the memories.

“Y/N??”.

Within a mere second Jason had flung open the bathroom door, red tinting his cheek and a little sweat on his forehead, “Sweetheart are you ok?”.

You noted how he chose to call you sweetheart now and not his usual princess. A stark reminder that this whole ordeal had affected him too, more than he’d admitted. You felt the guilt eat away at you. Shame burning at your feet.

“Y-yeah, I’m ok”, you mumbled quietly and swirled some of the water and bubbles around you, “I just accidentally swallowed some of the bath water, I’m sorry”.

Jason nodded although not quite believing you. He closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the tub taking a deep breath, “It’s ok to not be ok sweetheart...I know it can be difficult to admit that...I know that more than most”, he wiped a stray bubble from the rim of the tub. He looked at you deeply before continuing, “I’ll be here for you...whenever and whatever you need”.

You sat silently in the water and he moved to get up. Maybe he thought it was best to leave you alone, let you uncover your own emotions. Process what had happened. You gripped his wrist and looked up into the crystal blue of his eyes, “Jason”.

“Yeah babe?”, he turned his wrist in your hand and linked his fingers with yours.

“I love you”.

He smiled and squeezed your hand before whispering back, “I love you too, more than you know”.

He looked over you and moved to sit back on the edge of the bath. His spare hand reached out and cupped your chin lovingly, stroking over your skin.

“We’ll work through this together Y/N, I promise”, Jason murmured and leaned forward kissing your forehead lightly, “I’ll do whatever you need me to do...anything at all”.

The words, the touches, the kiss. It made your heart flutter and you fell even more in love with him. Jason made the impossible possible and you had no idea how he managed it every day. You felt so lucky.

“I - I struggle some d-days”, you admitted and with those words you felt a little lighter, “sometimes all I want is for you to hold me and not let me go...Sometimes I-I f-feel like that for hours...”.

“Well then I’ll hold you for hours”, he said simply.

You scoffed lightly but before you could protest or think of arguing back he was stepping into the bath water fully clothed.

“Jay!! You’re going to flood the bathroom”, you gasped loudly, watching the water splash over the sides like dramatic tidal waves. Water dispersed all over the bathroom floor to make way for his broad frame, “What are you doing?!”.

Jason sunk down into the water behind you and wrapped his arms either side, pulling you back into his clothed chest. He rested his head on your shoulder, pressing a chaste kiss there, “Holding you for as long as you need me to”.

You felt yourself melt into his warm embrace. Tears made their way down your cheeks at his endearing show of love, “Jason”.

“Shhh, just let me hold you baby”, he cuddled you tighter into him, his fingers stroking your hips under the water, brushing away the bruises. Marking you with his own special touch.

Relaxing under his soft caresses, you hummed lightly and closed your eyes resting your head back against him. He smelt like leather and spice. You felt at home. He was home.

“Jay”.

“Mmm?”.

“Please call me princess”, you whispered quietly into the air, your eyes still closed.

“Whatever you want...princess”.

~~~

Special Thanks: @offendedfishnoises​​ @internalsealpanic​​ @batarella​​ - thank you both for proof reading this and all the help you have given me - mwah mwah. xoxo

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~~~

[give-her-hell-from-us-pevees]

He Could Be the one

Reggie Imagine

This is the fourth time I’ve posted this. For some reason it won’t come up in the tags. If it doesn’t for you, let me know! hehe I did it y’all!!! I’ve been thinking about this all day and I just had to write out!! i change the lyrics “hes a cutie” to guitar cutie because when I was little i was convinced it was guitar cutie

Based of the amazing Hannah Montana song, He Could Be the One. The band finds a song in your book about a “guitar cutie” and the boys tease Luke. However, the band quickly forgets that there are three boys that play guitar in the band.

You had a massive crush on Reggie. There was no denying it. At first you thought there was no way you could a thing for your bandmate. But the more you were with him, the more you found yourself falling for him. And it wasn’t just band practice, you guys were always together.  Sometimes you just needed to get away from the boys for a while, but Reggie was always the first to make sure you were okay. He would find you in your little spot on the beach, or in your favorite music store looking at the new records and tapes. He would just plop down next to you and wrap his arm around you and talk about your day.

Reggie was so sweet. He was always your number one hype man during shows or practice. When you felt like you weren’t good enough for the band he was always there to show you your worth. “Y/N we wouldn’t be the same with out you! Your songs bring so much to band. They can connect to the fans and I don’t know how you do it!”

Not to mention, that face. That smile. That adorable, goofy, toothy smile he has had ever since he was little boy. Whenever he flashes his smile at you, you feel heart race and you pray nobody else can hear it. He was just so damn cute all the time. How is it possible? When on stage, you would look and see him dancing and jumping while playing his bass and you wished you could dance with him.

But you were scared to tell him. You didn’t want to cause any drama in the band.

But after awhile you realize how much you loved this boy, you had to let it somehow. So, you did what you did best; wrote a song.

You had a notebook, similar to Luke’s that was filled with songs. Some completed, other pages just had random versus. You were sat in a bean bag chair in the garage writing before band practice. You had your notebook propped up against your knees as you wrote down the song. Once you started, you couldn’t stop writing. Everything you had felt the past few months were being let out onto this piece of paper. The words flowed effortlessly on the page.

“Hey baby girl”

You jumped and fell of your chair. Your notebook slammed shut.

“Fuck Reggie!” your heart was pounding. You couldn’t tell if it was because Reggie scared you, or because he almost saw the song you were writing about him, or because he called you baby girl. Although “baby girl” was a daily thing with him.

“Woah okay. Sorry Y/N’ he gave his hand out for you to help you get up when he noticed your book in your hand.

“New song?” he asked.

“Something. It’s not that good though.” You tell him placing the book in your bag before he can see it.

“Y/N, how many times do we have to talk about this? You're the best song writer we have! You can do no wrong”

Your face started to heat up as you turned around to  look a Reggie. You tried to play it cool and roll your eyes. “Don’t let Luke hear you say that. But I do think Home Is where my horse deserves some credit”  you said jokingly.

“See, this is why I love you. You my girl, have great taste” he said while point at you with that boyish smile.

Love?

“my girl”

My god how does he get your heart to act like this?

“Taste is anything that isn’t Bobby’s songs” You tell him trying to busy yourself at your keyboard.

“That’s very true”

As he said that the rest of the band started to walk into the garage. Luke looked like he was about to explode with excitement. “Everything okay Luke?” Reggie asked.

“We got a gig tomorrow night on the Strip!”

Your eyes widened and mouth dropped. “The strip? Seriously? Where at?” you asked joining the rest of the group.

“Some new club is opening tomorrow night and they asked if we could perform!” Alex said.

“Oh my god! Think of the amount of people that are going to be there! This is great guys!” you said.

Luke said something about getting practiced but you told the boys that would be right back. You were going into the house for some water.

“New club, I’m thinking a new song” Luke said.

“Do you have anything written?” Alex asked

“I don't” Luke said

“ I have some-”

“Y/N was writing a song when I walked in” Reggie said interrupting Bobby.

“Great! lets look!” Luke said. He grabbed your bookbag off the ground and dumped the contents onto the small coffee table in front of the couch. Your school work, pens, random pieces of trash, and your notebook came falling out of your bag. Luke grabbed the notebook and flipped to the last written page.

Luke started to read the beginning of the song“Smooth talkin, so Rockin. He’s got everything a girls wanting …”

“ A lovesong? really? That’s not very us. Or Y/N” Bobby said.

“I don’t think we are meant to see this” Alex said.

“come on, Keep going Luke” Reggie said eagerly.

Luke took a deep breathe and started reading the song out loud again, “He’s a cutie, he plays it groovy. and I can’t keep myself from doin’ somethin’ stupid”

“Guys I really don’t think-”

“Woah! Wait a minute guys listen to this” Luke said, “He’s lightnin’, sparks are flyin’ Everywhere I go he’s always on my mind and I’m goin’ crazy about him lately And I can’t help myself from how my heart is racin’ Think I’m really diggin’ on his vibe He really blows me away”

“Yea Guys were definitely aren’t meant to to see this” Alex said

As Alex spoke Luke eyes went wide and he dropped the notebook on the table.

“What? what is it” Reggie asked. He walked over to where luke was standing and he pointed to the words, “guitar cutie”

“Guit-guitar cutie?” Reggie said in shock.

Alex popped up from his chair and went over to reggie, “Guitar cutie?”

Luke looked up at the boys and point to his guitar that was strapped around his neck and then to himself, “Guitar cutie”

“Y/N likes Luke?” Bobby said

“I guess! who else would be guitar cutie?” Luke said

“um I don’t know. me?” Bobby said.

“No she has taste” Reggie said without stuttering.

“Who has taste?”

The boys all screamed when they saw you walk in with a water for each of them.

“What are you looking at?” you ask them, your voice filled concern. Alex tried to hide the book but Luke took it out of his hands. “Guitar cutie?” he asked you.

oh

Oh no

“Wh-what?” you asked

“Your song that you wrote. ‘Guitar Cutie’s, is that- is that me?“ Luke asked you

"You had no right to go through my stuff Luke!” You said. Your voice was mix of rage and embarrassment. “I don’t just flip through your song book without asking!

"I’m sorry Y/N we were just trying to find a new sing for the gig tomorrow. It was the first one we saw. We’re so sorry”

You were on the verge of tears,“You all saw the song?” You didn’t want to right.

“We all saw the song Y/N” Reggie said with his hand on the back of his neck.

“But Y/N” Alex said. “If you need to talk to us, or well um … Luke we can go”

“It’s not about him!” you said

“I knew it!” Bobby said with confidence

You walled away from Luke with daggers in your eyes and stormed over to Bobby. “And don’t flatter yourself Bobby because it sure as hell not about you either” You yelled at him. “You don’t know shit Bobby!” Your turned to look at the rest of them “Clearly none of you do”

You turned around and ripped your book out of Luke’s hands. You held the book to your chest as tears started to roll down your cheek as you walked out of the garage.

“Oh we really messed up this time” Alex said.

“Wait” Bobby said. “If it’s not about Me-”

“Or me” Like said.

“It’s clearly not me” Alex said.

“Then who is it?” Bobby asked.

All of the boys were looking around the room at each other. And then, a light bulb went off and Reggie’s eye went wide with the realization.

“I play bass” he simply said.

It finally dawned on the boys. “You’re guitar cute!?” They shouted together.

Reggie grabbed his leather jacket off the couch along with your bag. “I gotta go” Reggie said running out the door.

It took a little while, but Reggie finally found you on the beach near your house. He saw you sitting close to the water with your feet in the ocean. You had your head down in your hands. As sad as you were Reggie couldn’t help but be filled with happiness and pride at the thought that you like him back.

Reggie always liked you. Whenever his parents were fighting, he would go straight to your house. You never interrogated him like the rest of the boys did. If he wanted to talk, you’d talk with him about what happened. If not, you’d find a way to take his mind off it.

He swears when ever he hears you sing, it’s like listening to angels. You have the most beautiful voice he has ever heard. He loves just sitting with you at piano as you sing and mumble to yourself as you figure out how your new song should sound like.

Not to mention, you are the most beautiful girl he knows. Inside and out. You were smart, creative, goofy and kind. But he couldn’t help but want to stare into your Y/E/C eyes. He also love your hands. He loved watching how soft and delicately they moved over your piano at home or your keyboard you used in the band.

And the fact that you, his absolutely dream girl, wrote a song about him? My god he has to hear it to music.

He took his jacket off and carried it in his hand as he walked down to you on the beach. Without saying a word, he draped his jacket around your shoulders and sat down next you.

“Reggie now is not a good time” you said in your hands.

“We don’t have to talk about what happened” Reggie said. “But if you are gonna call me Guitar cutie, I reserve the right to call you Piano Cutie”

You took your head away from your hands and Reggie saw how red and puffy your eyes were from crying “Reginald if you came all the way down here to make fun of me I swear to god-”

“No!” Reggie exclaimed. “I just meant, ya know. After I ask you out, if your little nickname for me is going to be guitar cutie, I deserve to call you Piano Cutie. Or at least call me Bass Cutie. Cause honestly, the whole Guitar cutie thing confused the boys a lot”

“Wait. What?” You asked.

And in typical reggie fashion, he wrapped his arms around you. But his other hand went to cup your cheek and he leaned down and kissed you. Your body quickly tensed up after being able to process what was happening, your hand immediately went into Reggie’s hair and pulled him closer. Your noses were pushed together by how close the two of you were. Your hand moved from his hair to his cheek as you pulled away to get some air. As you pulled away Reggie was looking at you with the most loving look in his eyes.

“Got anymore songs about me, Piano Cutie?”

[toosicktoocare]

Set after Martin gives his Jane Prentiss statement and is now sleeping in the archives. 

(Also, that’s where I left off, so forgive potential shit characterization/inaccuracies. I’m obviously still painfully new to this, and it’s going to take me a HOT minute to catch up, but I’m enjoying it!)

Jon’s half-way through a statement, teetering between getting lost within the panicked narrative and trashing the written document for it’s apparent lack of rationalization and validity, when the door slams open hard enough to rattle the walls. 

Martin’s standing in the doorway, absolutely drenched through yet beaming from ear to ear. It makes Jon’s eye twitch, and he rests his index finger on the stop button of his tape recorder, just in case. 

Martin’s shoes squelch loudly as he walks into the room, and behind his lips, Jon grits his teeth sharply, thinking of the mess he’ll have to clean from the droplets of water all but pouring off Martin. 

When Martin starts prattling on about a potential lead from a statement Jon had assigned him a few days prior, Jon wordlessly presses “Stop” on his tape recorder and rests both palms atop his knees under his desk, his fingers curling around tightly until they’re digging into his knees. Still, he holds his composure and silently waits for Martin to finish. 

“I know I’ve interrupted you,” Martin sputters, “but I really think we have something here, Jon.”

Jon sucks in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He considers chastising Martin for dwelling on a case he deemed close two days ago; however, he has to admit that Martin’s findings have piqued his interest, enough that he may consider reviewing the statement with Martin’s updated information, that is if he can find a long enough gap within his work day to squeeze in this unplanned development. 

“You’re drenched,” Jon mutters, eyes slowly honing in on a drop of water that’s clinging to a damp strand of Martin’s hair, pooling toward the end, until it drops and slides down his temple. “You’re making a rather soggy mess of my office.” 

“Ah, sorry!” Martin leaps to his feet and backs toward the doorway, and Jon carefully watches Martin’s face pull in different directions of conflict. 

“I’ll go grab some napkins! Be right back!” 

Before Jon can utter a word, Martin’s disappeared from the doorway, the faint sounds of his shoes squeaking fading to dull echoes against the towering walls. Jon sighs deeply, stiffened shoulders all but deflating against a weight of annoyance and something else he can’t quite pinpoint.

He turns his focus, instead, to the details Martin’s verbally shared, and he finds himself turning to relocate the filed statement when Martin returns with a handful of crumpled napkins and a rather sheepish expression that’s paired with tinged-pink cheeks. 

“I’m really sorry about the mess, Jon, but I’ll have this cleaned up in no time!” 

Martin drops to his knees and begins mopping up small puddles of water, and Jon watches silently, eyes narrowed and taking in the soft shudders that seem to shoot up and down Martin’s spine and the sodden clothing now so tight, it appears as if a second layer of damp, clammy skin that has to be rather uncomfortable. 

Jon clears his throat. “Martin.” 

“Almost done-”

“-Martin,” Jon presses, lips snapping tightly around each letter. 

Martin freezes, hand mid swipe, and he pulls a hesitant gaze toward Jon. 

“Go change,” he nods toward the doorway. “I can take care of this.” He watches Martin’s mouth open and close slowly, and he can almost hear Martin’s rapid thoughts. 

“Go,” he repeats. “I’m very busy.” 

Slowly, Martin gets up to his feet and wraps his arms around himself with a small shiver that Jon frowns at. 

“If you’re sure-”

“-I’m sure,” Jon finishes, and Martin nods, a word of genuine thanks falling off his lips as he exits the office, closing the door quietly behind him. 

Jon spares a glance toward the wad of napkins on his office floor, nudges it around with his foot halfheartedly, and decides it can wait for his mind keeps wandering toward the information Martin provided. He drops back into his chair, a newfound course of energy pulling at him, and begins reviewing the statement, plugging in Martin’s information as he goes along. 

---------

Jon can hear Martin’s loud keyboard tapping before he approaches the small, open office. By sound alone, Martin’s typing furiously, and Jon ponders briefly over which statement Martin could be working so intently on when he finally pops into the doorway, leaning lightly against the door frame and knocking softly on the opened door.

Martin jumps violently, almost knocking a cup of tea over when both hands shoot up from his keyboard and bang loudly against his desk on their way to cover his face. It takes a few long seconds, Jon notes, for Martin to move his arms away from his face, one hand slipping to rest against his heaving chest. 

Jon studies Martin’s wide, panicked eyes, and... oh, right. The worms, and Jane Prentiss, and the repetitive door knocking. “My apologies,” he drags out. “I didn’t intend to startle you.” 

Martin swallows thickly; Jon watches the slow bob of his adam’s apple. 

“No, it’s quite alright. I guess I’m still a bit bothered by... well, you know.” 

Nodding, Jon crosses his arms and cocks his head to the side slightly, contemplating if Martin’s voice has always held that color of rasp or if something else is going on. He drags a slow gaze to Martin’s face, to his flushed cheeks, to the damp perspiration clinging lightly to his temples. 

“-Jon? Are you alright?” 

Jon forces his gaze to Martin’s eyes, wiping the image of his too-rosy cheeks from his mind just as quickly as he honed in on the sight. “Sorry, you were saying?”

“I was just asking if you needed something.” Martin casts his eyes to his hands folded in his lap. “You don’t often stop by.”

“Ah, yes,” Jon mutters, clearing his throat. “I just wanted to come tell you that your findings today redirected the statement’s narrative enough that I’m willing to reopen the case file to explore further outcomes.”

“That’s good!” Martin’s beaming again, such an odd, warm contrast to his poor pallor, Jon thinks. 

“I’m glad to have--” Martin’s voice hitches, and he turns to sneeze sharply into the crook of his arm-- “helped,” he finishes, sniffling, and Jon unwillingly takes note of the congestion thickening Martin’s tone. 

Jon only frowns at him, and Martin laughs lightly, nervously, and he snags a tissue for his nose. “Sorry, I’m feeling a bit worn down after, well,” he gestures helplessly to the pile of wet clothes in the corner of his office, and Jon’s eyes fall to the clothing, and he can’t help but shiver slightly.

“Right,” Jon mutters, turning from Martin’s office. “Well, good work,” he adds, reluctantly, and he starts out of the office, choosing to not address the loud “thank you” that echoes from Martin’s office as he starts back to the archives. 

---------

Jon’s focus the remainder of the day is wavering, voice abruptly halting every time he hears the faint echoes of Martin’s coughing or sneezing. Twice, he almost slips from his office to send Martin home for he’s too loud and distracting, but then he remembers that, for the time being, this institute is Martin’s home. 

He organizes, instead, for his last hour, teeth gritting harder and harder the sicker Martin sounds, and it’s a few minutes near closing time when he picks up on Tim and Sasha talking with Martin through the gap below his door. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come stay with one of us?”

Sasha, Jon thinks, sounding quite concerned. 

“You really do look and sound terrible, Martin. You’d be much more comfortable with one of us.”

“I couldn’t impose, but I do appreciate the offer. I’ll be quite alright here. Thank you, though.”

Frowning, Jon listens to the two reluctantly leave Martin, and he listens to hear Martin shuffling down the hall, presumably to the small room with the cot he’s been sleeping in. 

He should leave well enough alone, let Martin get his rest, but when he leaves his office for the day, bag heavy with his tape recorder and statements, he hesitates, feet faltering just a few steps before the makeshift bedroom. He can hear the cot creaking under Martin’s weight and seemingly restless shifting, and that odd feeling from before, the one he’s yet to pinpoint an appropriate word to, comes back, swelling hot in his chest. He steps in front of the closed door and raises his fist to knock, thinking better of it and calling out instead. 

“Martin. I’m coming in.” 

He opens the door slowly to see Martin struggling to sit up on the bed and coughing into his fist. 

“Jon, what’re you-”

Jon holds a single hand up, signaling for Martin to stop talking, and Martin does, coughing instead, deep, wet coughs that Jon almost wishes to shrink away from. He can see Martin’s muscles straining against each cough, and when Martin catches his breath, he shoves himself upright fully on shaking arms and drags the light blanket over his shoulders. 

“Sorry, I guess my little run in the rain’s left me rather poorly.” 

Jon finds a small stain on the rather hideous area rug, and he stares hard at it, fingers tightening around the strap of is bag. He, of all people, knows how uncomfortable this room can be, as he’s only managed a few hours here or there at the most. He can’t begin to fathom Martin being able to rest comfortably in here, not while taken ill. 

He just only wishes Martin would’ve taken Tim or Sasha up on their offers because then, he wouldn’t be standing here, feeling somehow responsible for Martin. 

“Jon?”

“If you’d like,” Jon starts, swallowing thickly, “you may come spend a night, or two, at my apartment.” He braves a glance up to see that Martin’s face is frustratingly unreadable. He looks, Jon thinks, concerned, confused, and something else that just doesn’t make any sense. 

“As I told Tim and Sasha, I don’t wish to impose. I’m sure I’ll be fine.” But, even as Martin utters such politely practiced words, he shivers, pulling the blanket tighter around his frame, and he coughs quite a bit, always excusing himself. 

“You aren’t imposing,” Jon says, sighing. “I’m not... I won’t force you, of course, but I have experience sleeping roughly on that small cot, and I can only imagine how dreadful it would be while ill.” 

He’s not sure why he’s pushing, guilt maybe? Even though, he reminds himself, he did not instruct Martin to pursue follow-ups with this particular statement. Martin did that of his own accord, so really, Jon thinks, he should be angry by the blatant disobedience from one of his assistants, and yet, somewhere, he’s glad for Martin’s unruly persistence. He just wishes, now, that Martin would be a little more attentive to the weather before running off on one of his escapades.  

“Are you sure?” 

“I wouldn’t be suggesting it if I wasn’t,” Jon snaps, turning on his heel as Martin slides off the cot to gather a few things to take with him. 

---------

“I’m not taking your bed, Jon, and that’s final.”

Jon slips his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose. He and Martin have been dancing around the same argument, back and forth, for the last fifteen minutes. He offered his bed because he knows how uncomfortable his couch is, and Martin all but threw a fit at the notion. If Jon weren’t completely annoyed, he’d find this pushy side of Martin rather interesting as it’s a clear contrast to how Martin acts around work. Still, he can’t dwell on the many sides of Martin Blackwood at the moment because said man is quite ill, his condition seeming to worsen every minute, and he won’t just take the damn bed. 

“Fine,” Jon spits out sharply as he disappears for some extra blankets to make the couch into a makeshift bed, slapping Martin’s hands away when he tries to help. 

He wordlessly gestures to the couch when he finishes, eye twitching against aggravation, and Martin sinks onto the couch, sighing, to Jon’s disbelief, in relief as he pulls two blankets up to his chin, his face relaxing for the first time in an hour. 

“This is nice, Jon, thank you. Seriously.”

“See if you can still say that tomorrow when your back’s twinging in pain,” Jon mutters as he moves to turn off lights. He’s quiet when he flicks each light switch, hearing soft snores after only a minute at the most. He can’t imagine how exhausted Martin must be, having barely slept for two weeks when... he experienced an uncertain and unfortunate situation, not quite ruled to be Jane Prentiss just yet. Pair that with the uncomfortable cot, fever, and a cough, and Jon’s surprised Martin hasn’t dropped sooner.  

He starts toward his bedroom, stopping by the arm of the couch where Martin’s head is resting. Without thinking anything through, he reaches down and ghosts a feather-light touch of his palm to Martin’s forehead, frowning sharply at the heat and making a mental note to inquire about medicine in the morning.

Martin sighs contently under his touch, and he jerks his hand back quickly, his heart thumping oddly fast against his rib cage, and stalks to his room to quietly record. 

[creativeskullcreations]

Outside chapter 16: Therapy Sessions

And thus, we return to Outside! Starting with this brief interlude like chapter from someone completely new!

Update schedule is gonna be once every two weeks on Monday, just like before. As for Happy Times, that's gonna be on the back burner for a while so I can get this done, but I'll try and pop out another episode at some point.

So enjoy for now, and see ya;ll again later! :D

The puppet laid on the couch, flopped over like a discarded toy, eyes staring unblinking into space. If she didn't already know better, Trina would have assumed it was something one of her patients had left behind .

It, or rather she, wasn't a forgotten toy, however. She was her new patient, and, according to what another patient, Stacy, had told her, she had trust issues. But, she could work with that. And by that, she meant do paperwork until Scout was ready to talk.

Unfortunately, it seemed like that was taking a while. Before she knew it the whole hour had passed and the alarm had gone off. When Trina looked up from turning it off, the Puppet was gone, and the door was open. Ah well. She supposed she should prepare for her next patient, then.

------

Once again, Scout was laying on the couch. A different position this time, and staring in a different direction. Trina resigned herself to more paperwork again, like the last few visits. Though she felt like they were making some progress. Sometimes she looked up and Scout was in a different position, or she was in the middle of blinking.

In her mind, that was a good thing. It meant the Puppet was starting to get comfortable with her. Maybe soon, she'd actually start talking.

------

"Did you know Hosts can bleed without getting hurt?"

The question startled Trina, and she fumbled the pen onto her crossword book. "Excuse me?!"

"Yeah they do it naturally into the toilet! And into these weird giant soft band-aids that Stacy didn't want me to mess with." Scout reached down her shirt and pulled out a bright orange square. "Jokes on her, I took one anyways."

"Ah." It made sense, actually, that Scout would have no knowledge of the menstrual cycle. "And... did Stacy explain what they were for?"

"Nope! She just yelled a lot, and turned really red." She pulled the tape holding the wrapper closed off, then stuck it to the couch. "I asked Will why she wouldn't tell me, and he said it's because Stacy's a prude. And then she yelled at him."

"Did Will explain it to you?"

"No. Because he's also a prude. Stacy said so." There was a loud tearing sound as she slowly pulled the backing off of the pad, and Trina realized why Stacy had kicked her out of the bathroom. She also made a note to never let Scout into her bathroom.

And so, Trina spent the remaining forty-five minutes giving a sex-ed lesson to a living hand puppet. Not the weirdest session she'd ever had, of course, but it was certainly up there.

She just wished Scout hadn't stuck the pad to her keyboard.

------

The next few sessions were spent answering whatever questions Scout had that for whatever reason, she couldn't ask Stacy. Whether it was about biology("But why is it brown?"), a question about porn("I just don't see the appeal of watching Hosts fucking."), or about movies("He was the best character! Why the fuck would they kill the best character!"). Most of the time, Trina would google it with her. But sometimes she would ask why she couldn't ask Stacy. Usually she'd get one of what felt like stock answers, but occasionally she'd go really quiet and only say:

"I just wanted to know what you thought about it. That's all."

And Trina would, outwardly, accept that. But she always made note of which questions were related to that answer to try and understand her better. She also started on a timeline, to try and get the two into a session together. It probably wouldn't happen soon, she wanted to try and get Scout talking about herself first. But once she'd made some progress there, they could try a joint session.

------

It took another several weeks before Scout told her anything about herself. Although it wasn't what she expected.

"And then he gave me ice cream! And I ate it, because it was solid and delicious! But it fucking melts! And it's fucking gross!" She was raging, but in a way that almost made her look adorable. Not that Trina would tell her so, of course.

"And, why is it so bad that it melts?"

"Because it soaks in! Duh!" She looked thoroughly annoyed, and Trina felt a little bad for asking.

"What happened next?" She asked instead.

"Stacy and Will yelled at each other a lot, and then Stacy went to sleep on the couch. And then the next morning they locked themselves in the bedroom and wouldn't let me in while they made weird noises."

"Ah." Stacy had told her about that. It wasn't always the healthiest thing she could do, but Stacy genuinely thought it helped so Trina wasn't able to do much to dissuade her. "Did they come out at some point during the day?"

"Yeah, eventually! But it was boring as hell until then." A pause. "They banned me from Netflix, too, cause Stacy said what I was watching was a bad influence on me."

"Well that's too bad." She kept her tone sympathetic. "What else do you do during the day?"

"Watch TV."

"Besides that."

"Oh." Scout sat up, thinking. "Nothing- Well, I do hang out with Stacy a lot."

"Hmmm." Trina wrote that down in her notes. "Have you tried to find something other than TV? A hobby of some sort, or even a game to play?"

"I do play this game called Kirby sometimes." She admitted. "It's... kinda fun."

"Have you beaten it yet?"

"I mean... no..." She looked away, playing with the edge of her shirt.

"Maybe you should try and do that. Could be more fun than just watching Netflix all day." She kept her voice upbeat, and tried to figure out something else the Puppet could do besides TV.

"Maybe..." She looked around the room, eyes never stopping on one spot for too long.   Trina waited patiently, pen tapping lightly against her notebook. "... Something happened last night. Something... kinda bad."

"Oh?"

Scout nodded. "Sometimes, when Stacy wakes up and doesn't know where I am, she'll... take over my body. Not to do bad stuff though!" She was quick to assure when she Trina's face. "It's just to, y'know, see where I am. She gets worried when she can't find me."

Stacy had mentioned that. Apparently she now brought Scout everywhere with her, including to her programming job. "What made last night so different then."

"Well, normally I just sort of... float? I guess? When she does that. But, last night, I... woke up in her body."

Trina blinked. "Well, I suppose it makes sense that would happen-"

"No it fucking doesn't!" Scout shouted, cutting her off. "It's a bad thing! Very fucking bad!"

"Well, why do you say that?"

"Because it means that our fucked up link is evolving!" Scout told her in a 'duh' tone of voice. "Who knows how it could change from here!"

"Is it possible that you've always been able to do that, but just never did before now?" Trina asked.

That gave her pause, and seemed to calm her down a bit. "... I don't know. Maybe." She shrugged. "I... never really wanted to try before..."

Trina nodded, adding another note to her paper. "What happened next after you... woke up in Stacy's body."

"Well, we both flipped our shit, which woke Will up and then he flipped his shit. And then he and Stacy yelled for a while before he left and we managed to, uh, swap back." Scout scratched the side of her head, thinking. "And then Will came back with something, and he and Stacy fought some more."

"What did they fight about?"

"The thing Will brought back. It's some sort of a toy, like a psychic test." She scowled. "He made us sit there and do it, right then."

"The Waygetter one?" At Scout's confused look, she waved the question away. "Never mind. What were the results?"

------

"100 percent psychically linked." Stacy said, arms folded and stoic look on her face. "Not that I didn't already suspect, but I'd prefer a real test to a Waygetter "toy"."

"Of course you would, considering your past." Trina said, jotting down notes. "Did anything happen after that?"

The young woman shrugged. "Not a lot, mostly just went back to bed. I thought about banishing Will to the couch for his betrayal, but decided against it."

"Good." She nodded. "Banishing him over something so small, and when he was just trying to help, could lead to resentment building up later on."

"Yeah yeah." She kept her arms crossed, eyes trained on the floor. "Scout was pretty upset about it, though. But she's upset about a lot of stuff cause she feels guilty."

"Really now?" Trina jotted that down. "How do you know about that?"

"Psychic link." Stacy raised a single eyebrow. "Duh."

Trina sighed. "Has anything else happened lately? Made any friends at your job?"

"Not really." She shrugged. "This one woman, Chell, talks to me sometimes. She knows sign language, which is kinda cool I guess. But, I wouldn't say we're friends."

"Maybe you should focus on making friends with her. It seems like you two already have something in common already."

"Mm." Stacy looked away, tapping the fingers of her prosthetic against her flesh arm. It was pretty scary to look at, but it didn't stop her from wearing a spaghetti strap, leaving the limb on full display. Trina had also taken note of that, attributing it more to the woman's anti-social behavior than confidence or a strong body image.

"You can't rely on Will's friends forever, Stacy." She told her. "You need a life outside of him. It's not healthy to center everything around him."

"Easy not to lose everything if you don't have anything." She retorted. "I have Will, and I have Scout. They're all I need for now."

"What about your brother?" She looked away. "Or your father? Have you talked to either of them recently?" Silence was the answer, and Trina only sighed, used to it by now. "Your homework this week is to call your family for once. You need to repair your connections to them."

"I need to convince Scout to drop her guilt."

"That's my job." Trina gave a small smile that went ignored. "I'm serious about talking to your family though. Especially if you plan on getting into more... situations like this one. How would Danny feel if you died, and nobody would tell him anything about it?"

Stacy shrugged, and Trina sighed again. "Call your father. Text your brother. Make a new friend. Do one of these three things before our next appointment, okay?" She ordered as the timer dinged, signalling the end.

"Fine." The woman ground out, standing up and straightening her top. She accepted the offered prescription, then left the room. She stopped just briefly to grab her bag from Molly, the receptionist, and then went out to her truck. Scout popped out of the bag as she exited the building, and Trina sighed as she watched them.

They truly were an odd pair, and Trina hoped things worked out for them. She certainly couldn't imagine it could get any worse, anyways.

[ayankun]

coffee shop au bitches (working title)

here, have this rough draft of the first half of part 1.  consider it proof of concept.  (the concept is Destiel Coffee Shop AU, but actually good) (”good;” YMMV)

9.3k words; Cas is human like everyone else so to compensate I made him socially anxious af; there’s a brief unpleasantness wherein someone in customer service gets harassed so watch out for that I guess; Cas is also carrying a lot of baggage (literally and metaphorically) and it’s vague for now but a little wearisome so GLHF I promise when it’s done-done they all get the kind of happy endings they deserved from the show

The town of Lebanon, Kansas sprang up without warning, its tree-lined streets shockingly claustrophobic after the three hours of patchwork browns and greens streaming by the smudgy window, the rolling plains uninterrupted to the very ends of the earth until the blank blue September sky finally picked up where the horizon left off.

Castiel felt his eyes strain, forced to reel in his thousand-yard stare, as he squinted at the blur of tidy little houses perched along Lebanon's brief outskirts.  He blinked away from the window and pushed himself to his feet, sidling carefully into the aisle to pull his duffle down from the overhead rack.  In short order, the bus turned onto the tidy little Americana main street and rolled up to a tidy little bus stop, and, reaching back into his seat to retrieve his briefcase, he squinted out at this, too.  

The screech of well-worn brakes, the brace against the final lurch of inertia, the hiss and clack of the doors at the front and back folding open; with no more pomp and circumstance than that, Castiel's journey reached its end.  Clutching the handle of his briefcase and slinging the straps of his duffle over one shoulder, he edged down the aisle and nodded his thanks to the driver on his way down the steps.  Finally, Castiel planted his sensible shoes on the cracked sidewalk, looked carefully up and down the stretch of unremarkable, middle-of-nowhere civilization, and wondered what the hell he thought he was doing here.

The bus shrieked and rumbled back into the non-existent late afternoon traffic, a thick gout of black exhaust signaling its farewell, leaving Castiel behind before he had a chance to change his mind.  He watched its departure absently for half a moment, road-weary and numb.  Then he hiked his duffle a little more snug against his back, turned around, and began an unhurried stroll the shady two and a half blocks back to the motel on the south side of town.

---

"Been expecting you," the woman behind the counter said the second Castiel pulled open the glass door to the motel office.

He paused, looked over his shoulder, saw no one among the growing shadows of the motel's empty parking lot, no one except a trucker hopping out of his cab parked at the gas 'n sip on the opposite corner.  Castiel watched him jog across the street towards the Biggerson's, the lights of its enormous, highway-facing sign flickering on in welcome, and turned back to shoulder his way inside.  "I did reserve a room over the phone," Castiel said, approaching the counter, "And I was told that a few . . . personal items would be held for me at the front desk?"

The woman, Billie, according to her name tag, responded with a nod, less in answer to his question and more in the way one does when one is not surprised by what they've just heard.  She pulled the keyboard to the old desktop computer closer to herself with one hand, and held the other out, palm up, to Castiel.  "ID and credit card."

Setting his briefcase down on the floor, Castiel dug inside his overcoat's interior pocket for his wallet.  By rote he thumbed out the military ID to give her, but at the last second his heart gave a sharp little twist and he drew it back.  Her lips twitched, nonplussed, but she waited patiently until he handed her his driver's licence instead.  She studied the picture on it for a second, mouthed the name, and carefully considered the face on the photo compared to the face on the man in front of her.  He shifted his feet nervously, thinking he should have just given her the first one, if only to avoid looking any more disreputable than he already did.  

Evidently their hangdog looks matched to her satisfaction, though, and she snapped the plastic down onto the counter, shifted her attention to the computer to check him in.

"Room's yours for the week," she read off the screen as he retrieved his licence and put the credit card down in its place.  She slid it over to herself without looking, only glancing down to read the numbers, obsidian black fingernails clacking proficiently over the ten-key peripheral plugged into the side of the keyboard.  "Checkout's at eleven on the 25th."

When she slid the card back over to him, Castiel palmed it off the counter, put it back into the wallet behind his IDs (driver's license on top), tucked the wallet back into his overcoat.  "Um.  I'm not exactly sure yet -- I may need to extend my stay."  Absently, he wondered why he sounded like he was apologizing for it.

Billie looked up from the computer screen at him, neutral.  "Whatever you need.  We can do you by the week, month, whatever.  Got your card on file, so you just let me know when I should stop charging it."

Castiel tried a smile he didn't feel, thinking as he did so that he probably shouldn't have bothered with one, what with how it seemed to crumple his face in unnatural ways.  "I will let you know, thank you."

She pulled a blank key card from a drawer and ran it through the machine to code it for his room.  "Here you go," she said, slapping it onto the counter with another plasticky snap, "Room 401."

"Thank you," he said again, taking the key card and putting it into his coat's front pocket. She held up a hand to keep him from running straight off to the room, a slightly unnecessary gesture, since he had no intention to do so.  Not without the banker's box that she was now pulling out from under the counter.

It was sealed with tamper-evident tape, noticeably intact as she spun it 180 degrees so he could also see his name and a brief description of the contents inked with a tidy hand in the space provided on the lid.  Billie pushed the box toward him and then tapped a nail over one of the items on the contents list.  "She's parked out front."

Castiel peered down at the item she had indicated.  "Keys," it said, rather cryptically, in that unfamiliar, efficient script.  He nodded.  "Thank you."

He bent to pick up the handle of his briefcase, letting the duffle fall farther across his back as he did so in order to free up space under his arm for the banker's box.  It worked, albeit inelegantly, and he felt a little foolish as he fumbled the box off the counter and turned to go.  He felt even worse when Billie said to his back:  "I'm sorry for your loss."

No part of him wanted to say "thank you" again, so he just paused long enough to indicate that he had heard her, and then went out through the glass door and back into the shadowed parking lot without saying a damn thing.

---

Room 401 opened into a concise sort of entryway that pointed him toward a small kitchenette lit primarily by the glare of the Biggerson's sign falling in through the window.  The space featured a round table with peeling laminate, two plastic-and-stainless-steel chairs, a sink and a microwave and a loudly humming fridge.  It was downright lavish compared to the accommodations Castiel had shifted between for the better part of his life.

The banker's box went onto the table, to be ignored until the time came Castiel felt ready to pry inside.

He shrugged his duffle off onto the end of the bed, the briefcase going onto the floor at its foot.  Successfully offloaded, Castiel turned and sat beside the duffle with his hands in his lap, looking at the boxy little TV set sitting on top of a banged up little dresser; at the dusty looking armchair shoved back in the corner to his right, under a dusty looking lamp; at the dim alcove immediately to the right of the TV, keeping discreet the bathroom sink and mirror and the door to the toilet and shower.

He didn't know what to do now.

Twisting to look at the digital clock on the bedside table, he marked the time with no real interest.  Just after 6:30.  Not enough daylight left to try and find his way around town, too early to sleep.  Not that he really felt compelled to do either of those things.  Not that he felt compelled to do anything.

But he had to do something, though, didn't he?  He had to keep moving forward, in whatever small way he could manage.  He had to.

With a long sigh that seemed almost to empty him completely, Castiel got to his feet.  He pulled his overcoat off, went to the alcove closet to hang it up, stopped at the sink to splash some water on his face.  He took a moment to appreciate his appearance -- mournful and aggressively unkempt after two solid days on the road -- before stepping out of the alcove to retrieve the briefcase.  He opened it on the bed and slipped the laptop out, digging around for the charger, and brought both to the dresser, setting the laptop to one side and plugging it into the outlet he found by tracing the TV's power cord.

He stood there, hunched a little over the open laptop, waiting for it to wake from its hibernating state.  He could check his email, at least, or scroll through the news he'd missed while in the air and in taxis and in the air again and in buses that sailed too quickly through isolated islands of 4G signal that lit up only a single bar before going dark again.

His desktop loaded, the wallpaper a heavily-filtered photo he'd pulled from who-knew-where:  just an expanse of faded teal, adorned only by a single, old-fashioned kite, bold and bright with primary colors, pinned there on the sky by an unseen breeze for all eternity.  He had set it a long time ago and never changed it; the image was a small comfort, though for what reason, he couldn't tell.  It wasn't his memory.

The fleeting sense of well-being provided by the tranquil wallpaper faded as quickly as it had come.  The only Wi-Fi network in range was named "Big D's iPhone" and it was locked.  Castiel refreshed the network scan a few times, hoping to see something that looked like it was related to the motel, but nothing else appeared.  He fished his phone out of his pocket for a second opinion, but it, too, displayed just the one fishy looking hotspot and very little 4G, even though he swung it around like an idiot, dowsing the room for a signal, watching the littlest bar wink at him no matter which out-of-the-way corner he took it to.

He even found himself squeezing between the table and the window, pushing the curtain aside as if the radio waves were having trouble making it through the few millimeters of dusty fabric.  He knew better, but it couldn't hurt.  In the Biggerson's lot, catty corner to the motel, a sleek black muscle car came to life with an animal growl, and he watched it prowl out onto the street and streak out towards the highway, taking Big D's iPhone with it.

---

It wasn't Billie manning the motel office when Castiel made his way back inside.  He didn't know why this should surprise him, but the fact that his expectations had been subverted in such a minor way somehow made him stutter his step as he entered.

The woman lounging in the office chair with her boots on the counter didn't wear a nametag.  She did look up from her magazine -- Knives Illustrated -- but only for a second, just a cool, cursory glance to let him know that she knew he was there and also that she wasn't too bothered by it.

"Howdy there, Clarence," she drawled.

Castiel didn't look over his shoulder, this time, but he did falter to a premature stop halfway to the counter, searching the vast middle distance as he tried to quickly figure out if he had enough information to parse the greeting.  He didn't.

"My name is Castiel," he informed her cautiously, eyes lifting to meet hers over the cover of her magazine.

She turned a page.  "Knew it was something hokey like that."

"Yes, well . . . hello," he said, brow furrowing.  She turned another page and he pulled his hand down over his rough five o'clock shadow, a token from his time on the road.  He probably should have cleaned up before leaving the room, but here he was.  He stepped forward, "Excuse me--"

"You're excused," she sing-songed at him.  The magazine dropped just enough to reveal her razor-sharp grin; it was not too dissimilar to the image on the front cover.

"--I was wondering if you knew where I might find a decent Wi-Fi signal in town."  He arrived at the counter as he was speaking, and placed both his hands palms down on its surface.  When she didn't stop looking at him, he picked his hands back up and dropped them to his sides.

She went back to the magazine.  "Depends.  Business or pleasure?"

"Alright," Castiel said, defeated, hands clenching irritably at nothing, "I apologize for having bothered you.  Enjoy your evening."

He turned his back on her, and wasn't going to stop even when he heard the magazine slap closed and her boots clump to the floor, but still that's exactly what he ended up doing as she called, "Hold up, C."

It was the impromptu nickname more than anything, since hearing it inspired him to send a pinched look of consternation back in her direction, where she was now leaning towards him with her forearms planted on the counter, her straight dark hair falling over one shoulder.  "I was only having a little fun," she told him once she was sure she had secured his attention, "We don't get fresh meat like you too often around these parts, and a girl's got needs.  How could I resist?"

"That is a very forward way to speak to a customer," Castiel intoned, the dip of his head turning judgemental.  He'd seen looks like that before; his skin crawled when they were for him.  His hands balled up and flapped open again, trying to shake it off.  "Good night."

"Best bet's the Roadhouse," she told him just as he reached out to push open the door.  Again, he paused, against his better judgement, and she took that as her cue to continue, "Just head on up Main Street, you can't miss it.  If you hit the prairie, you've gone too far."

Castiel ducked his head, hiding the twitch of a small, rueful smile at the joke that slipped its way in at the last second.  "Thanks," he said, more to the half-opened door than to anyone else.

"You watch yourself out there, fresh meat," she hollered a parting warning as the door swung shut behind him, "The freaks come out at night."

---

Castiel walked back to his room to get his overcoat, taking in the rosy hues of twilight that striated the western sky dead ahead of him, chewing over the likelihood that the insouciant woman meant what she'd said.  He couldn't imagine that a small town like this would be terribly dangerous after dark, but, then again --

Stopping at the door to 401, he carefully prodded his better judgement into at least considering taking the car -- he looked at it from the corner of his eye, trying not to dwell too long on the idea that its previous owner would have left indelible personal traces behind -- and, sure enough, he wasn't ready to go digging.  Not in the box, and certainly not in the car.

Castiel gently shook out the fist he had made, swept his eyes over the brilliance of the western sky, and decided he was in the right kind of mood for a walk.

He unlocked his door, entered the room to grab his overcoat, stuffed the laptop back into the briefcase, exited again, pointed himself towards Main Street without giving the car another thought.

---

Turned out she was right about one thing, the Roadhouse was impossible to miss.

From the way the neon sign lit up the rustic wood siding of the cowboy-chic exterior, he half worried the establishment was a bar of some sort.  The windows were dark, the shades drawn down against the setting sun, so he only could only make a guess based on what the exterior looked like.  Hesitating on the sidewalk under a street lamp, Castiel squinted up at it and waged a minor civil war with himself as to whether it would be worth it to go in and find out.

He slowly turned around on the spot, in his little pool of light, casting up and down the nearly deserted street for some kind of sign that would help him choose one way or the other.  Small town Kansas didn't seem to have much going for it, in the way of nightlife; from what he could tell, the storefronts looked exclusively like the little mom-and-pops one would expect from the heartland -- the highway-adjacent Biggerson's the evident exception -- and all of these were either closed or closing.

He completed his inspection, coming face to face once again with the Roadhouse.  On the one hand, it purportedly had Wi-Fi, his current mission being to locate the same.  On the other hand, it looked like a bar, and he didn't want to walk in there with his out-of-towner face, with his uncool overcoat and his briefcase, and specifically avoid ordering alcohol.

He was just coming around to the idea that he could very well survive off the grid for a night when a pair of headlights attached to a shadow came roaring down from the north end of the street at him, the car banking into a smooth, undoubtedly illegal U-turn in the middle of the block, slinking confidently into the open space directly under Castiel's street lamp.  The engine cut off, then the lights, and then a man was ducking out of the driver's side, slamming the door shut behind him.

Castiel was stuck.  He hadn't counted on this particular type of social awkwardness, caught loitering on the street without anything to say for himself.  He averted his eyes, expecting the man to pass him by and go on with his business, but to his increasing embarrassment and frustration, the guy stepped up onto the sidewalk and shoved his keys into a pocket of his green canvas jacket and definitely didn't continue on his way.

"Coming or going?" he asked.  The voice was something of a deep growl, but the tone was friendly enough.  

Castiel looked up to be polite, or, at least, to be less weird.  "I don't know," he found himself saying.  Any chance to possibly come across as a reasonable human being was thoroughly smashed, he thought.  He couldn't talk his way out of this one, even if he tried.  Especially if he tried.  "I've only just arrived," he added.

The guy looked him up and down, not in a lecherous way, or even in a macho, sizing up the competition way; just an unguarded appraisal of his bus-rumpled appearance, the suspicious looking briefcase, the disconcerting way he was caught standing in the dark looking at the door of a place without going in.  The inspection was over in a second, and concluded with a good-natured nod and an open-handed wave that clearly said, "yeah, I figured out that much on my own."

"Well, we don't bite," the guy said aloud, slapping Castiel hard on the shoulder, making him rock from the impact and almost exactly undermining the sentiment.  He immediately turned and stepped up to the Roadhouse's door, hauling it open and beckoning back at Castiel to get his ass inside.  "C'mon, at this rate they'll be closed before you make up your mind."

If Castiel had been looking for some kind of sign, this was clearly providence's way of sending him one.

Even so, he realized he had started moving forward to accept the invitation without consciously meaning to, and, well, he had a lifetime of conditioning to thank for that.  Castiel, ever the good little soldier, taking orders at face value, instead of thinking for himself.  He frowned a little on the inside -- remembering to briefly tug a smile of thanks on the outside -- until the wave of warm, coffee-scented air hit him in the face along with the unavoidable understanding that the Roadhouse was not, in fact, a bar.

The relief of this revelation was powerful enough to enable him to put his weird little hangups back inside the box where they belonged, his outside smile going soft and honest around the edges, and he ducked his head sheepishly at the guy, who had followed him in.  Automatically angling himself towards the register, as one did one when one entered a coffee shop, he said, "I was informed there was Wi-Fi here.  Just not what 'here' was.  'The Roadhouse' sounds -- I thought perhaps it was a bar."

His honesty caught himself off-guard, uncertain as to where the need to explain himself to this stranger came from, exactly.  It was probably because he had already demonstrated the kind of small town friendliness that made Castiel feel like it would be read as rude if he didn't attempt a bit of smalltalk in return.  The guy looked like a nice enough sort of person to meet halfway; about Castiel's age, a little younger, perhaps; kind of a non-threatening good-ol'-boy with his ripped jeans, plaid flannel, and his not-quite-scruffy-not-quite-clean-cut style.  Castiel thought that maybe he could survive being social for a minute or two, with someone like this.

Instantly, this thought hit a bump in the road, as his new friend twisted a funny look at him.  "Got something against bars?"

Castiel dropped his eyes and tried to ignore his obvious misstep while he drifted into the back of the line, behind a towering mountain of a man in a black leather jacket.  Castiel wasn't short, by any stretch of the imagination, but the two men hemming him in were both taller still.  He thought about his answer to the question, flicking rapidly through the options, but wasn't able to pick one that was both simple and truthful before the guy abruptly leaned in.  This startled Castiel, who instinctively shifted away a half step, shoulder bumping up against the glass that separated him from a shiny brass espresso machine.

The guy didn't notice his discomfort, having breached Castiel's personal space to say in a stage whisper:  "If it's rough company you're worried about, nothin' to be afraid of, around here.  The real seedy joints are across town.  Ain't that right, Tiny?"

At this last, he straightened up and raised his voice some, directing the question straight past Castiel.

Castiel turned his head to see the huge leather jacket man fixing the tall canvas jacket man with a full-bodied glare.  He also, at this time, took in the man's shaved head and appreciated the twisting serpent logo coiled on the back of the jacket.  He shifted even closer to the espresso machine, clearing the space between the two men as best he could.

But "Tiny" didn't otherwise react, just turned back and stepped up to the register, boots heavy on the wooden floor.

"Wi-Fi's pretty decent here, yeah," Castiel's companion went on.  Castiel looked back to him, surprised to see him relaxed and indifferent, like he hadn't just specifically tried to antagonize a 400-pound member of a biker gang after dark.  "And the lattes are alright.  Fair warning:  your choices are pretty much either that or black coffee, those're the only things the kid can't mess up too bad."

Off the guy's nod over Castiel's shoulder, he obediently turned and saw the referenced kid -- in actuality, a young, sandy-haired man of about seventeen or eighteen -- working the espresso machine on the other side of the glass.  The milk frother hissed demonstratively for a moment, the kid's face pinched in comically serious concentration on the task, but when he shoved the arm back into the off position, he looked up to see who was watching him and broke out into one of the purest smiles Castiel had ever seen.

"Hello!" the kid said, sunnily, like Castiel was his closest friend and not a literal stranger gawking at him like a zoo animal.  The hand that had been operating the machine was summarily raised in greeting, palm forward, fingers wide.  He radiated a positively angelic energy that instantly made Castiel feel at ease, despite the anxiety of the last several minutes, somehow even despite the soul-crushing weight he'd brought with him to town.

"Hello . . . Jack," Castiel replied, after realizing he could make out the kid's name tag pinned to his apron.  Pinned to their apron, rather, as he belatedly noted the "they/them" pronoun declaration stuck on underneath the name with white label tape.  He smiled, the desire to return just a small portion of the hospitality he'd received so far rising ferociously inside him, one of the strongest emotions he'd had the pleasure of feeling in recent memory.  "I've been informed I should try one of your lattes."

He nodded at the stainless steel carafe of foamed milk in the kid's hand, and they looked down at it as if they'd forgotten it was there.  "Oh!  Yes, I suppose you should."  They poured the milk into a waiting paper cup of espresso, face contorting back into that look of supreme concentration for only as long as it took to pour, smiling back up at Castiel the second the task was done.  "I'm still learning how to make everything, but I'm getting better at the basics."

"Yeah, you are," the guy behind Castiel said, in that manner of speaking that was as aggressive as it was supportive.  Jack grinned shyly, ducking their head at the praise, and shuffled the drink off to the pick-up counter on the other side of the register.

Castiel looked back over to see the guy grinning after the kid, and a thought hit him.  "Are you their . . . parent?" he asked, tripping and catching himself on Jack's pronoun only slightly, a very jarring rush of panic hitting him in time to swerve around using the word "father," just in case gender-nonconformity ran in the family.

The . . . person met Castiel's eye and then looked away, shrugging a little.  "Oh me?  Nah.  I mean.  Sorta.  We're kind of just, looking after them, I guess you could say."

The use of the first-person plural pronoun seemed like something Castiel would pry into next, were he the prying sort.  Instead, he very, very briefly wondered what the average household looked like in Lebanon, Kansas, these days, or if he'd just stumbled into the exception on accident.

A hand was extended his way, along with a name.  "Dean," Castiel was told as he accepted the handshake, "He/him, in case you were wondering."

Castiel let out an inward sigh of relief, and the guy winked before adding:  "Aquarius.  Stones, not Beatles.  Star Wars and Star Trek, but not the garbage that came out after the nineties."  Dean let Castiel's hand go with a chewed-on smile and something of a self-deprecating eyebrow wag.  "That's basically all the important stuff you have to know about me up front."

"Castiel," he returned, "And . . . I am also a man."

Dean snorted a short little breath at that, eyes bright.  He rubbed his chin, scratching through the close-trimmed stubble.  "Castiel, huh?"

Castiel pressed his lips together and took a moment to take stock of the state of his shoes, squaring himself for the inevitable question about his uncommon name, but for once it didn't come.  Dean didn't have the chance to ask it.  When Castiel glanced up, Dean was looking over Castiel's shoulder in the direction of the register, all traces of his friendly disposition replaced by a cold scowl.

As one did, Castiel, too, turned to follow Dean's gaze, searching out the source of his sudden displeasure.  For a second he assumed it had something to do with Jack, maybe getting into some difficult situation with a customer, but at a glance he saw that he only had it half right.  Instead of Jack, it was the young woman behind the register, who pulled her wrist out of Tiny's pawlike grasp as Castiel watched.

Castiel's throat closed up, his second-hand anxiety over the situation momentarily flooring him.  Embarrassed, he looked away, out over the sparsely populated cafe, everyone he saw slowly doing the same:  turning back to their screens and their friends, pretending nothing had happened.

Everyone but Dean, Castiel saw as he finally looked back up at him.  Dean was still watching Tiny closely, his brow drawn down and his mouth set in a firm line.  He flicked his eyes down to Castiel when he caught him looking, and did a stuttered double take when he realized he had accidentally leveled that glare at him.

Dean relaxed his expression into something more neutral, obviously seeing the stress on Castiel's face; while Dean was clearly angered by Tiny's overreach, Castiel couldn't help but project a grim ache that he didn't want to name.  Dean's head tilted, as if he was slowly cottoning on to the depth of Castiel's discomfort the longer he looked at him, and Castiel saw his jaw clench the moment before they both looked sharply back over at the register, hearing the woman's voice rise, frustrated and disgusted, over the country twang of the canned music pumping through the coffee shop's speakers.

"You kiss your mama with that mouth?"  The young woman had taken a full step back into the space behind the counter, dodging out of the way of Tiny's reach.  Castiel could see fire in her eyes, and barely registered Jack standing nervously on her other side.

Tiny laughed, a rolling chuckle that filled Castiel's gut with acid.  The huge man leaned up against the counter, shoving a shoulder as far as it would go into the open space next to the register, and curled his hand around the far edge of the counter.  "Why, you jealous?  How 'bout you pucker up, sweetcheeks, let me show you what you're missing."

In an instant, the nerves and disgust flushed out of Castiel's system, and in its place a white-hot righteous anger swirled up.  His hands twitched, settling for fists, and he took a lurching step forward, his briefcase swinging roughly into his leg, the emotion spilling out of him in a growl of "Hey, asshole--"

"Yeah, alright--" Dean growled at the same time, taking the same step forward, bringing him even with Castiel, the two men suddenly a solid wall staring daggers into Tiny's back.

"Stay out of this, Dean," the young woman said, fierce.  The tone in her voice caused Jack to flinch, snatching back the reassuring hand they'd been tentatively reaching her way.

Tiny heaved himself off the counter, turning to face them slowly, deliberately, letting them appreciate his size and giving them ample time to reconsider the hill they might be about to die on.  Castiel's chin went up, eyes narrowed.  At his side, Dean sniffed and thumbed his nose, aggressively nonchalant.

A devil-may-care smile on his face, Dean put one arm wide.  "No can do, Jo.  There's a quick way to handle huge, steaming piles of human garbage like our friend Tiny here," he said, making stabbing motions with his hand at the man in question, "and I'd hate to see you lose your job over a broken jaw."

Castiel glanced sharply up at Dean, trying to gauge the realistic chances of an all-out brawl going down right here between the novelty mugs and the last of the day's homemade baked goods.  Lebanon, Kansas was quickly proving to be something other than the sleepy, middle of nowhere hamlet he had assumed it would be.  

In fairness, though, he had been warned that the freaks came out at night.

Dean didn't exactly look ready for a fight, though, loose-limbed and calm, fixing Tiny with a cocky grin that was daring the biker to make the first move.  Castiel forced his own shoulders down, his fist to relax around the handle of the briefcase he was gripping like a weapon.  He cut his eyes over to Tiny, who was equally not rising to the bait, just sneering at them for what he was reading as biteless bark.

"Like to see you try, pretty boy," Tiny said, digging in his heels.

Castiel frowned, seeing that the situation had ground into a stalemate before it had even started, two immovable objects sizing each other up, both content with the fact that the one who either struck first or walked away first would make himself the de facto loser of the conflict, one way or another.  Even so, Castiel strongly felt that neither of these two would be the type to walk away.  He raised a hand, palm out, and tried to press some sense into the moment before one of them exhausted their patience and decided to throw a match onto this powderkeg.

"No one has to try anything," he warned, making sure Dean knew he was included in the list of people encouraged to stand down, "Let's all conduct ourselves as civilized people.  Please, just leave the young woman alone, let her do her job in peace."

Tiny peered down at him and made it clear it wasn't about to back off just because a stranger in a rumpled trenchcoat asked him to play nice.

Dean, meanwhile, licked his bottom lip and looked like he might actually be considering his options.  He nodded, ducking his head as though coming to an overdue realization.

"See, I know Tiny's mom," Dean said, raising his eyebrows at Castiel.  

Castiel dropped his own right back at him, a suspicious squint pinching his face as he felt in his gut that the situation was about to spin off the axle in some unforeseen way, despite his best efforts to prevent that exact outcome.

Dean went on, unperturbed, sliding one hand into his pocket as he half turned away from Tiny, like he was just carrying on their friendly chat from before, like they didn't have a behemoth of an audience listening in.  "And I know she would be appalled -- shocked, even -- if she found out what her son was up to when she ain't looking.  Sweet old Martha, she's been in hospice for what, six weeks?  Seven?"  

He swiveled suddenly and jabbed his free hand at Tiny--  "Please, correct me if I'm wrong--"  Back to Castiel, he tapped his own chest twice to demonstrate-- "The ol' ticker's just not what it used to be, or so I hear.  Can't imagine what a bit of bad news might do to her delicate constitution."

As he said this last part, Dean's arm fell, and with it his cheery facade.  He rolled his head Tiny's direction, offering him one of the coldest, meanest looks Castiel had ever seen on a person.

All seven feet of Tiny was now quivering with a quiet kind of rage, his boiled egg of a head going pink as he struggled to hold it in, to not lose the game of chicken he and Dean were playing.  "You're not gonna tell my Ma nothing, you hear me?"

Dean exploded forward a half step, a finger viciously stabbing the air in the vicinity of Tiny's face.  "You stop being a dick, and I'll have nothing to tell," he roared.

"Dean!" Jo shouted over the top of him, slamming her hands down on the counter.

Everyone in the coffee shop flinched.  Castiel felt himself hang his head, feeling the sting as if he himself had been scolded.  But he'd made himself a part of it, stepped in and got involved, hadn't been able to prevent escalation.  He looked out of the corner of his eye at Jo, thinking that maybe he should apologize, but she was just glaring at Dean with hard eyes and a furious shake of her head.

"Out," she ordered.

Dean ignored the way she obviously meant him, and swung an open grin Tiny's way, canines and tongue showing.  "You heard the little lady."

Jo grit her teeth.  "Both of you, out.  We don't need your kind of trouble here."

Something about what she'd said or how she said it got Dean's attention.  He dropped his arms to his sides with a slap of canvas on canvas, twisting her way with a schoolboy pout pulling down his face.  "C'mon, Jo.  You know I didn't mean it.  You know me.  I would never--"

"Save it," she cut him off.  "Jack's shift ends in twenty-five minutes.  Go wait in the car."

There was a second where Dean gaped, fish out of water, at the order, but the cool, commanding look that came with it forcibly shut his mouth with an audible click and he reared back, bumping into Castiel slightly.  "Alrighty, then," he huffed, stomping the wrong way through the line and on towards the door without looking back.  

Castiel watched his boots retreat over the polished wood of the floor, heard the bang of the door being slammed open with more force than absolutely necessary, then tilted his head to catch Jo giving Tiny the same icy treatment.

"What are you waiting for, then, an invitation?  Go on, get.  And if you try something like that again, trust me, I won't bother with your Ma.  I'll go get mine."  She smiled, sweet and sharp, leaned forward over the counter, right into Tiny's personal space, to make sure her point wasn't missed.  "And we can see how many bones she can break before the Sheriff hauls her off your dead body."

An ominous kind of tension straightened Castiel's shoulders, surprised at Jo's candid threat, doubtful that hers would work where Dean's had failed.  After a moment, though, Tiny heaved his bulk away from the counter, gave Castiel a dirty look, and similarly made his inglorious retreat into the night.

Castiel wondered what was going to happen now between the two men, whether they were going to carry on in the street or just back off to lick their wounds until their next meeting.  He hoped Dean had sense enough to actually get in the car, at least.

"Next!"

Distracted from the errant thought of the well-being of a near stranger, Castiel turned to see Jo smiling at him from behind the register, the picture of award-winning customer service, and nothing like the stone-cold demon who had seconds ago threatened to have her mother bludgeon a customer to death.  He stepped up to place his order, thoroughly cowed.

"I apologize for the scene, for my part in it," he told her quietly as he leaned to one side to set the briefcase on the floor at his feet, reaching for his wallet.  "You clearly didn't need us to butt in, but still, I hope you're alright."

She waved his apology away, shaking her head.  "Nothing to be sorry for, it's fine.  Small town like this, hard for some folk to avoid bumping into the folk they shouldn't be bumping into.  It happens, you handle it, you move on.  What can I get started for you tonight?"

Castiel offered her a small smile, feeling it press a little tight around his eyes, his misplaced guilt swirling harder at her need to project such a tough exterior.  It was unfortunate and unfair that the world demanded the thickest skins from some people more than others, and his heart ached in a vague, nameless way, wishing there was something he could do to alleviate the need for someone so young to have constructed such a defensive worldview.

Off her expectant look, he willed himself to remember what he ought to be doing in the here and now.  He gave the menu board on the back wall a cursory review, not really consuming its contents in any meaningful way, until he looked down and caught Jack's eye from where the eager barista floated at a respectful distance between Jo and the espresso machine.

Castiel smiled, this time with notable ease as he remembered Dean's earlier suggestion.  "A small latte, please.  It came highly recommended."

"You got it," Jo nodded, punching the order into the register and pulling a cup from the stack.  "Your name?"  She looked up at him, reaching into a mug with a missing handle to fish out a Sharpie.

"Uh, Castiel," he supplied, and spelled it for her benefit, just in case.

"Castiel," she repeated, as most did when confronted with his name for the first time, trying it out for themselves, "That's got kind of a Biblical ring to it, doesn't it?  Don't tell me you're some kind of guardian angel?"  

"Hardly," Castiel murmured, dropping his gaze to focus on pulling the correct currency out of his wallet.

Jo passed the cup with his name on it to Jack, who immediately took it to the espresso machine and got to work, that same serious look of concentration commandeering their entire face for the duration.

"Anything else for you today?" she asked.  

It was one of those scripted niceties that Castiel truly appreciated about by-the-book social interactions.  A perfect sequitur that spared him the effort of trying to come up with one on his own.  "Do you have a password for the Wi-Fi?"

She nodded, slipping a business card sized piece of paper from a loose stack next to the register, and handed it over in trade for the cash he gave her in return.  As she punched open the till and dug around for his change, he glanced down at the code.  It read "N@turomDem0nto," which, as far as Wi-Fi passwords went, was certainly one.

The till banged shut with a ring, Jo handing him back his change.  Seeing his bemused look as he inspected the hotspot info, she explained, "Sorry, I know it's a little out there.  Our IT guy, Ash, he's a bit of a supernatural freak."

"I see," Castiel said agreeably, though he felt fairly certain that there was some additional piece of trivia he was missing to be able to recognize the significance of the unintelligible string of letters and numbers.  He put the paper into his pocket, dumped the loose change from his palm into the tip jar, and retrieved his briefcase.  "Thank you."

Jo's eyebrows came down, not unkindly, as her lips pursed in baffled amusement.  "No problem," she laughed, shaking her head at him.  "Jack'll have your drink out in a minute."  She waved him in the direction of the pickup counter, and Castiel went gratefully on his way, looking forward to the upcoming stretch of time where he didn't have to make small talk, or try to avoid physical altercations, or accidentally say "thank you" after tipping.

The remaining patrons of the Roadhouse appeared to have cleared out since he had last looked, but whether this was due to the late hour or the recent potential for violence, he couldn't be sure.  Castiel thought about Dean waiting for Jack out in that beast of a car; thought about Tiny (or men like him) lurking out on the streets.  

He pulled out his phone, noting the time as he thumbed to the Wi-Fi settings.  Again, the hotspot listing was sparse, just the one named after the Roadhouse -- finally, full bars -- and, to his muted surprise, "Big D's iPhone."

He was still looking curiously at the cafe's curtained windows, in the direction where he knew that sleek black muscle car with the animal growl was parked under a street lamp, when a bright voice chimed behind him:  "Here you go!"

Sliding his phone back into his pocket, Castiel turned to face Jack, finding a bloom of warmth filling the hollow of his chest to see them sliding his latte over with an exceedingly proud look on their face, certain of a job well done.  Right on the drink's tail, Castiel was surprised to see a small plate with a piece of apple pie being pushed his way as well.

He held up his hand to stop or question the freebie, thinking he hadn't done anything today to have earned getting rewarded with pie, but Jo popped up at Jack's side and gave him one of those looks he already recognized as meaning he wouldn't be allowed to decline.  His bottom lip pursed, he reached out and obediently pulled the plate the rest of the way over with one finger.

"At closing time, we either have trash all the leftover perishables or give 'em away," Jo explained.  She nodded down at the plate with something of a wicked grin, "Normally I'd be packing this up for Jack to take home for Dean, but here's hoping I can teach him something by revoking his pie privileges for one night."

Castiel's eyes went wide, and his hand flew off the rim of the plate as though it had burned him.  Before he could figure out a way to articulate how uncomfortable it made him to know he was stealing someone's pie, Jack laughed and shook their head.

"No, it's okay, really.  Sam's always saying Dean needs to watch what he eats.  So, you're helping!"  They chirped this last bit with a scrunch of the eyes and a jerky shrug of their shoulders.  Jo backed the assertion, a tilt of her head and a jag of her brow to say Castiel really didn't have the room to argue with either of them on this.

"Ah," Castiel said, eyeing the pie like it was a plate full of gold, feeling completely unworthy, "If that's the case. . ."

He looked up, met Jo's and then Jack's eyes, and told them solemnly, "I appreciate it."

Jack's endearing smile crinkled onto their face again, and Jo patted them on the arm.

"Hey, we're all set here," she said to Jack, "Why don't you clock out a little early, okay?  I won't tell my mom."

Castiel kept his small smile to himself, busied himself shifting his briefcase to his other hand as Jack eagerly tripped off to head out for the night.  Still, he lingered a little at the pickup counter, not missing the guarded way Jo eyed the front door, which gave nothing away as to what kind of trouble might still be skulking in the night on the other side.

She caught him noticing, which was fine, because his thoughts were running along similar tracks.  It gave him the cue to share his own.  "Um," he started, glancing away, "Would it be a problem if I stayed until closing?  There's, uh, no Wi-Fi at the motel."

When he looked back over at her, shy, she was giving him a soft eye roll with her mouth screwed up to one side to hide some kind of smile.  She chewed on the inside of her cheek a moment, then looked heavenward with a good-natured sigh.

"You know, for a guy who swears he's not a guardian angel--"

Behind her, Jack, who had traded their apron for a colorful windbreaker, swung through the half-door at the far end of the counter, on the other side of the espresso machine, and called out a chipper, "Good night, Jo!  Good night, sir, hope you enjoy your drink!"

Oh.  Castiel hastily lifted the paper cup, Jo waving her own goodbye as Jack trotted across the shop floor towards the exit.  He took a sip of the latte, cringing a little to discover that it was still far too hot to drink without caution; even so, he smiled at Jack and gestured with the cup.  "It's very good, thank you."

He was treated to another of those full-face, joyous smiles, and then Jack was out the door and Castiel was left alone with Jo, his scalding latte, and his unearned pie.  He thumbed the lip of the plastic to-go lid, only half-certain she had approved of him sticking around now that she was on her own behind the counter.  For all she knew, he could be just as rotten as any of them, just biding his time until--

"Please help yourself to our Wi-Fi for as long as you'd like," Jo told him, fixing him with a kind, if ever-so-slightly bemused, look.  

He nodded his thanks, and, using the bottom of his drink, shifted the pie plate over to the edge of the counter where he caught it in the fingers of the hand already tucked under the handle of the briefcase, maxing out his awkwardness in doing so.  Jo was biting her lip, watching the juggling act unfold before her, but she didn't otherwise comment.  With a short smile of parting, Castiel fled -- cautiously -- to a small table at one of the shaded windows, far from Jo and close to the door.

As he went, the sound of a car engine, startling in both how loud and how familiar it seemed to him, rumbled up through the coffee shop's backdrop of picked guitars and singing fiddles.  By the time Castiel took a seat, it had already roared off into the distance.  He was glad its driver seemed not to have run into any further trouble, after all.

Drink settled, pie settled, Castiel himself settled, he set the briefcase on the floor beside him and clicked it open just enough to drag the laptop out from the pocket. He slid it onto the table between his other items, determined to connect to the Wi-Fi and check his email, to do the one thing he had ventured out to do, even if only to say he had.

As suspected, he now saw no trace of "Big D's iPhone" nearby, and carefully punched in the access code to the Roadhouse's network.  The computer connected without fanfare.  Dutifully, he clicked on his email app and watched the logo splash pop up over the muted periwinkle of his desktop wallpaper.

While the program loaded up, he reached out and pulled the pie over and dug a chunk out of it with the fork that had been so kindly provided.  The first bite reminded him that he hadn't eaten since Kansas City, and his focus narrowed to the singular task of slicing and chewing until there was nothing left but crumbs stuck to the cinnamon-sugary tracks his fork made as it scraped over the plate's inexplicable cowboy boot pattern.

Returning the plate and fork to the table with a sigh, Castiel took up his latte, now sufficiently cooled, and sipped this while flicking his fingers over the laptop's trackpad, disinterestedly scrolling through his inbox.  The loss of a few of his taste buds notwithstanding, he found he was able to appreciate the quality of Jack's handiwork, and he felt retroactively absolved for the preemptive high marks he'd given.

He stopped scrolling.  Not that he'd been paying attention to the task anyway, but thinking about the young person's ineffable good cheer and the mercurial temper of their guardian had him staring at the curtain as if he could see straight through it, into the street and the night, imagining the shine of the street lamp off the hood of that dangerous-looking car.

He drank the rest of his latte while absorbed in the expanse of his mind's eye, the limitless vistas of the day's bus ride peppered with half-remembered moments of the evening so far,  impressions of the short stretch of Main Street Lebanon he'd traversed, the faces of strangers blending one into the next into the next.  There was one face in particular that he kept circling back to, though, and one moment that was sharper than the rest.

Standing under that street lamp, waiting.  Waiting for--

"Sorry to interrupt," Jo said, tentative, seeming to materialize at Castiel's table.

He whipped his head away from the window -- had he really just been staring blankly at the curtain this whole time?  What must she think -- and pushed back his chair to try to get with the program.  "Sorry -- you've probably been waiting--"

She laughed and held up her hands, and he slowed his frantic sweeping of his belongings from the table.  "Whoa, there.  I was just gonna give you a five-minute heads up, is all.  Didn't mean to spook you."

Castiel perched the briefcase he had snagged from the floor onto his vacated chair, and gently slid the laptop back inside.  "I'm fine," he said, snapping the clasp closed, "please don't let me hold you up."

"No worries," she told him, and when he darted his eyes over to her, she was giving him that slightly amused, slightly puzzled look she'd been giving him since he walked in.  She cleared his plate and cup from the table and made off with them.  He picked up his briefcase and pushed in the chair, standing purposelessly there at its side.

She looked back over her shoulder at him, seeing him not leaving.  "Five minutes," she said again, "and then I'm going to let you walk me to my car, okay?  You seem sweet, and I just can't help feeling like you'll have an aneurysm or something if I walk out there alone."

"Sorry," Castiel repeated.  He frowned, suddenly very invested in the stitching on his briefcase handle.  "I've overstepped again."

Jo pushed open the swinging half-door of the counter and regarded him from across the coffee shop floor.  "I'll let it slide, this once.  Just don't make a habit of it," she told him with mock-gravitas, fighting back a telling smile before disappearing into the back.

It was a joke, he could tell, something to dispel the awkward energy Castiel had fomented up around himself.  It worked, just a little, and he took a deep breath and let it out in a quiet sigh at himself.  Anyway, he could promise her that, and easily.  He didn't know exactly how long he'd end up spending in Lebanon, Kansas, but it wasn't like he was planning on sticking around forever.

He shuffled his feet, waiting on Jo's return, and willed himself to imagine opening that sealed box.  Digging out the keys to the wide, boxy, gold-colored Lincoln Continental.  Climbing into the driver's seat and watching this speck of a town vanish in the rearview mirror.

He wondered what tape would be playing in the deck, or maybe what radio station it was still set to.  What the scent of the air freshener hung over the mirror was, and whether the built-in ashtrays needed to be emptied.  What he might find forgotten under the seats.

All at once, a full-body shudder rolled over him, overwhelmed by all these questions with answers he couldn't yet face.  

"Ready?"

He looked up as Jo crossed to the door and flicked the bank of switches to shut off the overhead lights, leaving them both shadows lit faintly by the glow of the displays on the equipment behind the counter.

Ready?  Not in the slightest.

"After you," he murmured, reaching out to push the door open.

---

Castiel showered with military efficiency, the rushing water just about drowning out his empty thoughts.

He changed into his sleepwear mechanically, put himself into the bed, and flicked on the television because there was nothing else left to do.  The day was finally catching up to him, and his body ached as it reluctantly gave itself over to the support of the mattress.  His bones felt heavy, his eyes raw.  He flipped channels without comprehending anything he saw on the tiny screen.

Maybe it was the jangle of espresso in his veins, or maybe it was his internal clock's confusion regarding what time zone he'd ended up in, or maybe it was his white-knuckled refusal to find out what his subconscious had in store for him, but it was several long, dull, droning hours of late-night soaps and infomercials before Castiel finally let go and allowed himself to sleep.

[choices-betch]

Soft (Mona x MC)

Book: Ride or Die: A Bad Boy Romance Pairing: Mona x MC (Lexi Padilla) Plot: Lexi’s birthday is fast approaching, but nothing seems good enough to Mona...except one thing. Notes: Thank you to everyone who read/commented/liked/reblogged by first fic! I appreciate you all, and all your prompt suggestions! I did a mix of some plus some stuff I had floating around in my head. I’m sure I’ll use some other suggestions when inspiration strikes ;) Warnings/Ratings: None. Total fluff. Music: Un Sospiro - Franz Liszt (played by Moura Lympany...my favorite)

Mona sat, legs folded as she stared out the window at the nearby park, sipping on her steaming cup of coffee distractedly. Her fingers tapped against the mug, ideas forming and simultaneously being shot down in her head.

Clothes? New phone? Nah, she doesn’t really care about that stuff. A dog? HELL no. Strap on?

Mona grinned, taking another sip of coffee as her mind wandered...that would have to wait for her birthday.

Mona huffed in frustration. Lexi’s birthday was in a week. She didn't know why it was bothering her so much, why she felt that nothing was good enough. She’d already coordinated a surprise visit with Riya for a long weekend, which was more than she’d ever cared to do for anyone in the past. People were lucky if Mona even remembered the month of their birthdays. But Lexi isn’t just people, Mona mused, finishing up her coffee.

With a grunt, Mona got up and took her mug to the sink, then headed toward the room to get dressed. She felt stifled, her mind blank; she needed to get out of the house.                                                            ---

Mona walked into the music store, scanning the contents before making her way to the back area. She let her fingers graze the different instruments as her eyes fell on a familiar Clavinova.

I could always…

Mona shook the thought from her head. Nope. Absolutely not.

She wandered toward the instrument and sat down, running her fingers over the keys. It looked just like the one back home. Music was one of the only things she had to herself; she didn’t have to hide, didn’t have to worry about anything going on in her life or the world when she played. It was hers, and it was...meaningful, made her vulnerable. Vulnerable was not something she was with people.

Lexi isn’t people…

“Shut up,” she grumbled to herself, brows furrowing.

“Ma’am? Is there something I can help you with?”

Mona slowly turned her gaze to a concerned and slightly confused looking employee, who donned a large “STANLEY” name tag.

“Well, Stanley,” she started, flicking his name tag as she got up, “how about you start by never calling me ma’am again.”

With that, she walked toward the exit. She’d figure something out, just...not this.

                                                           ---

Mona stood outside a studio two days later, looking up at the sign with a heavy sigh. She couldn’t believe she was actually about to do this. She’d gotten in contact with a few people from the past she thought might have an idea of a decent studio in the area. After making a couple of painful calls, she booked a session with the one that irritated her the least on the phone.

This is a horrible idea, idiot, she thought to herself and she walked through the doors.

“Ma’am?” she heard, interrupting her from her thoughts. She narrowed her eyes. Do I look like I’m 50? What the hell is with everyone calling me ma’am lately?

“I have a 2 o’clock booked.”

The receptionist widened her eyes in alarm and began clacking at her keyboard, knocking things over in the process.. “Sorry, I uh...um…” 

“Spit it out, Karen,” Mona said shortly, growing more and more impatient. The longer she stood there, the more and more she was convincing herself this was the wrong move.

“Room six! Third door on your left,” the receptionist squeaked. Mona grinned and winked, sauntering in the direction of the room.  As she approached the door, a thin, short-haired blonde woman was just unlocking it.

“Hi, I’m Sara! Are you Mona?” she asked excitedly, extending a hand.

“So they tell me,” Mona responded, giving her quick handshake and a nod.

“Do you want to do a few practice runs, just to get warmed up?” she asked, and Mona had to refrain from rolling her eyes. She’d somehow managed to unbutton her shirt at the top, her body language anything but subtle. 

“Nah, I can play this crap in my sleep,” Mona mused, removing her jacket and making herself comfortable on the bench as she placed the headphones over her ears. “Let’s get this over with.”

Sara nodded and headed back to the mixing area, giving her a silent cue that the tape was rolling. Mona cracked her fingers and rolled her shoulders, closing her eyes to center herself before placing her fingers over the respective keys and playing the opening chords. She recorded the entirety of the composition in one take, an arrogant smirk on her face as she wrapped up. Still got it.

“You weren’t kidding,” Sara said, leaning against the frame of the mixing room as Mona shrugged on her jacket and gathered her other belongings. “Where’d you learn to play like that, gorgeous?”

“Around,” she responded flatly, making her way to the door and flinging it open. “Thanks.”                                                            ---

Mona pulled out of the cell lot at the airport, having just gotten the go ahead from Riya to circle the airport. After about ten minutes, the back door opened and Riya’s bright face popped in enthusiastically. Mona grinned in response, waiting until Riya was in the car and buckled before pulling out.

“How was the flight?” Mona asked, eyes scanning the road as she followed signs to the highway.

“Loooong,” Riya groaned, throwing her head against the seat. “The guy next to me had his nasty feet propped on the seat in front of him the whole time.”

“At least you weren’t in that seat,” Mona quipped with a shrug. Riya laughed in response, followed by a comfortable silence.

“So...how’s she doing?” Riya asked, scanning Mona’s profile. Mona shrugged one shoulder, chewing the inside of her lip.

Lexi had gone through a bit of a depression a few months into the move. The gravity of everything that had transpired finally caught up with her, bringing with it a wide range of emotions and sleepless nights. The arguments started, small at first but eventually growing to full on screaming matches, usually surrounding Mona’s difficulty with emotional availability. Quite a few times Mona was on the verge of throwing in the towel. She had already pressed her luck by ignoring every instinct to run and fighting through it. What the hell was emotional investment really doing for her besides causing more stress?

But every time Mona got to that point, memories flashed through her mind like a film reel, tugging on those damn heart strings only Lexi had figured out how to pull. So she stayed, and they fought until they could figure out how to talk about what was really going on. That’s not to say things were perfect - not even close. Mona continued to retreat into her comfort zone at the first sign of danger; Lexi continued to beat at her walls, determined to break them down, screaming the whole time. But at the end of the day, they stuck it out...and Lexi’s moods and behaviors gradually started to improve. After almost a year collectively, things were starting to feel balanced.

“She’s doing okay,” Mona finally responded. “She still has her days, but overall she’s smiling more than she’s yelling. That’s always a plus for me,” Mona joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Riya hummed in acknowledgement. “I was...really worried about her.”

Mona’s eyes left the road for the first time, glancing at Riya. “I know,” she replied, hesitating for a moment. “So was I.”

“I know.”

Silence ensued as they became consumed in their thoughts. Mona began to wonder, as she often did when these topics came up, if she made a mistake by following Lexi. How would Lexi have fared if Mona had have just let her go? How selfish was it of her to continue inserting herself into Lexi’s life when she’d definitely have been better off without—

“She really needed you...still needs you. You know that, right?” Riya’s words shook Mona out of her thoughts, stunning her for a minute.

“You some sort of mind reader?”

Riya shot her a cheeky grin, clearly pleased with herself. “I like to fancy myself one,” she quipped. Mona chuckled, shaking her head. These women…

                                                           ---

Mona had just gotten Riya settled in when Lexi walked in the door, headphones in and eyes on her screen. Lexi screamed loudly, dropping her belongings and rushing to hug Riya in tears. After realizing what was happening, Lexi transferred her affections to Mona, and despite Mona’s attempt at appearing nonplussed, it made her heart swell to see Lexi so happy.

After the hype settled, Mona snuck into the room and scanned her surroundings, ensuring nobody was coming. She picked up her pre-packed bag and quietly unzipped the side, pulling out the card she had written for Lexi. She had hidden the digital recording in a subfile on Lexi’s laptop, as detailed within the contents of the card, affectionately titled Happy birthday, punk. Mona hesitated, card in hand.

You don’t have to leave it...she doesn’t even know it exists…

Mona tapped her fingers against the envelope in a silent tug of war before rolling her eyes and shoving it inside a drawer at the computer desk. She grabbed her bag, scanning the room one last time before emerging.

“Where are you going?” Lexi exclaimed as she eyed Mona, bag slung over her shoulders as she grabbed her keys.

“Dallas. Visiting a friend.” Lexi protested loudly as Mona looked on at her in amusement. “Hey, I set this up, but I never agreed to stick around. What makes you think I want to spend my weekend with you banshees? One of you is enough, I need a break.” She winked and planted a loud kiss on Lexi’s cheek as Lexi swatted at her in laughter.

After exchanging goodbyes with Riya, Lexi walked Mona out to her car.

“When are you coming back?”

“Sunday night.”

“Mmm, good, then I still get to have my way with you on my birthday,” Lexi joked, prompting Mona to wiggle her eyebrows and slap Lexi’s ass.

“I still don’t understand why you’re leaving,” Lexi said with a pout, leaning against the side of the car as Mona threw her bag in the trunk.

“I told you, I need a break from you,” Mona teased, making her way back to Lexi.

“Mmhm. You can make all the jokes you want, lady, but I know the truth,” Lexi said, jabbing a finger against Mona’s chest gently.

“Oh yeah?” Mona asked with an eyebrow raised, wrapping one arm around Lexi’s waist as the other wrapped around the hand on her chest. “And what’s that?”

“That you, my love, are a giant softie inside,” Lexi responded softly with a grin, eyes shining.

Mona pulled her closer and raised Lexi’s hand to her mouth, kissing the pad of her pointer finger as she gazed into her eyes.

“Only for you, gorgeous.”                                                            ---  

Mona went on with her visit as she would have any other time: bars, the occasional club, poker...you name it. But it didn’t feel the same, and as she laid poolside in a hammock with her friend Jace into the wee hours of the morning of Lexi’s birthday she began typing out a text, instructing her on where to find the card when she woke up. She had been staring at the text for five minutes, back and forth about whether or not to send it; whether she was ready to expose this much of herself.

“You’re different,” Jace mused. Mona turned her head sharply, looking at him dubiously.

“Hardly.”

“You are,” he reiterated. “I mean, you’re still an asshole,” he started, earning a proud grin from Mona, “but...I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve ever had a memory of you turning down a dance or a makeout session before now. It’s weird.”

Mona rolled her eyes. “I figured it’s time to leave some for the less fortunate.” Jace elbowed her, the two of them throwing half-hearted insults at each other before settling into another comfortable silence.

“You’re in deep, aren’t ya?”

Mona glared at him, then glanced down at her phone, wallpaper adorned with Lexi making a comical face. She sighed, her thumb running down the screen affectionately before unlocking it and sending the text.

“Yeah. Damnit.”

                                                            ---

Mona unlocked the door, hands full with her bag, an extra large supreme pizza (Lexi’s forever favorite), and a small red velvet cake she’d picked up on the way in. She kicked the door closed, setting her things down on the table and looking around suspiciously. She knew Riya’s flight had been scheduled for mid-afternoon, but it was just after 7PM; she’d half expected Lexi to be impatiently waiting for her to get home out of boredom.

“Lex?” she called out, walking down the hall to the room, where she found Lexi fast asleep with Gunther curled up above her head. Shoulda known. Never had she met someone who loved to sleep at any given opportunity as much as Lexi. She sauntered over to the bed, getting in behind her and throwing an arm across her waist. Mona kissed her hair, temple, and down her cheek as Lexi began to stir.

“Morning, princess,” Mona said softly, running her fingers across Lexi’s exposed midriff.

“You’re home,” Lexi replied sleepily, reaching back to cup Mona’s cheek. “I missed you.”

“Duh,” Mona quipped teasingly, then with a sigh she buried her face in Lexi’s neck. “I missed you, too. Punk.”

Lexi turned her head to place a gentle kiss to the corner of Mona’s mouth, then nestled back into her pillow. Suddenly she shot up, scrambling out of bed and over to her computer. Mona sat up as well, looking at her in alarm.

“I never opened the file,” she explained, and Mona’s heart sunk for a second before she composed herself.

“It’s not that serious, don’t worry about it—“

“Yes it is!” Lexi exclaimed, whirling around from her seat. “Obviously whatever it is was important enough for you to go to such great lengths to hide it...I just wanted to be with you when I opened it.”

Mona flung herself back ,running her hands down her face. The whole point was so that she wouldn’t have to be around to humiliate herself.

“Can’t I just wait on the couch?” Mona groaned, throwing an arm over her eyes. She felt something bounce off of her and looked to her left, seeing a pencil on the ground. “That could have impaled me.”

Lexi rolled her eyes and double clicked on the file, then came back to the bed as the introductory chords began spilling out of the speakers. Lexi looked at Mona, wide eyed and questioning, but Mona made every effort to keep her expression neutral. No way in hell was she going to admit just how terrified she was to willingly share this part of herself with another person.

One of the more surprising things they’d discovered about each other early on was their mutual love of classical music - one composition in particular. Lexi never knew, though, that Mona could play; nobody did, really. That was one of the only parts of her former life she could keep, and she’d never intended to share that with anyone.

The emotion was evident in every ebb and flow of the melody, stunning Lexi repeatedly as the music continued. She sat motionless as the last few chords played, then silenced. After a long moment she turned to Mona, eyes shining in silent questioning. Mona cleared her throat and sat up, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed.

“My, uh...my mom taught me how to play when I was four. I surpassed her pretty quickly, though,” Mona explained with a breathy laugh, scratching her head with a shrug. “I just always kept up with it. One of the few outlets I have, ya know?” Lexi continued to stare at her in silence, making Mona shift uncomfortably.

Lexi crawled over to Mona, sitting on her knees and staring straight into her eyes as she placed a hand over Mona’s heart. “Nobody has ever done something so perfect for me before. I…”

Mona pressed a chaste kiss to Lexi’s mouth, unable to handle the emotions palpable in the room; in her body. They rested their foreheads against each other, eyes closed. Mona kissed the tip of Lexi’s nose affectionately and sighed.

“Happy birthday, Lexi.”

[themoonandotherslikeit]

What the Rain Can’t Wash Away- Chapter 16

*FINAL PIECE IN THE LOOK IN HER EYES TRILOGY*

Sixteen years after Lucifer rose and Dean lost his wife, he finds himself with a teenager, a Nephilim, an angel, and his brother living out a Full House rerun with some seriously dark undertones. How will he be able to raise his daughter, fight monsters, and deal with the loss of the love of his life? Sometimes moving on is the hardest part, but with the Winchester’s there’s always something harder around the corner. Isn’t there?

Chapter Sixteen, Out of My Mind

Claire

I think I knew that it would always end this way. Me, the open road, and my bag of weapons in Dean Winchester’s stolen car driving toward a fight that there was no way that I’d win. He likes to talk a big game, about how he would die at the end of a barrel of a gun, but that isn’t exclusively a Winchester trait. The moment that Castiel stepped into my father’s skin, my life changed forever. It was always going to end this way, and I accepted that a long time ago. I expected it. What I didn’t expect, though, was her.

Ella was a dream that I didn’t know I had, and it’s cheesy, and honestly really fucking lame, but she made me want things. Things I didn’t know I was allowed to want. My foot pressed harder on the gas when my phone rang out for the thirteenth time in the last twenty minutes. I glanced at it, before turning it off. I wasn’t worried about them tracking me, because they already knew where I was headed. I just needed the head start, and I had one. Ella was still in there, and if the guys fucked around like they always did, they could get her killed. I couldn’t let that happen.

I didn’t have a plan, not really, but I was thinking through one as my fingers tapped the steering wheel to the beat of one of Dean’s old cassette tapes. He was an old grouch, but he had good taste in music. We didn’t always get along, Dean and me, but we had one big thing in common. We both loved El. How could we not love her? 

Ella and I never told the Dad’s, but we had plans. She would graduate early and we would go on the road hunting together. Motels, long drives, and watching the sun rise above the horizon. Both of us against the world, fighting the good fight, but as I drove toward her, knuckles white against the dark steering wheel, I considered the other possibility. I considered giving it all up. It was never an option, not when I lived at the bunker, and Castiel tried his best to be the father that I needed, not when I stayed with Jody, and not even when I fell in love with Ella.

She had the itch, just like I did. It was a disease, and every time we scratched the itch, it just made the need grow and fester. I couldn’t see me doing anything else but hunting, until losing her became a real possibility. Until I saw that endless stretch of Kansas road as I headed toward Chicago. Maybe we could be happy living a normal life. Ella could go to college, and we could have a shitty studio apartment. We could spend Saturday’s cuddled up in bed watching some dumb movie in just our underwear. I could help her study and reward every correct answer with an article of clothing stripped away. We would be happy, and after a while that itch would dull and fade away altogether.

The most likely option, though, was that I’d storm in, guns blazing, and I’d die looking into the empty eyes of the only person who ever made me feel worthy of love. My only hope rested in her sappy romance novel logic, that true love can solve anything. It’s the duct tape of life, or at least that’s what she always used to say. 

One Year Ago

I was lying in bed with my headphones on, in my new bedroom in the Men of Letters bunker. It was temporary, so my bag was still packed, and my boots were ready to slide on at any time next to the bed. I glanced up at the door as it opened slowly, El’s head poking in. “Sorry to bother you,” she squeaked, as I removed my headphones. 

“Uh, you’re good.” I offered her my best smile. I didn’t need to be a huge bitch to her, she was stuck here too. “What’s up?”

“I was just making sure you had everything you needed.” She stepped into the room slowly. She was wearing a pair of plaid pajama shorts and a tank top, her hair braided to the side. She didn’t wear any makeup, I noticed, but damn she didn’t need it. She was pretty in this way that was completely effortless. “How are you holding up?”

I sat up in bed, pulling my knees to my chest, and letting my headphones rest around my neck. “Honestly? This place sucks. Its gloomy, dark, and it’s really fucking boring.”

El laughed, pushing a stray hair behind her ear. “Yeah, it can be.”

“What do you do around here for fun?”

She brought her hand up to her chin and tapped it, literally tapped it like she was some kind of cartoon character. “It depends, what are you in the mood for?”

I felt a grin tug at the corners of my mouth, and I let my legs swing over the side of the bed, sliding into my boots. “Something… Bad. I’m in the mood for trouble.” I realized how big of a cliché I was, but my need to rebel was sewn into my soul.

El met my eyes and smirked a bit. “I know just the thing, follow me.”

So I did. We walked, creeping through the halls of the bunker in the dark of the night, past Castiel’s room where he was up watching something on Netflix, past Sam’s room where he was sleeping peacefully, and Dean’s empty room. She put her finger to her lips as if to remind me to be quiet as we crept past Jack’s room. 

We made it to the end of the hall and down a set of stairs that went deeper into the ground. If I wasn’t so used to battling actual evil, I would’ve been creeped out, but El was still walking barefoot, which put me at ease. “This is my favorite room in the whole bunker,” she mused, grinning at me over her shoulder as she pushed open a heavy door.

I wasn’t sure what I expected when the florescent lights flickered on, but an old dusty library hadn’t made the list. I raised an eyebrow and shoved my hands into my jean pockets. “A… Library?”

El turned to me, offering me a wicked smile, and wiggled her index finger at me asking for me to follow her, before she disappeared between the stacks. I shook my head, letting out a heavy sigh, before I followed her through the books and into a different world entirely. Deep within the stacks, she disappeared behind a shelf, squeezing between it and the wall. “El?” I called, squinting into the darkness. 

“Come on,” she said with a laugh.

She was like some kind of fairy leading me off to my death, and against my better instincts I held my boobs in place and squeezed back behind the shelf. It was tight, but only for a second. It was dark until she clicked on a light, well more accurately, a string of lights. There was a small alcove behind the shelves that she’d set up to be a secret fort. There was a big mattress, blankets, pillows, string lights, a laptop, stacks of books, and snacks. “Holy shit.”

“Welcome to my evil lair. It’s the perfect place to escape from all of the testosterone in the bunker.” She flopped down on the mattress and pointed to a wooden trunk against the wall. “Don’t tell Dad, but Auntie Ro enchanted some candy in there for me.” She propped herself up on her elbows, smiling at me wickedly, and the reflection of the string lights danced in her eyes.

“What does that mean?” I asked, kicking off my boots and crawling toward her. I sat at her feet, my legs folded in on themselves. 

“It means…” She reached over and opened up the box, taking a bite of the Twizzler, immediately giggling. “That you asked for bad .”

I could feel my neck and cheeks heat up with blush, because my god, this girl would be the death of me. I held out my hand, palm up. “Hit me.”

But instead of handing it to me, she got on her knees, crawling to me with the Twizzler still between her teeth. “Take it,” El mumbled.

My heart pounded in my temples, but I leaned forward nonetheless, taking the other end of the Twizzler between my teeth. My eyes were locked with hers as I tugged away, chewing the strawberry flavored candy. An entirely different heat bubbled through me, then, and I met her giggles with my own. Enchanted was right! She almost glowed, sparkles on her cheeks from the magic, and I laid on my back beside her. We stared up at the ceiling just giggling and talking about stupid shit-- things that didn’t matter, and things that did.

  Present 

The building that Michael had her in was large and certainly heavily guarded. The idea that I could get the element of surprise was unlikely at best, so it was lucky that I had no intention of surprising Michael. I just needed to get into the building. The rest I’d leave to love.

Jesus, when did I turn into such a girl?

I got out of the car, blade strapped to my calf, gun in my hand, and I crept into the building. It looked like a regular office building with large glass windows. There were regular looking employees walking around in suits, filing, drinking coffee, and gossiping. No one seemed to care for me as I slipped through the back. It made sense for Michael to take this role when he was wearing Dean, but would anyone believe that an almost seventeen year old year would work at a place like this?

I made it into the stairwell without being seen, and I climbed. The echoes of my boots were louder than I wanted, but I had a lot of distance to make in a short amount of time. Michael had to be on the top floor, he just seemed like that kind of douche.

I slowly opened the door to the top floor, after taking a second to catch my breath, because fuck I was out of shape. 

The hallway was empty, long, and carpeted, lining a various number of office doors. I let out my breath in a soft easy exhale as I left the stairwell. I stayed low, against the wall, ready to attack anything that came at me. The sound of gentle typing on keyboards alerted me that I wasn’t alone, along with the distant ring of a phone from one of the offices. I used to wonder if my Dad would be proud of me for the life I was living, but I stopped caring about that a long time ago. He left. I don’t have the energy to care about the people that leave me, but El … she didn’t choose to leave, not really. Whatever he did to get her to say yes, I knew that she was doing it for love.

The end of the hallway was closer now, and at the end was a glass door exposing a big office with a lot of windows. A young woman in all black, her hair curled, falling down her back in loose spirals, she tapped her pointed high heeled shoe like she was impatiently waiting for someone. I swallowed hard. Eleanor.

“Come on in, Claire. We’ve been waiting for you.”

  Ella 

“You son of a bitch!” I struggled against the chains that restrained me. Michael locked me in. I said yes, damn it I was so stupid!

He would’ve killed them… He probably still will. I felt sick to my stomach, my body lulling into the chains. It was no use, after all it was a mental block, and I wasn’t in control. He was walking around wearing my skin like a fucking weirdo, probably wreaking havoc. I just wished that he gave me a place like he gave Dad to rest. At least then maybe I could be happy before I burn away. That’s what happens, right? After a while we just disappear, like Jimmy Novak.

I swallowed hard.\

I never really understood why Claire was so hard on Cas. He was my dad, one of the three most important people in my life. I understood now, though, more than ever. His skin was not his to wear, to possess. It gave me chills just thinking about it.

“Come on in, Claire. We’ve been waiting for you.”

What? “No! You motherfucker!” I banged against the chains again. Hearing her name in my own voice was unsettling at best. Maybe he was playing around. Maybe it was a new kind of torture. There was no way that Claire could be there… but she was. I knew it in my soul, deep down, because she would always come. I knew, because if it were her here in chains, I would come. I’d go anywhere that she was.

  Claire 

“You may as well put down the gun; I know you wouldn’t want to hurt your girlfriend.” Michael turned, wearing El’s face, and offered an honestly terrifying smile. Her shoulders were back and she wore an intense, red lipstick that she would’ve never chosen for herself. She adjusted her blazer over her black dress and gestured to the seat across from her desk. “Please, sit down.”

“I’d rather stand,” I said curtly.

Michael’s lips pursed, and sat down carefully. “Well, I’ll sit. I’ve been standing all day. Commanding an army is… exhausting.”

“An army?”

“Certainly you know already. You’re smart, cunning, beautiful. I know you, Claire Novak. I know you, because she knows you.” She tapped her temple, sending chills down my spine. 

“Let her go, Michael. It’s creepy having a thousand year old man inside of a teenager.”

“She thinks you’re funny, you know. I, on the other hand, am not amused.” Her eyes flashed at me, no… not her eyes. Michael’s eyes glowed blue, flashing dangerously. “I don’t want you to be a problem. I anticipate that if I choose to kill you it will cause problems in here.” Her finger tapped her temple. “I don’t want to have problems, Claire. You’re a smart girl, so I’m sure you can understand that. I don’t have to kill you. You can work with me.”

My lip curled up and anger bubbled within me. “No offense, but fuck you and fuck your offer. I’m sure as shit not here to join you. I’m here for my girlfriend, and I’m not leaving without her.” I moved quickly, leaping over the desk and reaching for her shoulders. I wasn’t sure what I expected to happen, if I was being honest. Michael was right; I wasn’t prepared to hurt Ella.

I managed to catch him by surprise, and we tumbled backwards, the desk chair rolling away. We hit the floor, her on her back and me lying on top of her. My immediate instinct was to laugh, like we usually would when we were in this kind of situation, but this time there was nothing to laugh about. I pinned her arms back. “Ella, listen to me! It’s Claire! I’m here! Fight it! ”

“Claire?”

I looked down, my fingers loosening just slightly on her wrists. “El?”

Her lips curled into a smile that stretched, looking unnatural for her face, and Michael stared back at me. “You feeble little girl, did you really think that’d work?”

“El please, baby! I know you’re in there!”

Her lips pursed, and her arms moved with great strength under my grip. Strength that could only belong to Michael, he pulled up, slamming her forehead into mine. I stumbled back, immediately seeing stars. The back of my head hit the ground, bouncing, and my vision blurred. Michael hovered over me, but all I could see was Eleanor.

Her fist pulled back and Michael hit me, connecting with my jaw, cheekbone, and nose . I could feel pieces of my face break under El’s fists. It seemed excessive, he could put me down with the snap of his fingers, but he didn’t. I looked up at her, through the blood in my eyes, and the swollen flesh around my eye socket. Her face was wild, maniacal, evil, there was enjoyment painted on her cheeks and mouth, but behind the eyes there was something else. He was trying to make her watch. He was trying to break her. 

“El,” I gasped. “Baby it’s okay. This isn’t you, I know it isn’t you.” Another hit, sending my head to the side, my broken cheekbone pressed against the scratchy carpet. “I forgive you. You aren’t doing this. I know it’s not you. It’s okay.”

My vision was almost completely gone, and I didn’t feel the pain anymore. I knew I was being hit, but it didn’t matter, not really. “Do you remember what you told me the night you said you loved me?”

I wasn’t sure if I was even speaking anymore. I couldn’t feel the throbbing of my wounds, the strike of her fist, or the scratch of the carpet against my skin.

  Ella 

It was horrible. There weren’t enough words in the English language to describe it. He’d kept me chained, locked away for the unknown amount of time since I’d said yes. I had no idea what he was doing with my hands, with my face, but suddenly it was like the curtains were opened, and I could see. It was what I imagine sleep paralysis to be like. I had no control over my mouth, my words, or my hands. My actions were not my own, as I watched my own fists collide with Claire’s jaw.

It felt like slow motion as saliva and blood shot from her lips.

“What’re you doing?” I asked. I’d snuck into the kitchen for late night ice cream, and I wasn’t expecting to find her in her pajamas, standing with her nose in the fridge.

“Late night ice cream.”

I grinned widely. “I had the same thought.”

She extended her hand, offering the pint. “Well get your cute ass over here then, Winchester.”

I could feel hot tears rolling down my cheeks, wait... no they weren’t. I wanted to cry but my face, my real face just smiled. Fucking move! I begged, but nothing happened. Just another hit, and another, and another.

I wanted to look away. I wanted to say I was sorry, and tell her that I love her, but instead I just had to watch. She looked barely there, hit after hit, blood running out of her mouth and nose, but she still managed to look up, right into my eyes. It was my eyes, not Michaels’. She was talking to me. “Do you remember what you told me the night you said you loved me?” I could barely hear her, I felt like I was underwater, but I did. I heard her. 

I paced back and forth on the ledge of the billboard, waiting for Claire. We’d been fighting. She was stupid and got bitten by a fucking werewolf. A werewolf! I wanted to slap her. I wanted to cry. I gripped the railing tightly, my knuckles turning white from the pressure.

“You look mad,” she commented, finally having climbed up the ladder. 

I turned toward her with tears in my eyes. “That’s a goddamn understatement.”

“I just...”

 “No,” I snapped. “You listen.” 

Claire pressed her lips together in a line, and I was honestly surprised, she wasn’t the kind to back down. 

“You can’t do that. You can’t go out and get hurt...die, get turned into some terrifying nightmare monster... no way. I won’t allow it. I’ve spent my entire life watching my Dad go, Sam, and Cas. Everyone I love leaves me and risks everything. I won’t let you do it, too.”

“Can I talk now?”

“Are you going to say something to make me more mad at you?” I asked, my nails digging into my arms as I crossed them angrily. 

“Maybe.” 

“It’s your funeral.”

“Guess I’ll stay away from the edge then,” she said, backing up against the billboard, with a cheeky smile.

I was not amused. 

“I know that you think I’m being reckless and unsafe. That’s what Jody thinks, too. I’m not, though. I’m just trying to do good, Ella. I’m trying to do what’s right. Maybe its to make up for what happened to my parents. I didn’t grow up with love like you did. So this, hunting, it’s all I have. Sometimes I feel like if it rains hard enough I’ll fade away into the dirt, like I’ll disappear.” 

I shook my head and stepped toward her, my eyes flickering up to hers. “Claire, damn it. You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what? Are you going to hit me?” She flinched, turning her face away from me. 

I captured her chin in my fingers, turning her to look at me. “I’m not going to hit you,” I said softly, looking into her eyes. “I love you, you fucking idiot. I love you so much, and the rain can’t wash that away. Nothing can.” 

I gasped, and with a force that I didn’t know I had, I pulled my hands away from her face. Suddenly, I could see Michael, holding the strings like the fucking puppet master he was. I grabbed a hold of him, and pinned him against the wall of my mind. 

I looked at Claire, my fingers shaking, knuckles bleeding, and I smiled a bit, a tear finally escaping my eye. “I remember,” I gasped.

Claire laughed a breathless, pained laugh. “El.”

“It’s me, fuck... I’m so sorry.” I put my hand under her head. “I have control... just... I don’t know how long.” The door burst open, and my head shot up. I met my fathers eyes, and he was holding some weird stick with a pronged end. “Dad?”

“Nel?” My mom asked, her eyes wide as she popped around my Dad.

“I have control, but Claire needs help... I... I need help.” I closed my eyes for a second, fighting to hold Michael back. “Take me home and get this fucking angel out of my head. 

Castiel walked forward and leaned over Claire, pressing two fingers to her head to heal her. She sat up slowly, looking as beautiful as ever. She pressed her lips to mine, and I hugged her tightly. “Eleanor.” 

I turned back to Cas. “What do I have to do?”

He held out a pair of handcuffs. “These should keep him from being able to hurt anyone.”

I nodded and held out my wrists for him. He clicked the cuffs in place, and Claire laced her fingers with mine. “Let’s get the hell out of here,” I said tiredly. I pressed a kiss to Claire’s ear and whispered. “Don’t you ever be stupid like that again.”

“Love you, too.”

—————

Chapter Seventeen, Goodbye Isn’t Always the End

Get caught up!

Tag list:

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@xjamiedennettx

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@sonnierae26

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[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Devil’s Temptation pt2

Warnings: Mob Styling warlords, Strong Language.

Masterlist

---

Chapter 2 – Return to the scene

The flight was a pain in the neck in every possible sense of the phrase. It felt like an eternity as he sat in his allocated seat and listened to the other people around him. How is it so difficult to just breath silently? To top it off a child a few seats in front of him was screeching. It wasn’t like he particularly disliked children but after a long flight and two delayed connecting flights he had had enough of trying to maintain his mask in the world around him.

The recirculated air in the cabin felt dry and grating in his chest so he called for a flight attendant and got a drink. He cracked open the seal on the cap of the alcoholic miniature and tipped it straight into his glass. Not long to go now.

As he waited at baggage claim he tried to stretch his back a little. He was used to being in confined quarters and having to remain in cramped positions but it didn’t mean that his body didn’t get sore when it was tired. His bag made its way out and around on the conveyor belt and as he stretched out his hand to retrieve it, he found another hand grabbing it before he could.

“Lemme get that for you.” Mitsuhide smiled at the familiar voice before turning to greet his old friend.

“Don’t you have some potatoes to peel?” He joked as he looked at the man next to him. Dark wash jeans, pale blue button-down shirt with its cuffs rolled up and a dark grey waistcoat. No matter where Masa was, he always looked like he had just rocked up from an office party.

“I’ve told you before I do a lot more than just peel potatoes.” Masa tried to act like he was offended but failed in his usual spectacular style. Grinning from ear to ear. “How you been man? You look better than the last time I saw you.”

“I wasn’t aware I had Hideyoshi collecting me.” Mitsuhide enjoyed seeing Masa visibly shudder at the idea that he was acting like the family’s resident meddler.

“Don’t even joke about that.” Masa muttered as he closed his eye before continuing. “You would have had him come to collect you but he’s snowed under at HQ.”

“It would seem I returned at just the right time then.” Mitsuhide stated as he shrugged, and the two men began to walk. Things got that bad?

“I’ll let you decide that for yourself when you see what a mess this place is in now.” Masa laughed but although he sounded like he was happy there was a clear undercurrent in his voice that spoke volumes to the contrary.

“I can barely contain my excitement.” This should be good. Mitsuhide glanced around at city outside the windows of the airport as they made their way to the exit. It had been a while since he had last been here but the familiarity of everything washed over him like a second skin. I’m back.

---

Azuchi Corp. HQ hadn’t changed at all in the three years he had been away, the building still held a powerful sway over the atmosphere of the business district. Mitsuhide watched as Masa swung his car with careless abandonment around the side of the building into the underground parking lot with a smirk. Somethings never change. They had just stepped out the vehicle when they were confronted by a bright cheerful voice.

“Mitsuhide! It’s so nice to see you again.” Mitsunari bounded up to the car with all the excitement of a puppy pleased to see its Master return.

“I don’t see what’s so nice about it. If he is back then I’m going to end up with a lot more work to do and I’m already busy.” The salty undertones of Ieyasu balanced out the other man perfectly causing Mitsuhide to snigger.

“Always a pleasure to see that my work is so avidly appreciated and followed with such an abundant enthusiasm.” Mitsuhide said with a teasing tone and relished the effect it had on the fluffy haired blonde, as Ieyasu visibly bristled as a response to it. I missed this.

“I don’t follow your work at all! I just get called in to help fix the mess.” Ieyasu scowled.

“Are you sure it is me you are referring to and not our perceptionally challenged friend here?” Mitsuhide indicated Masa who was taking the bag out of the back seat.

“Hey man, I can see just fine.” The one-eyed man said before closing the door and muttering “Fuck it!” under his breath.

“Is that why you just shut his bag strap in the car door?” Ieyasu asked to perfect comedic effect.

“Shuddup.” Masa’s response had them all laughing as they made their way to the offices. Now to see how busy things are.

---

It was true he had rarely seen the building in such a flurry of activity. Every member of staff seemed to be busy rapping away on keyboards or answering phones. What is going on? Mitsuhide felt a gnawing sensation inside him. It was all too familiar and reminded him of the incident before. For a man who prided himself on information to do his job, it was beyond frustrating to have it held from him. To see it dangled as some form of torment just outside of his grasp. That once slumbering demon inside began to stir as it sensed the familiar buzz of chaos. Patience. All in due time.  

The group of four men made their way to the main meeting room. Mitsuhide registered the looks and the whispers. It wasn’t unexpected after all they were all known in the building as the inner circle. Each one of them represented the heads of the different main sectors of Azuchi Corp. It’s natural for us to cause a stir, right?

“Hey, it's Masamune Date. God, he looks better than on TV.”

“I know and That’s the Pharmaceutical prodigy, right?”

“And Mr Mitsunari from accounting. Jeez, it’s like we all just got blessed for all this hard work just seeing them.”

“Hey who’s the hottie with the white hair that’s with them?”

Hottie with the white hair? Since when did I ever get referred to as that? I’ve been away too long. The office chatter disappeared as they entered the main meeting room and closed the door. It hadn’t changed. That old adage “if it ain’t broke don’t fix it” sprang to mind. The open white room didn’t seem to have changed except for the fresh flowers on display. It felt almost like a time warp to be entering the room at all after so long away. He took his place at the black glass table along with the others and waited for Hideyoshi to appear. I wonder if he will try to imitate Nobu and his grandiose entrances.

“How long do you think he’s going to keep us waiting?” Masa asked as he began taping his hands on the table.

“You got somewhere you need to be?” Mitsunari tilted his head in curiosity.

“No, not really but I do have someone I said I was going to meet up with.” Masa stilled his hands and let out a small sigh.

“You’re disgusting. We’re in the middle of a crisis and it’s the middle of the day.” Ieyasu sounded repulsed as he gave a small glare to the man next to him.

“It’s not like that dude, they are a producer. Besides if I’m disgusting what does that make you as you’re the one with the dirty mind?” Masa threw back the insinuation easily.

“Sick of your messed up social life.” Ieyasu’s deadpan retort nearly caused Mitsuhide to laugh out loud. He had missed these little interactions.

“Well har-de-har-har.” Masa faked being upset and put Ieyasu into a headlock to muss up his blonde hair.

“It’s so nice to have everyone together again.” Mitsunari with his wide-eyed innocence spoke over the activities as if nothing at all was happening. Ieyasu wriggled free of Masa’s arm just as Hideyoshi entered carrying some papers. The sandy-haired arrival paused briefly in his movements as his warm brown eyes fell on Mitsuhide and seemed to chill instantly. Oh, looks like Mum remembers me.

“Gentlemen. And I use that term loosely.” Hideyoshi pointedly looked at Mitsuhide as he made his greeting.

“Hi Mum, miss me?” Mitsuhide used his best butter wouldn’t melt face as he looked at the right hand with a sense of great enjoyment.

“Don’t start with that Mum crap. Its been bliss without you running around creating things for me to stress about.” Hideyoshi, as usual, hid none of his frustration when it came to Mitsuhide. It’s funny but this almost makes it feel like the best greeting I’ve ever received from the man.

“You do realise Hideyoshi dear that if I wasn’t around doing what I did, you would have had a lot more to stress over than merely wondering where I was?” Mitsuhide’s taunting grin never left his face. His yellow eyes sparkled as he watched the torment playing on the other man’s face. How I missed this game.

“I still don’t know why you are here at all.” Hideyoshi practically growled. He was tired, angry and frustrated. None of that was really aimed at Mitsuhide but it was easy to take those overflowing emotions out on a familiar target.

“He is here because I summoned him.” Every head in the room turned to see Nobu enter.

Hideyoshi bit his bottom lip as he took his seat obediently waiting for Nobunaga to do the same. The black-haired politician looked exactly the same as he did before taking up a position of governance. Something about that made Mitsuhide resentful.

---

A lot had happened before he left. Mitsuhide knew that it was not so much a job as an ordered exile. The conversation floated to the forefront of his mind as if it was only yesterday that it had happened.

“I’m appointing you with the task of spearheading my public relations efforts abroad.” Nobunaga announced as he wandered into Mitsuhide’s office one day.

“PR is more Hideyoshi thing and you know it.” Mitsuhide looked up from some files that had been left on his desk by Mitsunari. “What is this really about?”

“You know what it’s about Mitsuhide. You have become obsessive. You must have noticed it yourself? I was hoping it would pass in time but…” Nobunaga didn’t bother with sitting. He had closed the door but remained standing by it observing Mitsuhide as if he was a bug under a glass. God, how he hated that feeling.

“So, it came down to this? You dub me a weak link and you wish to cast me aside?” Mitsuhide cut Nobunaga off his usually well hidden and masked emotions bubbling freely to the surface. It was true he knew he was past his limit. But he still felt it, the guilt the need to atone for what happened. He still wanted to be there for her even if it could only ever be from the shadows. His impossibly bright light in the darkness.

“I never called you a weak anything Mitsuhide. And this” Nobunaga waved his hand in Mitsuhide’s direction. “is precisely what I am talking about. You are not yourself right now, you need a change of scenery.”

“And what about her?” If it was possible to look like a viper about to strike Mitsuhide was that snake. His words were sharp his tongue held that poisonous quality and his whole body looked like it was coiled ready to attack.

“What of her? She believes you to be dead. She is living a normal life. There is nothing more to be done. You however have work to do. I have already booked your tickets and made arrangements, pack a bag and get yourself to the airport for six.”

Nobunaga had remained annoyingly calm and collected on that day. He showed no concern for anything, hell Mitsuhide knew he would have felt the same level of raw emotion even if Nobu had shown it. But even knowing that he still couldn’t stomach the bile he felt rising in him even now thinking about that lack of remorse.

They both used people as tools, it would be hypercritical to say otherwise but they were usually their people, not innocent bystanders. He had always wondered what line it was he would cross that would be the one that was finally too much for him to feel something over. Apparently, that was it.

---

Nobunaga looked calmly over his trusted few as he pulled something from his inner jacket and placed it upside down on the table in front of him. His eyes slid to Mitsuhide’s before he began to speak.

“Nice of you to join us.” Nobunaga smiled.

“Did I have a choice?” Mitsuhide quipped.

“Mm, I wonder. I do have one question for you before we continue.” Nobunaga’s gaze had not lost any of its intensity over the years, it was still able to pierce through you.

“I can hardly contain my excitement.” Mitsuhide’s retort hid none of its intended sarcastic tone. It was rare to see him do anything that could get him directly in trouble verbally but he was not in the mood to play games after that flight and everything else he had running through his head like a bad movie.

“MITSUHIDE!” Hideyoshi’s voice boomed. Surprise, surprise Mum is angry.

“Hideyoshi it would appear we have an issue with déjà vu.” Nobunaga announced levelly causing Hideyoshi to clamp his mouth shut once more. “So, Mitsuhide. Do we have a problem?” Nobunaga continued seemingly happy that there would be no more interruptions.

“Problem Sir? I have no idea to what you would be referring.” Mitsuhide put on a show of confusion that failed to convince anyone but that fact wasn’t pushed further.

“As long as that is the case.” Nobunaga knew there was probably an issue outstanding, he had planned for that. But what he was satisfied for the time being that they could at least still work together. “Gentlemen we find ourselves in crisis. You have all become aware that there is a rather persistent pest infesting our city? Well, it would also seem he has a talent for avoiding fate as well.” Nobunaga flipped the paper revealing the note “Are you ready to play a game?”

“What is that?” Mitsunari asked.

“That is a note that was pinned to the body of someone I hired. It was delivered to me along with him to my hotel room.” Nobunaga answered in a rather bored tone. Pinned to the body? How audacious.

“What? Sir, you didn’t tell me that.” Hideyoshi sounded panicked.

“I am under no obligation to tell you everything that happens Hideyoshi. I do however wish to know how we plan to move forward from here.” Nobunaga announced as he looked around the table. If this was all linked to everything happening outside right now then it was clear that this was not just a passing storm. Mitsuhide did not notice the smile that crept over his face as he thought of all the strings of the web around them.

“I could dig through the public records and see what information is available on the new company.” Mitsunari suggested helpfully. If anyone was able to find any hidden details in the papers he could.

“I fail to see how I am to be of any help with this, it’s not like I can raise the dead.” Ieyasu declared as he picked up the paper to look at it closer, but placed it back again nearly as quickly.

“I will continue to field the phones and press.” Hideyoshi stated.

“I have to say I admire the guy's style.” Masa picked up the paper now turning it over in his hands, a wicked playful grin on his face.

“I agree it has a certain level of flamboyance to it.” Mitsuhide nodded. The paper was uninteresting he instinctively knew if this person was worth anything at all it would be standard copy paper, printed text with standard ink and no fingerprints.

“I did not ask you to start a fan club.” Nobunaga showed for the first time a hint of the frustration he was feeling. “Mitsuhide I trust I do not have to ask you what you will be doing?”

Well now isn’t this interesting? Mr Politician showing some cracks. “As always Sir I am but your humble servant.” Mitsuhide replied. He had thought about telling Nobunaga to go and whistle for his dinner but the truth was this had piqued his interest and now he wanted some answers himself.

“Could you say that without sounding like a pompous ass?” Hideyoshi glared at Mitsuhide.

“And deprive myself of hearing your dulcet tones? I wouldn’t dream of it.” With his brightest tone of voice, Mitsuhide flashed his best and most annoying grin at the other man.

“Well then Gentlemen, I shall leave things as they stand in your capable hands and I will be expecting reports as soon as possible.” Nobunaga grabbed the files that Hideyoshi had brought in and disappeared quickly out of the room like a ghost.

---

Mitsuhide carried his bag with him as he made his way towards his old apartment in the building. Even after all this time he could have walked these halls in the dark and blindfolded. He put his hand in his pocket looking for his keys when a voice called out to him.

“Mitsuhide.”

---

[zane-rapha-the-mun]

The Transformation: Paradigm shift. Ch-2 by Zane Rapha

Chapter 2: Lions in the woods.

    I awoke to pitch blackness with bugs crawling on me, as I moved to shake them off I soon noticed I was under something, it was just as covered in bugs as me, but also moss? I then gave one of the walls a kick only to feel a shooting pain. Solid with no give. But then I kicked the roof and found that it lifted. I kicked again at an angle, and the mostly hollowed out log moved out of the way enough that I could slide out the narrow space. 'It seems I have been placed in a grave of some sort, but why?'      I looked at my new environment and found myself in a densely wooded forest area, thick with paper birch trees and a ground that was mossy and wet. The last embers of sunlight were fading quickly behind the trees, and it was getting difficult to see. It took me a few moments to clear my mind of the groggy disorientation I was feeling.     'I still don't understand how I'm here? How did I arrive here, and why did I faint in the first place.'     Sudden images of the tall man's face turning warped before everything turned to black, and some of being dragged.     'Oh yeah, him. I need to tread carefully. I never know when he will return.'

    A distant sound of lions and bears roaring at the same time echoed through the forest.     'Well, that is my cue to leave.' I thought as I moved swiftly away from the sound, as quietly as I could, but soon the sound of running followed me. I started running as fast as I could. It became apparent I should not have moved to begin with. Something struck me down before running off again.     I stood as fast as I could and started running again. It moved behind me faster than before, striking me from behind so hard I slammed into a tree 8ft away from me. The crack of bones echoed through the darkened forest, as a horrible pain filled my being.  

    It moved closer, sniffing the air. It was a solid black being with bright orange eyes that looked part human, part something else. It moved on all fours and had a snout and mane like a lion, but a tail like a lizard with a fork end.     As soon as it bit into my neck, a large pale figure jumped onto it attacking it. It snarled before shouting.     "Don't kill humans!"     I found myself bleeding out on the ground helpless and feeling as tho I was unable to do anything. I strained my blurring eyes to focus on a sign in the distance as I started to try and crawl away what little I could. I hoped someone could save me, but I don't think there is much hope for me.

 Suddenly, the pale man startled me by silently standing there over me. I laid there begging for mercy with my eyes as my voice had given up on me.     With one hand he slowly removed his hat and bowed before me, as tho he was greeting me. I saw that where his right eye should be it was smooth skin as though, there wasn't even a socket.     He said, "Greetings, I'm glad that you're awake now. I hope everything was to your liking this evening sir. I did try to help you as much as I could, but I sadly don't understand your kind anymore."  

    Something shot through me and slowly lifted my body off the ground. The agonizing pain forced a shriek from me. I was suspended in the air, blood pooling on the ground below me. My body became limp and cold, and I knew death would be coming soon.     "I'm sorry that hurt you more then I intended it to, but your kind usually feels nothing from this if I recall. Wait, or do they? Hmm... I forget." He said, his voice seeming to get further away with every word.

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

    "Morningstar, can you get my coffee?" Asked Maxwell.     "Hey Morningstar, can you get me some coffee too?" Agent Sian asked.     "Sure, no problem," I said.     While walking to the coffee machine, I noticed the Director leaving and I waved to acknowledge him as he walked out, then returned to Ace Director Maxwell Horren with his fresh cup of joe.    "Here is your coffee, sir," I said.   "Thank you, Morningstar. You keep this up and I may have to give you a rase." Maxwell said.

   I returned to my computer passing Sian and handing her a mug with black coffee before continuing to work.    After a short time, I noticed a quiet buzzing sound in my ears, which turned to static, like an old television. Soon, the sound got louder and increased in intensity. I began to feel nauseated and dizzy.  I ran to the bathroom with a gut-wrenching feeling overcoming me.     Then, a terrible headache began in my temples, and my breathing became weak and shallow, making me feel lightheaded and starved for air. I hovered over a toilet, with water in my mouth as nausea continued to overcome me. It wasn't long before I knew I would faint if I did not lie down. I closed my eyes and sat back against the stall door and rubbed my temples with my fingertips.

    The sound of gunfire filled the air and a sense of dread fell over me.     "Oh, Shit!" 'What the hell just happened?' I thought to myself as tried to stand. The pain in my head and stomach twisted around from the sudden movement. I walked to the doorway of the restrooms and looked around on the office. An eerie quiet filled the air.     I stumble out from the restroom searching for a wall to grasp to when I fell past a cubical and see red chunks and blood everywhere.     'Maxwell's head is missing.' I thought in shock. My body turned and my eyes darted to Sian's cubical. 'She's gone. Maybe she ran to get help.' I thought to myself as my eyes rested on the sealing. A shadow moved against the light, but by then I started to feel the fade as I fell asleep.

    I awoke to the sound of a voice in the distance, my eyes remaining shut against my will.    "Hey Kate, I'm so sorry about our plans, something came up, and I'm going to be busy all day tomorrow, but I'm coming over to visit you tomorrow night instead, bye."    "HEY! ARE YOU OKAY? ...Buzz."     It then cut out and with it the sound of something being set down.     "Don't worry, this is only a formality. Aedi on evah uoy. Oreh a era uoy kniht uoy ekil gnitca era uoy ereh, Tey. elttil os wonk dna hcum os kniht uoy nac. Woh namuh citehtap a ylurt era uoy." As they spoke it became hard to think, the words became another language to me.

                                           ~~~~~~~~

    My eyes slammed open and the thoughts that it was just a dream came flooding in. I sat up and placed on my slippers before walking over to a stained wooden desk. I reached into fountain pen drawer to retrieve the secret key stashed inside a hollow fountain pen. Then I reached behind the retractable keyboard tray, to locate the key latch for the locked file box. I opened the file box without looking because experience with my daily writing exercise made me familiar with the lock by touch alone. I retrieved my book and began to review my last few entries.

    |                           -12/3/2021-     | It was strange last night. I swore I saw something for a second. I lied when I called it in. Now it's nagging at me. I should have given them more. Why ask me to go home in the middle of a suspect report? That is not protocol.     |                           -12/4/2021-     | I didn't expect Max to blow off my concerns like that. He told me that I was working too hard and that it was making me paranoid. I pleaded with him as someone I consider my brother, he only gave me a worried look.     |                          -12/5/2021-     | Today I asked if I could return to the crime scene with a team. I got turned down by the Director who said, don't waste our resources on paranoid delusions. The nerve of him. Fucking red tape.     | Update: I get it now, I went back to the scene and it was cleaned. The walls were painted over. The ground had cement freshly laid in the ally. But they missed something. A kid was playing outside and I asked him if he saw anything strange and he said his older sister did when she was sneaking out last night. I spoke with her and she described a truck unmarked with men walking around in all camo outfits with black vests, the vests had a print in the top right of it. S.O.I.R.

    'Right. I need to research S.O.I.R. I'm sure the will come up in F.B.I. database.' I thought to myself as I put away my journal. The feeling of eyes on me grew as I put it back in the lockbox, locked it and stashed the key back in my fountain pen.     "That is one way to hide something you don't want people to see." Said a female voice from behind me.     I tried to turn to face the woman but as I moved a loud ringing filled my ears. "You don't have to see me, to know that I'm there. You are one of us... after all. Don't worry. It will pass. This feeling of pain." She said from behind.     I got out my journal. I found the pages 12/3/2021 through to 12/5/2021 and tore the pages out. The feeling of pain with each page being torn as though with the pages a piece of my mind went with it. The days must disappear. I cannot keep a record of this. I know in my mind that this is not my thoughts but I must burn the pages.      After burning my pages I returned my journal back to its proper place, hidden in my desk. I feel very tired, and lie down on my bed and fall asleep. As my eyes shut I think to myself 'How are you doing this to me?!'

                                                   ~ ~ ~ ~                                               December- 2001

    I open my eyes to a cold and immaculate all-white padded room. The fluorescent light above me flickers every now and again. I stair up at it with an empty feeling as I lay strapped to the table. Cordes run from arms and chest to a monitor and IV drip across the room. The room was void of sound.      'This was normal. I was always there. Never a time where I left the room.'     A buzz rang at the door and it opened. One by one, men in all-white came and loomed over me. One of them stuck me with needles as the others reviewed the monitor and wrote it all down. One of them entered with a brush a washcloth; he bushed my hair and cleaned me before wrapping my feet and hands so I couldn't scratch anyone. Then he left, and soon after their leader came in. He shined a light in my eyes before looking over at the monitor; his face twisted into worry.     "Take him off everything, we need to keep him from hurting himself." He commanded the other men in all-white.    "Yes sir." said one of them as he turned the machines off. They pulled out the IV and removed the tags for the monitor.     "Good now, where is it?" The lead scientist inquired, to which the other scientists moved to the side allowing a nurse to enter with a large needle.     "The other compounds have already been injected, this is all that is left, sir." She stated as she moved to inject.     I cried out, "Mister, please stop. I implore you!"     "I'm afraid not, see, you are our most prized mystery. You must realize this by now, considering you are such an intelligent boy. Now please be calm Zane; this will end shortly." The lead scientist stated.     Suddenly a sharp pain felled my being as the needle entered and the contents were plunged into my body. I started crying, tears ran down my face as they just watched with pen and clipboard in hand. My chest pounded harder and harder with each beat.     'Please let me die this time? Will it end?' I thought as with every breath grew harder to draw. Each of the men in white wrote on their borders as the pain continued to grow inside me. They finally looked up and walked out one by one. As the lead scientist looked back at me and shook his head, a look of sadness formed.      "You still hold on to this body even though it only damages you. I honestly do not understand you." He then turned and left the room. At the doorway he stopped to talk with a woman; what he was saying was faint. She then entered the room and closed the door behind her. She was short and don the same all-white outfit with lab-coat, but she also had on a black baseball cap that was placed on backwards.     She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out a pair of garden cutters. "Don't worry, I will help you, child. You don't deserve any of this..." She said before she started cutting on the straps. "Your name is Zane, right? It's going to be okay now. No more tests. I promise you."      My pain remained as she cut me free. I could not move very well thanks to the years of immobility. She then unraveled the wraps from around my hands and feet before lifting me up to carry me out of the room. We entered into a long hallway that was all-white with a blue line running across the floor, and doors marked with numbers in red.     "My name is Cora by the way... You are so small and light. They don't feed you enough, you poor thing. Your family would be sad if they could see you now." She said as she walked to the end of the hall and turned to meet the stairs before going down them.     "I don't have a family," I said quietly. She looked at me for a minute before smiling.     "You should have some... If not, I'll be your family, and I'll make sure you are never unhappy again." She said, giving me a smile.

     After a bit more walking we were outside and there she had a large white stretched canvas bag. She then hugged me with one arm while using a free hand to open the bag before slipping me inside it. She then had me hold papers and folders that were originally inside of it, to conceal myself.    As she walked she assured me that they would think nothing of it before she reached the checkpoint.     "Good evening Doctor Morningstar, I see you're taking your work home with you again?" Said a man's voice.     "Yes, just a few forms and spare parts from the Robotics lab." She replied.     "I see, well I'm sure you know the protocol by now." He returned.     "Yes, the release forms." She said before placing the bag on the floor gently and writing on a piece of paper. The guard gave her a nod and she lifted the back and walked away from the checkpoint.     "See not so bad now, was that?" She asked before placing the bag in the passenger seat of the car. I crawled up to poke my head out of the bag to be greeted with a very nice car. It had sets lined with black leather. It was pristine as though it had just been driven off the car lot. "I see you like my car. It's fairly new so it still has the new car smell that people love." She smiled at me before turning the car over.       "Thank you!" I mumbled with a slight smile.     "Don't thank me, please. You do not deserve any of what they did to you. I'm just sorry it took me a year to find out about you. If I knew, I would have helped you a lot sooner. Screw the job! Those Fucks should know better than to use a kid for experiments, I mean Fucking ay list fuck wads. Excuse my tongue. Don't repeat that, please." She said giving me a saddened expression.     "Things are not always what they seem," I replied. She gave me a glance before returning her eyes to the road. A saddened look twisted on her face into anger as she thought of what they were doing to him for years.

                                                ~~~~                                          -2 year later-     Children laughing and playing at a park as cars roar past sending gusts of wind to lash out at the pedestrians walking on the sidewalks. A petite woman with short black hair carries a bag of parts she just stripped from an old junk cars and parts lot. She is pleased with herself for the amazing stuff she managed to get her hands on. She made her way slowly to the new house she and her son had just moved into.     Her son is a very smart young boy who won a Guinness World record for highest IQ and is considered a Child prodigy.     He was walking home from school when he saw her returning from her venture. She smiled when she saw him and quickened her pace she placed her things on the ground and opened her arms to welcome him home. He ran to her with a smile on his face as well.

    'No don't make me live through that night again. Anything else but that.' I thought to myself.

    "Soooo... how was your first day at school today? Teach any of the Teachers anything new?" She said with a smirk as they sat at a table eating dinner.     "You know it would be rude of me to try and educate the educators. I want them to like me." He said before looking down at the table. "I have no friends still."     "Don't worry about it honey, just give it some time. You'll make friends I'm sure of it. People just have to get to know you." She said with a smile before sitting up and kissing him on the top of his head. She then grabbed both their plates and took them over to the sink and started washing them. "Look there is a park not far from here, I passed it on my way home. You should play like the other kids, you'll find lots of friends that way. If you want I can take you tonight before bed so you can get used to the idea." She turned and gave me a smile as she put away the dishes.     "I would like that." He smiled.     "Very well then, let's not waste daylight!" She said walking over to a closet and pulling out her coat and his. He jumped down and sprinted for the door grabbing his coat out of her hand as he passed her.     "Come on mom!" He said before opening the door.     "Okay Zane, calm down. Wow! I don't think I have ever seen you this excited." She said with a smile on her face as she followed after him.     She soon reached the park seconds behind him as they both ran. He ran to the swings and sat on them before kicking his legs.     "Mother, can you push me please?"     "Of course." She said walking over to behind him and giving him a kiss before pushing him. His smile grew as she pushed him higher and higher.

    'No stop it!'

    "Did you have fun?" She asked as they walked back.     "Yes, I did! Lots of fun and you know why?" He asked.     "Why?" She asked him with a pleased look.     "Because you are the best mom in the world." He answered with a grin.      "Oh you are silly, you don't know that! There are millions of moms and some do a lot more for there kids and have a lot more on their plate. I'm just your mom so I seem special to you." She replied before giving him a smile. "But, it is sweet that you think so much of me."     "I love you." He said quietly before he heard the sound of someone falling to the ground.    "Mom?" He turned to see her laying on the ground unmoving.    "Mom... Get up please." He said quietly, tears running down his face. He looked her over with no clear sign of injury.     "Are you awake?" He asked before placing his hand on her neck. He felt no sign of movement, not a breath nor heartbeat. He felt a sharp pain but he was not hurt. His breath grew unsteady and tears ran down his face. He heard a woman in the distance scream and yell call 911. He laid down next to her, knowing she would be taken away soon. He hoped a doctor could save her but something told him she was gone.

                                   -The next morning.-     "Can't believe it. She was gone just like that?" A woman said to a man who sat beside her.     "Yeah, she apparently has been having blackouts every now and then at work. That's a big sign for tumors." The man that was with the woman said.     "I just can't believe she had a child and never told me." She said to him.     "You shouldn't be surprised. You did tell her you never wanted to see her again, 8 years ago." The man said in a mad tone.     "I didn't mean it. She's my sister, I loved her to death. I wish she had told me. I never would have retired it I knew. Now I can't keep him. I simply can't afford it right now." She replied.     "Milly, yes you can if you stop buying so many new shoes and going to other countries for weekend trips. That stuff will cost you more than that kid ever will. Plus he will get a check since she was retired, she died and he is still a child. Think about it. I could raise him for you. You wouldn't lose any of your freedom." He stated, trying to reason with her.     "Excuse me? No, I'm not taking him on just so you can yell at me when he does something stupid. And trust me, he will! He is 5 and he will be 6 in five days. His mother just died in front of him. He has no friends, so no peers to rely on for comfort. You think he won't be messed up from all this and have a punkass rebellious phase where he commits crimes?" She stated loudly. The cops looked over at her from down the hall.     "Say that louder could you. I don't think the kid heard you yet." The man replied with sarcasm.

[give-her-hell-from-us-pevees]

He Could Be the One Reggie imagine

hehe I did it y’all!!! I’ve been thinking about this all day and I just had to write out!! i change the lyrics “hes a cutie” to guitar cutie because when I was little i was convinced it was guitar cutie

Based of the amazing Hannah Montana song, He Could Be the One. The band finds a song in your book about a “guitar cutie” and the boys tease Luke. However, the band quickly forgets that there are three boys that play guitar in the band.

You had a massive crush on Reggie. There was no denying it. At first you thought there was no way you could a thing for your bandmate. But the more you were with him, the more you found yourself falling for him. And it wasn’t just band practice, you guys were always together.  Sometimes you just needed to get away from the boys for a while, but Reggie was always the first to make sure you were okay. He would find you in your little spot on the beach, or in your favorite music store looking at the new records and tapes. He would just plop down next to you and wrap his arm around you and talk about your day.

Reggie was so sweet. He was always your number one hype man during shows or practice. When you felt like you weren’t good enough for the band he was always there to show you your worth. “Y/N we wouldn’t be the same with out you! Your songs bring so much to band. They can connect to the fans and I don’t know how you do it!”

Not to mention, that face. That smile. That adorable, goofy, toothy smile he has had ever since he was little boy. Whenever he flashes his smile at you, you feel heart race and you pray nobody else can hear it. He was just so damn cute all the time. How is it possible? When on stage, you would look and see him dancing and jumping while playing his bass and you wished you could dance with him.

But you were scared to tell him. You didn’t want to cause any drama in the band.

But after awhile you realize how much you loved this boy, you had to let it somehow. So, you did what you did best; wrote a song.

You had a notebook, similar to Luke's that was filled with songs. Some completed, other pages just had random versus. You were sat in a bean bag chair in the garage writing before band practice. You had your notebook propped up against your knees as you wrote down the song. Once you started, you couldn’t stop writing. Everything you had felt the past few months were being let out onto this piece of paper. The words flowed effortlessly on the page.

“Hey baby girl”

You jumped and fell of your chair. Your notebook slammed shut.

“Fuck Reggie!” your heart was pounding. You couldn’t tell if it was because Reggie scared you, or because he almost saw the song you were writing about him, or because he called you baby girl. Although “baby girl” was a daily thing with him.

“Woah okay. Sorry Y/N’ he gave his hand out for you take to help you get up when he noticed your book in your hand.

“New song?” he asked.

“Something. It’s not that good though.” You tell him placing the book in your bag before he could see it.

“Y/N, how many times do we have to talk about this? You’re best song writer we have! You can do no wrong”

Face started to heat up as you turned around to  look a Reggie. You tried to play it cool and roll your eyes. “Don’t let Luke hear you say that. But I do think Home Is where my horse deserves some credit”  you said jokingly.

“See, this is why I love you. You my girl, have great taste” he said while point at you with that boyish smile.

Love?

“my girl”

My god how does he get your heart to act like this?

“Taste is anything that isn’t Bobby’s songs” You tell him trying to busy yourself at your keyboard.

“That’s very true”

As he said that the rest of the band started to walk into the garage. Luke looked like he was about to explode with excitement. “Everything okay Luke?” Reggie asked.

“We got a gig tomorrow night on the Strip!”

Your eyes widened and mouth dropped. “The strip? Seriously? Where at?” you asked joining the rest of the group.

“Some new club is opening tomorrow night and they asked if we could perform!” Alex said.

“Oh my god! Think of the amount of people that are going to be there! This is great guys!” you said.

Luke said something about getting practiced but you told the boys that would be right back. You were going into the house for some water.

“New club, I’m thinking a new song” Luke said.

“Do you have anything written?” Alex asked

“I don't” Luke said

“ I have some-”

“Y/N was writing a song when I walked in” Reggie said interrupting Bobby.

“Great! lets look!” Luke said. He grabbed your bookbag off the ground and dumped the contents onto the small coffee table in front of the couch. Your school work, pens, random pieces of trash, and your notebook came falling out of your bag. Luke grabbed the notebook and flipped to the last written page.

Luke started to read the beginning of the song“Smooth talkin, so Rockin. He’s got everything a girls wanting . . .”

“ A lovesong? really? That’s not very us. Or Y/N” Bobby said.

“I don’t think we are meant to see this” Alex said.

“come on, Keep going Luke” Reggie said eagerly.

Luke took a deep breathe and started reading the song out loud again, “He's a cutie, he plays it groovy. and I can't keep myself from doin' somethin' stupid”

“Guys I really don’t think-”

“Woah! Wait a minute guys listen to this” Luke said, “He's lightnin', sparks are flyin' Everywhere I go he's always on my mind and I'm goin' crazy about him lately And I can't help myself from how my heart is racin' Think I'm really diggin' on his vibe He really blows me away”

“Yea Guys were definitely aren't ment to to see this” Alex said

As Alex spoke Luke eyes went wide and he dropped the notebook on the table.

“What? what is it” Reggie asked. He walked over to where luke was standing and he pointed to the words, “guitar cutie”

“Guit-guitar cutie?” Reggie said in shock.

Alex popped up from his chair and went over to reggie, “Guitar cutie?”

Luke looked up at the boys and point to his guitar that was strapped around his neck and then to himself, “Guitar cutie”

“Y/N likes Luke?” Bobby said

“I guess! who else would be guitar cutie?” Luke said

“um I don’t know. me?” Bobby said.

“No she has taste” Reggie said without stuttering.

“Who has taste?”

The boys all screamed when they saw you walk in with a water for each of them.

“What are you looking at?” you ask them, your voice filled concern. Alex tried to hide the book but Luke took it out of his hands. “Guitar cutie?” he asked you.

oh

Oh no

“Wh-what?” you asked

“Your song that you wrote. 'Guitar Cutie's, is that- is that me?" Luke asked you

"You had no right to go through my stuff Luke!" You said. Your voice was mix of rage and embarrassment. "I don't just flip through your song book without asking!

"I'm sorry Y/N we were just trying to find a new sing for the gig tomorrow. It was the first one we saw. We're so sorry"

You were on the verge of tears,"You all saw the song?" You didn't want to right.

"We all saw the song Y/N" Reggie said with his hand on the back of his neck.

"But Y/N" Alex said. "If you need to talk to us, or well um . . . Luke we can go"

"It's not about him!" you said

"I knew it!" Bobby said with confidence

You walled away from Luke with daggers in your eyes and stormed over to Bobby. "And don't flatter yourself Bobby because it sure as hell not about you either" You yelled at him. "You don't know shit Bobby!" Your turned to look at the rest of them "Clearly none of you do"

You turned around and ripped your book out of Luke's hands. You held the book to your chest as tears started to roll down your cheek as you walked out of the garage.

"Oh we really messed up this time" Alex said.

"Wait" Bobby said. "If it's not about Me-"

"Or me" Like said.

"It's clearly not me" Alex said.

"Then who is it?" Bobby asked.

All of the boys were looking around the room at each other. And then, a light bulb went off and Reggie's eye went wide with the realization.

"I play bass" he simply said.

It finally dawned on the boys. "You're guitar cute!?" They shouted together.

Reggie grabbed his leather jacket off the couch along with your bag. "I gotta go" Reggie said running out the door.

It took a little while, but Reggie finally found you on the beach near your house. He saw you sitting close to the water with your feet in the ocean. You had your head down in your hands. As sad as you were Reggie couldn't help but be filled with happiness and pride at the thought that you like him back.

Reggie always liked you. Whenever his parents were fighting, he would go straight to your house. You never interrogated him like the rest of the boys did. If he wanted to talk, you'd talk with him about what happened. If not, you'd find a way to take his mind off it.

He swears when ever he hears you sing, it's like listening to angels. You have the most beautiful voice he has ever heard. He loves just sitting with you at piano as you sing and mumble to yourself as you figure out how your new song should sound like.

Not to mention, you are the most beautiful girl he knows. Inside and out. You were smart, creative, goofy and kind. But he couldn't help but want to stare into your Y/E/C eyes. He also love your hands. He loved watching how soft and delicately they moved over your piano at home or your keyboard you used in the band.

And the fact that you, his absolutely dream girl, wrote a song about him? My god he has to hear it to music.

He took his jacket off and carried it in his hand as he walked down to you on the beach. Without saying a word, he draped his jacket around your shoulders and sat down next you.

"Reggie now is not a good time" you said in your hands.

"We don't have to talk about what happened" Reggie said. "But if you are gonna call me Guitar cutie, I reserve the right to call you Piano Cutie"

You took your head away from your hands and Reggie saw how red and puffy your eyes were from crying "Reginald if you came all the way down here to make fun of me I swear to god-"

"No!" Reggie exclaimed. "I just meant, ya know. After I ask you out, if your little nickname for me is going to be guitar cutie, I deserve to call you Piano Cutie. Or at least call me Bass Cutie. Cause honestly, the whole Guitar cutie thing confused the boys a lot"

"Wait. What?" You asked.

And in typical reggie fashion, he wrapped his arms around you. But his other hand went to cup your cheek and he leaned down and kissed you. Your body quickly tensed up after being able to process what was happening, your hand immediately went into Reggie's hair and pulled him closer. Your noses were pushed together by how close the two of you were. Your hand moved from his hair to his cheek as you pulled away to get some air. As you pulled away Reggie was looking at you with the most loving look in his eyes.

"Got anymore songs about me, Piano Cutie?"

[booksong]

Fic Writers Week 2017 Day 2

The Muses: Writer Prompt

Home Screen: An Add New Contact Companion

In December of 2014, I wrote Add New Contact as a gift for a Haikyuu!! Secret Santa exchange.  It was my first time writing Daisuga, my first time writing a full blown AU, and it was born from me coming up with a single line nearly every commenter seems to love: ‘Do it for the hot IT guy’.  I never in a million years expected it to become as popular and apparently as beloved as it is now, and I’m deeply touched and honored by the love the fandom has shown it and me.  For quite a while now I’ve toyed with the idea of giving it a short sequel just to peek back in, and then the Fic Writers Week Day 2 prompt came along asking for bonus content, and I figured that was enough of a sign.

So here’s Home Screen, a little companion ficlet to Add New Contact after nearly 3 full years.  I hope my readers and followers, who have been so kind, patient, and supportive of my writing, enjoy it!  It is also up on AO3 if you prefer to read there.

Daichi was sitting in his 8 a.m physiology lecture, passionately regretting this particular academic choice with every fiber of his sleep-deprived being, when he saw it.

He’d reached over his notes and tapped his phone idly to check how many more minutes of Horikawa-sensei’s droning about rhomboid muscles he’d have to endure, but the moment his home screen lit up to display the time (twenty more minutes), he froze.  He put his phone back down flat.  Very slowly, he leaned back in his seat, tipped his head back, and pressed both his hands over his face.  

It was far too early for this kind of thing.

Daichi lowered his hands to find the girl a couple seats down his row giving him a look that hovered between concerned and uncomfortable.  He gave her a pained smile that was probably not particularly reassuring, but he had his own problems at the moment.  He resolutely turned his phone over so the screen was facedown on the desk, and forced himself, red-faced and tight-jawed, to take notes for twenty more long, long minutes.  

When Horikawa-sensei finally dismissed them, Daichi fairly shot out of his seat, tossed his bag over his shoulder, and left the lecture hall walking double-time. He cut across the courtyard, wove around a knot of dead-eyed fourth-years clutching their coffees like lifelines, and made a beeline toward the university bookstore.

Gripped in the hand not holding the strap of his bookbag was Daichi’s smartphone.  It was close to brand new, just four months old—screen uncracked, battery near-full, already packed with photos, apps, and his favorite music.  It had never turned off on him when he needed it, and it had never been dropped from a second story window.

But it was, in its way, still giving him technical difficulties.  Clearly, he needed to see an expert.

  He had just taken his foot off the last stair and down onto the smooth polished wood floor of the bookstore’s lowest level when Tsukishima looked up and caught sight of him.

Daichi had been half-hoping someone one else would be working this morning—Yamaguchi, maybe, or even the IT desk’s newest recruit, a nervous little computer science student who was apparently excellent at diagnosing software issues when she could bring herself to look the customers in the eye and form complete sentences.

The look Tsukishima gave him was much more complicated than the simple disdain he tended to visit on the student customers who came in cradling headphones with frayed wires and blue-screened laptops. It wasn’t a particularly happy look…but at least it was perhaps quietly resigned.  Daichi would take what he could get.

“Sugawara-senpai,” Tsukishima said blandly, lifting his eyebrows a fraction and maintaining eye contact as Daichi approached, “It’s time for my break.”

“Hmm?” said the other tech on duty, glancing up from where his feathery-haired head was bent intently over the keyboard of a whirring laptop.  “Didn’t you just finish it a few minutes ag—oh.”

Sugawara Koushi, Daichi’s boyfriend of three months, two weeks, three days and now one morning class, closed the lid of the laptop in front of him and pushed himself around in his swivel chair.  He leaned against the counter of the circular desk, propping his elbows up and resting his chin casually on one hand.  It was a pose very reminscient of the first time Daichi had ever seen him, and he was probably doing it on purpose.

“Good morning, sir,” Suga said in his most cheerful customer service voice, “What can we help you with today?”

There was a brief moment when Daichi, fresh off an 8 a.m lecture and a minor heart attack, considered not playing along. But Suga’s eyes were grey-brown and warm and dangerously fond, and that thought didn’t last long.

“Well, you see,” he began, stepping up and placing his new phone on the counter between them.  Tsukishima wandered away and sat down heavily in another one of the desk chairs, picking up a set of expensive-looking headphones and apparently ready to tune them out entirely.  “I had a lecture this morning…a very early lecture that someone assured me I would be able to handle because I was ‘such a responsible student.’  But the thing is, I missed my alarm, so I was in a bit of a rush to class and wasn’t paying much attention to my phone.”

Suga nodded, his face fixed in the expression that Daichi was convinced could have won him any customer service postion on Earth, perfectly caught between genuine interest and innocent concern.  “Sure, okay.  Go on,” he urged, as if he didn’t already know where this story was going.

“So when I went to check the time during the lecture, I discovered that someone has apparently figured out my password.”  Daichi nudged the phone forward, tipped it toward Suga, and dramatically tapped the home button.

The phone lit up, displaying the home screen. Yesterday, the background had been a stock photo of a mountain meadow, all waving grass and almost clinically distributed wildflowers.  

Today, it was not.

Daichi knew exactly when Suga had taken the photo—about two weeks ago they’d had a movie marathon in Daichi’s room where they’d alternated picking titles, resulting in everything from a really emotional indie film to a hilariously bad horror flick to a documentary about the Olympics.  It had been probably the most fun Daichi had ever had watching movies with anyone, although over the past couple months he’d discovered that was true of a lot of things done in Suga’s company.

Sometime during the fourth movie Daichi had started to fade.  Leaning against Suga had been a thoughtless thing—first just their shoulders and arms touching, and then drowsily listing against him as his muscles relaxed further toward sleep.  

And then Suga had simply made it into the most natural thing in the world by draping his arm around Daichi’s shoulders and tucking his head in the dip between Daichi’s shoulder and chest, like it was nothing.  His hair smelled nice, like mint or coconut or something not fruity but still sweetish and pleasant.

Sometimes Daichi couldn’t believe this new chapter in his college life was real.  Cuddling still felt like a revelation.

He didn’t remember falling asleep, of course, but he’d woken up a few minutes later to walk Suga back to his dorm one block over, still apologizing for being the one to drift off and end their movie session.  It hadn’t occurred to him that anything had happened in the interim until he’d found the photo saved in his phone album.  

Suga had taken it with the arm not wrapped around Daichi, who was practically nuzzling him, face half-buried in his temple. It was not a flattering photo of him, but Suga’s smile into the camera was sleepy-warm and fond, and Daichi thought he might have been smiling a little himself in his sleep.  It was an honest kind of picture, maybe more so than the handful of couple selfies they’d taken so far.  So Daichi had kept it.

And maybe pulled it up to gaze at more often that he wanted to admit.

But he’d never expected to have it as his background.  That felt so public, so startling, like suddenly finding a poster that was hanging in your bedroom had been taped to your chest.  It wasn’t that Daichi regretted or wanted to hide anything about Suga or their relationship, it was just that he hadn’t expected to be confronted with exactly how embarrassingly sappy Suga made him feel at 8 o’clock in the morning in the middle of a hundred of his peers.

“I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid don’t see your problem,” said Suga now, apologetically, his grin finally threatening to overtake his playfully professional demeanor.  He flipped the phone so it was facing him and pretended to frown assessingly at the photo. “It’s a great picture.  If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, you look absolutely adorable when you’re asleep.”

“Suga.” Somehow Daichi was finding himself smiling too, although now he didn’t know why he’d thought he could genuinely find a way scold Suga about this.  It was fine when he rehearsed it in his head, but being face-to-face with his boyfriend tended to make conversations he’d planned out ahead of time evaporate.  

In that way, not much had changed since their technologically disastrous but ultimately effective courtship.

“Daichi, your stock wallpaper was boring,” Suga insisted.

“How did you even get into my phone?”  Daichi shot back, unable to think of a good response to that—honestly he’d barely given his phone home screen a thought before today.  “Did you use some hacking trick you learned here?”  

“Your passcode is your birthday, which you told me on our third date.  I don’t need to hack your phone.”  Suga looked amused.  He stretched idly, which always made his employee polo shirt pull taut in various and pleasing ways across his arms, chest, and shoulders.  It was an extremely unfair tactic, especially since Suga now knew that Daichi had feelings about the polo and how he looked in it.

Daichi sighed, any residual exasperation deflated, and picked his phone back up to take another look at the photo.  Now that he wasn’t surprised and surrounded by classmates, he could appreciate the flush of warmth seeing it there made him feel. He found himself smiling at it again, the way he had in private, at the way they curved into each other, already so easy and comfortable.

“You do like it then,” Suga said, his expression and tone both softening.  “I was a little worried I’d overstepped again and you really were upset with me.”

“Considering if you hadn’t ‘overstepped’ the first time we might not be dating right now, I think I can forgive you.”  Daichi checked to make sure Tsukishima was deeply engrossed in his music and homework and that there were no other students in the area before he leaned across the counter and kissed Suga briefly.  Another thing he still couldn’t quite believe he could do anytime he wanted.

“Does that mean you’ll keep it?” Suga asked when Daichi drew back.

Daichi pretended to think hard, and Suga laughed and took his free hand over the counter, lacing their fingers together and stroking his thumb over Daichi’s wrist until he almost really did forget what he was pretending to ponder.

“I’ll keep it.  Until we take a better one, where I’m awake,” he said finally.

“I’m not sure that’s possible when you look that good asleep,” said Suga very seriously, and though his eyes had a teasing twinkle, Daichi got the feeling he wasn’t entirely kidding, and it made his cheeks and ears burn.

“Oh!  I almost forgot—for the responsible student who made it through another 8 a.m. lecture.” Suga went back around the counter and picked up a black and white paper cup stamped with the silhouette of a crow perched on the rim of a mug.  The lid was stoppered, so when Suga set it in front of Daichi and took the top off, a cloud of wonderful, cocoa-scented steam rose right into his face.

“You’re amazing,” Daichi half-moaned, inhaling deeply.  

“I had them put a shot of espresso in it, to get you through the rest of the day.”  

Daichi took a careful sip before leaning back over the counter to kiss Suga again, a little longer this time.  “I’m so glad I broke my old phone for you,” he murmured, tucking an escaped piece of Suga’s silvery hair back behind his ear.  They weren’t at the ‘I love you’ stage yet, but the statement was rapidly becoming something Daichi thought of as a stand-in for it, a fervent expression of just how thrilled he was that their unorthodox journey of pining, flirting, and reckless electronic endangerment had somehow worked out after all.

“What time is your next class again?” Suga asked, bringing him back to the reality of the school day.

“Noon—I have some free time.”  Daichi took another slow drink of the caffeine-spiked hot chocolate.

“Keep me company?” asked Suga, as they’d both known he was going to.  “Monday mornings are always slow.”  

“Tsukishima will give us dirty looks.”

“Let him,” said Suga breezily, shooting his younger coworker a glance.  “Yamaguchi-kun starts in an hour, he’ll mellow out then.”

Daichi couldn’t come behind the desk, but Suga let him have one of their comfortable wheeled chairs to pull up to the outside of the counter, so he could sip his drink and talk to Suga as he went back to work on the laptop someone had brought in the previous day.  

It would have felt impossible to him, just a few months earlier, that this could be his life.  Even as he’d been making a total fool out of himself for the chance to talk to Suga again, there had been a part of his brain insisting that this could only last so long, that he was wasting his time.  Now he needed no such excuses to visit the IT help desk, although he had kind of had one this morning.

Daichi reached out and tilted his phone towards himself, half-listening as Suga told him about the latest victim Nishinoya had pointed their way, a devastated freshman with a brand new Christmas gift smartphone like Daichi’s that had gotten left in a pocket and washed.  He glanced from Suga’s animated face as he dimpled at the memory of the student tearing up with relief and gratitude when offered the rice treatment, to the Suga in the photo on his home screen with an arm around him and his face fondly gazing into the camera as if to say how lucky he was.

His phone had helped him find Suga, and now it could remind him whenever he looked at it that sometimes, even impossible, foolish things could still go right.

Daichi was definitely keeping his new home screen photo.  Maybe even after they took a new one.

[luci-is-a-devil-]

Mafia!Jihoon

Notes: thank you for requesting nonnie! I hope this is what you wanted~ this legit played out in my head like a drama. Requests are open!!

•you were an interesting character, you worked for the mafia •you were an assassin meaning you killed people, for a job •of course it wasn’t your career goal when you were a kid, but it just sort of happened •bad decisions lead you here, but you didn’t feel endangered here •the gang you were a part of felt more like a family than your actual one did •they cared for you more than your parents did in these last three years that you were a part of the gang • •"rough night y/n?“ •junhui, a fellow assassin asked, seeing you scrub blood off of your skin •"you could say so. Have fun at the gala, junhui.” •you smirked at the Chinese male who was dressed in a classic tux •"you bet your cute ass I will. Get home safe.“ •he winked at you jokingly, but his sentence was an order, not a plea •"okay, mom. Anything else?” •you asked, getting redressed in different clothes since your old ones were caked in blood and mud •"would it kill you to clean your damn room?“ •now he was messing with you, flipping him off, you left the room, hearing his laughter you giggled to yourself •walking out of the building that passed as offices, you passed stores and strange signs •it was nearly nine in the morning, and after pulling an all nighter to kill, all you wanted to do was fall asleep in your bed •after a cup of coffee •so making a sharp left, you walked to the closest cafe •the one where assassin and hackers came most often •Shots •the owner had been in a gang and knew who his customers would be, so he chose a fitting name •but the shop didn’t allow any kind of weapons, making you leave them there •just in case… •the store was pretty empty, only the green haired boy who sat in the corner surrounded by laptops •getting a medium sized vanilla latte, you plopped across from the green haired male •"hey jihoon.” •you spoke after taking a small sip of your drink •"y/n.“ •he wasn’t one for much talking, unless they were threats •he was a hacker, who unlike your job, needed to work quickly and multitask •every day you worked you tried to sit with him for a while, since he would work himself half to death •besides him being a hacker, he also went on call when needed •he was referee to as the jack of trades after all •"do you think you could hack into my mario kart game, so that everyone I versed someone I won?” •you asked him, halfway done with your drink •"could I? Yes. Will I? No.“ •he answered, his fingers never stopped typing, but his eyes drifted off the screen for a second to see your reaction •choosing to go a classic, simple route, you lifted you middle finger at him and took another sip from the now warm drink •he laughed, his eyes crinkling as he did so •smiling to yourself, your basked in the laughter that reminded you of bells ringing •the laughter died out, leaving the two of you in a silence •not the awkward kind, but a comfortable one •finishing off your drink, you said your goodbye to the green haired male •before he could make a witty retort, you left •walking back to your small apartment, you drowned out the noise that your neighbors made •unlocking the door to your crappy apartment, you entered the room •locking it behind you, you flopped on the couch •it was a shitty old couch, that smelled like lasagna even though in the three years you’ve lived here, you’ve never once made it •deciding against sleeping on the old couch, you rolled off the couch •standing up, you walked to the equally crappy bathroom •the sink would drain slowly, even if you added chemicals that would supposedly help •hopping in the shower, you washed the dirt and grim off of your body, and the remainder of blood •the water turned freezing as you continued to shower, powering through the ice cold water, you finished your shower •wrapping yourself in a ratty old towel, you walked out of the bathroom •walking into your room which could be compared to the size of a shoebox, you flopped down on the bed •not bothering to put on clothes when you knew you’d have to get up in a few hours • •being an assassin was slightly repetitive •stalking people, finding out their lives, then going in for the kill •going back to headquarters, changing your clothes, some banter from other assassins •the only thing that was never the same was jihoon, the green haired boy in the cafe •before returning home you’d visit the hacker, talk to him while he performed tasks on the laptop in front of him •you talked about your old lives before joining the gang, what you wanted to be, who you wanted to be •jihoon had wanted to be in the music business, and he had almost succeeded, until someone scammed him and spread rumors to agencies, so they no longer wanted him •that’s when he met Seungcheol, a hitman •Seungcheol had shown him the ropes, how it works, he introduced jihoon to the rest of the gang •how he was still in college because he wasn’t going to do this forever, he wanted a backup plan •"I admire you for that, jihoon. I’d probably sulk or cry if I was in your shoes.” •you said, angry that he was so close to achieving his dream, yet someone took it away from him •"crying wouldn’t change anything. It’s a waste of time.“ •he spoke his fingers fidgeting before continuing to tap against the keyboard •"that’s a pessimistic way of thinking, jihoon.” •you smirked at him, knowing that he wouldn’t have a response to that •hearing him grumble as a reply, you threw your head back, laughing at him • •"y/n? We need you to come in.“ •here you were, at headquarters on your only day off •when you walked through the door, you could tell it was much more somber than usual •walking into the office where the boss of the whole gang was •inside the office, jun and minghao were covered in blood •"please tell me that isn’t yours.” •you said once you closed the door behind you •"…most of it isn’t?“ •minghao said, trying to lift the mood, but only giving you a better look of his black eye and split lip •"y/n. They were sent on a mission to infiltrate a nearby gangs territory.” •The boss, Jiyong said, his face made out of stone as his face did not move as he explained what had happened •"okay, but why did I need to coke in?“ •you asked, still confused as to why you were here •"y/n… they took jihoon as a hostage.” •his voice tried to be calm, but there was underlying tones of worry, concern •he was the one who had sent jihoon on the mission after all •"where did they take him?“ •you knew why they called you, and they knew it too •"we think he’s being held hostage near the church, that’s where he managed to send his coordinates.” •Jiyong’s wyes moved side to side, trying to gauge your reaction, along with the Chinese males •"I’m going to get him back.“ •it wasn’t a question, or trying to convince yourself •it was a statement •"y/n, you don’t understand how dangerous this is. You’re young. I don’t want you here, where they’re trying to take members.” •Jiyong was trying to convince you to leave, to leave jihoon alone •"you can kick me out, but I’ll just be by myself.“ •glaring at him, you know that he honestly was between a rock and a hard place •"I forbid it.” •Hearing jiyong say that, minghao scoffed only to be elbowed by jun •"you might be part of my family, but so is jihoon. We don’t leave family to die.“ •storming out of the office, you let you feet carry you to the cafe •hoping that this was some sick joke, that jiyong had lost a bet or something •but jihoon wasn’t behind his laptop at the table he sat at every day, he wasn’t sipping at a coffee while typing away •he wasn’t here, with you •running to your apartment, sneakers hitting against the concrete •slamming the door open, you rushed to a closet •pulling out a duffle bag, you unzipped it and started shoving weapons in there •riffles, pistols, smoke bomb, it was a store in a bag •leaving the apartment, you walked past the gangs lines •entering another gangs lines was extremely dangerous, something that death was used as a punishment for •"lookie here! A new toy to play with!” •a man who smelled of booze and cigarettes came closer, not noticing the huge black duffle bag •grabbing his left shoulder, you used your upper body to make him unbalanced, using your right leg, you kicked his calf •causing him to fall on the floor, hitting his head on the cement, making him go unconscious •walking past the body, you continued the march to where they held jihoon captive •once you were close enough, you opened the duffle bag •placing a knife in your boot, strapping a gun to your side •you sneaked inside, quiet footsteps were key •walking behind boxes, using them as a cover so they wouldn’t see you •"yeah, the fucker won’t say shit. Boss is with him now.“ •as much as you wanted to take this guy as a hostage, that wasn’t the plan •continuing the sneaking to the end of the building, where there were holding jihoon probably •getting over there was easier that you expected, but it wasn’t the danger that was making your heart beat quickly •it was the thought of seeing jihoon beaten and bruised, since you didn’t know the state of him •taking the gun off of your side, you held it, sure that you were going to have to use it •the door was opened, squeezing yourself inside, you saw jihoon tied up on a chair •his arms and legs bonded with tape •there was a man leaning over him, his gloved hands on the back of the chair •sneaking to the corner of the room where you had a good shot, so you could shoot the bastard •"do you hear me jihoon? They aren’t coming back for you, not even the one who drinks coffee with you. Why not just tell us where we there are.” •BANG •that wasn’t your gun… •looking at the door, you saw a familiar set of eyes •"minghao, Seungcheol?“ •you asked, looking at the two masked males •"no time for greetings, y/n. Mind untying him?” •Seungcheol smirked, urgency in his voice •coming out from your hiding place, you took out your knife and cut jihoon’s bindings •a soft smile was exchanged between the two of you •"this is beautiful and all, but we have to go before all of us are taken hostage.“ •the four of you sneaked out the same way you entered, except jihoon’s hand in yours •"freeze!” •a guy yelled, holding a gun to your face •"fuck that.“ •letting go of jihoon’s hand, you kicked the guy in the stomach then kneed him in the face •"lets go.” •you said, grabbing jihoon’s hand again •grabbing the duffle bag that you had hidden between a couple of crates •continuing the run back to your territory, or what used to be your territory •when you passed the mark, you were on your side •waving to minghao and Seungcheol, you dragged jihoon to your dingy apartment •when bother of you were safe inside, you heaved a sigh of relief, falling on the couch •"ah, let me help you clean up.“ •standing up from the couch, you sat him down •getting out the first aid kit, you started to disinfect his wounds •"jihoon? Are you alright?” •you asked, pausing the cleaning of his face •he sighed, his eyes staring into yours •"I could have died. But all I could think about was you. The way you smile, drink coffee, ask me to hack games.“ •he said, still staring at you, his face having a pink tinge to his cheeks •his voice was shaky, but still kind of stable in a way, it was so filled with emotions •"are you saying you like me?” •you asked, a smirk drawn on your face, an eyebrow raised •"me? Like you? No.“ •he sputtered, his face growing even more pink as he spoke •"I like you too, even if I have to save you from the mafia.” •kissing his nose, you then continued to clean his wounds •it was a nice silence, both of you content being in each other’s presence •"I…like you.“ •it was said slowly, but you could feel the love in his words as he bashfully said it •closing the kit, pushing it in the floor, you cuddled up to him •resting your head on his chest, you listened to his heartbeat, the two of you thankful to be together • •"how does it feel to graduate college, Mr. lee?” •"how does it feel to be the owner of a coffee shop, y/n?“ •whether it was being in a gang together or a café, the two of you were sure that you would be alright •after all, two ex assassins who could protect themselves and each other •mostly each other though

[creativitytoexplore]

Doors Opening on the Left by Raima Larter https://ift.tt/2zDWjfr Jason is a chemist specialising in racemization, a technique vital to defeat the lethal virus spreading across South America, but there are mysterious side-effects; by Raima Larter.

Jason boarded the train at the Medical Center Station, took a seat about halfway back from the door, and looked around. The usual morning crowd. Later, he would wonder why everything had seemed so normal that day, when it was anything but. He stifled a yawn and glanced at his phone. Nearly ten a.m. He'd been awake for over twenty-four hours. A melodic bonging came over the speaker and the train doors slid shut as a robotic female voice announced, "Doors closing." The train lurched into motion and Jason yawned again. He wanted, desperately, to be home, tucked into his own bed. Yes, his own empty bed, but that's the way it had been since he got this job, and how it was bound to stay. Who had time for dating? He hadn't even had friends over yet, despite having lived there for almost a year. For one thing, he had only the one chair, a pathetic frayed lawn chair he'd found discarded on a curb. No time for furniture-shopping, either. The chair sat next to his one other piece of furniture, a battered card table where he slurped down Cup o' Noodles every evening while streaming late-night talk shows on his laptop. Jason rubbed absent-mindedly at his bandaged left index finger. He'd cut it on a broken centrifuge tube a few hours before. No big deal, just a small amount of lost sample. After leaning his head against the window, he gazed at his reflection in the fogged-over glass. He looked tired, which made sense: he was tired after pulling another all-nighter, racing to get his part of the project finished before Dr. Murphy lost it. "The Director needs that data," she'd said as he'd left the lab that morning. She gave him her usual tight-lipped smile, but he knew what was behind it. "I'm sorry about the rush." He'd nodded and forced himself to smile politely (despite her lying). She wasn't sorry. Jason's team at the National Institute of Health was trying to develop a drug protocol to combat the Janusid virus. Janusid was spreading rapidly across South America, killing everything in its path. Like most viruses, Janusid attacked by injecting its DNA, coiled inside a hard protein shell, into an unwitting host. It had swept across the southern continent in less than a month, killing every person and animal it infected. So far, nothing had been found that could stop it. He'd already worked a string of ten-hour days, with a few eleven- or twelve-hour ones thrown in, and he almost had enough of the agent made. If the centrifuge tube hadn't broken, he might have even finished today. Now, the last test would have to wait until later, when his current batch had finished processing. The train jostled, picked up speed, and was soon soaring out of the tunnel and onto the above-ground section of the track. Morning sun slanted through the far window and across the car, producing a reflection of the passengers in the glass. In the reflection, a guy was seated up front in the handicapped-only seat. Jason hadn't noticed the man when he'd boarded the train. The man had a newspaper opened up, obscuring his face, and seemed intent on reading something. Jason scanned the backward print on the newspaper reflection, trying to decipher the headline. The letters were almost too small to read from where he sat, plus they were backward, of course. His gaze flitted back and forth, untangling first the word "Congress," and then a word that looked like "Legislation." That was when he noticed the girl. He hadn't seen her before either, but there she suddenly was, seated next to the guy with the newspaper. She caught his eye and smiled. He looked toward her, planning to nod good morning, but the handicapped seat was empty. No girl. No guy with a newspaper. Jason looked quickly back toward the window, trembling now. The reflection hadn't changed: the attractive girl was still there, next to the newspaper guy. The girl grinned at him again, and nudged her elbow into the man. The newspaper guy folded down a corner of his paper and peered around it at Jason. The man nodded at the girl, then folded the newspaper into a small rectangle, tucked it into a briefcase and stood, grabbing hold of a silvery metal pole. He swayed as the train rumbled down the tracks. The girl scooted forward on her seat, as if preparing to stand. All the while, Jason's heart beat faster and faster. After a couple of minutes, the train slowed, brakes squealing, rocking side to side as they pulled into the next station. A bong came over the intercom. "Doors opening on the left." Hairs spiked to attention on the back of Jason's neck. He focused intently on the reflected image of the two people. He didn't want to look away, but quickly glanced toward the handicapped seat. Still nothing. No man grasping the strap, no girl getting up from her seat. Jason leapt to his feet and leaned to peer at the reflection in the window. There they were, both of them, the man and the girl. Jason tried to keep the images in view, but the two mirror-image people were stepping off the train and onto the mirror-image platform. A bonging sound came over the intercom. "Doors closing." Jason bolted for the door. He jumped out as the doors slid closed behind him. He looked around at the empty platform. No man. No girl. No sounds but for the hum of the idling train and the distant murmur of traffic. He looked back toward the train. A woman in a torn knit hat stared at him through the glass, frowning. She was surrounded by empty seats, the only person in the car. As the train pulled away, Jason became aware of pressure in his bandaged finger. He yanked the gauze and tape off, revealing what had once been a tiny cut. Now his entire finger was an angry, throbbing red. He stared at the pulsating wound for a long moment, a strange tingly warmth creeping up his left arm. The sight of his hand mesmerized him and he was unable to look away. It didn't seem like his own hand. He saw it there, at the end of his arm, but it seemed the hand belonged to someone else. He was so focused on that weird hand that he startled and jumped back when the next train pulled into the station. Jason shook his head to clear his panicky thoughts, and boarded the train. This time, he checked the reflection in the glass first, to make sure no more odd people were there this time. Wherever "there" was.

The next day, after he'd slept a solid fifteen hours, Jason headed back to the lab. As he made his way to the building from the Metro station, he thought about the strange mirror-image people from the day before. Clearly a hallucination. Probably induced by sleep-deprivation or deep fatigue and overwork. His injured finger had stopped throbbing and seemed to be healing. He unwrapped the bandage and checked again. The cut was small, nothing at all really. Nevertheless, when he got in, he changed the dressing using the lab's first aid kit, just to be sure it kept healing. He got to work, preparing what he hoped was his last batch of racemization agent. On his way to the cold room, he ran into David. "Hey," Jason said. "How's it going?" David, another tech from the lab down the hall, wore his usual red bandana, tied around his head in an attempt to cover his thinning hair. He jammed his hands into the pockets of his somewhat grubby lab coat. "It's going," he said. "Get your magic stuff made?" "Almost. I thought I'd have it last night, but the vial broke just as I was removing the sample from the centrifuge." He held up his bandaged left finger as he yanked the cold room door open with his other hand. "Lost a whole day." David followed Jason into the refrigerated space. "Do you think Murphy will make you lead author this time?" Jason snorted. "Hardly. You know a lab head would never make a tech lead author. I'll be lucky if she puts my name on the paper at all." Jason had lost track of how many days he'd shuttled between the exhaust hood, the cold room, the centrifuge, and the mass spec, all the while trying to make enough racemization agent, the substance that would not only defeat Janusid but secure him at least co-authorship. Jason had never been lead author on any scientific paper, and he didn't want to believe it could happen this time - but, the truth was, it could happen this time. Racemization was Jason's specialty, after all. Give him any polymeric substance, even a protein coating like that on a virus, and he could reverse its stereochemistry and crack the thing open like an egg. The trick was to create the right stereoisomer of a substance that could bind to the polymer and create its mirror-image - a molecule with the same formula but a mirror-reversed structure. If you could hold the result up to a tiny molecular-sized mirror, its reflection would be identical to the original. That afternoon, when Jason found that the last batch of racemization agent was ready, he tested it, as he always did, on a sample of the virus. He was careful to use the clean-room protocols, necessary to prevent accidental infection. They weren't one-hundred percent effective, but they were the best the industry offered. The results looked promising, so he hurried down the hallway to Murphy's office. She was seated at her desk, tapping rapidly at her keyboard. The desk was piled high with toppling stacks of paper. Her sleeves were rolled above her wrists as she frowned through her glasses at the computer screen. He knocked on the doorjamb. "Dr. Murphy?" She flinched back, her hands still hovering over the keyboard. When she saw him, her eyes widened and one hand flew to her chest. "Jason!" She laughed nervously. "I didn't hear you come in. What can I do for you?" He waved the printout from his final test toward her. "That last batch seemed to do the trick. Results look perfect." She brought her hands to her face and leaned back in the chair. "Thank God," she said, then laughed. "Or thank you, I guess." She walked around the desk and peered at his printout. "This looks fantastic. I was just about to go to the All Hands meeting - the director is going to be thrilled." She plucked her lab coat from a hook on the wall and headed for the door, then turned back to him. "Coming?" Jason grinned and followed her through the hallways, down an elevator and into the large auditorium. Several hundred scientists, most clad in white lab coats, were already there. Dr. Murphy took a seat next to another lab head, but Jason went to the row of chairs pushed up against the wall. Every chair along the wall was occupied by techs and low-level staff. He knew the protocol. He knew where the peons sat and he also knew that no one who sat in a wall chair had ever had lead authorship on a paper. If you reached that level of accomplishment, you'd not only get first authorship, you'd get your own lab. You'd be someone like Dr. Murphy, not someone like Jason. David was already there and lifted his eyebrows as Jason sat down next to him. "So? Did you do it?" Jason tried to suppress his smile, but it didn't work. "Yep," he said, pulling out a small notebook and a pen. David broke into a huge grin. "Awesome. If this doesn't get you first authorship, nothing will." Jason shook his head as he flipped to a blank page in the notebook. "Well, nothing will then. You know as well as I she's not going to do it." He scribbled the date at the top of the page, followed by "All Hands Mtg," and prepared to take notes. Dr. Murphy turned toward Jason and David and smiled, waving the printout he'd given her in the air. Jason knew she would, as she always did, claim that "her lab" had achieved the desired outcome. She would claim his results as hers. She might name him, or even thank him when she got a turn to speak, but that was all the acknowledgment he was likely to get. After all, Murphy knew the protocol, too. Jason tried to squash the flare of jealousy. Without Dr. Murphy, he would not even be here. She had been the one to come up with the idea, and she had been the one to persuade the scientific board, the big-wigs who sat at the table at the front of the auditorium, that her lab should be allowed to try this approach. The Director himself sat at the table at the front. He wore a suit, unlike most of the people in the room. Next to him sat his Deputy, tapping a pen nervously on the table and glancing repeatedly at his cell phone. At the table were several other people Jason knew only by their photos on the agency website. Every one of them had a title with at least four words in it: Assistant Director of Something-Or-Other. After the Director called the meeting to order, he asked Murphy to come forward. She approached the microphone that had been set up in the aisle next to the wall chairs. "As I explained in our last All Hands meeting," Dr. Murphy said into the mic, "changing the stereochemistry of the virus coating should make it vulnerable to attack by a standard anti-viral." She turned to look at the auditorium full of scientists. "Many people in this room could help with that second step." She smiled, and held up the sheaf of papers Jason had given her. "I'm happy to report that my group has succeeded in developing a racemization reagent that will crack open the protein coating on Janusid." She waved the papers and smiled more broadly. "Our results are very promising. Preliminary tests show that we've done it. It works!" Jason gripped the pen so hard his hand ached. He scribbled furiously. "My group," and "our results," and "we've done it." David nudged him with an elbow. "Hey man," he whispered. "Since when did you become left-handed?" Jason stared at the pen, gripped tightly in his left hand. He'd been right-handed his entire life, so why - and how - was he now writing with his left? His bandaged finger began to throb and that tingly warmth crept up his arm again. He clenched his fist so hard his fingernails bit into his palm. He wanted to jump up and shout that he was the one who had succeeded, not some nebulous "we" that Murphy gave all the credit to, but he shoved both his hands beneath his thighs and clamped his teeth together. David kept giving him odd looks, but Jason refused to meet his gaze. The Director leaned back in his chair, index fingers steepled together. He was silent for a moment, swiveling back and forth, one toe pressed to the floor. It took only a few seconds for him to swivel to his Deputy and say, "Let's do it." Only then did Dr. Murphy turn toward Jason, smiling. David stood up quickly and reached to shake his hand. "Congratulations," he said. "I guess." The tingly warmth surged up Jason's left arm and into his chest as David pumped his right hand up and down. The tingle squeezed Jason's heart as if it were caught in the grip of a giant python. He tried to say thanks to David, but all that came out was an unrecognizable growl. Dr. Murphy fought her way through a crowd of people gathered around the Director's table. "Jason! There you are. We've just been given our marching orders. We'll need a large batch of your reagent asap." She gave him a sympathetic look. "The other labs are ready to move to Phase Two as soon as we can supply them with the racemization agent. I know you've been working really hard already, but we need to double our efforts now." David stepped between Dr. Murphy and Jason. "I can help. Just show me how to make the stuff, and we can do it together." Dr. Murphy smiled broadly. "Why thank you," she said, and turned to look around the room. "Let me just check with your boss to make sure it's okay -" "Oh, it's okay," David said. "I'm not working on anything important at the moment." She pressed her lips together and nodded. "Jason can show you the protocol, but if you don't mind, I'll just double-check with your boss. Don't want to step on any toes, you know." She gave him a tight smile. Jason and David spent the rest of the week preparing a large batch of racemization agent. Late Thursday night, they put the last portion in the drying oven. "There," Jason said. "Now we just wait thirty minutes or so and we'll be done." David yawned widely. "I'm beat. Want some coffee?" Jason glanced at the clock on the wall. "I doubt the cafeteria is still open." "There are those machines downstairs," David said, already heading for the door. They pounded down the metal steps, round and round the stairwells, and made their way to the basement vending machine room. Soon, they were seated at a battered white table, sipping at paper cups of coffee. "Gah," David said, making a face. "This stuff is awful." Jason laughed and reached for his cup. "It was your suggestion." David gestured at Jason's bandaged finger. "What did you do to your hand?" Jason shook his head. "Nothing. Just a broken vial a few days ago." David sipped, staring at Jason for a long moment. "Was that before or after you suddenly became left-handed?" Jason sat back in his chair. "What -?" "What's going on, dude? You've been doing everything in the lab with your left hand all week. I'm certain you were right-handed before." Jason sighed. "Okay. Something happened. I don't know what it was, but it may have been related to this cut. I may have got some racemization agent in it." He gave him a weak smile. "Either that or I got infected by the virus." David shook his head. "Not possible. You'd be dead by now." "No kidding." He wanted to tell David about all of it - the mirror-image people on the train, the wave of energy he sometimes felt pulsing up his arm - but he didn't dare. "Obviously it wasn't the virus," David said, sipping at the coffee again, "But if it was your reagent, that might explain some things." "What do you mean?" "You know - it racemizes things, right? Maybe you got some of it into your finger and it racemized the molecules in your hand." "Oh come on - so that would make me left-handed instead of right-handed?" David shrugged. "Maybe." He gazed silently at Jason for a full minute. "So, did you report it?" "Report what?" "The broken tube, the possible contamination - you know the rules." Jason sighed. "I didn't have time. You know how long those reports take. Besides, it would slow everything down and we just don't have time for that kind of crap right now." David downed the last of his coffee. "Did you ever see that show about the dude who started cooking meth? Heisenberg or something." "Yeah. Wasn't he a high school chem teacher?" "Yep. Lower than the low." David paused, not meeting Jason's gaze. "Do you think we all have it in us to go bad like that?" "Sure, maybe. I - I don't know." What was David accusing him of? "You know, like there's someone in you who's actually evil and something happens to spring it free." "Like Dr. Jekyll? Or, wait - was it Mr. Hyde that was the bad guy?" David laughed. "Dude, it's always the scientist that's mad." By Friday afternoon, they were nearly finished, and Dr. Murphy told Jason he could leave early. "You and David have done a great job, Jason," she said. "Time to get some rest. You look tired." Her words surprised him. He'd had plenty of sleep and he felt great. Better than he'd felt in years, actually. "I look tired?" "You do." She clapped him on the left shoulder, which sent a jarring sensation down his arm and into his hand. His bandaged finger throbbed with a tingly warmth. "I wouldn't doubt," she said, "you'll need a few days to get caught up on your sleep." "You're probably right." He knew he should talk to her about writing up their results, ask her what the chances were that he would get first authorship, but instead he grabbed his jacket and turned away. "See you Monday?" he asked, the flare of anger sweeping through his entire body. "Sure thing," she said, her attention distracted again by the printout of his latest results. She didn't even seem to see him standing there, so he turned and left, nearly colliding with David on his way out. "Leaving so soon?" David asked, holding a tray of centrifuge tubes. "Murphy sent me home." He nodded at the tray. "I assume you can finish up?" "Sure thing. See if you can get some sleep, man. You look awful." Jason gave him a weak smile, left the building and was soon ascending the escalator to the Metro platform. As luck would have it, the train was pulling into the station. He boarded the nearly-empty train, which seemed as normal as it had all week. He slid into a window seat and turned to gaze at the glass. He could see himself reflected there again. He inspected his mirror-reversed self. He looked like he always looked in photos, but there seemed to be something new there - a darkness in his eyes. Maybe it was the fatigue Dr. Murphy had noticed, but it struck him as sinister. He looked away. The train car was completely empty - it was only three o'clock, not yet rush hour. When he glanced back at the window, he saw them: the man with the newspaper and the girl seated beside him, both of them, again, in the handicapped-only seat. Jason quickly swiveled his head, looking for the pair in the flesh, but they weren't there. Of course. He looked back at the glass. The girl smiled at him and lifted a hand in a little wave, then held her index finger upward. She looked at her own finger, lifted her eyebrows at him, and nudged her elbow into the man with the newspaper. He lowered the paper and peered at Jason. A smile crossed the man's face and the two of them, the man and the girl, began to laugh. It was a silent laugh, no sound. Jason's reflection, his doppelganger, lifted his hand. In the reflection, his previously-bandaged left finger had somehow become unbandaged - but only in the reflection. Jason stared at his hands lying in his lap, the bandage still in place. He looked at the window again. The doppelganger's angry-red finger pointed upward. Jason could almost see it throbbing, but he felt no pain in the hand that lay motionless in his lap. The doppelganger made eye contact with Jason. It wasn't at all like Jason seeing himself in the mirror. It was another person there, a person who looked just like him, but reversed. The doppelganger stood and moved quickly toward the door. A great force pulled on Jason's chest, as if his heart was trying to escape from his ribcage. He realized what it was: this mirror-self, the one in the glass, was trying to pull him into the mirror-reversed world, and it seemed to be succeeding. Jason felt as if he was being torn in half. The man in the handicapped seat folded the newspaper and held it out toward Jason. The headline was, as before, completely backward, but said something different this time. Jason struggled against the force tugging at him and tried to decipher the jumble of letters, "!SUOIROTCIV DISUNAJ :NOW ELTTAB TSRIF" This must be a clue about what was happening to him, but what in the world did it mean? The girl stood up. Jason thought about his empty bed at home, that forlorn mattress on the floor. He thought about what he thought he'd wanted - first authorship on a paper - and it seemed, suddenly, to mean nothing at all to him. This place, these weird mirror people - they had something to do with the virus. Jason was sure of it. He didn't know how he was sure - he just was. The man with the newspaper waved it at Jason, pointing to the headline. The girl smiled at Jason and, more than he'd ever wanted anything, he wanted to be with this girl. Jason knew he didn't really want the girl; it was the doppelganger that wanted her. He knew that the small cut on his finger was, somehow, involved with this desire, but was it really like a Mr. Hyde inside him was taking over? Maybe David was right. Maybe the racemization agent had affected his body. The tingly warmth was seeping through his entire body and he'd never felt such pleasure. The man with the newspaper stood, folded his mirror-reversed paper into a small rectangle and tossed it onto the seat. The three - girl, newspaper man, and doppelganger - stepped to the door. It slid open and they exited the train. Jason, shaking, watched them go. His energy drained away, as if the doppelganger was stealing his life force. The three stood on the platform as the train began to move. In small jerking motions it accelerated, then entered the tunnel, blocking out the light that had created those images in the glass. Jason twisted in his seat and looked toward the handicapped seat. Nothing. No people, and no newspaper. Jason felt the tingly warmth drain away, and he was left with only the usual despair of his life. His arms went limp, but as the train rumbled down the track, his energy began to return, as if he was somehow reeling in the tendrils of life energy the doppelganger had tried to steal from him. When he got home and unlocked his door, the sight of that frayed lawn chair and his collection of empty Cup o' Noodles containers nearly deflated him again. But he sat down and began scribbling letters from memory, trying to figure out what the backward newspaper had said. It took him awhile to remember the jumbled headline, but when he did, he realized it was simply backward words: FIRST BATTLE WON: JANUSID VICTORIOUS! By the time he made it to bed, thoroughly exhausted, he knew what he had to do. The next day, Saturday, he returned to the cold room and retrieved a vial of the racemization agent and a box of syringes. As he walked out into the hallway, there was David, who nodded at the things in Jason's hands. "What're you doing?" Jason trembled, wanting to tell him everything, but how could he explain this? "Listen. I need you to help me with something." David frowned. "Sure, man. Anything." Jason hurried back into the lab, David on his heels, and rummaged through a drawer for a sticky note pad. He scribbled a phone number on it and shoved the pad toward David. "If something happens to me, I need you to call my parents. Tell them - well, that this was the only way I knew to beat Janusid. Tell them that." Jason grabbed the syringes and the racemization agent and sprinted toward the hallway. "I don't understand," David yelled behind him. "What are you talking about?" Jason ran to the Metro station and waited impatiently for the train. When it finally arrived, he boarded, the train took off, exited the tunnel and, soon, a beam of light slanted across the car. And then there they were as before, the man and the girl. Both of them gave him a curious look. They seemed almost frightened. The man had a newspaper - as usual. He held it up toward Jason. Bold letters, all backward, stretched across the page. Jason laughed as he quickly deciphered it, not even needing pencil and paper this time: "ENEMY ENGAGED: MASSIVE CASUALTIES EXPECTED." Jason might never get credit for what he was about to do, but so be it. Not getting credit seemed the least of his concerns now, considering he might not ever get back. He pulled out the first syringe and injected his left upper arm. A burst of energy surged into his shoulder and through his body. If his magic stuff, the racemization agent, could mirror-reverse a protein coating, what might it do to a whole body in the mirror image world? He could feel it working. He gazed at his reflection in the glass and then, as if merely taking a step forward, he was on the other side, looking back at himself. Jason believed in the empirical approach, and the only thing left to do was try it. He had two more syringes in the bag, already prepared. Janusid might think it knew how to beat them, but it had never tangled with someone like Jason. The robotic voice came over the intercom: Doors opening on the left. The girl and the man rushed out to the mirror-image platform. Jason and his doppelganger reached into the bag, pulled out the remaining syringes and, holding one in each hand, leaped through the doors, in hot pursuit of them.

[perfectlyrose]

Up In Flames (1/10)

Summary: In the year since they decided to become a team, John Smith and Rose Tyler have made quite the names for themselves as Team TARDIS, bank robbers extraordinaire. Newspapers the world over run headlines about The Doctor and the Bad Wolf and their latest heists. They’re practically unstoppable.

Then their world spins to a halt with a phone call. Jack’s in trouble again and a formidable enemy from John’s past has emerged from the shadows to try and destroy the bank robbing couple once and for all. Will they be able to survive this new threat intact or will the life they’ve been building together go up in flames? 

A sequel to Watch it Burn, a Nine/Rose bank robbers AU 

Word Count: 2656

Rating: Teen

Note: Here we go again! Team TARDIS is back in action after a longer than anticipated hiatus. I have chunks of this written but I can’t promise an update schedule. I’ll let you know if that changes. In the meantime... welcome back!

Read here: tumblr // ao3 // tsp // ff

Rose carefully twisted and flipped through the web of lasers that filled the vault’s antechamber. It was cute the way banks still thought that a few dozen moving laser tripwires would keep her away from the vault door.

After she slowly cartwheeled out of her last handstand and into the two foot space in front of the vault that was free of lasers she turned to look back towards the doorway where John was leaning against the doorway.

“Thought I felt you watching,” Rose said with a smirk.

John slowly dragged his eyes up to meet hers, lips quirking up at one corner. “Been awhile since I got to watch you go through a laser grid.”

“I know you haven’t forgotten how flexible I am, not after last night.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” he promised, voice low and dark. “But watching you demonstrate it in the catsuit is always a bonus, especially when I know I get to take it off of you later.”

Rose grinned at him. “See, if I’d had that kind of motivation to work on my gymnastics as a kid, I’d’ve gotten better than the bronze.”

She turned back to the vault and started pulling equipment out of the pockets of the utility belt strapped tightly around her waist. “Okay, are you going to walk me through how to use this stuff? You know I haven’t broken this vault model before and you packed the new equipment.”

“I’ve got it,” he said, right behind her.

Rose jumped at the proximity of his voice. She glanced behind him to see that the lasers had all disappeared. When her gaze landed back on him he was wearing a shit-eating grin and showed her a little device in his hands that apparently controlled the lasers she’d just made her way through.

“Bastard,” Rose said, hitting him in the chest. “You could’ve turned them off before I went through the trouble of getting through them!”

“Didn’t want you to waste all of your flexibility practice. Besides, I like watching you work.”

Rose huffed and bit back a smile. It was rare that he was this playful during a job and she was thoroughly enjoying his good mood.

John took the code breaker from her and swiftly hooked it up to the keypad next to the vault. He tapped an activation sequence into it and it whirred to life.

“How much time do we have?” he asked as they waited for it to pop the vault door.

“Fifteen minutes. Been in for seven,” Rose answered, checking her watch.

“Plenty of time.”

“Would have more if you’d just turned off the lasers to start with.”

John’s answer to that was cut off by the clicking of the vault door that indicated the code breaker had found the correct combination to open it.

“I love it when they only have electronic locks on things,” he said, pulling the door open and gesturing for Rose to precede him into the vault.

“They were relying on the lasers, I think.”

They rolled their eyes in unison and then the two bank robbers started loading the bank’s cash supply into the bags John had brought with him, slipping into silence as they worked. Within five minutes they were ready to leave.

John reset the lock on the vault and waited until they were both safely out of range to turn the lasers back on. Rose ran ahead to pick the lock on the bank manager’s office.

John joined her right as she pulled out their business card to set on the manager’s keyboard. He squinted as something on the card caught the light.

“Did you change the cards?” he asked.

“Not substantially,” Rose said, shooing him out the door so she could relock it. She handed him the card that they were going to leave on the front door of the bank. “I changed the color of our signatures from black to gold on the back of the card. Looks nicer.”

“You know they’re going to tie themselves in knots trying to figure out why we changed something.”

“Probably will make them inventory their entire gold stock.”

“Idiots,” he scoffed. “Not worth it to steal gold.”

Rose popped up to her feet, done with the lock, and headed towards the front door, John on her heels.

“Cameras still out?” she asked.

John dug in his pocket for his phone. He checked the camera feeds and confirmed out loud that they were still running the video loops he’d set up.

The pair slipped out the front door, pausing only to carefully tape their business card to the glass door. Then, with barely a whisper of the sound of booted feet on concrete, they disappeared into the dark San Francisco night.

It was a short  walk to the apartment they’d rented for the month made longer by the anticipation that crackled in the air between them and their efforts to avoid street cameras. As soon as the door to their place closed behind them John pounced, pinning Rose against the wall and sealing his mouth against hers.

The bags containing the money they’d just stolen fell to the floor with a couple of loud thunks. John slipped one of his newly freed hands behind Rose’s head, threading his fingers into her braided hair and using the leverage to change the angle of their kiss.

Rose’s hands were far from idle. One hand slipped up the back of his jumper, relishing how easy it was to do when he wasn’t wearing his customary leather jacket, and the other moved to his arse, splaying out and pulling him closer so his hips were pressing into her.

“Have I told you how much I love seeing you in your catsuit?” he murmured in her ear after kissing his way up her jawline. “Because it always drives me crazy.”

“Mmm, I’m always open to hearing it again,” Rose said, breathless as he bit down on her earlobe.

“I do always like it better when it’s on the floor though,” he said after a few seconds.

John laid claim to her mouth before she could tease him about being cheesy, giving every indication that he intended to be the one in control tonight and Rose couldn’t find it in her to argue this time. She surrendered. Her blood was already singing from their successful heist and John’s kisses and she let the rare thrill of relinquishing control join the heady cocktail of emotions.

It was like this every time. A year of working together, of bank heists and fights and figuring out how to be partners in every sense of the word, and he could still set her alight with a single touch. She still got a thrill from a successful job and it matched his and they always barely got back to their lodgings before they jumped each other.

They staggered a few meters closer to their bedroom, both of them losing their shirts along the way and refusing to let go of each other. John was doing his level best to make a mark on the side of Rose’s neck to celebrate their success when the shrill tone of her mobile ringing made her whip her head around to look at the object sitting on kitchen counter where she’d left it earlier that night.

“Ignore it,” John growled, not leaving the spot on her neck.

“Was plannin’ on it,” she said breathlessly, digging her short fingernails into his shoulder blades as she turned her attention back to him.

John hissed and ground his hips against her. Rose responded by hiking her leg up around his hip and rolling her own hips into his.

He was reaching for the fastening on her trousers when his phone started ringing almost immediately after Rose’s finally went silent.

John and Rose pulled apart and shared a heavy look. There were only a handful of people who had both of their personal numbers and even less who would call them both at three in the morning.

John dug his phone back out of his pocket and hit answer despite the number being blocked. He put it on speaker immediately.

“Hello?” he said gruffly, voice still rough from snogging Rose.

“It’s me.”

“Jack?” Rose exclaimed incredulously. They hadn’t heard from their friend in something like seven months.

“Good you’re both there,” the conman said. He was out of breath and the note of panic in his voice was one Rose had only heard twice before.

“You in trouble?” John asked, hearing the same thing Rose did.

“More than you can imagine. And not the fun kind.”

“What can we do?” Rose asked.

“I need you to listen and I need you to pay attention. This is serious. Someone’s - shit!” Jack cut himself off. “They saw me, hold on.”

They listened as their friend started running, both bowstring-tight as they waited for Jack to start talking again.

“Okay, no time,” he said after a minute, obviously still running. “Someone’s after you two. They figured out that I know you. I don’t know how and I don’t know how much they know already but they want more information on you and have decided that I’m the best person to give it to them.”

“Jack, where are you?” John asked. His voice went hard and cold as he thought about their friend being in danger because of them.

“Not important. You can’t come after me. You have to hide. Just get off the grid and lay low for a while. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know that, Jack,” Rose protested.

“Yes I do. I’m always fine, sweethea-” This time when he was cut off it was with a scream.

The line went silent and John and Rose stared at the mobile in horror. Rose’s shaking hands were covering her mouth and John had gone still as a stone as they tried to process everything that had just happened.

Before they could say anything else or decide to hang up the phone, they heard someone pick Jack’s mobile up from where it had fallen. For a few seconds, all they did was breathe into the speaker as the two thieves held their breath.

“The Doctor and the Bad Wolf, how very lovely to finally meet you,” a smooth voice with an almost sing-song quality to it said at last. “Your dear friend is mine to play with now. We’re going to have so much fun. But don’t worry about being left out of my little game, I’ll be seeing you both very soon.”

The man was laughing softly as John violently pressed the screen to hang up the call.

Rose stared at the phone for a second before looking up at John. He was unnaturally still, jaw clenched tight and eyes cold and blank.

She knew that look well. It was the one he wore when something touched on part of his past that he didn’t want to talk about or be reminded of. It didn’t appear as often as it used to but she still saw it on occasion.

Now wasn’t the time to push him about whatever he was hiding though.

“We need to get out of here,” Rose said, laying her hand over his on the phone. “We were on that call long enough for them to at least track us to the city.”

John nodded sharply. “Bring me your phone,” he said.

Once he had both phones he started working on them, wiping them of all information before removing the sim cards and batteries. While he worked, Rose retrieved her shirt from the floor and slipped it back on.

Silently, she started packing their few belongings, throwing clothes into duffel bags and erasing any trace of them having lived in this apartment. They traveled light so once John started helping, still stonefaced and stiff, they were ready to leave fifteen minutes after the phone call ended.

“What are we doing about the money?” Rose asked. She glanced at the bags of cash still by the front door. Normally they waited a week before redistributing the money but they couldn’t stick around that long this time.

“Donate the lot on the way out of town?” he suggested. “We can send the bank a note later.”

Rose nodded and walked across the room to heft one of the cash bags onto her shoulder. “You ready to go, then?”

John grabbed the last bag in response and they walked out the door, locking it behind them.

They stop at the children’s advocacy center down the street from the apartment they were staying in and leave half the cash there with a scrawled note that it’s an anonymous donation from someone who appreciates what they’re doing for the community. The rest of the cash they leave at a women’s shelter a few blocks away. That donation is left without a note as they know the shelter won’t ask questions about where the money came from.

They find a cab and take it to the airport where they buy tickets for the the first flight of the morning which happens to be going to Seattle. John and Rose are quiet as they go through security and find their gate at the other end of the terminal.

Once they were seated in the nearly empty area, Rose reached out and rested a hand on John’s thigh. “Hey,” she said quietly, waiting for him to look at her. “Are we gonna talk about any of this?”

John shook his head. “Not here. We can figure things out once we find somewhere to stay in Seattle.”

“I’m not going into hiding and leaving our friend to the mercy of that lunatic, no matter what he told us to do,” Rose warned him, wary of his tone and the way he was talking about finding somewhere to stay.

Now he met her eyes, blue ice thawing slightly as they met warm brown. “I made the mistake of questioning your loyalty to your friends once, Rose. I’m not going to do it again.”

“Working on making new mistakes then?” she quipped with a small smile.

“Seem to be. But we do need to get a temporary place in Seattle so we can regroup and come up with a plan. As soon as we have a course of action, we can go get Jack.”

Rose bit down on her bottom lip, worrying at it as she considered asking about the man who’d been on the other end of the phone call. She knew John’s tells for all that he claimed not to have any. It was obvious to her that he had recognized the voice and that it was someone from the past he tried so hard to forget about. Nowadays when she inadvertently wandered a bit too close to those shadowy bits of his life in conversation he would just press his lips together and tell her that he didn’t want to talk about it instead of just clamming up or lashing out like he had when they had first worked together.

They had been making progress. Slow, painstaking progress but progress nonetheless.

Neither one of them talked about their past much still. He had his secrets and she had hers.

Most of the time that worked.

Today was not most of the time though. No matter how much he disliked it, John was going to have to share some of his secrets if they were relevant to figuring out who had Jack and how to get their friend back.

Rose sighed and leaned her head against John’s leather-clad shoulder. Prying into his life could wait until they were not in a public location. Hopefully by the time they were somewhere secure, he would be ready to divulge the necessary information. There was no way he was planning on keeping this from her, they’d moved past that stage in their relationship.

She hoped.

[loxare]

A Talon by Any Other Name

Chapter 11 - Darkest Before the Dawn

Dick woke, to a flare of pain in his throat. The thing was crawling up his spinal column. His vision whited out, and he screamed...

...Nothing. The pain stopped. He could feel it, small as a pea, crawling into his brain, but there was no more pain. No pain receptors that far in, he supposed. Taking a cautious breath – one of his lungs was healed – he coughed out a few blood clots. He still couldn't talk though. The thing had decided to take a stroll through his vocal cords before nestling in his skull.

He let out a groan, the only sound he could make, and poked at Hood. His little brother was already awake, probably for the same reason Dick was. As soon as his vocal cords healed, he asked, “What happened? Is it over?”

There was a noise from the comm., Tim falling out of his chair from the sounds of it. “Dick? Are you alright? You went silent for an hour and twenty minutes.”

“I... think so? The thing stopped moving, but it's in my brain now. Little Wing, you too?” Hood nodded. “Hood too. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.”

“You... don't? But Cobb explained it!”

Hood raised his eyebrows. “Did he? Must have been before out ears healed.” At Tim's questioning noise, he coughed out a laugh (and four or five blood clots). “They broke our ear drums a few minutes before they put these things on our legs. Why? What does it do?”

Tim stuttered for a moment, before Bruce's voice came on the line. “I've got this Tim. Go suit up.” Sounds of foot steps, and a sigh. “The device that Cobb implanted in you is a bomb.” Dick's blood ran cold. A what? “More specifically, one is a bomb and the other is a trigger. I'm not sure which is which.”

Dick looked down at the device on his leg, then the one on Hood's. In the weak light, he couldn't see any differences. “They look the same.”

“It doesn't really matter at this point. It's a proximity trigger. As long as you two are close to each other, it'll go off. In about an forty five minutes, it'll go off.”

Dick looked around. The chamber they were in was small. Not that Cobb would give them a room bigger than the proximity radius of the trigger. And with his hands chained to his neck and his legs taped from foot to mid thigh, there was no way for him to reach the hole in the ceiling, let alone climb out of it and crawl away. “Nothing to be done then?”

“No! Do not give up! I will find you, I promise!”

He simply nodded wearily. “Sure thing Bats. See you when you get here.” Nudging the comm. away, he stared at it for a moment. Batman had never let him down before, but there hadn't been too many opportunities for him to do so. Still. There was no reason for him not to hope. And in the end, if Batman didn't come, he wouldn't know.

He shifted closer to Hood, startled and upset when the younger Talon shifted away. “Stay away from me Dickie. A bomb this size can't kill you if you're a few feet away. Worst that'll happen is you get splattered with a bit of brain matter.” He offered up a rueful smile, sad and lonely.

“What? No, Little Wing, you don't even know if you are the bomb! It could be me!”

But Hood was shaking his head. “It's not. I can hear it ticking, and triggers don't tick.”

That was true. And try as he might, Dick couldn't hear a single sound inside his head. “Please Little Wing. Batman said we have forty five minutes.” A tear trickled down his face.

Hood sighed, sounding for all the world like an indulgent uncle. “Fine. But only thirty five. I'm not risking you if this thing blows early.”

They shifted until they were shoulder to shoulder. For the millionth time that day, Dick cursed the way the Court had bound them. He couldn't do more than reach out and grab Hood's finger tips with his own.

They sat there, just sitting and being in each other's company. Listening as Batman and Red Wing started the Batmobile, ready to go to the first possible location, and the second, and the third.

Fifteen minutes and two failed locations later, there was a flash of static, and then a new voice barged their way into the conversation. “Hello Batman. I told you that I would tell you where they were before their demise. And look at that, it's been five and a half hours since we last spoke. Now, you may not know this, but the ground under Gotham is littered with holes. Caverns. Really, the entire city should have collapsed by now. We found this one two weeks ago when we were searching for our Talons. Or searching for their corpses. It's under the warehouse the Joker blew up.” With a smug chuckle, Cobb let himself out of the conversation.

“That's on the other side of the city. Batman, even at our top speed, we won't make it.”

“I know Red Wing. That's why I called the jet. Cobb didn't think of everything.”

Not even five minutes later Batman and Red Wing fell through the opening. Both of them had a laptop in hand. “We don't have enough time to extract the bomb.” Tim said by way of explanation while they picked the locks on their handcuffs. “But since there's a proximity trigger, we thought maybe we could hack the frequency it uses, change the programming.”

Hood shook his head, rubbing his wrists as he sat up. “No time. Take Dick out of here. Get him out of range of the bomb, maybe we can shut it off.”

Batman nodded, and within seconds, Tim and Dick were strapped in the jet and flying away. Then, the vigilante sat himself down with his laptop and started ticking away. “No reason I can't try and change the programming anyways.”

Hood nodded and started working on the tape around his legs, carefully avoiding the device still attached to his leg. Probably just a delivery system to get the bomb into his body. He hadn't noticed before, but it was in there really deep. Metal spikes, going right to his bone. He should probably pull it out, but he could do that once Batman finished reprogramming it. He didn't want to run the risk that touching the thing would make it explode.

Just for safety, he scooted a little further from the Bat., but almost immediately got pulled back. “Stay close. This is difficult enough without you adding distance.”

“But if it goes off-”

“We have at least twenty minutes until it does.”

“According to a Talon. Who wants to kill you.” He tried to shift away again. This time, when Batman pulled him back, he glared. Hood had grown up in a group of immortal death machines, but he'd never seen a glare like that. It stunned him into silence for a few minutes.

He knew he couldn't, that there were no touch receptors in his brain that would allow him to, but he could swear he could feel the bomb, tucked up in the middle. He could hear it, his brain carrying the vibrations better than air ever could.

Batman swore suddenly. “It's not just tied to the trigger. It's tied to Gotham's geographic location. And I can't stop it.”

Hood was silent for a minute. “So, as long as I'm in the city, I'm going to die?” Batman nodded. “Can you slow it down at least? I can handle never coming to Gotham again, but I don't think Dick could handle never seeing me again.”

There was a moment as Bruce searched the code. Finally, he nodded. “I'm not sure how much time I can give you, but I can do it.” There was another few minutes of silence, then the Bat cleared his throat. “Um. What you said, right before going into the Court. You had been found in a red hoodie?”

“That's what they told me. Why?”

“About four years ago, I came across a child trying to steal the tires off of my car. He was wearing a red hoodie. And he bore a strong physical resemblance to you.”

That took a moment. “Wait, so I tried to steal the wheels off of the Batmobile?”

“Almost succeeded. You had three off before I noticed. That's not the point though. I wanted to help you after that, try and get you into a position in life so you wouldn't have to steal tires to survive. I know your name. I could tell you now, if you wanted.”

He thought about it. His name. His name. It had eluded him for years, and now he could get it back. It would probably be his only time to do so, if Batman couldn't figure this out. But... “Thanks, but not yet. I want Dick to be here for this.” Batman nodded, as if he had expected no less, and went back to work.

Another minute or three of quiet. Then, “Batman? The ticking is getting louder.”

“No! We should have another ten minutes, at least! I'm not done yet!”

“Ten minutes according to a psychopath!” Hood tried to scramble away, to get Batman out of the blast radius, but he was pulled back again.

“Not. Yet!” Batman growled.

Hood wanted to move again. He really did. But he didn't want to risk distracting Batman. So he sat, trying to ignore the steady, but increasingly loud ticking. Slowly, it changed into beeping.

When the beeping reached its loudest, he pressed his hands to his ears. It did nothing, but it made him feel better. He couldn't hear Batman anymore, but he could see his mouth moving. Batman probably couldn't see him. His eyes were riveted to the screen, his fingers flying across the keys.

The beeping was all he heard now, reverberating through his skull, his bones. And then something changed. “Batman, it's counting now! Twenty seconds!” He was probably shouting, and he couldn't hear Batman's reply. Nineteen, eighteen.

He tried to move again, but Batman's hand flashed out lightning fast and pulled him back before returning to the keyboard. Seventeen, sixteen, fifteen. At two, he would bolt. He wouldn't take Batman with him. Red Wing still needed a dad, and Gotham still needed a Batman.

Fourteen.

Thirteen.

Twelve.

On the outside, nothing had changed. Batman was typing, Hood was defending his ears from some unhearable noise. Inside, the beeping had started going out of sync with the countdown, going so fast it was almost a continuous whine. Batman was sitting with intense focus, working feverishly, almost desperately.

Three.

Two.

Hood dived away. Tried to. Batman already had his hand out, grabbing Hood's arm and slamming him down.

One.

With a grunt, Batman hit one last key. The beeping stopped. The timer stopped. But the ticking was still there.

Batman sighed. “Safe. For now.”

Dick didn't want to let go. Even with Hood pushing at his arms, trying to get him off, he didn't want to. His Little Wing had almost died. Again. And Dick hadn't been there. He could still die now and it would be his fault.

Batman hadn't brought Hood back straight away. He'd gone to a clinic first. The doctor, Leslie Thompkins, and old friend of Bruce Wayne, had done every scan under the sun to see if they could remove the bomb.

They couldn't. It had tendrils, and it had wrapped them around Hood's hypothalamus. They could get it out. But they would risk taking out the hypothalamus as well, which wouldn't kill him, but it would have drastic effects on him for the rest of his life.

They hadn't done any scans on him, but Dick's bomb was probably the same. If it wasn't for Batman, just being near Dick, being in Gotham, for more than six hours would kill Hood, and severely injure anyone in a three foot radius. As it was, they only had eighty three hours. Batman could give them that much time. Any longer, and the bomb was programmed to explode spontaneously.

And there was one more thing. The counter reset once a month. Twenty six days and thirteen hours to be exact. It all added up to one thing. Hood had to leave. And he had to leave Dick behind.

He didn't want to let go.

“I'm alright Dickie. I promise. This is a good thing. I can travel, see the world, do anything I want to. And I'll visit, all the time. I'll even text you if you promise not to spam me every five seconds for updates.”

“No promises Little Wing.”

“Yeah, didn't think so.”

“You can't travel. You're only fourteen. You'll get lost or kidnapped or mugged or-” A thousand thousand possibilities, a thousand thousand dangers, and Dick wouldn't be there.

“I'm also a Talon. Ex-Talon. Anyone who tries will be sorry.” Dick couldn't see Hood's face, but he could feel the smirk. Hood could handle himself, of course. But still.

“Um.” A small voice off to the side spoke up. Tim. The only brother that Dick could still look after. “I don't want to interrupt...” He got cut off when Dick pulled him into the hug. Tim was surprised, Hood was surprised, Dick felt a teensy bit better. But it wasn't long before Tim started struggling too. “No, seriously, this is important. Bruce knows Hood's name.”

“WHAT?!” In his shock, Dick loosened his grip, just enough for the other two to slip out. “He does? Since when? What is it?”

“Yes, since we were in the Court, and I don't know, he didn't tell me,” Tim listed off as he rubbed a crick out of his neck. Hm. Dick didn't think his hugs were that tight.

For the first time since the Court got their hand on them for a second time, a smile spread over Dick's face. No, not a smile. An expression of pure joy and excitement painted across his face. Smile was too small of a word, the sun was dim in comparison. They were currently in the medbay, Bruce was in front of the Batcomputer. Only one measly wall between him and his little brother's name and this wall had a door.

He grabbed Hood by the shirt, the same old Batsuit he had dressed in before he left, now ratty and torn, but full of great hand holds, and dragged him towards the Batcomputer. “Bruce! You know his name! What is it?”

Hood pulled back a little. After all this time, wanting, wondering. But what if Bruce was wrong? What if it wasn't his name? How would he know? For all he knew, his name could be Greg, Connor, Max, Phillip. All of them, none of them.

But... if it was wrong, would it matter? A name was a name. Even if it wasn't the same one it had been, it would still be his. He could take the name, make it his own.

They were getting closer to Bruce. Bruce was standing, turning towards them, still dressed in his Batsuit, but with the cowl down. No, no, no, he wasn't ready for this.

“I do. I was going to tell him back in the cavern, but he wanted to wait for you.” Why did he have to mention that? Dick was beaming at him, brighter than before, if that was possible. “Are you ready Hood?”

No. Yes. No. Maybe? “Yes.” Dammit. Stupid traitor mouth.

“Hood, your name is Jason Peter Todd.”

Oh. He rolled it around in his head. Jason. Jason Peter Todd. Jason Todd. It felt... familiar. Right. Like pulling on a old, warm sweater. The name settled on his shoulders, feather light and heavier than anything. It was a new weight, a good weight, a weight he could most definitely live with. Jason.

Something wet slipped down his cheek. Hastily, he swiped at his eyes. Tried to. Dick was still holding his shirt, and he got in the way. Smiling, he looked up at his brother.

Dick smiled back. Softly, he said, “Hello. My name is Richard, but you can call me Dick.”

“Hi Dick. My name is Jason. It's a pleasure to meet you.”