#savvy’s fics

[unorthodoxsavvy]

The Philver Scream

The American Nightmare

Chapter 6

Word Count: 75k

Rated: R

Genre: Horror

Phil sat at his kitchen table with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a mug of hot tea in his hands. He hadn’t noticed, but it was the mug his brother Martyn had given him. The hot liquid had called out the constellations of stars, but Phil was too busy staring straight ahead at a knot in his wooden table while Dan paced back in forth in front of him on the phone.

“Yeah. Yeah, it just happened. Yeah, I got over here as quick as I could. No, you don’t need to come up. We’ll be there tomorrow. I don’t know, I’ll think of something. Yeah, I’ll tell him. He’s in no shape to talk to anyone. He’s like, in shock or something. No, not like medically, but he may as well be. Yeah. I won’t. Okay.”

Dan pulled away his cell phone from his ear and ended the call.

He slipped his phone in his jacket’s pocket and glanced at the time on the stove.

“If we leave now we can make it by lunch,” Dan commented, more to himself than anything.

He stopped his pacing and pulled out the other chair at the kitchen table, sitting down.

“Phil?”

Phil continued to stare at the table.

“Phil?”

Phil looked up at him.

“Phil, I need to know what you saw,” Dan explained gently. 

Phil didn’t say anything.

“Phil, where was it?”

“I don’t know,” Phil mumbled.

“How many victims?” Phil winced.

Dan rephrased the question.

“How many people died?”

“Children,” Phil mumbled.

“How many children died?”

“Four.”

Dan glanced away for a second, pained.

“Who did this?”

“A man.”

“What did he look like?”

“He had scars on his face. He wore a fedora and a tattered and dirty red and green stripped sweater. He had a glove that had blades on the end of it. They called it a knife-glove.”

“What else?”

“I don’t know. It was always dark when he was there. It was hard to see him clearly.”

Dan paused and pursed his lips in thought.

“Phil?”

Phil didn’t respond.

“Do you remember when you were at my mother’s house? And you held her hands? And you looked through her memories?”

Phil nodded.

“Can you… show me? Can you show me what you saw?”

Phil took a moment to think about it. He supposed he could.

“Yes,” he replied.

Dan held out his hands.

“I don’t want to,” Phil objected, the horrors of his dream still fresh on his mind.

“I’m asking you to,” Dan argued softly.

“I saw you die again.” At this, a tear spilled down Phil’s cheek.

“Please, Phil.” 

Phil hesitated, but slowly, with great restraint, he placed his hands gently in Dan’s, closed his eyes, and squeezed, pushing the memories and thoughts of his dream into Dan.

Dan’s grip on Phil’s hands tightened as he witnessed everything that Phil was able to remember from his dream. There were snippets missing, details that were foggy, but the main gist of it was there. The murders were there.

Dan pulled his hands away.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

*-*-*-*-*

Dan went upstairs and packed a bag for Phil while Phil sat at the table and drank his tea. It was the morning of August 14th, and it was still dark out. Dan came back downstairs and loaded Phil into his car and drove all the way back to his house. Phil sat in the car and waited while Dan packed a bag for himself.

Dan popped the trunk and placed his own overnight bag in the back before climbing back into the front seat to start the long drive back down to Quantico.

Phil leaned against the passenger seat window staring ahead in the dark as Dan’s high beams lit up the road in front of them, illuminating trees, deer on the side of the road, the blades of grass wet with morning dew, and so much more. Phil focused on one thing for a second before the next thing caught his eye.

Dan stared straight ahead without saying a word. The radio was off and Phil didn’t have his earbuds in. There was nothing but the sound of the car and it’s engine and it’s tires as it ate up the miles, bringing them closer and closer to Virginia.

Do you want to talk about it? Phil asked.

I don’t know, Dan answered honestly.

Phil’s eyes flickered towards the corner of the dashboard, as far away from Dan as they could.

We have to talk about it at some point.

I know. But not right now. Not right now.

*-*-*-*-*

Phil wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point he’d fallen asleep, because when he woke up the sun was just starting to peak over the skyline, and they were pulling off 95 towards a McDonalds.

McDonalds coffee is shit.

“I’m hungry.”

Phil didn’t reply.

“I hate when you do that,” Dan said again.

“Sorry,” Phil mumbled, quietly.

Dan spared a quick glance over at Phil. 

“It’s okay. If it feels better for you, you can do that.”

Thanks, Phil smiled.

Dan reached over and ruffled Phil’s hair. Phil closed his eyes in bliss, using every part of his mind to savor his touch.

“Do you want anything?” Dan asked.

Phil nodded.

Dan pulled up to the microphone menu.

“Hi, welcome to McDonalds, how may I help you today?”

“Hi, can I have a large coffee, and two egg McMuffins?”

Dan watched his order come up on the screen while Phil unbuckled his seatbelt next to him.

“Anything else I can do for you?”

Phil climbed onto the middle consol as much as his long legs would allow him and shoved his head in front of Dan’s to speak out the window.

“Can I have a breakfast with hot cakes and a large coffee as well?”

Phil slid back into his seat while his order came up on the screen.

“Will that be all for you today?”

Dan glared at Phil as he spoke.

“Yes, thank you,” he replied cheerily while giving Phil a death glare.

“That’ll be twelve eighty-two at the next window.”

“Thanks!” Phil called before Dan could say anything else. Dan took his foot off the brake and slowly rolled around the corner.

“You’re paying,” he said pointedly.

“My wallets in the trunk,” Phil reminded him, but as he was speaking Dan reached into his back pocket and pulled out Phil’s wallet, removing his debit card and paying at the first window.

Phil shrugged and turned to admire the view of early morning crows dumpster diving in the McDonald’s dumpster outside the passenger-side window.

They didn’t have to wait long for their order to be ready this early in the morning, and soon it was back on the road.

Dan side-eyed Phil as Phil scarfed down his food quickly.

“I guess you were hungry too,” he smirked.

Phil shrugged as he chowed down on his eggs. He was watching the GPS slowly count down the miles until they arrived back in Virgina to start everything all over again. Phil couldn’t help but wonder how many times this was going to happen to him. What if this was the rest of his life?

He tried to push the dark thoughts away for the time being as he turned his attention out the window. It was still dark enough for Phil to spot some deer on the side of the road. He hoped they stayed there and didn’t try and cross the interstate. There was no reason for them to. There was nothing better on the other side.

“If you could have any wild animal for a pet, what would you pick?” he asked Dan, trying to distract them both.

Dan tilted his head to the side ever so slightly as he drove and thought.

“A tiger,” he growled.

“You really want to house and feed a tiger?”

Dan shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a raccoon. Or, ooh, a red panda. Yeah, I’ll take a red panda. They’re cute.”

“Do you even know what they eat?” Phil asked.

“Yeah, they eat like bamboo and stuff.”

Phil nodded.

“What about you?”

“Maybe a koala.”

“A koala?”

“Yeah. They sleep a lot and they hug you when you pick them up.”

“Don’t they smell weird?”

“I don’t know, do they?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never hugged a koala. Maybe I’m thinking of a sloth. You should get a sloth.”

“Like just go out in the wilderness and pick up a sloth and bring it home?”

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t survive a day out in the wilderness.”

“I don’t know, you survived being hunted by some secret agency of doctors with guns trying to kill us and stuff. I think you could survive the wilderness.”

“I would cut myself on a tree and get tetanus or something.”

Dan shook his head.

“You need to give yourself more credit. I think you’d be fine.”

Phil shrugged.

“Maybe when all of this is over we can go camping,” Dan suggested.

Phil shrugged. “Yeah, maybe.” To himself, he thought, if Dan was thinking about taking him camping, then he guessed the dream hadn’t scared Dan off from him forever. Not yet, at least.

“When do you think this is all going to be over?” Phil asked, circling back around to his earlier thoughts.

Dan pursed his lips. “I don’t know, Phil, but it won’t go on forever. We’ll catch whoever is doing this.”

“Do you think it’s the same person who did both?” Phil asked.

Dan shook his head. “I don’t know, Phil. I don’t think it’s likely, but look at some of the serial killers we do know about out there. I mean take Israel Keys for example. Guy drove all around the United States killing people with his little premade killing kits in every state. Maybe whoever this is has a similar deal. It’s not totally out of the realm of possibility that the guy can hop state lines killing people, it’s just unlikely. And if it is one guy, then he’s gonna slip up sooner or later, they all do.”

“Isn’t there supposed to be like roughly a hundred or so active serial killers at one time? And I mean, like, they didn’t catch like Jack the Ripper or anything,” Phil argued.

“Jack the Ripper killed less than ten people, didn’t he? Same with The Zodiac. They stopped before they got caught. They weren’t too greedy. It was the ones who were too greedy that got caught. And this guy? If it is the same guy, he seems really greedy. He killed seven kids last month, and another four this month. He’s going big. The bigger you go, the more room there is to mess up and get caught.”

“Do you ever listen to, like, true crime podcasts or anything?” Phil asked.

Dan shook his head. “No, I don’t have time to. And anyway, even if I did, I don’t know if I’d want the input of some crack armchair detectives spewing their own ideas about cases they know nothing about.”

“I think some of them just cover the facts, and a lot of them talk to people who were involved. If you got murdered, you wouldn’t want to end up on a true crime podcast?”

“Hell no. They can keep their noses out of my death. If someone didn’t care enough about you in life, why should they care about you in death?”

“You didn’t know Martyn when he was alive, but you care about him now that he’s dead,” Phil pointed out. 

Dan shook his head.

“That’s different. It was a professional relationship. I was the cop working his case.”

“And so this, this is a professional relationship, then?” Phil asked, hesitantly testing the waters.

Dan sighed. “No,” he admitted. “It’s a working friendship.” He left it at that.

Phil shrugged and searched for something else to talk about.

“So, if you could have any other wild animal as a pet, what would it be?”

Dan rolled his eyes. 

“Isn’t it time to put your headphones back in?” He suggested.

Phil smiled and did just that.

*-*-*-*-*

Lunch was McDonalds, again. Phil didn’t complain, he just gave Dan his order, pointedly staying in his own seat this time. They pulled back off onto 95, windows down and fast food wrappers flapping in tight grips while Dan kept one hand on the steering wheel and Phil kept one earbud in.

Phil watched as a car pushed past them doing near 80 with a little “Baby on Board!” sticker on the back windshield as he delicately held a french fry between two fingers. He harumphed and popped the fry in his mouth.

“If the murders took place over four days, then do you think that your dream was the first night they all died, or the last?” Dan asked, ignoring the car flying by.

“The last, I think. And don’t you want to wait until we talk to Jake?”

Dun shrugged his shoulders, hand holding his whooper. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just so…”

“Vivid?”

“Yeah. It’s stuck in my mind, even if the details are murky and hazy in some places.”

Phil nodded.

“I understand why you had trouble sleeping after this.”

“Thanks,” Phil replied, thinking about how in his dream they’d been sharing a room, sleeping together at a sleepover and then to stay safe against the dream demon, or the man with the knife hand, or whatever or whoever he was. He missed when Dan and him had shared hotel rooms or laid together on the same bed comfortably. Time and distance had changed the nature of their relationship, and Phil didn’t know where he stood with Dan anymore. Not that he ever did, really. And Phil knew his own attitudes about things wasn’t helping. He never sensed any kind of romantic feelings between Jake and Dan, but his mind couldn’t help but be jealous anyway: even if it wasn’t a romantic nature, Dan spoke about Jake in a way he never spoke about Phil. He spent a lot of time with Jake, and revered him. Phil felt like he’d not only taken a backseat, but faded into obscurity in the rearview mirror. And at the same time, he was embarrassed he felt this way to begin with. He was glad his psychic abilities didn’t go both ways; he wouldn’t want Dan seeing his thoughts and how he felt about him. But Phil could reach out and see how Dan was feeling, even if it wasn’t specifically about him.

Phil closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, finding Dan and latching onto him, and letting the feelings flood into him. They were a mirror of his own. Worry, confusion, repulsion at such a horrible dream… what were they going to find this time around? Phil already knew, and he wished he didn’t.

Phil rolled down his window with the crank handle and stuck his face out the window.

“It’s nice that it’s still warm down here,” he commented, letting the wind hit his face and push his worries to the back of his mind.

“Global warming,” Dan muttered.

Phil shrugged. “I know. But it’s nice.”

Dan didn’t rain on his parade any more.

*-*-*-*-*

They pulled into Quantico a little past 1:30 in the afternoon. Jake was waiting for them outside the same building Dan had pulled up to when they first arrived last time. His button down shirt had the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his arms were crossed at the chest. As they got closer Phil realized just how disheveled he looked.

“Dan, Phil,” he greeted as he walked to meet them.

He turned towards Phil. “How are you feeling?” he asked, placing a hand on Phil’s arm.

“I’m alright, thanks,” Phil replied genuinely. He still wasn’t Jake’s biggest fan, but he’d been kind and useful to Phil, something that was hard for him to come across.

“Let’s get you both inside, and fill you up with more crappy coffee,” he joked.

Phil followed behind Dan, who followed behind Jake as he led them inside. 

“Have you found anything yet?” Dan asked the question that’d been in both of their minds they entire way down.

Joke glanced over his shoulder while shaking his head. “I’m afraid we haven’t. Are you sure it was New Jersey?”

“I’m sure,” Phil pipped up.

Jake shook his head again. “It doesn’t matter anyway, we haven’t heard squat.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Phil growled under his breath as they stopped outside the ground floor elevator doors. 

Dan put a hand on Phil’s shoulder. “We’ll find them, Phil.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Phil asked quietly, but not quietly enough, it seemed.

“Tell me what?” Jake asked, swiveling to face them while the elevator doors dinged and opened.

They piled inside.

“Part of Phil’s…” Dan hesitated, remembering what Phil had said about him not liking when Dan called them his “gifts” or “abilities”. “Phil can sometimes show people what he’s seen, and people can show him their thoughts too. So I asked, and Phil was able to show me the dream as best as he remembered it himself at the time.”

“So you’ve seen it to?” Jake asked.

“Yes, I have,” Dan confirmed. 

“Can you show me?” Jake asked, as if the words stumbled out of his mouth. Then he waved a hand and shook his head. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. Well, two minds are better than one, at least. It’ll be better that we’ll be able to consult both of you now.” Phil couldn’t help but feeling his role in all this had been diminished. Dan had been there to translate what Phil had seen to the FBI. Now, though, Dan has seen everything Phil had. Did they really need Phil anymore? Well, it wasn’t as if they were going to send him home.

“I’ll show you something else some other time,” Phil offered. Jake threw a quick smile and nod over his shoulder as he weaved down the maze of seemingly endless yet similar hallways before stopping at his office door to unlock it.

When he was able to push into the door, he beelined for his desk, taking his seat quickly and jiggling the mouse to his desktop computer while Dan and Phil shuffled in, pulling up chairs to the other side of Jake’s desk.

“I have contacts out with an ear to the ground if anything comes up, but so far I’ve only found a few homicides with two people or less, and quite a few suicides.”

He turned away from his screen to look between the two. Dan and Phil looked at each other.

“Well you’re the FBI agents. Shouldn’t we start taking a closer look at these homicides and suicides?”

“Phil’s right,” Dan agreed, turning back towards Jake. “And besides, it wasn’t all in one night this time.”

Jake leaned back, stroking his chin in thought. “Maybe we should start by you both telling me what exactly happened in Phil’s dream.”

Phil looked at Dan and Dan shrugged. Between the two of them, they started telling Jake everything about the dream. Dan left out the part where he and Phil were in love, though, much to Phil’s relief. He didn’t think he could handle the embarrassment.

“Diazepam?” Jake repeated, interrupting Dan as he was speaking.

“Yeah, in Phil’s dream, he suggested we take Diazepam to help us fall asleep before we could defeat the dream demon.”

Jake did some typing and clicking over on his keyboard and mouse before swiveling around the desktop computer screen to face Dan and Phil. This morning a headline had popped up that read “Double Teen Suicide Inspired by Romeo and Juliet.”

“Romeo and Juliet!” Phil exclaimed. “That was the book they were reading in English!”

“There’s a news clip here,” Jake turned the screen back a little on it’s lazy susan so both sides of the table could watch while he steered his mouse to hit the “play” button.

A woman in a blue shirt and a blue cardigan stood in front of a house. In the sloped driveway behind her, an ambulance could be seen while paramedics transferred two body bags into the back of vehicle.

“The town of Blairstown, New Jersey has been rocked yet again by a mysterious teen suicide. This marks the ninth overdose of the sleep suppressant drug Diazepam this month in the US by a teen. In this house, a pair of teens were found holding hands and laying in bed together with the pill bottle on the nightstand next to them in what is being described as inspired by the famous Shakespear play Romeo and Juliet, which the two were reading in class. Allison and Mason, the names of the two students found in this house, were close according to reports, growing up across the street from each other. Reports say that the death of their friends earlier this week may have influenced them to take their own lives.”

Jake looked over at Dan and Phil. Phil was shaking his head. “It wasn’t a suicide, though. Someone killed them.”

Jake looked at Dan hesitantly.

Dan sighed. “I know how it sounds, Jake. One killer teleports around a camp in the middle of the night killing kids? Well, it can be explained by more than one killer. But a dream demon that kills kids while they sleep?” He thought for a moment. “Maybe we’re taking this too literally. Maybe this is some kind of metaphor. I mean really, how many times do your dreams really happen like they do in real life?”

“What do you mean?” Jake asked, running a hand through his hair as he leaned on it. Phil figured that was partly to blame for him looking so frumpy.

“What if we’re not looking for a dream demon, but someone who just kills people in their sleep? I mean maybe he’s drugging them first with Diazepam and then slicing and dicing them.”

“The media was saying that the deaths were overdoses, though,” Phil pointed out.

Dan shook his head. “Listen, I’m not saying it is right, but I’ve seen a lot of cops do what they think is right, including covering up a serial killer to chalk it up to accidental death or suicide. I’m not saying it’s good or it’s right, but that it might be what’s happening here.”

“Well how do we know for sure?” Phil asked.

Dan looked at Jake.

“You want me to call and ask?” Jake asked, dumbfounded.

Dan shrugged, a sheepish smile on his face. “We can’t claim jurisdiction if there’s no homicide,” he pointed out.

“You want me to call the town of Blairstown, New Jersey, and ask if they’re covering up a serial killing?” Jake reiterated.

“Jake, what choice do we have?” Dan pushed.

Jake shook his head. “Dan, I’m sorry, but we don’t have enough to go on.”

Dan’s face hardened and he leaned back in his chair.

“Fine. Phil and I will go by ourselves then.”

“Dan-”

“No. We’re right about this, Jake.”

Jake made a fist and slammed it on the table. “Dammit, Dan, I didn’t say I didn’t believe, you, I said we don’t have enough to go on.”

“So let Phil and I go!”

“This is the FBI, Dan, not some rinky-dink police force. You cannot just go rogue. There are protocols in place for a reason. Are you really willing to throw away your entire career over this?”

“Jake, children were murdered!”

“You don’t know that, Dan.”

Dan’s face hardened again. “Yes I do. I believe Phil.”

“So do I, Dan,” Jake repeated. He sighed and put his head in his hands. “Look. You’re not an official FBI agent. If you and Phil want to take a drive on your own personal time up to New Jersey, I can’t stop you, and I won’t stop you, but I can’t help you, either. Not in any official capacity. And I cannot help you unless I am invited by whoever is in charge of this case down there, of their own volition, which means admitting to covering up a series of homicides.”

Dan stood up from his chair. “We’ll get you your phone call. Just be ready for it.”

Jake sighed. “I will be, Dan. I will be.”

*-*-*-*-*

“Thanks for standing up for me in there,” Phil mumbled as they waited for the elevator.

“Yeah, well, I want to catch this sick son of a bitch,” Dan mentioned.

Phil shrugged. “It’s just nice to know you have my back, is all.”

The elevator doors dinged and Dan rushed in followed by Phil.

“Of course I have your back, Phil. I saw what you saw. I know you’re not lying.”

“How, though?” Phil asked.

“How what?” Dan asked, confused.

“How do you know I’m not lying?” The doors opened and Dan strode out, making his way deliberately towards where he’d parked the car. “How do you know that I didn’t just make it up?”

Dan shook his head. “Because you wouldn’t,” he argued. “You just wouldn’t.”

Dan unlocked the car and slid in. Phil followed suit on the passenger side.

“You’ve seen all your life what death and grief do to people. And you’ve experienced it yourself. You wouldn’t just make that up for clout. I don’t know why we were in these dreams, or why you’re having them, or why we were together in both of them, but it means something, and I want to get to the bottom of it. Don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Dan pulled out of the parking lot.

“How did you know we were together in the first one I had?” Phil asked.

“I knew there was something you were keeping from me about the first dream. When you showed me this one I figured that had to be it.”

“Are we going to talk about it?” Phil asked.

Dan glanced over and saw the pained look on Phil’s face.

“I’m sorry, but not right now, Phil. Solving this murder comes first. Not us.”

“You can’t put it off forever,” Phil muttered, looking away.

Dan grabbed Phil’s hand so Phil could sense he wasn’t lying.

“I’m not, Phil. I’m not. Just… not right now, okay? Not right now.”

*-*-*-*-*

Neither of them were looking forward to being in the car for an entire day again, but New Jersey was closer to Quantico than Massachussettes or even Connecticut was, even if it was only by two or four hours, so they pushed on through the exhaustion and kept driving. At some point Dan had let Phil take over driving, the first time in all their travels, but they were running on only a few hours of sleep and a lot of emotional exhaustion as well. They hardly spoke throughout the drive, one often sleeping in the passenger seat while the other sucked down a Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts or Mcdonald’s coffee trying to keep their eyes from fluttering shut. 

The dotted white lines were hypnotic and the traffic was slow, neither of which helped any in keeping them awake. Phil blasted heavy metal in his earbuds while he drove, but at this point he’d become desensitized to it, and figured it was just a functional as a lullaby. He turned it up, however, past what was probably safe for his hearing, and kept on driving and driving, knowing that it couldn’t last forever. In fact, the GPS on Dan’s phone, propped up in it’s little holder on the dashboard informed him just how much longer they had. Phil watched the time count down minute by minute as he flicked his eyes back and forth from the road in front of them to the phone screen to the rear and side view mirrors then back to the road in front of him again. He made mental notes of the cars he saw frequently, who were traveling companions of theirs and yet they’d never met, off on their own adventures… ones happier and better than theirs, he hoped.

It was with relief that they finally crossed over the Delaware-New Jersey state line, joining up with their fellow cars on the New Jersey Turnpike. Dan was back in the driver’s seat and Phil had his earbuds in once more, leaning against the window as he gazed out of it. 

Neither said anything as they crossed the state line. There was still another 45 minutes to go, but it was better than an hour, or two, or three… 

Before either of them knew it, they were pulling off 95 and weaving their way through smaller highways, and then finally through country backroads, over scenic hills and rolling farm lands and idealistic quintessential New England towns, until finally they rolled past a sign for Blairestown, New Jersey, a town that up until today they’d never heard about. It was dark by now, and they’d have to find a place to stay, but for now they found a parking space outside a local hardware store and climbed out of the car to stretch their sore and aching bodies.

“So this is it,” Phil muttered, looking around at the town bathed by streetlamps.

“This is it,” Dan repeated in agreement.

“Not much to it, is there?”

“Never seems to be.”

Phil couldn’t argue with that.

Dan locked the car and they took a walk down the town’s main street’s sidewalk. 

“What do you think?” Dan asked after a few minutes.

“I think there’s more to the story,” Phil replied.

“I think so too. Should we head back and get some sleep and figure out the rest tomorrow?”

“I suppose. And we should probably get our story straight,” Phil mentioned.

“Or gay,” Dan couldn’t help but joke, trying to throw in a smile.

Phil smiled back. “You’re right. Queer it up in here.”

They made their way back to the car and Phil pulled up places to stay the night near the town.

They ended up driving about twenty minutes back out of town where they pulled into a chain motel and booked a room for the night. 

Dan took a hot shower, and when he exited the bathroom, Phil was already on his bed near the room’s windows, curled up, and facing away from Dan.

Dan grabbed his phone off the motel room desk and plopped on his own bed, opening his screen and looking through his social media, half expecting Phil to roll over and start a conversation with him- but he didn’t.

Dan could feel Phil’s mind racing, turning everything between them over and over again. It didn’t seem like that healthy of a distraction from the murders, but Dan supposed anything was better than thinking about dead children and the way their bodies had been slashed, leaving flaps and folds of flesh flopping, dripping with blood…

Dan shuddered. He needed a distraction too.

The air between them was tense, and Dan could feel a sort of emotional pain radiating off of Phil. He found that if he focused too much on that as well, he started to feel it too. Was Phil always feeling like this? Maybe that’s why he constantly had earbuds in, trying to drown out the feelings with anything… as far as Dan knew, Phil didn’t drink or smoke or take anything except some anxiety and depression medication. Maybe focusing on his own pain stopped him from feeling all the pain of those around him. Was that really any better, though?

Dan wanted to talk about things, to work them out, he really did, but he couldn’t let himself open that box right now. He needed to focus on the case. He couldn’t let himself feel… well, feel like Phil felt. Phil was good at compartmentalizing his pain, but it was like he reached down inside himself when he could and took it out, holding it, observing it, ruminating over it… it was almost an indulgence. Maybe that’s why he didn’t need any drugs. It was like he was addicted to his own pain. Dan would never say that, though, at least not out loud… there’d been a time between them, just a little, when Phil’d been able to put the pain of his brother’s death behind him, and where he’d been able to smile, to laugh… ever since Dan got back from Quantico, though, things had changed. Or maybe they’d changed before that, and he just hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t let himself notice.

Dan was a loner at heart. Relationships just made things more complicated. All types of relationships. Even his relationship with Jake was a potential burdon: sure, they knew each other well and were comfortable in each other’s presence, and that had it’s merits, it’s benefits, but if anything were to happen could Dan trust himself to make the right call? A call that needed to be made, for better or for worse? Maybe when he was out of the field, retired, or some old sod of a police chief in a sleepy New England town, he could relax a little… though, from where they were sitting now, it didn’t seem like that was the best case scenario either. He really didn’t want to believe that a department would cover up a serial killer, but he knew that a lot of police forces did a lot of things that weren’t right, even if they felt like they were… that’s why Dan couldn’t let emotions get in the way. That’s why he had to box it all up. He’d open that box soon, as soon as this case was solved, but he couldn’t, not now. 

Dan was pulled from his thoughts by Phil rolling over in his bed to face Dan, but still Phil didn’t say anything. Dan left him to his own musings. 

Finally Dan shut his phone off and placed it on the bedside table. They had a long day ahead of them tomorrow, and he needed to get a good night’s sleep in order to be the best cop he could. To be the cop that those kids needed. If not in life, then at least in death.

*-*-*-*-*

When Dan woke up Phil wasn’t in the room. He was surprised; Phil was almost never up before him.

Dan grabbed a change of clothes for the day from his bag and carried them into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. While he was in there he heard Phil come back into the room.

Dan opened the bathroom door and took a few trepid steps out to see what Phil was up to.

Phil had a plate with a blueberry bagel piled with cream cheese on it that was already partially eaten.

“None for me?” Dan joked, testing the waters.

Phil glanced up but didn’t say anything.

The waters were icy cold.

Dan wanted to complain about how these days he never could predict what mood Phil would be in, though he remembered what he was like when they were on the road hunting down Martyn’s killers, and he figured he didn’t really have room to criticize. It’d be nice if they could go back to having a relationship outside of all the murder and mayhem they seemed to run into together. Or maybe this was just how it was meant to be between them.

Dan left the room without saying anything else to go get himself something to eat. There were a few muffins left to choose from, along with a few other options, so he grabbed one and placed it on a plate. He scoped out the containers of pre-packaged single-serve cereal containers and grabbed an Apple Jacks, peeling the wrapper off and filling it with milk from the container in the mini fridge. Dan snagged a plastic spoon from the utensil area and brought everything back to their room.

Phil was in the motel room’s shower. Dan could hear the water running from where he sat at the desk eating his Apple Jacks as he scrolled on his phone. He’d been trying to rack his brain for an idea for a reason why they should be allowed to see the bodies, why they were there at all, anything… but his mind was drawing a blank. Seemed like they always had the perfect story in shows like Supernatural. Show up saying you’re the FBI. “Well no one called the FBI” but there they were. Only Dan really was FBI. And if they did call, it would be an issue. Dan huffed. Everything was better in Hollywood.

Dan heard the water in the bathroom stop just as he was fishing for the last pieces of his cereal in the tiny plastic bowl.

He was just sipping up the last of his milk when Phil emerged from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, wet hair hanging down above his bright blue eyes.

Dan spit up on the milk in his mouth and looked away.

“Oh, god, Dan, I’m- I forgot a shirt, and I knew you were down getting breakfast. I guess I thought I had more time.”

Phil’s eyes shifted between Dan and Phil’s open overnight bag on his bed- all the way on the other side of the room as the temperature in Dan’s face continued to rise. 

“Do you need me to…” Dan gestured at the bag on Phil’s bed, keeping his eyes pointed directly towards the floor so he could only make out the vague shape of Phil and any movements in his peripheral.

“Uh, yeah, sure, maybe that would be best. Sorry, I-”

“No, it’s fine,” Dan waved a hand, trying to brush away Phil’s concern. 

He set down his little plastic cup of cereal and pushed his chair out from the desk to stand up and walk over to Phil’s bed.

Dan grabbed a shirt from the bag, balled it up, and tossed it. It started to fall flat, so on instinct, Phil leaned over Dan’s bed to try and catch it, the towel haphazardly slipping from around his waist. Phil ended up being pulled in two directions as he tried to grab both the shirt and keep the towel around himself.

“Jesus Christ,” Dan muttered, turning to look out the window. “Fix yourself and then get back in the fucking bathroom.

He heard Phil sigh quietly and shuffle back into the bathroom.

*-*-*-*-*

“What if we said we had heard a local rumor about a string of murders-”

“No, because we don’t want them to know that we know it’s murder,” Dan reminded him.

Phil let out a dramatic sigh and flopped backwards on the bed.

Phil had been sitting on Dan’s bed with his long legs draped over the edge while Dan sat backwards in the desk chair, arms crossed over the back of the chair. They’d been talking around in circles for almost half an hour at this point, trying to come up with a reasonable cover story, but it seemed like no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t come up with anything.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Phil suggested, sitting back up.

Dan nodded.

“Where did we hear about the murders?”

“The suicides,” Dan reminded him.

“Where did we hear about the suicides?” Phil corrected.

“On the news.”

“And why did we watch the news?”

Dan paused.

“Because Big Brother is always watching,” Phil continued on.

“We can’t use that,” Dan patronized.

“Why not? It’s true isn’t it?”

“No,” Dan argued.

“Did we not scope out the news to find this story?”

“Yes.”

“Are we not the FBI?”

“We are…”

“Then we scoped out the news because we were looking for strange deaths that we think may be connected to an active case the FBI is working.”

“Right.”

“The team working on this mysterious homicide down in Texas flagged the news report as suspicious.”

“Okaaaay-”

“And now we’re here to check it out as representatives of that team.”

“Fine.”

Phil smirked. “Next. What do we need to claim jurisdiction?”

“Jake said that we needed to be invited.”

“But not if it’s suspected to be related to another homicide in a different state, right? That would give us jurisdiction.”

“Yes, but we need evidence to link it to that homicide. Your prophetic dreams are not evidence.”

“When?”

“When what?”

“When do we need evidence by?”

Dan shook his head. “Are you seriously suggesting we look for evidence to fit the crime?”

Phil shrugged.

“No. That doesn’t make us any better than them.”

Phil rolled his eyes, exacerbated. “What choice do we have? Of course we’re better than them! We’re actually trying to find out who did this to them!”

“So you want me to tell the FBI we have evidence that links these two cases and then find that evidence later?”

“Yes.”

Dan sat for a moment chewing his lips.

“Fine. Then we still need them to declare murder. Or we need someone from the FBI to come down on reasonable evidence to take a look at the case to declare murder.”

“We don’t have the evidence yet to bring down someone from the FBI yet, though.”

“Meaning they have to admit murder first so that we have a justifiable reason to claim why we looked for evidence in something that was declared a suicide.”

“Maybe we can just see how it goes while we’re there,” Phil suggested.

“You want to hinge this whole plan on hoping we can convince the officer in charge to change the rulings to murder?”

“It’s what we got. It hasn’t failed us so far.”

Dan rolled his eyes. 

“Actually it nearly got us killed last time.”

“Good thing I can deflect bullets with my mind,” Phil smiled toothily.

“Jesus Christ.”

*-*-*-*-*

Dan pulled into a parking space on the side of the road across the street from the police station.

“You better hope this works,” he muttered towards Phil as he ejected himself from the driver’s seat.

The police department was small, smaller even than the one Dan had worked at. 

The front desk was devoid of a receptionist, leaving only a bell on the desk. Phil reached over and pressed the button down gently, giving it a little ring.

The chief of police himself wandered in from the room behind the desk.

“Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Detective Howell and this is my associate, Mr. Lester. We’re with the FBI,vrepresenting a team looking into suspicious deaths across the country, and some of our detectives flagged the recent string of suicides as suspicious, and sent us down here to take a look.”

“What kind of suspicious deaths?” The police chief asked.

“We’re looking at a murder case-”

“Well these were suicides.”

“Right,” Dan agreed, tersely. “But see we have reason to believe-”

The police chief started to turn around.

“Wait!” Phil called.

The man turned back around to face him.

Phil held his hands out by his sides, fingers splayed apart ever so slightly. He looked at the man directly in the eyes, and gathered his strength inside him, and then… pushed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to have the coroner look at the bodies again?” Phil asked.

The man huffed and snorted in laughter, but he didn’t move.

Phil reached down within himself, pulling reserves he didn’t even know he had, reaching, reaching as if into his very life force itself, pushing himself harder than he ever had.

“Are you sure you don’t want to have the coroner look at the bodies again?” Phil repeated.

The police chief looked at Phil and Phil felt himself within the man’s mind. Phil pushed his will onto the man as hard as he could.

The police chief stared at Phil and Phil stared back. 

Dan looked around, half expecting the lights to flicker or Phil’s nose to start bleeding.

But slowly, the police chief said

“Maybe I will, yeah.”

And he turned around and started going back the way he came.

Phil let go of all the energy he’d been holding and stumbled, caught by Dan.

“See, I told you. You’re like fucking Eleven.”

Phil smiled tiredly.

*-*-*-*-*

Phil was too weak to follow the p0lice chief into the back of the building and down the stairs to the mortuary, so Dan went alone.

When they got there, the coroner was sitting at his desk reading a stack of papers.

“Dr. Cadwell, this man’s from the FBI. He says that these deaths might be related to some murders they’re looking into.”

The coroner glanced from the police chief to Dan slowly.

“Well, you told me to classify these as suicides,” the corner reminded him, speaking slowly and deliberately. Dan got the impression the coroner was against the idea.

“Well, why don’t you take another look,” the police chief suggested, nodding.

The corner looked past the police chief directly at Dan.

“Do you need me to sign these off as murders so you can take the case.”

“Well…” Dan scratched the top of his head.

The coroner dropped the paper he was reading.

“Done. Just give me the paperwork to sign.”

*-*-*-*-*

“Good news, we got the officer to change the ruling to murder, and enough evidence to warrant sending down an official FBI team to look into the possible connection with the homicides at Camp Crystal Lake in Texas.”

Dan was on the phone outside the police department.

“That’s great! What’s the evidence?”

Dan didn’t speak

“What’s the evidence?” Jake repeated cheerily.

He was met with more silence.

“Seriously? What am I supposed to tell them?”

“Jake, we’ll find something, I promise-” 

“It’s not eno-”

“Jake please.”

This time it was Dan that was met with silence.

“Fine. But you better deliver.”

*-*-*-*-*

Dan walked back into the police station and sat next to Phil in one of the chairs in the waiting area.

“I’ll find something, I promise,” Phil mumbled, clearly exhausted.

“I know you will, just be careful, okay?”

Phil nodded tiredly.

Dan stood up again and held out a hand to Phil, who took it. Dan pulled him up and Phil wabbled on his feet before steading himself.

“Do you need to sit for a little while longer?” Dan asked.

“No,” Phil replied, against his better judgment. “Maybe there’s a stool downstairs,” he smiled woozily.

Dan guided Phil down the stairs with one of his arms around Dan’s broad shoulders. It worked out well that Phil was just a tad bit taller than Dan: he was able to lean into Dan as they made their way down the staircase bathed in a horrid sickly green artificial light. The light hummed and flickered at they made their way down. Dan glanced at Phil.

“Cool as it would be, that’s not me,” he smiled half-heartedly.

Dan nodded back, and they continued down the stairs.

He left Phil leaning up against the stairway wall as he pushed and held open the door.

The coroner was still sitting at his desk reading his paperwork.

“I suppose you want a look at these bodies, then?” he called in a monotone voice, eyes still scanning the typed text.

“That’d be great, thanks. And some gloves.”

At that, the coroner looked up.

“Hands-on kind of agents, yeah? Don’t get a lot of those. Not that we get a lot of agents ‘round here to begin with.”

He placed the papers down on his desk and pushed his chair back to stand up.

“Must make the job boring,” Phil suggested.

“Makes the job easier,” the coroner corrected.

He didn’t bother to introduce himself as he handed both of them a pair of gloves.

“What can you tell us about the bodies?” Dan asked.

“Well,” the coroner eyed each of them, “they’re a real mess.”

The coroner opened a row of four body storage chamber along the wall, pulling out each exam table and revealing the four dead kids. Three boys and one girl.

Each body was covered in long slashes that looked like they’d been made by some sort of machinery.

“Do you have any idea what could have made these marks?” Dan asked.

The corner beckoned them over to the first body- the body of Chris. The teen had slashes all across his chest and neck, as well as his arms. Dr. Cadwell gestured to the mosaic of marks across the boy’s chest.

“If you look, a lot of the marks seem to have been made in groupings- I’m not sure if you can tell, but it looks like four or five slashes at once here. Not only that, but the slashes look like they were made by something that was able to bend- so, not like the tongs of a pitch-fork, for example, but something that had a hinge joint. The weapon was small enough to be easily wielded, as you can tell by the different directions the marks made. I know this sounds almost Hollywoodish, but it almost looks like how the average person would expect a body mauled by a bear to look like.”

Dan and Phil exchanged glances.

Dr. Cadwell turned his attention towards Dan. 

“You said you thought these deaths might be related to another case you guys were looking into. Are these marks the same as the ones that were made on the other victims?”

Phil looked at Dan too, wondering how he’d answer.

“No,” Dan answered truthfully. “We have other evidence that links these cases. We don’t believe the same weapon was used.”

“And I’m assuming that link is classified?” Dr. Cadwell asked.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Do you have information about what kind of weapon you think might have done this?” Dr. Cadwell asked.

Phil looked to Dan again, following his lead.

“We do, actually,” Dan said.

“And are you at liberty to share that?” Dr. Cadwell asked.

“What makes you think these are homicides?” Dan countered first.

“Well, they didn’t take place at the same time, so it wasn’t a freak accident. I understand that drugs were found in the system of the last two victims there, and there’s a very good and real possibility they took them together, but to have such precise wounds that were made over and over again be self-inflicted is just highly unlikely. I’m not saying it was a homicide, but it certainly wasn’t suicide, in my opinion.”

Dan chewed on his lip as he nodded, mulling over the words that Dr. Cadwell was saying.

“We think the weapon was a home-made tool,” Dan offered.

“Okay…” Dr. Cadwell trailed off. When it didn’t seem like Dan was going to offer up more information voluntarily, he followed up with “And do you have a guess as to what exactly that tool is?”

“Well…” this time it was Dan that trailed off, feeling like he would sound ridiculous. He remembered what Dr. Cadwell had said though, about how the marks on the bodies looked like a Hollywood bear attack, and figured maybe the coroner wouldn’t think they were so crazy after all. Plus, they were the FBI, he reminded himself. Their reputation preceded them- or at least, he hoped it did. 

“Basically, we think the killer-”

“‘Killer’, singular?” Dr. Cadwell checked.

“Yes, ‘killer’, singular,” Dan confirmed. “We think the killer, singular made a sort of… glove… with long blades on the end, almost like claws.”

“So a glove that the killer wore with home-made claws on the end?”

“Essentially, yes.”

Dr. Cadwell stood in silence, gazing down at the bodies again with this new information.

“I suppose that makes sense. And are you sure that’s what it was?”

Dan shot a quick glance over at Phil. 

“We’re pretty sure. We’re staking our case on it as of right now.”

Dr. Cadwell nodded. “Gotchya. Well, yeah, I mean, that lines up. That would make sense why sometimes there are four slices and sometimes there are five. The thumb would make the anomaly. I still have a lot of questions, though, if that is the case.”

“Like what?” Phil asked.

Dr. Cadwell glanced at him almost startled, as if he hadn’t expected Phil to be speaking at all.

“Well, for example, if what you say is true, and an unnamed killer broke into the house of our last two victims here, for example, then why were they found lying otherwise untouched in the bed? I understand they were drugged, and that they have defensive wounds, but did they just get slashed to pieces, and the killer left, so they decided to just continue to lay down and hold hands while dying? I mean, from the crime scene photos, it doesn’t look like there was any attempt made by either of them to stop their bleeding, get help, anything. And not only that, but there was at least one parent in the home as far as I’m aware during the time of this supposed murder. How was this committed with no one seeing or hearing anything?”

“There are examples of cases where other people in the homes were unaware of a murder being taken place in another part of the house,” Dan offered up.

“Right, and how many of these people end up in prison afterwards on murder charges?”

Dan didn’t respond.

“We have some theories as to how it could have went down,” Phil offered up.

The coroner looked at him skeptically.

“What are you, some kind of X-Files division?”

Dan chuckled. “I’m sure we’ve been called that before.”

“Actually,” Phil explained, “we think the killer has some sort of supernatural powers that allows him to attack people in their sleep, and that’s why the kids drugged themselves with Diazepam: to go after him.”

The corner scoffed a little and raised his eyebrows slightly.

“Didn’t know feds had a sense of humor.”

“Do we look like your regular feds?” Phil asked with a small smirk.

“You’re right, you’re right,” the coroner threw his hands up in defeat.

“Well, you seem to know what you’re looking for, so how about you take a look, and I’ll assist in any way I can.”

“Sounds good, thanks.”

He moved out of the way to allow Dan and Phil access to Chris’s body.

“Did you know any of these kids?” Phil asked while Dan peered up and down Chris’s body with his hands tucked carefully behind his back.

“Not personally. Recognize them from around town. Maybe knew names and parents. Probably didn’t speak to them more than a ‘hello’ or an ‘excuse me’.”

Dan gave Phil a look like he was asking him if Phil was going to take a look at the bodies or not. Phil moved to trade places with Dan. He didn’t really know what exactly he was looking for, so he figured he would start from the head down. As much as he’d met dead people, he’d never actually touched a dead body, or been in such close proximity to one.

Phil pushed past all his natural instincts in order to start ruffling through Chris’s hair while Dan asked more questions about the town and the area and the victims. Phil had forgotten they didn’t actually know the last two victim’s names.

“Yeah, Tony and Maria. Grew up across the street from each other as soon as her family moved from Puerto Rico, or so I’m told. We have a population of Puerto Rican folks that live around here. Everything else is pretty white though. And she was the only victim of color, so I doubt it was a racial crime. You don’t have any motive, do you? Sick fucks like this don’t usually have a motive outside of wanting to kill kids. Were your other victims all kids too?”

“Yeah, they were,” Dan asked.

“And what case did you say you were linking it to?”

“I didn’t,” Dan smiled coyly.

Phil moved down to Chris’s face. He peeled the eyelids back and looked into the soulless eyes, and then opened the mouth. He felt awful about it, and really hoped he wouldn’t have to speak to any of these kids later on after pawing at their corpses, but he knew it was the smart thing to do. At least none of them were here, now.

Phil moved down towards Chris’s chest, trying his best to remove the emotions that came flooding when he looked at the ragged and torn skin. The blood had all been drained and washed off the body, since in declaring it a suicide there was no need to preserve evidence. Phil brushed his fingered gloves lightly over the deep grooves.

“Tragic, isn’t it? And they wanted me to call it a suicide.”

Phil looked up at him.

“So why did you?”

Dr. Cadwell shrugged. “They pay my salary. I gave them my educated opinion, but at the end of the day it’s the cops who decide whether to investigate further. Not little ole me.”

Phil didn’t like that answer, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned his attention back down the the pale, lifeless body in front of him. Phil shuffled a few steps over and brought himself to the cadaver’s waist.

Doubting he would find anything of use in the groin region, Phil delicately skipped over the area and moved towards the body’s legs. Still, there was nothing of significance. Not even once Phil reached the soles of the feet with a white tag wrapped daintily around the child’s big toe did Phil find anything.

“Can you roll him over for me?” Phil asked, glancing at the doctor in one last bid.

“I suppose.”

Phil moved out of the way as the doctor ungracefully pulled the body over and rolled it to the other side on the thin metal slab.

Phil went through the hair on the scalp again, this time on the back of the head. Still nothing.

Phil ran his fingers down the back of the boys neck. There was a mark. He could have sworn it wasn’t there before.

Phil hesitated.

“Can I see your notes?” Phil asked, trying his best to sound casual.

“Why? Did you find something?”

Phil cursed in his mind.

“I don’t know, maybe.”

Phil reluctantly moved his fingers away as the doctor moved to look down at the body.

“What the hell? That wasn’t there before. I’m sure of it.”

While the doctor was busy squinting down at Chris’s neck Phil shot Dan a concerned look.

When the doctor stepped away Dan moved in to look down at it.

On the back of the boys neck were two small letters: I and X. Together, they made the roman numeral nine.

The doctor looked between them.

“That wasn’t there before. I’m sure of it,” he repeated, firmer this time.

Dan’s eyes scanned the body as rapidly as he sorted through his thoughts.

“I’d like my associate to check the other bodies, if you would.”

The doctor furrowed his brown at Dan while Phil went to the next body, the body of PJ. Trying to quell his stomach, he gently moved PJ’s head to the side so the back of his neck was exposed. There was nothing.

Hands shaking, Phil reached out again, gently brushing the back of the body’s neck. When he pulled his hand away, there again was the same mark.

Quickly Phil moved to the bodies of Maria and Tony under the pretense of checking them and revealed the mark on each of them.

“This has to be a joke. You’re planting some kind of evidence.” The doctor accused.

“Are you suggesting we somehow gave the bodies cuts?” Dan asked. He glanced down at the cadavers. “They don’t look fresh.”

The doctor glanced down at the marks on each of the bodies again.

“If you had t0 guess, when do you think those marks were made?”

The doctor pursed his lips. “Shortly after death,” he replied.

“So then how could we have just put them there?” Dan argued.

The doctor didn’t answer.

“This is the link we were looking for,” he said to Phil in a matter-of-fact tone.

“I agree,” Phil nodded, trying his best not to look as turmoiled as he felt. He was just a professional doing his job. Nothing more and nothing less.

“If you’ll excuse us, we have a phone call to make.”

Dan turned before the doctor could protest more.

Together, he and Phil climbed the stairs and walked out of the police station.

“Did you put those there?” Dan asked Phil, looking him directly in the eye once they were out of earshot.

“I don’t know.” Phil’s voice quivered.

Dan started pacing back and forth.

“Dan, I’m scared,” Phil admitted.

Dan looked at him.

“Why?”

“Dan, what if I’m the one doing this?” Phil suggested again.

Dan stomped over to Phil and clapped a hand on Phil’s shoulder.

“You’re not doing this, Phil. We saw someone do this. It wasn’t you.”

A tear slipped out of Phil’s eye and he hurriedly wiped it away.

“Look, just, wait in the car, okay? Wait in the car.”

More tears started to slip out of Phil’s diamond-blue eyes. He’s scared of me, he thought to himself.

“I’m NOT scared of you,” Dan snapped. “Just wait in the car while I figure this out!”

Phil dropped his head and stomped over to the passenger side of Dan’s car. He glanced at the tab on the inside of the car door and yanked it up, grabbing at the car handle and pulling. He threw himself inside and slammed the door shut without touching a thing.

It was there that he finally let himself drop his head into his sleeves and let out a quick muffled crying.

After a few second of loud and heavy breathing Phil lifted his head from his sleeved hands, pulled himself together, and stared out the windshield at Dan pacing on the phone.

Phil’s eyes shifted to the passenger door and he grabbed the window handle, slowly turning the knob, watching out the windshield to make sure Dan didn’t notice.

“Yeah, we found a link. No, I can’t tell you what it is. No, I don’t know what it means. Look, Phil’s freaking out, he thinks that he did this…” Dan trailed off. “He didn’t,” he practically growled into the phone, visibly upset. Phil watched him as he continued to pace up and down the sidewalk, tears slowly continuing to fall from his face.

“Tough luck, huh?”

Phil jumped, glancing up from the windshield to the rearview mirror. In the glass’s reflection, he could see two teens sitting in the back of the car. A girl with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail and a boy with slicked back hair. He recognized them immediately.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

The girl turned her head to look out the window while the boy looked past Phil out the windshield.

“Tough luck, huh?” he asked, repeating what the girl had said. “Guess it’s going around.”

The girl turned her attention back to Phil.

“They think we killed ourselves,” Maria said, getting straight to the point.

Phil shook his head. “No, no they don’t. I changed his mind. I told him you didn’t.”

“Is that what happened?” Tony asked.

Phil nodded but try as he might, he couldn’t say anything.

“‘The Romeo and Juliet Suicides’. Poetic, isn’t it?” Maria smirked.

“They’ll never know what happened.” Tony sounded far away as he continued to stare out the window.

“No, I’ll tell them what happened,” Phil argued.

“You don’t even know what’s happening up there,” Maria countered, throwing a nod at Phil.

“I didn’t do this,” he said.

She looked at him up and down.

“How should we know? The man had a mask.”

Phil blinked in surprise.

“A mask?”

“Yeah, a mask. Some creepy burn-faced mask. And a mark.” Maria turned her head to look out the window again.

“A mark?”

“Yeah.”

“What kind of a mark?”

“Some letters,” she said, watching as someone passed by Dan on the phone walking down the sidewalk.

“What letters?”

“An I and an X,” Tony chimed in. “It was a nine. The roman numeral nine.”

[reineydraws]

Twist villain!Shanks

Think about it.

hellooo i have thought about it 'cuz ive seen the idea floating around and sorry, i dont like it. 😭🙏 or rather, the idea of a villain shanks is fun in theory but if it's actually canon then i dont think it will pay off very well lol especially 'cuz he's the very first pirate we meet and it's been over twenty years. i would certainly be tilted.

idk how oda could write it in such a way that i wouldn't be mad aha, tho i'm sure if anyone could pull it off it'd be him. (and i mean villain!shanks as in "was always a villain", not "has to do antagonistic things but his heart is in the right place".)

i will say, however, that there is something delicious about possessive shanks, especially if it leans a little dark. like, he's a smiley pacifist right up until you harm someone that's his, and then it's game over for you and your friends and your livelihood. he's already like that in canon, but i mean like, it's to the point where his revenge gets a little cruel and he enjoys paying you back for the harm you caused.

i like attributing this to him 'cuz if he's dating mihawk, known serial murderer (of marines, if not also underwhelming challengers and entire crews of people that annoy him), then his "let's not kill people if we don't have to" thing could be more of an intellectual ethical choice for him rather than an emotional one. and once you've crossed that line for him by grievously harming or maybe even somehow killing mihawk, then it's over for you and you bet he'll enjoy it. (tho nine out of ten times i write him as a bleeding heart and mihawk is fond and exasperated by it haha.)

but yeah. i digress. 😅 it's a fun concept and i'll probably read the fic if it's mishanks and mihawk isn't his victim in a way that ends unhappily, but ultimately, the most i prefer is shanks with a dark streak.

if anyone's gotten to the end of this ask and adores twist villain shanks, feel free to try and convince me in the replies. maybe i'm just thinking about it the wrong way, and i'm open to ideas. ;P

[pluto-rainstorm]

Ya'know that one tiktok trend "do you think you would've dated me when you were in high-school?" or "younger" or something like that, but think about it with BuckTommy

Buck would post it thinking it's hilarious, it would be a cute photo of them now with the caption and then you swipe to a picture of Tommy looking like this muscular army lad, with stubble, looking very mature...

And then you swipe again to a picture of a baby faced Buck, maybe he has a few pimples, he's a lot shorter and has lighter blonde, shaggy hair and he's holding a skateboard

He'd show Tommy and he would just stare at it like "oh my god..."

[jamtartandsunshine]

What do you think is the most character accurate fic you've ever read??

I feel like everyone else had such good answers for this. I do agree with the general consensus that a lot of it is down to peoples own interpretations and tastes. also I think it's fair to say that the professional writers that write FOR shows so often take a sharp turn from whatever they've set as the standard for the characters personality, back story, intentions etc etc so it's not exactly set in stone most of the time anyway. The Ted Lasso fandom is full of the most talented people ever so you're spoilt for choice when it comes to good fics I recommend anything by any one of these absolute gems: @kvetchinglyneurotic @jamiesfootball @jamietarttsnorthernattitude

@asteria-argo @altschmerzes @sighonaraa @fanficfanattic @babytarttdoodoo

(Plus so many more I'm probably missing)

[midground]

Listen. every time I rewatch Starstruck (especially the scene between Margaret and Auma) I become convinced of 3 things

Auma tried flirting with Margaret back in college but Margaret never even noticed because she was so hung up on Lucienne

Margaret and Lucienne will NOT last. I don't think Lucienne's quarter-life crisis will end with her developing the same heroic values as Margaret. That and Margaret's role in ruining Lucienne's life will eventually drive a wedge between them once the honeymoon phase ends

Sid will hear that her Mommy and her Aunt Margaret could have been a thing once and will want to Parent Trap them

What I'm saying is, Margaret/Auma is the real sleeper ship of Starstruck and I need more people to understand this

[shellhawk]

Random Destiel Season 16 ideas…

Dean and Jack get Cas out of the Empty.

Dean, emotionally constipated, says not a word about the confession and avoids the entire topic for as long as he can.

After a hunt with Dean, Cas and Dean end up at the Bunker. Dean starts to head for his room and tries to leave Cas at his. Cas decides he’s not having it. Not for one more second. And since now he’s very pop culture savvy, he decides to pull out the stops and become the most dramatic man he can think of in that moment: Ronny Cammareri, from Moostruck. And being Cas of the eidetic memory, he doesn’t change an inflection or a word of the impassioned speech:

“Loretta, I love you. Not like they told you love is, and I didn't know this either, but love don't make things nice - it ruins everything. It breaks your heart. It makes things a mess. We aren't here to make things perfect. The snowflakes are perfect. The stars are perfect. Not us. Not us! We are here to ruin ourselves and to break our hearts and love the wrong people and *die*. The storybooks are *bullshit*. Now I want you to come upstairs with me and *get* in my bed!”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Loretta?” He asks with a smirk.

Cas is embarrassed. “It was the best I could come up with.” He looks at the floor before tilting his head and lifting his eyes to take in Dean’s beloved face. “It was clearly ineffective, since you’re not in my bed.” He frowns. “I was sure it would work. It did for Ronny.” He starts to turn towards his room.

Dean closes the space between them before Cas can even get his hand on the doorknob. He grasps Cas by the shoulder and turns him, unresisting, to meet Cas’ ridiculously blue eyes with his own.

He takes a deep breath and says what he should have before the Empty tore them apart.

“‘course I love you, too Cas. It’s only been you for years. Didn’t you notice?”

Cas stands, stunned. It’s the longest ten seconds of Dean’s life. Lives. Whatever.

Cas smiles, shy and warm, and his tears well up and start to flow as he cups Dean’s face, reverent, and lays the gentlest of butterfly kisses on his lips. Dean is just as soft as he returns the kiss and wipes the tears away.

Cas bends and sweeps Dean off his feet into a bridal-style carry, uses a touch of his grace to whoosh them to the other side of his door. We can hear Dean’s deep chuckle, his boots hitting the floor, and the sound of clothing being hurriedly removed and dropped.

From under the door, a bright light.

Dean, also pop culture savvy, can be heard to say, “Wings? Far out!”

[sparrow-in-the-field]

I can't believe how many immediately dirty thoughts came into my mind at the knowledge of coxes having a stopwatch strapped to their thigh

[yesimwriting]

if tumblr gets shut down where are the fic girlies going

[duskholland]

i just spent three hours writing a 2k outline of a fic. am i back.

[comfy-whumpee]

Every Time

One of the @amonthofwhump Whumpmas prompts hit me just right.

TW: murder, intimate whump, drugging mention, referenced emotional abuse and child neglect.

Savvie, Izzy and Jamie are characters from @ashintheairlikesnow and written collaboratively!

@bloodybrambles, @wildfaewhump, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @burtlederp, @rosesareviolentlyread, @eatyourdamnpears

-

Jax wakes up without moving. Moving isn’t safe. He takes his first conscious breath of the day without even opening his eyes. Where is she? What’s the last thing he remembers from last night? What was the last thing he ate and drank? Can he feel any pain?

Savvie is lying next to him, half-draped over him as usual. Her hair is what woke him up, tickling the underside of his chin, with threatening strands around his mouth. He’s dreamt of choking to death on her hair, more than once. He doesn’t need blankets when she does this.

He twists his head, then waits. She doesn’t stir. Her breathing remains steady. He opens his eyes.

There’s light behind the heavy curtains, but only enough to suggest the sun is up. It’s not daytime yet. She won’t want to be woken up, and if he tries, she’ll grumble and roll over.

That makes it the perfect time. He reaches out for the edge of the mattress, fingers curling around it, and uses the leverage to slide himself sideways on the bed without sitting up. Gently, he slips free of her weight. One of her hands flexes, reaching for him, and she lets out a tiny groan, which stops him dead.

“I’ve got it,” he murmurs to her.

Half-asleep, she doesn’t wonder what it is that he’s supposedly got. It could be anything. But he’s taking care of it, so she doesn’t have to move, or care, or wake up and ask why he’s leaving her. He knows she usually doesn’t even remember these moments in the morning. When he draws the covers back over her, she smiles and sighs, eyes still closed.

He tiptoes over the plush carpet and out the door. He exhales his first full breath. Free for an hour or two, except for the cameras and the locks. And the collar, but that’s only a problem if she wakes up annoyed that he’s not there.

Feet angled along the edge of the floorboards, he pads his way down to the other end of the hall, where the kids’ rooms are secluded far enough that they won’t disturb their mother, but close enough that they can rouse their father, if they need him. He listens at Izzy’s door before knocking softly, knuckles barely brushing the painted wood underneath her Isabella sign.

There’s no answer, so he moves on to Jamie’s room. He doesn’t need to knock for Jamie, but he does anyway, another soft rapped pattern. He is not surprised when he hears a whispered voice inside, and moments later, the door opens to show his daughter.

“Hi, daddy,” she whispers.

She knows it’s him before she sees him, of course. That’s why he knocks, no matter what room she’s in. She doesn’t deserve the stress of being startled, even if it’s a happy surprise. He smiles at her anyway, and she carefully checks up the hall for Savvie’s bedroom door. Seeing it shut, her eyes light up, unguarded this early in the morning. The monster still sleeps in its cave.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says, stepping into the room. He looks for Jamie as his first instinct. He knows where Izzy is, closing the door quietly behind him, so he needs to account for his other top priority.

Jamie is half-sitting on an array of pillows, clearly arranged to help him stay mostly upright. One of his books is at his feet, and his pudgy fingers touch its open cardboard pages, exploring the textures of the creatures on the page. He does this with an obvious expression of total wonder. It’s one of Jax’s favourite things about raising this little boy: the world is endlessly fascinating to him.

Izzy knows the truth about the world, but still, she likes the occasional story. He scoops her into a quick hug. “You woke up early again?”

She gets put to bed so damn early it’s no surprise. Savvie wants mommy and daddy time, which is code for the shit Izzy absolutely does not get to see or hear about ever at all. Of course, mommy and daddy time cannot have their actual children present. Jax hasn’t yet pointed out the irony.

Izzy is already going back to Jamie, who has noticed Jax’s presence and is trying to drag himself off the bed. Jax isn’t sure why Savvie put a bed in here, next to the crib, but he’s glad she did. Even if he usually falls asleep in the armchair instead, Jamie in his arms.

Jax joins her, helping Jamie onto his lap, where he desperately wants to be. He lifts his baby boy up to his chest, so Jamie can throw his little arms around his daddy’s neck. Izzy tucks into his side.

“We was reading a story,” Izzy explains. “Jamie wanted to feel.”

Jax picks up the book, but Jamie isn’t about to let go for a minute. “A story for Jamie, huh? How about you go get one for yourself? I think he’s going to want to cuddle for a bit, no story.”

Izzy looks at her brother and nods. She gets down without another word, and a brief instinct clutches Jax, urging him to reach for her and make sure she doesn’t leave. He doesn’t let it show. She’ll be right back.

He watches, lips brushing Jamie’s hair, as she opens the door as little as possible and slips out. He has the sudden realisation that she learned it from him. The less you open the door, the less it creaks. He can’t hear her footsteps down the hall, or the door of her own bedroom open and close.

She’s back within moments, book in her hands. Jamie’s breathing has slowed, hot pools against his collarbone, and Jax tucks his arms back down where he can clutch shirt and not collar. He pats the space next to him, and Izzy comes back to his side.

If he shrinks the world just to this space on the bed, and makes everything else disappear, there’s a chance he could be at home. It would have to be Izzy’s bed, though. And he wouldn’t buy her a duvet cover like this. She’d want a unicorn or something. But if he ignores that too, just focuses on his two kids and the books on his lap, that’s enough.

He reads quietly, stopping here and there to point out the illustrations, or see if Izzy can work out the big letter at the start of each page. Jamie sleeps, stirs, gets his bottle, sleeps again. Izzy sits completely still, but pays perfect attention, giggling at the jokes he dredges out of his brain for her. If this morning could last forever, with Savvie always asleep, he could probably make a life out of it.

Stupid wish. She makes herself known before they’ve even finished the damn book, her door opening with a loud click and her footsteps thudding down the hall. “Jax?” she calls, even though she knows damn fucking well where he’ll be.

Izzy is already reaching out to take Jamie from him. He feels that tug again. The fear of leaving them both.

He screws it up in his stomach and lets Izzy take her brother. Her arms are safer than his right now. He kisses her on the forehead as his goodbye.

“Jax?” She demands his presence. He crosses the room in three steps and slides out of the door, closing it behind him promptly before she can look inside and remember her children exist, and can therefore be hurt.

“Morning, Miss Savvie.” He breathes out a smile. “I didn’t think you’d be awake so early.”

She gives him a pouty look, but her eyes are smarter than the rest of her face. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He takes another easy breath and course-corrects. “Well, it’s more like I’m disappointed. I was hoping to bring you breakfast in bed.”

He listens for Izzy and Jamie, behind him in the bedroom, behind the door he’s guarding. He can’t hear them. Jamie must not have woken at being passed off. Jax’s arms ache for the warm, soft weight in them.

Savvie smiles like she doesn’t quite believe him, but she chooses to. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Let’s go out for breakfast instead. I don’t want anything we have in the cupboards.”

It’s a punishment for going to see them, instead of staying with her. He’ll find a moment later, when it’s less obvious, to mention that Jamie was starting to cry. He’ll give her the excuse and mollify her, but he can’t do it now. She’ll deny it’s a punishment - how could it be? Isn’t it a treat? - and possibly notice the manipulation. He doesn’t want her to notice that he lies.

Even though she demands that he does, to her face, several times a day.

“That sounds great. How soon can Hannah be here?”

The assumption tries to place her under obligation, but she breezes past it. “Oh, they’ll be fine for a couple of hours, won’t they? Isabella knows how to take care of her brother. Come on, we need to pick your outfit.”

She loops her arm around his, and he doesn’t resist as she effortlessly drags him away.

He doesn’t see his kids for the rest of the day.

-

Jax wakes up without moving. Moving isn’t safe. He breathes in slowly, slow enough that if she’s already awake, he’ll still sound like he’s asleep. He listens for her. She’s draped over his chest, arm around him, hair carpeting him from shoulder to chin. Strands tickle at his throat.

She’s asleep. He can feel her chest rising and falling. He opens his eyes.

Early morning again, that’s good. No, actually… He probably shouldn’t get up again today. She’ll hold it against him if she notices a pattern. He stays where he is, at least for a few seconds. Then he just has to get her hair out of his face. He strokes it instead of shoving it, though, and she breathes out deeply as he does, comforted.

He swallows painfully, thinking of Izzy with that same hair. Fuck it. He has to see them, whether Monster Mommy likes it or not. He reaches for the edge of the bed, grabs it, and pulls himself free. He imagines her making a sucker-popping noise as he comes loose, like an octopus.

He gets his feet to the floor, and then he’s running free, long tiptoed steps out of the door and down the hall. He knocks at Izzy’s door, gets no answer, knocks at Jamie’s.

The first blink of deja vu happens when she opens it. Something about the sound. Something about the exact arrangement of her oversized curls. He looks past her, and there’s Jamie–

“Hi, daddy,” she whispers.

–propped up on a throne of pillows, with the same book in his lap, his fingers touching the sheep’s wool.

No, Jax tells himself. Jamie likes the same book for days.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says. He steps into the room, and the relief is the same, to be out of the hall, out of sight of the door that could open at any time.

Jamie looks up, and this time, Jax sees his face drop into an expression of total shock before he starts crawling determinedly for the edge of the bed. Izzy hurries to stop him, and he lets out a short grunt of annoyance as she scoops him back onto the pillows. Jax sits down, and of course, his lap is colonised by the little terror Izzy cannot restrain.

“Been reading?” he asks. He can’t bring himself to say, again? Maybe he dreamt yesterday. Maybe it’s just a scene he’s seen before. This morning routine of his is hardly new.

“Mhmm,” Izzy confirms, picking up Jamie’s book and offering it to him without success. Jamie is gripping Jax’s shirt, trying to pull himself up, his little feet digging into Jax’s legs.

“You really like this one, huh, Jamie?” It’s the closest he dares to admitting his suspicion. Then he thinks of a better way. “But it looks like he’s only interested in cuddling right now. How about you go get a book for yourself, kiddo?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

Down she gets. Off she tiptoes. Slips out of the door and disappears.

Jax puts his hands around Jamie’s waist to help him stand properly. “Now then, you. What’s going on?”

Jamie stares back at him with befuddled brown eyes. Jax picks him up and hugs him close.

Izzy comes back in, and Jax smiles at her without needing to try. When he sees the book in her hands, he doesn’t flinch. The butterfly on the cover. The same one.

He pats the space next to him. At least he knows how to do this. She snuggles up and they read. He tries out the same jokes, the same letters for her to identify, and is rewarded with the same little giggles, the same tentative answers, and inevitably…

He hears the click of the door like a gunshot. He sets Jamie into Izzy’s ready arms.

She calls, “Jax?”

He’s already at the door. It hurts. He gets himself out of the room just as she’s calling his name again, and he meets her in front of Izzy’s door. “Morning, Miss Savvie.”

If this is the same as yesterday…

“I didn’t think you’d be awake so early.”

The pout. The calculating stare. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He takes a breath. Switches the script. “Well, the weather looks rubbish today. I thought you’d sleep in.”

“Oh, is it? I didn’t notice.” She tilts her head at him, her smile sparkling. “Rubbish, is it?”

He twists out a smile at her pantomime accent. He plays the game. “Aye, Miss Savvie.”

She laughs, looping her arm through his, turning to go back down the hall. “You’re so funny, Jax. Come on, let’s get breakfast. I want to try out that cafe–”

“We’re going out?”

“Yes,” she shakes his arm slightly, “and don’t interrupt, it’s rude.”

Fuck, fuck. “Do you want me to call for Hannah?”

“Don’t be silly. They’ll be fine for a couple of hours, won’t they?”

But it wasn’t. It won’t be. It was breakfast, coffee and pastries at the cafe, then the boutique next door, then a whole fucking shopping spree, lunch at a restaurant so fancy he thought he’d be asked to serve tables, then over to Isaac’s for dinner, and only then would she tell him to send someone to check on the kids, and she wouldn’t let Jax see them for the rest of the fucking day until he persuaded her to let him at least tuck them in so they’d sleep properly and not disturb their fucking mommy and daddy time.

The helpless lump in his throat gets swallowed down, where it burns and burns. “A couple of hours, yeah. I guess so.”

“You worry too much. Isabella’s old enough to take care of her brother.”

Maybe if he’s good enough at breakfast, she’ll give up on her revenge. He takes another breath.

“You’re right. Let’s go uh, pick my outfit?”

She giggles delightedly. She drags him away.

-

Jax wakes up without moving. He opens his eyes. Savvie’s arm presses down on his chest, her hair nearly in his mouth, and her breathing deep and slow.

He closes his eyes again. He’s sick of this dream. He’s sick of this everything.

He wakes up to her fingers tracing his eye socket. He blinks awake, flinching from the nail that’s right in front of his eyeball. She’s probably just being affectionate, he realises a second later, but a second is too long.

“Oh,” he says quickly. “Oh, Miss Savvie.” He breathes sharply, too fast. “I was having a bad dream, thank you for waking m-me.”

Her head tips to the side. She pretends she isn’t doing it to shake out her hair. She thinks it makes her look good. “Of course, sweetie,” she purrs. “You were frowning in your sleep. I just had to smooth away those wrinkles.”

He gives her a soft, dreamy smile. “You knew.”

It’s bullshit. She likes it when he’s scared, she wouldn’t wake him. But she just smiles more widely back. “Of course,” she repeats. She snuggles down, and he puts his arms around her how he’s meant to. “You must be stressed.”

For once, she’s not fucking wrong. Then again, that’s pretty much always true. “Yeah, a little.”

“Hmm.” She sits up, gasping as if she’s just had an idea. “Ooh, I know! Let’s go out today. We can get away from everything for a bit, have some time together, just us.”

His heart cracks. She’s not just talking about breakfast. Even though he didn’t get up, even though he’s right here where she wants him, and he’s being perfect, she still wants to take him away from the kids.

“That sounds lovely, Miss Savvie,” he says, each word tasting like chalk. The word lovely never used to be in his goddamn vocabulary. “You were telling me about that new cafe…”

She looks taken aback for a moment, and then she beams. “Oh, honey, you do know me so well. Let’s do it.”

He straightens, looking to the wardrobe. “Should I wear the new jumper, the cashmere one?”

It’s what he’s been wearing the last two days. But it seems, because he’s suggested it, it goes off the table. “Mm, not yet. Wait…”

As he watches, she gets that scheming look in her eyet.

“Yes, wear that. With the ivory slacks. You’ll look smart.”

Smart enough for dinner at her uncle’s, he guesses. She’s already got the whole day mapped out before she’s said a word to him. He’ll be sitting opposite Brayden getting his toes stamped on by the end of the day.

It’s pointless, but he asks. “Will you send someone to be with the kids, when they wake up?”

“Oh, they’ll be fine. Isabella’s old enough to take care of her brother.”

“If we’re going out for the day, though, Miss Savvie… We can’t risk a hospital trip.”

She sighs. “See, look how stressed you are! Maybe we should go away for longer.”

He hates her. God, he wants to smack her stupid smile off. “Maybe. We can see how I feel after today?”

“Mm.” She stretches. She casts a look his way, under her eyelashes. “Alright. If you’re still grumpy tomorrow.”

He has a feeling it won’t fucking matter, either way.

-

Jax wakes up without moving.

He sits up, gently placing her arm down by his side. He takes the pillow out from underneath his shoulder. He shifts a knee over her.

Doesn’t fucking matter either way, does it?

He puts the pillow over her face.

He’s going to have a nice, peaceful day with his kids.

-

He’s lost count.

“Can you go get a book for yourself, kiddo? I’m going to take Jamie down and make Mommy breakfast, and then I’ll be right back.”

She slips down off the bed. He holds Jamie close, and swallows the same old fear. She’ll come back. He knows that, now. She’ll come back with the butterfly book, and they’ll read it together. She’ll laugh when he points out the cross eyes on the little girl in that one picture. She’ll get O and D mixed up when he asks her to tell him which letter is on page six. Jamie will cling to his shirt.

They’ll have a nice morning together, if he can keep Savvie placated.

It’s the same as yesterday, as every day, as his whole fucking life before and after this…whatever this is.

Purgatory, probably.

-

They sit on either side of the little round table in the window of her new favourite cafe, sharing two pastries. He managed to get the coffee plain and black this time around, but he still imagines he can taste the fucking gingerbread syrup from every other cup he’s had.

“What’s wrong with you today?” she asks. It’s blunter than usual. She must be upset he’s not making this the romantic getaway of her dreams.

His hand curls around the mug. It’s so hard to keep looking forwards, when it’s the same as looking backwards.

She sets her hand down on the table, demanding he put his into hers. “Sweetie?”

The mug burns his skin. He imagines throwing it in her face. But no, it’s too early in the day. She’d have time to make the kids hurt. He’ll wait.

“We should go on a trip,” he tells her. “Just us two. It’s been a while.”

“Oh, that’s a brilliant idea!” She is instantly distracted. Too delighted to even be suspicious. “Where should we go? No, I know where…”

Later, he tells his aching hand. Closer to midnight. When nothing fucking matters.

-

He puts a finger over his lips. Izzy stares, wide-eyed, but nods slowly. She trusts him. No matter what. He kisses her forehead, and scoops Jamie out of his pillow kingdom.

They tiptoe downstairs, her little feet placed in his footsteps. He makes her a full English breakfast. By the time he sets the plate in front of her, he can hear Savvie’s footsteps down the hall.

He puts Jamie in his chair. He’ll have to cut up the hash browns and fried eggs for him afterwards.

The coffee cup is waiting on the side. He takes it upstairs. She’s calling.

He kisses her on the mouth before he hands her the drink. He watches her as she coos over his generosity. He watches her drop the mug after her first mouthful. Then she drops, too.

He’s done this too many times to care, anymore. He can keep the kids busy enough they won’t notice. He drags her back into the bedroom and shuts the door. He goes back downstairs to his children.

“Mommy’s not very well today,” he tells Izzy. He sits down next to Jamie to feed him quarters of button mushrooms. “She’s going to stay in bed all day. So we can do anything you want today.”

“Do we have to be very quiet?” she asks.

“Not at all. Mommy took some medication that makes her sleepy. We don’t need to worry.”

The light comes into her eyes. He’s never going to see a fucking sunrise again, but he can make do like this. “Okay, Daddy.”

Jamie bites down on his finger, and he laughs, until he cries.

It could be any day. It will be every day. He’ll never see Hannah again, not even if he lets Savvie drag him to the fucking Marcoset family dinner - which he does, sometimes, just for the variety, and to remember what Stewart looks like. He’ll never see his dad again, his mum or his sisters, and any of his friends. He’ll never go home and buy Izzy the unicorn duvet cover she deserves.

He’ll read every book in the house to them. He’ll watch every show on TV. He’ll teach Izzy the difference between O and D every single day. He’ll fry the eggs, grate the potatoes, chop the tomatoes, and put bleach in Savvie’s coffee, covered up by enough syrup to make her swallow it.

Every time. Parents would kill for this, he thinks. To spend every day with their kids, and never have to watch them grow up. Never having to watch them leave.

-

He figures out the passcode to her phone eventually. They’re sitting at the café at the table in the window, Izzy’s feet pressed gently against his legs just to feel him there on the other side of the table. She sips very carefully at her hot chocolate while Jamie gnaws on a flapjack, and Jax stares at his own face on the home screen of her newly opened phone.

He dials without thinking about it. Then he dials again, remembering the international code.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad.”

Izzy’s eyes go wide. She freezes in place, and he regrets his impulsivity. He tries to smile reassuringly at her.

“Jax?” his dad whispers. “Where are you?”

He probably should have planned this better. But he’ll get a do-over tomorrow. “I’m good, Dad. Uh, yeah, I’m out. I’m safe, I’m at this shelter. Cops are working on getting me home.” He pauses. What else would his dad want to hear? “And I’m not f… messed up, like before. I’m okay.”

“You’re coming home?”

“Yeah.” He reaches for Izzy’s hand, gently loosening it from the cup. “And, listen, Dad… I’ve got kids. Don’t – don’t ask the question you’re thinking. I’ve got a little girl called Izzy and a baby boy called Jamie, and they’re perfect. I’m happy, right now, alright? And I can’t wait for you to meet them.”

His throat nearly closes. Alfie will never get to meet them at this rate. But they can’t exactly get across the fucking ocean in a single day.

“Two kids,” Alfie repeats, stunned. “Your own kids?”

“Yeah. Gallagher kids. You know all about beans on toast, don’t you, kiddo?” He smiles at her. She’s starting to relax, slowly, at realising her mother isn’t going to appear and rain hell on them all for Jax daring to speak to his old family. “They’re mine and they’re coming with me wherever I go.”

“Well, of course…” Alfie’s voice is starting to ease from shock to wonder. “I, I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me how mam’s doing. And Georgia and Poppy and the kids, and Casey, and everything.”

Jamie drops oats down his front, and Jax puts the phone down on speaker on the table so he can clear them up. He doesn’t let go of Izzy’s hand as Alfie starts to talk.

-

Jax wakes up already rolling out of bed. He feels like he can handle the pillow today. Sometimes, seeing her thrash for her life is too much, but recently it’s started to feel routine. She’s long since been dead, to him. This is just catching her up with reality.

He knows where the remote is. He knows how to disable the collar. He’s forgotten what the days were like when they were different, but this one, he knows perfectly.

The kids are awake. He gets them dressed, kissing each of them as he helps with buttons and babygros. He takes the car keys. He throws all the food he fancies into a bag and entrusts it to Izzy. They’re going for a picnic. Yes, Mommy said it was okay.

Maybe he’ll make it to the coast, this time.

Maybe he’ll take another stab at getting to Hannah.

Maybe he’ll just go to the field with the wildflowers. They both loved that one.

Or maybe he’ll think of something new.

[unorthodoxsavvy]

The Philver Scream

The American Nightmare

Chapter 8

Word Count: 75k

Rated: R

Genre: Horror

October 13th, 20:00

Phil sat in his living room with Dan, chewing on a muffin he’d made that morning before Dan had arrived. They were waiting for Jake to get there. Phil’d been up early that morning, though, he was up early most mornings, to make the muffins and other baked good he sold to customers when they arrived. Tonight, though, it was just the three of them once more. Tonight, it was all or nothing.

Dan sat on the oversized plush recliner, the one Phil’d picked up from a secondhand shop, the one that’d had its own ghost when he’d gotten it, the ghost of the old man that had lived and died in that chair, and a ghost Phil had thankfully been able to banish from his own house. Banishing ghosts wasn’t a service Phil offered but it was a skill he’d learned, and it’d come in a handy a time or two in his life believe it or not. You’d be surprised, he’d tell you, how many people are haunted by ghosts and just don’t realize it. Phil made a living off of making other people’s grief his problem, though, and he didn’t intent to add ghost hauntings to that list as well. If you were haunted by a ghost that was your own business, not his, and he was sure there were many reputable sources out there on how to be rid of them yourself. It simply wasn’t his problem.

Phil finished his muffin and went to throw the wrapper away when he heard a car pull into the gravel parking lot of his apartment. Dan had been scrolling on his phone in silence, but looked up as the headlights moved horizontally through the windows. 

None of them had come up with a better idea, so here they were, on October the 13th, when it was predicted that Phil would have another prophetic dream or nightmare in which one man managed to do the impossible and slay children in a way that just seemed like it came out of a horror movie, because it could only exist in Hollywood.

It was just past 8:00 and Phil had a bottle of sleeping pills on his nightstand and a chair overlooking his bed.

Jake knocked on the apartment door and Phil opened it, greeting his coworker and inviting him into his humble abode. Jake took in the bookshelves crammed with an assortment of books and knick-knacks Phil had collected for the craft and the trade or simply just for the aesthetic. The three of them had been staying in touch from their respective home states over the past few weeks, and it was for the first time since flying home from Texas that the three of them were joining together once more on this auspicious night.

When it was time Phil led Dan and Jake upstairs to his bedroom. Phil carried two glasses of water, Dan carried two knives, and Jake carried a gun holstered onto his hip.

Phil sat down on one side of the bed, and Dan the other, and Jake moved the chair to the foot of the bed so he could watch them both at the same time, and one or the other if needed.

Phil poured out two pills from the bottle into his hand and grabbed one of the glasses of water. Dan grabbed the other glass of water while Phil placed the other pill in Dan’s hand.

“Are you ready?” Phil asked.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Dan smiled, echoing the words Jake had spoken just weeks before.

“God bless you,” Jake said again, though he wasn’t even sure if he believed in God.

“Bottom’s up,” Phil smiled, popping the pill in his mouth then swallowing a gulp of water to chase it down with.

“Bottom’s up,” Dan replied, doing the same.

And then they sat there.

“I guess we wait for the pills to kick in now,” Phil suggested.

“Sounds good,” Jake agreed.

There was a pause.

“So how was the flight here?” Phil asked.

“It was good, thanks. Nice drive coming in too. Nice little area.”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it.”

“Your apartment’s lovely.”

“Thank you, I quite like it.”

“I noticed you got some fake plants.”

“Yeah I di- woah, just felt the pills kick in. You?” Phil asked, turning to Dan.

“Yeah, I did. Ready to lay down?”

“Laying down,” Phil said.

They laid down on either side of the bed and Dan handed Phil one of the knives.

“Now you remember, if anything goes wrong, you guys come out of there immediately.

“Right,” Phil agreed sleepily, taking Dan’s hand beside him.

“We’ll be alright. We’ll get him, you’ll see,” Dan bragged, words slightly slurred.

“Be safe,” was the last thing Phil heard before he slipped into the darkness, Dan’s hand in one hand, and a knife in the other.

[ctrl-alt-cel]

top ten puppyshipping fics?

so thrilled about this ask...unfortunately i cant give you a list of puppyshipping top 10 without taking like 3 months to reread every joukai fic ive ever loved, but i can give you a handful that ive enjoyed recently!!

Second Chance Christmas by Elexcia (30k)

ex-husbands joey and kaiba are forced to spend the holidays together after 3 years of co-parenting and scrupulously avoiding each other. (atticus and alexis are their kids and its the cutest thing ever!!!!) theres a ton of adorable family shenanigans & how much joey and kaiba work together to ensure atticus and alexis have happy childhoods free from their own personal baggage, mixed with the most heartwrenching late-night conversations between joey and kaiba bc despite everything, they still love each other, but they remember the pain it brought them and don't know if they can endure that again. the emotions and uncertainties are so raw oftentimes i will remember a quote from this fic and my heart will ache all over again its so fcking good!!! its been on my mind ever since i read it!!!

Meeting upon the threshold by Alecto (2.6k)

"kaiba has always been his own worst enemy" -- dsod!kaiba's dimension hopping lands him in an alternate timeline and face-to-face with a version of himself he doesn't recognize. this will always be the quintessential puppyshipping fic to me omg.. the amount of characterization covered in the brief interactions the two kaibas have is spectacular, and its so cool seeing just how different dsod!kaiba's dimension is compared to a dimension where kaiba chooses jounouchi instead. hell yeah

Double Date by thegraeyone (7.2k)

GOD this fic is so funny. kaiba tries so hard to have one normal, business-related work dinner with pegasus, but pegasus is more interested in having a double date between kaiba and his boyfriend joey + pegasus with his boyfriend bandit keith, and like, what else can kaiba do? for the sake of his company, he needs to play along with the most disasterous dinner date of his life if he wants pegasus to sign a damn contract already..!!!! the comedic potential for this specific set of characters makes me lose my mind & theres so many sweet moments within the fic too. i love it so much

Most Thrilling by Alecto (1.8k)

another funny fic! a cute moment with joey visiting his boyfriend kaiba during a lunch break, and silly conversations on how kaiba really does play to win. i love the brand of slight unhinged-ness kaiba has here in regards to jou omg... kaiba is intense when it comes to everything, of course that would include his dating life😭 & i adore how he manages to come across as infuriatingly romantic in his own type of way

The Weight of Water by phant0m (2.2k)

a gentle character piece, jounouchi has just moved out from the apartment he shares with his father, and for all the newfound freedom it should entail, he feels guilty about it more than anything. thankfully his boyfriend kaiba is there to stand by him. it's a kind look into the more somber parts of jou's character and i love the scene it sets :( oh my god jou and kaiba love each other so much..!!! *dies*

Shards by jirluven (2.9k)

more hurt/comfort >:) jounouchi flinches. kaiba isn't supposed to know what it means, its one of the unbroachable topics of their close yet purposely ambiguous relationship, but they both know each other far too well for that. i really enjoy how kaiba's perspective is written, with how he's most comfortable when he's logic-ing things out and surrounded by things he can easily categorize, but hes long given up on trying to categorize jounouchi, and its most evident when pushing himself into the unfamiliar territory of tactfully trying to comfort someone he cares about

Debt to Society by Elexcia (16k)

tech acquisitions lawyer seto kaiba is sentenced to 200 hours of community service after a barfight with rival lawyer & long-time nuisance ziegfried von schroder. to meet those hours, he's assigned to represent children in court as their legal advocate with social worker joey wheeler acting as his supervisor >:) (also featuring judge yugi & the doma arc kids!!) i think this setup is genius omg. with kaiba acting as a protector for underrepresented and vulnerable kids, of course his own personal (and messy) feelings are going to get involved whether he likes it or not!!! plus i love fics where jou and kaiba are colleagues working towards the same goal and moments where kaiba has to trust in and respect joey's skills. and i cant lie. seeing a worldly joey who's good with kids is an absolute treat

Lapse by AndroideQL (4.2k)

blossoming workplace romance!! jou is kaiba's assistant (yes, everyone is surprised about this outcome too) jou & kaiba are undoubtedly attracted to each other, but theres a couple of (important!!) things about it that theyre not entirely on the same page about. the banter and familiarity jou and kaiba have with each other in this fic is sooo charmingly affectionate, and there are several exchanges that make me laugh every single time. its a refreshing and cute fic that has me hopeful knowing that no matter what communication issues they get up to, they'll eventually get their shit straight

Small and Insignificant Things by Lafae (1.6k)

one more for the office romance train >:) joey, kaiba, and the conundrum of getting a good picture for your photo ID. short and sweet boyfriend shennanigans, i love how joey & kaiba play off of each other during these mundane moments between their hectic schedules and i feel like it perfectly captures the excitement of a fresh relationship and fondly discovering the more trivial details about your partner

Working My Way Back to You by SerenaJones (10k)

during an argument between jou and kaiba, jou angrily states that he wishes they never met. kaiba soon finds himself in a universe where they never did, and meets a rougher, more abrasive jounouchi who never quit his gang who just may be the key to his way back. the worldbuilding in this fic is super cool and extensively fleshed out! its so fascinating to experience how different the cast of yugioh and domino city itself would have become if canon had played out differently, and the interactions between kaiba and a jounouchi who isn't his jounouchi but is just charming is so much fun

Orpheus and Eurydice by saiikavon (3.4k)

post-dsod joey dies while chasing kaiba into the afterlife, and by the title, you can probably imagine what kaiba has to do to get him back. very fun kaiba characterization/study here, with how quick and confident he is to challenge death itself and rebuff anything that gets in his way. and! a bit of spoilers but i love when jou gets to be a little mean (lovingly!!!!) to kaiba hehehe

[magicalgirlmindcrank]

I would love to hear about your slow burn kink fic! :3

It's called Dog of War and it's in the Human Domestication Guide setting, which you can read about on its website here. The short is super advanced benevolent plants with a natural inclination and cultural desire to be Dom's dismantle space capitalism for mankinds benefit but also to keep them as pets, because they're cute, which is why they expand in the first place.

As for kinks in the setting, as a rule it's a lotta hypnosis, medfet, systemic ownership, dub and noncon, petplay, with lots transhumanism and genderism and very supportive of basically any kink you wanna throw at it from musk to dollplay. Currently in the fic, I have some diet force fem and a bit of dubcon and hypnosis but I plan to properly include some hypnosis soon and then eventually a few other things that are secret suprises :3

As for the story itself it's about a very emotional repressed mercenary getting gently and lovingly pried open (and also feminized) so if you like a bit of angst and/or drama with guaranteed catharsis and a happy ending with a bit of mystery element, it should be right up your alley~

[glorious-kt]

O Soldier Mine

Young Wolf snarled as he swung his sword against the training dummy. Anger and frustration bubbled beneath his plating as the dummy fell to the snow, burning at the edges from the Solar embedded in the sword. The Hunter swung the blade once more to cut the rest of the dummy’s base down, shoulders rising and falling with his artificial breathing.

“Your rage makes you oblivious to your surroundings.”

Young Wolf snorted, saying nothing as he turned his helmeted gaze to look at Lord Felwinter who stood in the doorway of the training grounds. The Iron Lord was still, staring him down through the ram-like helmet he wore, the soft sound of the taller Exo’s vents opening and closing being the only indication that the man was alive and not a statue. So much different than his student, Osiris. The warlock had told him nothing of what Felwinter was like besides a short few descriptions. The man was… different than Young Wolf had expected.

“You haven’t seen my rage. You’ve seen my frustration and some mild anger,” Young Wolf signed with one hand, slipping his sword back into place on his back.

“Mmm. It still distracts you,” Felwinter hummed as he stepped forward, arms crossed behind him, helmet tilted in observation.

“…….What do you want,” Young Wolf sighed and he signed his next question, turning to face the Iron Lord, very aware of the type of threat the man represented.

“A proposition for you. I’ll spar you, and if you win, we will leave you to your exile in this castle. If I win… you’ll come with us to learn,” Felwinter offered easily, stretching out his hands in a small gesture.

“And a draw,” Young Wolf asked, shifting on his feet, because he had an idea of how the fight would go just based on what he had been told by Osiris and Lord Saladin.

“I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Felwinter answered with a very light touch of amusement on his time, a sound that was barely there but just detectable.

Young Wolf was silent. He knew it was selfish to want to ask for a single year of peace before he got to saving the system again, but a part of him desired to be selfish for just once. He didn’t want to be a soldier for someone else’s cause any longer. If beating Felwinter would grant him solace for just a bit longer then fine. He’d beat the man and move on.

“Challenge accepted, Iron Lord Felwinter,” Young Wolf said softly, voice modulator crackling static as he used his voice for the first time since making a Wish with Riven.

If Felwinter was surprised, he didn’t show it, and Young Wolf was grateful for it. The Dark Age was weird about Exo Lightbearers for some reason. For Felwinter, Young Wolf may have been his first encounter with another Risen Exo.

“Then I’ll see you at dawn in the field, Warlord,” Felwinter dipped his head in acceptance, seeming just a bit pleased.

“Guardian. Not Warlord. Never Warlord,” Young Wolf replied viper quick, causing the warlock to pause before nodding and taking his leave.

Young Wolf watched him go and sighed softly. Just a single win and he could take a break from everything. Just for a little while. It would be enough.

——————————-

Anyways I’m writing this series in snippets here and there so I don’t overwork myself since it’s a big one! Who loves time travel and YW x O14? I know I do!

You have questions? Ask them!

You have suggestions? Give them!

Wanna know about our YW here? Ask me!

Oh by the way @hidden-scarlet-whispers a snippet for ya

[stressfulsloth]

A question for DE folks: does anyone know any of the nicknames that the skills have for each other? I know that Rhetoric gets called the Golden Mouth Man, and I remember there being others, but I can't find them.

[rocksinmuffin]

Y-You know Valtiel? From Silent Hill 3? Freaky little vault man? I am so starved of smut for him that I'll take anything, even a shitpost. I assume he's the creepy stalker type, what do you think he'd do if some poor sap caught his eye?

Anyway, have a good day. 🤍

You’ve started to consider the creature following you as your friend.

You know the thought is deranged but you can’t quite help it. You haven’t been in your right mind since you’ve got here. Since you’ve been trapped here. Wherever here is. You’re still not sure if this is real or a nightmare or an afterlife you’ve damned yourself to.

The creature, though? This twisted, faceless thing you find scurrying around in vents and turning valves and following you around? It’s the only thing here that hasn’t actively tried to kill you. Maybe that’s the bare minimum of human decency but, one, whatever that thing is it isn’t human and, two, the bar for that here is low.

Besides, there’s no one else around and you need someone to talk to. You’d lose your sanity if you didn’t have that and, these days, you have very little of it to spare.

“Hey there,” you call to where it hides in a nearby vent, just loud enough to hear your voice over the crackle of static of your radio. “Just got back from a snack run. You hungry?”

Its head vibrates violently in all directions. You decide to interpret this as a yes.

“Found some health drinks while I was out hunting for supplies,” you say, placing the drink down by the vent opening. “And guess what else I found.”

You kneel down to hold your find out where the creature can see. It continues shaking, head twitching unnaturally and neck bending at odd angles.

“It’s bread,” you answer proudly, breaking off a piece and holding it out towards the creature. It makes no move to grab for it but it does not make any attempts to stop you when you press a piece in through the narrow slots of the vent cover. You don’t know if this thing can eat—it doesn’t have a mouth as far as you are aware—but you like to think it appreciates the sentiment. It hasn’t killed you yet, at least, so you must be doing something right.

You edge the health drink a little closer to the vent before standing up. You should get going. It’s never wise to stay in one place too long, especially when the world shifts and rots and rusts all around you.

“Well, I should go. See ya around?” you ask but it’s not really a question. You know you will. It always finds its way to you eventually.

It doesn’t follow you. Not right away, at least. You know because the static of your radio dies down with every step you take. When you look back, the health drink you left behind is gone. Satisfied that your gift has been accepted, you continue onward.