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underground-secret · 5 months ago

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The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: Sam is abducted by a family of cannibalistic hillbillies while he, Dean, and reader are investigating several decades' worth of missing people.

Warnings: Cannon violence, talk of kidnapping and crime, cannibals, cursing, detailed blood talk, again all cannon violence and so forth. Dean and reader bickering like friends or idiots in love you decide 😊

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 , @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn , @crazyunsexycool , @onlyangel-444 , @seninjakitey , @mystic-mara , @mxltifxndom , @stilesxreid , @chaotic-luvrs , @tiggytaylor

Word Count: 10,711

The Benders

(Masterlist, Previous Ch, Next Ch)

“I know you’re just doing your job, but the police have been here all week already. I don’t see why we have to go through this again. The more he tells the story, the more he believes it’s true,” Mrs.McKay points out, positioning herself closer to her son. Even in the dark living room, the curtains closed to block the bright sun, they looked alike, with similar big brown eyes and dark brown hair.

“Mrs.McKay, we know you spoke with the local authorities,” Sam acknowledges, looking quite intimidating in his Sheriff get-up, the large brown jacket adding to it all. I’m glad I don’t have to be stuffed into those jackets, they don’t look super comfortable or flexible, and having to wear a khaki button-down was restricting enough. Somehow button-downs always wind up being tight for me in the chest area, this time no different. “But, uh, this seems like a matter for the state police, so….” Dean adds.

“It’s okay if it sounds crazy, we’d rather get the full story,” I finish. The young boy looks at his mother for approval before answering, “I was up late, watching TV. When I heard this weird noise.”

“What did it sound like?” Sam asks.

“It sounded like…” he hesitates for a moment, either scared or worried we won’t believe him, “a monster.” His mother rolls her eyes and purses her lips, crossing her arms across her chest she says, “Tell the officers what you were watching on TV.”

“Godzilla Vs. Mothra,” Evan answers. A wide, beaming smile places itself on Dean’s face, “That’s my favorite Godzilla movie,” he excitedly tells the kid, “It’s so much better than the original, huh?” He’s so cute when he gets all excited like this.

“Totally,” Evan nods, his eyes wide in that sweet childish way. “Yeah,” Dean nods to Sam, “He likes the remake.” A small laugh escapes my lips, of course he would take any chance he could get to poke fun at his brother. “Yuck!” Evan exclaims, causing me to laugh more. Sam glares at his brother, clearing his voice he gets us back on track, “Evan, did you see what this thing was?”

“No. But I saw it grab Mr.Jenkins. It pulled him underneath the car,” he answers, looking a little scared again. “Then what?” Sam pushes.

“It took him away. I heard the monster leaving. It made this really scary sound.”

“What did it sound like?” I ask carefully.

“Like this…whining growl,” he answers and I make a mental note.

Sam nods, “Thanks for your time.”

I sip my Shirly Temple, a perfect mix of cherry syrup and soda. Meanwhile, Sam sips a beer before me, and Dean plays darts just behind me. Surprisingly he didn’t really touch his beer, I figured by now he would be on his second, but no he was just a little more than halfway done with his first. I wonder if it has to do with our conversation the other day, not that I didn’t trust him when he drank. I hope he knew that. I just didn’t like drinking, and bars weren’t my favorite place but as long as I was with others then I was fine.

I push my hair behind my ears and with it push those thoughts out of my head, “Okay, so, local police haven’t ruled out foul play because there were signs of a struggle,” I inform, looking down at the research papers that Sam had circling him.

“Well, they could be right, it could just be a kidnapping. Maybe this isn’t our kind of gig,” Dean says, another dart swooshing past.

“Yeah, maybe not. Except for this–” Sam points out, rearranging the papers so that he could push his Dad's journal closer to me and subsequently Dean, “Dad marked this area.” Dean looms closer, standing right behind my chair with his hands on the back of it; his hands dangerously close to my exposed arms or more specifically, shoulders. It isn’t a big deal I remind myself, it was perfectly normal in fact. I took off my cardigan because it had gotten warm in here so naturally with the short-sleeved dress I was wearing my arms were exposed.

He leans forward slightly, peering at the book from above my head, his body heat radiating around me. “Possible hunting grounds of a phantom attacker,” Sam continues.

“Why would he even do that?” Dean asks.

“Well, he found a lot of local folklore about a dark figure that comes at night,” Sam explains, “Grabs people, then vanishes. He found this too–” he turns to a different page, “this county has more missing persons per capita than anywhere else in the state.”

“Alright, that’s weird. But if that’s the case how aren’t there more leads on any of these especially if there’s a pattern?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Sam answers truthfully.

“Don’t phantom attackers usually snatch people from their beds? Jenkins was taken from a parking lot,” Dean points out.

“Well, there are all kinds. You know, Spring Heeled Jacks, Phantom Gassers,” Sam reminds, “They take people anywhere, anytime. Look, I don’t know if this is our kind of gig either.”

“Yeah, you’re right, we should ask around more tomorrow,” Dean plans.

“Right,” Sam says as he pulls out his brown leather wallet, “I saw a motel about five miles back.”

“Whoa, whoa, easy,” Dean says, holding his hands up, “Let’s have another round.”

“We should get an early start,” Sam counters, placing a twenty on the table.

“You’re very responsible,” I point out.

“Someone has to be,” he smirks, sassy as always.

“Yeah, you really know how to have fun, don’t you, Grandma?” Dean remarks. I turn around in my seat to peer up at Dean, he meets my eyes looking down at me, “I’m pretty sure you could still have fun at a motel,” I say, confused. I mean motels were fun, sort of, as long as there were no bed bugs and it was like a game of ‘how poorly designed will this be!’ Dean cocks an eyebrow, a devilish smile on his face, “‘That so?” he eyes me, teasing me.

The implications of my sentence hit me…I laugh nervously, “No...I mean…cause, like, I didn’t me…I mean–” I stammer but his smile only widens. I whip my head towards Sam for help but he’s also smiling, “You’re on your own with this one,” he shrugs. I turn back, slowly, to Dean to find him still staring, “You know what I meant” I say.

“Do I?” he counters. My face feels all warm, I hear Sam’s chair move and the collecting of papers. He was leaving me! My nervous laughter continues as I try to come up with something but it’s broken letters that leave my mouth instead, I stand up abruptly, tugging down the skirt of my dress as I do so, “I’m gonna go…”

He removes his hands from my chair, and I grab my cardigan, throwing the soft material on. I meet his gaze again but this time he’s just smiling softly. “Wait for me, sweetheart, gotta take a leak,” he says, finished with his teasing. “Ok,” I answer, and he heads to the back of the bar. If I hadn’t embarrassed myself I would have commented on his gross choice of words, but I did so instead I down the rest of my sweet drink.

Hardly two minutes later Dean is back, he throws his jacket on and swings an arm around my shoulder pulling me into his side as we head to the front, “So, about that motel…” he tries to continue his teasing.

“Dean!” I groan, “Stop, alright I get it was funny, whatever, it’s over now.” He laughs, swinging open the door for me. I roll my eyes, he was never going to let this down.

The chill Minnesota air cools down my warm cheeks as I exit the bar, Dean following behind, “No, no, I think you were on to something, sweetheart,” he muses and I can hear that stupid smile on his face. I turn around swiftly, facing him, “I am going to beat you up,” I threaten despite the smile on my face. His stupid, cute, smile drops all of a sudden, his eyes somewhere over my shoulder. I frown, “What?”

He doesn’t answer, his eyes focused behind me, he moves around me and I spin around immediately noticing the cause of his changed demeanor. There’s no Sam. He’s not by the car at all, and if he went back into the bar we would have seen him. I follow Dean to the Impala, my tall boots clicking against the asphalt, he picks up something from the roof holding up his Dad’s journal which Sam had in his possession when he left. That’s not good.

I pull my phone out of my cardigan pocket, immediately scrolling down to Sam’s contact. Dean opens the car door, peering inside before shutting it and shaking his head. I click call, waiting impatiently with the phone to my ear, it rings a couple of times before going to voicemail. “Frick,” I redial his number and this time it goes straight to voicemail, was it shut off? Why would he shut it off?

I shake my head at Dean, this was bad.

Dean moves away from the car asking a drunk couple by the bar, but they have no answer. I call his phone again as if this time would be different, but it isn’t.

“Sam!” Dean suddenly yells, frantically calling for his brother. “Sammy!”

“So, what can we do for you, Officer Washington and Officer Greene?,” Deputy Kathleen asks, looking at our fake IDs. She didn’t seem so amused as she looked at us with those piercing grey eyes. “We’re working a missing persons,” Dean answers, worry still etched on his face.

“I didn’t know the Jenkins case was being covered by the state police,” she acknowledges, perhaps growing suspicious.

“No, we’re here about another missing person. ‘Could be related though,” I reply. Dean adding, “It’s my cousin. We were havin’ a few drinks last night at this bar down by the highway. And I haven’t seen him since.”

“Does your cousin have a drinking problem?” she asks logically.

“Sam?” he scoffs, “Two beers and he’s doin’ karaoke.”

“He wasn’t drunk. And the time frame in which he was left alone was far too short for any wanderin’ off, if by chance he was intoxicated more than my partner here witnessed,” I inform, adding on. Dean looks at me with a little surprise, as if I wasn't capable of being serious and professional which was stupid because I knew more about criminology than he did and as of right now we had to look at this in that frame of light. Kathleen nods, moving to her computer and turning it halfway so that we could see too, “Alright. What’s his name?”

“Winchester. Sam Winchester,” Dean answers.

“Like the rifle?” she asks somewhere between skepticism and amusement. “Like the rifle,” he confirms.

She types away, pulling up his police record, and she scans the file before clicking on Dean’s file (thank god there were no pictures with it). “Samuel Winchester, so, you know that his brother, Dean Winchester, died in St. Louis. And, uh, was suspected of murder.”

Memories of that hunt creep into the back of my mind. The slimy remains of its shedding, his hands on my neck, losing my abilities to iron…Dean’s awkward laugh knocks me out of my thoughts, “Yeah, Dean. Kind of the black sheep of the family…Handsome, though.” I try hard not to throw a look at him, even now he still has to be cocky. “Uh-huh,” she hums, not amused. She types something else in, bringing up more results on the computer, “Well, he’s not showing up in any current field reports.”

“Oh, I already have a lead. I saw a surveillance camera by the highway,” Dean informs.

“Uh-huh, she hums, “The county traffic cam?”

“Right. Yeah. I’m thinking the camera picked up whatever took him…or, whoever” he corrects with a smile.

“Well, I have access to the traffic cam footage down at the county works department, but—well, anyhow, let’s do this the right way,” she goes to a filing cabinet and pulls out some paperwork, “Why don’t you fill out a missing persons report and sit tight over here,” she hands Dean a clipboard. “Officer, look, uh, he’s family. I kind of–I kind of look out for the kid. You gotta let us go with you,” he reasons.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” she answers.

“Sam’s my responsibility. And he’s comin’ back. I’m bringin’ him back,” he says again, this time more demanding than pleading. But she shakes her head, “I’m sorry” she repeats moving away from us.

“The first 72 hours of a missing person's case is the most important!” I call out and she stops in her tracks, “We know Sam didn’t just run off, so we can eliminate the statistic that in 48 hours he will show up,” but still she doesn’t turn. “In this case, 72 hours would be lucky, you know considering the fact this county has had no leads and has yet to find a single person related to the serial kidnapping going on,” she turns and stares at me with a frown.

“So for all of our sakes and our jobs, let’s say a safe 48,” I continue, “I’m sure you’re well aware that the second you go over that time the chances of you finding the person, let alone alive, is extraordinarily low. It is currently,” I look at the clock on the wall, “9:36 am,” I meet her eyes again, “So in less than 30 minutes we will be down 13 hours. Now I don’t think I have to do the math for you to understand how badly you are screwed,” I challenge, “Now, how long do you think you have before the feds get involved? ‘Cause I’m sure that will look just great for you.” I know I’m being harsh but I’m also being entirely serious.

She sighs, nodding, “Okay.”

Dean picks at his nailbeds as we wait on a bench across the street from the County’s Work Department. The bright sun shines down on us making his dirty blonde hair glow. I place a hand over his, he needs to break this habit, “We’ll find him,” I say softly. He shakes his head, “You said it yourself, every minute that goes by the chances of finding him–”

“But we’ll find him,” I cut him off. Maybe being positive about this wasn’t the most logical thing, we don’t know how big of a lead we have yet and if it’s nothing then we really are screwed. I know the odds are not in our favor, but to remind him of that wouldn’t help either.

“Greg, Kayla,” Kathleen says from behind, using our fake first names. We turn to her, getting up from the bench we were waiting on, “I think we’ve got something,” she hands us printouts of traffic cameras. “These traffic cameras take an image every three seconds. As part of the Amber Alert program,” she explains, “These images were all taken around the time that your cousin, Sam, disappeared.” But it's just images of a dark road with no one on it but the soft light of street lamps illuminating the pavement.

“This really isn’t what we’re looking for,” Dean voices.

“Just wait, wait—next one,” she insists. He turns to the next image, tilting it to show me the image of a rusty run-down truck driving down the road, “This one was taken right after Sam left the bar. Look at the back end of that thing. Now, look at the plates.” He turns the page again, this time the image is a close-up of the back of the truck or more specifically the not rusty or old license plate. “Oh, the plates look new. It’s probably stolen,” Dean points out, confirming my thoughts.

“So, whoever’s driving that rust bucket must be involved,” she adds and I'm ever so glad this lead was something. Maybe we could let other officers know to be on the lookout for it.

Suddenly there’s the horrible noise of a loud grumbling and whining engine passing by, I cringe at the screeching noise, looking up to find a beat-up van stopped at a red light. “Hear that engine?” Dean asks.

“Unfortunately,” I mumble, trying to resist the urge to cover my ears. He looks at me, meeting my eyes, “Kind of a whining growl, isn’t it?”

My lips part. He was right. He didn’t need to say any more for me to understand exactly what he meant, it’s what Evan heard. And if we assume that the rusty truck on the cameras is involved, they might even make a similar noise considering they're just about the same on the beat-up level.

The squad car rolls down the highway, Kathleen in the driver's seat pointing to a passing traffic camera, “Okay, the next traffic cam is fifty miles from here, and the pickup didn’t pass that one, so…”

“So, it must’ve pulled off somewhere,” Dean finishes her sentence, adding, “I didn’t see any other roads here.”

“Well, a lot of these backwoods properties have their own private roads,” Kathleen points out. I sigh, “That’s not very helpful,” now we have to figure out how to narrow it down with no other information. Dean grumbles something, looking out his window while I keep my eyes trained out the windshield trying to think of our next move.

Kathleen clicks something on the little tablet on a stand, in the corner of my eye I see her look at us strangely. I drop my eyes to the tablet, picking up on enough words to know it was trouble for us, I unbuckle myself swiftly, thanking my past self for choosing to sit in the middle and that this was a squad car meaning there wasn't the gate between the back and front. I lean forward my hips hitting the end of the center console as I practically weasel myself between the passenger and driver seats, my hands flat on the front of the console. My hair curtains my face but even so I can feel both their gaze on me, just like I wanted.

I don't know how much she was able to read the document but it doesn’t matter now as I carefully lift my pointer finger, hands still flat on the console, towards the tablet letting just a little spark of energy leave my finger and interfere with its programming. I push my hair out of my face, her eyes drop to my chest which was practically pushed out and perfectly visible in this position, I laugh lightly, “Sorry, I thought I saw something.”

I lean back, sitting on the edge of my seat putting my arms on the end of the console near me but close enough that it frames my boobs perfectly. Her eyes had been following my movement back through the rearview mirror, even girls were guilty of staring. Her eyes finally drag up to my face and I smile sweetly at her in the mirror, tilting my head a little for extra measure, her eyes drop down again before she blinks looking away from the mirror. She blinks again shaking her head as if it would shake the image away, “Look, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull but I ran your badge numbers. It’s routine when we’re working a case with state police. For accounting purposes and what have you.”

I curse internally, so much for a distraction. “And, um,” she continues, her eyes dropping to my chest just one more time, “uh, they just got back to me,” she pulls the car over to the side of the road, “It says here both of your badges were stolen. And there’s a picture of you both,” she turns the tablet. Dean looks at her shocked before dropping his eyes to the screen, his face falls with confusion as we both stare at the same thing, “It’s blank,” he points out and I have to hold back a smile at my work. She turns the tablet towards her, confused, she hits the thing and of course it doesn’t make a difference. “Well it was a picture of a heavier African American male and a (different ethnicity than you) female,” she explains instead.

“I lost some weight,” Dean chuckles awkwardly, “And I got that Michael Jackson skin disease.”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, did he really think that was going to work?! Kathleen takes off her seatbelt, “Okay, would you both step out of the car, please?”

“Look, look, look,” Dean spews quickly halting her movement, “If you wanna arrest us, that’s fine. We’ll cooperate. But, first, please—let me find Sam.”

“I don’t even know who either of you are. Or if this Sam person is missing,” she counters.

“Look into my eyes and tell me if I’m lying about this,” he reasons. But she scoffs, “Identity theft? You’re impersonating officers.”

“How much do you care for your people? Those who live in the county?” I ask her. She doesn’t answer, doesn’t even look at me. “You can bring us in now, sure, but there’s still someone out there kidnapping and likely murdering people. And we are your best chance of finding them, we got you this far.” She purses her lips, shaking her head firmly.

“Look, here’s the thing,” Dean tries, “When we were young, I pretty much pulled him from a fire. And ever since then, I’ve felt responsible for him. Like it’s my job to keep him safe. I’m just afraid if we don’t find him fast—please,” his voice breaks, “He’s my family.” He was putting it all out there, he wasn’t the emotional type let alone with a new person like this, but he was more than worried

“I’m sorry. I have to take you in,” she says her gaze elsewhere. But then she frowns, sighing, her shoulders dropping in defeat, “After we find Sam Winchester.” She fastens her seatbelt and Dean looks at me confused but I just shrug, maybe it was better if we didn’t question it.

Despite Kathleen's clear distrust for us, she did suggest stopping for coffee before continuing our search. I cradle my to-go cup between my palms, the sun perfectly warm on my skin and the wind in perfect time with a cool breeze now and then. “Hey, Officer? Look, I don’t mean to press our luck,” Dean starts.

“Your luck is so pressed,” she retorts and her remark makes me laugh. She throws me a sharp glare and my smile drops, burring my face behind my cup as I take a sip.

“Right. I was wondering…why are you helping us out, anyway?” Dean asks, “Why don’t just lock us up”

Kathleen frowns, rounding the car as she answers, “My brother, Riley, disappeared three years ago. A lot like Sam. We searched for him, but…” she sighs, “nothing…I know what it’s like to feel responsible for someone.” The memories seem to flash in her pupils, her gray eyes hardening again. It was like seeing her in a different light, I think in the rush of this hunt we, or rather I, forgot that she was more than her badge she had her pains and losses like us. I make a mental note to apologize later for my previous harshness, I know I could’ve been kinder and that’s true with or without this newfound information.

“Come on,” she beckons, opening the driver's door, “Let’s keep at it.”

****

We drive close to the edge of the forest on the lookout for private roads, but tree after tall tree there is nothing. “Wait, wait, wait,” Dean suddenly says, “pull over here. Pull over.” And despite Kathleen's questioning gaze, she abides, pulling the car over and onto the soft grass beyond the shoulder.

We get out of the car, getting closer to the tree line. “You guys stay here, I’ll check it out,” Kathleen commands leading us into the forest.

“No way,” Dean scuffs.

“Seriously,” I reason, “You have no idea what you're walking into, you could use our help.” I mean did she really want to walk in alone?

“Hey,” she stops before us, preventing us from going further, “You’re civilians. And felons…I think. I’m not taking you with me.”

“You’re not goin’ without us,” Dean answers firmly. She stares at us as if to see how serious we are when finally she sighs, annoyed, “Alright. ‘You promise you won’t get involved? You’ll let me handle it?”

“Yeah, I promise,” Dean half shrugs. I nod, “Promise.”

“Shake on it,” she challenges, extending her hand. Dean and I raise our hands for a shake, but jokes on her for a promise to be serious you need to pinkie promise. She raises her other hand to extend to mine at the same time. She's firm with it when cold metal clinks against my wrist immediately followed by another clink against Dean’s. We’re cuffed to each other. I stare at our cuffed hands confused, the joke was supposed to be on her, not on us. And it certainly was on us. “Oh, come on,” Dean grumbles.

Holding on to the links between each cuff, she dragged us back to the car; no amount of dragging my feet was helping. She uncuffs me twisting both my hands behind my back, holding firmly with one hand as she puts the other cuff through the door handle pulling it back up and on my wrist; leaving Dean and I both trapped to the door handle. It was hard to be totally mad when it was quite clever. Now satisfied with her work, she walks back into the forest, “This is ridiculous. Kathleen, I really think you’re gonna need our help,” Dean calls after her.

She lifts a hand, beeping the car locked as she throws back a, “I’ll manage thank you.” I watch her leave until I can no longer see her past the tree line, I still can’t believe she tricked us. “That was an interesting show you put on before,” Dean says, leaning against the car door, apparently not too concerned about our current position. “What do you mean?” I ask, meeting his eyes.

“What do I mean?” he mocks, “Oh I don’t know maybe the,” he places his free hand below his chest lifting an invisible boob, “‘I thought I saw something’” he says in a girlish voice. I give him a pointed look and with my free hand I hit his chest, he drops his hand laughing. “One, I did not sound like that! Two, I was not doing that, and three! I was tryna save us, she had pulled up incriminating evidence and I figured I could distract her enough to buy us time.”

“Well she still got us,” he points out, green eyes dropping to our cuffed wrists.

“Yeah I know, it was more of an in-the-moment thing and it worked better in my head,” I reason.

“You got the distracting part right though,” he responds, his voice slightly lower. Maybe it was the stupid bickering or the fact he had teased me last night that brought up enough confidence to ask, “Are you insinuating you were looking too?”

His eyes snap up to me his cheeks looking warm, “What?! No, no, I wouldn’t…I–no.”

I smirk though my cheeks burn hotter than the sun and my heart is rapid against my ribcage, I open my mouth to say something clever when I hear the screeching of tires, “Never mind that” I say quietly instead. With my free hand, I hold the cuffs using very little energy to unlock them. I smile triumphantly, discarding the cuffs to the grass. “You’re lucky I don't just leave you here,” I point out.

He looks taken aback as he scuffs, “You wouldn’t.”

I purse my lips, “But I could’ve, I really could’ve.” He scuffs this time with more humor as he rolls his eyes, “Right. Let’s go.” He leads the way, walking quickly into the forested area.

We pass by wagon wheels strewn across the overgrown grass, followed by a rundown barn. Dean carefully opens the creaky barn door, exposing the dark inside to the shining sun. The barn reeks of sweat, and a combination of human and animal waste. The light creeps in behind us revealing at least four cages with thick metal bars, the cage wasn’t too wide and couldn’t have been more than three feet tall. Either way, it was solidifying the idea that this had to be the correct place because why would cages like these be in a rundown barn? And…there were figures inside said cages, very human figures. “Sam?” Dean calls out as we approach. Then they become more than dark figures, Sam smiles from his crouched-down position. “Are you hurt?” Dean asks even though he didn't look harmed, sweaty and dirty, yes, but not harmed.

“No,” Sam answers. Dean grins putting his hands on the bars, “Damn it's good to see you.”

“How did you get out of the cuffs?” A now familiar voice asks. Dean and I seem to turn around at the same time, and I’m taken aback by Kathleen’s appearance. Her dark hair was down, cascading down her shoulders only making her blue eyes more entrancing, the khaki button down she wore as uniform was gone leaving her in a dirty white t-shirt, black splotches on it as well as some on her skin accompanied by a bloody bruise in the corner of her forehead.

“Oh, she knows a trick or two,” Dean answers with a playful smile, “Speaking of which, you should do it again.”

I force a tight-lipped smile. “Right.”

I approach the door of the cage where Sam is held, the thick, heavy lock resting in my hands. The lock looks like it belongs in a medieval dungeon, its surface cold and unsettling. As I clutch it, an eerie emptiness spreads through me, a hollow sensation that chills me to the core. The memory of an iron bar around my neck flashes through my mind. I drop the lock as if it burned me, stumbling back. I rub my hands down the sides of my legs, trying to erase the lingering coldness. Gradually, the tightness in my chest eases, replaced by the familiar warmth of my abilities flowing through my veins. “What’s wrong?” Dean and Sam ask in unison, Dean’s hand suddenly gripping my upper arm.

“Iron,” I manage to get out around the cotton that seemed to fill my throat, eyes focusing on the barn floor. He curses under his breath before he steps in front of me, blocking me from the other's view. He squeezes my upper arm silently asking me to look at him, I meet his eyes the familiarity of him easing the leftover panic. “‘You okay?” he asks quietly enough for only us to hear. I nod and he doesn’t push me to confirm it verbally, he gives a quick nod in response and squeezes my arm once more before his hand drags down my arm before leaving altogether. Suddenly I miss his touch even though I know I shouldn’t. It’s a strange thing when your brain and heart want two different things. My mind pleads for logic, bringing an end to our casual touches to save my heart the grief. But then my heart wants nothing more to latch on to the feeling and exceed just a little more hope. He moves to the lock himself, studying it, “These are gonna be a bitch”

“Well, there’s some kind of automatic control right there,” Sam points to a control panel on the other side of the barn.

“Have you seen ‘em?” Dean asks.

“Yeah. Dude, they’re just people,” he answers voice dipped in disbelief. Our hunts rarely ended up being people; with something like this, they must be seriously messed up. “And they jumped you? Must be gettin’ a little rusty there, kiddo,” Dean remarks as he walks over to the control panel.

“I bet they’re rednecks, and that’s, like, an entirely different breed of human,” I comment.

“How do you know their rednecks?” Kathleen asks as if she’s still suspicious we’re in on this.

“I wouldn’t know anyone else who would keep captured people in a barn in the middle of nowhere, in cages no less. I feel like that has psychotic redneck all over it,” I explain like it’s obvious.

“What do they want?” Dean asks as he clicks different buttons on the panel.

“I don’t know,” Sam answers, “They let Jenkins go, but that was some sort of trap. It doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“Well, that’s the point. You know, with our usual playmates, there’s rules, there’s patterns. But with people, they’re just crazy,” Dean points out.

“Well, there are certain patterns with humans too, especially criminals,” I explain, “They most likely get off on the thrill of the hunt. They let you go. Give you false hope, and get you running. But like you said it's a trap. You’re just prey to them, they might even have actual traps hidden around as extra measure though it doesn’t matter when they catch you anyway. It’s kind of a whole dehumanizing act too, cages and the hunting like you’re animals.”

All three pairs of eyes stare at me, “What? I thought that was evident,” I shrug defensively.

“...Anyways, ‘see anything else out there?” Sam asks.

Dean creeps open the other barn doors, different from where we came in from, “Uh, he has about a dozen junked cars hidden outback. ‘Plates from all over, so I’m thinkin’ when they take someone, they take their car, too.”

Kathleen scurries closer to the bars of her cage, hands clutching the bars, “Did you see a black Mustang out there? About ten years old?” She looks desperately at Dean. “Yeah, actually, I did,” he answers and she frowns, her chest depleting with hope, “Your brother?” he asks, taking a good guess. She nods, shoulders dropped, something passing in her eyes, “I’m sorry,” he apologies, “let’s get you guys out of here, then we’ll take care of those bastards,” he points to the control panel, “this thing takes a key.”

“Then please say one of you, by chance, happened to see the key,” I add.

“No, I don’t know,” Sam answers. I nod, “Right. That’s fun and awesome, we get to venture into the home of serial killers.” I turn on my heels, heading back the way we came, hearing Dean’s steps right behind me. “Hey,” Sam suddenly calls out. We stop, turning around, he adds, “Be careful.”

My lips curve up into a half-smile, “We will!” I answer enthusiastically. “Yeah,” Dean responds in the only way he knows how. I don’t think he understands that people care and worry about him, especially when he sees himself as the protector I wish there was a way to help him unlearn that and if one already exists I want to know it.

****

I pull myself up, my hands holding firm to the window sill, we were lucky to find an open window. Scooting myself into the dark room, I turn back leaning out the window to take the flashlight from Dean. He lifts himself up and in with ease, taking the flashlight back from me. He flicks it on, scanning the room with the light, revealing shelf after shelf of specimen jars. I move closer to one of the jars, a severed hand with a star tattoo by its thumb floating in the alcohol. “You know what they say, people with tattoos taste bad,” I mumble.

“Who says that?” Dean whispers in disbelief.

“Cannibals,” I whisper back, “They say it makes the flesh taste all weird. They also say the hands are the worst to eat, ‘not a lot of meat there.”

“You think these guys are cannibals too?” He asks, flashlight shining over the various jars and bottles.

“I don’t know, maybe,” I shrug, if they weren’t then I wonder why they would keep only some body parts but get rid of the others. He nods slowly to the possibility, flashlight gliding over a wall of Polaroid pictures each with the same two boys with long noses, beards, and hats, standing beside a dead body. “I’ll say it again, demons I get. People are crazy,” Dean says pointing to a particular photo, one with them holding Jenkin's corpse. I wonder how late we were, maybe we could’ve saved him too.

Carefully I creep my way to the closed door, opening it slowly just a crack, I peek out viewing the hallway for anyone. I wait one, two, three beats before opening the door more, signaling to him that the coast was clear. I exit the room first, Dean close behind me, I motion towards the old wooden stairs in question and he nods taking the lead once more. He creeps up the stairs careful not to step on something that looks like it would creak, I follow behind walking on my tip-toes for extra measure. The stairs continue up one more level but we stick with the second floor. Reaching the landing we stepped into the living room, the room was grey and dark with no furniture around just a big empty room. I step deeper into the room, the wallpaper is peeling and the room smells like mildew. The only pleasant thing was a soft tune coming from a room nearby, instrumental but not quite classical, a hacking sound interrupting the melody every few seconds.

Suddenly something in the room clacks together, hitting each other repeatedly. I turn quickly to the noise, guard up. Dean moves away from the object he must have hit as he mutters, “What the–.” A windchime of bones hang from the ceiling down by the window, the bones were clean and white–clearly well taken care of, some bones slightly longer but they were mostly smaller bones. I watch as he brushes it off with a slight shiver before moving to a different part of the room picking up a miscellaneous plank of wood. He notices me staring and motions with his head to follow, he leads us to the next room close to the kitchen towards the hacking. We reach the archway and he peeks in before making a hand signal for me to stay where I am as he riskily moves to the other side of the archway.

Perhaps stupidly I take a quick peek before resuming my place flat against the wall, taking a moment to go over what I saw in the quick glimpse. An older man at a kitchen counter, his back to us, nothing reflective in front of him that's visible from this angle, cluttered room, windows bordered up, a bag of tools positioned behind him with at least a meat cleaver in it but guessing by the shape there were more objects- maybe more knives, the meat he was working on wasn’t visible but the likelihood of it being human remained pretty high.

I look over at Dean, some jar full of teeth in his hand, his face scrunched in disgust. “What are you doing?!” I mouth. He puts the thing down on a little stand that stands across from him, and he opens his mouth to respond when the floor creaks behind him, he turns quickly and I try to see behind him with wide eyes but he’s too tall to see anything from this position. I look to the floor instead, trying to look for another pair of feet. I hear him say something softly with his hands raised, but from where I am I can’t hear. Between his own feet, I see small bare ones, perhaps belonging to that of a child.

Then before another beat passes the child says something and Dean is pushed up against the wall with a groan, a choked noise escaping him as he lifts a hand to his abdomen. The girl smiles wickedly, but before her lips can part, I launch myself at her, wrapping my arms around her from behind and pinning her arms to her sides. “DA–” she manages to get out before I clamp a hand over her mouth.

She thrashes against my grip, knocking me against the little table. Objects rattle behind me, but I hold firm. Dean pulls the knife out of his stomach as he slides down the wall, blood staining his shirt. I force the girl forward, her large matted hair obscuring my vision. She kicks wildly, nearly breaking my hold.

“Okay,” I breathe, “Okay, it’s alright, go to sleep.” I focus, letting my abilities surge, the familiar energy coursing through my veins. It flows down my arms into my fingertips that grip her.

I reach into her mind, a violent sea of chaotic thoughts and emotions screaming back at me. Her fear and anger lash out like storm-driven waves. I step into it, the wind of internal screams and panic parting for me. I step in deeper, my steps gentle. I echo the words I said out loud to her, my voice soft like a lullaby once lost. The storms begin to quiet. Her physical struggles begin to slow as she subcomes to my soft insistent voice. Her thoughts slow, the waves turning to ripples until they are still. I creep out of her mind, gently lowering the unconscious child to the floor and leaning her against a nearby wall. It was the best I could without harming her and I would not harm a child.

Quick footsteps adjourn down the staircase. I reach Dean, kneeling in front of him, replacing his hands around the wound. He watches me carefully, quietly, eyebrows pinched together slightly. I know I must work quickly. With a breath, the purple glow of my powers seeped into the deep stab wound. Slowly the torn flesh and tissue knit back together, “You’re either gonna have to hurry sweetheart, or stop,” he warns. It was a deep wound and it would take longer than what we had, “But stopping would be stupid, and dangerous especially since you’ve already taken the knife out which you should never do ‘cause it only makes you bleed out more,” I answer quickly. I can practically feel the roll of his eyes without having to look.

A floorboard creaks a foot away. I curse under my breath, reluctantly pulling away from Dean and standing up just as a hard hand grips my shoulder. I turn quickly, throwing a punch, my knuckles hitting a hard face. The man stumbles just slightly, loosening his grip on me. A fistful of my hair is pulled, forcing my neck back uncomfortably as my scalp burns. A choked grunt leaves my lips as the person uses my hair to drag me away, with a snap of his wrist I’m thrown to the floor. I land on my hands and knees hard, “Bitch,” the man spits. I get up with a single laugh. He charges at me. I throw a hand out, energy shooting from my hand. He goes flying hitting the wall hard, his stupid baseball cap falling off as he slides to the floor. His long face drops, fear filling his dark irises, he scurries to sit up. “W–w-witch!” he yells with a shaky pointed finger, getting the attention of his partner. The other long-faced man stares at us, distracted, giving Dean the leverage to push the man off of him followed by a punch to the face.

I return my attention to the accusing man. I return my arm to my side, and with a small shrug and a smile I answer, “Guilty.” His face seems to pale, and with a newfound determination, he picks himself up. “Do you really wanna do that? You can stay down,” I offer him. But he snarls and suddenly I’m thrown to the side, a separate body on top of me, my upper arm scraping against the wooden floor. I grunt as the person turns me over and lands a smooth punch to my nose, I catch a glimpse of Dean straddling the guy I had been dealing with serving punch after punch. They had switched people and it worked. Warmth trickles down my nose as I lift my legs around the man and in one fair sweep turn us over. I land punch after punch until a weird metal noise echos against the walls followed by a heavy drop. Stupidly, I look over. Dean’s on the floor unconscious, the tall man who was in the kitchen standing over him with a pan. The dots connect quickly as the man below me pushes me off and stands up with a stumble. I follow his lead and stand up too, wiping the back of my hand below my nose, dragging away blood.

All three men stand together. The one I was just dealing with speaks, “You’re partners down why don’t you be a good girl and give up.” My skin curls, my spine chilling, “Why don’t I rip out your eyeballs and feed it to you’re friends over here, ‘m sure they’d enjoy it,” I reply. The man laughs, “Oh,” his dark teeth exposed, “ I like you.”

My lips curl in disgust, “The feeling is not mutual.” The man in the middle with the pan, the oldest, nudges the man who lost his hat. Silently he moves away, into another room. Now left with two men, I wait for them to make a move as charging them would be stupid and I’d likely be overpowered in seconds. The man returns with a butcher knife and a fire poker. He hands the knife to the other, all three now armed with weapons. The knife and pan weren't much of a worry, not compared to the fire poker. Fire pokers were made from iron, a material made to withstand heat, and apparently witches too. I eye the weapon hoping they could not smell the fear on me like Hannibal.

The two younger men come forward, rushing me. I duck out of the way of the butcher knife, nearly cutting my cheek in the process as I kick the man with the fire poker in the chest. He stumbles and I grab the arm of the knife holder pulling him closer before kicking him in the balls. He bellows as he falls to his knees. The fire poker soars in front of me, one of the little hooks catching on the top of my shirt. He pulls it back, the material ripping slightly and biting into my skin. I turn my attention to him, brows furrowed. He seems to regret his decision as I take a step closer to him. His grip on the fire poker is loose as he takes a step back. I follow after him, easily hitting his wrist. The poker clinking to the floor. Heavy footsteps shuffle behind me. I throw a hand up, flicking it back. Sending the knife man flying. All the while I keep my eyes on the man in front of me. I tilt my head slowly. He throws a punch. I catch it. Twisting his arm until it's behind his back, I walk him a few steps in front of me before throwing him to the ground.

Suddenly, the eldest man is hitting me across the face with the back of his hand. I stumble back, a familiar memory flashing in my mind. I blink rapidly pushing the memory away just as I’m hit on the side of my face. The pan is suddenly hard against my stomach. I land on my butt with a choked noise. He motions and suddenly the knife man is holding down my arms and the poker man is holding down my ankles. I struggle against their hold. Energy surges in my veins, eyes wide. The fire poker has replaced the pan. He lifts it above his head. Energy is at my fingertips. The fire poker is stabbed through my thigh, through the jeans. A scream erupts from my throat. The energy disappears at once. The room tilts. Everything disappears.

Deep voices flow in and out. The room in blinks. My head spins. Heavy, so heavy.

Heavy eyelids open. Hardly awake. Glimpses of Dean across the room, tied to a chair, his eyes just a bit more aware than mine.

“Come on. Let us hunt ‘em,” one of them says. My head lulls back, catching a glimpse of the poker sticking out of my leg. My eyes shoot open, suddenly more aware of the predicament. “Yeah, they're both fighters. Sure would be fun to hunt,” the other one adds. Pain surges to my thigh as I sit up straighter, rope binding my hands behind my back and rope to keep my ankles to my chair–matching Dean from what I could see. Their tall frames acted as a wall between us. The eldest laughs a hideous laugh.

“Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me. That’s what this is about? You–you yahoos hunt people?” Dean comments, his voice gruff. I huff, “This is one of those times I hate being right.”

Suddenly, the little girl from before, now awake, walks past me knife-drawn. I trace her movements with my eyes. She comes close enough to drag the blade across my cheek in a straight line. I clench my teeth to keep from giving them gratification. She pulls away, seemingly satisfied as blood drips down my cheek, “You having fun there?” I mock. She spits at my feet, all retaliation for invading her mind. The eldest turns his attention on me, stalking closer, “You said you’s one ‘em witches?” he asks.

“Sure,” I reply plainly.

“Thought we burned all of ya at the stake.”

“Guess you missed one,” I muse instead of giving a history lesson to correct his statement.

“Why don't you show us a trick?” He tests, eyeing me.

“How about I kill you instead.”

“You ever killed before?”

“I can make an exception for you lot,” I answer. He chuckles before turning to Dean, “What ‘bout you boy, you ever killed before?”

“Wh–” Dean laughs uncomfortably, “Well, that depends on what you mean.”

“I’ve hunted all my life,” the eldest starts, “Just like my father, his before him. I’ve hunted deer and bear—I even got a cougar once,” he sighs almost dreamily, “Oh boy. But the best hunt is human. Oh, there’s nothin’ like it. Holdin’ their life in your hands. Seein’ the fear in their eyes just before they go dark. Makes you feel powerful, alive.”

“You’re a sick puppy,” Dean replies.

“You need therapy…” I add, “And jail time.” He ignores our commentary to continue his demented story, “We give ‘em a weapon. Give ‘em a fightin’ chance. It’s kind of like our tradition passed down, father to son. Of course, only one or two a year. Never enough to bring the law down, we never been that sloppy.”

“Yeah, well, don’t sell yourself short. You’re plenty sloppy,” Dean interjects. Not so much ignoring it he asks, “So, what, you two with that pretty cop? Are you cops?” he asks.

“If I tell you, you promise not to make me into an ashtray?” Dean teased. The eldest tenses. The man whom I had scared before walks over to him and punches Dean square in the face. “Only reason I don’t let my boys take you right here and now is that there’s somethin’ I need to know,” the father informs ever so kindly. He turns his back on Dean and stalks his way towards me. “Yeah, how ‘bout it’s not nice to marry your sister,” Dean mocks from behind him. The father doesn't flinch even as I laugh at Dean's joke. Suddenly, he grabs the fire poker sticking out of my thigh, moving it around inside as he keeps eye contact, silencing my laughter. I try not to give a reaction, clenching my teeth until it feels like I might break a tooth. But in one movement he pulls the poker from my leg, my nails digging into the chair, a rugged scream erupting from my throat. The room rattles. Blood gushes from the wound, soaking my jeans. Something on a mantel clatters to the floor. He grabs hold of my chin, forcing my face up. “There it is,” he murmurs, voice gravely, as he peers into my pupils that are no doubt purple. He lets go of my face roughly, he adjusts the fire poker in his hand and I expect him to shove it back in, instead, he moves to the old fireplace near me. I force my powers inward, containing them, I would not be a toy for someone.

I turn my head towards the man, desperate to track his movements, my chest heaving–breath uneven. With a steady eye, he holds the poker over the fire, waiting for the tip to get hot, “Tell me…any of the cops gonna come lookin’ for you?” he asks, the warm glow of the fire illuminating the side of his grimy face. “Oh, eat me,” Dean responds gruffly, “No, no, no, wait, wait, wait, you actually might.” One of the goons walks over to Dean and holds his head in place as the father walks over, the hot fire poker at his side. “You think this is funny? You brought this down on my family?”

“Buddy,” I breathe, cutting him off, “You brought this upon yourself.”

“Alright, you wanna play games?” he mocks, “We’ll play some games.” He looks at the others as he announces, “Looks like we’re gonna have a hunt tonight after all, boys,” a horrible smirk on his face. He turns his attention to Dean, “And you get to pick the animal. The boy or the cop?”

“Okay, wait, wait—look, nobody’s comin’ for us, alright? It’s just us,” Dean answers, all humor gone from his voice. But his response doesn’t satisfy the father, “You don’t choose, I will,” he threatens as he places the hot poker on Dean’s chest, right near his shoulder. A deep piercing scream erupts from his throat. I try to lunge at the man despite my restraints, the other goon comes around to hold my shoulders. The father removes the poker. The screaming silents as Dean curses him out, “Ah, you son of a bitch!” He holds the poker hardly an inch from Dean’s eye, “Next time, I’ll take an eye.”

“Alright, the guy, the guy! The guy!” Dean yells. The goon holding his head lets go, and the father moves the poker to his side again before pulling a necklace from beneath his shirt, a key dangling from it. He pulls it from around his neck and throws it to the man behind me. He releases my shoulders as he catches it, “Lee, go do it,” the father orders, “Don’t let him out though. Shoot him in the cage.” Lee walks to the door, the key clutched as he picks up one of the many guns by the doorway. “What? I thought you said you were gonna hunt him. You were gonna give him a chance!” Dean shouts at the man. But the father ignores him, “Lee, when you’re done with the boy…shoot the bitch too.” Lee nods and leaves.

“Better clean this mess up before any more cops come runin’ out here,” the father explains. I struggle with my restraints again, I would not be useless even as my body works hard to heal the gaping hole in my thigh. But the battle against the simple ropes is fruitless, it's tied too tight and adrenaline is only bringing my energy levels so far. I don’t want to be useless, I could manage the ropes off and get up and fight.

The father spins around, eyes on me. He grabs my chin again, forcefully moving my face as he studies my eyes. “I think we’ll keep your eyes,” he remarks and it feels like a mockery of my previous threat. In a clean movement, the fire poker is shoved back in. It rips through the minute works of healing my body had managed. A scream chokes in my throat. My abilities out at once. “Lo–” a distant gunshot cuts him off. He stands away from me, his face dropping. “You hurt my brother, I’ll kill you, I swear. I’ll kill you all. I will kill you all!” Dean yells. The father ignores him as he calls out for his son, “Lee!” No answer comes. “Lee!” he calls for him again and again no answer comes. He turns to his other kids, “Jared, you come with me. Missy, you watch ‘em now.” Jared works quickly, grabbing two riffles before handing one to his father. And just as quickly they leave. Missy moves closer to Dean, knife drawn and held dangerously close to his eye.

****

I force my eyes to remain open and focused on the ceiling as I lean my head back. We heard multiple gunshots but it was impossible to know who they hit or if they hit at all. And I was growing tired. I may have my tetanus shot but I’m bleeding out…slowly.

The floorboards creak outside the room with particularly placed footsteps. Missy looks between us before scoffing and walking out of the room. Just out of sight, there's shuffling, something clinking to the floor, a door rushed closed, and the dragging of furniture. Seconds later a familiar tall figure steps into the room, “Sam!” Dean laughed. He was battered and bruised but not terribly hurt. He eyes us, our condition, but doesn’t comment on it as he moves to Dean, easily cutting off the ropes. He rises from the chair, hand pressed to his marked shoulder, hunched over just slightly.

Both boys cross over to me. Sam kneels, cutting away on the rope. Dean removes his hand from his shoulder, the burn mark looks worse up close and would undoubtedly leave a scar. I’d have to heal him. “Gonna have to pull that out, sweetheart,” he remarks. I frown, “That’ll make it worse.”

“You’re not better off this way,” he points out and I know he’s right…unfortunately. I give him a single nod, grounding my teeth as I await the pain. “It’s gonna hurt,” he warns. He wraps his hands around the poker, eyes tracing my face as he pulls it straight out. I groan, biting down on my teeth hard enough to break one. “I am going to rip his throat out and shove it up his ass,” I grumble through clenched teeth. Blood drips down the tip of the poker before he drops it to the floor, blood gushing from the wound. I take several breaths in and out, in an attempt to calm myself, and with a single thought, I make a roll of gauze, alcohol pads, and a large medical bandage form in the palm of my hand. I handed the small packets to Dean, “For your forehead,” a small cut and dried blood stained the corner of his forehead no doubt from being hit with a pan.

“You’re not gonna heal your leg?” he asks as I wrap the gauze over the hole in my thigh, blood immediately soaking the bandage. I shake my head, focused on the task and not the pain, “‘Take too long, we’ll have a healing party later.” He seems to accept the answer as he helps me out of the seat, restraints gone. Sam’s hands circle my waist as I steady myself upright, both boys aiding me in the endeavor to walk. We shuffle out of the room that could only be remembered as a part of a torture house. Something bangs on a passing door, hitting the door repeatedly. I spared the noise a glance, it was likely Missy trapped behind the door which would explain where she went and the shuffling before Sam found us.

The porch steps creak beneath our feet. Kathleen emerges from the barn, a thin layer of sweat sticking strands of her dark hair to her face. She walks over to us, meeting us in front of the cannibal house. “Where’s the girl?” she asks, eyeing our condition with careful eyes. “Locked her in a closet,” Dean answers, looking behind the cop and to the barn, “What about the dad?”

She pauses, lips parted, her expression hardening, “Shot. Trying to escape.” She doesn’t have to say anything more for us to know she’s half lying. There’s no doubt he’s dead, the blood splatter on her shirt proving that fact, but during escape was up in the air—not that it matters much to us. He’s dead. Good riddance.

****

Sam nurses a bottle of water, slowly sipping the contents. He’d gone too long without water and food, we’re lucky Kathleen had at least a bottle in the trunk of her car. Kathleen had moved away from us to call for backup, her figure lingering a couple of feet away.

I gently place a hand over the burn mark near Dean's shoulder, his hand immediately holding my wrist, “You should really work on yourself first,” he points out. I hum in recognition, warmth igniting from my hand and seeping into his skin. He takes a deep breath like his lungs are filling up with air for the first time. “It would scar and a burn mark is harder for the body to heal than just some regular wound,” I reason, the gentle hues of sunset reflecting in his eyes. “There’s a hole in your thigh. That’s not a regular wound,” he argues. I smile, knowing he’s right, “Well I wouldn’t finish by the time we left meaning the chance of the wound reopening is high.” He sighs, “And… the car’s at the police station.”

“Exactly,” I nod, lifting my hand from its place on him. The burn mark was gone, his skin clear and smooth like nothing had happened. “So, state police and the FBI are gonna be here within the hour,” Kathleen suddenly says from behind me. I move to the side of Dean, my hands clasped behind my back as if I hadn’t been touching him. “They’re gonna wanna talk to you. I suggest that you’re long gone by then,” she adds.

“Thanks,” Dean replies, “Hey, listen, I don’t mean to press our luck, but we’re kind of in the middle of nowhere. Think we could catch a ride?”

She gives him a pointed look, “Start walking. Duck if you see a squad car.”

“Sounds great to me. Thanks,” Sam says quickly, not pushing it further. “Oh, I, um, I’m sorry for acting like a jerk earlier. I know I could’ve been way nicer,” I apologize, thinking back to my harsh words. “It’s fine, I get it, I would’ve done the same,” she replies and I hope she really does accept my apology.

“Listen, uh…” Dean starts, “I’m sorry about your brother.” Kathleen swallows roughly, “Thank you,” her eyes tear up, “It was really hard not knowing what happened to him. I thought it would be easier once I knew the truth—but it isn’t really,” she pauses, her words hanging in the air, “Anyway, you should go.” The boys nod and I wish there was more we could do for her as we walk away.

****

“Never do that again,” Dean warns, breaking the silence that had enveloped us on our walk. “Do what?” Sam asks, oblivious. “Go missin’ like that,” he elaborates.

Sam laughs, “You were worried about me.”

“All I’m sayin’ is, you vanish like that again, I’m not lookin’ for ya,” Dean deflects, poorly. “Sure, you won’t,” Sam muses. We all knew it was a lie, Dean would go looking for Sam till the end of time. “I’m not,” Dean argues. Sam chuckles, “So, you got sidelined by a thirteen-year-old girl, huh?”

“Oh, shut up,” Dean shoves his brother. “Just sayin’, gettin’ rusty there, kiddo,” Sam teases, using his brother's words against him. I laugh, “He’s got a point.”

Despite himself, Dean laughs too, “Both of you, shut up.”

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fablesrose · 2 months ago

Text

Ch 20 - The Reunion Job

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Ford!Reader

Description: The team goes back in time, to high school with all the insecurities of a nerd turned overly rich and successful bully.

Words: 5.7k

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It was only a couple of days later when after Hardison met the client with Nate, he burst through my door complaining about Eliot being a lurker and Nate playing mind games with him which he very much did not appreciate. At least that’s what I could decipher from his frustrated ramblings. I’ll admit, I was only half listening to him as I was just reaching the most exciting part of the book I was reading.

“How do you deal with him?” Hardison finally asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Well, I mean, he’s your uncle, he raised you. You’ve gotta have dealt with his mind games and little psychological tricks all the time, so…”

I sighed, realizing that he actually wanted an answer and not just a rant session. Meaning, I wasn’t going to be able to finish the chapter. I closed the book and turned to stare at Hardison. I contemplated whether I wanted to actually answer his question in a fulfilling and helpful way for my friend or find out what happened in the current story arc.

I think the answer is obvious. Now how to go about completing the goal.

“Well, Hardison, you are a very smart young man,” I began.

It was obvious that he was not expecting the compliment and blinked, “Well, I– I’m not sure how that–”

“It is very relevant,” I cut him off, bringing the attention to me again. “The thing with dealing with manipulation tactics is that you first have to understand them.” I stood up from my couch, making a better connection with him by having more direct eye contact. “You see, Nate does use mind games, but it isn’t an always, every time thing so in order to identify when he is trying to manipulate you, well, let's say there is a learning curve.”

“And I am at the very bottom of the curve,” Hardison whined a bit. “I have never been at the bottom of a curve!”

I thought I had him hooked, so said a quick, ‘follow me’ and tried to walk towards my door, and to my satisfaction, he started to follow without a second thought. “That’s okay, I’m sure you will catch on. The thing about manipulation is that it is most often about subverting attention, whether that be to the manipulator, yourself, or somewhere else with a hyper focus that it is hard to redirect back to where you want if you aren’t looking out for it.”

He followed and listened intently, making a few interested comments.

I walked him across the hall and entered Nate’s apartment, “It takes practice and a lot of self awareness both to spot it and to try to do it to someone. There’s also tricks that can help, in a way it is similar to grifting and hacking, just combining the two.” I finally led him to where his computer was, “But, I won’t keep you any longer. I think it is better if you did some research on some psychology and the job for the client, right?” I nodded as I asked him that and he instinctively nodded back at me, agreeing as he sat down and placed his hands on his computer.

“Okay, thanks y/n.”

I hummed in agreement and casually, but quickly, walked back across the hall to get back to my book. Hopefully Hardison didn’t think too much about what just happened when he was doing his research.

Not too much later Nate came in to bring me along for the recon of an Iranian intelligence secret police hideout.

“You’re lucky I just finished a really good part of this book and need to decompress a bit,” I said as I slipped a bookmark in and stood from my couch for the second time.

“Mmm hmm, I think you’re the lucky one because you wouldn’t be able to pull the same thing on me that you did on Hardison,” he said, very self satisfied.

I stopped in my tracks, “how do you know about that?”

“I was upstairs and heard you.”

“You’re not gonna tell him, are you?”

“Only if you hurry up, we’ve gotta go. Come on, birdy,” he insisted, ushering me along and out the door.

“Okay! Okay, I’m going!”

Eliot and Hardison went into the restaurant as health inspectors. Sophie was already there as a customer with a bug in her food to give the boys an in to do an inspection. When Eliot wouldn’t help her get the roach away from her after her outburst, she told him that he would pay for it. I’m sure that will be interesting.

Parker was breaking in one of the back rooms where we were sure all of their sensitive information was. Nate and I stayed in the truck monitoring. Once Parker plugged into their computer, Hardison cloned it so we could all see the screen and Hardison could search the files. Meanwhile, Eliot was doing the food inspection as a bit of a distraction, and if I didn’t know any better, I would have thought he was enjoying himself, just a little bit.

“There’s nothing on Manticore, starting a syntax search” Hardison said as he remotely connected to the computer.

“What about the Manticore?” I asked, vaguely gesturing to the graphic on the bottom corner of the screen depicting the creature.

“The image on the bottom left there,” Nate said, since Hardison couldn’t see where I was gesturing. “Manticore is a mythological creature, Persian for ‘man-eater.’”

“Yeah, I was just about to click on that,” Hardison said unconfidently.

“Oh yeah, right, sure,” I replied, making sure he knew of my skepticism.

Hardison clicked on the graphic and a bunch of files opened on the screen.

“Okay, let’s uh, copy Cyrus’s program,” Nate said.

“I’d love to, but it’s not here,” Hardison said. “Doesn’t even look like they’ve heard of Cyrus.”

I looked at Nate, “That’s odd. Then who stole the program?”

“I’ve got payment records here,” Parker said. “The last one dated three weeks ago.”

After some searching, Hardison said, “The last Manticore update was also three weeks ago.”

“And who was that payment to?” Nate asked.

Hardison answered with a low whistle.

“Larry Duberman,” Hardison began once we got back for the brief on our new mark. “Founder and Ceo of Dubertech. Back in the 90s he wrote the book on digital database security. Literally wrote the book.”

Eliot stepped between Sophie and I with an intricate looking tea set and started pouring the both of us tea as Hardison explained how much revenue Duberman pulled in. I tried to make eye contact with either Eliot or Sophie to question what was going on, but Eliot was focused on pouring the tea, and Sophie wasn’t paying any attention to him at all.

“Why would Larry Duberman be selling software to Iran? He doesn’t need the money,” Sophie said and quietly thanked Eliot for the tea with a soft touch to his shoulder.

I repeated the sentiment to him, without the touch, and took a sip, noticing it was my favorite tea. I smiled a bit to myself, not quite listening to what Hardison was saying. I did catch that Duberman had a lot of competition in the tech industry which required him to expand his market share to make money.

“So, he sells the technology to embargoed countries and the income is tax free?” Nate asked.

“That’s a nice way to keep the bottom line from being squeezed,” Sophie commented.

“Now Duberman has a long term contract around Manticore for Iran, this man has become the IT department for the axis of evil,” Hardison said definitely.

“Alright, so Eliot was right,” Nate said. “The Veserate didn’t go after Cyrus, Duberman did.”

“It’s not about politics man,” Eliot said while squeezing a lemon into Sophie’s tea. “It’s bad business for him.”

“Okay, so Duberman’s our target,” Nate said, “what are we up against?”

Hardison explained how if we could shut off a certain one of Duberman’s servers then we could shut off Manticore.

“So, get to hackin’ man,” Eliot said.

“Dude, what is it about ‘wrote the book on database security’ that you don’t comprehend?” Hardison mocked. “I can’t just access Manticore remotely, we got to get to that server, in person.”

“Have any of you ever trimmed a Bonsai?” Nate asked.

I looked at him quizzically before following his eyes to see where he was looking at an article saying that Duberman recently installed a Japanese garden.

“I mean, I took a class in college,” I said, once I thought I had an idea of where he was going with the question.

“Really?” Eliot said in an excited and almost conspiratorial whisper, “cuz I actually–”

“Maybe some other time, Eliot,” Nate cut him off, clicking on the screen to enlarge the article he was reading.

“Okay,” he said, a little dejected, also seeming to realize why Nate asked, more hypothetically.

I was about to give an encouraging remark to Eliot when my attention got pulled to the other side of the table.

“Why is Eliot pouring your tea?” Parker asked. “Hmm? You brainwash him again?”

Again? When was the first time?

Sophie hummed in a negative tone. “Neuro-linguistic programming,” she corrected. “It’s amazing what you can do with the power of suggestion. ‘Sugar, squeezed,’” She said, only slightly directed at Eliot and patted his shoulder again. “And a few strategic pats on the arm.”

Eliot seemed to register what Sophie said and paused where he was about to pour her some more tea, “Damn it!”

“You owe me for that roach business!”

“Damn it!” Eliot repeated, “Sophie, not again.” He then took the cup of tea he was pouring for Sophie and marched off.

Hardison was laughing at the front of the room, and it only took me a moment to give a laugh as well. It seems to be the job for mind games.

I took a sip of my tea, which Eliot left in front of me, and leaned toward Sophie, “Thanks for including me in the tea, this is my favorite.”

“Oh, I didn’t tell him to do either of those things, but I’m glad you enjoyed it, dear,” she replied casually.

That made me pause, because it didn’t seem like something Eliot would do on his own, but I took Sophie’s word for it and just assumed that maybe her programming accidentally implied something about me getting tea too. The tea being my favorite must have been a coincidence.

Regardless, I was going to enjoy the drink in front of me.

I had volunteered to go into Dubertech as a custodian/gardener to help in the break in, but Eliot ended up doing it. I assume because he also got some nostalgia from the bonsai as well as this part of the mini con involved literally running into Duberman and accidentally roughing him up a little.

Eliot would shove a bonsai into his hands, spilling it everywhere. Hardison and Parker would immediately come in to clean it up, swiping his keycard and his fingerprint off the bonsai pot. Hardison and Parker then proceeded to break into Duberman’s office to gain access to the Manticore server.

Sophie, Nate, and I were at his apartment watching through the camera Hardison had with him. When they walked into the supposed server room, they paused.

“Whoa,” Parker said.

“It seems like we stepped out of Japan and straight into high school,” Hardison said.

“In 1985,” Parker clarified.

As Hardison panned the camera around the room, we could see that they were right. There was so much high school memorabilia and 80s tech on the shelves and in trophy cases. The lighting even seemed to be retro.

“Did you find the server running Manticore?” Nate asked, trying to get them back on track.

“Oh, I found it,” Hardison said. “Small problem: Nate, he’s running Manticore from his high school computer.”

The computer in question came into view and I was amazed that a program as advanced and complicated to spy on Iranians could even be run on the machine. Parker picked up and waved a floppy disk with a Manticore sticker on it.

“Question: can we just smash the computer? Would that work?” I asked.

“No,” Hardison replied, but didn’t explain as he plugged in to the computer and began to try and hack it.

“Fair enough, just thought I’d double check.”

“Vintage 1980s technology, man,” Hardison said, mostly to himself, “no wonder I couldn’t hack it from the outside. It’s speaking a dead language.”

“This is bringing a whole new meaning to ‘tech people don’t trust modern tech,’” I commented.

We watched as Hardison ran passwords through the computer, trying to gain access. After a few moments, an announcement came through talking about a possible breach.

“Hey, they’re onto us!” Parker said. “What’s the deal?”

“He’s got a multi-tiered password system,” Hardison explained. “Now, I’ve already broken into the first few: uh, Zavransky, MandyDD, a bunch of other random ones.” Hardison’s computer then made an unusual sound.

“Is that a good beep or a bad beep?” Parker asked.

“Ohh, that’s a bad beep. We just hit a wall.”

“You didn’t get the password?” Nate asked.

“Not the master one,” Hardison said, “the last one I got is: L33R15L06.”

Sophie and Nate looked at each other and said ‘high school’ at the same time in a dejected voice.

“That password is what tipped you off?” I asked sarcastically, mostly to cover up how I wasn’t sure how that password connected to the theme, but with all of the high school themed stuff in the room, it made sense.

“Come on, let’s go,” Parker said anxiously.

“Hold on, let me just copy this disk,” Hardison replied. “How did anyone get anything done in the 80s?”

They were able to make their escape once the download finished and made their way back to the pub. We all met down there to discuss what to do from there.

“Nobody else thinks it’s weird that you can just buy anybody’s yearbook online?” Eliot said when Hardison pulled out Duberman’s yearbook to consult.

“You know, it’s real cute man how you still believe in privacy,” Hardison replied.

“I’m just amazed he could get his hands on it so quickly,” I commented.

“Here we go,” Nate said as he flipped through it. “Zavransy: math teacher. Now I bet if we turn to the cheerleaders… Yes. Oh, Mandy.”

Eliot gave a low whistle. I glanced at the picture and, well, the double Ds in the password did make some sense.

“What does the ‘DD’ mean?” Parker asked.

The boys gave some innuendoes towards Mandy’s chest which I rolled my eyes at. I just told Parker that she didn’t need to worry about it.

“It was the last password that tipped us off,” Nate continued, “L33R15L06, now that has to be a locker combination, right?”

I nodded my head, agreeing, trying to disguise that I was just coming to the realization of what that was now. I guess I never remembered any of my locker combinations that way. Or remembered any at all.

“So clearly, he’s obsessed with high school,” Nate concluded. “Memorabilia, his high school computer.”

“Yeah, he’s a classic computer nerd,” Sophie said. She glanced at Hardison and apologized. “The girls totally ignored him, the guys picked on him, now that he’s a success, he can’t leave the past behind him.”

“Yeah, he has to remember who he was because it made him who he is,” Nate said.

“I feel bad for the nerd,” Parker said with an almost sympathetic deadpan.

“Don’t feel bad for this guy,” Eliot replied. “Getting bullied in high school is no excuse for propping up dictators. Take Hardison, he got bullied his whole high school career, he’s not a criminal.”

We all looked at him incredulously. Sophie and Parker verbally disagreed.

“Not a bad criminal,” Eliot amended.

“What makes you think I got bullied in high school?” Hardison asked.

“A: you’ve got a green hornet doll.”

“First: it’s a limited edition action figure. Second: it is Green Lantern. Educate yourself.”

“Guys, listen, listen,” Nate interrupted, “we’ve got a locker combination, we have a teacher’s name, and we have a crush. So Duberman has made his old high school, his roman room.”

After a moment, Parker confidently said, “Of course.”

“Of course?” Nate asked her, “what’s a roman room?”

She crumbled and admitted she didn’t know.

“It’s a memory technique,” he explained. “Each of his passwords corresponds with an object in a space he is intimately familiar with. In his case: the hallway of his old high school where he kept his locker. Now if I were to make this bar my roman room, everything I need to remember is in this room. For instance:” Nate stood and clasped me on the shoulder, “my, uh, email password would be Birdy here.” He then approached the bar and picked up a bottle of liquor, “and my bank password would be Balmore,” he said with a shrug. He then poured himself a drink from the very same bottle.

“Hey,” Parker leaned across the table to Hardison, “Nate just gave us his passwords, huh?”

“No,” Hardison said, “but I already got all his passwords. Want to see his Netflix queue?” He continued with Parker’s nod, “He’s got, like, every season of ‘Rockford Files,’ every season of ‘Sex in the City,’ that show ‘Psych.’”

“Oh, that’s a good one,” I said.

“Hey,” Nate came back and leaned over Hardison’s shoulder, “Listen, if we can’t get into the main server without Duberman’s master password, you can’t hack into that, right?”

“No, the password's up in the guy’s head. Can’t hack a guy’s head.”

“So the only option is to break inside his roman room.”

“You wanna break into his high school?” Parker asked. “Pft, I could do that blindfolded. Yeah, let’s do it blindfolded.”

“No, no, no, what we’re gonna do, is we’re gonna break into that high school, twenty five years ago.”

“Hmm, what do ya know,” Hardison said, looking at his phone, “Class of ‘85 has a reunion coming up. In eight months.”

We shared a passing look between each other with a smile. I think we could make that work.

Sophie made some calls as different reunion committee members and was able to get the reunion moved up to this month. She then called Duberman to personally invite him to the party, naming some classmates that should incentivise him to come. And lo and behold, he said he ‘wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

Hardison went in and edited a picture of Sophie and put it in the yearbook under the name of Grace Pelts. Nate was going to pose as a student named Drake McIntyre and play the rival, or villain in Duberman’s story. When he came out in his chosen outfit, he for sure looked like the peaked in high school jerk that he was going for.

Parker posed as one of the caterers and placed cameras around the school so Hardison could keep an eye on everything and help Nate and Sophie out when needed.

“Oof, so many awkward people in so many ugly outfits,” Parker said as she took a look at the bulletin board with the ‘nostalgic’ photos.

“You’re lucky you never went to high school,” Hardison said. “Nothin’ but heartbreak and homework.”

I sighed with a nod of my head, though he couldn’t see me, it was true.

“Didn’t you go to your Prom?” she asked.

“Uh… I was kinda busy,” he replied in a way that told me he was doing something that he wasn’t supposed to. Probably highly impressive and highly illegal.

“So you guys get to go to the reunion, and I’m stuck on goon patrol?” Eliot griped beside me as he pulled on his gloves.

“What am I? Chopped liver?” I asked, unamused.

“No, you’re at least a nice Pâté,” he replied with a slight apologetic look.

I squinted at him, not understanding what he was implying, “I’m gonna try and take that as a compliment, but you’re on thin ice right now.”

“Eliot, listen, once we get the password, you and y/n have to enter it on Duberman’s computer and destroy Manticore,” Nate explained. “Hardison is a little occupied.”

“Besides, I’m sure you already had your high school fun,” Hardison goaded. “Big man on campus. What? Quarterback?”

I watched as a slight smirk of reminiscence appeared on his face and he pulled his hood up, “I had many interests.”

He then waited until a lone employee walked out of the Dubertech building and knocked him out with one punch. I quickly rummaged through his pockets until I found his key card. Eliot then dragged him off to the side in the bushes where we were standing and I tossed his briefcase into the bushes after him. The two of us then entered the building and made our way to the so-called server.

Meanwhile, Sophie was making first contact with Duberman, stroking his ego a bit to get him loosened up. She also helped make the introduction to Duberman of Nate being Drake McIntire.

Apparently Drake was pretty popular in high school as it sounded like he was swarmed by people greeting him. Nate made sure to point out Duberman from across the room and address him as “doucherman!”

That seemed to sell it for Duberman.

“How’d you know that was his nickname?” Sophie whispered when she was able to take a step away from Duberman.

“With a name like Duberman, it’s not exactly rocket science,” Nate replied as he greeted more people, asking Hardison to help him keep his cover.

“Doucherman’s pretty good,” I commented. “If you wanted to just mispronounce his name you could go with Doberman but that might be too cool for him. I probably would have gone for gooberman or nooberman.”

There was a moment of silence.

“Say, y/n, who were you in high school?” Hardison asked over comms.

I scoffed, “Please, I didn’t conform to high school stereotypes.”

“Emo,” a couple voices said, including Eliot who was walking alongside me.

I looked at him and sputtered a bit, trying to deny it.

“Don’t even try it, y/n,” Hardison teased, “I can always look up your yearbook pictures.”

“Don’t you dare,” I said in the most threatening voice I could muster.

“Mmhmm,” Hardison replied in a tone that told me he wasn’t convinced but then continued to help Nate by feeding him facts about his supposed classmates.

Sophie was able to pull Duberman into the hallway and started reminiscing, trying to get any passwords she could out of him.

“This hall is burned in my mind,” Doberman said as they walked.

“Say, wasn’t that Mrs. Zavransy’s room?” Sophie asked.

“Had her for homeroom. Yeah, Pat Brander once gave me a wedgie in front of the whole class,” He replied.

“Pat Brander,” Sophie emphasized as if she was remembering too.

“Check out Brander,” Eliot told me as I sat at the computer.

I typed in the last name which didn’t work and then first, and then first and last, but none worked, “Name isn’t working.”

“Try Brander303, that was the room number,” Hardison said.

I typed it in, “Uh, looks like we got payroll.”

“Alright guys, patience,” Nate told us. “If we get him riled up, he’ll lead us to the password we want.”

Nate entered the hallway in a drunken manner and started teasing Duberman in a way that was very reminiscent of teenagers.

“We’re not eighteen anymore!” Duberman whined, trying to get him to stop.

“I’m just reliving the good old times, ya know,” Nate replied.

“Good times? You think they were good times for me? Like when you told Amy Tuttleton, the prettiest girl in school, that I had both male and female genitalia?”

Nate laughed, “I forgot about that! Yeah, that was classic.”

I typed in every variation I could think of for a password with Amy Tuttleton, with no hits.

“Hermaphrodite?” Eliot asked over my shoulder.

“I’m not trying that,” I said.

After a few more passing comments between Nate, Sophie, and Duberman, Duberman finally said, “You just don’t get it, do you? I won.”

“Oh come on now, you’re not still steamed about things that happened twenty-five years ago. Come on! Listen, it wasn’t all bad, does your brain only remember the painful bits?”

“Just the important stuff,” he tried to defend. “Like what happened in the library.”

“Oh yeah, go on,” Sophie encouraged.

“No, you remember, yeah, I was sitting there–”

He was cut off by a newcomer entering the hallway and their little group. It sounded like a flirty woman, who Nate, trying to stay in character, drew her attention to himself. Nate said her name was Nikki and she implied she was a cheerleader. Hardison got to work trying to give Nate information about her, but there were multiple cheerleaders who could have had the nickname Nikki. She then dragged Nate away from Duberman and Sophie to make out.

“Nate, I hope you know, this is so gross,” I said, trying to block it out. “Hardison, can you mute him for me for a second so I can listen to Sophie?”

He did as I asked and tuned me to Sophie and Duberman’s conversation.

I kept trying passwords that Sophie was giving me, and while a few of them opened different capabilities, none were the master password we were looking for. Eliot paced around the room looking at memorabilia and giving me updates on the others.

“Ha, Nikki locked Nate in a closet after he turned her down.”

I laughed as I tried another password, “serves him right, he probably broke that poor girl’s heart. And he broke my eardrums.”

“Yeah, Parker said the same thing along with high school being dramatic. She’s gonna go break him out.”

I scoffed, “she can say that again. High school was so over dramatic.”

“Says the emo.”

I glared at him and he changed the subject, looking back at the glass case in front of him, “They give out trophies for chess?”

“Chess is at least a strategy game. It’s better than a spelling bee trophy,” I countered.

He didn’t have the chance to reply as grinding noises and sparks started to shoot through the door.

“It’s the Veserate, they’re comin’ in!” Eliot told me and the rest of the crew.

Hardison unmuted Nate for me as he asked what the Iranians were doing here.

“How are we supposed to know?” I told him.

As I typed in another password, Nikki crashed Duberman’s and Sophie’s conversation again. She said she just wanted Drake out of the way so she could have Duberman all to herself, she spilled her drink on Sophie in the process, insisting she clean up. Well, there goes our audience with him and our opportunity to get the password. At least for now.

“What happened? He get away?” Nate asked Sophie when they met up.

“She took him!” Sophie lamented, “That, that… That bloody little slut!”

I’ll admit, that was not what I expected to come out of her mouth.

“Calm down,” Nate mediated.

“Just because I’m not some cheerleader or something!”

Oh, there was some bad blood here. Some history for Sophie.

“Alright, let’s forget about it for now. Eliot and y/n have company and we’re no closer to getting the password, so I think we need to escalate.”

“You think he’s ready?” Sophie asked.

“Uh, guys,” Hardison interjected, “I’ve accounted for all the Nikkis in the class of ‘85, your Nikki’s not even in the yearbook.”

“Wait, so she’s a fraud, like us?” Parker asked.

“What, is she just some random hussy who’s out for his cash?” Sophie proposed.

“Not exactly,” Hardison answered. “She’s a hired gun.”

I shifted my focus from the melting door to Eliot, “Well, this just got more complicated.”

“An assassin?” Sophie asked. “Nikki’s an assassin?”

“Yeah, I guess we weren’t the only ones with the bright idea to pose as alumni,” Hardison said. “This chick’s connected to wetwork jobs all up and down the east coast. Russian mob, Italian mob, there’s a New Zealand mob?”

“This is our fault,” Nate said.

“I didn’t do anything,” Parker denied.

“We lured him to an unsecured environment,” Sophie said. “We exposed him.”

“Now we have to save him,” Nate said. “We can’t destroy Manticore with him dead. Split up and find him. Eliot what’s happening on your end?”

“T minus five seconds,” he replied. “This reunion sucks!”

“I agree!” I said, surveying the room, trying to find something I could defend myself with. I finally settled on using a chair if I had to.

We watched as a hole was finally punched through the door and a head appeared to assess the room. When he saw Eliot, he said, puzzled, “The health inspector?”

Eliot shrugged, “I’m gonna have to dock ya again.”

Two of them quickly entered the room, the first raising a gun to Eliot. He knocked it away and was able to knock one down at a time to fight off the other. The first was able to drive Eliot into one of the trophy cases, breaking the glass everywhere. I stepped up and stomped on the back of his knee, making him collapse. I then stepped back out of the way to play support, protect the computer, and input the password if necessary.

“Duberman must have pissed off the Iranians,” Hardison said, “They hire an assassin to take him out while they raid his office? Eliot, you’ve got to keep them away from that computer.”

“He’s working on it!” I yelled at him at the same time Eliot said, “What do you think I’m doing?”

Eliot grabbed the chess trophy and was able to knock out the second Iranian, and for a moment, they were both down, and it was quiet.

“Check mate,” Eliot said, but the first Iranian would just not stay down and stood up again, ready for another round. “Or not.”

Over comms, it sounded like Sophie was able to find Duberman and Nikki and fight her off.

“I always hated cheerleaders,” Sophie said. “It was always mean girls like you who ruined high school for the rest of us!” It sounded like they kept fighting for a bit before Sophie was able to get away.

Eliot kept playing whack-a-mole with the Iranians, as soon as one went down, the other popped back up. I tried to help where I could, taking any cheap shots that were available while Eliot kept them occupied. Luckily, anytime they turned to engage me, Eliot was freed up to take them down, or at least divert their attention to himself.

I heard Duberman’s voice come through the comms again along with Nate, so he must have found him again. I was too preoccupied with the Iranians in front of me to pay attention to what was going on with them, but nothing seemed to be going horribly wrong yet. At least, not more than it already was.

What I did hear was Nate saying, “And, it’s done.”

That was a signal that Duberman changed the password. Eliot was still engaged with the Iranians, so I took a risk to turn my back on them and type in the new password, testing if Sophie’s neuro-linguistic programming worked to put ‘Badger85’ in his head.

“I’m in, Hardison,” I said, hearing Eliot finally knock both of them out enough to stay down.

“Great, now deauthorize and delete all directories, like we talked about,” he replied.

I typed in the commands and watched as the program fizzled out. “It’s done.”

“Manticore’s dead,” Eliot added with a note of finality.

Hardison was able to send some files to the FBI with an anonymous tip that should land Duberman in detention for a long while.

“Well, I think it’s time we graduate,” Sophie said once the figurative dust settled for a moment.

Nate agreed, but they were stopped by a loud announcement that even Eliot and I could hear through the comms.

“Your votes are in for the king and queen of the reunion, and the lucky winner is: Grace Pelts and Drake McIntyre!”

I laughed. I could just imagine the shock on their faces.

“Uh, very funny Hardison. Y/n?” Nate said.

“Oh, you think I did this?” Hardison asked. “Nah, I don’t rig elections. I mean, I could, but…”

“How could I have pulled that off? I’ve been across town this whole time,” I pointed out.

“Parker, was this you?” Sophie asked.

“I didn’t even know they had kings and queens in high school,” she replied.

“Yeah, um. I guess it was a good con,” Nate said. “Hardison, why don’t you set off the fire alarm right about now?”

“You two enjoy this, you earned it,” Hardison replied.

Music started and Hardison asked Parker for a dance.

“Everybody having a good time at the dance, anybody wondering if we’re okay? If we made it out alive?” Eliot grumpily asked the team.

“Do you want to dance? We can still hear the music,” I said, a blush coating my face at the question even though I asked it kind of sarcastically.

Eliot paused, like the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “Well, uh–”

“My vote is we get some good food,” I amended before he could say no.

“Oh, yeah. That, uh, that sounds great right now,” Eliot answered. “Much better than a dumb high school dance.”

I let out a huff of a laugh and pulled out my earbud, “uh huh.”

The employee that we stole the key card from stood up from the bushes and Eliot quickly knocked him out again with a punch.

“Was that necessary?” I asked him.

“Probably not, but it made me feel better,” he answered while he dug his own earbud out.

I nodded and jokingly linked my arm with his as we walked silently towards his truck for a few paces.

“What should we eat?” he asked me.

“I don’t know.” I thought about it for a moment and remembered what he said earlier in the night, “What’s Pâté? Is that good? Should I try that?”

“Maybe not tonight, let’s take a drive and see what we can find.”

“Sounds good to me.”

A/n: Reblogs and comments are welcome and encouraged! Thank you for reading!

Tags: @instantdinosaurtidalwave @kniselle @technikerin23 @kiwikitty13 @plasticbottleholder @wh1sp @who-actually-cares-anymore

#eliot spencer x reader #eliot spencer #leverage #rewrite #slow burn #multichapter #nate ford #sophie devereaux #alec hardison #parker #ford!reader

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crystaiskiess · 3 months ago

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the once and future kings : the sword in the stone

summary: In a land of myth, and a time of magic, the destiny of a great kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young boy. His name… Merlin.

read it on AO3

read from the start

#bbc merlin #oafk #the once and future kings #merlin #arthur pendragon #merthur #my writing #slow burn #canon rewrite #mutual pining #character study

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sadieshairbrush · 3 months ago

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Stranger Things: Clementine

A/N: This is so scary to me as I’ve been working on this for a crazy long time! Unfortunately, I understand that a lot of people aren’t fans of Original characters but I just find the concept of it a lot more inclusive, and I can take more inclusive liberties with my character! No mentions of hair, skin, eye colour etc, just a name. As a Scottish girl imagining myself casually in Hawkins is strange and I usually find it better to envision myself playing a character I can become attached to. I love this character, and I hope she becomes as close to your heart and she is to mine. Steve slow burn.

Summary: Clementine Chase, a classic high school girl in Hawkins is suddenly faced with the mystery surrounding a missing boy.

Chapter 1: The Vanishing of Will Byers

“Thanks again for helping me out here, Clementine. I really appreciate this.”

“I don’t mind,” I smiled, dragging a cloth over the surface of the kitchen counter. “Its all my mess anyways.”

Normally this mess was created while trying to entertain the group of 12 year olds I’ve babysat a couple of times but tonight, they were playing some nerdy board game the last ten hours. They’d begun this far before I’d arrived, so the mess tonight was my own.

I’d attempted to make the boys some sandwiches near 2PM. I’d been there for an hour and not once had any of the kids come up from the basement yet. Serves me right since I didn’t actually need to be there until it got dark.

It was around 6PM when Nancy had walked through the front door, more than surprised to see me. She’d froze half way through the door, and I looked at her with a daring smirk.

“Have fun today, Nancy?”

“Just… a little.”

I knew what that meant. Her tiny grin told me all I needed to know. Steve was in my circle of friends, after all. How could I not know what was going on behind the scenes?

The story had gone that Steve Harrington, King Steve had taken a shine to Perfect Nancy Wheeler. How long would it last, would everyone know if they were to go all the way?

It had been about two weeks. Everyone knew about it. Still, I wasn’t quite sure what the official story was. Is this a silly little thing or are they genuinely interested in one another?

I was only let in on this before the weekend, and had only decided to let my bitterness go so I had a ride to school tomorrow.

Seeing her come home while I was babysitting her brother wasn’t so awkard, not as awkward as it could be anyway. But I could always sense she wasn’t quite as relaxed as I’d like her to be around me. We didn’t generally run in the same circles, but who was I to care?

By 8PM when Mr and Mrs Wheeler came home with Holly, Nancy was clearing her snacks off the kitchen counter we’d been leaning against, unwilling to let her parents into the gossip we’d been sharing.

“I’m going to study before bed, so I’ll see you in school tomorrow, Clementine.”

“She’s got Kaminskys test,” I cleared up as Ted made a bee-line for the TV. Karen nodded, heading out to take Holly to her bed.

When she was back, I’d already had my coat on, clearing the mess I’d made with a damp rag.

The last time I was here ended the same.

Clearing up the days mess while Karen practically pried me away from the cloth with a, “you’ve done enough, I’ll handle the mess.”

Though I’ve not listened yet.

I smile cheekily as the kids loud voices upstairs as they yell tensely from the basement. I meet Karen’s eyes, and . “Those kids will be wanted home about now. I could walk them out before I overstay my welcome.”

She looked down at her own watch, noting the time. It was already reaching eight fifteen.

“Mike! …Mike!” She yelled, coming back to the kitchen area. She waits patiently with a hand on her hip, but the boys voices just get louder as they chat on top of one another.

“Mike!”

She walked towards the basement door, and swings it open without an other seconds thought.

And from there, I can just slightly hear Mikes voice over the others.

“Mom! We’re in the middle of a campaign!”

“You mean the end.” She taps her watch, meaningfully. “Fifteen after.”

Mike runs up the stairs, and catches my eye when he sees me, a look of confusion.

“How long have you been here?”

I could have choked on my own scoff. That basement is playing with his head.

“Uhh, all day? I made you guys your lunch? Ordered pizza and brought it down for you like an hour ago for dinner?”

He shook his head, probably an attempt to clear his already empty brain.

“Mom, just 20 more minutes!”

“It’s a school night, Michael, and I just put Holly to bed. You can finish next weekend.”

“That’ll ruin the flow–

“Michael–

“I’m serious, mom! It took two weeks to plan! How was I supposed to know it’d take ten hours?”

“Oh, no, it’s the end of the world as we know it!” I teased, ignoring his furious look.

“You can continue it later.”

Mike regards us with an ignorant look and rounds the corner to where Ted is attempting to watch the TV, which is still mostly static.

The storm from earlier on really had to have done a number on the electronics.

“Dad, don’t you think that–

“I think you should listen to your mother,” he interrupted, lazily, moving to hit the top of the TV. “Piece of junk…”

I bite back a laugh, and move to ring out the dish towel. I should have called Steve in advance. Though, I should count my blessings; I’d rather take the short walk down a few blocks than sit in a smoke filled car in the company of two of the biggest bullies I’ve ever known, Tommy and Carol, who would invite themselves along again.

“It was great to have you. But you don’t have to stay to clean up after we’re home, you know,” said Karen as I shrug my coat on.

“I know I don’t have to. I just feel a lot better about it. It’s a thousand times better than sitting in my dads house with no one to talk to or nothing to do,” I admit, matching Dustins wide grin as he approaches, pizza box in hand as the kids all fan out into the kitchen.

“Clementine! Want one?” He opens the box to show two decent sized slices of pizza left. “Was sausage and pepperoni your idea?”

“Sure was. And it looks amazing, but have you offered anything to Nancy?”

“I did, but she just shut the door in my face. There’s been something seriously wrong with her ever since she started dating that… douchebag, Steve.” He looked over his shoulder, making sure Mikes parents were out of ear shot, and once he was in the clear, he brought his voice back up. “Plus you’ve been stuck with us all day.”

“Yeah, he can be a douche,” I laugh, taking a slice from the box and taking a huge bite.

“She used to be cool...”

“She’s just a teenager. Trust me, I’d know,” I settled with a firm nod.

Teenagers can be mean to kids, but I’ve seen Nancy in school, as innocent as can be. Like a tiny, smart fish in a big, stupid pond.

We cut the conversation short when the rest of the boys begin to gather around with their jackets and bags, ready to turn in to their own beds.

“Alright, come on.” I nod them along and open the front door, and they race out towards their bikes. “Thanks for having me.”

“Thanks for watching the boys,” says Karen as I close the front door behind us.

It wasn’t the coldest of nights, but there were still small puffs of condensation with every exhale of the November night. I patted Mike on the shoulder as he stood to see all his friends off.

“Get home safe, guys, no detours,” I half-joked.

These kids were good, but they were still kids.

They waved me off as they picked up and adjusted their bikes, and I made my way back home, more than ready to turn in.

I savoured my nights at the Wheelers. Really, I did. Whether I was there to look after Mike (sometimes all his friends too), or just there for dinner as a thank you for doing so.

For my house was just empty.

I mean it was empty all the time. When I wasn’t home I was at Steve’s, but ever since he’d begun to pursue Nancy, I’d always wait until there was a group of us, just out of respect. Same went for calling him up in the morning or at night just to talk about whatever had been going on in life.

So, really my options this morning were to watch TV with breakfast until my ride came, or to rush breakfast and walk.

I sighed, turning off the waffle maker just in time for the phone to ring.

My father had already left, so I picked up the landline in the kitchen, and held the phone between my ear and shoulder as I put my breakfast together.

“Chase residence,” I sing-songed in practiced tones. “Dad has already left for the office, can I take a message for you?”

“Hi, Clementine.”

I quirked my brow the minute I heard the voice. Joyce Byers whose son I had watched over just last night. Except this morning she sounded particularly anxious. “Will didn’t stay with you and your dad last night, did he?”

Why on earth would we have a 12 year old stay the night without letting his mother know? “No… Joyce, he left with the boys last night. He lives pretty close to Dustin, I know they ride the same way. I could call his house?”

“I-I’ll call. Thank you. Really, I think he just left early for school…”

I certainly wasn’t convinced. But I let her go anyway, and continued my morning as normal, not thinking much of the call. I had my fair share of surprise sleepovers at Wills age.

I’d already switched off the TV and washed my dishes by the time I heard the BMWs beeping horn outside.

I rushed out, locking the door behind me.

Tommy, the infamous dick of Hawkins was already yelling out the window towards me, lit cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Move your ass, Clementine!”

“Tommy, put that shit out! I told you a million times that I’m not going to be hotboxed by your smoke.”

If I’ve said it once I’ve said it a thousand times, but it always came back to the same argument.

“Those are the rules,” Steve defended with a shrug as I slid into the back beside Carol who offered me a stick of gum. “She doesn’t like smoke, you can manage the length of a car ride.”

“So prudish, Clementine~”

Carol teased.

I rolled my eyes and adjusted my seatbelt with a huff. “What’s the point on spending some amount of money on perfume just to smell of cigarettes before I’m even in first period?”

“Like money’s an issue,” Carol continued.

Fine, it wasn’t. But I’d still like to smell like the Love’s Baby Soft perfume I’d paid for. “Whatever.”

“Your perfume’s way too sweet anyways. And you’re still alright for coming over tomorrow, right? My old man’s out of town on a conference, and…”

“Yeah, yeah. The beers are on me, don’t worry. I’ve got it covered, you dick.”

“See, you drink but you won’t smoke,” Tommy scoffed. “The hell’s that about?”

I could waste my time bickering or I could simply shut up. But that wouldn’t be fun in the slightest.

“If you want to get sick and die, do it on your own time. You already look sallow and sunken, just don’t inflict that on me.”

“I look what?” He shot back, neck strained to look back at me. “Say that again, Clementine.”

“Oh, I’m just teasing!”

“You know you just piss me off when you start this shit!” He was seething. Best way to piss a guy like him off was to bruise his ego, that much was clear. And not to brag but I had years of practice under my best. It had yet to get old.

“If you don’t like my teasing, why are you moaning so much?”

“Listen to me, you little bitch-“

“Hey!” Steve yelled. “Don’t talk to her like that, alright? How you’re still friends at all is beyond me. Just shut up, and enjoy the ride.” He switched on his radio where Michael Jackson instantly blasted, and suddenly the ride was somewhat enjoyable.

Our daily procedure for the past two weeks was for me to give Steve an out to meet with Nancy. Sometimes that involved guarding the girls bathroom by standing outside, making up excuses.

“I told you, it’s a mess in there! There’s literally a tapeworm climbing up the wall, I swear…”

And of course people knew I was guarding a hookup. Probably even that it was Steves, but everything I knew about Nancy Wheeler told me the last thing she’d want is to be walked in on making out with a boy against the wall of the ladies toilets, even if stories of their dating life was floating around the school.

The other two didn’t quite get it. They couldn’t understand why he’d waste all his time chasing after a complete square who probably doesn’t even put out.

I mean that’s all he’s usually after, and they’ve all been okay with it.

But Steve was a friend. I was just happy he was finally after a girl worth his time. Nancy was nice, smart, and it made for a pleasant change.

Steve has dated tonnes of girls. They never lasted, and he never cared. He was a man of pure sexuality. But something was different about Nancy Wheeler… I could tell.

I knew her well enough what with being at her house every month or so.

What do you think our topic of discussion last week when I was paid to appear twice?

It’s the reason she’d offer a small, secretive smile as she exits the bathroom, and i’d return it with a sly nod.

Just like any normal day.

A normal school day also includes suffering through Steve and Tommy playing basketball until they knackered themselves out. Though, the athletes they are, it took them a while every time, so we would always keep ourselves occupied on the bleachers. It was a routine, one that I was about to invite disruption to as I held open the doors to the gym.

Nancy walked with her books against her chest as she talks with her friend, an almost ethereal floating opposed to stepping as she heads for the buildings exit.

“Hey, Nancy, c’mere!” I yelled out before I stopped to think that I might startle her.

She freezes and finds my eyes, startled as expected. “Hurry! Coming, Barb?”

Barbara was a tall girl. She towered above the rest of us, but she was hardly given a second of notice. I hadn’t paid much attention to her myself until Nancy took this position in the group. At the call of her name she looks shocked. It’s not that I didn’t usually try to involve Barbara, she’s Nancys best friend after all, and since Nancy was invited into the social group it only made sense to include Barbara too.

Except Nancy had always been popular in the subtle kind of way. Her trademarks were being pretty, smart and kind, and everyone wants that even if girls like Carol gave her a hard time. They liked her anyways, at least a little.

“Hurry where?” Nancy gave an unsure smile, still standing what felt like a mile away.

“To watch your boyfriend play basketball, duh!” I teased, pushing the door open as the pair approached. “You can sit with us, we’ll go out to Bennys after?”

The two turn to each other, but whatever Barbara was trying to get across to Nancy wasn’t delivered to me. Nancy then turns to me with an enthused smile.

“Sure! Sounds fun.”

With a grin, I lead them to our spot on the bleachers, trying to stay aware of how different these two were to the girls who watch us approach with weary looks on their faces.

“Are you lost?” Sneers Becky with a cruel laugh. As if I’m unaware that I had two girls trailing behind me.

Carol turns to push her, playfully. “She’s our friend!”

I motion for the pair to sit wherever they felt comfortable, and they sat a little far for my liking, huddled together as though I wouldn’t have their back if someone were to be snide.

“Yeah, be nice, you dick. You know Nancy, Steve’s girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend?” Nancy spoke wearily, but she went ignored. It wasn’t my intention to push her, but Steve generally rolled that way, and I saw it as an inevitability.

“Oh, Nancy! I heard about that. Must be really different for you, huh?” Becky started.

She was one of three of Steve’s exes that were currently present. None of them truly seemed to mind when the boy moved on. They all had their turns and they all had their shot in the limelight.

Nancy doesn’t seem to understand the workings of this, appearing more shy than usual, eying the tonnes of magazines, packets of gum and cigarettes splayed across the bleachers.

“She’s doing fine,” I said, picking up the Just Seventeen magazine that caught my eye. “Did you catch this? It only launched for the first time last month, look at its first issue!”

I tilted the magazine towards Nancy and Barb, pointing out the ad for Tri-Ac.

“I’m breaking in on my chin something nightmarish, but they say Madonna uses it.”

“No!” Said Nancy, kindly, analysing my face. “No, I don’t see anything.”

“It’s because she’s wearing so much makeup,” Laurie spoke up.

I rolled my eyes, unable to deny this fact.

“Shut up, Laurie,” Carol sighed. “Barb, you’d look so cute in these!” She yelled, pointing out the latest male fashion trends down the side of one page. “It shouldn’t be too far out of your comfort zone.”

I turn to look at the girl in question. She looks at a loss of what to say, and Nancy is no better.

“Go polish your reebok, Carol,” I remarked.

“Go, Steve!” Becky whistled, watching his bare chest rise and fall as he sweats, actually drawing our attention to the game we barely paid much attention to anyways.

“Put that shirt back on!” I yelled.

The game went on for another painful hour, and by the time they were done my stomach had begun to growl.

After a short-lived argument over who won, the boys hopped into the (well needed) showers, and we left.

“I’m going to get the biggest burger you’ve ever seen, I could eat a horse,” I groaned, mouth watering at the very thought.

Bennys hadn’t been much of a tradition, but rather a routine. Steve had made a point that it’d only been him, myself, Carol, Tommy and Nancy. And Barbara as I’d gently remind him. He thought that inviting the likes of the other girls in the group would be disrespectful, and I clapped his back for it.

Usually though, we’d have brought as many of our friends that we could fit over two booths. I think I prefer what we’ve had going in lately if I’m honest.

As we walked towards the parking lot, ready to pile into Steve’s car, Nancys voice cut through all the jeering.

“Hey, you know, my mom will be wanting me home around now. She puts a dinner out every night and-“

“You’re not coming?” Steve interrupts, stalking close towards her.

He ducks his head so his face is closer, and brings his voice down. “Come on, we won’t be there long, promise.”

She looked rather awkward, eyes on Steve’s hand that rested on her arm.

“I shouldn’t.”

“It’s fine, they can join us another time!” Carol smiled, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, for now, I think we’ll survive without them,” Tommy adds.

“Not sure that I will,” I muttered. Though I know it’s best that the pair go home. Why should they make themselves uncomfortable? Plus, Carol and Tommy weren’t exactly solid company. “Guys, it’s fine. Seriously, we have plenty of time to hang out. Go on home,” I told.

Nancy watched me, unsure at first, then she looks back to Steve.

“I’m sorry.”

He nods, then pulls her in for a kiss. It was soft, tender.

I wasn’t too sure where they stood, whether they were meant to be a secret or not. This little moment between them cleared that up for me, and I smirked to myself.

Nancy appeared to feel the same, a shocked grin she tried to hide.

“Want us to puke? Come on, Romeo!”

Tommy blanched.

“Shut up, stupid. Let’s go, lover boy,” I butted in just as Nancys embarrassed gaze fell to the ground of the parking lot. “See you guys tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Steve interrupts, pulling Nancys stare back to him with his hands evidently magnetic eyes. “I’ll still see you later tonight, won’t I? Alone?”

I note Barbara’s shocked expression.

Clearly, Nancy didn’t let her in on this little plan. We, on the other hand, heard about their little meet up as soon as we were in Steve’s company.

“Yeah,” she smiled. “To study.”

I truly didn’t know Nancy well enough to understand whether she meant this or not. Knowing Steve, even if she did mean this, he might just try and sway her to do a little more than studying.

“To study,” I echo with a nod. “Let’s move it!”

And with reluctance, the pair were able to part ways.

We could have still had fun at Bennys like we normally did. But my mind slipped into somewhere I hadn’t expected. Something I didn’t remember until about halfway through taking my seat next to Carol.

“We should invite Nancy to yours tomorrow, right?” I asked, still rationing the contents of my burger around the table. Benny once reminded me I could order it without the pickle or the onion but why waste food when I could feed annoying teenage boys?

Steve perks up with a huge sigh of relief.

“Yes, Clementine. Absolutely, we should! And you know why?”

“So you can have sex and find out if she has a vagina?” Tommy remarked, earning a chuckle from Carol followed by an obnoxious wink.

“What, it’s weird for a girl who’s barely 16 to be a virgin now?” Steve challenged, flinging the spare pickles into his burger. “Not everyone’s been banging since they were 12.”

“I know that, douche bag,” Tommy retorts, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. I’ve come to learn that he’s rather proud of his sex life. So it’s easy to figure that his shamefaced defensiveness was more about Steve shutting him down. “I’m just saying every other girl has at least kissed someone. She’s not kissed anyone besides you. Either she’s a wasteland or… just a tease.”

I shudder annoyingly at the slow grin that pulls at his lips, turning to Carol.

“How do you let him near you with that mouth?”

“That’s for me to know,” she laughs, sending him a wink across the table.

“You guys are disgusting.”

“Okay, little miss perfect. Lost your touch or something? When was the last time you even had a boyfriend?” Carol jabs, eyeing me up with a playful malice.

“Can’t lose your touch if you’ve never been in the game,” I countered, having never actually had a boyfriend. I crossed my arms feeling pleased with myself and hopeful that Carol would be off my back as suddenly as she was on it.

“You dated Reed!”

Steve started, suddenly on me too.

“Yeah, for like two weeks! He wasn’t my boyfriend,” I squeaked. Although being that intimate with someone in the same group wouldn’t be too strange. I mean just look at Steve and his exes.

“But you got with him at my party.”

“You had sex on Carols bed, didn’t you?” Steve smirked.

“Oh, my God!” I groaned, gripping my hair dramatically. “That was Kieran, and there was no bed sex!”

“Nah, come on now, that was actually pretty bad.” Steve attempted to come to my aid, waving off the others as if he didn’t bring it up. “Don’t you remember what he did?”

“No, wait, shut up. I thought you guys dated for a while,” Carol drawled in thought.

“Oh my God!” Tommy laughs so loud that it startles Carol. “That was all fake, to made Kieran jealous. No one told you?”

“No!”

I’d have felt guiltier, but I couldn’t hold back the bubbling giggles even with a hand pressed against my mouth. All this time, and my best friend thought I’d had a whole relationship that never existed.

“Why do you think we’re still friends after he ‘dumped me’ for Laurie? Thanks for that, by the way,” I jabbed, still a little bitter about the situation.

I was so close, he was back in my clutches. But Steve just had to see what Laurie had to offer instead of helping a friend in need. Not only did he not help like he promised, but now it looks like I was dumped for another girl, and that I’m still friends with the dude who did it.

It’s hard to see the situation in a negative light now after all this time. Especially since I lost interest in Kieran a whole while ago.

“I can’t believe you never knew!” Tommy guffawed, shaking Carols arm to tease her. Her face remained stony, showing no interest in making this a laughing matter.

“Well, no one told me!”

“Whatever,” he shrugs with a mouth full of food. “We’ve been here ages, it’s getting dark soon.”

Steve stuffed the last of his fries into his already full mouth.

With a united murmuring (Carols being a little too sharp) we begin to clear our table, all of us picking up the shakes we’d left aside to bring home, a habit we shared between us due to the distraction we caused each other.

Except when we piled into Steve’s car that night, everything was suddenly far from normal, and we hadn’t had a clue.

I was driven home, said goodbye to my friends, and walked into to a quiet house.

Only my dad was there, worrying his hands at his place on the couch. That was until he saw me at the door. He was on his feet in a flash, bee lining his way towards me.

He still wore his dress trousers and a smart purple shirt.

His brief case had been abandoned by the coffee table.

“Dad? Shouldn’t you be at work still?”

I wracked my brain, trying to make sense of his presence, checking my watch, making sure I had the date right.

“Clementine! I came home as soon as I heard, I just wanted to make sure you got home safe, and when I saw you weren’t here, I got worried.”

I’d never seen him in such distress. I’d kept my gaze on him as I dumped my school bag on the floor. “We got some milkshakes after school… but, dad, what are you talking about? You came home as soon as you heard what?”

He froze for a second, his gaze suddenly sympathetic. “I thought you would have heard by now? The Byers kid… he’s missing.”

And just like that, my heart wrenched.

I watched him the night before, he went home alone, and his mother called me only just this morning.

“Missing? He can’t be missing, dad. He didn’t just stay at Dustins?”

I don’t know why it was hard to believe. I’d just never heard of someone I knew disappearing before. Will was always quiet, very rarely said a word to me besides a Please or a Thank you. But I knew him, I knew that little boy.

“Afraid not, sweetie. Nobody knows what’s happened quite yet, but until we do, you’ve to get a lift to school and back, alright, and no detours. Straight home, no adventures, no outings, no grabbing milkshakes.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, fine,” I nodded.

Tomorrow he’d be back to work the hours he usually was, and wouldn’t care less where I was as long as I was with friends. But I wouldn’t risk bringing it up now.

“That’s my girl. What do you say we put two nice mugs of hot chocolate on? I’m sure we can figure it out.” He whisks himself away to the kitchen and I just blink to myself.

“Yeah! Yeah, should be fun…”

Steve calls the house just as the cops settle into the livingroom that night. They’d come by to question me under my father’s watch.

They waited patiently as I promised I’d be off the phone in two seconds, taking the call in the hallway where they could see me incase I raised any suspicions.

“What do you want?” I said flatly.

I could practically see Steve as he scoffed, hand pulling away from his hair he was probably fixing in the mirror.

“Nice to talk to you too, Jesus.”

“Sorry, but seriously, what do you want?”

He exhaled loudly on the other side of the phone, voice becoming whiny.

“Nancy called. She says she’s under house arrest ‘cause of that missing kid.”

I turn to look over my shoulder towards the room my dad kept the cops company. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell Steve that they were here. Though I wasn’t worried. He didn’t even care enough to ask why I was basically whispering.

“Okay? What do you want me to do?”

“Convince me to do something stupid? I want to see her.”

Shit, that’s sweet.

I screw my eyes shut, knowing I’m about to give some stupid advice, just like he knows I will. I could be more stupid about it, so let’s cut me a break.

“Then see her. You’re not new to sneaking into bedrooms,” I shrugged, as if he could see me doing it. “Just don’t make her uncomfortable.”

“Why would I make her uncomfortable?”

He sounds offended, but he’s now heard exactly what he wanted to hear,

“If she wasn’t planning to have sex with you in the first place tonight, being in her personal space and trying to screw her is even worse.”

“I know, I know! Kaminskys test is coming up for her, I’ll help her study.”

The smile in his voice made my heart flutter. It’s like reading a romantic novel. But I know if I tell him how amazing it is to see him learning about what’s going on in Nancys life he’d take the huff and hang up the phone.

“You’re the devil, Steve Harrington,” I sigh.

“You’re the best, Clementine Chase!”

Then the dial tone.

It takes a good hour to let the cops know everything that went on that night. And then I found I was just repeating myself over and over again.

“I told you everything I know, already.”

It stands to reason I’d be questioned a little more intensely since I was one of the last to see Will. It was all unwinding just a little too quickly for me, and I felt as though I could never settle. Just a few hours ago I was enjoying shakes with my friends, laughing and making jokes about anything and everything.

Now here I was being interrogated in my own living room.

“We just want to make sure you’re not missing anything,” spoke the cop with the moustache. “You were one of the last to see him.”

I sighed, and the other, slightly more competent cop cut in. “I know it’s a little frustrating Miss. Chase. We’d just like to make sure we’ve not missed anything. Did he ever show signs of being unhappy? He fit in okay?”

I stopped to think for a second, feeling the pressure of the two looking down at me from my place on the couch.

Will was the quietest of Mikes friends, mostly timid.

“He’s really close to Mike Wheeler. He looks out for him since his friends are… you know, they always kinda picked on him.”

“They pick on him?” The second cop took to writing in his notes.

“I guess. They’re great kids but the Byers boy is sort of the runt. They kinda comment of his shoes, mimic things he says… he’s a little more… sensitive, you know?”

Thinking back on every interaction with Will, he was definitely the peewee, laughed at and teased. He wasn’t like the other boys. But what these cops were getting at wasn’t sitting right with me.

“But he’d never run away. He trusts them, his family loves him. When it comes down to it, they all have his back.”

He considers this for a moment, eventually nods and closes his note pad.

He folds his arms with a deep breath.

“We haven’t come to a near conclusion yet. Let us know if you remember anything else. Thank you, sir,” he says, nodding towards my dad who stands up to lead the pair out the door.

They need to find that boy in one piece.

He was just so small, a mouse among cats. He’d barely ever spoken a word to me, just always a polite smile, and an excited nod to whatever story the boys were telling me that night.

How could this all happen so fast? I thought, head buried in my hands as my dads weight sank into the couch beside me.

I felt his hand on my back. He was unsure how to break the silence, that much was for sure.

I lift my head to look at him, and he stills, waiting.

“I really hope he’s alive, dad.”

He leans over, planting a kiss on my forehead, grunting when the phone rings again. “If that’s one of your friends, tell them to make it quick. You’re in no headspace to be gossiping.”

I nod, knowing full well I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to chat away as if I wasn’t feeling sick to my stomach anyways.

I pick the phone up, not bothering to take the call in the hallway for privacy. Prepared to hear Carol, maybe even Tina or Steve, I froze at Mike Wheelers voice on the other end.

“What do you think happened to Will?”

What the hell is going on on this night?

I risk a glance at my dad to find he’s watching me with worry.

“I’m-“

“Did anything weird happen when you watched him ride off?”

“Umm, no.” I stand up, and walk a little further from my dad’s listening ears. “I’m sorry, I don’t know anything.”

“Meet us in ten.”

“What? Where?”

I should have asked why. Said no. Convinced him not to go anywhere. Why didn’t I?

“Mirkwood”

“What the hell is that?”

“Where Cornwallis meets Kerley!” He stressed, quickly. “Just meet us there!”

“No! Are you stupid?” I argued, not bothering to control my voice in front of my dad.

Who knows what’s out there right now.

“We’re going with or without you, Clementine. So suit yourself.”

Then that was it. He’d slammed the phone down, and left me helpless.

I turned to my dad, weighing my options.

I could tell him, then he’d involve the police and intervene with the kids plans to endanger themselves. Or I could accompany them myself, and have them still like me by the end of it.

I know what I should do.

Why don’t I tell him?

Because I’m feeling stupidly loyal to the group of boys who probably just want someone to talk to after hearing about their best friend disappearing.

“What on earth was that about?”

I don’t move for a long moment, blinking stupidly.

“Just Tommy! Carols birthday is coming up and his gift ideas are just shocking. But It’s his problem, so I’m gunna turn in.”

I yawn loudly and stretch a little more dramatically than I should have, hoping that would be enough

Luckily for me, I was allowed to make it upstairs without him following behind me.

What the hell was I doing?

I pushed all my thoughts from my head as I shrugged on my closest corduroy coat.

This is crazy, Clementine!

I cuss myself out when I open bedroom window, all too familiar. Except tonight I wasn’t climbing out to talk to a boy, or go to a party, or stay at Carols. Tonight I was meeting a bunch of kids in hopes they wouldn’t get themselves lost when I really should be telling someone about the whole situation.

But all they want is to feel like they’re doing something to help find Will…

“Oh, hell.”

By the time I reach the location they’d asked to meet at, all of them had arrived, bikes in tow. The tree line was covered with police tape. I felt my stomach drop as all four kids turned at my approach.

“What’s this all about?” I asked, arms folded lowly on my chest. “You know it’s a bad idea to be out here.”

“Exactly, yet Will is stumbling around here somewhere.”

Jesus Christ. As harsh as it is, there’s not a lot of land in Hawkins. It’s incredibly difficult to try and imagine that he’s not so far away right now.

With a sigh, I lean in close to Mike.

“So you think this is the answer? What if-“

What if he’s not out there? What if he was kidnapped?

But I couldn’t bring myself to say that to them. Mike blinks back, eyes doe-like and innocent. Mismatched with his occasional bite.

“What if nothing, Clementine. All I know is that we have to find him.”

“He’s a vital part of the party!” Lucas chipped in. I half expected Dustin to join, but he hadn’t made a peep. “We can’t let him down.”

“He’d do it for any one of us,” Mike finished.

“But if you don’t want to come, you don’t have to.”

He’s challenging me, I know it.

I hold his gaze, narrowing my eyes. If he’s bluffing about going ahead without me, his expression doesn’t betray him.

“What makes you think I won’t just go to your parents? Or the cops?”

“You’d have done it already!” Told Lucas, waving an arm to make his point.

“And you want to help Will nearly as much as we do.”

Except that’s not the reason. The best way to help Will is by letting the police do their jobs. The real reason is that I just can’t bring myself to let them down.

“Ugh, fine!” I groan, pushing myself to stand upright. “But only this one time. And that goes for all of you.”

Without a nod of confirmation from Mike he turns on his flash light, paying no heed to the on-going storm.

Dustin, on the other hand, speaks for the first time since I arrived.

“Hey, guys. You feel that?”

His head is tilted towards the sky, and he’s soon wiping his cheeks. Sure enough, it’s begun to spit with rain. The last couple of nights had all been the same. So I let myself wonder how I could be stupid enough to have worn a jacket with no hood.

“I think maybe we should go back.”

“No.” Mike told, a demanding tone to his voice. “We’re not going back. Just stay close. Come on!” Then two two were off, leaving Dustin and I behind, staring at the treeline.

I look towards Dustin, who looks nearly frozen in fear.

“Stay on channel six,” Mike instructs. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“This whole thing is stupid, Mike.” Making a last attempt to appeal, I eventually follow behind the pair, scared they’d wander a little too far away from my sight. When Dustin doesn’t take a step forward, I catch his eyes over my shoulder. “Come on, Dustin, stay close.”

And he scurries forward, dropping his bike among the rest. Then he ducks under the police tape, jogging to catch up.

God in Heaven above, we’re in so much trouble. No, I’m in so much trouble. I’m the oldest, I’m supposed to be the responsible one. But here I am, trailing along as the kids put themselves in harms way.

“You know there’s always time to turn back, don’t you? We could wait ‘til morning,” I tried, looking straight at Mike knowing he’ll answer for everyone.

He usually does.

“He could be hurt by morning!”

Mike marched ahead, flashlight shone in every direction.

I couldn’t argue. If he was safe, which I doubt, leaving it any longer would only increase the chances of him running into danger. Again, I didn’t voice these thoughts. it’s not like they’re stupid, they know as much as I do the possibilities deriving from Wills disappearance.

“And what am i supposed to do if someone jumps out from behind a tree and attacks one of you?” The scenario runs over and over in my head as the rain begins to fall heavier.

A masked kidnapper scooping one of the kids up, a crazed murderer chasing me away.

The heavier the rain became, the less sure I knew what I was hearing around me. The snap of every twig, the kicking of every rock under the kids feet, any of it could be danger in disguise.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat, speaking to Dustin between the shouting of Wills name.

“This is bad, you know. This could go so wrong, so fast.”

But instead of a reply from Dustin, I’m with with a dangerous glare from over Mikes shoulder.

He yells out for Will whose name echoes ominously around us.

“Byers!”

“I’ve got your X-men 134!” Dustin called out, letting out a shaky breath. “Guys, I really think we should turn back.”

Me and him both.

“Seriously, Dustin! You wanna be a baby, then go home already!” Lucas argues, and I don’t like the sound of it.

“Hey, no! If we’re doing something this stupid we’re staying together. We’re not sending each other off alone,” I warned.

“So no one leaves!”

This kid! Their will is greater than mine. I have no choice.

“I’m just trying to be realistic, Lucas!”

“No. You’re just being a big sissy!”

“Shut up!” I yelled above the pair. “I’ve been trying not to scare you, but have you got any idea what are you could be in these woods? And you’re attracting all this attention.”

“Case. In. Point.” Dustin continued, flashlight now beaming from tree to tree. “Did you ever think Will went missing because he ran into something bad?”

Like a bear, or a kidnapper or a murderer. Or a Martian.

“And now we’re following in those footsteps,” I agreed. “With only me to protect your asses!”

“Clementine, shut up!”

I look at Mike with wide eyes. “Wow!”

“Shut up, shut up…” he says now more softly.

He’s listening for something. “Do you guys hear that?”

I freeze, heart suddenly in my throat.

What are the chances it was Will Byers scuttling through the trees towards us, to safety?

The rustling is from our left!

Then our right!

And every flashlight in the group is being shone is every direction with every shake of every leaf.

But then it’s just a little too loud, and a little too close.

Four flashlights illuminate a person, and for a millisecond, I was scared.

But this wasn’t a threat.

This was a kid.

#steve x reader #original character #stranger things rewrite #stranger things #steve harrington #the vanishing of Will Byers #slow burn #like crazy slow #friends to lovers #i really hope you like it #please don’t hate me #bestfriend!steve harrington

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nesnejwritings · 4 months ago

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INEFFABLE || SUPERNATURAL REWRITE

Welcome to the Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist!

SEASON ONE - ( coming soon ) Dakoda Hernandez and Dean Winchester realize their fathers are missing and recruit their younger brothers to find them.

PROLOGUE

EPISODE ONE - PILOT

EPISODE TWO - WENDIGO

EPISODE THREE - DEAD IN THE WATER

EPISODE FOUR - PHANTOM TRAVELER

EPISODE FIVE - BLOODY MARY

EPISODE SIX - SKIN

EPISODE SEVEN - HOOK MAN

EPISODE EIGHT - BUGS

EPISODE NINE - HOME

EPISODE TEN - ASYLUM

EPISODE ELEVEN - SCARECROW

EPISODE TWELVE - FAITH

EPISODE THIRTEEN - ROUTE 666

EPISODE FOURTEEN - NIGHTMARE

EPISODE FIFTEEN - THE BENDERS

EPISODE SIXTEEN - SHADOW

EPISODE SEVENTEEN - HELL HOUSE

EPISODE EIGHTEEN - SOMETHING WICKED

EPISODE NINETEEN - PROVENANCE

EPISODE TWENTY - DEAD MAN'S BLOOD

EPISODE TWENTY-ONE - SALVATION

EPISODE TWENTY-TWO - DEVIL'S TRAP

A/N - I will be posting chapters pretty sporadically and I don't currently have a schedule planned for this series. Anyways, welcome to my first Supernatural series, I hope you enjoy as much as I enjoyed writing it!

SHOUTOUT TO MY BESTIE WHO HELPED MAKE THIS SERIES POSSIBLE @dianawinchester03 I LOVE YOU BESTIE AND I KNOW YOU'VE BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED IN THIS SERIES

#dean winchester #supernatural #jensen ackles #original character #dean winchester x ofc #sam winchester #best friends to lovers #slow burn #nesnejwritings writes supernatural #supernatural rewrite

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daisyapples · 1 year ago

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I can't believe that in less than three months my fic, Hold the Day, a rewrite of Teen Wolf season one, has over 10,000 hits! Every single person who read it and commented and left kudos: thank you! You've absolutely made my day!!

********************************************

Derek froze, fear and anger battling inside of him.

“Personally, I’m very protective of the things I love,” Argent continued. “But that’s something I learned from my family. And you don’t have much of that these days. Do you?”

“Wow, man.” Stiles suddenly rounded the petrol pumps and put himself between Argent and Derek. “Low blow.”

It was almost amusing to see how put out Argent was; he shifted on his feet, hands clenched into fists as if he wanted to hit Stiles. Derek wanted to grab the boy and put him behind him but he also liked having a shield between him and the hunter.

“You know who this is, right?” Stiles gestured wildly, almost hitting both himself and the Camaro. “Little orphan Annie here lost almost his whole family in a house fire. You wanna learn a bit of tact?”

Derek was almost amused at the boy who had just called him little orphan Annie preaching tact.

Almost.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46676584

#derek x stiles #derek hale #teen wolf #season one rewrite #stiles stilinski #sterek #ao3 fanfic #slow burn

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rascalentertainments · 3 months ago

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WG!Flazino x Dahlia in a nutshell

#god they act like a married couple in my rewrite #They're crushing on each other and yet they're oblivious #Like a Wish version of miraculous without the agonizing slow burn #They'd just talk for hours at work #wish granted #wish granted au #rascal entertainments #wish 2023 #wish reimagined #wish rewrite #wish rewrite fandom #disney wish #wish flazino #wish dahlia #Dahlia x Flazino #Flazino x Dahlia #coworkers to lovers #She thinks he's hot even though he looks like a tired raccoon that's true love

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moo-blogging · 1 year ago

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Late night (slow burn) thoughts #124:

1.7k words. This is a slow burn story. Like really really slow burning.

No thoughts tonight, just thinking about how you are a gift from Kenny to Levi. After Kenny was found severely wounded, he gave Levi the titan injection as well as you. You were Kenny's redemption.

You knew this day would come. Kenny told you. Kenny had prepped you since he knew Levi joined the Survey Corps. Being the leader of the interior MP, Kenny knew one day he would have to come face to face with Levi, and only one would survive. And he had already made up his mind.

When a short man with dark hair the same shade as Kenny's walked into the bar you worked at at 3pm, you recognised him instantly. Not that it was the fact that you had saw him multiple times on horse back, but it was the way he walked that resembled the man who raised you. You knew your life would change, once again. The bar owner quickly welcomed the captain, thanking him for saving humanity. But Levi only had his eyes on you. He told you to go with him, and you nodded. Then, you left the bar with the man.

The things you had rehearsed for years came smoothly. You told Levi about how Kenny picked you off the street after he left him in the Underground, and how Kenny brought you up in a bar his most trusted friend run, and how Kenny wouldn't shut up about him when he was crowned the "Humanity's Strongest Soldier". Levi nodded, he said "at least he didn't leave you," but you told him "you are his pride and joy, I am his redemption."

Kenny asked Levi to take care of you. Not that you were a child, Kenny wanted Levi to have a family, even though not by blood. Kenny raised you with stories of Levi growing up and the skills he taught Levi. But he made sure you never had a drop of blood in your hands and not a scratch on your skin. Kenny taught you how to escape hostile situations, but he knew you couldn't run forever. He wanted both of you to have each other.

Levi never understood why Kenny gave you to his care. He couldn't understand why Kenny insisted him to take you in. You were a lucky normal civilian who lived in the inner walls. Still, Levi took time and effort to teach you how to use the maneuver gear, and you picked it up after a few days. Levi was surprised at your improvement, but you reminded him you trained under Kenny for years too. You are not an Ackerman, but you weren't a helpless person.

Due to shortage of soldiers, Levi had to take you to the battle fields. To his surprise, you were calm when you saw the titans. And you rode alongside Erwin with no hesitation, charging toward the Beast titan and his group of abnormals. Your sole purpose was to be with Levi. Kenny raised you with his memories of the boy you never met, but knew that you only had him. You knew Levi well, but you also knew nothing of him. He made you a soldier and you obeyed your superiors, you charged into hell.

"That rut is a hard piece of work, but he is soft on the inside like rotten cabbage. When I die, this world is only you and him. Y/N, make Levi a man, not the monster they said of him."

Levi watched in shock as you and Floch dragged Erwin onto the roof. Your face was flushed with exhaustion. You were panting for air as Floch begged Levi to revive the commander. You stood at the back, watching in silence. In the end, Levi chose Armin, and life continued.

Levi found some peace in you. The way you talk and the way you held a knife resembled Kenny so much. Even the way you gulped down a mug of water after practice. He felt like Kenny was with him. You exchanged glances a lot but rarely talked to each other. He was your captain after all, and you were just an orphan passed to him.

But things changed when Levi caught you sneaking off with the maneuver gear at night. You told him you were dying in the camp, you need fresh air on the top of the wall. "You needed fresh air too, Captain," you pointed out. Levi was tired to his bones, His eyebags were hanging below his bloodshot eyes and he had lost some weight for his cheekbones to show.

Signing, he knew you were right. He took his maneuver gear too and off you went into the dark. When you both sat on the wall, you exhaled in relief. The cold air in your hair and your face, the crescent moon hiding and showing behind clouds, and the endless outside world.

You said, "Kenny never liked this."

"What?"

"Kenny. He never liked the outside world. Or on top of the walls. He liked being within the walls."

"Yeah?"

"He took me up on the wall once. Wall Sheena. When he had the vertical maneuver gear. He said heights were never his thing and he never understood why you would go out there." You pointed at the titan's territory.

"What would the old shit know about freedom?" Levi signed.

"But he knew he would run into you someday within the walls. He was really proud when he saw you came back in one piece after an expedition. He kept saying "my boy" for a week. He even waited by the gates a few times to watch your return, you know." You tilted your head and watched Levi. His face was a confusion of emotions.

"Tell me more about him please." He croaked.

You hang out with Levi more. You were often seen together in the camp. On the roof late at night, on the fields early in the morning, or in Levi's office. Rumours were spreading but you both ignored it. You felt something changed in your relationship with Levi after that night on the wall. And you had seen Levi's soft side just as Kenny told you for years. The man you grew up with did not change much. Although he grew tougher, but he was still Kenny's memory of the little boy you grew up with.

Levi found peace and closure with you. He had wondered for years about his background but he did not ask out loud. He never thought Kenny left the key in you. You do know almost everything about Levi, even the parts he refused to admit to. But you never told anyone about him unless he asked you. He respected you for that.

You filled in each other about the lives you did not live. You told Levi about your life with Kenny and in the bar while Levi told you about his (in pieces) and the news of the walls You never pushed Levi for the things he never said. His life was harsh, you knew that. You learnt to brew tea for Levi during those late nights talks in his office as his insomnia kicked in. You could hardly sleep too, after all the horrors you saw. Kenny raised you to stay calm in all situations, but seeing titans were not in his books.

After Levi came back from Marley and Eren ran away to infiltrate the Marleyen's military, everybody was preparing for war. But Levi asked you to resign from the Survey Corps.

"Why? Am I not contributing to the cause?" you demanded an answer.

"You had contributed enough, now it's your time to leave." Levi did not raise his head from the stack of paper work.

"You can't kick me out, Captain. I did nothing wrong and I am willing to fight!"

"I said no. No more questions."

"Levi," you snatched his pen off his hand, "cut this bullshit! You can't make me quit!"

Levi slammed his fist on the table, "I can! I can and I will! I can't have you dying just like that! I promised him to take care of you!"

"And I promised him to be by your side! I promised him you would have a family!" You yelled back.

"Then don't die! Because I can't lose you!" Levi stared at you with tears in his eyes. He whispered, "I can't lose you. I-I, can't lose you." And tears rolled down his cheeks.

Your heart broke seeing him like this, you rounded the table and pulled him into your arms, burying your face on his shoulder. "I won't die, Levi. I promise."

"No, you don't know that. Right now it's not us against the titans, it's us against the whole world. I can't let you die. Yo-you are all I left."

Pulling back, you looked at each other. Your eyes slowly trailed to his lips, and his eyes on your lips too. Moving in slowly, you tested his waters. He tilted his head slightly. Eyes closed, and you lips met. A soft brush turned into a collision. Your lips feeling each other, moving more and more hungry with each kiss. When you pulled back, you both were panting and blushing.

You had fallen in love with the boy in Kenny's memory since Kenny told you about him. The boy had been your companion in every step of your life even when you hadn't met him. And you fell for real when you spent your days when the man who you knew so much but also nothing about. His stoic character, his calm demeanour during crisis, and all his little habits that made him him.

Levi fell for you without him knowing when or why or where. He knew one day that you had taken his heart. You filled the gap he was afraid to look into. You were patient with him. You answered his questions about himself. You knew him in ways he did not because he didn't have the privilege to look into. And you were always by his side, giving him peace when he could not calm himself. He found himself thinking about the past less, and more of the future of no wars.

Levi wanted to stop all wars. And he made a vowed to do it, but he needed you to be there to see it. He needed you to be there with him.

#slow burning #i had this idea for months now #today i feel like writing it #not exactly whats in my head #will probably rewrite in the future #midnight thoughts #levi ackerman #levi fluff #levi x reader #levi heichou #levi x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi imagine #kenny ackerman

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hd-junglebook · 9 months ago

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Edge of Exile

prologue

summary : this is pretty short compared to what I have in mind for the next chapters. Just some background before I get the story rolling.

The scream died in her throat as y/n jerked awake, heart pounding. The remnants of the nightmare still clung to her - the acrid smell of burning flesh, the anguished cries she released as her mother stopped breathing, the way they dragged her out of the room. She pressed a palm against her forehead, taking deep breaths to chase the images away.

It had been six years since she lost her mother, but it may as well have been last night. The nightmares never let her forget. She saw it vividly every time she closed her eyes – the operation table, the look on Abby Griffins face when all attempts to save her mother’s life failed. And her mother - her brave, stubborn mother - running back into the inferno to help others, never to return.

Y/n rose unsteadily to her feet in the cramped cell, the sound of her footsteps filling the room around her. She splashed icy water on her face from the basin, then reached under her mattress for the tattered notebook. Her fingers trembled slightly over the pages as they traced the faces - her mother's kind eyes, her best friends’ smiles.

The cold vastness of space only seemed to amplify her aching loneliness. Y/n was used to being alone, staying alert, not allowing anyone in. It was the only way to survive now.

This prison cell had been her home for the past year after she was incarcerated. Like all the prisoners aboard this dying relic, she was kept in prison station, locked away from the rest of society, labeled as a danger to herself and the citizens of the ark.

She inhaled a shuddering breath and carefully returned the notebook to its hiding place. There was another long haul to get through today. She couldn't afford to dwell on the past. The ghosts would need to wait - at least until she slept again.

A chime sounded, signaling the prisoners that it was time for breakfast. Y/n took a deep breath and steeled herself. She had survived a year in this floating tomb; she could survive another day. Keep your head down, don't cause trouble, watch your back - that was the only way.

She paused, struck by the silence. The usual morning clatter of prisoners being escorted to the eating hall was absent. She peered out into the corridor - the cells were empty. The entire block, once filled with over a hundred prisoners, was now a ghost town.

Unease crept over her. Just a week ago, these halls rang out with activity. Where had everyone gone? Her friends - Harper and Miller - had been in the cells nearby just day’s before. Now all of them had vanished.

Rumors of mass executions had spread through the cell blocks in recent days. Resources on the dying Ark were scarce, and the leadership was becoming more ruthless. But she had never believed it would actually happen to them.

Harper's 18th birthday was just a few days away. She had seen it happen to so many others before, and now it seemed like it was Harper's turn. In the society they lived in, turning 18 meant one thing - being floated.

Had her friends been marched to their deaths in the middle of the night? Where had the guards taken them? And more urgently - would she be next?

…

The loss of her mother sent y/n into a downward spiral. She became angry and reckless, no longer caring about the consequences of her actions. Her mother had been her rock, and now she was adrift.

She was left under the watchful eye of her uncle, Kane. He was one of the Council members who maintained draconian order on the Ark. y/n saw him as part of the same corrupt system that floated her father for treason.

She had overheard Clarke and Wells discussing how her father had discovered the Ark was running out of air and wanted to inform the citizens. The Council's answer had been to silence him - permanently. He was given a treason charge and floated. Y/n’s uncle being one of the few who did not vote against this decision.

After Jake Griffin’s death, she decided it was time to pick up where he left off. Enough waiting silently in the shadows. She rallied a group from Factory Station, using her uncle's connections to gain access to Council events. Spent hours strategizing and devising a plan to confront the chancellor about the dwindling resources and oxygen.

The day of the Council meeting arrived, and y/n and her followers had knocked out enough guards to sneak into the council room. She marched in with the head guard, Commander Shumway, at knife point. The Council members stumbled over their words, trying to defend their actions. In the end, they confirmed that the Ark was running out of oxygen, but they were sneaky.

The Ark Guard burst through the doors. They had gotten word that the group was holding the Council hostage. Talia never expected them to act so quickly. The guards surrounded them, weapons drawn, ready to subdue them.

Her defiance only angered Kane further. He condemned her "rebellious theatrics" and soon had her locked away, floating the rest of the demonstrators. Charged with spreading false information, the murder of two guards and inciting rebellion.

The day the executions were carried out, y/n could only watch in helpless horror as her friends were floated one by one - launched out the airlock to their deaths. She should have been with them - was ready to die alongside them. But the Guards held her back.

Instead of execution, y/n was sentenced back to solitary confinement. At first, she didn't understand why she had been spared. It made no sense. She had led the uprising, held the Council hostage, exposed their lies. By all rights, she should have been the first to die.

Being left alive was its own special torture. wracked with guilt, replaying every moment in her mind. What if she had done something differently? What if she had turned herself in so the others could get away? She would never know now. Their faces, full of fear yet resolute courage as they floated out into oblivion, haunted her.

The only explanation was her uncle. Kane's influence must have swayed the Council to stay her execution. But to what end? So she could rot in this cell, alone with her guilt and grief?

…

Y/n sat silently in her cell, gazing up at the mural she had painted on the walls over the past year. The portrait depicted a man and woman standing resolute as flames engulfed the scene around them, the Ark crumbling into ashes amidst the inferno.

The burning ark symbolizes the destruction that can be caused by our negligence and disregard for the world around us.

She had just returned from the melancholy affair of breakfast - prisoners eating alone, guards eyeing them warily. The food stuck in her throat these days. Her friends should be here breaking stale rations with her, not lost to the void.

The slam of the cell door jarred Talia from her thoughts. She scrambled to her feet as guards entered behind her uncle, Kane. " Printer 124, Stand against the wall," they ordered gruffly, readying their shock batons.

Kane lifted a hand. "It's alright, let her be," he said. y/n slowly sank back down, watching Kane with wary eyes as he took in her mural. What did he want now? Surely not just to critique her art. The guards took up positions around the small cell standing at the doors.

"The Council has authorized me to make you a deal," Kane finally said as he clasped his hands behind his back. "About a week ago we sent some prisoners to the ground. 100 to be exact. We’ve communicated with them. There's talk of sending the exodus ship to the ground. They want you to go with the first group."

y/n’s eyes widened in surprise. Return to Earth, after all this time? Could the Council finally be desperate enough to take such a risk?

She hesitated, taking in his words. 100 prisoners to the ground the day of Harper and Millers disappearance. But if there was any possibility of life on the ground, she had to take it...for their sake.

Jaha's offer was simple - help repair the last three stations and once they reach Earth, her slate would be wiped clean, but they must be desperate if Kane was resorting to bargaining with me.

"And if I say no?" y/n challenged.

"Then you'll be floated with the rest of them," Kane said coldly.

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underground-secret · 1 year ago

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The Hunter and the Witch: Dean Winchester x fem! reader

Description: When Dean gets a call from a friend the boys and Y/N go to investigate a plane that crashed under mysterious circumstances.

Warnings: cannon violence, talk of plane crashes, demons, exorcism, reference to sexual themes (but nothing sexual happens at all like not even a little bit), comfort, aerophobia, one bed trope 🤨

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld, @okayiamkassandra, @fablesrose

Word count: 7,792

Authors note: I am so so sorry this took forever to get out, and i’m not even that happy with the turn out at least for some parts of this chapter. I will be working harder to make it better, please let me know what you guys think: criticism is welcome

The Phantom Traveler

(Masterlist, Previous Chapter, Next Chapter)

The sound of the door opening along with movement beside me wakes me from my sleep. My eyes flicker open slowly only to be met with Dean prompt on one arm practically leaning over me with his hand underneath his pillow.

“Morning, Sunshine!” I hear Sam’s voice call out.

I rub my eyes, turning my head towards Sam’s voice who’s standing in the doorway with a tray of drinks and a baggy of something.

“Hi Sammy” I responded lightly, still adorned with sleep.

“What time is it?” Dean asks him. Which reminds me of the fact that we slept in the same bed the night before, there was only one room left and we were all too tired to go looking for another motel so Dean suggested I bunk with him. And it’s not like we hadn’t slept together growing up, whether on purpose or during a movie.

“Uh, it’s about five forty-five.” Sam answers, kicking his shoes off.

“In the morning?” Dean asks again.

“Yep” Sam answers simply.

“It’s too early” I grumble, sinking further into the hoodie I had worn to bed.

Dean huffs a laugh, “Where does the day go?” He sits up leaning on the headboard, “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Yeah, I grabbed a couple of hours.” Sam responds.

“Liar. 'Cause I was up at three, and you were watching a George Foreman infomercial.” Dean confronts.

“Hey, what can I say? It's riveting TV.” Sam reasons.

“Lying again!” I add, still lying down.

Dean looks down at me before looking back at Sam, “When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?”

“I don't know, a little while, I guess. It's not a big deal.” Sam shrugs.

“Yeah, it is.” Dean answers and I nod my head in agreement, well the best I can nod lying down.

“Look, I appreciate your concern—“ Sam started getting cut off by Dean, “Oh, I'm not concerned about you. It's your job to keep my ass alive, so I need you sharp.” Dean lies, he is most definitely worried.

But Sam just shrugs. So Dean pushes further, “Seriously, are you still having nightmares about Jess?”

Sam crosses the room, sitting on the other bed, handing Dean two drinks. I sit up quickly taking my drink from Dean as Sam responds, “Yeah. But it's not just her. It's everything. I just forgot, you know? This job. Man, it gets to you.”

“You can't let it. You can't bring it home like that.” Dean tells him, taking a sip of his drink that is most definitely coffee.

“So, what? All this it...never keeps you up at night?” Sam asks, leaning forward.

Dean shakes his head.

“Y/N?” Sam asks.

“Yeah…It does. I mean you can try to not let it bother you but it’s not so simple, not healthy either” I take a deep breath, “Man, we need therapy”, looking down at my cup instead of confronting the boys directly. I take a careful sip from my drink, hot chocolate, making a mental note to thank Sammy for it.

“Exactly. So Dean, really you’re never afraid? Never?”

“No, not really.” Dean replies the same answer.

Sam gives him a look reaching under Dean's pillow, pulling out a large hunting knife holding it up as evidence.

I almost spit out my drink, “When did you put that there!”

Dean takes the knife back, looking between Sam and I as he spoke, “That's not fear. That is precaution. And also when you went to change in the bathroom”

“All right, whatever. I'm too tired to argue.” Sam answers, leaning back on his hand while the other holds his drink (also probably coffee).

“Amen.” I add, focusing on my drink now.

Suddenly Dean’s phone rings, he answers it almost immediately.

“Hello?

…

Oh, right, yeah. Up in Kittanning, Pennsylvania, the poltergeist thing. It's not back, is it?

…

What is it?”

The conversation ends quickly and Dean explains that some guy he helped a while back named Jerry Panowski needed our help.

We change and pack up our things, heading out to this Jerry guy.

“Thanks for making the trip so quick. I ought to be doing you guys a favor, not the other way around. Dean and your dad really helped me out.” Jerry, a short guy who’s balding, speaks

“Yeah, he told me. It was a poltergeist?” Sam asks him, causing a random guy to call back a response, “Poltergeist? Man, I loved that movie.”

Jerry snapped at the worker, “Hey, nobody's talking to you. Keep walking.” He sighs continuing, “Damn right it was a poltergeist, practically tore our house apart. Tell you something, if it wasn't for you and your dad, I probably wouldn't be alive. Your dad said you were off at college. Is that right?”

“Yeah, I was. I'm—taking some time off.” Sam stammered.

“Well, he was real proud of you. I could tell. He talked about you all the time.” Jerry answered.

“He did?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, you bet he did. Oh, hey, you know I tried to get a hold of him, but I couldn't. How's he doing, anyway?” Jerry asks.

“He's, um, wrapped up in a job right now.” Dean responds, coming up with a quick lie.

“Well, we're missing the old man, but we get Sam and, uh, Y/N right? More than an even trade, huh?”

Dean laughs and I nod my head in conformation on the name bit.

“Well anyways I got something I want you guys to hear.” He leads us into his office nearby.

“I listened to this. And, well, it sounded like it was up your alley.” Jerry explains putting a CD into a drive.

“Normally I wouldn't have access to this. It's the cockpit voice recorder for United Britannia flight 2485. It was one of ours.” He presses play

“Mayday! Mayday! Repeat! This is United Britania 2485—immediate instruction help! United Britanis 2485, I copy your message—May be experiencing some mechanical failure…” The recording ends with a loud whooshing sound.

“Took off from here, crashed about two hundred miles south. Now, they're saying mechanical failure. Cabin depressurized somehow. Nobody knows why. Over a hundred people on board. Only seven got out alive. Pilot was one. His name is Chuck Lambert. He's a good friend of mine. Chuck is, uh...well, he's pretty broken up about it. Like it was his fault.” Jerry explains further.

“You don't think it was?” Sam asks him.

“No, I don't.” He answers simply.

“Jerry, we're gonna need passenger manifests, um, a list of survivors.” Sam informs him.

“And would it be possible for us to take a look at the wreckage” I add on asking.

“The other stuff is no problem. But the wreckage...fellas, the NTSB has it locked down in an evidence warehouse. No way I've got that kind of clearance.” Jerry tells us, and despite not being able to see the wreckage he’s extremely helpful. What a kind man.

“No problem.” Dean frowns.

Sam and I wait outside a Copy Jack for Dean, already having waited for maybe forty-five mins. Dean finally exits.

“You've been in there forever.” Sam complains and I nod in agreement.

“You can't rush perfection.” Dean smiles holding up three ID’s, fake ones at that.

Dean hands us our respected ID’s with a fake name, fake information but actual photos of us.

“Homeland Security? That's pretty illegal, even for us.” Sam comments, looking at his ID badge.

“Yeah, well, it's something new. You know? People haven't seen it a thousand times.” Dean reasons, rounding the car to get in.

“It’s not like you haven’t been FBI Agents” I remarked as I got into the car.

“I get it. We’re criminals.” Sam responded monotone.

“Yeah we are!” I celebrate.

Sam huffs a laugh, an almost disappointing laugh.

“All right, so, what do you got?” Dean asks, changing the subject.

“Well, there's definitely EVP on the cockpit voice recorder.” Sam answers.

“Yeah?” Dean asks.

“Listen.” Sam plays the tape, which he had edited to pull out a scratchy voice, “No survivors!”

“"No survivors"? What's that supposed to mean? There were seven survivors.” Dean questions.

“Maybe there wasn’t meant to be any survivors and it could be going back to, you know, uh, take care of them” I suggest.

“Maybe.” Sam adds. The car went quiet as if the boys were going over the possibilities in their heads.

Dean breaks the silence, “Are you thinking a haunted flight?”

“There's a long history of spirits and death omens on planes and ships, like phantom travelers. Remember flight 401?” Sam informs.

“Right. The one that crashed, the airline salvaged some of its parts, put it in other planes, then the spirit of the pilot and copilot haunted those flights.” Dean answers.

“Right. So maybe we got a similar deal.” Sam adds.

“All right, so, survivors, which one do you want to talk to first?” Dean asks.

“Third on the list: Max Jaffey.”

“Why him?”

“Well, for one, he's from around here. And two, if anyone saw anything weird, he did.” Sam lists out.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, I spoke to his mother. And she told me where to find him.”

Max walks with a cane slightly in front of us, having joined him in the garden of the Riverfront Psychiatric Hospital.

“I don't understand. I already spoke with Homeland Security.” He tells us.

“Well, some new information came up. So we’d just like to ask you a couple of questions.” I answer softly.

“Just before the plane went down, did you notice anything...unusual?” Sam adds jumping right into the questions.

“Like what?” He asks.

“Strange lights, weird noises, maybe. Voices.” Dean lists out.

“No, nothing.” Max answers, though not very convincingly.

“Mr. Joffey—“ Dean began getting cut off,

“Jaffey.” Max corrects.

“Jaffey. You checked yourself in here, right?” Dean asks and Max nods.

“Can I ask why?” Dean pushes.

“I was a little stressed. I survived a plane crash.” Max answered simply.

“Uh huh. And that's what terrified you? That's what you were afraid of?” Dean presses further.

“I...I don't want to talk about this anymore.” Max stammers. But Dean keeps pressing, “See, I think maybe you did see something up there. We need to know what.”

“No. No, I was...delusional. Seeing things.” Max answers, eyes wide.

“It's okay. Then just tell us what you thought you saw, please.” Sam offers, going the much nicer way.

“There was...this—man. And, uh, he had these...eyes—these, uh...black eyes. And I saw him—or I thought I saw him...

He opened the emergency exit. But that's...that's impossible, right? I mean, I looked it up. There's something like two tons of pressure on that door.” Max explains, tripping over his words.

“This man, uh, did he seem to appear and disappear rapidly? It would look something like a mirage?” Sam asks.

“What are you, nuts?” Says the guy who believes he was delusional and needed to check himself into a psychiatric hospital.

“He was a passenger. He was sitting right in front of me.”

Our questions ended soon after we got the name of the passenger in front of Max.

The Impala pulls up in front of his house.

“Here we are. George Phelps, seat 20C.” Sam announces.

“Man, I don't care how strong you are. Even yoked up on PCP or something, no way you can open up an emergency door during a flight.” Dean announces as we get out of the car.

“Opening the door while the plane is at an altitude of 10,000 or more, is impossible. I mean that’s an added 24,000 pounds of pressure, to a door that’s already on average 34 pounds, as a result of air pressure.” I inform, reciting something I had read.

Both boys turn to me with a questioning look, “I like fun facts” I shrug.

“Well that would be possible if you weren’t human. So maybe this guy George was something else. Some kind of creature, maybe, in human form.” Sam suggested.

Dean deadpans, looking at Sam, “Does that look like a creature's lair to you?”

Sam looks at the house, an ordinary white paneled home,and then back at Dean shrugging.

Sam rings the doorbell, a woman with shoulder length brown hair invites us in.

“This is your late husband?” Sam asks Mrs. Phelps, picking up a frame photo of a brunette man.

“Yes, that was my George.” She answers sniffling.

“And you said he was a...dentist?” Dean confirms

“Mm-hm. He was headed to a convention in Denver. Do you know that he was petrified to fly? For him to go like that…” Mrs.Phelps admits.

“How long were you married for?” I ask.

“Thirteen years.” She smiles sadly.

“In all that time, did you ever notice anything...strange about him, anything out of the ordinary?” Sam adds.

“Well...uh, he had acid reflux, if that's what you mean.” She answers maybe a little too truthfully, and I have to stop myself from laughing.

We come down the front steps, having no helpful information.

“I mean it goes without saying. It just doesn't make any sense.” Sam announces.

“A middle-aged dentist with an ulcer is not exactly evil personified. You know what we need to do is get inside that NTSB warehouse, check out the wreckage.” Dean suggests.

“Okay. But if we're gonna go that route, we'd better look the part.” Sam adds with a smirk.

My face breaks out into a smile, “Cue the montage!”

My new heels click loudly on the pavement, catching the eyes of onlookers.

I had wandered off to find a clothing store for women that would have more professional clothing that I was looking for, while the boys were at some store called “MORT’S for style”.

I retrace my steps back to where I had left the brothers, seeing them standing outside the store fixing their suit jackets. Even though I only saw some of them from where I was walking from I had to say they cleaned up nice.

“What the hells taking Y/N so long?” I hear Dean complain his back towards me as he fidgets with the cuffs of his sleeves.

I approached closer only stopping about four feet behind Dean.

Sam’s eyes caught mine as he looked behind his brother’s shoulder, his eyes widening.

“Sorry, Dean.” I say looking up through my eyelashes, even though his back was towards me still.

He turned towards me, his lips ready to form words that never left his mouth, whatever he was going to say died on his tongue the second he had seen me.

His eyes widened for a fraction of a second before turning to a more lidded stance, accompanied by a devilish smirk as his eyes ran up and down my figure. I hadn’t thought there was anything special about wearing a white button up and a black pencil skirt that ended near my mid thigh, but the way he’s looking has me questioning my knowledge on such things.

I feel my cheeks turn hot and I suddenly feel exposed by the way he’s looking at me. I tug on the hem of my skirt, pulling it down slightly, seemingly pulling Dean out of whatever odd trance he had been in.

He clears his throat and yet his voice still comes out a little tight, “We should go”.

I hum in agreement, only now realizing that Sam was already ahead of us and getting into the car.

We enter the warehouse, my heels still noticeably clicking, showing our “homeland security badges” to the security guard who nods and lets us in.

The warehouse is huge and yet still cluttered with plane wreckage.

Dean pulls out an odd device, plaguing the attached earbuds in his ears.

“What is that?” Sam asks the question we’re both thinking.

“It's an EMF meter. Reads electromagnetic frequencies.” Dean informs, holding up a rackity device.

“Yeah, I know what an EMF meter is, but why does that one look like a busted-up walkman?” Sam questions further, eyebrows scrunched.

“'Cause that's what I made it out of. It's homemade.” Dean grins, shaking it a little.

“Okay D.I.Y King.” I laugh, nudging his arm.

“I’m just going to accept that” Dean nods, going off to move his creation around for EMF readings.

“Check out the emergency door handle.” Dean calls out revealing a yellow dust like thing on the handle.

“What is this stuff?” Dean asks, scratching at the odd yellow substance.

“Why would you touch it?” I ask him, he looks at me and shrugs.

“Well there’s one way to find out what it is.” Sam scrapes some of the yellow dust off with a pen putting both into a little clear baggy.

He puts the bag in his pocket when suddenly the door we entered slams open, several security guards with guns enter. We all share a panic look before swiftly sneaking out of the room.

With our backs pressed to the walls tightly we found a way outside. We peer around a corner seeing no one in sight, giving us the go to start walking towards the gated exit. Then suddenly a loud alarm blared, turning our “causal” walking into a run.

My heels hit the ground hard with every stride I took, hoping they wouldn’t break. But with each careful movement I knew my heels were slowing me down. I stopped a brief moment kicking them up before carrying them in one hand as I continued after the men in front of me.

Reaching the gate Dean took his suit jacket off, his muscles flexing under the white button shirt he wore. He threw his jacket over the barbed wire at the top of the fence, Sam already climbing the gate.

Dean makes eye contact with me, and without words he gets down on one knee offering me his cupped hands to lift me up the gate. I accepted it and with one hand carrying my heels I hurried up the fence, swinging my leg over the jacket covered bar wire, and despite the shorts I wore underneath the skirt I still hoped I wasn’t flashing him.

I feel Dean following closely behind me as I land, stumbling slightly, on the hard concrete my feet aching from the drop without shoes.

“Well, these monkey suits do come in handy.” Dean says, having grabbed the jacket on his way over the fence. He takes a half a look back and takes off running, Sam follows closely behind being able to catch up with his long legs as I hurry after the boys.

Jerry looks at the yellow stuff through a microscope, hunched over. We watch the screen that's projecting what the microscope sees.

“Huh. This stuff is covered in sulfur.” Jerry announces.

“You're sure?” Sam asks.

“Take a look for yourself.” Jerry offers but before anyone could move there’s sounds of banging coming from outside the office as well as a voice cursing out, “You effin' piece of crap…”

“If you fellows will excuse me, I have an idiot to fire.” Jerry huffs, teeth clenched.

As Jerry leaves Dean wanders over to the microscope looking into it.

“Hmm. You know, there's not too many things that leave behind a sulfuric residue.” Dean mumbles.

“Demonic possession?” Sam asks.

“Oh, that would definitely explain how a regular dude would have the strength to open up an emergency hatch.” I answer.

“This goes way beyond floating over a bed or barfing pea soup. I mean it's one thing to possess a person, but to use them to take down an entire airplane?” Dean stated.

“You ever heard of something like this before?” Sam asks him.

“Never.” He replies

“That’s comforting” I remark.

We were in full research mode, the motel room walls taped with article clippings and images. Papers strewn access the beds and tables. Sam’s on his bed researching on his computer, while Deans reading a book on demon mythology sitting on his bed.

I’m sitting at the small table in the room with a notepad and two open books in front of me, with titles I'm not entirely sure of.

“So, every religion in every world culture has the concept of demons and demonic possession, right? I mean Christian, Native American, Hindu, you name it.” Sam speaks out.

“Yeah, but none of them describe anything like this.” Dean adds.

“Well, that's not exactly true. You see, according to Japanese beliefs, certain demons are behind certain disasters, both natural and man-made. One causes earthquakes, another causes disease.” Sam informs

Dean gets up,“And this one causes plane crashes?

All right, so, what? We have a demon that's evolved with the times and found a way to ratchet up the body count?”

“I guess there isn’t really a way of knowing just how many planes it’s brought down before this one.” I answered

Dean snorts, turning away.

“Hey” I whine thinking he’s poking fun at what I said, my eyebrows scrunching.

“I don't know, man. This isn't our normal gig. I mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. This is big. And I wish Dad was here.” Dean announces, my face relaxing at the clarification.

“Yeah. Me too.” Sam hums, looking back down at his computer just as Dean’s phone rings.

He answers,

“Hello?

…

Oh, hey, Jerry.

…

Wha—Jerry, I'm sorry. What happened?

….

Where'd this happen?

….

I'll try to ignore the irony in that.”

Me and Sam throw each other a questioning look.

Dean’s conversation continues,

“Nothing. Jerry, hang in there, all right? We'll catch up with you soon.”

As he hangs up Sam asks him, “Another crash?”

“Yeah. Let's go.” Dean confirms.

“Where too?” I ask, closing the books and my laptop.

“Nazareth.” He answers.

Jerry is again looking through his microscope.

“Sulfur?” I ask, wanting to confirm. Jerry nods, simply.

“Well, that's great. All right, that's two plane crashes involving Chuck Lambert. This demon sounds like it was after him.” Dean announces.

“With all due respect to Chuck, if that's the case, that would be the good news.” Sam adds, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“What's the bad news?” Dean asks him, turning in his direction.

“Chuck's plane went down exactly forty minutes into flight. And get this, so did flight 2485.” Sam answers, my eyes widening at the realization.

“Forty minutes? What does that mean?” Jerry questions, looking between the three of us.

“The number typically symbolizes a period of trial or testing, like in Noah’s Ark it rained for forty days and forty nights.” I recall, speaking with my hands.

“Along with death” Dean joins in.

“I went back, and there have been six plane crashes over the last decade that all went down exactly forty minutes in.” Sam informs.

“Any survivors?” Dean asks him.

“No. Or not until now, at least, not until flight 2485, for some reason. On the cockpit voice recorder, remember what the EVP Said?” Sam adds.

“ ‘No survivors’… Y/N you were right, it’s going after all the survivors. It's trying to finish the job.” Dean recalls.

Darkness surrounds the car, our only source of light being the headlights as we drive through the night.

Sam’s on the phone contacting the survivors.

“Really? Well, thank you for taking our survey, And if you do plan to fly, please don't forget your friends at United Britannia Airlines. Thanks.” Sam says, sounding peachy as he lies to the woman on the phone.

He hangs up, “All right. That takes care of Blaine Sanderson and Dennis Holloway. They're not flying anytime soon.”

“So our only wildcard is the flight attendant Amanda Walker.” Dean acknowledges, not taking his eyes off the road.

“Right. Her sister Karen said her flight leaves Indianapolis at eight pm. It's her first night back on the job.” Sam adds.

“You know I can’t decide if that’s really brave or stupid of her.” I say

“Either way, that’s just our luck” Dean grumbles.

“Dean, this is a five-hour drive, man, even with you behind the wheel.” Sam replies.

“Call Amanda's cellphone again, see if we can't head her off at the pass.” Dean offers.

“I already left her three voice messages. She must have turned her cellphone off.

God, we're never gonna make it.” Sam sighs.

“We'll make it.” Dean answers, pressing down on the gas pedal.

We rush through the airport, stopping only to look up at the Departure board.

“There! They’re boarding in thirty minutes.” I point at the screen above us, trying to catch my breath.

“Okay. We still have some cards to play. We need to find a phone.” Dean adds, turning in a circle until he spots a courtesy phone.

He picks up the phone while Sam and I wait on standby, “Hi. Gate thirteen.

I'm trying to contact an Amanda Walker. She's a flight attendant on flight, um…” He trails off.

Sam quickly pulls out a marker writing numbers on his hand before holding it up for Dean to read, “flight 4-2-4.”

Dean taps his finger on the phone as he waits,

“Come on.

…….

Miss Walker. Hi, this is Dr. James Hetfield from St. Francis Memorial Hospital. We have a Karen Walker here.

….

Nothing serious, just a minor car accident, but she was injured, so—“

Dean pauses and I know something got messed up, “You what?

…..

Uh, well...there must be some mistake.”

Sam looks at me with confused eyes and I shrug not knowing either, he gets closer to Dean trying to listen in as best as he can almost right on top of him.

Dean laughs, uncomfortably, “Guilty as charged.

….

He's really sorry.

….

Yes, but...he really needs to see you tonight, so—

……

Don't be like that. Come on. The guy's a mess. Really. It's pathetic.

….

Oh, yeah.”

I have never been more confused about a conversation before.

Dean suddenly calls out, “No, no. Wait, Amanda. Amanda! Damn it! So close.” He puts the phone back on the hook with a defeated sigh.

“All right, it's time for plan B. We're getting on that plane.” Sam says quickly.

“Whoa, whoa, now just hold on a second.” Dean holds out his hand in defense, eyes wide.

“Dean, that plane is leaving with over a hundred passengers on board, and if we're right, that plane is gonna crash.” Sam reasons.

“I know.” Dean mumbles.

“Okay. So we're getting on the plane, we need to find that demon and exorcise it. I'll get the tickets. You guys get whatever you can out of the trunk. Whatever that will make it through the security. Meet me back here in five minutes.” Sam explains and I nod along with him.

But Dean remains quiet looking between us anxious. I place my hand on his upper arm, “Are you okay, Dean?”

“No, not really.” He answers truthfully, which I wasn’t quite expecting.

“Oh…what’s wrong?” I ask, concerned.

“Well, I kind of have this problem with, uh…” He starts getting cut off by his brother, “Flying?”

“It's never really been an issue until now.” Dean explains his body tense.

“You're joking, right?” Sam smiles, and I hit his arm lightly.

“Do I look like I'm joking? Why do you think I drive everywhere, Sam?” Dean whisper-shouts.

“How come you never told either of us?” I ask him, bringing my arm back to my side.

“Well I don’t exactly make it a point to tell people, it’s embarrassing.” He explains, becoming quieter as he finishes.

“Hey we all have our fears” I say, giving his upper arm a little pat, trying to comfort him though I’m not sure if it was helping.

“Ok, uh, Y/N and I will go then.” Sam comes up with.

“What?” Dean asks, looking between us as if we had grown another head each.

“Me and Y/N can do it on our own.” Sam states.

“Yeah! It’s no biggie! And it will mean no plane time for you.” I add on.

“What are you guys, nuts? You said it yourself, the plane's gonna crash.” Dean exclaimed.

“Dean, we can do it all three of us, or me and Y/N can do this one together. I'm not seeing a third option, here.” Sam proposed.

“Come on! Really? Man…” Dean complained.

The intercom rings out, “Flight attendants, please cross-check doors before departure.”

I sat snuggly between Sam and Dean, the later being in the aisle seat anxiously reading the safety card.

“Just try to relax.” Sam tells him.

“Just try to shut up.” Dean snaps back. I roll my eyes at their banter with a huffed laugh.

The plane takes off, Dean jumping at every little rumble the vehicle makes. He clutches his armrests tightly, the knuckles of his hands turning white from the grip, I place my hand on top of his. The hand I was touching quickly released its death grip on the armrest, now having a firm grip on my hand instead. His body was visibly tense as he leaned back, strigidly, humming a song to himself.

Sam leans forward to see Dean, “You're humming Metallica?”

“Calms me down.” Dean answers through clenched teeth.

“Look, man, I get you're nervous, all right?” Sam sympathized, “But you got to stay focused.”

“Okay.” Dean replies simply.

“I mean, we got thirty-two minutes and counting to track this thing down, or whoever it's possessing, anyway, and perform a full-on exorcism.” Sam explains.

“Yeah, on a crowded plane. That's gonna be easy.” Dean exclaims.

“Just take it one step at a time, all right?” Sam reassures, “Now, who is it possessing?”

Realizing what Sam’s trying to do I keep quiet and let him work.

“It's usually gonna be somebody with some sort of weakness, you know, a chink in the armor that the demon can worm through. Somebody with an addiction or some sort of emotional distress.” Dean answers.

“Well, this is Amanda's first flight after the crash. If I were her, I'd be pretty messed up.” Sam adds.

“Mm-hm.” Dean hums, turning to a brunette flight attendant who passed by, “Excuse me. Are you Amanda?”

“No, I'm not”,she answered, looking at him just a little bit strangely.

“Oh, my mistake.”

“Mm-hm.”

Dean stretches his neck to the back of the plane, still trying to look for Amanda, “All right, well, that's got to be Amanda back there, so I'll go talk to her, and, uh, I'll get a read on her mental state.

“What if she's already possessed?” Sam asks him.

“There's ways to test that.” He answers, going into his bag and diving out a flask looking bottle with the Virgin Mary on it. “I brought holy water.”

“No” Sam snatches the bottle tucking it inside his hoodie, almost hitting me in the face as he took it. “I think we can go more subtle. If she's possessed, she'll flinch at the name of God.”

“Oh. Nice.” Dean turns to go, letting go of my hand in the process.

“Hey.” Sam calls out, stopping his brother in his tracks.

“What?” Dean asks

“Say it in Latin.” Sam reminds.

“I know.” Dean leaves again, only making it a few steps before Sam calls out again, “Okay. Hey!”

“What?!” Dean almost shouts, annoyed.

“Uh, in Latin, it's ‘Christo’” Sam answers.

“Dude, I know! I'm not an idiot!” Dean snaps back, this time being able to walk away without restriction.

I turn my head to Sam, “I feel like I should be going with him.”

“Yeah…probably” He answers.

With a nod I unbuckle myself getting up to follow after Dean.

“Dean!” I call out touching his arm as I catch up to him.

“What are you doing here?” He asks me.

“I’m here for moral support!” I say smiling as we enter the back portion of the plane seeing a blond woman fussing with a cart of drinks and napkins.

“Hi.” Dean greets her awkwardly.

“Hi. Can I help you with something?” She asks us, her eyes suddenly widening, “Oh, wait, are you guys trying to join the Mile High Club?” She adds looking uncomfortable now.

“What’s tha-“ I try to ask, getting cut off by a frantic Dean.

“No! no, no, no. I, uh, I'm just a bit of an uneasy flier. It makes me feel better to walk around a little bit, and she’s here for moral support.” He stammers out, eyes wide.

“Oh, I'm so sorry for the confusion. But flight anxiety happens to the best of us.” She offers, meanwhile I'm still confused on what this club is.

“Of course, you being a stewardess, I guess flying comes easy to you.” Dean replies, getting back on track.

She laughs, “You'd be surprised.”

“Really? You’re a nervous flier?” I ask her, even though I know anyone would be after experiencing what she had.

“Yeah, maybe, little bit.” She answers.

“How is it that, being a stewardess, you're scared to fly?” Dean chimes in, scratching his chin.

“Kind of a long story.” She responds.

“Right. I'm sorry for asking.” Dean apologized.

I have to say this is the most awkward conversation I’ve ever witnessed Dean be in, especially when it came to women as much as I hate to say it.

“It's okay.” She says.

“You ever consider other employment?” Dean asks her, and I'm starting to wonder if she thinks this random guy talking to her is strange.

“No. Look, everybody's scared of something. I just, uh...I'm not gonna let it hold me back.” She answered confidently, shaking her head.

“Huh.” Dean hums.

“So…” She trails off, probably wanting this awkward encounter to stop.

“Christo.” Dean mumbles quietly under his breath.

“I'm sorry. Did you say something?” Amanda asks him, looking between us.

Dean hesitates, “Christo?”

“I—I didn't, I didn't…” She stutters, clearly lost. If she hadn’t found him strange before she definitely did now.

“Yeah, nothing. Never mind.” Dean answers, turning around swiftly, grabbing my hand in the process as he leads us back to our seats.

“All right, well, she's got to be the most well-adjusted person on the planet.” Dean informs, sitting back down.

“That was the most awkward conversation I have ever been a part of. I mean seriously what is this ‘Mile High Club’ and why would we be joining it?” I ask no one in particular.

Both boys are quiet, oddly quiet so I turn my head first towards Sam seeing his eyes wide as he holds back a laugh between tightly closed lips. I give him a weird, questioning look before turning towards Dean who also has widened eyes as he makes a throat cut gesture towards his younger brother. He spots me looking at him strangely and immediately drops the motion, smiling at me instead.

“Ok then, weirdos.” I scuffed, “Back on the topic of the hunt there’s definitely no demon in her, Dean did the whole ‘Christo’ thing. And there's no demon getting into her”

Sam clears his throat as if he was getting rid of whatever came over him, “So, if it's on the plane, it can be anyone. Anywhere.”

“Exactly, so not very helpful” I add.

The plane suddenly shakes again, “Come on! That can't be normal!” Dean shouts his grip back on the arm rests.

“Hey, hey, it's just a little turbulence.” Sam reassured, and I nodded along with him.

“Sam, this plane is going to crash, okay? So quit treating me like I'm friggin' four.” Dean exclaims.

“You need to calm down.” Sam tells him.

“Well, I'm sorry I can't.” Dean snaps back.

“Yes, you can.” Sam reassures him.

“Yeah, you can take deep breaths, we'll do it with you if that helps” I add.

“Guys, stow the touchy-feely, self-help yoga crap, it's not helping.” Dean grumbles

“Sorry” I whisper.

“Listen, if you're panicked, you're wide open to demonic possession, so you need to calm yourself down. Right now.” Sam orders, and a little surprisingly, Dean follows, taking a long slow breath in.

“Good. Now, I found an exorcism in here that I think is gonna work. The Rituale Romanum.” Sam notifies us, pulling out his Dads journal. “It's two parts. The first part expels the demon from the victim's body. It makes it manifest, which actually makes it more powerful.”

“More powerful?” Dean asks him.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Well, it doesn't need to possess someone anymore. It can just wreak havoc on its own.” Sam explains.

“And why would that be a good thing?” I ask, chiming in.

“Well, because the second part sends the bastard back to hell once and for all.” Sam finishes.

“First things first, we got to find it.” Dean gets up from his seat walking slowly up the aisle with his DIY EMF meter. Sam and I get up following him, I allow Sam to get in front of me. He claps a hand on Dean's shoulder, making him jump, “Ah! Don't do that.”

“Anything?” Sam asks him.

“No, nothing. How much time we got?”

“Fifteen minutes” I chime in, calling out from behind the two taller men.

“Maybe we missed somebody.” Sam adds.

“Maybe the thing's just not on the plane.” Dean suggests.

Sam gives him a pointed look, “You believe that?”

“Well, I will if you will.” Dean comments, looking down at the EMF as the meter suddenly spikes.

The copilot exits the bathroom, heading towards the cockpit.

“What? What is it?” Sam asks.

“Christo.”

The Copilot turns slowly, facing us. His eyes turning black as he peers behind his shoulder, he turns back around going into the cockpit.

We head to the back of the plane, back to Amanda.

“She's not gonna believe this.” Sam warns.

“Twelve minutes, dude.” Dean points out.

“Oh, hi. Flight's not too bumpy for you, I hope.” Amanda greets sweetly despite how odd her last conversation with us was.

“Actually, that's kind of what we need to talk to you about.” Dean begins, as Sam closes the curtain.

“Um, okay. What can I do for you?” She answers looking at us weirdly again.

“All right, this is gonna sound nuts, but we just don't have time for the whole "the truth is out there" speech right now.” Dean explains

“All right, look, we know you were on flight 2485.” Sam adds.

Amanda's smile disappears, “Who are you guys?”

But she does not get the answer she’s looking for as Sam explains, “Now, we've spoken to some of the other survivors. We know something brought down that plane and it wasn't a mechanical failure.”

“We really need your help because we need to stop it from happening again. Right now.” I plead.

“I'm sorry, I—I'm very busy. I have to go back—“ She stammers, trying to brush past Dean who stops her.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second. I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? But listen to me, uh...The pilot in 2485, Chuck Lambert. He's dead.”

“Wait. What? What, Chuck is dead?” She exclaims, eyes wide.

“He died in a plane crash. Now, that's two plane crashes in two months. That doesn't strike you as strange?” Dean asks.

“I—“ Amanda starts getting cut off by Sam, “Look, there was something wrong with 2485. Now maybe you sensed it, maybe you didn't. But there's something wrong with this flight, too.”

“Amanda, you have to believe us.” Dean urged

“On...on 2485, there was this man. He...had these eyes.” Amanda tries to explain.

“Yes. That's exactly what we're talking about.” Sam responds.

“I don't understand, what are you asking me to do?” She looks between us.

“Okay. The copilot, we need you to bring him back here.” Dean explains.

“Why? What does he have to do with anything?” She asks him.

“Don't have time to explain. We just need to talk to him. Okay?” Dean pushes.

“How am I supposed to go in the cockpit and get the copilot—“ She tries to ask getting cut off yet again by Sam, “Do whatever it takes. Tell him there's something broken back here, whatever will get him out of that cockpit.”

“Do you know that I could lose my job if you—“ She tries again this time getting cut off by me, “Please, Amanda your job isn’t going to exist in a couple minutes if you don’t bring him back here.”

I feel bad for having to scare her like this but we don’t have a choice here.

She hesitates and I can see her considering her options in her head, “Okay.”

She leaves us, heading to the cockpit as we get in position. Sam pulls out the holy water and Dean pulls out his Dads journal handing it to Sam who opens it.

“Yeah, what's the problem?” A male voice rings out, the Co-Pilot walking through the curtain.

Dean launches forward, punching him in the face. The man stumbles back, Dean uses that leverage to grab the guy and slam him to the ground. Pinning him down as he puts duct tape over his mouth.

“Wait. What are you doing? You said you were just gonna talk to him.” Amanda exclaims.

“We are gonna talk to him.” Dean answers, Sam splashing the holy water on the man’s skin, making it sizzle and bubble at the contact.

“Oh, my god. What's wrong with him?” She stammered, backing up.

“Look. We need you calm. We need you outside the curtain.” Sam commands.

“Well, I don't underst—I don't know—“ Amanda whispered, fearfully.

“Sam start reading” I order taking over the role of getting Amanda out, “You can’t let anyone in, Amanda please. Can you do that?” I ask her, leading her closer to the curtain.

“Okay. Okay.” She finally agrees, leaving. Meanwhile Sam began his reading kneeling down near the Demon, “Regna terrae, cantate Deo, psallite Domino—“

The demon manages to break free, swinging his arm out at Sam causing the holy water to go flying, in that one moment of distraction the demon manages to shove Dean backwards and hit Sam back into the wall.

I launch into movement, pinning his arms to the side of his head. I'm not physically stronger than Dean but I’m not exactly going to wait around either.

Sam leans up, picking up where he left off. Dean kneels by my side holding down the arm of the demon who lashes beneath me. He breaks free again shoving me off, the side of my head hitting into the wall of the plane hard, and backhanding Dean in the face making him stumble back.

He rips the tape off his mouth, grabbing Sam by the collar, “I know what happened to your girlfriend! She must have died screaming! Even now, she's burning!”

Dean recovers much quicker than I, punching the demon and pinning him down once more.

“Sam!” Dean yells.

Sam begins reading again, putting the book down to help Dean pin down the Demon. I pick myself up, ignoring the spinning of my head to hold down the guy's other arm.

The demon lashes again, when finally black smoke leaves the Copilots mouth and disappears.

“Where'd it go?” Sam asks, looking up.

“It's in the plane. Hurry up. We got to finish it.”

We all stand up, determined to finish this when suddenly the plane dips and heaves violently. The movement successfully threw me to the ground, every time I tried to get up or move the heaving threw me down again like a baby who’s just learning how to walk. Meanwhile Deans splayed against the exit door screaming.

Sam somehow manages to keep moving despite the violent movement, army crackling into the aisle looking for the book.

A sudden bright electrical charge runs through the entire plane, which ends the hectic movement.

I hear chatter and sighs of relief, even though I'm all the way in the back of the plane. I stumble as I stand, walking over to Dean who still remains splayed against the door despite the plane flying as normal. I place a hand on his arm, as to say without words he’s okay, he looks down at me, his eyes wide and full with fear.

He carefully removes himself from the wall to enclose me in a tight hug, his head coming down to rest on my shoulder. I wrap one arm around his back, the other going to hold his head to me, my fingers in his hair, his breath heavy as I feel it fan on my neck.

I don’t mind the fact that I had to stand on my tippy toes for his head to be on my shoulder more comfortably, not when I got to hold him so close and give him a moment of peace.

————————————————————————

Back at the airport all sorts of departments surrounded everyone, FBI, FAA, Paramedics, etc.

We headed for the exit, Sam walking just a bit ahead of us, his body and every movement was tense. Dean looks at me, asking without words if he should say something I nod in confirmation.

“You okay?” he asks, Sam stops and turns.

“It knew about Jessica.” Sam seethes.

“Sam, these things, they, they read minds. They lie. All right? That's all it was.” Dean explains and I nod along with him.

“Yeah.” Sam breathes out.

“Come on.” Dean slaps a hand on Sam’s back, leading us out of there.

————————————————————————

“Nobody knows what you guys did, but I do. A lot of people could have been killed.” Jerry shakes each of our hands, “Your dad's gonna be real proud.”

“We'll see you around, Jerry.” Sam said.

We begin to head off when Dean stops short, “You know, Jerry.”

“Yeah.” He answers.

“I meant to ask you, how did you get my cellphone number, anyway? I've only had it for like six months.” Dean told him.

“Your dad gave it to me.” Jerry responded.

“What?” Sam and I say almost at the same time.

“When did you talk to him?” Dean asks, looking at Sam and then back to Jerry.

“I mean, I didn't exactly talk to him, but I called his number. His voice message said to give you a call.” Jerry explained, “Thanks again, guys” and he left.

“This doesn't make any sense, man. I've called Dad's number like fifty times. It's been out of service.” Sam exclaims.

Dean pulls out his phone in response, dialing a number and putting it on speaker phone for us to hear too.

“This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help.”

We all look at each other, Sam huffs storming off to the car slamming the door behind him. I didn’t know what to say, and I don’t think Dean did either. With no other words we followed getting into the car and with a sigh Dean drove off.

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