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pinoyrella · 4 years ago

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“A Love So Beautiful” Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Can I Hop Your Bike?

FT: Tsukishima Kei, Yamaguchi Tadashi, Hinata Shoyo, Kageyama Tobio, Yachi Hitoka, Y/N’s Parents, Tsukishima Akiteru and Mrs. Tsukishima (u wish dat was u huh)

TW: Mild Language

Genre: Fluff, Comedy, Angst, Coming of Age + Slow Burn

WORD COUNT: 3,200+

“A LOVE SO BEAUTIFUL” Masterlist

A/N: Two Chapters in One Day??!?! hehehehe i hope you enjoy!!! 😳🙈💞

The sound of ringing interrupts your peaceful slumber.

“Arghhh I hate Mondays.” You groan as you toss yourself to the side, stopping your alarm. “Y/n?” A soft voice calls out to you. “Eaaahhh” You reply with a groan. “Y/n?” The soft voice calls again. “Hnnnng” “Y/N! Wake up you’re going to be late for school.” You get up, grabbing your phone and checking the time. “MOM! It’s only 7:03!” You yell, getting up to head to your closet. Picking out the hanger with your already-ready school uniform. You get dressed and head down stairs, making your way out.

Walking to the side of your house where your bike is normally parked. You stop, and notice it’s not there. You circle the house from the outside twice before going in, checking your garage and the hallway.

“Mom?” You ask, going into the living room. “Have you seen my bike?” Your mom puts down her mug on the dining table before questioning you, making her way outside to where your bike is normally parked. “Is it not beside the house?” She looks and circles the house, you following her. Your dad notices you two from their bedroom window. “What are my two girls doing?” “Y/n’s bike is missing!” “WHAT?!”

You sat on the couch in your living room, your parents interrogating and scolding you. “Hun I don’t understand, you just had it last Friday! You brought it to school with you and came home with it. You didn’t go out all weekend too. Did you forget to lock it?” Your mom asks as your dad awaits your answer. You sit recalling if you had done so the previous Friday night.

You had barely just arrived home, having a late study session with Yachi at the school’s library. As you enter your gate, you watch as the door to Tsukishima’s house opens, seeing Yamaguchi and Tsukishima walk out.

“Oh! Y/n!” Yamaguchi calls to you, making his way out from Tsukishima’s gate. Tsukishima follows his friend after locking his door.

“Hey Yams! Tsukki! What are you guys up to?” You ask, parking your bike in front of your yard.

“Tsukki and I were just about to head down the street to pick up snacks at Coach Ukai’s, wanna come with?” He asks happily.

You turn after placing your bike, meeting eyes with both your friends. “Really?” You reply ecstatically.

“I don’t think she’s going to be able to keep up with us” Tsukishima lets out a snarky response, scanning you up and down, pointing to you “not with those short legs of yours.” He teases before walking off.

“Tsukki!” You and Yamaguchi call out in sync, running towards your tall legged friend.

The three of you walk off together, leaving your bike parked in front of your house, forgetting to lock it.

“Erhmm..” You recall the memory, hanging your head low. “No…” You admit quietly. Your parents sigh. “Well, there’s no other thing we can do than to buy you a new bike.” Your dad replies, picking out his wallet. “N-NO!” Your parents stop their action before turning to look at you, confused by the sudden outburst. “I-I mean… noooo, it’s okay. I want to walk to school for awhile.” You lie, knowing damn well with your little scene going on in your head. ‘I’m going to tell Tsukki someone stole my bike... then he would have to take me to school eheh heh heh...’ Your parents continue to look at you before replying. “Well, when you get tired with those short legs of yours-” “DAD!” “Let us know.” He says before you head out, bidding your parents a farewell.

As you walk out, you notice Tsukishima barely getting past his gates. “Tsukki!” The blonde stops and turns to you. “Tsukki!” “Morning…” He mumbles. “Tsukki can I-” “No” he replies immediately before riding off to school. “Tsukki!!!” You call out before holding onto the straps of your backpack, letting out a sigh.

You make your way past the corner of the block, only to run into Kageyama. “Boss?” You look up and smile at your friend. “Where’s your bike?” He asks confused. “I.. it got stolen..” You reply embarrassed. Kageyama looks at you before taking his backpack from the seat carrier, putting it on. “Come on” He says, patting the seat carrier. You look up to him and smile before hopping on. “I’ll take you to school until you get a new bike.” He turns his head looking back at you. You continue to look up into him, noticing a shine in his eyes. “Thanks pal!” You reply holding onto his backpack. He lets out a small laugh before beginning to pedal.

Tsukishima locks his bike as he sees you and Kageyama arrive together, clutching onto him from the back as he parks his bike nearby. Tsukishima stops his actions before watching as you hop off, and giggle. He scoffs before wrapping his backpack around his shoulders, heading to class. “Thanks again man!” You give him a pat on the shoulder before skipping off. Kageyama watches as you skip away. “Anything for you boss” He quietly says, letting out an unintentional smile.

“Yachi!!!” You jump greeting her into a hug before sitting down. “Yachi!!!” Hinata playfully mocks before pouting. “It’s never Hinata!!!” He puts his hand under his chin, still pouting. The two of you alongside Yamaguchi turn and laugh. “Aww Hinata” You ruffle his hair before turning your attention back to Yachi. “Do you guys want to head to Ukai’s shop after school?” The blonde girl and orange turn to look at each other then to look at you. “I’m sorry y/n! We have practice coming up after school. OH!!! Did you know we’re gonna be heading out to Tokyo for a training camp this weekend!” Hinata jumps excitedly. “It’s no worries and no way! Tell me about it!” You let the orange haired boy ramble to you excitedly before Tsukishima butts in. “You’ve got a big mouth for 8 o-clock in the morning.” He says irritated. “GASP” You audibly say before making your way up, wrapping your arms around Hinata’s head. “Don’t say that about our ray of sunshine!” You defend. “Our?” He asks, feeling a bit more irritated seeing your arms wrapped around another boy. “Yes!” “Whatever, it’s not that big of a deal anyways. It’s just a training camp for a club.” He speaks back. “Just a training camp for a club.” Kageyama mocks what Tsukishima had just said.

An aggressive slide comes from Tsukishima’s chair before Yamaguchi grabs his wrist. “Oi Tsukki!” You, Yachi and Hinata watch as Tsukishima and Kageyama glare at one another. “Whatever King.” Tsukishima irked before pulling from Yamaguchi’s grasp, intentionally and aggressively nudging Kageyama to the side as he made his way out the classroom.

“Tsukishima-kun is terrifying…” Yachi says to you before you take a seat.

Tsukishima arrives home after a long day, Coach Ukai beating them to the pulp with practice. “I’m home.” He calls as he switches his shoes to his house slippers. “Oh? Kei!” Tsukishima looks up and sees his older brother standing in front of him, a cooking apron wrapped around him with bunny slippers, and a spatula in hand. “Nii-chan?”

It’s been five days since Akiteru came home with a surprise visit, and Tsukishima has had enough of his older brother.

“Kei, come come look at this.” Akiteru makes his way to his younger brother, showing him a stupid meme on his phone. “Look it’s us” He lets out a laugh.

Akiteru, Kei and their mother sit together at the table. “So Kei, tell me, you have a girlfriend yet?” His brother asks as Tsukishima chokes on the rice. “Kei!” His mother hands him a glass of water. “Did you finally ask y/n-chan out-” “NII-CHAN!” Tsukishima bursts, cutting his older brother off.

“Keeeeeeiiii~” “What?! What is it now?!” Tsukishima asks irritated, seeing his older brother pop his head into his room. “Wanna… wanna go to McDonalds with me..” Akiteru makes a kissy-face, connecting his pointer fingers together. There's a silent moment before- “YOU’RE A GROWN MAN GO BY YOURSELF!”

Tsukishima shakes the throbbing pain off his mind. He walks into class exhausted, plopping into his seat, resting his head on his palms. He is NOT in the mood.

You take notice of Tsukishima’s attitude, grabbing your pen, you make your way to him, kneeling just a bit before poking him .”Tsukki” You whisper. The blonde snaps his head up, looking into your eyes. “Are you okay?” You quietly ask before he sighs, feeling a bit calmer. You notice his expression soften, and as he was about to speak, Kageyama and Hinata walked in. “Y/n!” “Morning boss” Hinata and Kageyama greet. Kageyama makes his way to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder before dragging you off. “Tobi-o!” You choke, Tsukishima watches the interaction between you two and scoffs, facing his head back forwards.

You watch Tsukishima’s mood goes back into irritation, concerned for your friend and super crush before class begins.

You sit on your bed as you contemplate whether or not to call Tsukishima to follow up on how he’s feeling. You look out your window and see the blinds to his room are closed. You sigh before you hear your mom call out to you. “Y/n! Dinner is ready” You leave your phone on your pillow before making your way down the hallway of your house.

As you sit, your mom begins distributing the rice from the rice pot to both yours and your dad’s plate. “Mom let me help” You take the scoop coming from the meat placed on the table and distribute it to their plates as well. “Thank you baby.” Your mom thanks as the three of you begin to dig in.

“Ah! Did you hear? Akiteru’s coming back to town” Your mom shares the news to both you and your dad. Your ears perk up. “Akiteru Tsukishima?! I haven’t seen him in so long!” You reply. “I bet he’s grown taller, that boy has always been so fast to grow.” Your father joins in. “Y/n” You respond with a hum. “Can you please stop by the Tsukishima’s after dinner, there’s a ‘welcome home’ present on the couch for Akiteru, do you mind dropping it off?” You immediately stand. “I can do it right now!” You quickly leave your seat, heading to the living room to grab the present. “Our girl sure is a hyper one” Your dad comments as your mom chuckles. “Oh dear…”

Tsukishima hears the sound of knocking from his front door. He makes his way and opens it revealing you standing with a plastic bag in hand. “Tsukki!” You give a smile. “Can I come in?” You ask, making your way past him before he could reply. Slipping your shoes off, you turn and face him. Tsukishima shuts the door and looks at you in confusion as you waltz in his house unannounced. “What’s that?” He asks, referring to the plastic bag in your hand. “Ah!” You motion him to follow you as you make your way to their dining table. “It’s a present!” You place the plastic bag on the table.“Isn’t Aki-nii coming to visit soon?” Tsukishima tenses up as the mention of his brother. ‘Actually he’s already here’ He wants to say but lets out a blunt “Don’t call him that.” “Whatever, my mom wanted me to drop this off for him. She says it’s a welcome home present.” You begin to remove the plastic bag encasing the present, then giving the plastic bag to Tsukishima to hold.“Ta-da~!” You cheerfully let out, showing Tsukishima the wrapped gift. He stares before mindlessly making his way out of the dining hall.

“Ah- Tsukki!” You place the present back on the table, and go to follow him. “Tsukki?” You grab onto the ends of his shirt stopping him. “What?” He asks not even bothered to turn around. “I had remembered asking you earlier today.. Though you didn’t reply. Are you okay?” You speak up. Tsukishima stays silent before you begin again. “Might you be stressed because of the training camp tomorrow? Or maybe with your classes? You know I’m always here for you-” You are interrupted as Tsukishima’s shadow towers over you. He is now turned and faced to you, placing the plastic bag he was holding into yours. “You can go now.” He makes his way to the front door.

“Ah! Wait-” He stops to turn and look at you. “Have you prepared for your brother?” “Why would I have to?” He replies coldly. “Well because he’s your brother!” Tsukishima lets out a scoff before continuing his way to the front door, hand on the doorknob. “Do you still resent Akiteru for what he did back then?” Tsukishima pauses, no answer. “Tsukki-” “Yes, now please leave.” He twists the handle to the door, slowly opening it. “I won’t!” Tsukishima turns to glance at you. “Why must you be so cold?” Tsukishima is taken back from your comment. “Do you understand how much Akiteru is trying his best to make up for the fabricated lies and the-all the dishonesty he has thrown at you?” Tsukishima stares at you, listening to your words. “Did you ever think about how hard he’s trying to slowly put your brotherly relationship back together?” Tsukishima looks to the ground, his grip tightening on the doorknob. “Can’t you see it?” No answer. “Or are you just pretending not to see it?” Tsukishima, irritated, opens the door wide, walking behind you and slowly pushing you out. You step out, turning to look at him before he shuts the door into your face.

“You better close the door and never let anyone in!” You say angrily as you stomp your way back to your house.

You make it inside, dropping the plastic back on the couch before taking your seat, finishing the food you had left earlier.

After you had left, Tsukishima lets out a sigh before fetching himself a glass of water, taking a pain killer with it. He wasn’t sure why his head’s been hurting all day. He glances at the photo frame with him and his older brother on the shelf, taking it and bringing it with him to the couch. He stares at it before setting it down. Beginning to remove his sweater before lying on the couch, soon falling asleep.

Sitting on your bed, you feel guilty for bringing up a very sensitive topic to Tsukishima. You grab your wallet and make your way out of the house, heading to Ukai’s shop down the street. Buying packaged strawberry shortcake, hoping you could at least help cheer him up, after all he was already having a bad day, and you just had to add to it. You thank the coach before making your way back to his house.

At his front door you knock but no one comes to answer. You twist the knob only to find it unlocked, letting yourself in. “Can I come in?” You ask again, shutting the door behind you and slipping out of your shoes. “Tsukki?” You make your way to the living room only to find Tsukishima laying on his back, face heated as sweat droplets form on his forehead. You drop the plastic bag with the strawberry shortcake on the coffee table and kneel to him before checking his forehead, then checking yours, the temperature difference between you being drastically different and abnormal.

You stand back up, quickly running towards the kitchen to prepare a glass of water, placing it on the coffee table. Before running up the stairs to his room to grab his blanket and pillow. Coming back down, you gently elevate his head on the pillow, and wrap him with his blanket. You leave once again and come back with a damp facial towel, removing his glasses and placing the towel on his forehead. Looking down at him making sure he was set before you left, you run back up to his room one last time, grabbing a pen, a sheet of paper and one of his stuffed dinosaur plushies before running down.

“Tsukki, you have a fever. Make sure to stay hydrated and rest well. I left you your favorite in the plastic bag. I’m really sorry for earlier, call me when you can so I can properly apologize. Good luck tomorrow at your training camp. Take care.” You write, signing your name at the bottom before placing his dinosaur plushie with him.

You make your way out his front door, shutting it behind you before heading home.

What you didn’t notice was Akiteru parked in his car in the driveway. “Y/n-chan?”

Akiteru enters his house, heading to the living room seeing Tsukishima snuggled on the couch. Immediately whipping his phone out and snapping possible blackmail photos, he notices the note on the table and reads it.

Akiteru clenches his heart in joy. “My dear baby brother, I’m so happy you have someone like y/n in your life. I no longer have to worry about you being cold and single for the rest of your life.” He says wiping a fake tear away before heading off into the kitchen to prepare dinner.

An hour passes and Tsukishima wakes up confused. Noticing he’s wrapped into a burrito. He slowly wiggles his way out, the facial towel and dinosaur falling off. “What the-?” “Oh? Kei, you’re awake!” Akiteru calls from the doorframe leading to the kitchen. “Nii-chan? What?” “Read the note on the table, it’s from your girlfriend.” Akiteru says before leaving back into the kitchen. Tsukishima slowly sits up, grabbing the note and reading the letter. After, he places the note back on the table before grabbing and removing the plastic bag. His eyes shine as he pulls out a box of packaged strawberry shortcake. ‘Y/n…’ he thinks to himself, feeling his heart skip, before laying back on the couch.

The weekend passes by quickly and you wake up to the sound of your alarm going off. “I hate Mondays.” You yawn and stretch before getting dressed. Finding both your parents at the dining table. “Mom, dad” They both look up at you. “I think I’m ready to get a new bike.” “I called it, I knew our baby wouldn’t last walking to school for more than a week” Your mom excitedly nudges your dad. Your dad takes out his wallet handing your mom a $20 bill. “We can pick one when you get back home, now hurry you’re going to be late to school.” Your dad says.

You make your way out your door and notice Tsukishima on his bike in front of your gate. The sunlight hitting so perfectly, you run out your gate, slowly closing it behind you before calling out “Morning...” The boy turns his head, looking at you. “Good morning” he replies softly. You creep closely to him, eyeing his back seat. “Your back seat looks very comfortable, I wonder if it feels the same if I sit on it.” Tsukishima rolls his eyes as you continue. “I bet it’s cold in the winter and warm in the summer.” You look up meeting eyes with him. “Can I hop on your bike?” You ask smiling. The sunlight is now hitting your face and Tsukishima swears he has never seen something so angelic in his life. He doesn’t realize his stare for too long before bluntly replying with a “No.” You pout and he removes the backpack from his shoulders, handing it to you. You begin to smile again, grabbing onto the backpack before hopping onto the back seat.

The two of you riding off to school together.

A/N: Hello again everyone!! Posted this chapter two days a lil too early but... I felt like such on a roll today! Anyways I hope you enjoyed this chapter, thank you so much for reading and bearing/baring? through my awful English and grammar. But although that, I hope you still enjoyed!!

See you next time! MWAH ILY!! 💖

TAGLIST: @cvlliesstuff

Please lemme kno in the comments (or in asks) if you’d like to be added to the taglist!! Thank you so much!! 💖

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kittysukagasterfics · 5 years ago

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Teddy Bear Sam

Note: Here’s some more fluff for everyone! Hope you all enjoy! Anyway, onto the fic!

Handplates belongs to: @zarla-s

Requested by: @randomstuff7739

Summary: While trying to keep a sleeping Gaster warm, Sam suddenly finds themselves trapped in a tight embrace with the unconscious scientist. Will they be able to escape their cuddly prison?

It was another morning down in the True Lab and Subject 2 had just woken up. He yawned as he stretched his arms and tried to stand up to stretch as well, only to realize that he couldn’t move at all. Looking down, the skeleton saw the his brother has somehow trapped him in a hug while he slept. 2-P was rightfully annoyed at this. He tried to get Subject 1 to wake up and move.

“BROTHER, WAKE UP AND LET ME GO. HE COULD COME BY HERE AT ANY MINUTE!”

“zzzzzz...”

But the little babybones just snored and continued his deep sleeping. Now Subject 2 was getting mad. He started calling out to 1-S, trying to get him to wake up and getting nothing but light snores in response. He began to loudly scold and rant at his snoozing brother, seemingly getting louder every second.

“BROTHER! STOP BEING LAZY AND GET OFF OF ME!!”

2-P screamed so loud that he startled Sam and Toby awake. Toby barked at the skeleton with annoyance before laying back down while Sam let out a sleepy yawn and ask Subject 2 if everything was alright.

“NO, IT IS NOT ‘ALRIGHT’, HUMAN SAM. MY BROTHER IS BEING A LAZYBONES AS USUAL AND NOW I CAN’T MOVE!”

‘*You giggle at the worked-up skeleton before picking up 1-S, cuddling him against your chest and laying back down.’

Sam closed their eyes, wanting to get a few more minutes of sleep. This caused 2-P to start scolding the Human as well, telling them that they’re being a bad influence on Subject 1. During his ranting, Gaster had came into the cell room and was standing in front of the beams with an annoyed expression on his face. He must’ve been working when Subject 2 started yelling out and came by to investigate.

“2-P, what is all this unnecessary noise about? I could hear you all the way from my office.”

That’s when Gaster noticed that Sam and 1-S were still asleep. Normally, he would allow the two of them to continue their slumber, but since Subject 2 was already awake, he might as well get the day started and have everyone else wake up too.

“Sam, you and Subject 1 need to wake up now...”

“*You loudly groan as you tell Gaster that you don’t want to get up right now.”

“...If you’re not up within the next minute, Sam, you will not be getting any marshmallows and-”

He didn’t need to say anymore as the Human was already up and heading towards the kitchen for breakfast with the brothers and Toby following not too far behind. The scientist just shook his head in exasperation before following as well.

~~~~~~

After breakfast, Sam and the brothers went back into the cell room to play. Meanwhile, Gaster sat at a nearby table working on some work reports. In the game they were playing, Sam would pick up one of the brothers and then gently toss him into the air while the skeleton squealed in pure delight. Gaster would sometimes look up from his work to remind the Human to be careful and not be too rough with the babybones. The brothers loved the game though, constantly asking for Sam to throw them higher. Everyone had fun playing the Human’s game.

After a few rounds of the game, Gaster suddenly got up from the table and began gathering up his work papers.

“I’ll be in my office if you need me for anything, Sam.”

‘*You give him a nod in response before going back to tossing 1-S into the air...’

Gaster then left the room without another word, leaving the Human and the brothers to their game.

(Later)

Sam walked down the hallway towards their soulmate’s work room, a steaming cup of black coffee and a bag of mallows in their hands. Subjects 1 and 2 had tired themselves out playing and fell asleep. After making sure the two were sleeping comfortably, the Human made some coffee and grabbed some snacks before setting out to check on Gaster. Entering the office, Sam started to greet him, only realize that the skeleton had passed out onto his couch and was currently in deep sleep. Probably due to overworking as usual. Sam smiled at the sight though, placing the drink and snack down and grabbing a nearby blanket before walking over to him.

‘*You try to drape the soft blanket over Gaster...only for him to suddenly grab and pull you into his arms...’

Sam suddenly found themselves trapped in the scientist’s embrace and it seemed like he wasn’t going to release them anytime soon. Gaster pressed them into his chest as he cuddled them in his sleep. As much as Sam loved cuddling with their soulmate, they still had babybones and a dog to look after so they were going to have to break free one way or another.

‘*You find a grip on Gaster’s arm and try to pull it away from...but you end up having no luck with that.’

Gaster’s grip was way too strong for them to break free from, but the Human continued to fight against it until exhaustion. The sleeping skeleton’s only response to the failed attempt was to hold Sam closer to him and nuzzle into their hair. Sam was too tired to do anymore so they just gave up and fell asleep in Gaster’s arms. Hopefully the brothers won’t get into too much trouble while they’re in Dreamland.

~~~~~~

Gaster woke up sometime later feeling a small weight on his chest. He blinked away his blurriness and looked down. Gaster saw the Human fast asleep on top of him. They looked peaceful sure, but the scientist still needed to get back to work. Gaster gripped Sam’s shoulder and gently shook them a little.

“Sam, I need to finish up those reports so you need to move.”

“*Zzzzzzz...”

The Human was too far gone however so Gaster instead tried pulling them off of him. That didn’t seem to work either as Sam just cuddled deeper into him. He then began to try calling out their name in order to wake them up. Still no response. Finally, Gaster just decided to get his work done while carrying Sam. Finding his balance, the skeleton managed to stand up from the couch, cradling the Human in his arms as he did so. He then used his magic to move Sam onto his back, making sure they weren’t going to fall off. Sam just snuggled into the crook of his neck though. Letting out a sigh, Gaster walked out of the office to go check on the brothers, but not before making one final comment.

“Who knew humans could be so clingy?”

Note: Yeah, Sam’s the clingy one Gaster... I hope you all enjoyed reading this fic! It was a lot fun to write it. Now, I’ll be working on the upcoming Halloween special so I hope everyone is excited for that! Thank you so much for reading! I love all of you! Stay tuned for more.

#undertale #handplates #gaster #the human #sam (the human)#sans #papyrus #toby #my fic #ukagaster #request

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mycatshuman · 6 years ago

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The Demonologists

A Sanders Sides Conjuring Au

This is based on The Conjuring movie, so if you can not handle creepy things, talk of death, possessions, demons, and ghosts, please turn away now.

Edit: I'm an idiot and forgot but thank you to @civilsounds17 for beta reading this chapter! 💚💚

More chapters

Word count: 1,562

Pairings: Pre-established Logicality and Prinxiety

Warnings: mention of death, demons, possession, mentions of the original Annabelle doll (it was actually a rag doll for those who don't know so don't yell at me.), please let me know if I missed any.

“It scares us just thinking about it.”

“You'll probably think we're insane.”

“Try us.”

“Please, from the very beginning.”

“Things started out small. Like a hand or leg would move or the head would turn, we even once found it in a different room!”

“Maybe someone had a key to your apartment and was playing a trick on you.”

“That's what we originally thought. But we never found any hint or evidence that anyone was intruding.” A women on the couch glanced at her wife as she spoke.

“So this led you to believe the doll was possessed?”

“Yeah. Rose even got in touch with a medium who told us that a small girl around 7 named Annabelle Higgins had died in our apartment a few years ago.”

Rose nodded before explaining further. “She was lonely and took a liking to my doll. She said all she wanted was to be friends.”

“When we heard this, we felt really sorry for her. We're nurses, we help people. It really got to us.”

Rose nodded along to her wife's words before taking over. “So…..” She looked at her wife. “We gave her permission to move into my doll.”

“Wait...what?!?!?! You...gave it permission?!?!?”

Ruby quickly jumped to defend themselves. “She said she wanted to live with us! She said that by inhabiting the doll she could live with us! So... we said yes.”

Rose sighed. “But then, it got worse.”

*Flashback*

Rose laughs as she unlocks the door to their home. She opens the door and her laughter stops. Ruby also comes to a pause beside her. The two look down to see a small shred of paper with the words, “Miss me?” In red crayon. They look up and see the rag doll sitting in the hallway against the wall. The two females walk together as they approach the doll.

“When we came home one night, she was sitting in the hallway. But we had left her in our spare room!”

The couple look down to see red crayons by the dolls’ hand. Rose hears a flickering and turns around to see their bedroom in a state of disaster. A lamp flickers on and off from its position knocked over on the floor, casting shadows over the room. Rose even spots a picture of her and her wife with the glass cracked and she lets out a horrified gasp as she takes in wobbly red crayon markings drawn all over the walls and ceiling. Another “Miss me?” Message is written on the ceiling in an erie childish hand.

As the two survey the room, the small sound of a crayon dropping gets their attention and they look down to see a lone red crayon roll across the floor towards their feet. Ruby has had enough as she quickly grabs the doll and storms out of the apartment and all the way outside to where she throws the doll in the dumpster along side the house.

Later that night, as the two slumber in their shared bed, a thundering knocking sounds at the door, effectively waking from them from their dreams. The two share a look before climbing out of bed and journeying to the door. Ruby opens the door and glances around only to find the halls empty.

However, when she looks down she finds a crumpled up piece of paper with red crayon and the same message as before. “Miss me?” She picks it up before looking around again to see if anyone was playing a cruel joke on them. She finds no one. She turns around to look at her wife to explain her findings when suddenly, the door next to Rose rattles with the thunderous knocking again. The two jump as they look at each other.

Rose gathers her courage before she grabs the doorknob and opens the door. She opens the door and lets out a small scream as she finds the doll sitting there.

*Flashback ends*

“We are beyond terrified at this point. We have no idea what is going on or what to do to stop it?” Rose explains.

“So….can you help us?” Ruby asks as she takes her wife's hand in hers and giving a comforting squeeze.

“Yes we can,” a man in royal reds, glittering golds, and pristine whites leans toward the couple on the couch. “But first, you have no know there is no such thing as Annabelle. There never was.” The man's amber eyes flash with seriousness as he talks to the couple.

“Ghost don't possess such power, I believe what we have here is extremely manipulative and inhuman,” another man, dressed in deep purples and blacks with small hints of silver throughout his outfit shifts slightly. “I think you acknowledging this doll was a big mistake. Through that toy, this inhuman spirit was able to trick you.”

“You basically gave it permission to invade your life.”

“What's an inhuman spirit?” Ruby asks as she looks between the two men.

“It's something that was never alive. It's something demonic.”

The wives glance at each other before they ask their next question. “So….the doll was never possessed?”

The darkly dressed man nods. “Right, it was used as a conduit. It was moved around to give the impression of possession. Demons don't possess things. They possess people.”

“It wanted to get inside of you,” the other explained.

The couple looked at each other.

“You can shut it down now, Toby.”

The lights flicker back on as the screen goes dark, the last image having been of the female couple.

The lecture room full of students all shift as two men, one in bright colors like red, white and gold, and the other contrasting with dark purples, blacks and accents of silver turn to address their class again.

“So, we get to the church and send the priest over to perform a blessing on the house and its occupants to ensure that whatever was oppressing them was no longer with them.” The man with amber eyes explained.

“Any questions?” the other asks their audience. He points to one of the people in the back row.

“Where's the doll now?”

The two men share a glance. “It's safe,” the man in mostly red and white answers. He then points to someone in the front row off to the left.

“So, what exactly are you guys? I mean, what do people call you?”

The darker skinned man moves to rest his chin on the man in blacks and purples as the other answers. “Uh..well, we've been called demonologists, that's one name for us. Ghost hunters, paranormal investigators, paranormal researchers…”

“Cucks,” the man in red pipes up. The class lets out a laugh.

“Whackos.”

Another round of giggles before the man in darker colors moves away from the other. “But we prefered to be known as simply Roman and Virgil Warren.”

-----

A car drives up a long dirt road until it stops in front of an old two story farmhouse surrounded by trees with a big tree standing by the lake. Behind the car, a moving truck stops as the family gets out. “Here we are,” a man with slicked back jet black hair says as he looks up at the house they have just bought.

“Wow!” A bubbly man says as he steps out of the passenger seat. He wears a light blue polo with light brown khaki pants and a light grey cardigan wrapped around his shoulders. “You hear that?” He asks his husband.

The other man turns to him. “I do not hear anything,” he responds as he raises an eyebrow at him.

The other man grins, his blue eyes sparkling behind his round glasses. “Exactly!” He exclaims. “No city noises to keep us up at night!”

His husband chuckles as he closes the driver's door. The two get up and walk to the front of the door, and crossing the threshold of their new home. As they stand on the porch, their children came up out of the car, most of them excited to start their new life.

The twins, Jericho and Apollo ran past yelling, “We call dibs on the big room!”

The youngest, Dante raced through the doorway as he shouted back at the remaining children, “I'll race ya!” His dad's chuckled as they watched their children all excited to pick out their rooms in the big house. Then Kai and Emile walked through the door, one with awe and the other scrolling through their phone.

“Do I get to pick my own room or do I not have a choice about that either?” Elliot asked as they stopped just before entering their new home.

The two parents chuckled as their children walked past before the bubbly one turned to the other who straightened his tie quickly. “Oh they’ll forget about Florida with the first crush they meet,” he said cheerily.

“Oh, I can't wait,” the other said as he pulled his husband into his embrace, wrapping his arms around his waist.

The man in a blue polo smiled wide before wrapping his arms around his husband's neck and pushing himself up on his tiptoes and kissing his love's lips. “I love you Logan.”

The other smiled. “I love you too Patton.”

This was a new start for them. And they were excited to see what came next.

------

(So that's that. Let me know what you think. I hope you have a good day and relaxing night.)

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aligalloo · 7 years ago

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A Day at the Pitch

Pairing: Vikkstar123 x reader (established) Word count: 1,279 Warnings: Couple of swears Requested: Yes! Requests: Open (see below for who you can request)

Y/N: Your name

Vikk and I have been dating for about a year now, and I couldn’t be happier. He was everything I could ask for in a guy, and he came with six amazing sidekicks who always treat me with the utmost respect. Wait, hang on... Only one part of that is true, sorry. You’ll soon see why.

One morning, I am abruptly woken from my slumber when Simon barges into Vikk’s room.

“Rise and shine sleepyheads! Today’s the day we bring back the crossbar challenge!”

I throw a pillow at him. “Go away you monster” I roll my eyes and pick up my phone to look at the time... “Holy SHIT, it’s 7 am! Are you fucking insane? How are you so cheerful?”

Simon just laughs, “Wake your boy toy up and meet us downstairs in an hour, we leave at 8.”

I give him the finger as he leaves the room and flop back into bed, crawling into my boyfriend’s arms again. He stirs and slowly opens his eyes, “Good morning Y/N,” he says softly, in his completely adorable husky morning voice.

I peck him on the lips gently, “Simon wants us downstairs and ready to go in an hour.”

“I know,” he smiles, “I was awake, I just didn’t want to deal with a cheerful Simon at 7 am.”

“You prick!” I exclaim, laughing and smacking him lightly on the nose. “It’s a distressing experience, how could you leave me alone?”

Vikk rolls out of bed and heads to the bathroom, “You know you love me, Y/N,” he calls out through the door.

“Do I though?” I mutter ominously under my breath, but secretly I am grinning to myself.

We make it downstairs at 7:55 and head to the kitchen, where Josh, JJ, Simon and Ethan are waiting. “Good morning Y/N, Vikk. How did you sleep?” Simon asks innocently.

“Very well, thanks, at least until you came and rudely interrupted!” The annoyance in my voice is audible, but Simon doesn’t take the hint.

“Did you have a busy night you two? I wondered what the noises I could hear were...”

“Oi! Give it a break Simon,” Josh tells him sternly. “It’s far too early for any of us, you’re not alone,” he says, smiling at us.

“Thank god for that then,” I sigh, grabbing some cereal and inhaling it. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” JJ replies, “Harry and Tobi are meeting us at the pitch.”

“Is everyone ready?” Josh asks. A chorus of affirmations is heard as we all trudge out and get in the cars that we’re taking.

I’m squished between Vikk and Simon in the back of one of the cars. This is unfortunate, as it is one of Simon’s favourite pastimes to annoy the crap out of me. I huddle up to Vikk as he pokes me in the side.

“For God’s sake, Simon, leave her alone,” Josh says, exasperated.

“Yes Dad,” Simon grins mischievously, but keeps his hands to himself for the rest of the journey.

“Thank goodness, we made it without any deaths,” Vikk sighs, getting out of the car and grabbing my hand to help me out.

The boys head out to the pitch to get the cameras set up for the videos. I look at my phone and groan, as it’s still not even 9 am. “Why am I here?” I think to myself as I sit in the front seat of the car and scroll through Twitter. I hear two more cars pull up, and see Tobi hop out of one, while Harry and his girlfriend Katie emerge from the other.

“Oh my god!” I yell, running over to her, “It’s been too long.”

“Hi Y/N,” Katie laughs, pulling me in for a hug. “I’m so glad to see you, I thought I was going to be all alone today with all the testosterone.”

Giggling, we head out to the pitch, following Tobi and Harry, who both have their camera equipment with them. I’m desperate to catch up on all her gossip, as she is with me. When we reach the boys, I go over to Vikk and whisper in his ear, “Good luck, you’ll be great.”

“What do I get if I do well?” He asks, smiling cheekily at me.

I wink at him as I walk back towards Katie, “You’ll just have to wait and see!”

I sit with Katie through what seems like only a few minutes of filming. We cheer for our boys and boo when the others do something better. After they finish filming the first video, Vikk comes over and flops down on the grass beside me. Katie has gone to congratulate Harry, so we’re alone for the moment.

“Well that was shit,” Vikk sighs, looking up at me. I lean down, for what I was intending to be a quick kiss. He ignores my efforts to get away, and pulls me down onto him, deepening the kiss. The boys let out a few wolf whistles and I flip them off, sitting up from my position on top of Vikk and struggling to regain my breath.

“Gross, you’re all sweaty,” I murmur to him, running my fingers through his hair

“Yeah, I know,” He replies, sitting up and moving next to me. “I wish I’d done better in that round though, it kind of gets old when they constantly make fun of me.”

“You did fine,” I say comfortingly, “And besides, you’ve got at least two more videos to prove yourself.”

“Yep!” He says, perking up slightly. “Anyway, I should get back out there or we’ll be hear all day.”

He stands up and I follow him towards the others. “Good job everyone, keep it up!”

They film a few more videos, with Vikk getting progressively better. Each time they take a break, I go over to him and offer words of encouragement. These seem to help, and by the end of the day, he’s much happier than he had been in the morning. Soon enough, the boys wrap up their filming, and we decide to go and grab some food. We end up at Nandos, but everyone’s exhausted so we just get takeaways and head back to the Sidemen house.

After eating, and all the usual banter it entails (read: Simon annoying the crap out of everyone and Josh getting fake-pissed at him), the non-residents of the house get up to leave.

“See you soon, yeah?” I tell Katie as we hug goodbye, “I don’t want to not see you for three months again.”

“Oh my, yes. I’ll text you later.” She replies, giving me an extra squeeze.

The rest of the goodbyes are exchanged, and the three exhausted boys and one well-rested girl head home to their respective houses. Simon and JJ decide to play some Fifa, while Josh heads upstairs to call Freya.

“What do you want to do now?” I ask Vikk, as he leads me slowly up the stairs after Josh.

“Didn’t you promise me a reward if I did well in the games today?” He winks at me as we reach his bedroom door.

“Yesss,” I reply slowly, walking over to the bed. “Why, what do you have in mind?”

I hear the door click shut and the next thing I know, Vikk has pushed me onto the bed and is lying on top of me with his hands wandering south.

“Ah, I may have a few ideas,” He smirks.

I grin, and reach up to pull his head down to mine, “You better make it worth my while,” I whisper in his ear, making him shiver.

Needless to say, it is a very enjoyable evening for all involved.

-fin-

I am taking requests for: Sidemen, sidemen of the sidemen, WillNE, Buttercream Boys, Dan and/or Phil

#sidemen imagine #vikkstar123 imagine #willne imagine #miniminter imagine #vikkstar x reader #joe sugg imagine #aleena's imagines

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wroetominter · 8 years ago

Text

Intrepid - ChrisMD Fanfiction - Chapter X

#chrismd #fanfiction #Chris Dixon #Christopher Michael Dixon #chrismd10 #wroetominterintrepid

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spobyfanfictionarchive · 8 years ago

Text

A Bleeding Heart: Chapter 13

AN: Hiiiii, so here's the next chapter ! (:

Okay, so I admit that this took a bit because I had written nearly 15,000 words before I decided to cut the chapter into two parts. That's just me. Overwriting everything lmao.

Thank you so much to everyone who reads and reviews, especially my repeaters. You guys mean everything to me.

Also, should I continue posting these chapters on Tumblr too? Because I notice that no one else really posts every chapter to their stories anymore on there and so I'm just wondering, is there anyone who solely reads this story on Tumblr?

The unyielding morning sun peeking through the blinds ripped her out of her slumber, unapologetically.

Before she could complain though, before her mouth would even cooperate, she was instantly acutely aware of her boyfriend's fingertips rubbing the bare skin on her back in circles, trailing down over her ass and legs.

"Mmm," she murmured instead, sleep still prevalent in her voice. "That feels nice."

He didn't say anything in response, but she heard his almost silent, blissful chuckle that always accompanied his genuinely elated smile. The smile she mostly saw when the tragedies in their lives were halted to a minimum. The smile she pretended only ever existed for her.

Her emotions, for once, matched his, as the events the day prior came back to her. After their first time, their first love making in over three years, they'd laid, basking in each other, for nearly an hour before going at it again. And again. And again. Until they'd realized they'd forgone all but one meal of the day and ordered the entire Sarrono's dinner menu.

She'd fallen asleep, after one last round, entirely on top on him, exhausted and full and more relaxed than she thought she'd ever been and more soothed than she believed she'd ever be again. Even all things considered.

Her ecstasy, her pure euphoria, that had only and always appeared whenever she was truly with the man that she loved with everything inside of her, had lasted all night and carried through into the morning.

That was, until she decided to roll over.

"Ah!" she yelped, clutching her side, unsure where she was even trying to grasp, so much of her body suddenly in distress.

"Spence," Toby's tone shifted to one of terror, panic seeping into every inch of his body. "Spencer, what is it?"

His palm made contact with her shoulder and another cry slid from her lips. "It hurts," she moaned, grinding her teeth.

His skin paled as he stared at her, tears already gathering in his eyes. "Is it-" he cut himself off, shaking his head, his thoughts too awful to vocalize. "Did I hurt you?"

Even in her current distress, she managed to refute his worries immediately, seeing where he mistook her words. "It's not that. I don't hurt there."

"Oh," he murmured, embarrassment and slight confusion evident in his voice. "Oh. Spence," he realized, his eyes softening as he took in her bare body again, as if seeing her for the first time.

"What?" she demanded, desperate to know what epiphany he'd just had.

"The medication is out of your system. Completely." He ran his hand down the length of her back down, rubbing gently, trying to alleviate a fraction of the discomfort. "Of course you're in pain. I should have realized-"

She narrowed her eyes, cutting him off, her body aching too badly to care she was being grumpy. "They were out of my system yesterday," she disputed. "I didn't feel like this."

"They were working their way out of you," he corrected evenly. "Now they're out."

Her chocolate brown orbs disappeared behind her eyelids. "Fuck," she spat, bringing her palm up to her face only to whimper miserably when it made contact. "Do you think it'll get worse?" She asked, warily.

The cop kissed her hair delicately. "I don't know, baby."

"Great."

"Is there anything I can do to make it better?" he asked, his eyes tortured from her suffering. But it was evident he was still relieved, on some level, that her pain had nothing to do with him, that it wasn't him that caused her pain.

The brunette shook her head, her eyes squeezing shut again as her face and neck screamed out at her, causing frustrated tears to well up in her mocha orbs. Countless places throbbed relentlessly and ruthlessly, all over her entire body.

"We can give you more of your prescription from Dr. Barnes," he offered desperately. "Okay, you don't have to stick with your resolve to stop taking them."

But even in her miserable state, she repudiated. "No," she shook her head, her voice attempting confidence.

"What about half a pill?" It was clear that seeing her like this left him fumbling for a concrete solution. The same way he always had in the past, doing whatever it took to make her life even the slightest bit easier.

"Toby."

"I don't want you to be hurting," he whispered, helpless and exposed, his fingers still gently running through her hair, the one place he knew he could touch her without eliciting further suffering.

"Its okay, Tobes. I'll survive," she promised weakly, resigning herself to suffering through this. She turned slightly, ignoring how her body viciously fought the action.

Toby chuckled humorlessly. "You are not supposed to be comforting me," he remarked, smirking slightly.

She let out a soft laugh before regretting it as her chest rejected that act too.

The cop saw and brought his lips lightly down to her bare skin.

Oddly enough, the sensation didn't add to the ache but actually diminished a little fragment of it. Feeling her body relax under his mouth, the sandy brunette moved higher, brushing his lips against her collarbone, the side of her neck, underneath her jaw.

When he'd pulled back, she pouted playfully. "Keep going," she ordered, attempting to tug him closer again.

"Spencer."

"It was helping," she insisted. "Let's just stay in bed today and you can keep doing that and we can-"

He cut her off, seeing where this was going. "I don't think sex is going to make your body feel better, sweetheart."

"It might," she argued.

He chuckled, using his hand to sweep her hair back from her face before vaguely complying with her request and bringing his lips to the corner of her mouth, the gash in her forehead, a bruise on her cheek. "Why don't I run us a bath and we'll see if that makes you feel better?" he suggested, his lips still against her tender, soft skin.

She sighed, not requiring excess persuasion. "Okay," she agreed, her smile already returning as he carefully lifted her in his arms and carried her, front to front, into the bathroom.

As he set her down, as gently as humanly possible, the brunette caught a glimpse of her full body reflection in the mirror, for the first time since massacre. Her jaw nearly hit the ground.

"Oh my god."

"Lean forward," Toby directed, rubbing her back softly with a sopping wet cloth. "Relax."

"I'm trying," she murmured as she took a deep breath in, allowing her boyfriend to continue his ministrations.

He worked the cloth all over her arms and chest before an involuntary howl expelled itself from her mouth. "Did that hurt?" he asked sympathetically, his lips planting a kiss on the back of her neck.

"Yeah," she admitted, her voice wavering. He knew how much she hated admitting weakness. How much pain she must be in to be this upfront about it.

"Come here." He dropped the cloth into the hot water and guided her back, leaning against his chest, her head laid against his neck. He ran his hands up and down her arm, raising goose-bumps in their wake. "Do you feel any better at all?"

"Yeah," she smiled against his throat. It wasn't big but it was genuine and that mattered more to him. "Yeah, I do. Thank you."

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her hairline. "I'll always take care of you, Spence."

"I know," she murmured cheekily and her smile turned into a smirk.

"Is the water getting too cold?" he checked abruptly, unwrapping only one arm from around her and testing it with his hand, as if he wasn't engrossed in it.

"No," she rebutted adamantly, pulling his arm back. "You made sure the water was scorching. Even in my opinion."

He gave her a sheepish look. "I just wanted to make sure it was hot enough to help you."

"I know, babe. And it was," she assured. "It was hot enough that polio patients would have had use of their limbs again."

"It's amazing to me that you think Hanna exaggerates more than you."

"That's insulting."

"Truth hurts, my love."

She let out a laugh, a real, authentic, legitimate giggle, before gazing down at her beat up figure once again. "God, how did you manage to find me attractive enough to sleep with last night," she marveled.

"Spencer."

"No, seriously. I knew I was sort of beat up but I didn't have a clue it was this bad. I wouldn't have stripped off all my clothes the other night if I'd known I was covered head to toe in bruises."

"You're not," he disagreed.

"The mirror begs to differ."

When she'd caught a glimpse of her full body in the bathroom mirror, she had been floored by the number of scrapes and bruises laid on her stomach and legs. She'd known from the hospital that she'd obtained cuts and bruises all over her face and neck, some even extending to her chest and arms. But she hadn't anticipated finding countless more, scattered all over her body.

No wonder it hurt so bad to even move.

No wonder the hospital had practically proscribed her morphine.

"There's not as many as you think," he insisted, rubbing her legs tenderly, avoiding placing pressure on the dark bruises. "And how did you not notice them until now? You're losing your detective skills in your old age, Nancy Drew."

She gave him a look. "I'm not the most observant on drugs."

"I thought the drugs were out of your system yesterday?" he shot back.

Instead of a witty comeback, the brunette just grimaced up at him. "I wasn't in this much pain yesterday."

He shut his eyes, his demeanor shifting, as his arms tightened around her. "I'm sorry," he whispered to her for what must have been the thousandth time.

"Not your fault," she murmured back, touching the area around her nose, where she could now feel the slices cut through her delicate skin, feel the slashes around her eyes, feel the angry, battered skin that was splotched across her entire face.

She felt her boyfriend's lips on her forehead, kissing her stitches, and let out a breath she didn't mean to hold.

"They're actually healing really quickly," Toby noted, hoping it would console her.

Of course though, Spencer took the negative approach. "How much worse did I look in the hospital?"

"You didn't-"

"Please, Toby," she cut off, not in the mood to be comforted with well-intended white lies.

He rolled his tongue around his mouth once before answering. "You had a black eye when you were admitted. It's basically gone now. And a lot of your bruises on your stomach have turned purple."

Her brow furrowed. "What the hell were they?"

"Black."

The brunette shuddered against him and he pressed his lips to her hair. She knew he hated telling her these things. He hated having to tell her anything that solidified the reality they were both facing. The horrors that had happened that night, that couldn't be escaped, no matter how much love they had for each other.

He wanted to fix everything for her. After years and years of dedication to alleviate her nightmares, even when they weren't together, she knew it killed a part of him that he had to live with the fact that unspeakable things had been done that night to the person he loved most and he couldn't protect her from them.

She also knew, just by the way he caressed her body, the way he affectionately rubbed her back, the specific places she now realized he'd been kissing all along, that he felt responsible for the physical abuse she'd suffered that night.

In the back of her mind, she made a vow to never tell him about the latest memory that had come back. There was no reason he had to hear about her, quite literally, getting the shit kicked out of her.

No question where the black bruises on her stomach came from.

"They also thought your head wound was a lot more serious when the paramedics first saw you," Toby added, drawing her out of her thoughts and back into reality.

"When the paramedics first saw me?" She snorted. "You mean when you rescued me and brought me to the paramedics?"

He chuckled, somewhat abashed. "I keep forgetting you know about that."

"Well it's a pretty serious thing for someone to do for you. Doesn't happen every day," she teased. "Makes it kind of memorable."

He raised an eyebrow, matching her expression. "Aren't you lucky?"

"I think so," she smirked and raised her head up to kiss him.

The kiss was chaste, as they both knew her body wasn't in the mood for sex. Nonetheless, their mouths moved together in perfect, lazy synchronization, as if this were an old song they were singing, that they'd belted out a million times before. As if they were literally so connected, they could feel the other's thoughts. As if this were their comfort blanket, sheltering them from every awful thing they had to endure out in the world.

When they broke apart, it wasn't because they wanted to. It wasn't because she was in pain. It wasn't because the water was dropping in temperature-which it still was not. It was because a cell phone started to ring and suddenly, the realization that the real world still existed dampened both their moods.

"I'll get it," Toby murmured, resigned to ending their time alone.

He pressed another kiss to her shoulder before slipping out from underneath her and grabbing a supplied towel.

Gripping his shoulder as she hobbled unsteadily onto the bathmat, she complained, "Even living together, someone is always constantly interrupting us."

He snickered as he accepted the call. "Hello?" The cop greeted, reaching for another towel. "Uh, hi, yeah, this is him."

Spencer shot him a questioning look as he wrapped the second towel around her dripping body, but he kept his eyes trained on the ground, listening intently to whoever was on the other line.

Choosing to do something more productive with her time than watch Toby on the phone, the brunette walked-or stumbled would be more accurate- towards the bed, thanking her rare lucky stars that motel rooms were so cramped.

She grabbed her clothes while listening in, like the nosy girlfriend they both openly knew she was. "Thank you so much, sir!" she heard the twenty-four-year old's voice raise an octave. "Thank you!"

Her chocolate brown eyes narrowed into slits, confused about who the hell he was speaking to. Toby was shy and introverted, even on the phone. He wasn't big on exceedingly flamboyant emotions until he practically knew someone, inside and out.

Before Spencer could debate if it was worth the hobble back into the bathroom, she heard her boyfriend's voice sober up. "Before you go, can I ask what changed their minds?"

Almost as if he knew she were listening, he turned on the faucet and-for some reason-decided to get his toothbrush ready to clean his teeth. "Thank you again," he repeated appreciatively as he hung up.

She was still pulling her clothes on when he joined her. "Oh, Spence," he murmured to her, catching her pained expression at attempting to hook her bra. "Why didn't you call me?"

"I got it," she maintained, even though her voice was completely void of volume from lack of breath. Ignoring her words, he carefully hooked her bra before leaning down and planting a kiss in the center of her back. "Thank you," she murmured, contradicting her own self.

"I like helping," he insisted, as she let out a sigh, leaning back against him.

"So who was your friend?" she asked precipitously, looking up at him through her long eyelashes.

"My friend?"

"The guy you thanked over and over again on the phone?"

"Oh!" Comprehension flickered across his face, and Spencer was caught off-guard once again by his enthusiasm. "That was Martin Kayne."

"The realtor?" she verified, turning around to stare at him, utterly confused.

"He said we can have the apartment this month, for less rent."

Spencer just stared at him for a long moment, not comprehending. "But I thought-"

"The current tenets agreed," he stated softly, a grin on his lips as she processed the information.

"Are you serious?" she asked as it sunk in.

"Spence, would I be telling-"

"Oh my god! I'm getting my apartment!" she exclaimed, flinging herself straight into his arms, biting back a scream at the way her body rebelled against the action. Her exhilaration brought temporary adrenaline. Enough of it that her emotions outweighed her physical pain.

"Um, I thought we'd both live there."

"Oh yeah, don't worry. You can have a corner."

"Thanks, babe. Your generosity astounds me."

She smirked, pressing a kiss to corner of his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I suppose you can share the bed with me."

"Mmm," he murmured, leaning in to connect their lips once again. "Throw in an old futon and I'm in."

"I'll do you one better. We can even bring your old quilt."

"You know how to get to me."

She giggled as she brought her head back down on his shoulder, planting her lips there too. "Thank you, Toby. For more than just this."

"I didn't do anything," he insisted, rubbing her back. "The tenets just changed their minds."

She stiffened against him, hearing the words for a second time. Something about them felt extremely off, all of a sudden. "Why would they, out of the blue, have a change of heart?" The cop simply shrugged, his hand trailing up into her hair to massage her scalp lightly. "Toby," she pressed, in the demanding tone she reserved only for him.

He sighed, his chest pressed against her's, his hand stilling in her hair. "They may have heard about…what happened during the open house."

Instantly her manner shifted, her excitement evaporating and in its place came her pride and shame. "I can't do that," she stated evenly, her voice quieter now. "We can't move in there."

"Spencer-"

She cut him off, already knowing what he'd say. "Toby, I'm not moving in some place that I'm only getting because I acted like a lunatic!"

"You did not act like a lunatic!"

"I'm not going to be these people's charity case!"

At that, his expression softened. Rubbing both his hands up and down her arms, he shook his head. "You're not anyone's charity case, baby."

His words made her lose her defensive edge. "They're going to take less money and move out faster, because some girl they saw on the news lost her shit during their open house? That's a charity case. Plain and simple."

He reached out to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear, his expression turning introspective. "Do you remember when we sat in your hospital room and read your mail? All the letters you got from random strangers, full of money? Do you remember what I said?"

"What, that people want to help those who have been through hell?"

"Yes. And that doesn't make you a charity case. It makes them nice people."

The brunette sighed, looking down at her lap. He was doing everything he could to ease her shame and all she was doing was being difficult. "I'm really sorry that I'm putting you through all this."

He was shaking his head before she was even finished speaking, his turn now to narrow his eyes. "Don't even start on that, Spence. There is nowhere on this planet I'd rather be than sitting here with you."

She smiled faintly. "I'll think about it," she amended as she leaned back into his arms, her head finding it's place on his chest, right above his heartbeat.

"Okay," he agreed, pressing his lips into her chestnut hair. "That's all I ask."

The cop ran his hand up and down her back, gently, attempting to alleviate her aching pain. It was impossible for him not to notice the tension that still resided in her body.

"Hey, what is it?" he asked, peering down at her face.

"Nothing," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

"Tell me."

She sighed, before relenting. "I'm just not happy that my spazzing out during the open house is public knowledge."

"You were not spazzing out."

"Toby."

"Spence, it's not like it was on the eleven o' clock news. It was probably just told to the tenets."

"Yeah, right," she snorted. "This is Rosewood. People have nothing else to do but gossip about things like me."

"Things like you?"

"Tragedies. Novelty. Disasters. Psychos."

"Spencer."

"Come on, Toby. You've been the town pariah. You've been an outcast. You've been one of Rosewood's finest. You know this town, inside and out. Tell me that everyone who saw me at that open house isn't telling anyone who'll listen what happened."

The cop sighed but had no way to deny it, had no way of protecting her from the residents of the town and their rude, invasive, insensitive ways.

When he couldn't respond, couldn't find a way to amend the broken truth, he chose to comfort her physically instead, trailing his hand up into her hair again.

"Mmm!" she complained, but now not in pleasure, but utter pain. "That fucking hurts," she whimpered.

"Sorry," he whispered contritely, his lips replacing his hand. "I'll go get you some Asprin. See if that helps."

He kissed her head once more time before climbing off the bed, leaving her lying against the stiff mattress, too exhausted and sore to bother sitting up again.

If she thought the dizziness was exasperating, the constant and complete pain she was in now was a whole new kind of irritant. Instead of having to struggle to get through the tasks she was determined to prevail through, she had no motive to do anything but lie with her boyfriend in bed.

Which was all she planned on doing, when her phone out of the blue started chirping. "Hello?" she murmured into the speaker, her voice weary, already recognizing the number.

"Hey, Spence!" Hanna's voice rang brightly from the other side. "What're you doing?"

"Nothing, just… lying around," she answered truthfully as Toby returned with her pain pill and a glass of water she didn't need.

She dry swallowed the pill with no effort, smirking up at the cop. He rolled his eyes, mouthing, "impressive," at her smug expression.

Hanna scoffed noisily. "Spencer Hastings is vegging out?"

"Spencer Hastings feels like she got hit by a car. It changes a person's motivation."

"Okay, that actually happened to me, and I literally felt no different."

The brunette chuckled. "You claimed you needed to be waited on hand and foot," she reminded.

"Yeah and that's not much different than usual," the bubbly girl laughed. "Listen, I didn't call you to compare how pathetic our collected pain is."

"Collective," Spencer automatically corrected, gazing down at a particularly dark bruise, barely listening now.

"I just wanted to know if you want to go out to breakfast?"

"Sure," she automatically answered, gazing up at Toby who had moved towards his own phone and was pondering through his own messages. "Is Toby invited?"

"Duh." She could practically see her friend rolling her eyes. "I meant breakfast with everyone. Me and Aria and Em and Caleb and Ali and Jason-"

"I like how you snuck in Caleb's name, like I wouldn't notice," Spencer called out.

She heard Hanna take in a deep breath, her demeanor shifting into a much more sober one. "Listen, Spence, I want to go out for you. So if you have a problem with him being there or you feel like it's too awkward or strange or bizarre or whatever, I'll make him stay home-"

"Han, it's fine. I was just giving you a hard time," the brunette promised, chuckling. "Bring Caleb, bring whoever, I don't care. Did you ever break up with Jordan, by the way?"

"No, Spencer, I just got back together with Caleb while still planning my wedding to another guy," Hanna snorted. "No crap, I dumped him."

"How'd that go?"

"Surprisingly uneventful. I did it over text."

"Hanna!"

"I know! I'm awful, okay? But I was scared and plus, this way I get to keep the ring-"

"Hanna!"

"Spencer! It's a diamond!"

She cackled once, peering over at Toby who was giving her a peculiar look. She shook her head once, knowing he really couldn't care less about Hanna's drama.

"So you're definitely up for breakfast?" the blonde confirmed.

"Yes," she assured. "Just give me at least an hour. I need the Asprin to kick in before I'm going out to eat."

"Sure," her friend agreed, chewing now into the speaker.

"Are you already eating?"

"I'm starving, you twig!"

"Sorry. Uh wait, can we not go to The Radley?" The mental hospital, turned hotel was probably the very last place the brunette wanted to be.

"Oh please, my mom runs that place. Like I need to eat there every day. What about that place in town that you used to like?"

"Han, you hate that place."

"Yeah but you don't-"

"Is something wrong?" Spencer suddenly cut off. "Do you know something I don't?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You hate Fiona's and you hate waiting. You always complain that you want to go when you want to go. And you-"

The blonde cut her off, already knowing what she was going to say. "This isn't about what I want. It's about you. I just wanted to see you and make sure you're okay."

But they'd been close for far too long for Spencer to let it go, just like that. "Hanna, what's going on?"

Her friend let out a loud, dramatic sigh. "Fine. I heard about the open house." At her words Spencer's stomach dropped, her gaze instantly meeting Toby's across the tiny room.

His eyes were instantly on alert. "What's wrong," he pressed, making it over to her in three strides. She shook her head, turning away from him, adverting her stare. "Spence."

"Spencer," Hanna called her attention back. "We all just wanted to see you. Okay, please. We worry about you."

The brunette shut her eyes, hating the way word traveled around town so fast, hating the way humiliation spread across her entire body over something she had no control over, hating the way she was always right.

But she couldn't blame the girls for being concerned and, if she were being absolutely truthful with herself, she appreciated the fact that there were people in her life that wanted to check on her, wanted to know if she were alright.

As if he knew exactly what she was thinking-and sometimes she thought he did-Toby placed his hand gently on her back, further reminding her how different things could be. There were times in that boy's life, so dark, so bleak, so completely hopeless and desolate, and he had no one in his corner. He had no one there to make sure he was alright, to hug him and to worry about him.

He had no one but himself to pull him through heartbreaks and abuse that most mid-aged adults couldn't even imagine.

So how could she take for granted the people who cared about her?

"I'll see you guys in an hour."

"Are you sure about this?" Toby asked for the third time as he pulled on a blue t-shirt.

Spencer sighed, gazing at him from the corner of her eye. "I told you, babe, that Advil really did work wonders. I mean, I still kind of feel like I got my ass handed to me, but it's not at the forefront of my brain anymore."

"I'm glad." He shot her a small smile. "But that's not why I was asking."

"Is this about Caleb? Because I swear I really don't give a crap if he's there or not. I have way too much going on in my brain to-"

"No, Spence, I'm not talking about Caleb," he disputed. "I mean, are you sure about going out to eat?"

She shot him a perplexed look, reaching for her brush. "Why would you ask me that?" she questioned, sitting on the edge of the bed. "We went out to dinner two days ago and I was fine? Not only that, but you didn't even question if I would be? Why is th-"

"I made sure that we went to a relatively empty place," the cop admitted, solemnly. "I made sure there was next to no chance if anything triggering you."

She stared at him, taken aback. "You did what?"

"Spence-"

"Why wouldn't you tell me that?" she pressed and his gut twisted into knots at the betrayal in her chocolate brown eyes.

He stared at her, at loss for words. "I just…"

"What?"

He sighed, adverting his eyes, almost like having to admit this to her physically pained him. He never wanted her to believe he thought there was anything she couldn't handle. He always believed in her, under any circumstances under the sun.

But at the same time, they both needed to be realistic about her condition, whatever that may be. Pretending everything was rainbows and sunshine wouldn't get her better, wouldn't heal her or give her any semblance of a normal life and, if they both weren't careful, the doctors-or even her parents-might force her back into the hospital. And this time, it would without a doubt be to the psych ward.

"Dr. Barnes said we need to be careful about going into overly populated places," he reminded, his eyes begging for her to understand. Understand him, understand his anxieties, understand that he loved her and all he wanted was for her to be okay.

She didn't show him that exactly, though he really didn't expect her to. She didn't lash out at him either though, like he feared. Instead she forced her tough exterior, her Hastings face, and stated evenly, "I'm fine, okay? I can handle a crowd."

"Baby," he knelt down in front of her spot at the edge of the bed. "What happened yesterday-"

"Was a fluke," she insisted, pushing his hand away as it tried to cup her cheek. "I swear, Toby, I'm fine."

He looked at her, a heartbroken gleam in his eyes, before nodding. "Okay," he whispered, picking up one of her hands. "It's your choice," he promised. "It's always going to be your choice."

And even in her irritation, even in her aggravated state, her heart tugged the slightest bit at his words.

He really did everything out of love for her.

She sighed before moving to wrap her arms around his neck, her face finding residence in the space where his neck met his shoulder. Breathing in his scent, the smell to her that her brain registered as home, she murmured, "I promise you, this will be okay."

He shut his eyes, reciprocating the hug and prayed to God that she was right.

She knew his bad feeling about going out to breakfast didn't evaporate with her reassurances. It didn't relieve him at all to hear her promises, as they both knew she couldn't keep them. When it came down to it, the trauma she'd suffered, the demons in her head, the fractures in her heart, were stronger than her.

But she was going to fight like hell, until she managed to beat them.

That was what she told herself.

That was the strength just being with him gave her.

By the time they arrived at Fiona's, their friends were just barely getting out of their car.

"Spence," Aria called, flying towards the brunette as soon as she had shut the passenger's side door.

"Hey," she returned the embrace, grimacing slightly as her sore body rejected the shorter girl's tight squeeze.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry," Aria's expressive green eyes instantly widened, the notion of unintentionally hurting her friend dawning on her.

But Spencer was no longer paying attention to Aria or any of the others gathered by the door.

Instead her focus was on the people inside the restaurant. The people staring out at her, unashamed, through the grimy, unwashed glass.

The stares didn't bother her. Not in a way that left her feeling self-conscious or ashamed, at least. No, they pissed her off. They burned a fire inside her, a rage that was so familiar to her, it was like an actual facet of her personality.

Because she knew them. She knew every last one of them.

They were all friends-or at the very least, acquaintances-of her parents. Every single person staring at her, like she was a spider, like she was the walking embodiment of a contagious illness, had known her since she was practically in diapers. They watched her grow up. They attended every last one of her parents' stupid parties for her and Melissa. They pretended to give a damn about her accomplishments.

And now they looked at her, like she was a disgrace to society.

She was simmering, her blood boiling underneath her skin, when she felt a much larger palm-far too large to be Aria's-slip into her's and propel her forward.

Toby met her eyes and she could tell he knew exactly what she was thinking. Better yet, his thoughts were aligned with her's.

He had never taken well to seeing her experience any sort of maltreatment, no matter how unavoidable or expected it was in her circumstances.

As she walked through the entrance, right on her boyfriend's heels, she almost had to bite back a sardonic laugh. Not one pair of eyes had adverted from her figure. Not one person was ashamed to be caught staring at her.

And she realized this was the first time she had gone out into such a public place since the massacre.

This was the first time she was truly in the presence of the residents of Rosewood.

This was exactly what Toby had feared.

No one hid the fact that they were whispering about her. Their words were quiet but their mouths moved noticeably, as if she was on the oblivious side of a two way mirror.

She felt the eyes, not just of the noisy country clubbers, but of every of her friends now on her face. They were all more than aware of the attention she was receiving.

It was Toby who spoke first, drawing her closer to him before whispering in her ear, "Babe, we can go somewhere else."

"No," she instantly rejected. "We're not going anywhere."

All seven pairs of eyes shot her quizzical looks.

"Spence."

"Are you sure?"

"If they're staring at her face, I'm going to cut them in half."

"Do you want me to go over there and tell them to fuc-"

"Han!"

"You don't need to be brave, Spence."

Waving her hand to cut them all off, the twenty-three-year old simply shook her head, hearing Toby's words in her head yesterday, hearing the truth behind them now.

It didn't matter what a bunch of strangers thought of her. These were people who would move onto the next tragedy–and Rosewood never failed to have another-whenever it came, forgetting all about her in the drop of a hat.

She had problems too big to worry about what they thought of her.

"So," Hanna started, staring down at the menu in her hand, scanning it undoubtedly for the unhealthiest thing she could find. "Spence."

"Yes?" The brunette barely looked up from the menu sitting in front of her and Toby.

"Do you ever have to go back to work? You know? In D.C?"

Her question elicited a strange reaction from Spencer. One she didn't predict.

"No," she snorted.

"No?" Emily's head snapped up. "Really? You quit?"

Toby flexed his jaw, already knowing the story and disgruntled with the outcome. "I got fired," Spencer informed, her tone completely blasé.

"You got fired?" Aria's mouth fell open. Down at the end of the table, Jason dropped his menu in uncharacteristic surprise.

"How could they fire you?" Hanna pressed, unable to process the idea that their brilliant and ambitious best friend, that had been called D.C's brightest young lobbyist, had been terminated.

All the response the brunette offered was a shrug. "They called and talked to my dad while I was still in the hospital. I don't know, evidently they called more than once but I was too focused on other things, and eventually they just told my dad that," she eyed Toby, licking her lips for sardonic emphasis, "they felt these extenuating circumstances would keep me away from D.C for an extended period of time and thought it was better to just make a clean break."

All the girls glanced at each other, wanting to say something, do something, have some assortment of words that could make it better.

It was Jason though that spoke first. "That's complete-"

"Bullshit?" Toby finished for him, his expression irate. Same as it was every time this topic came up.

"Spencer, you can sue them," Caleb pointed out from the opposite end of the table.

"I know," she nodded, because she knew it was true. She probably could sue them for wrongful termination. "But I'm not going to bother. It's not that big of a deal."

She remembered when she'd been told-she could barley retain what day it was or what exact events had occurred before or after. She remembered her mom's uptight expression and how her dad had told her he'd figure out a way to fight this and how Toby had been caught completely off-guard, clearly not privy to this information prior to her and how Melissa had raised an eyebrow, waiting for Spencer's reaction almost challengingly.

She remembered being more relieved than anything else as this meant she didn't have to worry about keeping her bosses updated on her condition. She didn't have to explain when she was-or was not-coming back to D.C. She didn't have to worry about being tied to another city, especially when the only person who could ground her right now was anchored to Rosewood.

She was especially grateful that she didn't have to explain to her bosses that her memory was coming back in random snippets, that left her hysterical and incoherent and terrified. She didn't have to let anyone else in on her potential mental deterioration.

Once upon a time, it would have disturbed her parents to witness her lack of reaction to losing something she'd worked so hard for. But when they took in her detached demeanor, when they watched her cork an eyebrow and struggle with relief and disappointment and apprehension, before deciding it was for the best and she had no interest in forcing her job back, they'd both given her uncharacteristic support, telling her she didn't need that job, that she was better off, that she was right to let it go.

It had floored Toby almost as much as her. When they were alone again, soon after, he had commented that maybe, after all these years, her parents had finally gained perspective on what truly mattered in life.

She'd liked his words, but as much as she wished they were true, she couldn't help the small, nagging part of her that suggested that they may have just been happy to minimize her drama so they didn't have to deal with it.

Her bubbly blonde friend's voice tugged her out of her thoughts. "So," she prefaced loudly, eying Spencer anxiously.

The brunette just stared at her, unable to decipher what she was asking. "So?"

"Have you, like…remembered anything?" Hanna finally asked.

"Hanna," Emily cautioned, as both Aria and Toby shot her menacing looks.

"What, Em? I'm her best friend-you're her best friend. Why can't we ask?" Hanna defended, her gaze shifting back to Spencer, who still hadn't answered.

"Spence, if you don't want to," Aria started, instantly on guard, scared of setting the brunette off, like a gun with the trigger already halfway pulled.

"Yeah," Emily agreed, her tone placid. "If you're not comfortable, you don't have to tell us anything."

Both Aria and Emily were attempting to put her first. Both of them wanted to make sure they didn't trigger her. They were going out of their way to protect her.

And she hated it. She should have been grateful and she felt a large pang of guilt seep its way into the pit of her stomach, because she should have unbelievably happy to have friends who loved her. Who wanted to shield her and wanted to defer any sort of panic they could. Who would ignore the large, ever present elephant in the room, for her.

But what she truly appreciated was Hanna's bluntness. Hanna's blithe, unashamed attitude. Her inability to walk on eggshells around the brunette.

Nothing irritated her more than being treated like a piece of glass.

Especially by people who had expected her to be their backbone for almost the entire last decade.

Her irritation flared up and, before she could find it in herself to care how inconsiderate it was to take it out on people who were trying to make her life easier, she snapped, "Why wouldn't I be comfortable talking about it? It's just a bunch of memories resurfacing of being kidnapped, beaten and watching strangers be either petrified or murdered. Who wouldn't want to have story time with that?"

At her words, every pair of eyes stayed glued on her face, stuck in a trance, their vocal cords suddenly severed.

Except for one person, who had seen enough darkness in her life, especially recently, and had less sensitivity and less of a filter than anyone else seated at the table. "Was everyone a stranger?"

Spencer snapped her head towards Alison, the words a shock to her psyche. "What?" She stared at her friend, completely mystified now.

"Was everyone with you in that building a stranger?"

"Spencer," Toby's hand rubbed her shoulder, quivering slightly. She could feel the agitation in his body language. This prospect wasn't news to him, but he had hoped she wouldn't put it together. He'd hoped she would remain oblivious to this fact for as long as she possibly could.

She knew some people in the massacre.

Suddenly, as if her brain was rapidly clicking buttons, swiftly adding a missing piece to the puzzle in her head, she heard with absolute clarity, Tanner and Lorenzo's voices the day they'd questioned her.

"How would you describe your relationship to Sydney Driscoll?"

"What about Noel Kahn?"

"Are you friends with Lucas Gottesman?"

"How well did you know Kenna Greenbrook?"

"What about Maddie Coffman?"

"Do you remember Krystal Loot?"

"What about Eddie Lamb?"

"Toby," she gasped, her voice suddenly breathless, akin to coming up for air after being suffocated underwater. "That day. That day in the hospital when Tanner and Lorenzo came to the hospital. They were telling me something. They were telling me the names of all the people who died," she implored, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"Spence," Emily whispered, reaching out to touch the shaky girl's arm.

But the brunette's eyes never left the cop. "Why didn't I put this together that day? Why didn't I realize…"

The twenty-four-year old just stared at her, heartbreak in his gaze and for a split second, she wondered if he knew something she didn't. If he thought protecting her from every last facet of information she could get her hands on was best. If he, despite knowing she needed to remember, wanted to keep her from reliving that night.

She wondered if he thought she was better off not knowing.

"Spencer," he finally said, breaking her out of her reverie, his voice was no louder than a breath. "It's not like that."

"Toby, I know the names of the people who were killed," she exclaimed, her gaze flickering over their entire table of friends, relieved for reasons she didn't comprehend that most of them seemed as taken aback by the revelation as she was. "I was so caught up in the fact that they were accusing me playing some part in it, that I never stopped to realize that they were telling me the names."

The cop bit his lip before answering, his voice low and only audible to her. "Do you remember after you woke up when I first told you what had happened? Or what was known?" Her eyes narrowed at his words, waiting to see where he was going. "Not everyone who was in that building with you was murdered."

"Eight bodies were found."

"The other nine are still missing."

Her breathing hitched as her eyes remained locked with his. "You mean the nine people. The nine people whose bodies were never found," she corrected, reminding him of his own words.

"Yes."

"Spence," Ali whispered, seeing where her coarseness inadvertently led the conversation. "I'm sorry-"

"It's not your fault," the brunette instantly murmured, not even bothering to turn and look at her.

The cop didn't seem to agree but he wisely chose to pick his battles. "Sweetheart," he whispered, seeing how her eyes were filling up, more so out of stress and consternation at the sudden revelation than actual sorrow.

His hand rose up to cup her cheek when she squeezed her eyes shut and mumbled, "I'm sorry," to the rest of their friends. "I'm really sorry, you guys, I just-I can't do this."

She backed away from the table, not waiting for her boyfriend or friends to follow her outside.

The second the fresh air hit her face, she gulped it up, desperate for breath.

She noticed that it felt like she hadn't exhaled in days.

Her lungs were shaky as she tried to take oxygen in, tried to calm herself down, tried to get a grasp on herself.

She knew all along though, it was futile.

She heard Toby and their friends behind her, heard them slow their pace, halt in their tracts in order not to startle her. She wanted to turn around and tell them everything way alright, tell them they had no reason to worry, that she was fine now and they could head back inside, have breakfast and pretend she wasn't an anchor, dragging them all down.

But before she could find the words, a loud distress signal sounded from down the street.

A loud, blaring siren.

A sound that was all too familiar to her.

"Get him away!" screamed the girl next to her. "Get him the fuck away!"

Spencer felt herself being tugged in tighter, being pulled right up against a much larger, broader body. A body that could only belong to a man. A man in the Navy.

The man was trying to protect her. He was shielding her. He was trying to save her life.

Her arms were entangled so tight with the screaming girl next to her, their hands fused together so firmly, that when she was pulled into the man's arms, she brought the girl with her.

Before them laid the body of the now deceased boy. A boy they had all watched be shot to death. A boy that she didn't recognize, didn't know by name, didn't even know if she'd ever spoken a word to, but now she'd never be able to forget.

A loud siren blared from above, the speakers blasting out of the ceiling.

But the alarm bell wasn't what scared her, wasn't what forced her heart to skip a beat in the most horrendous way possible, wasn't what made her back grow damp with swamp, wasn't what made her involuntarily gag.

It was what happened when it stopped.

She couldn't help the sob that ejected itself out of her mouth, the cry of utter confusion and devastation and anguish and she knew, right then and there, that she would never see the light of day again. That everything she'd worked for in her life was completely redundant as she sat on the ground, huddled in a three person ball, wishing she'd spent more time with the people she loved. Wishing that she had been a better person, a better friend, a better daughter even.

Wishing she'd been better to Toby. Wishing she'd not let her pride get in the way. Wishing she would have put everything on the line, regardless of who he was with, how he felt and the infinite possibility of rejection.

The one thing she was grateful for, the one moment above all else that she was truly proud of, was her confession of love the night before. She'd told everyone exactly how she'd felt about him.

He knew.

Even if she didn't live to see the next hour, he'd always know how she'd felt. That there was no one and nothing that could ever take his place in her heart. That no matter where she went, and who she was with, she would always somehow end up in front of him, with her heart involuntarily in her hands, begging him to love her the way only he knew how.

"Shhh," the man hushed, hugging her closer to him, smothering her face into his white polo shirt. The girl on her other side, separated their linked hands and brought the pads of her fingertips up against Spencer's face, wiping away the tears and blood that coursed down her cheeks.

Before anyone could utter a syllable, the siren stopped, silence filled the air, and then a gunshot rang so loud and so clear that it felt like the only thing that existed in the world.

Her chest heaved as the girl next to her dug her nails deep into the underside of the brunette's arm. Deep enough that she could practically feel her skin being torn open.

"Please, stop," Spencer whispered, too quiet for anyone outside their huddle to hear, too quiet for anyone else to notice. Her words weren't to the girl slicing her skin open though. They were to their tormentor. "Please, please, please, stop."

She felt the girl's thin arms wrap around her neck and squeeze her tighter, as if they were best friends, as if they had known each other forever.

But it was the man protecting them at the forefront of her mind. The man who was willing to lose his own life, in order to save theirs.

And, unlike the boy on the floor, splattered in blood, cold as an ice cube and still as a thousand year old portrait, she knew this man.

She knew this man.

#spoby #pll #pretty little liars #Spencer Hastings #Toby Cavanaugh #fanfiction #stories #story #fanfic #spobyy #ableedingheart #my writing

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schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte · 8 years ago

Text

Bark at the Moon

A Supernatural story for @writingthingsisdifficult‘s 1000 Follower Celebration! Woot!

Details: First-person Reader-insert, Reader x Dean

Monster: Garm, the four-eyed, blood-stained [wolf]hound of Hel whose howl drives people insane.

Word Count: 8163 (Yeah, you read that right. I just...couldn’t...stop.)

Warnings: Mentions of suicide (and violence pertaining to the methods)

*****

I finish my shift at nine at night, instead of three in the afternoon, bike home in the dark—which I hate doing—and nuke some of last night’s lasagna while I change out of my work-smock and into something more comfortable. Burning my mouth on the leftovers at the bar of my micro-apartment’s kitchenette, I glower at the calendar pinned to the fridge by a daisy magnet.

I covered Ross’ shift on Sunday too, and here I was, trading with him again two days later because he had an inescapable engagement. There’s always the possibility that he’s a superhero, but it’s much more likely that he’s just a douche. And he is just the type of guy who would prefer to be anywhere else than working. I mean, so would I, but at least I keep it to myself. The rest of our coworkers know better than to get involved with him, but he knows that he can always depend on me—not because I like him or anything, but because I’m a pushover at work. The others take advantage of this too—if I’m already at the store, they take it as a given that I’m ready and willing to just keep on working—but theirs are real emergencies. Or at least I think they are.

The lasagna iss supposed to be my dinner tonight anyway—and the next night...and the next—but eating it this late just makes me angry. I put its Tupperware container back into the fridge—waste not, want not—and pull the plastic cake server across the counter. I serve myself a thick slice of carrot cake and lick every crumb and dab of frosting from my plate as I watch an old sitcom on Netflix.

In the shower afterward, I think about my day off tomorrow. I have laundry to do, library books to return, and serving lunch at the soup kitchen downtown, which is the highlight of my week, to be honest. I’m always making too much food—thank goodness for Tupperware—but this isn’t a problem when feeding 150 hungry people. Some have a roof over their heads but can’t afford to feed themselves. Some come just to break bread with other human beings. Some are passing through, looking for work. And some have been living on the street since before I was born. A lot of them are veterans. A lot have mental health issues. All of them are victims of a broken system.

I make sure they get enough to eat and that they will be warm that night, and then I come home and eat my leftovers and fall asleep to Netflix or a good book. I always think I can be doing more. I’ve tried to get hired in to some administrative position, but with no formal schooling and being deathly afraid of telephone conversations, I’m only qualified for volunteer work in the cafeteria. But as much as I think a free meal is small-fries compared to what I could be doing for the homeless and impoverished community around town, I know that what the soup kitchen provides is important, a staple, a foundation.

And with my unsatisfied altruism at least sated for the time being, I curl up on my daybed with a hot cup of cinnamon spice tea and the last book in the stack I’m taking back tomorrow evening. My eyelids droop as I savor the last few pages again a short time later, and as I turn off the lamp and burrow into my nest of blankets, I think I hear howling in the distance. I take it for a coyote and slip smoothly into slumber.

*****

I’m passing out extra-large rolls when one of my friends pauses in front of me at the end of the cafeteria counter.

“Hi, Ben,” I sign, pulling a B down my cheekbone to represent his facial hair. “Roll?” I spell out.

“Yes,” he replies. “Thank you,” after I hand him his full tray.

“Where’s Don?” I ask, tapping a D on my shoulder to represent the captain epaulettes on his service uniform. The two men are socks, gloves, turtle doves—they came in a pair. They even bunked next to each other in a secluded copse of trees by the old bridge out of town.

“I don’t know. He went to bed last night, but he was gone this morning.”

This has me a little worried, as Don hasn’t wandered off since July 4th, when some assholes were tossing M-80s into the river and triggered a flashback. Fortunately, he had found his way to the war memorial in front of the library—hopefully he’s there again.

“I’ll help you look for him after you eat,” I tell Ben, to reassure him and to move him along gently, since a line was building up behind him.

“Thank you,” he signs again, taking a seat at his usual table in the corner.

When I finish cleaning my station and say good-bye to the rest of the staff and a few other people, I walk my bicycle with a case of water in its basket while Ben tells me where he has already been to look earlier. He watches my face and reads my lips when I have questions, like if anything disrupted his own sleep or if he remembered anyone unusual hanging around that might have wanted to pick on a harmless veteran.

“Nothing,” he signs. “Nobody.”

We drop the water off at his camp, and I peek inside Don’s tent. The blankets are mussed, but things are still in their own kind of order. And Don would have put up a fight if someone came into his home.

“We’ll find him,” I tell Ben, pushing my bike beside him as we walked to the library—we don’t know how likely it is that Don went there, but we have to start somewhere.

He’s not outside, staring at the memorial like he had been doing six months ago, nor is he inside wandering among the stacks. The librarians haven’t seen him either—they know him, let him get a library card even without a permanent address.

I drop off my books because we’re there, and then we keep searching.

But by the time the sun starts to go down, we haven’t seen a sign of him, and those who know him haven’t seen him either.

“Sorry,” I tell Ben as I walk him back to their camp.

“We tried.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow and help you look more. And if he’s still missing tomorrow afternoon, we’ll go to the police.”

“Thanks.”

“Stay safe, Ben.”

“And you, Y/N,” he says, using the first letter of my name in his non-dominant hand as he signs the word aide.

*****

The library is on my route home, and I look at the structure as I ride past. I think about what could have happened to Don, whether something triggered another flashback or if malicious circumstances are at play. But who would want to hurt Don?

Something moves in the corner of my eye, and I turn just as a figure in what looks like a green jacket disappears around a corner of the building.

“Don?” I say out loud quietly to myself. “Don!” I call out without thinking.

A patron coming out of the library pauses and stares at me for a short moment and then continues on his way.

I turn my bike and pedal across the lawn after the figure I saw. But when I reach the other side of the building, whoever it was is gone. A small rear parking lot separates the library and a densely wooded area of the park. I wouldn’t go in there alone even in broad daylight, let alone dusk.

I pedal to my apartment quickly in the dark chill, questioning if I saw anything at all. I’ll have to ask the librarians again if Don showed up after Ben and I left. It’s not until I get inside and take off my coat that I realize how hungry I am, and no wonder—I only had cinnamon toast for breakfast.

I heat up some lasagna and watch Netflix on my laptop at the counter. I didn’t check out any new books today, so I have nothing to read, but the search for Don has left me exhausted—I can only imagine how Ben must feel.

After a quick, hot shower, I’m ready for bed. As I snuggle into my blankets, I hear a coyote howl again. But I’m more awake tonight than I was before, and it doesn’t actually sound like a coyote. A coyote’s call undulates much more than what I’ve heard. Rather than a coyote’s yips, this long, steady howling sounds like a wolf. A chill runs down my spine when I hear it again, and I pull a pillow over my ears, wondering what a wolf was doing so close to civilization.

*****

A buzzing wakes me the next morning, and I realize from the way the light falls through the windows that I overslept. But Ross is covering my shift because I covered for him on Sunday, so I forgive myself for forgetting to set my alarm.

The buzzing stops, and I recognize it as my phone. I stretch and reach for it on the coffee table and am confused when my caller ID shows my manager Toby’s name and number.

The phone starts buzzing again with a call from Toby, and a niggling pressure settles between my eyes.

“Hello?” I answer.

“Y/N, are you okay? Where are you? Why didn’t you come in? Or call in? You’re a half-hour late! If you don’t have a good reason for this, I’m gonna have to write you up!”

“I didn’t come in because I traded with Ross,” I explain, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of my daybed. “I worked his shift Sunday. And I worked it Tuesday, so I’m off Friday too.”

“No one told me!” Toby huffs. “And Ross isn’t here! It’s his day off. And you’re on the schedule! Y/N, you have to come in.”

“Call Ross,” I tell him. “I have an emergency to deal with today.”

“Come in and cover your shift until I can get in touch with Ross and figure out what’s going on,” he says.

“I just told you what’s going on. Toby, my friend is missing!” I practically shout. “I have to look for him.”

“I’m sorry about that, Y/N,” he soothes, “but I need you to come in. An hour tops.”

I hold a pillow against my face and groan into it. “Fine,” I snap. “An hour. Call Ross as soon as I hang up.”

“See you soon. Hurry.”

*****

The niggling pressure becomes a full-blown headache by the time I get to work across town. Toby meets me in the breakroom as I wheel in my bike, and I know from the look on his face that I’m screwed.

“Ross isn’t answering,” he says, and I seriously contemplate murder for the first time in my life. “I’ll let it go that you’re late because of the misunderstanding, but I need you to work your regular shift today. And maybe tomorrow.”

“It’s not a misunderstanding,” I try to say as calmly as I can. “I worked doubles Sunday and Tuesday. My time card proves it. If I work today and tomorrow—even if I just work today—I’ll go over 40 hours.”

“And I’ll look over your time card and consider approving the overtime.”

“What do you mean consider?” I ask. “If I’m working overtime, I’m getting paid for that overtime.”

“Then just work four hours today to bring your hours up to 40,” he tells me. “I’ll keep calling Ross. If he doesn’t pick up, I’ll ask someone else to cover your shift this afternoon and tomorrow.”

“Fine,” I say. I would rather eat glass than thank him for his shitty compromise.

“Okay. See you out there.”

When he’s back in his office, I call the assistant director of the soup kitchen and let her know that I won’t be in to help with lunch today after all. She’s much more sympathetic about the fiasco at work than Toby was about Don’s disappearance.

“If you see Ben, can you tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can?”

“No problem. I take it Don still hasn’t shown up?”

“No, not a sign of him.” I don’t mention the figure that may or may not have been him at the library, if there was even a figure there at all.

“Do you need more bodies? I can spare a few of the cleaning staff.”

“That’d be great. Thank you, Deena.”

“All right, I’ll see you later.”

“Yep. Bye.”

*****

Toby finds me as I’m clocking out. Ross finally picked up his phone. He completely forgot about today. Toby wrote him up, and he’s coming in to finish my shift and covering for me tomorrow.

“Fine,” I say again. The two men have just wasted four hours of my day, time I could have used to keep looking for Don. I’m not thanking Toby for giving me less than what I had coming to me.

I pop a couple of aspirin and bike back across town to the soup kitchen. Ben has already eaten and is ready to go. I have a short meeting with Deena and a handful volunteers for a search party. I tell them where Ben and I have already looked, but the places are worth trying again if he’s still on the move—if he isn’t hurt, or trapped somewhere, or somehow immobilized.

Ben and I look out for him on our way to the police station. Nothing.

I don’t know the exact model of the black classic car parked in one of the spots reserved for official business, but I allow myself the distraction of admitting what a beauty she is.

Over the desk sergeant’s counter, I have a clear view of the officers’ bullpen and two tall men in dark suits among the beige uniforms. They’re deep in conversation with what might be the sheriff himself.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” the desk sergeant asks.

“Yes, we’d like to report a missing person,” I reply, glancing over at Ben.

“I’ll get someone to help you with the paperwork,” she says, waving for an officer’s attention.

We’re taken through to a desk some feet away from the two strangers and the sheriff, and the officer starts asking for Don’s information. When he asks how long he’s been missing and I tell him since yesterday morning, he stops writing and sighs.

“Ma’am, we have to wait at least 48 hours before starting a missing-person investigation,” he explains.

I interpret for Ben, then wipe my hand down my face in near exasperation.

“You don’t understand,” I tell him. “Don is a very predictable man. He and Ben are practically joined at the hip. Something’s happened to him.”

“My hands are tied until it’s been 48 hours,” the officer—Preston—repeats.

“Listen, he’s a homeless veteran,” I say slowly. “He has mental-health issues. He has a routine, and he would not break it. He went to bed last night, just feet away from his friend, and he was gone yesterday morning. Something…is…wrong.”

“Excuse me.”

I look up and to my left and into the brightest hazel eyes I’ve ever seen.

“I’m Agent Osbourne from the CDC,” one of the suits says gruffly, but it’s because of the deep pitch of his voice and not the tone of it. He offers his hand, and I shake it as he nods to the even taller suit with dark shaggy hair. “This is my partner Agent Leonard.”

“Y/N,” I introduce. “This is my friend Ben Mayhew.”

“Nice to meet you both,” Osbourne says. “Excuse me for eavesdropping, but I understand a friend of yours has disappeared?”

“He’s more Ben’s friend,” I reply, continuing to interpret. “This officer is saying there’s nothing the police can do until it’s been 48 hours.”

“Under normal circumstances, no,” Agent Osbourne says, looking back and forth equally between me and Ben. Then he turns back to the sheriff. “Sheriff Bernard, may we move this interview into your office?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course.”

We congregate in the private room, Ben and I in the guests’ chairs, Bernard behind his desk, and Osbourne and Leonard in front of the window beside him.

“You said your friend went missing two nights ago?” Osbourne clarifies.

“We said good-night,” Ben signs as I interpret. “He likes to read before sleep. He has a lantern. I saw the light. I fell asleep. When I woke up, his tent was open and he was gone. I waited, cleaned up. He never came back.”

“And he has mental-health issues, you said?” Leonard recalls. “Schizophrenia?”

Ben shakes his head. “PTSD, anxiety. He’s a Vietnam veteran.”

“Has he ever done anything like this before?” Bernard asks me.

“Not often,” Ben answers. “He had a flashback July 4th. Some guys had loud fireworks near our camp. We found him in a few hours of knowing he was gone.”

Bernard regards me. “So, did you check the place where you found him last time?”

“Of course,” Ben signs. “That’s the first place we looked yesterday.”

“And is he known for being a danger to himself or others?” Bernard asks me.

“Sheriff Bernard, I’m just the interpreter,” I inform him. “Please direct your questioning toward Mr. Mayhew.”

“Oh.” He glances at Ben. “Sorry.” Then he leans forward and says loudly and slowly, “Is he dangerous?”

“Why is he talking like that?” Ben signs to me.

“Because he’s an asshole,” I only sign, forming an F with my hand, turning the circle of my thumb and finger up on top, and pushing it out from my chest toward Bernard with more than a little force.

Osbourne huffs out a soft laugh, Leonard elbows him in the ribs, and he covers with a pronounced cough. I blush when I realize that at least Osbourne understands some ASL.

“What did he say?” a clueless Bernard questions.

“He said he’s not dangerous,” I tell him tightly. “Don’s defensive and probably confused if he’s been triggered again. And if he’s not hurt already, he needs to see a familiar face before he does get hurt.”

“The way he was acting the past several days,” Leonard brings up to Ben. “Was it strange or unusual at all?”

“No, I don’t think so. Whatever happened to him, it happened quickly, while I was sleeping.”

“Miss Y/N, I don’t mean to pry,” Osbourne says to me, “but do you live anywhere near the two gentlemen’s camp?”

“About a mile away,” I answer.

“And did you happen to notice anything, hear anything, out of the ordinary two nights ago, or last night perhaps?”

“No, not really. I mean, I heard a wolf howling,” I recall. “I thought it was a coyote the first time. I remember thinking it sounded awfully close.”

The two agents exchange a look, and it dawns on me that they’re from the CDC, with diseases, and plagues, and outbreaks.

“Do you think there’s a wolf out there preying on people?” I ask them, looking briefly at Ben as I interpret for him.

“Wolf?” he repeats, and I nod.

“Like, is it rabid or something?” I go on. “Is that why you’re here? Is someone else missing?”

Their eyes meet again for just a second.

“They’re not missing anymore,” Leonard carefully phrases, and I catch enough from his grim tone to understand what he means by that.

“They died? Did the wolf maul them? Did it just bite them and pass on some kind of infection? There was no blood in Don’s tent, no struggle.”

“He could’ve gone off in the middle of the night to relieve himself,” Osbourne conjectures.

“Did it maul the other person, or people, or not? How many are there?” I demand.

“Three,” Leonard says.

“Your friend makes four,” Osbourne says. “Another homeless man in a city to the north, a hiker, and a bartender walking to her car after work. It didn’t maul them, but it infected them with something, some sickness, and they completely lost touch with reality.”

“What happened to them?” I want to know.

“There were a couple of days of odd behavior and mostly-incoherent rants,” Leonard tells us. “Then they committed suicide.”

“How?” Ben asks.

They exchange another look.

“How?” I repeat for myself.

“The bartender walked in front of a bus,” Leonard relates. “The hiker jumped from a window in his fifth-story walk-up. The homeless man was picked up for vagrancy and disturbing the peace and committed for a 72-hour hold in a county hospital.”

“He ran into a wall head first until he broke his neck,” Osbourne shares.

“Clearly not premeditated in any of the cases,” I remark.

“No,” Osbourne agrees. “That’s why we need to find your friend as soon as possible. He’s already susceptible to intrusive and irrational thoughts. We need to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

“And you need to find that wolf,” I tell them. “Why isn’t the DNR helping you track the animal?”

The agents’ eyes meet again in that furtive way for the fourth time, and in that moment, if I didn’t know any better, I would swear that they’re related.

“Oh, they’re helping,” Leonard insists. “They’re…checking out where the wolf might’ve come from…and Agent Osbourne and I are checking out whether whatever the wolf is passing on isn’t contagious between humans.”

“Well, if there is a wolf, Don almost certainly came into contact with it himself,” I figure. “His and Ben’s camp is pretty secluded, and Don doesn’t take too well to strangers on a good day. And we’re wasting time when we could be looking for him.”

I stand, Ben gets to his feet, and the two agents straighten to attention while the sheriff pushes himself up stiffly behind his desk.

“We’ll walk you out,” Osbourne offers, a small smile on his lips.

“Thanks.”

“Thank you for your cooperation, Sheriff,” Leonard says. “We’ll be in touch.”

Bernard tips his head. “Gentlemen. Ma’am.” He stares at Ben. “Sir.”

Ben and I both give him a cursory wave—I’m certainly not going to thank him—and follow the agents out into the chill of the late afternoon. Osbourne hands me a card with a handwritten number on it.

“This is where you can reach us, if you think of anything else,” he tells me. “Maybe we should get your information too, if we have any more questions.”

“Pen?” I request. “Paper?”

He produces a blank card with a flick of his wrist, a pen with another, and I write down my cell number for him. He flashes a smile when I give everything back to him, and I almost forget why he and his partner are here in the first place. Almost.

“Well, we have to get back out there,” I tell him.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” he shares. “But somehow I think nothing short of tying you to the bed will stop you.”

“I…” I feel my cheeks warm. “Well, you’re not wrong. Bye, Agent Osbourne. Agent Leonard.”

Ben waves to them both with more amiability than he had for the sheriff.

Across the parking lot, I stop Ben and ask him, “Can you read their lips from here?”

He turns to check. They’re standing beside the black car I noticed on the way in. “Just one of them. Osbourne.”

“What’s he saying?”

Ben raises an eyebrow but watches them beside their car. “She’s smart. She put a lot of things together, and quick. I told you one of us should have been from the DNR.” He looks at me, confused. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

“Keep going,” I instruct him gently.

He turns his eyes back to Osbourne. “If he was still in town, his friends would’ve found him by now. There’s 30 acres of woods on the edge of the park that opens up to the county nature preserve. We’ll start there. If we get to him before he’s completely disconnected from reality, we may be able to get him help and reverse the effects.” He drops his hands and spins on his heels away from them.

I peek at the two men and see them watching us. “Shit. Let’s go.”

“Y/N, what’s happening?” Ben repeats as we wander back to his camp.

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I don’t think you should sleep by yourself for a while. I’m going to call Deena and try to get you a bed at the shelter—just for a few days.”

“I can’t leave. I have to be home if Don comes back.”

“It’s not safe!”

“I don’t care!”

I sigh at him, exasperated, and know that he’s just as stubborn as I am. “We have to keep looking for him. The agents—or whoever they are—mentioned the woods. I saw—or thought I saw—Don go into the woods behind the library on my way home last night.” I notice the gloom of the dying day and stop Ben. “It’ll be dark soon. I would never force you into a dangerous situation.”

He doesn’t even have to think about it. “I have flashlights and a can of bear spray in my tent. Bear spray will work on a wolf, won’t it?”

I nod with a small smile. “Let’s go.”

*****

As we reach the hidden path down the embankment to their shelter of trees, I see a flash of movement halfway across the bridge. I look closer and pick out a form between the steel webs and the railing.

“I think it’s Don,” I share with Ben. “Walk with me. Steady. Don’t startle him.”

“He’s going to jump,” Ben says. “He’s going to kill himself, like the others.”

“Not if we can help it,” I tell him. “Come on.”

We cross the bridge slowly, staying in the middle so he can’t see our approach. When we get even to him, with only the webs between us, I squint my eyes against the sun lying just above the horizon and realize that Don is standing on the outside of the railing. His service jacket is splotched with dark mud, and one of the shoulder seams is ripped.

“Careful,” I tell Ben.

He nods.

I step closer. “Don?”

The familiar figure has been looking at the water 150 feet down, but his head shoots up at my voice.

“Don. Don Fletcher,” I say softly. “Do you know who I am? It’s Y/N.”

He keeps his hold on the railing tight as he cranes his head enough to the side to see me. His face is dirty, and his eyes are wide and unfocused.

“Don’t…don’t,” he rasps. “Don’t…”

“It’s okay, Don,” I tell him gently. “I’m your friend, remember? Y/N.”

“It’s coming,” he whispers. “It’s…it’s coming. It’s gonna….end… End it all.”

“It can’t hurt you, Don. You’re safe now.”

“It’s coming,” he repeats.

“What’s coming, Don? Talk to me. Come back over here and tell me about it.”

He looks down at the water again. I feel a hand on my arm and turn to Ben.

“Don,” I try again. “Ben’s here.”

His head comes up, but he keeps it forward toward the sunset.

“You remember Ben. He’s your best friend.”

“Ben,” Don says, so soft I barely hear it.

I think we’re getting through to him. I actually feel Ben’s and my hope.

“It’ll come for you too,” Don says clearly. Then he lets go of the railing.

I lunge forward as he falls and get my hands around his arm, but the weight of him and the drop nearly pull me over with him. Then Ben grabs my waist and the rail to hold me back. Don grips my wrist with one hand and scrabbles at my arms with the sharp fingers of his other. I see a fear in his big eyes—not that I won’t let him go, but that I will.

“No,” he gasps. “No!”

“I’ve got you,” I say, but I don’t know for how long. I don’t think I can pull him up even with Ben’s help, and I can’t hold onto him forever. “I’ve got you.”

“Don’t…don’t…”

I’m thinking of how I can get an arm free to grab his other wrist, or how I can make him understand that he has to swing his legs up somehow. Then another weight is behind me, wrapping its arms around me, and I turn to find Agent Osbourne, out of the suit and in a leather jacket and jeans. He meets my eye and the desperation he must see on my face is mirrored by the determination I see on his.

He works his way around me and Ben, hooks a leg in the middle railing, and leans over the top bar to grasp Don’s left arm.

“When I grab the waist of his pants,” he tells me, “pull.”

“Okay.”

He reaches down with his right arm and gets a fistful of fabric. “Now.”

With my adrenaline, his brute strength, and Ben as two more arms and legs, we manage to pull Don over onto the pedestrian walkway efficiently enough. Osbourne holds him down, though Don doesn’t appear to put up much of a struggle.

“It’s coming,” he sobs quietly. “It’s coming.”

“Call Sheriff Bernard,” Osbourne instructs me, catching his breath. “Tell him to send a cruiser, no sirens or lights.”

“Right.”

*****

We get Don to the psychiatric wing of the county hospital calmly enough, and a sedative upon admission is administered to keep him that way. Ben said he wouldn’t leave his side without a fight, and then they’d have to admit him anyway, so Osbourne and I have been watching them through the door of their room for the past fifteen minutes.

Don had clawed at my arms with such force that he ripped through my sleeve, shirt, and even my skin in some places, and a nurse cleaned and bandaged it while they were admitting him. But it was worth it—it had not been the actions of a man who wanted to die. With therapy and medication, Don has a chance. I updated Deena, told her about the rogue wolf, and asked her to find room for more beds for people at the shelter until it was captured.

“Who are you?” I finally ask the man I know isn’t any kind of federal agent, without looking away from Ben and Don. “Really.”

“Your friend did read our lips, didn’t he?” he evaded. “I knew it.”

“Who are you, and what the hell is going on around here?” I demand again.

He regards me from the corner of his eye and then sighs. “How much do you know about Norse mythology?”

“What?”

“Norse mythology. How much do you know?”

“I’m guessing you mean beyond the Marvel movies and comic books,” I reply mildly.

He huffs out a dry laugh. “There’s a legend about a wolf named Garm. Huge thing. Four eyes, blood-matted chest. A howl that drives people insane.”

“Are you serious?” I question.

He doesn’t say anything, but his expression is serious enough.

“It’s real?”

He tilts his head.

“Oh, my God.”

“He prefers Chuck.”

“What?”

“Never mind. Another time. Anyway, the research my brother and I have been able to compile—”

“Your brother? Who’s your—?” I cut myself off. “Agent Leonard. I knew it.”

“Sam, actually,” he shares.

“And you would be?”

“Dean.”

“Dean,” I repeat. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” he grins.

“About this Garm,” I reintroduce.

“Right. Some of the tales confuse it with Fenrir, the wolf who will devour Odin during Ragnarök.”

“The death of the gods and the end of the universe,” I recall. Something clicks in my brain. “It’s coming, Don said. It’s going to end it all. Garm’s howling—even if he’s a separate entity from Fenrir, if it showed Don and the others Ragnarök and they saw the destruction of the entire universe, that could be enough to drive someone insane.”

“Some sources do suggest that Garm is a herald of Ragnarök. And some say it guards the entrance to Hel itself.”

“If I saw Hel, I’d probably lose my mind too,” I admit. “In any case, we have to stop it.”

“You’re taking to this really well.” He almost sounds impressed.

“Well, one of my closest friends almost died,” I remind him. “It’s shock. It’ll wear off, and I’m probably going to scream and swear a lot.”

“No, I don’t think so. You were very perceptive, inquisitive, earlier. Do you do it professionally?”

“Professionally, I stock shelves in a dollar store,” I relate, turning back to the older men. “How do we get rid of it?”

“As I was saying, English translations of this stuff are pretty scarce, and my Old Norse is a little rusty.”

“You’re hilarious,” I deadpan.

“I try,” he smirks. “From what my brother and I have learned, we have to feed it something.”

“Any kind of something, or a specific something?”

“Specific something, but we’re still trying to figure out what.”

“Well, before we can feed it, we have to find it.”

“We, huh?”

“It almost killed my friend,” I tell him. “If that thing is a Hel-guardian, I’m going to help you send it back where it came from.”

He stares at me, considering, contemplating something. I stare right back.

“Let’s go to my motel room,” he says at last.

“What?” I choke out.

“Our books are there, our equipment.” He raises an eyebrow. “What did you think I meant?”

I bite my tongue to stop from embarrassing myself.

Dean grins at me—he can guess. “Believe me, sweetheart, you need to save your energy for hunting.”

“I didn’t—I wasn’t…” I release a long breath with my hands on my hips. “You don’t know—”

“Yes, I do,” he says simply, turning away toward the elevators. “Because I was thinking it too.”

*****

We walk in the night to the motel. Dean and Sam had set out on foot to track Garm and at least figure out if and where it’s bedding down to sleep, so that it will be easier to find it again when they know what they need to feed it. They had separated, but with a gun full of special bullets and mp3 players full of classic rock, they each felt safe from the thing’s howl and teeth.

“Are you hungry?” Dean asks as he lets us into his room.

My stomach growls in reply.

“Burgers okay?” he all but chuckles.

“Burgers are fine.”

“Coffeepot’s somewhere on the desk under all that paper,” he gestures. “There’s more books in Sam’s room—connecting door’s right there. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Okay.”

When I’m left alone, I look around at the clutter—old notebooks on half of the bed, leather-bound tomes piled five or six high on the round table in front of the window. Dean’s suit is hanging in a garment bag in the closet, but the rest of his clothes are spilling out of a duffel bag on a chair in the corner. Faded tee shirts, flannel shirts, jeans. I see the waistband of a pair of underwear and concentrate on making a pot of coffee.

I’m in the middle of a cup of sweetened black and an encyclopedia of Norse mythology when Dean returns with cheeseburgers and fries from a diner I’ve eaten at a few times.

“Anything?” he wonders, laying out the food.

“I’m cross-referencing Garm with Odin, Tyr, Thor, Loki. So far, nothing.” I bite into a cluster of fries. “Check in with your brother?”

“Yeah, his GPS says he’s somewhere on the edge of the park,” he says, tucking into a burger and another book. “He thinks he found some tracks, but it’s hard to tell if it’s Garm’s or just a plain old wolf’s.”

“Are they fresh?”

“He thinks so. He’ll text us when he knows for sure.”

“Us? You told him I’m helping you?”

“Yes…” he draws out. “Credit where credit’s due, right?”

“Right, yeah.” I turn back to my book.

“What is it, Y/N?” he asks.

“Nothing. I just want to send this thing back to Hel as soon as possible.” A light bulb goes on in my mind, and I gasp, nearly choking on a piece of greasy beef.

“Woah, hey, careful.” Dean leans around to smack my back. “Y’all right?”

I swallow the bite and wash it down with some coffee. “Yeah, yeah. Hel!”

“What’s wrong?”

“No, Hel—Loki’s daughter,” I explain. “Garm is a hound of Hel.” I flip through the pages of the encyclopedia until I get to Hel’s section. “She’s the half-dead ruler of the realm of the same name. And the entrance is guarded by a monstrous hound—Garm.” I skim the passages. “Here. For a living soul to enter Gnipa cave and Hel beyond, Garm may only be appeased by one who has served life to the Folk. Offer a Hel-cake to the hound and pass into the realm of the dead.” I look up at Dean. “What’s a Hel-cake?”

“And how specifically does a person have to serve life to the folk to fit that description?” he adds.

I shrug. “You do yours, and I’ll do mine.”

He shrugs too and goes back to reading.

Sometime later, our cartons of food and cups of coffee are empty, Dean has his laptop out, and I’m on Sam’s digging through recipe blogs.

“If I never see another Pinterest board after this,” I mutter, “it’ll be too soon.”

A small laugh leaves Dean in a soft huff. “Find anything?”

“Wait, I think…” I minimize several browser windows so that the thoughts in my head can follow a reasonable chain. “Okay, hear me out.”

“I’m all ears.”

“The only recipe I found for Hel-cake is from an Irish chef. Her Irish-ness has nothing to do with this, but apparently, hell is how you pronounce the Hebrew word for cardamom. I mean, the Norse word for cardamom is kardemomme, but if we transliterate the Hebrew word into the Roman alphabet, we get H-E-L. Transliteration is subjective up the wazoo, and I’m making some assumptions here that could be dangerous if I’m wrong—”

“It’s all we’ve got, Y/N. It’s worth a try,” Dean says kindly. “What’s the recipe?”

“It’s a cardamom sour-cream cake. We can bake it at my apartment.”

He closes his laptop lid. “All right, write down the ingredients and let’s go shopping.”

*****

As the cake bakes, Dean tells me that he didn’t get far with what Folk could mean beyond the genre of music or people in general.

“That probably means you,” I suggest from beside the oven, leaving him to sit alone on the other side of the counter. I had embarrassed myself earlier with an angry outburst when he had exclaimed Oh, Baby as he started the engine of his car—a ’67 Chevy Impala, I learned—but he hadn’t been talking to me when he said it. “You told me you and your brother are…hunters? That this isn’t the first monster to wreak havoc in small-town America. You serve the people by protecting them from all sorts of supernatural beasts and agendas. You preemptively save their lives.”

“Maybe. It’s worth a shot.”

With the cake out of the oven, I serve Dean the last slice of my carrot cake so that I can put the Hel-cake on the plastic server and into the freezer to cool faster.

“This is so good,” he praises with his mouth full. “Do you have any milk?”

I chuckle at him and pour a glass for each of us before making the icing.

As I drizzle the sour-cream icing over the top and sides of the single-layer cake, Dean rinses the dishes and sets them in the strainer and then comes up behind me and puts his hands on my waist. It startles me, but it’s a comfortable sensation.

“I can’t let you come with me, Y/N,” he breathes into my hair.

“No way,” I refuse, turning around in his arms. “I’ve helped you this far. I baked the freaking cake.”

“It’s too dangerous,” he insists. “If I can’t protect you—”

“I’ll protect myself, thank you very much,” I tell him.

“Have you ever shot a gun?” he asks.

“I went hunting with my dad when I still lived at home,” I share.

“Deer and turkeys are not hounds of Hel, or wendigos, or vampires,” he resists.

“That’s not what you asked,” I retort, pushing him away so I can get another one of my coats. “Like you said, short of tying me to the bed, nothing’s going to stop me.”

He secures the lid of the cake server with a sigh and pulls on his own jacket. “Do you have an mp3 player, earbuds?”

“In my coat pocket.”

He sighs again. “I’ll give you a gun when we get to the park.”

“Well, you can hand over the cake now,” I tell him. “Since you’re driving.”

*****

We meet Sam at the edge of the wooded area. He tracked Garm’s paw prints to a small cave just beyond the park and into the nature preserve and pinned the location on his phone’s GPS.

I trade Dean the cake for a pistol loaded with silver bullets. He gives me two extra clips just in case.

“Be careful,” he says over the blaring of music in our ears.

“Likewise,” I all but have to shout.

Sam leads us into the trees, I follow in the middle with the pistol’s safety off but my finger away from the trigger, and Dean brings up the rear.

The flashlights attached to our guns bob along the ground in front of us for what feels like forever in the cold darkness, but then Sam pauses and I stop short. I peer around him, and there is the cave.

A large wolf stands in front of its entrance, head down, hackles up, teeth bared. Its shoulders stand as tall as my waist—his head would probably be as tall as my chest, if not higher. Its black eyes glow menacingly at us—how black eyes can even glow is beyond me. Another set of eyes, smaller and glowing a milky gray, lie on its head between the first pair and its ears. Blood drips from its muzzle, and the fur on its chest is matted with the stuff.

Dean steps forward past me and Sam, already having removed the lid of the cake server. Garm’s attention moves to him as he slowly approaches the beast. As he crouches forward to set the platter on the ground as an offering, Garm snaps at him. Its powerful jaws are at least two feet short of its target, but the warning works. Dean backs up to us, and we keep an eye on it, guns at the ready, while we try to come up with a new plan.

“Obviously, I’ve never served the Folk,” Dean says loudly. “Sammy, something tells me you don’t fit either. Y/N.” He leans close. “Get behind us and start backing up nice and slow. Maybe the silver can immobilize it for now, while we find someone who can stop it, or maybe it can kill it outright. Reach into my right pocket,” he tells me.

I do, and pull out a set of keys.

“When the shooting starts,” he says, “run to the car.”

I shake my head. “No!”

“Now, Y/N,” he directs sternly.

“Stop telling me what to do!” I yell back. “I know I’m just some small-town stock-clerk, who volunteers at a soup kitchen so I don’t die from loneliness, but—” The angry words dissolve in my throat as the last puzzle piece locks into place. “Give me the cake.”

“Are you out of your mind!?”

“Thanks to Queen blasting in my ears, no. But it’s me. I’m the servant,” I realize. “The Folk aren’t just people—they’re ordinary people. Common people. And in the feudal system a thousand years ago, ordinary common people were the poor. And bread is a staple. The Bible even calls it the staff of life. I’m in charge of rolls at the kitchen. Don’t you see? I have to make the offering.”

From the look on Dean’s face, I think he would have preferred a gunfight to me figuring that out.

“Give me the cake, Dean.”

“Give it to her, Dean,” Sam tells his brother. “We got her covered.”

He hesitates but reluctantly passes me the platter. “The same goes—if the shooting starts, run.”

“Okay.”

Taking a step toward Garm, I see teeth, shiny in the lights from the firearms Dean and Sam have pointed at it, but it hasn’t moved closer. As I slowly approach, the cake server low so that the it can see the gift, it stops snarling and licks its chops. From the rippling of its jowls, though, it’s still growling, and the short fur on its back is still raised in warning.

I take one more small step and put the server on the forest floor, backing up until Dean grabs the back of my coat and pulls me to his side. Watching us, Garm creeps up to the cake, sniffs it, and devours it in a few massive mouthfuls.

“What if that wasn’t enough?” Sam asks.

“It said a Hel-cake,” I tell him.

“And technically, that was a Hel-cake,” Dean adds.

Garm licks its chops again and lies down, its great forepaws covering the cake server. It drops further, onto its side, panting. I almost can’t believe when its fur starts smoking—but until a few hours ago, I didn’t believe that all the monsters from my childhood bedtime stories actually exist.

The thick, gray cloud covers its body and seeps low over the ground toward us. I smell something like the most rotten of eggs and start to cough.

“Sulphur,” Dean says. “Cover your mouth. Watch out.”

We stand ready with our weapons, in case it has the strength to get up and attack us. But when the smoke dissipates a moment later, Garm is nothing but a pile of ashes.

I turn to Dean to ask him whether it’s over, and he’s already removing his earbuds, Black Sabbath resounding out until he cuts the music. Sam and I turn off our music and pocket our players too, and Sam steps forward with a vial in his hand.

“Stay back,” Dean tells me, keeping his arm around me. “He’s cleansing the remains.”

“Oh.”

“You didn’t want to keep the cake server, did you?” he manages to joke.

“Definitely not.”

*****

Dean walks me to the front stoop after they drive me home.

“Interesting line of work you guys are in,” I remark as the eastern horizon begins to lighten.

“Who knows how much longer this case would’ve gone on without your help,” he tells me. “You were incredible.”

“It all feels like a dream,” I admit. “That could be the sleep deprivation talking.” I shake my head. “I don’t want to wake up.”

He holds my head in his hands and sets his forehead to mine. “Neither do I.”

“You don’t suppose…”

“What?”

“I’m one hell of a researcher,” I don’t mind mentioning. “I’m good with people. I bet I would’ve been good with that gun too, if I had to use it. And if I’m not, I can learn.”

His eyes light up with wary hope, but his smile is sad. “Y/N, you don’t know how much I would love…” He stops himself. “It may feel like a dream now, but sometimes…sometimes it’s a nightmare. And you can’t wake up. And there’s sleep deprivation, and exhaustion, and things that will make you question your entire existence…”

“You’re 0 for 3 trying to scare me off, Dean,” I point out.

“It’s not an easy life, Y/N.”

“This one hasn’t exactly been a peach,” I mutter. “And I’m not looking for easy. But I think I’ve been looking for you.”

He sighs and finally lets himself admit, “I think I’ve been looking for you too.”

He tilts his head to the side and presses his lips to mine, and I wrap my fingers around his wrists. When he draws away, his smile isn’t sad anymore.

“How long will it take you to pack?” he asks.

My breath leaves me in a giggly rush. “A day. It’s just my bed and a few tables, some dinnerware and linens. Almost everything but my clothes can go into storage.”

“Sam and I will come back and help after we crash for a few hours at the motel.”

“I have to make sure Ben and Don are going to be all right. And the most important thing of all.”

“What’s that?” Dean wonders.

“I have to call my manager and tell him I quit.”

*****

A/N: Like Dean mentions, information on Garm in English is hard to find. I did the best I could, and I made a lot of educated guesses. If I got something wrong, feel free to kindly let me know. This was so interesting to research and write. Congratulations, buddy! 😘

#SynsMonsterChallenge #supernatural #fanfic

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