#the 'split second like a flash of lighting' is when the gun fires. afterwards is just seeing the results

[the-gayest-sky-kid]

you ever think about how bones drew parallels in this moment not only through the reaching out (not initially in the scene) but also through oda's description of a "split second like a blue flash of lighting", which literally strikes in the anime when dazai tries to stop him. do you ever-

[something-tofightfor]

Liminality: Part 11

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Female Reader

Word Count: 6,768

Rating: R - for violence, injury, blood, fear etc.

Summary: Finding yourself face to face with the Chaos Wolf, you realize just how terrifying the creatures can be. For the first time, you're forced to face your fear and rely on your own survival instincts.

But having good intentions doesn't mean that things turn out the way you hope they will... and this encounter may lead to the reveal of much more than you intended.

Author’s note:

Sorry to keep you hanging for so long; life gets in the way sometimes. Thank you for being patient, and for sticking around. Hope you enjoy this chapter. Wanna talk about Wolf Frankie or his friends? My inbox is always open.

Masterlist (for the journal entries and all of the other 'extras' + previous chapters)

You heard a low growl, and then, as your grip on the phone tightened, you saw the wolf break from the treeline and head straight toward you. 

Instinctively, you backed up. 

But you’d misjudged your position and went sprawling over the legs of one of the outdoor chairs that surrounded the small fire pit, another cry escaping your lips. You kept the phone in your hand, though, determined to do something good with what might have been the final few moments of your life. You’ll know what he looks like. You’ll know what it looks like so you can find him. 

It had only been seconds, but if felt like much longer,  and as the wolf got closer to you, you used what little light you had to assess it. It was big and it was fast, and unlike Frankie, it was dark, its fur shorter than you expected. But it’s limping. Still. And unlike Frankie’s warm golden eyes, this wolf’s were orange bordering on red and catching the light made them glow the same way they had in the darkness. It looks mean. It looks… 

You scrambled away from it, and instead of trying to go for the RV’s door, you went for the chair on the other side of the pit, hoping that you could grab the gun and at least get a shot off before it got you. But that was wishful thinking - and you knew it. Where the fuck are you, Will?

You screamed again when it reached you, stopping just short of where you were and lowering its head. 

Your first instinct was to kick outward at it and hope you made contact. But it swiped at your leg, claws easily tearing through the pants you’d changed into earlier as it deflected the first blow. That didn’t stop you from lashing out a second time with the same leg, splatters of blood raining down on the dirt around you. When you made contact, the heel of your foot catching it somewhere on the shoulder, you heard it grunt, the sound oddly human. 

It backed away and then stared at you, head tilted to one side… and then the wolf growled, lowering its head a second time without taking its eyes off of you. You only had a split second to think, and when you closed your eyes, it was Frankie’s face you saw - his bright smile from the night you’d first met flashing in your memory. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

The crack of a gunshot caught you off guard, a piercing howl of pain filling the air immediately afterward. And when you opened your eyes again, you saw the wolf spinning away from you and tearing back for the trees, leaving a trail of blood behind it. Will’s voice came moments later, and then he was beside you, the blonde on his knees as he assessed your injury. 

“Did it bite you?” 

“No.” You forced the word out, still holding onto your phone. “No it sw…swiped at me, and …” Your leg hurt - the wound was painful, even though it wasn’t huge. “Fuck, Will, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I -” 

“We need to get up into the blind in case it comes back.” He moved to crouch in front of you, taking your face between both hands and forcing you to look at him. “Can you walk?”

“I think so.” You flexed your toes, nodding. “I can’t climb a ladder though. I -” 

“There’s a pulley.” He nodded, his voice calm, though you could see how tightly he was wound. “I’ll get you up there.” You nodded back, glancing down at your phone. Still recording, but I can stop now, I … 

He helped you to your feet and you ended the video, stuffing the phone back into your pocket. Will put an arm around you to help support your weight, but it still took longer than you knew he would have liked to get to the trees where the blind was. “Will, I can try to climb. I -”

“No.” He pointed. “We’ve got supplies up there that are heavier than you and we sure as shit didn’t haul ‘em up by hand.” You watched as he tugged on a rope, the muscles in his biceps flexing, and then a few seconds later, a wooden platform came into view as it lowered from above. “It’s only about 20 feet up. We had ‘Fish as a wolf run and jump as high as he could, and it was still too high for him to reach.” He gestured with one hand. “Get on and sit. It’s smooth, I swear. We’ve all done this before.” 

That made you smile, even though your still-pumping adrenaline was fading fast. You did as he asked, lowering yourself at the center of the platform, and then without warning, Will was lifting you into the trees. You didn’t want to question it, but you had to wonder how it was rigged - and what exactly they had stored up in the blind that required an elevator. 

You got your answer moments later when you rose through the hole in the floor of it and saw what you would have described as a small studio apartment inside of the space. This is like a fucking treehouse. There was a twin sized mattress under a covered window on one side, along with a crate that you assumed contained food and drinks. There was a larger crate on the opposite side, and resting on top of that was a laptop. The entire space was lit by string lights, and they cast an almost cozy glow down on you. 

“What the fuck?” Scooting off of the platform and onto the floor, you peered over the edge and called down to Will.  “I’m up here, do I need to -”

“No. You’re good.” He looked up, nodding. “Back away, I’m gonna bring it back down here.” You were confused but did what he asked, and once the platform was out of sight again, you scooted back and then leaned against the wall, your injured leg stretched out in front of you. 

You were bleeding steadily, and as you eyed your leg, you wondered if Will realized just how bad your injury was. That didn’t matter, though. What mattered was that you were safe, and that you only had a few hours until Frankie was back - and the three of you could get the fuck out of the woods for a month. 

Will called up to you as he climbed the ladder, and when you saw his head poke up and through a smaller door in the floor, you actually laughed, the sight of him calming you more than you thought it would. “I went and got your gun. Figured we should both have one.” 

You thanked him, taking the weapon and cradling it to your chest, and then for the next few minutes, you watched him go into soldier mode. 

He raised the platform a second time, pulling it all the way to the ceiling and securing it there. That left a gaping hole in the floor, but when he pulled the rope all the way up, too, you understand what he was doing. If it tries to jump at us, we’ll see it. Once that was done, he sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Will, I -”

“Don’t you dare apologize.” He met your eyes, head shaking back and forth. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” Didn’t I? I should have had the gun. I should have been prepared. “I need to clean and bandage your leg. I’ve gotta see if it’s going to need stitches.” You hadn’t even considered that, but once again, he was right. Shit. 

Will unloaded the contents of his pockets onto the mattress and then opened a second crate, pulling out the largest first aid kit you’d ever seen. I’m not surprised, though. He pressed a button near the end of the light strand, and the room brightened, giving you your first real look at your leg. 

There was blood pooled beneath it, and you got a glimpse of your skin through the torn fabric. It hurts. He settled down next to you and carefully lifted your leg, resting it atop his knees. “I’m going to pull your pant leg up, alright?” You nodded, fingers curled in against your palms. He acted without pause, peeling the torn material away and then folding it over on itself. “I’m going to clean it now. I’m sorry, but it’s probably going to hurt like a sonofabitch.”

You mumbled a thank you for the warning but kept quiet otherwise as Will took things step by step. It wasn’t quite as bad as you’d thought once the blood had been wiped away, and you both heard and saw his sigh of relief when a trio of slashes was revealed, proving that it had only been a claws and not teeth that pierced your skin. 

He cleaned it deftly, his fingers carefully moving over your leg, and then Will applied a generous amount of antibacterial ointment before reaching for the kit again. “Good news.” He held up a bandage. “I don’t think you need stitches. It’s deep, but as long as you’re careful, I think it’ll close on its own.”

“Frankie’s not going to let me be anything but careful, Will.” Covering your face with both hands, you tilted your head back. “I feel like such an idiot. I set the gun down to make a video for him, and then I wandered away from it, and …”

“Wait, you took a video? Were you recording when it came at you?” He sounded stunned, and when you met his eyes again, nodding, you saw something like excitement in them. “That’s fucking great. Now we’ll know what it looks like, and if someone ever blames Frankie for this shit, we can prove it’s not him.” You hadn’t even thought of that, but it was the truth. “Oh, that’s amazing.” His smile grew, Will’s attention focused on you. “He might not kill me now.”

“Kill you? Why?” Will raised a brow and dropped his gaze to your leg, tapping on your ankle with one finger. “Because I got hurt?”

“I hesitated.” He spoke quietly, but there wasn’t a long pause before he started to explain. “Not because I didn’t want to shoot it, but because it was so close to you, and if I missed, or you moved …” That was something that you didn’t want to think about, and for long moments, both of you were quiet. But I do have to ask… 

“Did you hit it? It ran like you did.”

“I did.” Will nodded. “Hit it in the leg. There’s blood all over the clearing from both of you, so we’re going to have to clean that up tomorrow morning before we leave, but wherever it is, it’s hurt.” 

“That means it’s been hurt two moons in a row.” You spoke without thinking, and only caught yourself once you’d finished. Shit. Shit, I shouldn’t have … “I mean…”

“What do you mean?” He leaned in, frowning. “How do you know that?” You could blame it on the pain - or the lingering adrenaline - but no matter how you framed it, you’d blown your cover. 

“I…” Just tell him. “Will, I’m not really here because I’m writing a book about Tampa.” You rubbed at one eye, sighing. “I mean, I am writing, but that’s not …” Straightening up as much as you could, you repositioned your legs so that your bandaged one was stacked on your other one, elevated slightly. “My family hunts werewolves. I saw the articles about the attacks, and so I came here.” 

“Before you say another word…” He stiffened, and for the first time, you saw anger in his expression, his eyes going flat. “Does Frankie know?” Of course that’s his first question.

“He does.” You let out a shaky breath. “That’s why he told me what he was. He did come to my place after last month because of what Benny and I heard and because of the attack, but it wasn’t that he started to shift, it was that he saw all of my research.” You stared directly into his eyes and continued. “My cousin was the last one attacked. And the only reason he survived was because a wolf… his fiancee as a wolf protected him and chased the other one away.”

“What the fuck.” He stood, pacing back and forth as he looked down at you. “You’re joking.” 

“I’m not. I wish I was. They came here because I told them what was going on, and were in the wrong place at the wrong time and … she bit the other wolf. She hurt it. And I knew she hurt it because I went to the hospital to see him that morning and she told me.” 

It felt good to tell him. It made you feel lighter to be honest with one of Frankie’s closest friends. And they all deserve to know. “Is he alright?”

“He is. He didn’t get bitten either, just clawed. He got it way worse than me, though.” You pressed a hand to your belly, sighing. “Frankie’s arm was also bothering him that morning, and for a split second, I thought …”

“You thought it was him so you pulled the gun.” Will stopped moving and then crouched down, looking you in the eye. “This is fucking nuts. Why did you lie?”

“We thought that the more people that knew, the more dangerous it got. You guys own the bar and there are hundreds of people in and out every week. Something slipping could have been bad, so Frankie suggested that we tell you guys that I knew, just not … the whole truth about why.” 

“Smart.” He nodded. “Every now and then ‘Fish surprises me.” That made you laugh, and when Will extended his hand, you took it and let him help you to your feet. “It’ll be more comfortable if we sit on the mattress.” He waited for you to take the few steps necessary to reach it, and when you were sitting, he moved a smaller crate in front of you so that you could keep your leg elevated. Will busied himself in front of the large container for a few minutes and then lowered himself next to you, reaching over to hold out a bottle of water and a few tablets. “These’ll help with the pain. Prescription strength ibuprofen. Nothing bad.” You took the pills and swallowed them dry, squeezing your eyes shut. 

“He’s going to freak out when he comes back and there’s blood everywhere and he can’t find us.” You knew that he’d think the worst, and wished that you’d been just a little more careful. We could have ended this. 

“He is. But it’s better than the alternative.” You agreed and then let your mind drift. You could hear the creatures in the forest again, bugs and frogs and then, after a while, the hoot of the owl. It relaxed you, because it meant that the wolf that had attacked you was long gone - unless Will’s shot had injured it more than he’d anticipated. But we wouldn’t ever be that lucky

You actually dozed off a few minutes later, head tipping to the side and resting against Will’s sturdy shoulder. His voice brought you back to attention, even though he spoke quietly. “So you didn’t know when you met ‘Fish? The two of you meeting was … on accident?”

“It was. I saw one of Tom’s ads while I was in a hotel, and reached out because I needed somewhere to stay. He recommended your bar and Frankie for helicopter tours, and it all just spiraled from there.” 

“What are the fuckin’ odds?” You’d asked yourself that multiple times a day since you’d arrived in Florida, and you told Will as much. His laugh was genuine, but it was short-lived, as was yours. “Will you tell me more about what you do? Why you do it? Before he got bit in South America, I didn’t know any of this shit existed, but over the last couple years, it’s been… I’ve learned a hell of a fuckin’ lot even though we knew nothing for sure.” 

There was nothing you could do to put your secret back under wraps, and so you took a deep breath before clearing your throat.  “My great-great-great grandma was the first person in our family to have been bitten…” 

— 

You talked to Will for almost an hour, but then you started to drift again, even though you knew it was approaching sunrise. 

He’d given you a blanket to wrap around your shoulders right around the time you’d gotten to the part where you took over the hunt, and the material was soft. You snuggled into it, yawning, and to your surprise, Will let you lean against him, even going so far as to put an arm around your shoulders to steady you. 

“Get some rest. We can talk more later.” He sighed. “Before that, though, I have one more question for you.” What’s he going to ask? “Do you want me to tell him I know, or do you want to do that?”

“We’ll tell him together.” You yawned again, covering your mouth with one hand. “I never wanted to lie to you guys, or for him to. It didn’t feel right.” He hummed, and you couldn’t tell what the tone of the noise was, but it didn’t matter. After that, you stopped fighting sleep - and it came quickly. 

But it didn’t last long, and you were startled awake by the sound of Frankie’s frantic voice, the man screaming your name from below you. “Shit.” You pushed to your feet and then hissed when you put weight on your injured leg, nearly toppling back down onto the mattress before Will caught you. “Fuck, he -”

“It’s fine.” He squeezed your arm. “It’ll be fine.” Will knelt down and then leaned over the opening in the floor. “‘Fish, we’re up here.” You peered over, too, and were stunned to see Frankie wearing nothing but a pair of athletic shorts standing in the clearing beneath you, both hands in his hair. He looks so worried. Shit. I never wanted … “We’re both up here, and we’re fine, but -”

“What the fuck is all this blood?” He sounded almost frantic, and the expression on his face when he looked up and focused on you nearly broke your heart in two. “I smell another wolf. Who got -”

“Frankie, it’s mine. Some of it is -”

“WHAT?” He roared the word and you heard Will groan, his fingers tightening against the edge of the cutout. “What the fuck do you mean it’s yours?” 

“Let me climb down, ‘Fish, and then we can get her down, and we’ll explain.” Will looked over at you and you saw the concern in his eyes. “But you’ve gotta calm down. I’ve got blood on my clothes, and so does she, and it’s not going to do anyone any good if you… react.” 

Frankie rubbed both hands over his face and you watched as he took a deep breath and held it, his broad shoulders relaxing after long moments. “I’m good. You can come down, Ironhead.” Will backed away from the opening and then stood, fingers combing through his short hair. 

“I’m going to climb down, and then we’ll bring you down the same way I pulled you up, alright? Two of us, it’ll be easier.” He leaned in, his eyes locked with yours. “He needs to see that you’re alright, so you need to be ready as soon as -”

“I understand.” You lowered yourself into a sitting position, staring up at him. “Be careful climbing down, Will.” 

He assured you that he would, and then after unhooking the platform from the roof and letting it drop through the opening, Will disappeared down through the trapdoor, the gun still tucked securely into his waistband. You leaned forward and looked beneath you, watching as he made his way down the ladder to where Frankie was standing. They talked for a few seconds, Will holding a hand up to keep Frankie at a distance, but you didn’t see defensive posture in either of them before Frankie looked up and met your gaze. 

You saw what you could only describe as fear in his eyes, and with shock, realized that for two months in a row - ever since you’d met - he’d spent the morning after the full moon worrying about you. This can’t keep happening. I can’t be the reason he feels like this. We need to find this wolf. 

He joined Will near the rope, and when the platform appeared again, you positioned it and secured it so that you could climb on, swearing when you moved your leg to get it situated. You tugged on the rope to let them know that you were ready, and when you began the journey down to where the two men were, you steeled yourself for what was to come. 

You were shocked at the amount of blood on the ground, your eyes moving over the semi-dried puddles and splashes, following the trail to where it disappeared into the woods. There was a second one that followed your path to the blind, but that one was smaller. That means he got the wolf good. You don’t bleed like that if it’s just a graze. 

Frankie dropped to his knees as soon as you hit the ground, and before you could say a word, he had his hands on you, the man’s touch gentle as he assessed the extent of your injures with his eyes and hands. “Are you alright?” Will stayed quiet and so did you, even as you nodded, but when Frankie reached your leg - and then your injury, his entire body going rigid, you knew it was time to speak up.

“It clawed me. Will took care of it. I wasn’t bitten. It hurts, but it feels better than it did, and -”

“I’m going to fucking kill this goddamn wolf.” His fingers hovered over the bandage, Frankie’s breathing fast as he stared at you. “I’m going to find out who it is and I’m going to rip its goddamn throat out.” You’d never heard him sound so angry, and even though it scared you, there was a part of you that was responding to Frankie’s promises in a very different way. Who wouldn’t? “What happened? Why were you outside?” 

He looked at you first, head shaking back and forth. He’s going to be so disappointed. “It was my fault. I left the gun on the ground and circled the fire pit. I wasn’t even thinking.” 

“She was making you a video, ‘Fish. We both fell asleep in the RV and then she went outside, and the next thing I knew, she was screaming for me.” You leaned into Frankie’s touch, his palm curved against your jaw, thumb moving over your cheek in a slow, steady arc. “I had no shot at first. It was … she was between me and it, and I couldn’t risk her moving.” 

“It came out of the woods and ran straight at me.” You swallowed hard, maintaining eye contact with Frankie. “I reached for the gun and didn’t have it. I knew it wasn’t you. I was ready to shoot it.” Shaking your head, you chewed on your lower lip for a few more seconds before saying anything else. “It was playing with me, Frankie. It charged like it was going to plow into me, but at the last second, it pulled back and just … swiped.” 

He looked down at your leg - the first time he’d averted his eyes from your face since he’d locked his gaze on you. “It didn’t try to bite you?” You shook your head no. “Fuck. I should have stayed. I shouldn’t have run.” 

“Will hurt it, Frankie.” You reached up, covering his hand with yours and easing it away from your face. “He shot it. And there’s so much blood, it had to have been hurt bad, so -”

“Apparently, I hurt it for the second month in a row.” Will cleared his throat and you and Frankie both looked up. You felt his fingers curl beneath yours, but before Frankie could speak, Will continued. “It slipped. She told me about why she’s here and what happened last month.” 

“Shit.” Frankie hung his head. “Oh, shit.” 

“It’s fine.” You sighed, the sound turning into a short laugh. “It’s better that people know. They were going to find out sooner or later.”

“I get it, ‘Fish.” Will moved closer, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re protecting your girl. You’re protecting yourself. I would have done the same.” 

Neither you or Frankie corrected Will’s label on your relationship, and for the first time, you realized that you didn’t need to. Because I think I am his girl. And I like the way that sounds. “We should get you inside, Frankie. Get you something to drink, and some clothes, and -”

“I’m staying with you.” He rolled his shoulders back and for the first time, you stared at him and saw the way he looked in the early morning light. His skin was dirty, curls tangled atop his head, and his face was even more stubbled than usual. It suits him. Somehow, it … 

“You two go ahead and go back inside. I’m going to follow the trail and then clean up out here.” He gestured to the clearing, shrugging. “Gotta rake over the blood, get the blind secured … you know the drill.” 

“Help me up?” You tugged on Frankie’s hand. “I’ll come inside with you. I can clean everything up in there while you shower.” He looked like he wanted to argue with you, but instead, Frankie did help you to your feet and then looped an arm around you to give you some support. “That alright, Will?”

“Yes.” He nodded, lips curving upward briefly as he watched you. “That’s fine.” 

You left him behind as you and Frankie slowly made your way back to the RV and then inside, closing the door behind you. 

Your leg hurt, the ibuprofen doing little to dull the ache, but you didn’t want to tell Frankie. He needs to keep his routine. He needs to go shower and - “Are you really alright?” He spoke quietly, leaning against the edge of the counter and crossing his arms. “Because -”

“I am.” You sat at the table, resting your hands on the surface. “There were a couple seconds where I didn’t think I had a chance, but …” Looking down at your hands, you swallowed hard. “But I’m fine. Won’t be walking a whole lot for the next couple days, but it could have been a lot worse.” It almost was a lot worse. “Go shower. I’ll get stuff packed up so we can leave when you’re done.” 

“Will knowing means everyone is going to know.” He said your name, tone serious. “Benny won’t be a big deal, but Tom… he might not… he doesn’t like liars.” 

“I’m not afraid of Tom.” You pushed yourself to your feet, angling your body toward Frankie. “We had a valid reason not to say anything. It’s not like I knew when I reached out. I -” Lowering your head, you closed your eyes. “I should have told you sooner. Maybe then Alec wouldn’t have gotten attacked or -”

“No.” Frankie stepped closer to you and wrapped his arms around you, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “You did everything right. And it was my decision not to tell anyone, not yours. So if Tom’s gonna be pissed he can be pissed at me.” 

Even though Frankie smelled like the forest - leaves and dirt and sweat - you didn’t want to let him go. Pulling away enough that you could look up at him, you slid your hand along the back of his neck, urging him closer. “Frankie, pl-”

“Stop.” It was the first time he’d denied you, and you saw resolve in his eyes. “I’m not going to kiss you until I shower and brush my teeth.” He held you tighter, and you saw him struggling to keep his word. “Not after spending a night in the woods.” You wrinkled your nose at that, Frankie’s words reminding you of exactly what he’d been doing for the previous hours. 

He let you go moments later, squeezing your arm and then disappearing down the hall and into the small bathroom, his bag over one shoulder.

It took you longer than it would have without an injured leg, but you could still hear the shower running by the time you’d changed clothes, packed all of your stuff up and were ready to go. Will was still raking the clearing, and you could see that he was almost done. You figured that he’d finish just about when Frankie did. Good. That means we can go home soon. 

 You watched him through the window, Will meticulously obscuring the evidence that anything had happened the previous night. I should have taken pictures of the blood. I should have followed it into the woods just to see - 

“You still want that kiss?” Frankie’s arms wound around you from behind, the man resting his chin on your shoulder. “Because my mouth doesn’t taste like I’ve been drinking pond water all night anymore.” 

You turned before he was even finished, nodding. “Fuck yes I do.” He laughed, but you cut the sound off with the press of your lips to his, the fingers of one hand tangled in his damp curls. 

There was no hesitation on your part. 

You didn’t care that he’d been a literal wolf an hour earlier. You were unbothered by the fact that he’d likely done things overnight that no human should have even considered. The only thing you were focused on was the way he held you and the way he kissed you, one large hand splayed out against your back and the other cradling your skull. 

“I thought it got you.” He mumbled the words between kisses, voice low. “You and Ironhead, and -”

“It didn’t.” You pressed your forehead to his. “We got him. And he’s hurt, Frankie. This isn’t like Ashley biting him. I don’t know how fast you heal if you’re hurt as a wolf, but -”

“Will shot him with silver, so …” Frankie kissed you again, mouth soft as it pressed against yours. “So until he gets that out, or unless it went straight through, it’s going to hurt like a motherfucker. And if he couldn’t get it out before he turned back into a human, he’ll heal like a human.” 

You hadn’t even considered that, but it made sense. He’d heal faster as a wolf, but as a human it’s just … oh, damn. “I hope you don’t know that from experience.” 

“Not a gunshot, no. And never silver. But other injures have followed that pattern.” He sighed and then yawned, groaning. “I -”

“D’you think that the two of you could finish that somewhere else?” Will interrupted you, the man standing just inside the door with both hands on his hips. “I’m fuckin’ exhausted and I still have to drive us home.” 

In spite of everything, you laughed at his words, Frankie following suit shortly after. “Yes, Will.” You swiped at your face with one hand, the laugh turning into a yawn. “Since you asked so nicely.” 

— 

 Will dropped the two of you off at Frankie’s, promising that he wouldn’t say anything about the previous night until you’d had time to rest. Frankie thanked him, but hadn’t said much else before heading straight into his kitchen and downing glass after glass of cold water, his back to you and covered only in a thin t-shirt. 

You didn’t know what to say, or where to begin, but Frankie took care of that for you, twisting the water off and then turning back to face you with his arms crossed. “I put you in danger. You being there with me was -”

“No, me being there with Will was what saved my life.” You made your way to him, trying not to wince when you put weight on your injured leg. “Don’t do this. Don’t try and paint this situation like you put me in fucking danger when I’ve never felt safer than I do when I’m around your friends or you in either form.” You stopped inches away from him, bracing your weight on the counter. “I was where I wanted to be. I am where I want to be. So don’t give me the bullshit about pulling away to save me, because that’s exactly what it is. Bullshit.” 

He looked surprised at your outburst, but you meant every word. “You could have been killed. You could have been bitten, and I honestly don’t fucking know which would be worse.” That hurt - and for the first time, you flinched away from him. 

“I wasn’t. I’ll be fine in a few days. It’ll probably scar, but Jesus, Frankie, it was worth it. I know what it looks like now. It’s hurt. It was limping when it ran across the clearing at me, which means that Ashley fucked it up. And now Will did, too. That’s two months in a row that it wasn’t successful in attacking anyone. And that means it’s going to be pissed. And that means it’s going to get sloppy.” 

Your words had an impact - you saw the look in his eyes change as you spoke, anger turning to understanding. I’m right and you know it. “I was fucking terrified. I came back and I smelled blood. I saw blood. Neither of you were in the camper, and I knew it was another wolf. I thought …”

“I know.” You closed the distance, winding your arms around his neck. “I know what you thought. But I’m right here. I’m fine, Francisco.” Twisting a curl around one finger, you tugged on it. “If you’re not too tired, I can give you a demonstration of just how fine I really am.”

“That’s not fair.” He finally smiled, his grin a welcome change - and enough of a switch in demeanor to make you sigh in relief. “You’re gonna make me say no to you?”

“I’m not going to make you do anything.” You leaned in, running your nose alongside his and then kissing him on the corner of his mouth. “But I know you’ve got to be exhausted, so you can always take a raincheck.” 

“I think I’m going to have to.” He groaned, turning his head so that he could kiss you, his mouth pressed to yours as he replied. “I can barely stand up.” That didn’t stop him from kissing you again, though, Frankie’s tongue teasing against the seam of your lips briefly before you parted them for him. He encircled you with his arms, hauling you even closer, and you let him, the edges of your nails digging into his back, and the fingers of your other hand tangling in his hair. 

“Then let’s get you to bed.” You paused long enough to take a breath, teeth closing around his lower lip and tugging once you’d spoken. “I could lay down, too.” Frankie’s smile was small but you felt it, and he pushed off of the counter, urging you toward the hallway. “You can go ahead of me. I have to walk slow, it -”

“No.” He spun you slowly so that your back was to his chest, and then kept his hands at your waist. “Together. I don’t want to let you out of my goddamn sight.” 

It was overkill, and you knew it - and you thought he did too. But I won’t complain. 

You both paused just inside his doorway, Frankie stepping next to you and letting out a weary sigh. “I’ve never been so happy to see my goddamn bed.” 

“Not even after South America?” Raising an eyebrow, you turned your head to look at him. “Will told me you guys were there a hell of a long time.” 

“We were.” He pulled his shirt off, tossing it toward the hamper. “And I guess you’ve got me there. We got home and I slept for two days straight. I’m pretty sure Becca thought I fuckin’ died.” He undid the button on his pants, sliding them down and then throwing them to the side, too. “But you get my point.” Frankie raised both arms above his head, stretching. “You gonna wear all those clothes to bed?”

You eyed him, letting your gaze rake over every inch of exposed skin. You’d looked at every opportunity, but that morning, it felt different. That wolf is inside of him. It’s … it shouldn’t be possible, but … Reaching out, you dragged your fingertips down the center of his chest, closing your eyes at the warmth of his skin. It’s all him, though. And I wouldn’t want to change any of it. “No. I guess I’m not.” 

His hands moved to the lower hem of your shirt, and when he tugged it upward, you raised your arms to help him. He made quick work of it, and when you went to remove your pants, you felt his hands skating down and over your sides. “You’re here. You’re still -”

“I am.” You swallowed, a shaky breath escaping a few seconds later. “He didn’t get me that -”

“No. I mean after you saw what happens… what I am, you’re still here. With me.” It broke your heart that even after he’d witnessed your response to his transformation - after he’d been able to sense the way you felt about it, he’d still doubted that you’d want to be close to him. “You’re not afraid, and you don’t think it’s disgusting, and -”

“Frankie, stop.” Using two fingers, you pressed the tips of them to his lips. “I understand you worrying, but if you really thought that that’s how I’d respond, then you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.” He sucked in a breath, staring at you. “I want you, and everything that comes with it. Still. I know what I’m getting into. It’s going to take more than that to get rid of me.” He smiled at that, and when you saw his expression soften, you moved to pull your hand away. “But.” 

“But … what?” Frankie’s eyes flicked downward and then met yours again, his shoulders set. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I don’t want you to lie to me about how much it hurts you. You said changing was unpleasant, but c’mon, ‘Fish. Don’t lie to me about being in pain.” Gesturing to your leg, you laughed. “I’m certainly not going to lie and tell you this doesn’t hurt. I’m not going to think less of you because you admit that your bones literally rearranging themselves hurts when you turn into a giant wolf and back.” 

“Complaining about it doesn’t change shit.” He moved his thumbs over your abdomen, shaking his head. “I’ve just got to deal with it.”

“Maybe with them.” You bit your lip. “But not with me, alright?” It took a few seconds but he finally nodded before pulling you into a tight hug. You nuzzled against the side of his neck, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. It was stupid - and you knew it - but being so close to him made the previous hours and your attack seem less scary. No less serious, though. 

“We need to get into that bed.” You mumbled the words without backing off, and Frankie’s hold on you tightened. “Do you have a towel I can put under my leg? I don’t want to bleed on your bed, and I might if -”

“If Ironhead bandaged that, it’s not going to bleed.” Frankie straightened up. “He knows his shit.” That made you snort, but when Frankie took your hand and guided you to the bed, you went with him, taking it slowly. He got in first and you followed, getting situated under the blankets with your back to his chest. 

He held you close, carefully hooking a leg over your uninjured one, and as you both went quiet, you finally let yourself relax. All things considered, ending the morning wrapped in Frankie’s arms was as good an outcome as you could have hoped for. The shitstorm is coming, but for now… You scooted back even further, Frankie’s arm tightening. For now, this works. 

—

[artxyra]

The Return of the Premier Chaotique

Marinette was only eight years old when her primary school life changed for the better.

On that fateful day, in Mlle. Gilbertine’s classroom was the introduction of a new transfer student. He introduced himself as Damian; there was no last name. And if there was one, Gilbertine made sure she didn’t say a word of it.  

To Marinette, Nino, Chloe, Nathaniel, and Kim, he was an odd boy. Someone that would fit right into their group after a push, as Damian stressed for no social interactions with anyone.

During the early weeks of his stay, Marinette had caught him several times engaging in lonesome activities, whether they were in the classroom or out in the field messing around. Marinette, being the outgoing child that she was, began to plot.

Created from that plotting period was her life’s mission to befriend the emotionless kid.

It was hard at first.

She and the others tried tricking the young man into hopscotch matches, and when that didn’t work, it was a game of red light, green light. Occasionally, Nino and Kim would challenge Damian to dance battles.

Damian was very much against the childish games claiming that they were beneath him, but humored them into defeat.

That was until Marinette decided on a shooting game with water guns and makeshift go-carts out of bike parts. Damian’s eyes lit up with excitement, and Marinette knew right then and there that she finally fulled her goal.

After being soaked from head to toe and laughing amongst friends, Marinette and the others swore Damian into their friend group, thus changing their lives forever.

Soon newer and crazier games began to take over the classroom of Mlle. Gilbertine.

The moment Nino would bring out his portable CD player and the music began to boom out of the speakers, everyone knew what was about to happen.  

One day, while the group was in the school’s pool area pretending to be sea monsters attacking each other with kickboards and pool noodles, they were officially dubbed the “Premier Chaotique” cult. As they were youthful and the material they came up with was more chaotic than anything the future Hawkmoth could ever create.

Everyone knew that Marinette and Damian were the leaders. Together they oozed power, as Marinette was their strategist while Damian was the chief.

Chloe was their lawyer and location scout. The blonde knew what areas had cameras and heavy guarding. Kim was their chaotic developer. He knew what methods were more chaotic than the rest. Kim never failed to disappoint. Nino was their sound design and videographer in some cases. His love for filmmaking and DJing started here and continues to grow. Nathaniel was the tagger as he made sure every graffiti they did was perfect.

Nothing could ruin these kids.  

Mlle. Gilbertine, bless her soul, was determined to get the Premier Chaotique cult under control, but they were slick and made plans at random. She remembers the day when empty ice cream cups filled her classroom. Every desk was covered, and nothing could explain the appearance of snow sleds in the class.

It was no rumor that the mini cult managed to create their own little snow resort using ice cream and shave ice. It was a pain to clean up.

Marinette remembers the days when the mini cult would paint the city red with flowers and chaotic goodness. Or turning the entire city into a roller skate derby.

It’s a miracle that the cops never brought their parents into the investigation. Then again, with a child as pure as Marinette in the lead, people would fall over when they saw her smile.

Their significant achievement was when the school’s kitchen managed to catch on fire during a lunch period. During the evacuation, the group somehow managed to slip through the adults and back into the cafeteria.

Kim had brought marshmallows that day.

When the firefighters entered to put out the flames, the six children greeted them with wooden sticks eating s’mores and telling scary stories.

That fire had been their last valuable success because they experienced the worst nightmare a couple of days later, Damian had to go back to his home country.

It was heartbreaking for everyone within the cult but groundbreaking for the city.

Marinette fell into depression along with the others. After a month without Damian, they vowed to never speak of the best year of their life unless they were ever to meet Damian again.

It was no secret that Marinette had a crush on the foreign boy, so the cult disassembles along with any memories of Damian and the cult.

Years passed since that day.

Chloe took it upon herself to bully Marinette when they had entered college, as those who knew them in their younger days forgot that they were ever friends. Marinette took up fashion designing and making her seem like the perfect student. Nathaniel started working on comics based on their adventures. Nino stayed friends with all but Chloe and continued with his calling in music production. Kim began busying himself with sports, specifically swimming.

Soon the name that used to strike fear in the hearts of the Paris citizens began to fade away into a false memory.

Little did anyone know, the spirit of the Premier Chaotique cult lives on and would ignite in a blaze of fire.

At sixteen, Marinette works her butt off to make their end-of-the-school-year trip a reality.

The trip was not for the approval of her classmate, which has gone stale but for her sanity. Three years of being Ladybug have put a toll on her, and she plans to take advantage of the lack of akuma attacks going on.

When the acceptance letter landed in her hands, her parents swear they saw a boulder lifted off their daughter’s shoulders. She was smiling more and appeared less stressed than she had ever been since finding out the school board decided to move teachers with their students as a handful of teachers left Paris, some even left France altogether.

Her allies (remaining friends) were the first to know about the trip to Gotham, New Jersey, and they cheered happily for her. Lately, someone else has taken the credits for her work.

The day before the trip, Marinette rundown the patrol routes, and emergency protocols with Luka and Kagami, ensuring the safety of Paris if and when Hawkmoth decided to go active while the rest of the team was away.

She then goes on to convincing Kaalki to come with her to Gotham only to be used as an emergency. Marinette was ready to leave Paris and head to Gotham.

Upon entering the streets of Gotham, a cold chill runs down everyone’s spines aside from the former mini cult members. Too Mme. Bustier, the chill was all too familiar, bringing up memories of the kids that terrorized the streets before Hawkmoth. She looks around to see nothing out of place before promptly calling out her students so they would make it to the hotel.

Everyone who felt that chill had every right to be wary.

On the first day, everything seemed fine, but when you leave nearly all the members of Premier Chaotique alone for a moment, well, chaos was sure to happen.

Chloe and Marinette had put aside their differences during the Lila era of the classroom reign. Even after it was over, they managed to remain friends, rekindling the essence of primary friendship. The boys joined in on them not long afterward.

Plans were made but not yet enforced. It did not feel right, and they knew why– it was because they lacked their chief, the one and only Damian.

~☾★☽~

All Marinette wanted was a cup of coffee, but instead, she got something--someone much more pleasing.

Frozen in place, she calls out a single name, “Dames?” The dark-haired male turned around; she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes soften at the sight of her first crush. He hadn’t changed by much, though he was now taller than her.

“Mars?” That nickname sent the French-Asian teen running into the arms of the Ice Prince himself. Instead of pushing her away, he wraps his arms around her.  

Time froze in that café for several reasons, but the main one was definitely because they just witnessed Damian Wayne hugging someone willing.

Their embrace ends with them staring into each other’s eyes. It felt surreal. They couldn’t find the words to say, but they didn’t have to.

Life continues in the cafe as Damian leads Marinette away from the flashes of lights. It wasn’t long before Damian’s phone began to blow up with notifications. He turns his phone off and stuffs it back into his pocket.

With a mischievous glint in her eyes, Marinette pulls Damian in closer. Lifting herself onto her tip-toes, she whispers, “The others are here too.” into his ear. She steps away to see what she has unleashed, hoping that nearly a decade away from each other hasn’t altered their relationship.

This time it was Damian who smirks, bringing Marinette closer to him. “Mm, shall be bring Gotham to its knees?”

They share a smirk that ends with an explosion, thus, reigniting the Premier Chaotique cult with a burning passion for mayhem.

They decided to meet that night after hours.

Music blared in the streets of Gotham, seemingly close to the classroom’s hotel near Wayne Enterprise.

The members of Premier Chaotique strut down the middle of the streets in inflatable dinosaur suits dancing to the remixes that played from the boombox on one of the dino’s skateboards (Nino’s).  

Jamming to Bats @crazyforbats Did anyone else wake up to music and dancing dinos last night?

Bearbe @Bearbe Replying to @crazyforbats THAT WAS REAL!!??? I THOUGHT I WAS HULLACINATING

Krazie Kay @gokaykaer [A one-minute video with various strobe lighting colors flashing around and six dinosaurs doing the Cha-Cha-Slide] I swear I just saw @thebloodwayne for a split second.

Vera Pitts @vera_pitts [A short video of inflatable dinosaurs chaotically dancing to the Harlem Shake.] I thought this trend of over and done *crying emoji*

By the morning, Twitter was blowing up with various videos and gifs of the events that happened the night before. The only people who weren’t affected by the popularity were the people who were a part of it.

At Wayne Manor, Bruce could already feel a migraine coming as his two oldest play the videos repeatedly in the main room.

Damian scoffs at his family members, while Dick complains about why they haven’t thought of that for a family outing. It’s all about class, Dick; it’s all about class.  

Alfred, being all-knowing, takes notice of Damian's hidden smirks and recent purchase from his account at a party store. Nothing to worry about in this household. However, Damian asking him about where to find used pocket bikes (mini motorcycles) and wire rope reels was troubling.

The next night began the fears of every Parisian that experienced the reign. Blessed that it wasn't not happening in their city for once.

Per their plan assignments, Chloe and Kim found the buildings necessary for the zip line. Nino was in charge of setting up the equipment with the help of Nathaniel. Damian’s task was to get the bikes and zip line wire. Marinette’s job was to keep the class and others from finding out their plan.  

Once everything was ready, the Premier Chaotique entered their playground wearing hooded leotards (or bodysuits) with matching latex masks stretched over their eyes.

Kim went first down the zip line as Damian race down the streets on the bike. Initially, they were going to use the bikes, but the zip line couldn’t hold the weight of the bike and the person on it, so they turned it into a race instead. Of course, they put challenges throughout the route to make it more even.  

Their mayhem took a turn for the best when someone had called the cops, causing the for once silent night into a regular night of crime. Instead of stopping, like normal people, the mini cult went on a high-speed race against the GCPD.

Gotham’s Twitter users were having a blast with the events. It was the best and bravest thing to surface since Batman, though some were very vocal with their opposing thoughts.

The GCPD never caught the Premier Chaotique members, and they went on as if nothing happened.  

It was during the tour of Wayne Enterprise that the Premier Chaotique members learned Damian’s last name. He was an effing Wayne.

Marinette had asked Damian what his last name was when they were eight, and he replied nonchalantly with something along the lines of not being a Wayne until he was ten. Afterward, they continue hanging out and plotting throughout the tour.

After seeing their younger brother interact with teens his age, Dick specifically begs Bruce to invite the group while the rest stands there in shock. The sight of seeing Damian doing what they thought was impossible needed to go into the history books.

While it was a momentous occasion for Damian’s brothers, it was a reality check for Mme. Bustier. Her screams echo against the halls of WE as buried memories of the chaos awakens.

She stared pointedly at Marinette in denial. There was no way her star student was in the cult that did so much damage all those years ago. When Chloe, Nino, Kim, and quiet Nathaniel joined her, Caline started to feel faint. She immediately excused herself to call her therapist. Her wails for help could reach the lobby.

Bruce unknowingly invited even more chaos into his household that night.

It didn’t take Chloe and Marinette much to convince their teachers to let the five of them stay with Mr. Wayne for the night in hopes of “catching up” with Damian.

After getting the approval from Mr. Wayne and their parents, she agreed, secretly ecstatic that they wouldn’t be in her care for the next several hours.

~☾★☽~

“I’m bored. Let’s play a prank?” Kim randomly shouts, playing catch with himself, when they were all staring out the TV waiting for something good to come on.

“What do you have in mind?” Marinette asks, making her way over to Damian. He pushes her away, knowing that she’ll use him as a throne.

“Hey Dames, do you own go-carts are something of a familiar nature?”

Damian thinks about it for a minute, “Tt, father wouldn’t dare let those things in the house. We can prank my brothers. Scaring them would bring me joy.”

“Well I have a few ideas, we can use.” Chloe states, pulling out the book of mischief from her purse.

They all huddle over the book with smirks on their faces.

-----

A retouch version of Request #9.

[ladylynse]

Chapter 16 [FFN | AO3] of The Trouble with Ghosts: Lancer hadn’t realized how closely young Mr. Fenton’s school troubles–and the secrets he surely wasn’t telling his parents–were tied to ghosts until after that encounter with Phantom.

(beginning | previous)

Warnings: Torture and near drowning until the dialogue starts, more threats afterwards

-|-

Despite his distorted view, Danny saw the three figures enter the lab before Vlad did. Vlad was too busy watching him. Smiling. Waiting.

Danny’s heart thundered in his chest. He couldn’t kick or thrash. He couldn’t scream, at least not without burning up the last of his oxygen. He hoped Vlad would take his widened eyes as panic or pleading instead of surprise, but—

There must have been some sound that Danny didn’t hear. Vlad turned, flicking intangible as a blast from an ectogun shot through him and hit the door of Danny’s chamber, fizzling out into a shower of green sparks. It wasn’t enough to crack the door, unfortunately, but now he could hear yelling above the blood pounding in his ears, and he knew they must’ve seen him.

Black started to swirl in front of his eyes, and something within him tried to spark to life.

Danny pushed it down, trying to focus, but all he could see now through the encroaching black was glimpses of pink and green. Vlad wasn’t holding back, then. He wasn’t pretending.

Of course, he couldn’t, not with Danny right there in his lab. Considering he looked like Masters and not Plasmius, he’d have to play at being overshadowed to even try to get away with this. Not that it would work now that everyone knew the truth. They weren’t going to take Vlad’s word over Danny’s.

Danny’s chest ached.

Every heartbeat seemed like it was building up pressure, threatening to burst out of him—

That same something sparked again, white light filtering through the black, and he pushed it down.

His vision closed off completely, and he tried to listen, to follow the fight, only to start as something banged into the door of the chamber, sending a reverberation through the entire thing.

Liquid flooded into his mouth and filled his lungs, and Danny choked, spluttering and trying to move—

The spark came again, and he didn’t have the strength to stop it.

After the change had washed over him, his body didn’t protest the lack of oxygen. The fogginess lifted from his mind, and he could see with clear eyes.

Meaning he could see the snarling expression on Valerie’s face as she attacked Vlad, flanked by his mom. Not that attacking Vlad did much good, seeing as he simply stayed intangible. Valerie’s momentum from her punch sent her stumbling through him, and the rolling desk chair lying on its side in front of his chamber didn’t seem so out of place once Valerie grabbed a beaker from the table she’d hit and hurled it at Vlad’s head. Maddie danced out of the way—Valerie really wasn’t used to fighting with allies—and swept at Vlad’s feet with the Fenton Utility Weapon, but he still wasn’t tangible, and whatever setting she had it on wasn’t enough for shock him back to tangibility. Danny saw her changing the settings, spinning the dial on the side in between hits, but she hadn’t had success yet.

Most ghosts couldn’t stay intangible for very long.

It was incredibly draining.

Thinking back on it, Danny really should’ve realized that Vlad employed that tactic more than anyone else he’d ever fought. All those years of breaking into places, maybe. He wasn’t fighting back anymore, though Danny wasn’t necessarily sure that it was a good thing. It was Vlad. Having no scruples was kinda his thing, and—

Wait.

Where was Lancer?

It shouldn’t have been difficult to lose sight of a giant ball of green energy, but to be fair, Danny hadn’t expected Lancer to ever turn off the portable ghost shield. (Once Danny had realized that must be what Lancer was using, he really couldn’t see it being anything else.)

Of course, a ghost shield was only effective against ghosts.

Danny’s heart sank a little when he spotted Lancer a mere five feet from him, half-hidden behind an examination table but held in place by a second Vlad.

A duplicate in human form was still in human form. Truthfully, Danny wasn’t sure how that worked, but it was something he’d tested with Sam and Tucker once he’d gotten the hang of actually creating a duplicate. Vlad had had twenty years to test out his abilities, so he knew perfectly well that he’d only needed to drop his intangibility and invisibility at the last second to pass through the ghost shield.

For a moment, Danny didn’t know why Vlad wouldn’t just overshadow Lancer. A scalpel to the throat was a little much, even for him. Maddie and Valerie were too focused on the first Vlad to notice, and Danny couldn’t hear Mr. Lancer making any attempt to get their attention. It just didn’t seem like an effective tactic, so Danny couldn’t understand Vlad’s game. If it were just to keep Lancer from reaching him—and he had clearly been Lancer’s goal; Danny had no doubt Valerie and Maddie had agreed to something like that beforehand, letting Lancer do the rescuing while they did the distracting—there were easier ways to do that.

Holo-Maddie reappeared at that moment, causing the real one to freeze in place and stare as the hologram chirped out, “Sample processed, sweetums!”

Valerie was the first one to recover—unless you counted Vlad, who was already flying towards the computer console. The version of him who wasn’t holding Lancer captive, anyway. “What the heck is that supposed to mean?” Valerie shrieked, her words even clearer to him now that he was Phantom. She hadn’t taken her eyes off the hologram, but Maddie had the moment Vlad had begun to move. She was taking aim with her weapon, and—

Vlad screamed as the blast hit him in the back, throwing him forward into the console. His suit was smoking slightly at the edges, distinct despite Danny’s watery view. Maddie took another shot, this time hitting the computer in a flurry of sparks.

It was only once the Maddie hologram flickered that Danny realized that might have been his mother’s intention all along. Had Vlad let himself be hit? Had he been trying to protect the computer?

Valerie had her ectogun raised again, too. Except— It wasn’t the one she’d held earlier, the one Maddie must’ve given her. It was definitely Dalv tech, the same one he’d faced down only yesterday. She wasn’t in her suit—at least she knew enough not to trust that—but he knew that look on her face. She was a split second away from pulling the trigger, and Danny was sure that it was only Vlad’s voice from behind her when she could clearly see him in front of her that had her freeze before she could take her shot.

“I’d hold your fire,” the scalpel-wielding Vlad said, effectively drawing the attention of the others.

Holo-Maddie reappeared by the first Vlad at the computer console, but neither Valerie nor Maddie gave any indication that they’d noticed. Valerie took two steps towards Mr. Lancer and the Vlad who was holding him captive, still aiming her gun at them, but Maddie stopped her. She started trying to bargain, but Danny could recognize the distraction for what it was, and he looked back to see if he could figure out what Vlad was doing at the computer.

The angle wasn’t great; Danny couldn’t see the screen, let alone make out what Vlad was typing. Still, he could see Vlad pocket something—a flash drive, maybe?—before he keyed something into the computer. Holo-Maddie disappeared, and one of the large buttons on the console started flashing red.

Vlad changed into Plasmius, catching Valerie’s attention once more, but she only got off one shot before he flew through the wall.

It had missed him by less than half an inch, the tiny little dart embedded in the wall instead.

The remaining Vlad smiled before dropping the scalpel and vanishing himself.

Danny couldn’t make out Lancer’s gasping words, but he waved off Maddie and Valerie and pointed towards Danny. At a word from Maddie, Valerie nodded and moved towards him anyway, but Danny couldn’t see if Lancer had downplayed his injuries because Maddie was all he could see as she came over to examine the chamber.

“Hold on, Danny,” she said. “I’ll get you out of there.”

Either Vlad’s work was incredibly intuitive or he’d based it off an old invention with which Maddie was familiar, because the water was draining in less than thirty seconds. Danny might not strictly need to breathe as much in ghost mode (or at all? He always got really uncomfortable whenever they tried to test it, so he wasn’t wholly sure if it had a time limit), but he still sucked in huge lungfuls of air the moment he could.

“Thanks,” he whispered, just before the door’s seal released with a pop.

“Don’t thank us yet,” Maddie murmured as she pulled the door open and peered at the contraption sticking out of his abdomen. “Do you know what this is?”

“Vlad was trying to get…got…a mid-morph sample. Like, a DNA sample or something from the moment I changed.” Danny glanced down at it. “You can probably just pull it out without killing me.” Vlad didn’t know if the sample was all he needed, after all. At least, Danny hoped he didn’t. That doubt would keep Vlad from pulling anything worse right now.

“Let’s get you out of this first. Then I’ll take a better look at that.”

A detached part of Danny knew most mothers didn’t carry around lockpicks, let alone know how to use them. It wasn’t one of the things he could ever remember Jazz rolling her eyes over—being able to chase ghosts past the first locked door or gate or whatever was rather essential to a successful ghosthunter, and his parents didn’t exactly have a life of crime on the side like Vlad—but it was something he’d gotten used to long before his parents had ever opened the portal. He could still remember the look on Mrs. Foley’s face the first time he’d asked her where she kept hers if she didn’t have any pockets in her clothes. He’d been five or six, maybe, and she’d been too stunned by the seemingly random question to speak.

Tucker had been too busy laughing to realize Danny hadn’t been joking like he’d assumed.

Still, it didn’t take very long for Maddie to free his wrists, and by the time she dropped down to work on the lock at his feet, Lancer was hovering anxiously in the background and Valerie had gone to glower at the computer console.

“Thanks for coming,” Danny said, trying not to focus on the thin line of red where Vlad had scored Lancer’s skin. He really hadn’t thought Vlad would kill anyone—it was more his style to utterly discredit them—and seeing that this might not have been an empty threat on Vlad’s part made Danny’s stomach turn. He was fine with the danger being focused on himself, but everyone else, especially someone like Mr. Lancer….

“The others are headed over,” Valerie said without turning around, and Lancer closed his mouth without speaking. “Good thing, too. I think Tucker’ll need to figure out whatever Mr. Masters did, because I definitely can’t.”

“Come on, sweetie,” Maddie said as she eased him free, keeping his torso straight even as she turned him, pivoting him out of the chamber without pulling free whatever was stuck inside him. “Just hold on a few more seconds while I look at this.”

Danny nodded and didn’t breathe, letting her work.

He felt like he’d lost. Mr. Lancer, Valerie, his parents— They all knew and accepted him, and now they all knew the truth about Vlad, too. That should have been a victory. Maybe it still was, of a sort, but if Danny had won that battle, Vlad had won the other one. He’d gotten the mid-morph sample. His play with Valerie had worked. He’d…he’d be able to create stable clones….

Would he even be satisfied with a clone? He might create the perfect half-ghost son that looked exactly like Danny, might be able to brainwash him or program him or whatever he’d done to Danielle to make the clone as like Danny as possible, but a clone would never be as good as the original, however perfect a replica it was. How far would Vlad get before he realized this wouldn’t make him happy, either? How long would it be until he came back? Tried to capture Danny again, tried to split his parents up and win over Maddie? If he did manage to create perfect clones, he could use them to his advantage—

“He won’t get away with this,” Maddie was saying. “He won’t simply lose his position on the city council; his estate—his entire empire—will come under scrutiny. I know he kept residences here and in Wisconsin, and there are all those hunting cabins, too. He won’t be easy to track down, but we’ll find him, even if he tries to hide in the Ghost Zone. In the meantime, we’ll make sure he can never come back and never hurt you like this again. It’s going to be okay, sweetie. He can’t fool us now that we know the truth, and he won’t be able to keep his political power, either.”

“We should perhaps focus on the most immediate problem—” Lancer started.

“I’ve almost got it,” Maddie said without looking up from her tinkering, but from the look on Lancer’s face, that wasn’t what he’d meant.

“Uh, guys?” There was a note of panic in Valerie’s voice that hadn’t been there before. “I think Vlad sealed us in.” Danny looked over at her, and she had her phone to her ear. “Jack’s outside in the office, and Jazz is headed back to school to pick up Sam and Tucker, but apparently this place is blast proof.”

“There should be a control panel on the wall where we came through,” Maddie said. “Get it open and I’ll come when I’m finished here.”

“I can bandage him up,” Lancer said with a touch on her shoulder. “First aid is within my skill set.”

Danny had felt the poking and prodding and pulling around his abdomen, of course, but he hadn’t realized his mother had tugged out the device—long and sharp with what might be electrodes hanging off of it for all Danny knew—until he saw it in her hand. She set it on the bench beside her and pulled his own hands to press against the wound before removing her own and straightening up. She pulled out a sample bag from one of her many pockets and put the device inside before tucking it away. As she stripped off her green-stained gloves and pulled another pair from a different pockt, she said, “Thank you.” Pointing with her free hand towards the wall with the portal, she added, “I saw the first aid kit over there.”

As she walked over to join Valerie at the far wall, Lancer dropped to a crouch to examine the wound for himself, gently nudging Danny’s hands out of the way.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Danny said after Lancer sucked in a sharp breath.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that, Mr. Fenton.”

“You don’t know what I’ve been through.”

Lancer closed his eyes briefly before standing. “No, I daresay I still don’t, but I do know it is not something I would wish on someone as young as you. Come along; I’ll see what I can do.”

“If it’s bad enough that you need to stitch me up, you don’t have to be that good at it for it to be good enough. Sam didn’t know what she was doing when she started, and all Jazz and I knew about sewing when we began doing this was whatever Dad had shown us, and that never involved stitching up people.”

“You are not making the situation sound any better, I’m afraid.”

“It’s just….” Danny bit his lip but let Lancer guide him closer to the portal and didn’t protest when the teacher bent to pick him up and sit him down on an examination table. Well. Dissection table, going by the bindings. He decided not to think about that, something that wasn’t hard to do when his wound was throbbing after the jostling, and instead changed back to Fenton before Mr. Lancer asked. The change, at least, came as easily as it always had. “It’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be once it started.”

“Should that not be cause for celebration?”

Danny wasn’t sure if Lancer was trying (and failing) to be facetious, so he shrugged and then hissed as the movement stung, stabbing into him with more ferocity than he’d expected from such a slight movement. “I don’t think it’ll be as easy as Mom thinks it is.”

Lancer was quiet for a moment, busying himself by grabbing the first aid kit from the wall, setting it down beside Danny, and looking through the contents to find what he wanted. Finally, “Things rarely are as simple as they should be, but you needn’t take it all on by yourself any longer—and, rest assured, I am not referring to your friends. I strongly suggest the matter be left primarily to your parents, with my assistance wherever I am able to help. If there are any legal proceedings—”

“Are you serious? We can’t take Vlad down using the proper channels. If he can’t buy people off, he’ll just overshadow them or get some other ghosts to do it for him.”

“Mr. Fen—”

“This isn’t something you can just fix. It’s not that easy.”

“I understand, but—”

“No, you don’t. You can’t or you wouldn’t be standing there talking about legal proceedings.” Danny started to sigh and then coughed as the pain spiked again. His healing was still too slow. How long was this thing supposed to last? He couldn’t remember Vlad helpfully monologuing about that little detail. Too bad Technus wasn’t likely to know.

“I’m sorry.”

Danny blinked and looked up at Mr. Lancer, who was still focused on disinfecting Danny’s wound. Danny hissed through his teeth as a new sort of stinging took hold, but Lancer didn’t pay that any mind.

“I should have done something before,” Lancer continued as he reached for some butterfly stitches, something that Danny knew from experience would hold well enough until he could get stitched up properly. They were better than nothing, anyway. Lancer held the wound closed as he put them in place, and Danny did his best not to wince. “I knew something had changed in your life, and it took me entirely too long to find out what it was. I allowed myself to be distracted, to neglect you in favour of the school—”

“What?”

Lancer had pulled out the gauze now. No big surprise there. When in doubt, cover it and deal with it later. It would not be the first time Danny had pulled that trick. With his usual healing rate, he typically only needed stitches and splints and stuff to make sure he didn’t heal improperly; he’d never had to worry about infection.

“Let’s just say seeing Mr. Baxter appropriately punished for his actions has been an ongoing fight, one I have not dedicated myself to as much as I should have, as you are not his only target.”

Oh.

Being Dash’s favourite punching bag wasn’t even on Danny’s radar right now.

“That’s okay. I’m used to it. But you—”

“You being used to it, as you say, is part of the problem—and, quite frankly, yet more evidence of my failing. Thankfully, that is a fight I am better suited for than this one has been.” The hand that had been tracking towards to the first aid kit—probably for medical tape to hold the gauze in place—jerked towards Lancer’s neck instead, no doubt pulled by the reminder of what had happened and the realization of what could have been, but it resumed course before it could make contact. “Just because you are used to something does not mean it does not need to be addressed.”

“I mean, I guess, but priorities, y’know? Vlad’s definitely worse than Dash.”

“And your parents will focus on that problem with the help I can give them, as I’ve said.”

“But it’s Vlad. It’s not just…. I mean, yeah, he’s one person, but he’s not one problem. He can create a whole bunch more problems really easily, especially now that he has a mid-morph sample from me. That’s what he needed to stabilize his clones. He can create a perfect clone of me now, at least once he gets a lab set up or overshadows someone in charge of one that does have the right stuff, and—”

“I am not saying that you are incapable of handling the problem—or problems—Vlad poses,” Lancer said delicately as he finished taping the gauze into place, “but you need to understand that you aren’t alone in this anymore.”

“Sam and—”

“Did I not tell you that your friends and your sister should not be the only ones facing the danger alongside you? You know that isn’t what I mean.”

Danny frowned. “You’re still seriously underestimating Vlad, even though he threatened you and you’re standing in his secret lab.”

“Which is one reason why I am not trying to say you should sit out all of this while the adults take care of the situation,” Lancer said, not looking the least bit surprised when Danny bristled. “You have more knowledge and experience than we do—even, I daresay, than your parents do. You may have fewer years of ghost hunting under your belt, but your perspective and the intensity of your, ah, training, for lack of a better word—”

“Experience is the best teacher.”

Lancer raised an eyebrow at Danny’s glib interruption but otherwise didn’t comment on it. “You should not be sidelined, but neither should you continue to be the one leading the charge and taking the heaviest fire. One of the reasons your parents fight ghosts is to protect you and your sister, is it not? Is throwing yourself into the most danger possible not against everything they are fighting for?”

Danny shifted and tugged his shirt down to cover up Lancer’s patch job as the teacher packed away the supplies. At least that meant his previous wounds must not look too bad; otherwise, Lancer would’ve insisted on redressing them. Of course, the one in his side was near enough to the one in his abdomen that Lancer could’ve done it at the same time. Danny had been paying more attention to what he’d held in his hands than where he was putting them, mostly because thinking about what Lancer was doing would just make it hurt more.

Still.

If Lancer hadn’t continued talking, that meant he was waiting for an answer. Danny took a careful breath, and it didn’t hurt this time. “Sometimes it’s necessary.”

“It is not necessary right now, and I am quite sure your parents will do everything in their power to ensure it remains unnecessary for you, your sister, or your friends to do that.” He glanced over his shoulder and added dryly, “And I am very much including Miss Gray in that assessment.”

Danny glanced towards Valerie. She was still hovering by the door, watching Maddie work on the panel. “Val’s a good fighter.”

“I never said she wasn’t. I’m trying to say that none of you should fight, but as you have the most knowledge of the situation, it is prudent that you help the adults—”

“But don’t you get it? Yeah, we’re kids, and it sucks that we have to risk so much to do this—but we aren’t the only ones in situations like this. Well, not like this, dealing with ghosts, but with high stakes. And it’s great that you care and want to take care of us, but we don’t need taking care of. Maybe you think it’s a shame we had to grow up fast or whatever to deal with this, but we can’t just pretend what we’ve gone through never happened. We’ve already had to learn to fight, so we did, and we’re good at it. It doesn’t make sense for you to just up and stop us and make us into, I dunno, consultants or something instead of fighters.”

Lancer blinked.

“We always knew there was risk. We accepted that, just like Mom and Dad did. Just like you did. We might not be legal adults but that doesn’t mean we don’t know what we were getting into with this. This whole thing with Vlad is messed up. We know. We know better than you do. He has what he wants, something he’s been trying forever to get, which is scary because it means I don’t know what he’s going to do next. And neither do you.”

Danny stared at his hands, not wanting to look Lancer in the eye after he’d let his tongue run away with him. “It’s just…. I can make a better guess of what this means than you or Mom and Dad can. And if you guys try to block us at every turn and insist it’s too dangerous to be directly involved ourselves just because we’re kids, we’re never going to stop him, and things will get worse.”

He pushed himself off the table, landing on his feet and wincing but holding in a whimper of pain. He’d get through this. He had to. Vlad’s drug had to work its way through his system and wear off soon, and then he’d be back to normal in no time. “I’ve picked up some things from Tucker, so I’m going to check out the computer. You can go through Vlad’s files or something and see if you can find the formula for whatever Val shot me with. Mom can probably make an antidote once she has that.”

Lancer made no move to follow as Danny strode off, and when he called Danny’s name, Danny pretended not to hear.

(see more fics | next)

[beewolfwrites]

And When I am Formulated, Sprawling on a Pin - Chapter Twenty-Two: Until Human Voices Wake Us

I know how this chapter finishes, but before you worry, it’s not the last one :) 

As always, this is a Chishiya x OC/Reader fic, and if you’re new, feel free to read the full fic here on AO3. 

(If I can figure out how to do it, I'll probably create a master post at some point.)

Thank you for all the positivity with the previous chapter, you’re all so kind! I hope you love this one as much! 

-------------------------------------

I saw a white flash and the blinding rage of Niragi’s eyes, before my body was ripped from the balcony. My back slammed against the stone pillar, and the force knocked the air from my lungs. For a split second, panic took over me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t breathe. But then a familiar scent of laundry detergent and sweat overwhelmed my senses, and I knew I was breathing, even if I couldn’t feel the air.

I’m alive, I think.

Chishiya’s body was pushed against mine, his hands pressing my shoulders into the pillar as bullets tore past us. Through the thin fabric of his hoodie, I could feel the elevated thump of his heart, and his hair tickled my face with each quick breath.

Suddenly, the bullets stopped.

‘Chishiya?’

He stepped away, his eyes scanning over the both of us as he checked for any injuries. There was no blood on him that I could see, however a bullet had torn through his hood, shredding the fabric in two.

‘I need to go down there,’ I said. The flames were spreading thick and fast, and it was becoming harder to breathe. ‘I need to help them, or at the very least, apologise to Usagi and Arisu for what we did. And I need you not to stop me again.’

His eyes narrowed, but after a moment of hesitation, he said, ‘meet me by the river afterwards. And use your head, stay away from Niragi.’ Shoving his hands in his pockets, he began walking towards the hallway that would lead upstairs.

‘Where are you going?’

He half-turned, replying ‘there’s something I need.’

Then he disappeared, and no matter how much I despised him for the way he’d treated me, I couldn’t help but pray he would return unscathed.

The riverside, I thought, focus on the riverside.

Holding my sleeve over my mouth and nose, I ducked under flaming ceilings and sidestepped burning carpets like hopscotch. Then sprinting down the staircase, I reached the lobby just in time to witness Niragi pointing his gun at Arisu’s head.

No!

I ran, seeing nothing but the glistening burns of Niragi’s skin, and the finger resting on the trigger. But when the shot fired, it didn’t hit Arisu.

Aguni charged like an animal, even as the bullets burst through his skin. His body slammed into Niragi’s, carrying the both of them off into the flames and smoke. There were several gunshots… and then nothing. It all happened within seconds, but his sacrifice held everyone’s attention as we all looked at the space where they had both disappeared.

Thank you, Aguni.

‘THREE MINUTES REMAINING.’

There was no time to check if they were dead. Several survivors jumped into action as they lifted Momoka’s body, taking it through the entrance and out towards the patio. It turned out they didn’t need my help. But it was okay. There was still a loose end I had to tie.  

Usagi was sitting on the ground, inspecting Arisu’s injuries as he winced and insisted that he was okay. They both froze when they saw me approaching.

‘��めんなさい,’ I said, sincerely. ‘苣屋の本当の予定が知らなかった.’ I’m so sorry. I didn’t know about Chishiya’s real plan.

Usagi looked unsure of whether to believe me, and truth be told, I didn’t expect her to, let alone forgive me. Arisu didn’t seem as hesitant though. He searched my expression as if he were solving a puzzle.

‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’m guessing he tricked you too.’

I nodded, wishing I could go back and change things. After this, I would meet Chishiya by the river, hopefully to put this chapter to rest so I could move forwards and focus on surviving. But for now, I extended a hand.

Arisu gladly took it, and supporting his weight between us, Usagi and I helped him out of the building. I tried not to look back, I really did, but there was no trace of Chishiya in the flames.

Please don’t let the riverside be another lie.

-----------------------------------------------------

‘GAME CLEAR - CONGRATULATIONS!’

The singsong voice echoed through our phones as we all gathered to watch the fire of judgement consume Momoka’s body. Countless hands and legs extended out of the pile, blackened and stiff. Eventually, they would all char away into a single pool of ash. Nobody spoke, and yet somehow, the screams still rang out over the crackle of the embers. Our ‘utopia’ was burning to the ground, there were barely any survivors, and there was nothing left for us but a pyrrhic victory.  

One by one, the others began filing out of the patio to get away from the hotel before it collapsed. Following behind, I took one last look at the entrance.

There’s no sign of either of them…

I should’ve been mad. No, I was mad. But that wasn’t to say I’d stopped loving him, and the thought that he might not have made it out was too difficult to bear. The same went for Kuina. Even if she probably knew that Chishiya had been screwing with my mind this whole time, I still loved her like a sister, and that would never change.

And so, while the others headed for the bridge, I broke off from the group and changed course towards the river. Noticing my disappearance, Usagi and Tatta looked back.

‘Aren’t you coming?’ Usagi called.

I smiled and shook my head. ‘また後でね,’ I shouted. ‘See you later!’

It’s not a goodbye. I just have some things to sort out.

The two looked at each other, doubtful, then waved as they disappeared into the darkness. They would probably all form a camp together, so if things with Chishiya ended here, or if he never made it to the river, it wouldn’t be too difficult to find them.

Without the heat of the fire, the night was cool, and I shivered as I made my way down the pebble banks to the riverside. I sat near the water’s edge and watched from afar as the roof of the Beach collapsed in places, bringing my hope down with it. There was still no sign of Chishiya, but I couldn’t keep my eyes from the hotel.

There’s always a chance. He wouldn’t die that easily.

Even as the cold of the pebbles seeped into my skin, and the wind blew through the burnt holes in my hoodie, I waited and waited. Before long though, I sank my face into my knees and wrapped my arms around my head to stave off the cold. It did nothing to ease the hollowness growing inside me, nor the empty sound of the water lapping against the bank.

‘Crying again?’

My heart jumped, my head snapping up instinctively.

You’re here.

Chishiya ambled along the bank, coming to a stop a few feet away from where I was sitting. Aside from the grey tinge of soot on his white hoodie, he was unharmed. ‘You don’t have much faith in me,’ he said with a half-smile, and held up the Ten of Hearts card.

That was what this was all about. Everything he had done, it all led up to the last card. I got to my feet, unsure of how to feel now he was standing before me. Even though I was relieved, it didn’t change anything.

‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘I don’t have much faith in you. All you’ve done is lie to me.’

‘Hmm….’ He looked towards the Beach. ‘That’s not strictly true.’

He was referring to what he’d said on the rooftop, but even that was probably a lie. After I had chosen not to follow him and Kuina, he must’ve realised he’d lost one of his chess pieces.

‘Kuina,’ I said. ‘Is she....’

‘She’s fine.’

I released a breath, relaxing. ‘That’s good to hear.’ I was afraid of the answer, but I had to ask. I needed to know. ‘Did you tell her to become friends with me, for your plan?’

He carefully considered the question. ‘At the very beginning, when I asked her to take you some food, she offered to become your friend,’ he said. ‘But that was before she met you. She asked me to change the plan to keep you out of it.’

While I was relieved to hear that my friendship with Kuina wasn’t orchestrated by Chishiya, I still felt disappointed. ‘So that’s why you decided to switch from me to Arisu.’

‘Kuina had nothing to do with it. I changed my mind for my own reasons.’

I shook my head, quickly growing irritated. We kept going round and round in circles, and  he wasn’t registering anything I was saying. It no longer mattered whether he was telling the truth or lying, because there was no trust left to give. And even now, he just kept persisting with the same tactics.

‘I already told you back then,’ I said.  ‘I don’t know what’s real and what’s not, so I can’t believe in anything you say anymore.’

Chishiya nodded slowly. ‘You also mentioned proof.’

‘Only because you can’t prove it.’

He tilted his head. ‘Actually, you’re wrong.’ Fishing around in his pocket, he pulled something out and stared at it in his palm. In the darkness, it was impossible to see what it was.

‘What are you doing?’

With a sly smile, he replied, ‘I’m forcing the moment to its crisis.’

My thoughts stopped abruptly. That was… he couldn’t have researched it, could he? Memories of the pharmacy flashed through my mind, the oceanic blue light that saturated the room, him wrapping my arm in bandages, and me reciting lines of poetry.

He read the rest of the poem?

If he did, he must’ve realised what it was about. My eyes dropped to the item in his hands, right before he tossed it at me. Catching it, I found it was a small box. I had a feeling what it was, and my fingers shook as I opened it. Inside, propped up in the middle, was a silver ring set with a peridot stone.

The jewellery store...

Back then, I had told him about my real-world obsession with stones... all my childish dreams.

And peridot.

It was a stone brought to earth through a cosmic explosion, known by Ancient Egyptians as ‘gems of the sun’, and considered ‘evening emeralds’ by Romans because of their bright warmth, radiating even under candlelight.

‘I was in a game, when I saw it,’ he said, staring out across the river. ‘The Eight of Diamonds. At the time, I didn’t know why I took it.’

Tears dripped down my chin as I closed my eyes, embracing the pain and the relief and everything else I couldn’t even begin to describe in words. Chishiya didn’t approach me, let alone try to comfort me, but simply stood there by the edge of the water, waiting for me to stop crying like an idiot.

‘This isn’t fair.’ I hated the way my voice cracked.  ‘You can’t just do this after everything. You can’t just expect things to be okay now.’

‘I know.’

‘And you can’t just pretend like none of it ever happened.’

‘I know that too,’ he said.  

‘You…’ I stepped forwards, wrapping my arms around his body and clutching onto the back of his hoodie. ‘I… I hate you so much.’

At first, he tensed. Then I felt his hand on the top of my head. ‘No, you don’t.’

We remained like that for a minute or so, until a light rain pattered down around us, and it became clear Chishiya was growing uncomfortable. He had never been one for human contact. Moving back to give him his space, I slid the ring onto my finger. It was almost a miracle that he’d gotten a perfect fit.

Chishiya took one look, regarding it coolly. ‘Before you get the wrong idea,’ he said, ‘this isn’t a—’

‘I understand.’ I smiled, using my sleeve to wipe the tears and rain from my face. ‘I don’t care about any of that. Especially not while we’re still in this world. Just stay with me for a while. That’s all I want.’

When he didn’t respond, I suddenly became aware of the gentle weight knocking against my side. The copy of Wuthering Heights was still in my pocket. After all we’d been through, it had completely slipped my mind.

I tugged it free. The spine was bent, and the pages were curved from being crammed into such a small space, but it was intact, and I was glad I had rescued it before the hotel burned down. Using my hand to try and shield it from the rain, I flipped through the pages and held it open for Chishiya, who only looked at it with contempt.

‘Of all the things to save,’ he muttered.

I gestured to the mysterious quote, determined to get an answer this time. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you about this for ages. You’ve underlined it but I can’t seem to translate it.’

He took the book from my hands and scrutinized the quotation. ‘“I’m tired of being enclosed here. I’m wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there; not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart; but really with it, and in it”.’ Once he finished translating, he closed the book and held it back out to me. ‘I didn’t underline that.’

Wait… but how?

‘You didn’t?’ I asked, confused. ‘Why was it highlighted then?’

‘It was used when I found it.’ He shrugged. ‘It probably belonged to a student at some point.’

‘Oh…’

I couldn’t help but feel let down at how the big reveal had been nothing more than a student’s annotation. But at the same time, the quote still meant something. It had been me all along.

‘Chishiya…’ I said quietly, ‘I don’t want to be afraid of things anymore.’ I glanced down at the ring on my finger. ‘I don’t want to be afraid of you either.’

I want to start a new page and write a new book.

When looked at me, he had that same unreadable expression. ‘Then don’t be.’

And then, soft as the rain on the river water, I kissed him. It was awkward and clumsy, and his whole body went rigid, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, his hand came to rest on the back of my head, neither moving nor resisting. Eventually, I pulled away, and the only sound was the silky surface of the water breaking against the pebbles.

‘Let’s go,’ he said. ‘Kuina is waiting for us.’

It was the beginning of a new chapter, but this time, there would be no secrets. We’d write it together.

‘Okay.’

[goldenvicious]

Vs: Team Skull Leader Guzma/Aether President Lusamine + Evo: Draco

After we infiltrated the Aether Foundation, we snuck around trying to find a way down. Along the way, I managed to find the TM for Toxic. Might be useful later.

We found the elevator, but we were unable to go down, leaving us with only one option: going up. When we did, we encountered Branch Chief Faba. He challenged us to battles, but lost. He agreed to send us down, but I saw a mischievous smirk on his face on the way down. I wonder what goes on in that brain of his...

Once we entered the Secret Labs, we split in order to cover more ground. A trio of scientists tried to stop us, but Godzilla was able to sweep through them. Once I entered one of the labs, two workers spotted me and were about to challenge me to a double battle, but Hau got here just in time to help me. After winning, we read some of the materials nearby. Turns out Nebby-or Cosmog, I should say-is an Ultra Beast capable of creating Ultra Wormholes. We hurried back to Gladion and told him the info. Once we talked over the "plan" (Gladion wasn't good with details), we went back up with the elevator.

Faba was waiting for us upstairs with a few grunts and more of his own pokemon. Through the power of friendship and a gun I found overleveling, we got by with no problems. Hau was even able to trick Faba into conforming where Lillie and Lusamine where. How do you get duped by fricking Hau? Anyways, Faba handed over the keys to Lusamine's location.

Once we got there, Team Skull grunts were scattered around the place. Turns out that Team Skull and the Aether Foundation were working together! But why? Heck if I know. Gladion rushed right by all the grunts to fight Guzma, leaving me to fight them. It was an easy sweep for three of them, and the last one just let me through. When I arrived, it turns out Guzma and Gladion fought, with Guzma coming out on top. Guzma is acting as Lusamine's bodyguard. He challenges us to another battle, and I accept.

Vs: Team Skull Leader Guzma

Guzma leads with Golisopod, and I lead with NES. One Discharge is enough once again.

Next is Pinsir. I'm playing it a bit safer and sent out Bwark. Pinsir missed a Stone Edge (Thank Arceus), and was knocked out by a Choice Specs Boosted Moonblast.

Next was Vikavolt. I sent out Draco for this. I taught him Rock Slide just before this fight. You can guess what happens next. Yup, easy 2-Hit KO.

Finally was Masquerain. Once again, Micky was able to knock it out in one clean Rock Slide, despite the Intimidate. It was an easier win then before, but I'm glad that Pinsir missed the Stone Edge.

hey, guess what?

DRACO REACHED LEVEL 50! Yup, it's evolution time! Enter: Draco, the Salamence!

I entered Lusamine’s Mansion, and the first thing I spot was the Ultra Recon Duo. One of them challenged me to a battle in order to defend Lusamine, but lost to Godzilla. I entered Lusamine’s room, and found Lusamine emotionally harming Lillie, breaking her down. Fortunately, I got there just in time to stop her. She started talking about how I’m “Too good for Lillie”. Bull... 

Before I could give her a piece of my mind, she left through a teleporter hidden behind a mirror. I healed up my team a bit, changed some of the items I had on pokemon, and followed her into her trophy room. Everyone else also followed. Me, Hau, Lillie, Gladion, and even Guzma. Lusamine reveals her plan to go into Ultra Space to capture the powerful being of light, Necrozma. Lillie and Glaion verbally show their concern for their mother, but Lusamine isn’t having any of it. She challenged me to a fight in order to prove that she’s strong enough to defend herself. I accept, and we start to fight.

Vs: Aether President Lusamine.

She leads of with a Clefable, and I sent out Godzilla. Clefable used Charm, I used Bulldoze. I knew Godzilla could take a few hits, but I knew that it couldn’t knock out Clefable on it’s own. After one more Charm and Bulldoze to lower Clefable’s speed, I switched out Godzilla for NES. At the same time, Lusamine switched out Clefable for Lilligant. Lilligant was faster than NES and used Teeter Dance, confusing NES. Fortunately, NES was able to paralyze it with Thunder Wave. I switched out NES for the newly evolved Draco afterwards, but Lilligant confused them too. After one confusion check, I was able to get a Supersonic Skystrike off, knocking out Lilligant. One down, four to go.

Next up was Clefable (again), and I sent out NES. I outspeed and land a Flash Cannon, but it’s not enough. Good thing is that Clefable goes for Moonblast, and It’s not even close to being enough. A second Flash Cannon is enough to KO Clefable. Two down, three more left.

Up next on the chopping block battlefield was Bewear. Oh, poor Bewear. I sent out Bwark to deal with them. I outspeed Beware and OH-KO it with Moonblast. Two left to deal with. 

Next was Lopunny. Honestly, I feel a little bad for sending Chad out to fight it. It was able to get one Fire Punch off (Probably trying to burn me), but failed and got Knocked Out by Cross Chop.

To end it off is Milotic. It’s able to outspeed me, and you know what it goes for? Dragon Pulse. Not once, but TWICE. Milotic, I love you. I really do, but you’ve got such a dumb trainer. Anyways, I was able to knock out Milotic with two Discharges from NES. I have emerged victorious, with no new casualties as of right now. 

After losing, she admits defeat, but continues with her plans anyways. She orders Guzma to follow her, and he DOES. She activates a machine that puts Cosmog under heavy stress, opening an Ultra Wormhole. Cosmog refuses to cooperate, so Lusamine just amplifies the stress, like the monster she is. Eventually, a semi-stable Wormhole opens up, and Lusamine just hops right in, like a madwoman. And of course, Guzma follows right behind her. 

We approach the container that holds Nebby and free them. The problem: Nebby doesn’t look the same. It looks smaller, and it’s no longer moving. We put it into a bag and go back to the main room. After the whole Aether Incident, we decide to take a nap on the beds available. I sure hope nothing bad happens the next day.

[razieltwelve]

The Biggest Gun (Worm x Final Rose)

Miss Militia blinked as the Magic Magician and the Undersiders appeared in a flash of light. Teleportation? Well, the Magician was a tinker although no one knew exactly what her specialty was. It was entirely possible that she could build a teleportation device.

What concerned her, though, was the large flag that Regent was carrying.

“What is that?” she asked.

The Magician struck a pose, something she seemed to do a lot. “Ah, Miss Militia, I’m glad you asked. That is my victory flag.”

“Your victory flag?”

“Yes, for when I kill Leviathan.” The Magician struck another pose, and Regent struck one with her. The young man seemed to be having entirely too much fun copying her. “So I suggest all of you stay out of the way and let me do my thing.” She glanced at Regent. “Nice posing. That’s why you’re my favourite minion. Sure, Tattletale is wonderfully snarky, but she just can’t grasp the finer points of being a minion.”

“And that involves posing?” Miss Militia asked.

“Well, yes. If you’re going to kill a civilisation-crushing monster, you might as well look good while doing it.” The Magician waved as Alexandria drifted over. “Hello there, super-famous heroine who has appeared on many a lunch box. Would you mind having everybody give me some room to work?”

“Why?” Alexandria did not mince any words.

“Because killing Leviathan could get messy, and I’d rather not have to clean up too much afterward.”

“How do you intend to kill him?” Alexandria asked.

The Magician rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I thought I’d start with a million or so pieces of artillery firing nuclear-level ordnance and work my way up from there.”

“A million…” Alexandria paused. “You believe what you’re saying.”

“By the time I’m done with him, I’m going to be the one on those lunch boxes.”

X     X     X

Diana skipped along the water front. The drones she’d sent out had confirmed Leviathan’s imminent arrival. She glanced back at the Undersiders. “You guys should head back. You’re my favourite minions, so it’ll be a hassle to replace you if you get squished.”

Regant made a face. “You going to be okay, boss? I like the set up we’ve got going, and if you get killed…”

Diana smirked. A thought was all she needed to call up her power armour from Bag of Tricks. SENTINEL was her greatest creation, a suit of hyper-adaptive, poly-mimetic nanite armour that she’d built to fight against Saviour and Ragnarok. She’d never managed to win, but she’d lasted longer than anyone else without those Semblances ever had. She could could probably survive being thrown into a black hole with it on.

“I’ll be fine. Now, run along. It’s time for me to do my thing.”

As the first tidal wave began to approach, Diana expanded her Semblance. At her absolute peak, she’d been able to summon things from Bag of Tricks across a colossal distance. The entire city was within her range. Several massive towers shuddered into existence.

“What are those?” The question came from Dragon.

“Those are to suppress his control over water. As long as they’re around, we won’t have to worry about tidal waves.” Diana grinned toothily. “They also have inbuilt shielding units, so the city won’t be damaged by any crossfire.” Her HUD showed Leviathan entering the bay. “You might want to start recording. I’m going to light him up.”

X     X     X

Regent liked his new employer. Diana was pretty chill, and she had an appreciation for video games and just hanging out. Besides, it was kind of hard not to have fun when she had so much awesome stuff just lying around. Whether it was drones, holographic projectors, or just killer robots, there was never a boring moment when she was around. She also paid well too.

“Think the boss is going to be okay?” he asked Tattletale.

His teammate shrugged. “I think so. I’m more worried about the rest of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“You haven’t seen some of the things I have,” Tattletale murmured. “If she wanted to kill a star, she could. And that’s not the worst she can do. The only reason this’ll even be a fight is because she can’t bring out the really big guns without destroying the city.”

“So… she’s going to be even more famous, right?”

“Yep.”

“Do you think we’ll get paid more?”

She slapped him over the arm.

X     X     X

Diana stretched theatrically and then struck a pose as Leviathan emerged from the water for the first time. Appearances were important, and she wanted to put on a show. As the beast surged toward her, she lifted one hand, pointed, and whispered across her intercom, broadcasting on all frequencies.

“Bang.”

Space rippled around the Endbringer and a million pieces of artillery fired simultaneously. A split-second before the shells hit, she activated a host of gravity arrays. Gravity in the affected area spiked, not enough to create a black hole, but more than enough to concentrate the power of a million exploding artillery shells into a sphere slightly larger than the Endbringer.

Diana had elected to use megaton shells for her artillery. They weren’t the biggest she could muster, but it made for a nice, round number. A million of those meant a teraton worth of firepower, which completely dwarfed the combined firepower of every country on Earth.

For several long moments, Leviathan was completely obscured, hidden in a sphere of roiling, unimaginable heat. The heat was so immense it caused the elements in the air to spontaneously fuse, upping the force of the blast. Her HUD happily displayed the temperature at the centre of the sphere: a nice, wonderfully cool 100 quadrillion degrees. It was a temperature so great that physics began to break down, and she would likely have lost track of the creature if not for her advanced scanning systems.

Still, he wasn’t completely dead although the blast had done more damage than anyone had ever managed to do to him before. As the gravity arrays struggled to contain the blast, Diana calmly lifted both her hands, arranging them so it looked like she was about to take a photograph.

“Does anyone here know what a singularity lance is?”

There was silence to her question.

“It’s a lance of concentrated gravity so immense that it is basically a directed singularity. When you expose it to the right sort of gravity arrays, you can get it to expand again, creating a super-massive, super-condensed black hole upon impact with the target.”

Diana reached out for the weapon in her Semblance and smiled.

“Boom.”

X     X     X

Tattletale clamped down on her power - her head would explode if she tried to use it now - as the miniature, well, star that had enveloped Leviathan vanished into the maw of a gaping black hole that threatened to consume the entire bay before suddenly vanishing as though it had never been there.

A stunned sort of silence fell over the assembled capes, and she couldn’t blame them. It had taken a little over ten minutes for Diana to annihilate Leviathan.

“Okay,” Diana said, skipping back toward them, her power armour vanishing and leaving her clad in her Magic Magician outfit. “I’m hungry. Who wants to go to Fugly Bob’s?”

“I do!” Regent cried. “Oh, wait.” And as he trailed after Diana, he began to wave her victory flag around.

“Did… did that just happen?” Skitter whispered.

Tattletale grinned and patted her on the back. “Relax. This sort of stuff happens all the time around the boss. Let’s go get something to eat.”

[call-signtracer]

Talon's Claws Part 1A

This will be a little long so it will be cut into parts. I'm still writing the rest but though I should share what has happened so far. hope you enjoy and all that jazz.

@runephoenix6769 Special thanks to Runepheonix here for helping me actually go through with writing a fic and being there as my first audience as well as to bounce ideas off of.

Lena couldn't remember much about what happened that day. One moment she was zipping along the field, pistols blazing, and the next she was knocked in the dirt and everything went black. Groaning Lena sat up and found herself unable to see or move her arms and hands above her waist. Sitting still she began to think, but the only thing that came to mind was she wasn't on the battle field anymore. The distinct noise of medical equipment beeped and whirred in the background; the opposite of the screams of the terrified bystanders and the injured, the pops and bangs of guns firing as she whirred by, a flash of blue among sparks of orange and puffs of grey smoke. Was she back in Angie's lab? But if so, why the need to bind her hands or the blindfold? Did she get hurt worse than she thought? All of these questions bounced around in her head before Lena finally voiced her concerns.

"Eh, Ello... if there's someone here could they maybe tell me what's going on?" She chirped, when no one responded she sighed, "Roight, so now what Lena?"

Swinging her legs to where she hoped the floor was they made contact with a solid surface and she managed to stand. Wobbling slightly she padded forward and found herself running into a counter top. Using her bound hands she felt along the edge until she found the corner moving along so she wouldn't run into it. She forced herself to move slower, cautiously feeling her way. Letting go of the counter when she reached the end she found herself in open space. Taking small baby steps she worked her way across the floor thankfully not hitting anything else. That is until she heard the sound of a door sliding open and she walked straight into someone.

"Oye watch where!" Lena managed to bark out before the other spoke.

"Oh ho ho, so you're awake now are you? Well good. I was told to get you out of here before you break something. Come on Spikes, let's go."

Lena froze as the familiar voice washed over her. No. No no no no no no no! That was the bloody hackers voice! Where was she that Sombra was here to retrieve her? Bristling Lena opened her mouth to object but Sombra was not having it, the woman reached out and grabbed the collar of her jacket and tugged her forward.

"Vamos chica! I dont have all day!" Sombra laughed tugging the Brit out the door. "And don't even think about blinking, or zapping, or flipping through time whatever you call it. That part of your doodad has been temporarily disabled."

Lena let out a disagreeing grunt but quickly fell into step beside the hacker so she didn't fall flat on her face. Silently fuming Lena was led down corridor after corridor, the many twists and turns quickly making Lena lose any sort of map she had of the place in her head. A few minutes later she heard the tell tale taps of Sombra's talons tapping away at a screen and a door slid open that Lena was quickly shoved through. Stumbling Lena fought for balance and managed to catch herself before hitting the floor. Straightening up she turned only to feel a hand clamp down on her shoulder and push her back down towards the floor.

"Sit. Stay. Good Spikes." Sombra chuckled patting the spikey hair before flopping into her chair and typing wildly on her screens.

"Where am I? What do you want?" Lena snapped, shifting into a more comfortable position sitting cross legged.

"Shhhh Spikes, I'm in the middle of something. And where do you think? You really think Overwatch would let me waltz around their base?"

Lena froze as this sunk in, okay so this was some sort of Talon base. No biggie, she would just need to get to an unlocked computer or her com and she could send word for backup. First she would need to get away from Sombra. And second... okay she wasn't sure what she would do afterwards but she could get to that later. Scooting along the floor Lena made her way over towards the door only to feel a yank on her jacket.

"Aww, come on Spikes where are you going? I thought we were having fun!" A gleeful chuckle teased, "Do I have to tie you to my desk?"

"I was just taking a stroll, after all you said you were working wouldn't want to be a bother. So I'll just nip out if you would be so kind as to point me towards the exit." Lena replied flippantly, rolling her eyes under the blindfold.

"Come on now, don't be like that. Do you know how annoying it was to get you out of there without anyone noticing? It takes a lot of effort to expand my camouflage to cover someone else."

Lena was dragged back towards Sombra's work station and true to her word, she produce a rope and anchored it to her desk the other end looping around Lena's waist. She sat there a moment before working her way to her feet and walking to the end of her rope. It gave her about 3 feet of leeway, okay she could work with this. Making her way back towards the tapping sounds Lena sat down on top of the desk, enjoying Sombra's annoyed exhale.

"So, Sombrero. Is this usually how you handle captive agents? You tie them to your desk?"

"Keep quiet or I'll add a gag to your ensemble of gear."

"Hmmph, I'm just making conversation. You're in charge after all. Does it look like I'm going anywhere like this?" Lena held up her bound arms as high as she could to illustrate her point

Sombra snorted and turned back to her screens when one fizzled out of her reach and she whirled around finding that bumbling time twerp laying on top of her desk. It took a moment for her to figure out what was happening before she shouted.

"What do you think you're doing mujer loca?!"

"What? I'm staying put!"

"Off off off! Do you have any idea how expensive these things are?!"

Sombra grabbed a magazine she had lying around and rolled it up swatting the Brit over her head until she sat up. Fuming Sombra hooked the panels back together and huffed running her fingers through her hair before tapping the screens again bringing up where she was at before. Lena came up behind the hacker and spoke.

"Oye! Are you sure I can't help in some way? I hate to just stand around leaving all the work to you."

"Aye! Chica I swear if you don't be quiet and stay out of my way... are... are you singing?"

Lena smirked at the talon operative and continued to belt out God Save the Queen as off key as she could before dissolving into snickers at Sombra's indignant squawking.

"Wha? You sound stressed, you really need to get out more. Being a shut in can't be good for you. Why don't I take you down to the town, there's this amazing pub on the corner, well that's if you lot haven't blown it off the map yet. I gah!"

Lena yelped, as the rolled magazine found her head again and again. Ducking she moved out of the way laughing as she dodged Sombra's fury, taking satisfaction in the swear laden rant that followed. Her laughter was short lived when she came to a halt forgetting about the rope around her waist cutting her retreat short and back in arms length of Sombra. The magazine fell a few more times before the woman stalked off untying the rope from the desk. She took it and grabbed Lena by the straps of her accelerator and began dragging her out the door. They travelled down various hallways Sombra cutting off every sentence Lena started with harsh words she couldn't understand. The spunky Brit registered the sound of heavy footsteps passing by them followed by whispers but she wasn't given a chance to respond until another door opened and she was pulled through.

With a shove Lena fell back onto something soft, she wriggled sitting up and felt the rope Sombra had looping around her upper body before being tied off somewhere to her side.

"There! Now you're going to stay here puta and I swear if you touch anything!" Sombra let out a few exasperated grunts before breathing in deeply through her nose. "Let's see what she thinks of her gift. See you around, maybe."

With that Sombra left the room leaving Lena alone to wonder if that had been a mistake and who or what awaited her now. Tugging at her bonds she found the knots were secure so she let herself relax on what she was assuming was a bed. Minutes or even hours passed she wasn't sure how long it took but at some point she had fallen asleep. It wasn't until she heard the scraping of the sliding door open that she stirred with a new sense of unease. The door slid shut again and Lena could tell by the way the blindfold lit up near the edges that someone had turned the lights on. Boots clicked ominously along the linoleum floor making Lena shrink down into the bed as the noise came to an end next to her. She winced as the blindfold was ripped from her head along with some of her hair. Her eyes snapped shut at the sudden flood of light and she looked to the floor. Slowly she opened her eyes and was met with the sight of familiar heeled boots. Swallowing hard she lifted her head eyes taking in the shapely legs clad in tight purple spandex, climbing up to full hips where the suit began to split open near her stomach. Knowing what was coming but unable to stop her eyes continued over the pale purple skin, up the half covered breasts she tried not to stare at, and finally resting on the neutral face with piercing yellow eyes.

"I uh, h-hiyah Luv..." Lena smiled sheepishly, sinking farther into the bed under that cold stare.

Widowmaker continued to stare at the trussed up girl on her bed, her eyes gliding over the rudimentary but secure knots and she clicked her tongue hissing a single word. "Sombra."

She lifted her hand, a finger wavering over the comm in her ear before she thought better of it. Dropping her hand she instead crossed over to the bathroom and entered. Once inside she stared into the mirror trying to make sense of what was happening. One half of her was purring like a satisfied panther that had cornered its prey, but the other weaker half of herself was stirring up feelings of concern for the girl. Scowling to herself she banished those thoughts from her mind and went about her buisness. Slipping from the suit with practised ease she stepped into the boiling waters of the shower feeling nothing. Knowing she would have to go out there sooner or later she still took the time to towel off and brush out her hair. Clad in nothing but a large white towel she exited back into the main room towards the dresser set into the wall. She knew those sappy brown eyes were on her the moment she entered, with good reason half of her purred. The girl had seen it time and again before being forced back down onto sheets that were not Widowmaker's. Foolish girl, letting the assassin into her home, her bed; submitting to her will, letting the monster take the reins to do as she pleased. Widowmaker shook her head to clear it, it was always that damned girl's fault. She never felt indecision any hint of anything until that girl came waltzing in and mucked it up. Dropping the towel and stepping away Widowmaker leisurely rifled through the drawers pulling out underwear and a bra, followed by a plain shirt and form fitting yoga pants. Once dressed she knew it was time to deal with this new development. Sidling back over to the bed she lifted one manicured brow in expectation, enjoying how the brown haired girl squirmed under the strength of her gaze.

Lena couldn't help but stare, her face heating up as Widowmaker dropped the towel and got dressed. Once again that calculated golden stare was on her and she felt like she would drown in it as she fumbled for her words.

"Look Ameli..." Lena started but cut off with a sharp glare from Widowmaker, "R-right, Widowmaker. I'm just as confused as you are. I kinda... woke up. Like this."

She finished lamely wishing she could disappear into the covers. With a soft snort Widowmaker turned away in thought. Rolling her eyes she moved to the headboard and tugged the rope loose tossing it aside. A devilish smile reached her lips as she straddled the young Brit, eliciting a surprised squeak before a well placed look silenced her. Leaning over her she reached underneath the pillow closest to the bed's edge and drew out a slender blade, twirling it between her fingers thoughtfully as she felt Lena stir beneath her.

Tutting to herself Widowmaker slid the thin steel under a section of rope and with a quick flick of her wrist sliced through the thin straps. "My my, it seems this little fly is intent on being caught in every sort of web. Shall we see about cutting you loose?"

The sultry purr in her voice made Lena swallow hard, instinct making her body shy away from the deadly knife so close to her skin but her heart tried to reason that Widowmaker. No. Amelie wouldn't hurt her. At least, that's what she hoped. Widowmaker took her time, analyzing each knot and strap as she sliced through them, rolling her eyes at the little bow that had been added in over the chronal accelerator attached to the girl's chest. Sombra was always one for unnecessary flare. Bits and pieces of rope were tossed aside as Widow worked, slowly making her way up Lena's sides and working her way towards her chest. She tapped the knife's point along the clunky metal of her anchor in time before sliding it under the last strap.

As the last bit of rope fell away Lena took a deep breath arching slightly off the bed and moving her arms and wrists to stimulate blood flow back into the aching muscles there. Unable to avoid it any longer she looked up and locked eyes with the sultry siren atop her. Settling back down on the bed Lena racked her brain for something to break the silence as it grew thicker with each passing moment.

"Thanks Luv, that was getting a little uncomfortable."

Widowmaker's grin turned predatory as she watched Lena stretch. "Hmm, but of course. The only ropes you should be tied up in are mine."

Lena's eyes grew wide as her face quickly turned several shades of red her ears burning with embarrassment. She sputtered unable to come up with a witty response before Widowmaker swung to the side getting off of her and replacing the knife under the pillow. Sitting up Lena scrubbed her hands over her face in a vain attempt to remove the color forming there and she risked a glance over at Widowmaker who had moved to the desk across the room and was scrolling through various light screens. Swinging her legs off the bed Lena sat there her hands nervously smoothing the blanket as she watched Widowmaker. Taking a deep breath she took a small jump off the bed and joined Widowmaker on the other side of the room. Lena could tell by the way the assassin's chair shifted slightly towards her that Widow was aware of her presence but her face never left the screen.

"So um, whatcha doin?"

Widowmaker let her eyes wander and give Lena a blank stare before turning back towards the screen. Giving up on conversation Lena slid down on the ground leaning back against the desk.

"Report."

Lena perked up at the single terse word tossed in her general direction but it was progress.

"Okay, what on? I was never good at writing up my own reports but I could totally help if you..."

Widowmaker looked down and lifted a brow giving Lena a look she interpreted as, do you really want to know what I just finished doing? A sinking feeling in her stomach, Lena pulled her knees up to her chest and set her head on it. She had felt a small bubble of hope seeing Widowmaker again, they had a past more than Widow could remember, and she thought that maybe the woman would help her. But it seems any sort of comradery they had developed would not show itself inside the serpent's nest. It had become easier over time to draw that blasted woman from her shell when they met on the field, every time she found Widowmaker grappling through her window at some god forsaken hour late at night, but in here she might as well be a stone wall. Swallowing back frustration and hopelessness Lena rested her forehead against her knees burying her face in her thighs. Her arms wrapped around the underside of her legs as she curled in on herself trying to work a way out of this mess.

Widowmaker stared at the screen, mechanically detailing everything she had done and seen on her mission the dull work helping distract her from her intrusive thoughts for a time. Once the report was done, she found herself simply scrolling through the database to avoid the girl at her feet but her mind wouldn't let her.

"Come now, she's already here let's have some fun! We've been dying to break into that little Snips apartment anyhow, and now she's been hand delivered!" Widowmaker argued in her head.

At that Amelie railed, "How could you even think that? She's been brought here against her will and been tied for God knows how long...!"

"She likes being tied up!" Widow thundered before sneering, "Or don't you remember?"

Amelie was quiet before her voice came out softly, "Just look at her. She's been kidnapped, she's scared, and no doubt that is the farthest thing from her mind."

Widowmaker's gaze snapped down to the pitiful curled up ball of orange and brown next to her desk. Her inner voices quieted leaving Widowmaker blessedly alone inside her head. Rubbing her temples to ease the headache she always found after those two argued in her head; she continued to watch Tracer letting her eyes exam every inch of her noting the scuffs and rips on bits of her clothing. She drank in the helpless vulnerable position the Brit was in, there would be nothing she could do if Widow decided to grab her by the throat and end everything but something held her back. Shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it, she reached down and carded her fingers through those ridiculous spikes she insisted on perfecting every morning.

It took a moment to process what was going on but when she did her head snapped up and she stared wide eyed at Widowmaker delicately poised in her chair and continuing to run her fingers through Lena's brunette hair. The soothing feel helped ease Lean's frantic thoughts and she leaned into the hand as her eyes closed with a sigh. Inside Widowmaker snarled and Amelie let out a sigh of relief before the two were banished once more to the back of her mind. The two of them sat there in relative silence as Lena slowly began to uncoil and relax at Widow's attention. A low gurgle broke their silence and Lena sheepishly wrapped an arm around her stomach.

"You guys wouldn't happen to have a mess hall around here, would yah?"

Widowmaker snorted softly, "Oui, though I do not go down there often."

"Don't suppose you could show me the way?"

Rolling her eyes Widowmaker stood and gestured for Lena to as well. Quickly getting her feet under her Lena fell into step behind Widowmaker only to find herself led into the bathroom. She turned a questioning look to Widowmaker.

"You're filthy. Food will be brought later but right now you need to shower."

"Wha! I am not!" Lena objected, but the thought of a hot shower was incredibly tempting.

"Says the miscreant covered in rubble, blood, and sweat?"

Right. Lena had almost forgotten what she had been doing before she ended up here.

"Strip." When she saw Lena open her mouth to object she crossed over and gripped her jaw firmly digging her nails in. "That was not a request. Leave your clothes outside the door, I will get you new ones."

And with that Widowmaker left leaving Lena rubbing her jawline where the others nails had left indents. Christ fine, she thought as she slid out of her jacket and carefully set the chronal accelerator in a safe place before taking the rest of her clothes off. Folding them haphazardly she set them outside the door and hurried into the shower. Biting back a moan of relief as the hot water cascaded over her sore muscles Lena stood there a moment before reaching for the shampoo bottle. Curious she sniffed it before shrugging and lathering up, it smelled like Amelie so she was fine with it. She made sure to scrub herself down completely and spent the next 10 minutes simply soaking in the hot water and relaxing. In the mean time she had heard the door open and close again, so either Widowmaker was out there waiting for her or she dropped off some clothes. Lena hoped it was the latter, she was too overwhelmed for Widowmaker's games. Turning off the water she slipped out of the shower and found the stack of clothes on the sink. Hurriedly tugging them on she found them a little too long in the legs and arms but she could live with it. Strapping on the accelerator she edited the bathroom and found herself alone. The thought of escaping crossed her mind but the sheer improbability of success kept her there. Shrugging Lena scooped up the bits of rope that had been cut from her and made a neat little pile on the desk. Crossing over to the only chair in the room she sat and waited. Widow reappeared not too long afterward followed by an Omnic plastered with the Talon insignia carrying a tray. Setting the tray down on the desk he then began taking the bedding and replaced it with a fresh set Widow provided, after which he left.

[sunriseoverastorea]

The Void

♬ Jeremy Soule - Dawn

The ship pitches violently in the sea. Cobalt clouds stacked above them let loose a torrential downpour, rain so thick that at times it is hard to see, little droplets as cold and hard as ice against Pen's young bark. She watches her hands as she flexes her fingers, nearly unable to feel them, and the shouts of the crewmen meld into one wall of sound in her head, Captain Bashere drowned out in the roar of panic and the swelling sea and the somehow calming thunder of rain against the deck. It reminds her of an afternoon in Ascalon, on the ranch, sitting at the table with Gaius with the shutters open. A solitary shower passed through, gentle raindrops like music on the tin roof of the hut. She was delighted, and she laughed, despite the pain that, at the time, was ever present in her head, a migraine that never went away.

Now the source of that pain hides—she whimpers like a caged lion, terrified of the sea.

Pen squints ahead, watching as the bow rises high, as if to pierce the steely sky. Her feet slide out from under her, and she skids down the deck, her back striking the cabin with a hard thump, alongside a few unlucky sailors that lost their own footing. Bashere clings desperately to the railing at the bow with one hand, the other hand raised in a fist, defiant, as the ship pitches downward again, and plunges into the waves. Pen stares at the wall of black water before them; it seems to linger, a spray of sea and foam barring their path, until all at once time resumes, and the massive wave crashes over the deck, knocking aside sailors like twigs. She chokes as it swallows her face, only for a moment until it washes over the sides of the deck, but Rajya cries out in terror, her eerie wails the only thing that penetrates the roar of the storm.

Pen gets to her feet, unsteady, but whole. Crewmen stream by on either side of her, returning to their posts, three men to a rope pulling it taut as the sails flap wildly in the wind. She slowly turns around, dazed, and gazes up at the cabin, strong and unharmed in the face of the storm. She plants her feet on the deck. She, too, is made of wood, and she can be as stalwart as--

--Another wave pummels the ship, slamming her face against the wall of the cabin. She cries out in surprise, and savors the soft, warm feeling afterwards, of sap dripping from her forehead down her cheek. She closes her eyes, woozy and blissful, sinking to her knees as she lets the sensation envelop her.

Marea.

The voice is not hers. She shakes her head no, not now, Rajya. The dark is deep, and inviting.

No, Marea! Look! Look you impudent twig!

Her eyes pop open, and reality crashes onto her. She hastily gets to her feet, nearly toppling over in the process, and forces her way past the scrambling, shouting sailors. She goes to the side of the deck, and stares out over the surging sea, up at the dark sky, and, only a few miles away, she sees her.

A tiny blip of blue and white, as small as an ant, coasting below the cloud line. She heads straight for the center of the storm, where towering mists writhe with violet lightning, like tree roots descended from the heavens.

“Marea,” she breathes out, numb fingers beginning to ache. “Marea. Stop! What are you doing?! Bashere!” She dashes up to the bow, feet slipping and sliding as water continues to splash over the deck. “My friend! That's her, don't you see it? The ship in the sky!”

She can't seem to shout loud enough over the roar of the ocean and the hammering of the rain and the screaming of the wind. Bashere turns to look at her—past her, his old eyes filled with terror. And a strange sort of determination. Madness in the face of death.

She follows his gaze, and the cries of the wind become one with those of the sailors. Massive tentacles stretch forth from the ocean, ghostly white as the lonely moon, they reach up to the clouds, twisting and twining gracefully, ethereal beings dancing in the sky. All around the ship, glowing golden circles of light appear on the undulating surface of the sea, suddenly calm, and as she stares at those lights, they seem to split, shifting and phasing in and out of existence, like a broken hologram. The ship follows suit, sails crackling like a warped image.

The arms of the sea surround them, and Pen allows herself a moment, one split second, to remember the caress of the gentle waves the night before, that could have rocked her to sleep like the child she never was.

“Bigger than a house, eh?” Bashere murmurs, grabbing Pen by the shoulder and carefully pushing her aside. “Take the lifeboat. You know where it is.”

“I do not think the lifeboat will save me, sir,” Pen replies, surprised by the calm clarity of her voice. The universe seems to have gone still in the face of the great beast. “The water is full of—something.”

“Try. Or you will die here with us.”

She swallows hard, and watches as he walks to the center of the deck, the crewmen, huddled together, a solitary voice wailing in terror, moving in close around him.

He calls out orders, and she hears the din of footsteps behind her as the sailors rush to their guns and cannons and harpoons, but all she sees is Marea's ship, so fragile and alone, speeding fearlessly towards the heart of the storm.

Go! Go you fool! You cannot help Bashere, their fates have been sealed!

But he is a good man. How can I leave him?

He wants to die. If you care for him, you will honor his wish. And if you care for Marea, you will get on that blasted lifeboat and follow her, or I will make you.

Rajya growls with malice, sending a shudder up Pen's spine.

I love Marea. You do not have to make me, Rajya. I will go.

She swings her legs over the railing, picks her way down the rope ladder, and hops into the lifeboat, a little wooden thing little better than a canoe. She grabs onto the pulley and slowly lowers herself to the water, the hum of the ship's engines kicking in as she settles onto the surface of the sea. The lights beneath the water, as big as noonday suns, seem to blink at her.

“Be kind,” she whispers, leaning over the side of the boat and watching them, their sulfuric glow blinding her eyes like fire.

As she drifts away on some unseen current, the ship lurches backward, propelled by the long-dormant gears of steam technology. It makes a beeline for the tentacles in the sky, great white sails coiled away so that it seems a copse of bare winter trees stands upon the deck. Sentinels over the death of insignificant men, and great men, or simply just men, no different from all the others. In the face of fear, sailor, captain and sylvari are no more than a mote of dust in the wind.

She hears their battle cries and the massive boom of their weapons that makes the surface of the sea tremble. And then the head of the squid rises from the ocean, stretching past the clouds, golden eyes streaming by below her boat, reflected on the surface of the water until they emerge into the sky, and their radiant glow alights the ship with celestial fire. The men scream, and Pen sobs, just one single gasp, wanting to cover her ears and look away, though she doesn't, she can't. Her gaze is frozen in awe and horror. One impossibly huge tentacle comes down from the sky, and smashes the ship in an effortless blow.

Waves from the aftermath push her outward, farther from the scene, and she tears herself away, shaking uncontrollably. She fumbles with the oars, like slippery grass in her hands. A distant, deep part of her, aching in her chest, wants to turn back. But she feels another soul take hold of her limbs, gently guide them through the motions, and the boat begins to pick up speed, chasing the girl in the sky.

Marea stares ahead, her mind blank. There is nothing else in the world except for her and the storm. Machines in the ship whir and whistle as the atmospheric pressure shifts, and she goes from barometer to barometer, adjusting them accordingly. Warning lights flash on the holoscreen, so she shuts it off, knowing where she's going, in no need of sonar or a map—even without the windshield and the clearly hazardous clouds in the sky, she would know where to go. She can feel it the closer she gets. The dread, and fascination, of the void beyond the Mists.

A great boom rings out in the distance, and a moment later, the airship rattles from the force of it. Her skin prickles, but she simply stares out the windshield, taking deep, labored breaths. She becomes acutely aware of herself—the way her hair tugs at her skin, pulled taut in braids, the ache of a rotten tooth in the back of her mouth, the blurriness in her left eye. The hard muscles in her shoulders and back, the unexpected result of carrying metal limbs on her body.

She laughs, shaking her head dismissively. What an odd creature she is. What odd creatures we all are, meat encased in bones encased in flesh, that somehow moves about and talks and forms thoughts of its own. And when you strike it down, the monster gets back up, with stronger bones than before. Resilient and adaptable, the true menace of Tyria, is people. No news to her, but with the image of walking meat in her mind, it seems more reasonable than ever.

Lightning flashes outside, casting a violet glow over the windshield. Below, the sea churns in a strange circular pattern, focused under the eye of the storm. The hair on her skin stands on end, and she closes her eyes, feeling around for the magic—and there it is, overflowing, rushing around the air like flurrying snow. She follows the little pinpoints of energy, and to her surprise, they head not up into the clouds, but down, into the sea.

When she opens her eyes again, there is a hole in the ocean. The waves circle round it, a hurricane of the sea, and it swells wider and wider before her gaze.

“Fuck am I supposed to do with that?” she asks no one in particular, taking a swig of water from her canteen. “Not a goddamn submarine.”

She turns away from the helm, wiping at her mouth. A collection of pipes along the back right corner of the ship catches her eye, and she squints at them for a long moment, unsure what she expects to see. Abruptly, they begin to tremble, vibrating in place and screeching as Marea clasps her hands over her ears, groaning in pain as a heavy pressure settles on her back. She forces herself to walk despite it, inching over to the pipes, releasing one of her ears so she can turn the crank and--

--The pipes explode, fire and smoke flashing outward and stunning her for only a moment. She stumbles backward, hobbling to the helm and falling to her knees, feeling around for the fire extinguisher beneath the console. She pulls her bandana over her face but it does no good, and when she manages to find her footing, wheezing and hacking and lightheaded, she flings the fire extinguisher at the windshield, glass shattering, allowing the smoke to billow free and the air to clear.

She gasps for breath, but her respite lasts only a moment, as a silent streak of lightning flashes above her, and strikes the back end of her ship, another fire roaring to life from beneath the floor and spreading as if riding the air. Thunder cracks in the sky high above her, and she fumbles with levers and buttons on the console, releasing the contents of the cargo bay into the sea, hundreds of pounds of flaming fuel swallowed by the dark waves.

Still the fire sweeps across the floor, licking at her heels, warming the back of her neck. She tries to climb out the windshield onto the deck, but nearly gets thrown onto the broken glass by gale force winds, and she retreats back into the smoke, mind racing with a million thoughts and insufficient solutions--

--Into the sea. She will take the ship into the sea, dip it underneath just for a moment, then pull herself into the sky again.

She rips off her coat and throws it over the nearest flames, smothering them for a second before they bloom to life once more and consume the trusty leathers. Warning bells and malfunctioning sirens pierce the air as she begins to steer the ship downward, to the north of the vortex in the ocean, growing ever greater even as she stares at it. The cabin shudders but the descent remains smooth, and she grips the wheel as if to crush it in her unnatural hands, coughing and hacking, tears blurring her eyes.

And then, the ship goes silent.

Halfway down to the sea, it breaches the edge of the maelstrom, and the console goes dark.  

“No!” Marea shouts, voice hoarse, followed by a bout of poorly suppressed heaving. “No no no! Come back!” She slams her fists down, shattering screens and delicate little buttons, a sudden heat crawling up the backs of her metal boots. “Fucking Horizon, wake up!”

She grabs the wheel and yanks it to the side, but the ship is unresponsive, internal gears fast asleep, wandering in their own quiet afterlife.

A high whistling precedes another explosion behind her as the flames chew through the exposed piping on the wall, and this time the fire envelopes her. She screams, though she can't hear her own agony, tears evaporated as if they were no more than morning mist, not the jewels of a suffering creature, more precious by far. Her unfeeling hands still clutch to the wheel, desperately straining to move it, almost operating with a mind of their own as her back and her legs burn bright in her mind's eye, pain so sharp and searing she can see it.

The Horizon pitches downward sharply, diving towards the maelstrom, a mile wide and growing by the second. Gray skies rush past her, a blur of smoke and lightning, and the ship, falling in earnest, a blue and white meteor made by the hands of mankind, passes beneath sea level in the blink of an eye. Fire crawls up her shoulders and catches her hair, licking around her neck and kissing her cheeks with gentle, cloying caresses. The darkness of the vortex fills her vision, and for a moment, it seems that it is all she will ever see. She will die, falling to the bottom of the Unending Sea, trapped in the deepest depths of Tyria, and she will never see the sky again or take another breath of cool desert air, she will never wake in the morning in the canyons and see the sun cresting the cliffs, and she will never press her face to a cat's silken fur or feel the warm touch of a loved one's hand against her cheek.

She screams in pain and cries with another sort of agony, with longing, that she should never find the beautiful dream she seeks, and she will die just as miserable as she lived, a failure, alone in the world.

And then, she stops.

The ship stops. The fire freezes in mid-air, as if it were no more than the masterful strokes of a painter's brush. Her mouth still gapes and cannot be closed, her eyes stare forward and she cannot blink them. She can't breathe, her chest crushed by an invisible presence. Gradually, as an eternity seems to pass by, twinkling lights bloom out of the darkness. They appear like stars in the night sky, but instead of calming her, they fill her with terror. The darkness in between each glittering diamond is so vast, so thick, she fears that it will swallow her, that it already has swallowed her. But soon, though she remains fixed in place, the stars begin to slide past her, increasing speed until they are no more than streaks of white light that fan out all around the ship.

Though she is still frozen, the pain is not. The fire is cold as dry ice, and every fiber of her being feels as if it is being torn asunder, every tiny particle and atom forced apart. She becomes her pain. Compressed and warped and picked at as she falls through a place where living things dare not tread, Marea is lost. There is no time, in the void, but she falls forever, and the person she once was is replaced with horror. Nothing else exists in the emptiness at the pit of the maelstrom. Nothing but fear, and doorways like stars in the night.

Magnesium bright light strikes her with the heat of the sun, and she tumbles through trees, before connecting to earth with a sickening crack.

[a-mad-scientist-approaches]

The Cipher Conspiracy (7)

Phase 1: Collection Phase 2: Construction (this one!)

There's a bit of a time jump in this one, so if you find yourself wondering, "Wait, what's Stan doing here?" then that's your answer. It's only, like, a day, so don't freak out. This will only make sense after you finish reading the chapter, but, when we get to Ford's perspective right at the end, it's like we're going back in time a day to see what happened to him when the bros parted ways. Before that, it’s focused on what happened with the others. Things are going to be slightly out of sync until Chapter 9. :)

Adeline Marks is @hntrgurl13‘s OC, and I love her. So much. Honestly.

The Addiford ship belongs to @scipunk63 (not much of that in this one, sorry!)

Madeline McGucket a fun character from @missinspi.

AO3  1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12  13  14

Chapter 7: A Dream Come True

Chicago, Illinois (USA)    ∆

No matter what Ford did, he could not seem to move fast enough. It was the ice on the road, the people in the way, the very air in front of him that slowed him down. Something unspeakable was happening to his brother, he could practically feel it, and if Addi was with him . . .

He and Fiddleford burst into the bar, barrelling past the doorman like he was non-existent. They stopped.

Too slow, too slow!

Back room. Ford saw it instantly.

Move!

People blocked his path. Drawing his gun solved that problem.

Faster!

His ears were roaring and he did not think it was all to do with the blood rushing through his veins. The look on his face cleared the crowd quicker than his weapon. Ten steps to the door, five, zero, Fiddleford slammed it open before him, two men, backs exposed, blocking the view beyond, God help them if either of their captives were hurt, strike that, not taking any chances. Or prisoners.

He fired two silent gunshots and he saw the bodies fall to the floor. There was no need to worry about them anymore, so they dissipated. The only important thing was that Stan and Addi were safe now –

On the floor. Shape on the floor. Lying.

Blood on his shoes.

He was too late.

There was already a round little hole in Stan’s head, and his skin was cold, so cold, colder than the outside air. Red trickled down his face, pooled on the floor, lapped against Ford’s knees as he fell, fisting his hands into his brother’s shirt and yelling into his chest while that same muted sensation continued to crash down, muffling everything.

There was another bloodless hand lying next to Stan’s – smaller. Addi’s. The hair splayed underneath her elbow was matted with darkness. He could not bear to look any further and reached out to touch her.

Footsteps. He looked up. Bill stood above him, looking viciously delighted at the shining memory gun in his hand.

“ALRIGHT SIXER, LET’S GET TO WORK!”

Everything flashed yellow.

∆

It was an hour past midnight. Stan really shouldn’t be awake. On the other hand, it wasn’t like he was going to get to sleep anyway, so he might as well do something productive.

The apartment lights cast a soft glow on the scene. He had been rooting carefully through Ford’s bags, looking for some evidence of whatever all these machines and materials were going to be used for. It wasn’t like he could stop Ford: they were at the end of their collaboration, as he would put it. He was just trying to settle his own fears about his brother going back to whatever situation he was in.

“STAN!”

The door on the left side of the entrance hallway banged open, Ford hurtling out in his shirt and boxers, ruffle-haired and wild-eyed, half-asleep. He crashed into the door opposite, knocked frantically for a fraction of a second, then fell through into Stan’s room. There was a moment of silence, then –

“STAN!”

“Whoa, I’m right here bro,” Stan said from the living room, hurriedly shutting a bag full of machinery. He stood and went to see what was wrong.

Ford stumbled out again, letting out a shuddering breath when he saw him.

“Just a dream, just a dream,” he muttered. Stan winced in understanding, patting his brother’s shoulder soothingly. He didn’t think it would be too far out of field to think Russia was no longer part of either of their preferred holiday destinations.

Ford raised both hands to rub his face tiredly. One had a gun in it.

“Okay, whoa, no, let’s get you back to bed.” Stan said, snatching the firearm away as Ford looked at it in bleary confusion. “Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m not tired,” Ford protested, swaying.

“Load of crap,”

He steered Ford back into his room, the man falling asleep as soon as he flopped on top of the sheets. Good enough, Stan supposed.

His search was getting nowhere. He should head back to his own bed and try to sleep, unlikely as it was to happen. He was turning to go when a shine caught his eye.

That journal of Ford’s was lying on his bedside table, hallway light bouncing off the gold six-fingered hand on the cover. He hesitated before sitting down on the edge of the bed, picking it up, and flipping through. Starting with the most recent entry, he began to translate and read the code inside.

Russia was . . . not ideal. B changed the plans so that S and I would be split up, which was only the start of the problems we would eventually face. Quite apart from anything else, I do not have much time with my brother left before we part ways, and I am feeling now more urgently than ever how every second counts.

I cannot help but feel as though B was wrong to set up the meeting with the Mafia, regardless of how beneficial it was – we did retrieve the filament. Far be it from me to second-guess him, nevertheless, I am unable to say with any sort of confidence that I have complete faith in his wisdom now. On the other hand, I expect that the incident would not have rattled me so badly had I been alone. Alone, I do not stand to lose the people close to me, and nor can anyone be tempted to take them. Perhaps this is why B is so adamant about having solitary operatives.

One of the agents we have encountered on previous missions, F, proved to be a great help in refining the design for the device. Conversely, A and S found themselves in a situation no one should ever have to face. I swear I have never been more scared in my life. I cannot understand why either of them were able to look me in the eye afterwards. After all, I was responsible for what they had to endure. That being said, I am also immensely grateful that they seemed to place not even the slightest blame on me. They deserve a much better friend than myself. Hopefully I will be able to live up to that one day.

The writing continued, detailing the events of the night. Stan didn’t read any further.

“Sixer, you knucklehead . . .” he said softly, shaking his head at Ford’s lightly snoring form.

∆

Chicago DuPage County Airport was busy. An unbelievable amount of people crowded the waiting area.

“Must be winter holidays,” Stan said.

“What?” called Ford.

“I said it must be winter holidays!”

“What?!”

Stan waved a hand, dismissing the comment. They attempted to move further away from the crowds. At this rate, they wouldn’t hear the calls for their flights.

Not flight. Flights. Here was where they parted ways. Stan to California, Ford to Oregon. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen to them after this. Would it be another five years of silence? Longer? Would he never get another postcard in the mail? He could always drive up to Gravity Falls. He knew where Ford lived now. But would Ford want to stay in contact? Would he decide that his work was too important again, or – especially after Russia – would he decide it was too dangerous for anyone else?

A three-tone dial sounded loudly over the speakers. Ford’s flight was boarding.

“I guess this is it,” Ford said, distinctly dispirited.

“Yeah,” Stan said, trying to convince himself that no, his throat was not closing up.

“I’ll, um, have someone get the Stanmobile back to you,”

“Oh yeah! Right.” He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten about his car.

A silence bloomed, where neither of them were sure what to say. Ford cleared his throat and frowned at the ground.

“Goodbye, Stan,”

Stan looked at the ceiling. “Seeya rou – I mean, bye, Ford.”

Ford nodded shortly, then spun on his heel and left. Stan sighed. Good one. He looked for somewhere to sit down –

- and Ford crashed into him, hugging him tightly. Stan responded gladly.

“Don’t get too caught up in your work, nerd,” he said thickly.

“I won’t. Would it – would it be okay if I came to see you after it’s finished?”

He did not sniff, he did not just sniff. “Yeah. Yeah that would be – be good,”

With a lot more throat-clearing and gruff pats on the back, they both pulled away and gave each other smiles that were definitely not watery. Then Ford went off to find his plane for real.

Another announcement was made over the speaker.

“-to Sacramento, California has been delayed. Approximate waiting time is thirty hours. The next available flight to Sacramento is in twenty hours. We are not that sorry for the inconvenience. It’s not our flight, after all,”

Unbelievable.

He might as well head back to the hotel, then. Glumly, he realised that this time he’d have to pay for a room himself, since Ford had taken all his money with him. Well, it had only been two flipping weeks without seeing Carla, what was one more day? A damn mess, that’s what.

A jewellery store caught his eye as he passed.

He supposed if he was going to do this, he might as well do it properly.

Manhattan, New York (USA)    ∆

“Agent Marks, come in,”

Addi entered Jheselbraum’s office, still stretching out her muscles after the flight from Atlanta and the drive from LaGuardia. It was very early in the morning, and she was still recovering from the jet lag hanging around after the Russia flight.

“How are you?”

“Happy to be back,” Addi said firmly, approaching the desk and sitting in the chair opposite the director.

Jheselbraum examined her closely. “You don’t look like you slept well,”

From past experience, Addi knew that deflecting the question or outright lying would not do her any favours. Once, Jheselbraum had gone so far as to drive her home herself when she had kept insisting she was fine after a particularly rough mission.

Russia had been a new kind of rough. Things had never gotten that close before. Addi didn’t want to admit it to anyone, even herself, but at the moment fieldwork . . . didn’t seem as fun as it used to. She bet that the most danger the building’s analysts had been in lately was of a stapler fight if someone forgot to unjam the printer.

“We had a couple close calls on this one,” she eventually said, avoiding Jheselbraum’s eyes.

The other woman stood up and walked around to her side, signalling that it wasn’t necessary for Addi to stand. She leaned against the desk and placed her hand lightly on Addi’s shoulder.

“You’re safe now,” she said plainly, “and you’ll have a rest from dangerous missions for a few weeks.”

Her tone brooked no argument, and frankly, Addi wouldn’t have protested anyway.

“Take the rest of the day off,” Jheselbraum added, “have a warm bath, do what you want for a change. Put high-stakes chance games out of your mind.”

Addi started. She hadn’t included Russia in her report or debrief, for the obvious reason that it hadn’t been a sanctioned operation, and the not-so-obvious reason that there were only a few people she was willing to talk about it with – four, to be exact, including the woman in front of her.

“How did you know about that?”

“About what?” Jheselbraum smiled. Then she sat back down behind her desk as Addi took her leave.

San Jose, California (USA)    ∆

“It’s about dang time,” Fiddleford sighed longingly, when he had retrieved his luggage from the baggage claim. He was finally getting to go home. It had been far too long since he’d seen Tate’s drawings stuck on the fridge, heard Madeline singing as she moved around the house, and held them both in his arms as they settled down to watch TV. Just a few more hours, and after that a few more months, and then he wouldn’t have to leave home at all.

His phone rang.

“I sure hope this isn’t Jheselbraum about to tell me Ah can’t go home yet.” He looked at the caller ID. “That ain’t a good sign. Yes ma’am?”

“Agent McGucket, I’m sorry to do this to you, but you can’t go home yet,”

It wasn’t a surprise, but it still chafed. However, it was not like he was going to ignore whatever assignment Jheselbraum had for him; the work they did was important, even if he was tiring of it.

“What is it? And is it at all nearby?”

“Indeed it is. If there was anyone else in the area, I would have asked them, but unfortunately you are the only agent in several organisations who is close,” Jheselbraum said, genuine regret in her voice.

“Aren’t I lucky,”

“Do you recall our FBI contact, Carla McCorkle? I’ve decided it’s time to unite our investigations. I need you to head over there immediately and give her a copy of our findings. She’s at the FBI field office in Sacramento,”

Fiddleford sighed again. Nothing like a few hours driving after a few hours flying.

“You got it,”

“I promise that you’re free to spend a few days off as soon as you’re done. Again, I am so sorry,”

“Thank ya kindly, ma’am,” Fiddleford said with only the barest trace of acerbity, which he simultaneously regretted and did not.

Sacramento, California (USA)    ∆

Carla tried not to feel like she was being watched. It was something she was fighting more and more lately.

There was a spy in the FBI, specifically assigned to her and her work. She couldn’t tell anyone about it, because that would draw their attention. She didn’t know who it was, and she couldn’t investigate, because the spy might find out. Everyone was a suspect. The janitor had surprised her the other day and she’d almost punched him in the face.

When she received a text from Jheselbraum, she breathed more easily than she had in days. With no word from her, no one to confide in, and no one to take her mind off the situation, she’d been feeling extremely cut-off and isolated, not to mention simultaneously anxious and bored. She’d swept her office for bugs four times.

Carla’s fingers were busy tapping a tattoo on the desk until the office phone rang. She scrambled to pick it up.

“Agent McCorkle, there’s someone here to see you. Says his director sent him here for a meeting with you?”

“Send him up!” She tried not to sound too eager.

A minute later, a weary-looking man with glasses and a green suit stepped into her office and closed the door behind him.

“Hi, I’m Senior Special Agent Carla McCorkle,” Carla said, holding out her hand.

“Agent Fiddleford McGucket. Jheselbraum sent me,” Fiddleford said, shaking it.

“Please,” Carla beseeched as they sat, “tell me you have something good. Our case has gone so stale that yesterday Agent Wexler tried to get the Special Agent-in-Charge to tell me to give it up.”

Fiddleford frowned slightly and handed over a thumb drive. “Ah can’t say whether this’ll do ya much good, but it’s worth a try. That there’s everything we’ve managed to collect on the Cipher Wheel,”

Anticipation stirred in her as she took the drive and inserted it into her computer. It contained a single file. Okay, so that’s a little unexpected, but this is the work of an entire agency here. It must be good.

She downloaded the document.

“Symbols?” she said blankly, scrolling through. The document contained pictures of maybe ten symbols, the locations said symbols had been found, and underneath each a detailed report of any unlawful, suspicious or just plain unusual activity in the area at the time it had been discovered.

Fiddleford grimaced. “Yep. Just symbols. Ah expect it doesn’t help much?”

“Oh no, no,” said Carla hurriedly.

“It’s alright if ya say so,”

“No, no, I’m sure it will be . . . of some use . . . maybe. I’ll have to go over what we have again, see if any crop up,”

“Good luck.” Fiddleford said. “We think those symbols are a kind of signature for Cipher Wheel operatives. If they contact someone, this is how they show they’re workin’ for Bill Cipher, or maybe it’s just to show who they are without giving away their names. We’ve only managed to get these from reconstructin’ burned documents. They’re thorough, whoever they are,”

“Tell me about it,” Carla muttered. She ejected the USB and put it safely in a pocket. “I suppose all that’s left now is to-”

The door banged open.

“Hey darl’, guess who’s back!”

Stan practically leapt into the room, motormouth running at full speed. “We are finally in the same place after two weeks and three days, so grab your coat because I’m taking you out-” He spotted Fiddleford and slammed on the figurative brakes, an astonished look on his face. Fiddleford’s mouth dropped open. Carla noticed everything.

Funnily enough, the first question she voiced was not “How do you two know each other?” because something more surprising had occurred to her.

“Did you cut your hair?”

“Uh, yeah,” Stan touched his shortened locks quite vulnerably, looking more like a deer in headlights with every passing moment.

Not only had Stan foregone the mullet, he looked like he was wearing some new clothes, too. He’d really neatened up while he was away.

Wait.

A thrill went through her.

He was back! He was finally back!

“You work for the FBI?” asked Fiddleford finally, looking baffled, but there was a faint grin appearing on his face which showed he was pleased to see Stan. Not enemies then.

“With the FBI,” Carla and Stan corrected at the same time.

“So what were ya doin’ overseas?”

“Actually, I’d quite like to know that as well. And why you two have met,” added Carla.

“Can’t say,” said Stan and Fiddleford quickly.

“Mission secrecy,” elaborated Fiddleford.

Stan addressed the Oracle agent. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s classified,” responded Carla and Fiddleford together. A strange mixture of emotions swirled around inside her. There was irritation and curiosity about what these two had gotten up to overseas, but they were quickly dissipating in an onslaught of sheer joy – she might just refrain from interrogating the men! For a maximum of two hours and thirty minutes!

Fiddleford suppressed a laugh at the way their inquiries were going. “Well, nice ta meet ya, Agent McCorkle, and it was good seein’ ya again, Stan.” He said, getting up to leave. “I doubt this’s the last time, either.”

“At the rate this is going, we’ll probably end up working together,” agreed Stan, shaking Fiddleford’s hand.

The agent went to the door, with a last amazed look in Stan’s direction.

“Oh! Wait!” Carla exclaimed before he could leave, her responsibility to her job shining through despite her excitement to spend some time with Stan. “Don’t you need the FBI’s informa-”

“Lalalala!” said Fiddleford loudly, sticking his fingers in his ears. “NolalalalalaI’mgoin’homelalalalahere’smanumberifyaneeditandonlyifyouneeditmindyoulalala!”

He tossed her a card that was blank except from a phone number in the centre, then hurried away, presumably before anyone could call him back and delay his departure.

“I like him,” Carla decided. Then she vaulted over her desk and flung herself at Stan, wrapping him in her arms and not wanting to let go.

“Whoa!” Stan laughed as he caught her and hugged her tightly. “I’ve missed you,” he mumbled into her hair.

“Missed you too,”

Stan let go. “Do you have work to do?”

Carla’s answer was a frown.

“Well, not anymore! We’re going out!” He grabbed her hand and dragged her out the door, snagging her coat and bag on the way. Carla didn’t complain.

Manhattan, New York (USA)    ∆

Addi could feel tension that she hadn’t even been aware of draining out of her. She was curled up in a blanket, sitting in her pyjamas, watching her favourite movie, and eating snacks. She was free to do what she liked for the first time in a long, long while, and as a result her head was beginning to droop with the peace of it all. She felt completely safe.

The phone seemed to blare into the silence, shocking her out of drowsiness. She tripped over her blanket as she shot off the couch towards the kitchen, stumbling over it and using an athletic manoeuvre to roll when she hit the ground and come up right where the phone was.

“Yes? Hello?” she said through uneven breaths.

“Agent Marks,” said an unfamiliar voice, “these are your superiors,”

Addi was quiet. “You mean . . . as in Jheselbraum’s overseers?”

“Yes,”

“The in-charge people?”

"Yes,”

“The head honchos?”

“Yes,”

“The-”

“Yes. We are contacting you for a very important reason,”

“Why directly? Why not through Jheselbraum? That’s how missions are usually assigned,”

“This is a one-time scenario. Rest assured, it will not happen again. To you, or any of Oracle Division, for that matter. It is for the best that we . . . shake things up. For good,”

Addi decided not to press any of her questions yet. The person on the other end of the line seemed rather preoccupied.

“We are giving you a mission. It is essential that you start immediately,”

The last of Addi’s good mood evaporated. “Understood,” she said, containing her frustration.

“At the FBI field office in Sacramento, an investigation is being undertaken to an unacceptable end. Efforts to derail it have failed.”

“What’s being investigated?”

There was a pause, during which Addi became certain that she was asking questions the other person did not know the answers to. She wondered if the superiors had superiors.

“That is not of your concern,” was the eventual reply. “All you need to know is that drastic action is required. Something that will put all investigations on hold while the case in question is altered to reflect more suitable facts.”

Something was knotting in the pit of Addi’s stomach.

“An assassination,”

“Who?” she managed.

“Start with the Special Agent-in-Charge. The Senior Special Agent leading the investigation may also be necessary if she continues to pursue this. You are expected in Sacramento immediately,”

The only thing able to permeate Addi’s numb mind was the thought that this flight would be a muscle-cramping six hours long. It was only eight in the morning, so plenty of time to get there.

She would be thankful for that, but really it depended on whose perspective it was considered from.

Gravity Falls, Oregon (USA)    ∆

Ford sighed and dumped his bags in his living room. Over two weeks away, and the only thing different about the place was the fine layer of dust covering everything.

Although . . .

Perhaps it was just the strangeness of actually being at home. Yes, it must be. It was bordering on superstitious to think that abiotic surroundings could be imbibed with emotional qualities.

Nevertheless . . .

It did seem to be missing a certain vibrancy he had become accustomed to of late. He surely had not felt this alone when he had left Gravity Falls.

He was torn from his thoughts by the sound of the basement door opening.

“Welcome back, smart guy!” Bill grinned, spreading his arms grandly as he walked into the living room.

“Bill,” Ford greeted, shoving away thoughts about how alike the smile of the man in front of him was to the one he had seen in last night’s dream.

“Got everything we need, I see. Alright Sixer, let’s get to work!”

[thespookyswan]

Losing to You

A Gift for @penningmisnomer about our OC’s.  Spy AU. I put a lot of effort into it! And this is only the first part! <3 Hope everyone who reads it enjoys it!

WC: 8,313 

The crisp autumn air brought forth a chilling breeze that rustled his undone jacket back behind him. It was stronger where he stood, under the protection of the platform, the walls making the wind bounce and multiply. He kept attempting to light the cigarette that rested between his lips, but every match he lit was blown out before he could get it to the tip. He sometimes cursed his cheap nature, wondering why he only stole matches from unsuspecting golf courses and places that just left them around, instead of just buying a lighter like a normal person.

He gave up on the cigarette finally, spitting it out into the tracks before him. He glanced across the way, the large trees towering above the parallel platform bright fall colors, whistling in the breeze and falling off in masses, creating a flurry of color that he just couldn't find any joy in. One thought flooded his thoughts, bringing a sort of sadness that he couldn't shake off.

Conner would love this. Conner always loved the bright colors that the autumn brought with it. He was born in the same season and would always brag about the perfection of the weather that he shared a birthday with. Such a trivial thing to brag over, Trevor often thought, but that was just who Conner was, someone who could find the beauty and joy in everything.

He tore his eyes away from the trees and shook Conner out of his head, glancing around the platform afterwards to see who he was sharing the train with. It was oddly empty for a train platform, but he attributed that to the small town he was in. A woman stood alone in the back corner, her eyes focused on her phone before her. On a bench in the center there was a younger gentleman, his hat down over his eyes and a messy work bag at his side. There was a small family of four on a second bench, the parents trying to distract their very noisy children with toys and electronics. He hoped he didn't have a cabin near them, or even on the same cart. It was a long ride, four days total, and he couldn't imagine hearing the annoying brats that whole time.

It was almost as if they were all trying to avoid him, keeping back behind the columns that held the platform up. Occasionally the woman would glance up from her phone to look at Trevor, but when their eyes met she would return to the safety of the screen, her fingers flickering away, her eyes avoiding his at any cost. The parents too would glance at him, but they were much subtler about it, pretending to avert their gaze elsewhere when he would look in their direction. He didn’t think too hard on it, knowing is casual business attire was probably an oddity for where they were headed.

Finally, the blistering whistle of the train rung through the station, and he picked up his backpack and bag and threw them on his shoulders, beyond ready to get on the train and sit down. The train roared into the station, bringing a stronger wind that nearly knocked him off his feet. He watched as the passengers exited on the opposite side, talking loudly as they exited and made their way off. Significantly more people than were getting on, he thought, but attributed it to the early time of day. People going to work.

As the doors on their side opened, he stepped onto the train and flashed his ticket at the teenager at the entrance, who just nodded his head and pointed him in the direction of his cabin. He pushed his way through the small halls until he found it, cringing at the number on the door. 912, Conner's birthday. One he first saw it on his ticket, he found himself nearly throwing up at the eerie coincidence. It was as if God himself was spitting on him with every step he took, reminding him of what he did.

He pulled the door open quickly and stepped inside the small cabin, chucking his bags onto the tiny pull out bed as he slid the door closed behind him. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe the sick feeling out of his stomach with any sort of willpower.

"Pull yourself together, Trevor." He muttered, pulling his coat off and hanging it on the back of the door, blocking the hideous number from his vision. He rested his back to the door and dug his fingers into the skin of his hand, the irritation of everything around him growing worse as the loud family made their way down his hall. His breathing picked up as a ringing split his head in what felt like three, the blistering young voices, the number, and the tiredness he was experiencing all hitting him at the same time, driving him further and further into a deep hole-

A door shut, and the voices faded away as they made their way into another cart. He released his palm and slid down to the ground, opening his eyes and staring out the window at the top of the empty platform, banners for long passed events hanging proudly as if they still had something to say. The silence was so welcoming to him that he was nearly falling asleep where he sat, and finally he yanked himself up. He grabbed his bags and promptly dropped them on the floor, taking their place on the bed and drifting into sleep fast.

--

His vision was blurry, the steady stream of thick blood dripping down over his left eye making it incredibly hard to see. He tried to keep his head up and ignore the pain, process the situation, but the force of the hit was making him dizzy. From where he sat on his knees, he could see the figures before him struggling in a clear battle to secure a gun, but who was who was impossible for him to pick out, the darkness of the night only making things worse.

"Trevor!" Conner yelled, his voice strained and scared, "Do something!"

Trevor shook his head, trying to pull himself back into reality, but only making the feeling of uncertainty worse. He crawled forward, the gun that rested before him split in two, wavering and seemingly moving. He tried to wipe the blood from his eye, but it only smudged and blended across his right eye. He was better than this, he knew he was, and Conner needed him. His own incompetence made the situation only heavier on him.

Conner let out a cry of pain and Trevor saw him stumble back and away from his attacker, but not for long, as the other man stepped quickly after him, trying to grab the gun Conner was still held onto out of his hand yet again.

Trevor finally managed to get his hands on the second gun, and with much difficulty he switched the safety off and raised it forward, towards the ongoing struggle between Conner and the other spy. Everything was still spinning, and there was no way to determine who he was shooting at, but for some reason, some ungodly reason, he still just fired.

A still silence split through the area as Trevor's vision slowly cleared. There was only one person before him, Conner, his lovely Conner, pale in the face. Trevor tried to process what was happening, when suddenly, streams of blood started to leak out of Conner's face, out of his eyes and his ears, his mouth and his nose, just thick, red streams. He collapsed to his knees as a red blossom started to spread across his chest as well, down his sides, pooling around him in massive amounts.

"Trevor... What did you do?" Conner whispered, lifting his hand forward to reach for Trevor. The crimson dribbled from his fingertips to the ground below, and the thick liquid started to move towards where Trevor was sat, unable to move an inch.

"Conner, Conner- I didn't mean- I never thought this would happen! I didn't think at all!" Trevor cried out, trying so hard to move, to get away from the blood, but his body wouldn't listen. He screamed as it began to work up his legs, covering him in the warm, heavy fluid, crushing everything as it made its way up his body.

Conner simply watched as he was engulfed, his blue eyes burning in the moonlight. Trevor attempted to speak again, but only invited the blood into his mouth, and it flowed down his throat, choking him. Conner's head fell to the side, and the last thing Trevor heard before he was swallowed whole was a loud, splintering crash.

--

It had happened again.

He sat in the uncomfortable chair across from the bed, staring at the wet stain on the mattress before him. His pants were hung in the small bathroom his room daunted, and the sheets soaking in the tub. At this point, it was so common, he was no longer ashamed. The nightmares he experienced were worthy of the reaction his body had to them. It was more so embarrassing that it happened here, not even on his first night, and there was no way in hell he was telling anyone about it. He'd rather sleep in the mess than have to admit to some poor worker on the train that he, a full-grown man, had wet himself.

He needed a drink.

He stood up and dug through his bag, yanking out a pair of jeans and slipping them on. He ripped the tag off and tossed it in the trash bin, rubbing his legs at the feeling of denim. He couldn't remember the last time he wore something so casual just because he wanted to. His job was one that called for a much more professional attire, and even when he did do a job where he acted as a civilian, it wasn't like he picked out his outfit. They'd called to him from the window of a small store he'd passed in the last town he hid in, and he decided to buy a few just because he finally could.

He pulled off the button down he was wearing and after a moment of deliberation, tossed it in the bin as well. Something about him was still holding on to the past, to the job, to what he was by keeping his old clothes. He decided now to give it up, and pulled on the loose-fitting tee shirt, surprised by the comfort it provided.

He ran his hands through his hair but knew it was no luck, the curly mess never listened, and he had no desire to look at himself in a mirror and mess with hair gel for a bartender he'd speak to maybe twice.

Finally, he exited his room, stepping out into the shaky train car and glancing around to see any sort of signage that would point him to the dinner car. An old, rickety sign hung above the door that split the cars, pointing him in the direction he needed to go. He closed his door behind him and made his way across, happy to find the next car was his destination. Quite the easy trip to and fro.

Much to his delight, the dinner car was totally empty, minus the bartender, who was tucked in the far corner, cleaning a glass with an old rag. It was all very movie-esc, and Trevor made his way to the tiny bar, taking a seat and waiting for the man to turn his attention away from cleaning.

"Must be an easy trip for you, huh?" Trevor asked, unable to help it. He was an extrovert, and the lack of human contact he'd had the past few months was eating him alive. Many bartenders were subjected to his desperate attempt at connection and conversation.

"Most are easy trips. Not everyone is an alcoholic." The bartender replied, glancing over at Trevor finally. He was younger, and Trevor imagined they couldn't have much of a difference in age. His skin was dark and smooth, as if he'd never had a speck of acne in his life, and light hazel eyes complimented his skin tone beautifully. His hair was styled neatly, shaved at the sides with the thick strands all at the top, and very clearly bleached blond. He had a smug look on his face, like his comment had been a hit at Trevor.

"You don't have to be an alcoholic to enjoy a good drink." Trevor gave in return, not trying to fight with the snarky young man, but not taking kindly to his comment.

The bartender rolled his eyes and just grunted in return, grabbing a clean glass and waiting for Trevor to pick his poison.

"Diet Rum and Coke." He said right away, and the other man scoffed and muttered something about 'diet,' but did as requested and filled the glass up with the soda before dumping a heavy shot of rum into the glass, sliding it across to Trevor.

"Thank you." Trevor sighed, grabbing the glass and taking his first sip, letting out a small sigh of relief as the alcohol flooded into his system.

"That'll be 3.23." The bartender slid a small piece of paper towards Trevor, who had totally locked up at the sentence. He stared at the bill with quivering eyes, the numbers burning against the page. Three twenty-three. March twenty third, that was the day Conner was taken from him. No- that was the day that he lost Conner. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for what had gone down.

In some desperate attempt to wash away the dark feeling that was creeping through him, he slugged down the rest of his drink in one swift motion, letting the glass hit the counter afterwards as he coughed just a bit. The bartender watched him with a raised brow, his hands rested on his hips.

“The man that preaches about enjoying a good drink decimates a well made Rum and Coke. What, did the idea of paying for your bitchy drink get to you-“ but before he could finish, Trevor slammed a five dollar bill on the counter and quickly turned away, rushing back to his room.

As he made his way through the dinner car he caught a glimpse at his own reflection; the walls along the sides of the car furnished a mirror that showed nearly his whole frame. He stopped dead, realizing this was the first time he’d seen himself in weeks, probably. He avoided mirrors like they were some sort of plague, the idea of looking at himself almost sickening.

He truly wondered who the person staring back at him was. It was clear to him now why the other people on the platform were avoiding and stealing glances at him, or even why the bartender made the alcoholic comment.

He truly looked like he was sickly, his once tan face a greyish color, pale beyond comparison to anything he’d seen. His eyes, once a bright, vibrant green, were red around the edges, making him look truly like a drug addict; the accompanying bags that rested under his eyes and the long, healing scar above did not help. He hadn’t realized how out of control his hair at gotten- the brown, curly mop that he normally kept well cut and styled was a shaggy mess, spraying in a thousand different directions. To top it all off, he was thin, skin and bones, almost nothing to him. The new tee-shirt he had hung from him, and the jeans barely sat on his hips. The strong, well maintained person he used to be was gone. He had died along with Conner.

He took a shuddering breath in and ripped his eyes away from himself, finally making his way back to his room. Outside, the countryside roared by, endless amounts of foliage and farmland, covered beautifully by the pale orange of the setting sun. He took a seat in the lumpy chair, one hand on his head as he watched the outside fade past and listened to the mechanical rattling of the rails below. He’d ridden a train so many times at this point in his life that the sway of it all meant nothing to him- it was almost all peaceful, and he found himself falling away into another deep sleep.

--

Before him was a mirror, clear as day, probably the cleanest mirror he’d ever looked into in all of his life. It was almost sickening that staring back at him was the mess that he’d become, some sort of creature that he couldn’t even recognize if he tried. He knew that it was him staring back, but at the same time, wished it was somebody else. He looked away, trying to figure out where he was, his brain not connecting the dots.

A thud brought his attention back to the mirror, and his blood instantly ran cold. In the mirror was not only his own reflection, but the haunting reflection of Conner, dried blood splattered across his face, his pale arms wrapped around Trevor in a bear hug, holding him in place. Some part of Trevor knew this wasn’t reality; Conner wasn’t tall enough to lean over his shoulder the way this thing was, but something else told him that being dead, Conner could do whatever the hell he wanted.

“Look at you, finally getting what you deserve.” Conner whispered, pressing his cold, blue lips against Trevor’s ear, sending the worst of chills through his body.

“Conner, please…” Trevor whispered, slowly bringing his hand up to rest it on Conner’s own, the sick feeling in his stomach growing worse as his hand touched the chapped, freezing skin of Conner’s hand.

“Don’t touch me. You don’t get to touch me. You killed me.” Conner hissed, moving his hand away, scrapping sharp fingernails up Trevor’s chest, cutting him deeply. He let out a pained noise and watched as the blood dripped from the cuts in his shirt before looking back at Conner with desperation.

“You know that I would do anything, Conner, anything to get you back!” He tried, his voice pathetic and small. Conner’s lips turned into a scowl and he let out a deep, angry chortle.

“Then why are you running away, Trevor? All you do is run away, when things get tough. You were going to leave me, I know you were. Things were getting too hard for you, with our job, and you couldn’t take it, and you were going to run, just like you’re doing now, because you’re a coward!” Conner screamed right in his ear, and he shook his head around, trying hard not to cry.

“Conner that’s not true, that’s not true, I loved you, I love you-“

“You can run forever, Trevor, they’ll catch you now or never.” Conner whispered then, and the mirror shattered, the broken pieces flying back and imbedding themselves into his body, cutting him deeply, causing pain worse than he’d ever felt to go rushing, flooding through him.

The remains of the mirror fell back with a sickening crunch.

--

“I think you look worse than yesterday.”

The dinner car was empty, breakfast over and lunch still hours away. Trevor sat alone in a booth, nursing a coffee and a plate that he hadn’t bothered to touch. Much to his dismay, the bartender doubled as a waiter, the small trip not calling for two people to work the small car.

“I don’t recall asking your opinion.” Trevor muttered, glancing over at the other man with half a glare. He was resting against a booth opposite to his own, having just finished cleaning up what Trevor could only assume was the remains of the breakfast the loud family had eaten.

“Wow. Yesterday you were fishing for conversation, and today you’re all rude about it? Excuse me.” The bartender scoffed and wheeled away the cart with the dirty dishes, leaving Trevor alone in the cart. He sort of regretted his harsh response and dug his fingers into his eyes before glancing back to make sure the man was gone.

He dug in his pockets and pulled out his cigarettes, quickly pulling one up to his lips and flicking a match ablaze before finally lighting the stick and taking a much-needed long drag. He let his head fall back against the seat behind him, his eyes closed as he let the puff of smoke out slowly.

 “Those things will kill you.” Conner said, sitting across the booth from him. The sunlight flowed in through the window, making his long, black hair shine. He always kept it up in a very neat bun, protocol for their line of work, but today it was all out of place, nobody watching them. The normally well-kept strands were in complete disorder, and Trevor found it enduring and quite frankly, adorable.

“They’ll kill me no sooner than you’ll die, I bet.” Trevor gave Conner a bit of a cocky grin, and Conner rolled his eyes in return, but his own lips split into a small smile. Trevor’s eyes focused on the very noticeable, yet, very cute gap that Conner sported between his teeth. If they weren’t in a public place he’d lean right across the table and kiss Conner, kiss those plump lips and the cute gap and let Conner know how much he loved him.

 “Why didn’t I kiss him?” Trevor muttered, sliding his hand down his face in a dramatic fashion as he relived that moment- that comment, that god awful comment that he just had to say to Conner over in his head.

“Because that would be sexual assault.” The snarky bartender had returned, and he reached across the table to snatch the cigarette right out of Trevor’s mouth, flicking it into his coffee to put it out. Trevor let out an aghast noise, frustrated at the rudeness of the other man.

“I was smoking that! And I was drinking that!” Trevor gestured at the coffee cup with both hands, staring at the bartender, who, in return, gestured at a ‘NO SMOKING’ sign on the wall not far from Trevor.

“This is a public place. Kill yourself in the privacy of our cabins, please, leave the lungs of people who don’t inhale toxic chemicals alone.” The bartender took his coffee from the table and went to walk away. Trevor spun in his seat to look after him, his face heated with embarrassment and anger.

“What is your name! I’m going to tell someone about this-“

“Kirk. Tell whoever you want.” The bartender exited through the back door, and Trevor left out a long huff before grabbing a piece of toast off of the plate and leaving, unable to even think about listening to another second of ‘Kirk.’ If Kirk was even his real name.

“Star Trek bastard. Who does he think he is?” He grumbled, opening the door to head back to his cart and nearly smacking directly into a woman. Luckily, they both caught themselves in time, and Trevor quickly stepped to the side to let her in.

“Sorry.” She said quickly, forcing a friendly laugh and stepping past him. She was clearly beyond nervous to be around him, and it reminded him violently of his current state. He let out a small sigh and just left, deciding there was no reason to scare the poor woman any more than he already had.

--

The rest of the day droned by as he kept himself tucked in his room, reading some old fantasy novel that had belonged to Conner. He told himself time after time, when Conner was still with him, that he would start to read them too, so they could talk about them together. Conner watched soccer and baseball for him, and yet he never got around to just reading a book- a book that was actually pretty good- for Conner.

He had no reason to leave the safety of his room, deciding he’d avoid Kirk at nearly any and all costs. He figured the bastard couldn’t work all day, so he’d make his way to the dinner cart around sunset. Then only two days would remain, and it might take a bit more planning, but he figured he could pull it off. It wasn’t like he ate often anyway.

 “You really grind my gears, Trevor, you know?” Conner huffed, pouting his cheeks out and glancing up at Trevor. They were walking down a packed city street, side by side, their shoulders close together but hands never touching.

“I could say the same for you.” Trevor shot back, and Conner shoved into him just a bit, making him stumble to the side. Trevor laughed and looked back down at the other man, raising his brows to indicate he was wondering why.

“You never eat! Ever! You’re so damn unhealthy. I’ve never seen someone as unnatural as you. You live on cigarettes, coffee, and lettuce, I swear to god. Your organs must be screaming for nutrition of any kind. I looked like some pig in that restaurant, with you ordering a side salad!” Conner exclaimed, gesturing his hands around the way he did when he was excited or passionate about something.

Trevor couldn’t disagree- he and Conner were violently different in their eating habits, and it showed. While he was all lean, thick muscle, Conner was more of a thick, curvy, squishy thing. He had thighs that were so perfect, Trevor found himself nearly salivating at the thought, his eyes fluttering down to glance at them as they walked. The tight dress pants Conner was wearing really made them look wonderful, his hips swaying, his ass looking oh so perfect-

“Hey! My eyes are up here!” Conner said, but was unable to hold back the laugh that came with it. Trevor joined in with him, snorting at the silly line and throwing his arm around Conner’s shoulders in a way that, to anyone watching, was just a friendly gesture. To them, it was more, a shared feeling of intimacy and love as they were pressed close together with no barriers.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s hard not to think about such a fulfilling meal, you know?” Trevor teased, keeping his voice dangerously low. Conner let a breath out of his nose and turned his face the other way, shaking his head around a bit. He brought his hand up and shoved Trevor’s face away, separating them.

“You- You don’t get off that easily, Trevor!” He shook his head and wagged his finger around, “I’m putting you on a diet, but, like, opposite. You have to eat, Trevor, I can’t… I can’t lose you, okay? Whatever goes on in that weird brain of yours, just, let me help.”

Conner’s voice was sweet, and sincere, and Trevor dropped the playful act he had previous and gently pressed up against Conner’s arm, pretending he was more squished from the passerby’s. Conner glanced up at him, a look of worry in his pale blue eyes, and Trevor nodded in return.

“Alright. I’ll listen to you.”

 If that Conner could see him now, Trevor was sure he’d rip him some sort of new hole in anger. Trevor was barely half of the man he was when Conner was alive. Of course, the Conner that he killed- well that Conner would know he was getting what he deserved. Rotting away like this, getting those judgmental eyes and snark comments from people around him; it was all his payment for what he did. Hell’s cold grip could come up from under the tracks and yank him down into it’s waiting embrace this very moment, and he wouldn’t complain.

A sharp knock at the door brought him out of his state, and he sat up a bit on the chair, narrowing his eyes. Suspicion was always the first thing that ran through him in these situations. It was all in his training, in what he’d grown to know over constant years of living as a spy. Even now, on the run from it all, he was still high strung all the time.

“Yes?” He called, cringing a bit at the stupid word choice. Why not ‘I’m busy’ or ‘go away?’ Why was he acting so formal?

“I brought you food. You haven’t come back to eat, and you didn’t eat any of the breakfast that I made you. You’re not starving on my train, got it? I don’t need to lose my job. Open the door.” Kirk’s voice cut through the room like a knife, and Trevor sat still in his chair for another moment before standing up and sliding the door open, meeting eyes with the slightly shorter man.

In his hand was a dinner plate, stacked with a thick flank of steak, buttery warm mashed potatoes, and three different kinds of vegetables mixed together. It looked significantly better than the breakfast that had been on his table that morning, and he raised his brows at Kirk, expecting an explanation.

“The chef made this, you jag-off.” Kirk huffed, shoving the plate into his hands. He wasn’t in the bartender outfit anymore, instead in more of a casual outfit, basketball shorts that fit his athletic legs and hips just right, and a graphic tee-shirt that displayed some television show he’d never heard of before. He was almost cute like this, if he didn’t wear that sour expression on his face.

“I wasn’t trying to insult you. The breakfast this morning just wasn’t near this level, is all I’m saying.” Trevor tried to smile- he didn’t need to make more enemies, let alone some angry civilian that worked on a train. If his picture ever went up anywhere, and Kirk hated him for being the dick on the train, he’d easily sell away Trevor’s last location.

“Whatever. Eat it. Do I have to stay and make sure you do?” Kirk was clearly trying to eye up whatever Trevor had inside his room, his eyes occasionally drifting to the sides to try and look past Trevor.

“I’m not a child.” Trevor replied to him, but took the fork that rested neatly on the plate and took a large bite of the mashed potatoes, almost melting at the taste. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d tasted something so good. Kirk was taking his moment of bliss to really start inspecting the room behind him, standing up a bit on his tiptoes to see over Trevor’s shoulder.

“Thank you for the food, Kirk.” Trevor noticed him inspecting from the hallway and decided that was more than enough, stepping back into his room and sliding the door closed. He let out a small sigh and stared at the plate that rested in his hands before he dropped it into the garbage and instead laid down on the bed, staring at the wall.

It felt nearly impossible to sleep, even with daylight fading away. He knew that he should be tired at this point, the previous two attempts at sleep being ruined by endless, shrill nightmares, and the days long and mundane. He turned onto his back and instead chose to stare at the ceiling, with it’s ancient, rotting patterns and chipped paint. Conner would probably appreciate an old train like this, he’d find it’s history fascinating, and probably buy books on it the second they got off.

Maybe he’d do that.

--

Kirk was not in the dinner car the next morning. Trevor almost felt sad, because the other bartender/waiter was nowhere near as fun as Kirk was. She was older, meaner, and quick with everything, practically throwing his coffee and plate of overcooked food at him before waddling back off to the kitchen. Trevor did not want to start any sort of conversation with her.

He focused on his coffee instead, his eyes tired from the pure lack of sleep he’d gotten the night before. Daylight was dancing against the old, white cup, making it look much more appealing than it actually was. He picked at the food on his plate, taking small bites to satisfy the pain in his gut, when someone took the seat across from him. He looked up with a startled noise, only to relax when he realized it was Kirk.

“You’re going to eat that junk, but you didn’t eat my breakfast?” Kirk said, adding mock hurt to his tone. Trevor rolled his eyes and continued to pick apart the sausage, pulling away the burnt skin to get to the meat on the inside.

“I wasn’t hungry when you served me. If it makes you feel better, I can promise you, yours looked and smelled better than whatever poison this is.” Trevor grumbled, bringing a bit of the meat up to his lips and pressing it into his mouth. Kirk watched him the whole time, leaning on his hand and clearly waiting for something.

“So listen. Are we going to fuck, or what?” Kirk finally spoke, and Trevor nearly choked on the small bite he’d taken, his eyes watering as he coughed and looked at the other man. Kirk was still waiting with that ‘well?’ expression on his face, drumming his fingers on the table.

“What do you mean, are we going to fuck?” Trevor hissed, trying to keep his voice low to avoid any unwanted ears from hearing such a conversation. Kirk, on the other hand, spoke with confidence, like he didn’t care who heard.

“You’ve been flirting around with me since you got here. I saw you checking out my legs last night. Are we going to fuck? I’m not going to wait around for you. I’ve got this morning and afternoon off, so we can mess around all-“

“No. I’m not going to ‘mess around’ with you.” Trevor cut him off, slamming his hand down on the table. Kirk jumped a bit, clearly taken aback by the sudden change in Trevor’s demeanor. He raised his hands up slowly.

“Sorry. I just assumed with the way you’re acting-“ he attempted to say, but Trevor was already standing up, throwing cash on the table for the other waitress.

“Don’t assume. I’m taken.” Trevor said quickly, and before he turned to leave, noticed a very odd expression flash across Kirk’s face. He could care less about it at this point, and made his way to the exit of the car, wanting to be as far away from Kirk as possible.

 “Hey, Trevor? Can I ask you a question?”

The moonlight was escaping through the blinds, casting a faint light throughout the expensive hotel room. The empty second bed was dusted in it’s light, but the two of them weren’t bothered by it, simply sharing the first bed, cuddled together after a very long night of work.

Conner’s eyes were hazy with sleep, but they were expectant and sweet, waiting for Trevor’s response. Trevor wasn’t exactly tired himself, but he didn’t mind laying in bed all night if it meant he could hold Conner like this.

“Anything in the world, babe.” Trevor responded, threading his fingers through Conner’s hair as he undid some of the knots that were still stuck from the bun.

“If I were to die, do you think you’d get a new partner? I think about it a lot, you know? What I would do if something happened to you, what… how I would handle it all…” Conner said, now unable to maintain eye contact with Trevor.

Trevor himself was a bit taken back by the question, trying to find the best way to answer it. Of course, he knew there was no way in hell he’d be able to continue without Conner in his life, without the partner he’d worked with for years to guide him. He’d just never sat and thought on it like this, never expecting to have to deal with the worst.

“What would you do?” He asked instead, trying to test the water and see what Conner was searching for. Sometimes, he was a box of emotions that was just too hard to crack, and it was easier to get in his head before he got into Trevor’s.

“I… I think I’d try to move on. For the agency, for what we stand for. But I don’t know if I could. I’d never date again, that’s for sure, because… you’re my world. You’re my soulmate. I know that, through and through.” Conner said, his voice very serious. Trevor let a small smile slip through his lips, and leaned down to gently kiss Conner.

“I don’t think I could do either. I don’t know what I would do without you, Conner. We’re two halves of a whole. There would be no point to all of this nonsense without you.” Trevor assured him, keeping their lips just fleetingly pressed together. When he felt Conner smile back, he knew he’d said just the right thing.

“Trevor? I love you.”

“I love you too, Conner.”

 Sometimes he wondered how they stayed in such a bliss for so long. Six years together, three of them dating each other, always under constant watch by the agency- but never truly letting it get to them. Their love felt like it was untouchable, for so god damn long. Yet, Trevor had been willing to let it all go. He’d let the stress of everything get to him; the eyes of the agency, the missions they were on, the rest of the world. He let all of it block his vision from what really, truly mattered- Conner.

Now he couldn’t do anything about it. He had to sit, the blood on his hands of the one person he loved more than anything in the world, for the rest of his miserable life. If he was lucky, this train stop would be his last though. A beautiful waterfall sat in the town he was headed to- a popular tourist destination, the world around it beautiful and peaceful. Conner had spoken of it so many times in their years together, always wanting to go and see it. Trevor had never taken him. He was never good to Conner, never in the way he should have been.

Even if Conner wasn’t with him, Trevor believed he was in spirit. He’d go to the falls, and let them both take it in, see everything it had to offer- and then he was going to jump. Join Conner in whatever waited for him on the other side. Screw the agency, screw living, screw the world. He was going to be with Conner like he promised. He was going to make up everything that he did wrong to the person he loved. Nothing was going to stop him.

“Open the door.” Kirk’s voice cut through his thoughts yet again, and he let out a bit of a growl, frustrated at the other man.

“Don’t you have a job to do? Leave me alone. I’ll report you to somebody.” Trevor shot back, not moving an inch from his chair.

“I told you, I had the morning and afternoon off. You’ve only been pouting in here an hour, I still have plenty of time. Let me in.” Kirk replied, knocking hard on the door to annoy Trevor into complying. Trevor let out a bit of a huff, but stood up and cracked the door open just a bit so that he and Kirk could make eye contact.

“What do you want.” Trevor kept his voice low, so Kirk knew he wasn’t into the conversation.

“Listen, I know you’re not taken, so just tell me the truth. Why don’t you want to mess around? We’ve clearly been flirting with each other the past two days. What, is it because I’m black? Or aren’t you gay? No, you’re gay, so don’t even try that one-“

“I am taken. Happily. I don’t need you to go about acting like you know me. I don’t fuck strangers on trains, either.” Trevor cut him off harshly and went to close the door, but he caught Kirk mutter something.

“I beg to differ.”

It was light, and barely audible, but Trevor heard it. He slammed the door shut then and locked it, taking a few quick steps back and away. His hand went straight for his carry on, his eyes never leaving the door as he dug through it, trying to find his gun- but his blood ran cold when he found it was gone. He quickly took the chair and slammed it up against the door so that there was no way to open it beside busting it down, and pressed himself back against the far wall.

There was silence on the other side of the door, but then he heard Kirk’s footsteps retreat down the hallway. Trevor slid down the wall, feeling his body shake just so bad. There was no way in hell anyone else other than an agent of their division would know about the train story. No one else even knew who the hell he was.

When he first met Conner, they had been paired on a mission together. They met on a train, and there was a sort of instant, unquestionable connection between them. They barely waited one evening to throw themselves at each other, christening their new partnership on the rickety bed. Their agency didn’t take this very well, and leaked the sound to everyone else as punishment to Conner and Trevor, and warning to everyone else:

No relationships allowed.

They were lucky they weren’t killed, or worse, when they were put on trial for what they’d done. They were only rookies though, so they were let off with a very stern warning and a slap on the wrist that kept them apart from each other for the next three years of their lives. Fear; their relationship had been built on it. The agency they were a part of didn’t let them forget it, breathing down their necks every day for the next six years.

It got to the point that Trevor started to think that he and Conner would be better apart. He couldn’t live his life with the constant fear that simply being in love could lead to the end of everything he’d ever worked for, or even his life.

Now one of the agents were here. On this train.

Kirk must be an undercover. He’d never met him before, so there was no way he was a normal agent like he or Conner. Kirk was one of the tough ones, that did the hard missions, the ones no one else wanted to do. They were kept under the rug, just in case they ever had to go after another agent- just like now. Trevor never thought that they would catch up to him like this- he had been so careful, he’d covered his tracks in every way possible-

“I think they chipped us.” Conner said. They were sitting naked together in a fancy hotel bed, having just fucked the stress of the day away, and now going over the notes before them for their current mission. Conner was behind him, playing with his hair, when he brushed his finger gently over the back of Trevor’s neck, making him shiver.

“What do you mean, they chipped us?” Trevor asked, trying to turn his head back to look at his own neck.

“You can’t see it, Trev,” Conner laughed a bit, but slid in front of Trevor, pulling his own hair up to show Trevor the back of his neck. If he looked hard enough, squinted his eyes at just the right angle, he could see a scar so small it almost looked like just a mis-colored speck of skin.

“Do you see? You have one too… It’s like were animals.” Conner muttered, staring forward and running his hand down the back of his neck. Trevor frowned, but gently wrapped his arms around Conner, pulling him back into a tight hug.

“Don’t worry about it. We get out of it in the end. They won’t want us when we can’t jump a ledge anymore. You know that. They’ll wipe us like Alec, and we’ll find each other, and grow old, happily.” Trevor whispered, pressing a small kiss into Conner’s temple. Conner relaxed in his arms and nodded his head, pressing his face gently against Trevor’s.  

 He was a moron. An absolute moron. How could he go about and forget such an important thing? The god damn chip. He brought his hand to the back of his neck and felt along, trying to find any evidence of it, but was left with nothing but smooth skin. The bastards weren’t going to let him go this easily, of course not. Kirk had his gun. Kirk had him right where he wanted him.

He felt the tears start to swell in his eyes as he slid down to the ground. All he wanted was to do one more thing. He just had to see the falls, he had to see them for Conner. Why couldn’t they just let him do this one thing?

--

There was a faint knocking that woke him up. It was soft, and light, and it reminded him of how Conner knocked on the door. He stayed where he was on the floor and just took it in, reliving every time he heard Conner knock, or call for him. It was relaxing, almost, until the woman on the other end spoke, shattering his pathetic illusion.

“Excuse me, sir? The train has arrived, sir. You have to get off.” The attendant said, her voice tired. Trevor could only imagine what was waiting for him on the other side of that door. He knew he had to face the music though, and slowly pulled himself off the ground. He didn’t know how long he was laying there, nor did he care.

He picked his bags up in one motion, leaving whatever was out of them out. He wasn’t going to need it anyway. It was all over now. He pushed the chair out of the way and yanked the door open, scaring the girl, who took a quick step out of his way. She looked nervous as all hell, blocking the path to the left, only giving him the option of exiting right.

“Thank you for riding with us.” She said quickly, her head down and her hands clutched together. He let out a grunt in reply, dropped his wallet at her feet, and then made his way to the exit.

It was still outside. The platform was empty, and the night sky was dark around him. Crickets were singing in the night, the only noise around. It was colder than Trevor expected it to be, and as he stepped off the steel stairs, he shivered. There was only one lamp on, and it illuminated a single figure.

Kirk was waiting for him, much more finely dressed than Trevor had seen him the last few days. He wore a slim fitting black suit that hugged him in just the right places, making him look as if he was blended perfectly into the night around them. Like death, waiting for his next victim to walk right towards him. The only difference was his blond hair, that stood out so violently Trevor almost laughed.

“What are you smiling for?” Kirk asked, shoving his hands in his pockets and moving forward to meet Trevor half way.

“It’s almost comedic. Your hair.” Trevor muttered, his eyes stuck on the blond mess. Kirk glanced up himself, but no smile split his face. He was all business now.

“You can’t run forever, Trevor. I’m taking you in now, or never.” Kirk said, pulling his coat up to reveal Trevor’s own gun. Trevor let out a breath of air, almost pitying Kirk. If only he didn’t care about seeing the falls for Conner. He’d fight Kirk right here, if all he cared about was his death. Deep down, he wondered if they knew that.

“What do they even want me for?” Trevor asked, dropping his bags down and holding his wrists out for Kirk, who seemed almost shocked at his compliance to the whole thing. Trevor liked that he was throwing curve balls at Kirk still. It made him feel a little less trapped.

“Conner is your responsibility. They want you to get him back.” Kirk said, and now Trevor was the one who was hit with the curveball. He shook his head in disbelief and took a step back.

“What the hell do you mean? Conner’s dead. He- I saw him fall of the roof, Kirk-“ Trevor stuttered, watching as Kirk pulled out his phone and flashed Trevor a picture- one that made his heart stop. It was a blurry image, taken from a surveillance camera, but who was on it was undeniable. That thick mess of black hair, the rounded face- that was Conner. He was stuck between two taller men, his hands hidden under a jacket, his eyes down- but it was him.

“…when was this taken?” Trevor whispered, his voice wavering with disbelief.

“Two weeks ago. Southern Texas. You’re coming with me, Trevor, and we’re going to go and find him, before whoever has him can get him to talk.” Kirk said, slamming the hand cuffs on Trevor’s still outstretched arms, and yanking him towards the exit. He didn’t get very far though, for Trevor couldn’t hold himself together.

He collapsed onto the ground, his eyes rolling up into his head, the idea of Conner being alive too much for him to handle. Kirk stumbled away from him and let out a huff, placing his hands on his hips and staring at the mess on the ground.

“This is why I don’t do partners.”

[v3-killing-harmony-imagines]

‘What if the guys were being executed and they saw their S/O run out onto the execution stage to try and save them?’

THERE ARE SPOILERS FOR HOSHI’S PART OF THE ASK BE WARNED

But other than that there’s no spoilers ;0

Gore warning 

Saihara Shuichi:

He could feel the sweat pouring down his forehead as he waited to be killed

Apologies long said to every one of  his classmates, especially to Kaede, there was only one thing left for him to do

The execution stage looked like a library, it was a cylindrical-shaped room with shelves upon shelves of books lined every wall, books piled on the floors creating towers, sheets of paper scattered the floors

There was a sun roof at the top of the room, sunlight streamed in and hit the opposing bookcase

The room was fully sealed, besides the windows for his classmates to look through and watch as he died  

At the moment he was sitting in a chair, a case file called ‘SS-v3’was places on his lap

With a gulp, Saihara gripped the pile and flipped to the first page; It contained a summary of the whole ‘case’ where Saihara was killed in his sleep

There was a rumbling behind him,  turning his head slightly, he could see the shelve behind him splitting in two, opening up to reveal a gigantic magnifying glass

He turned back to the file and continued to read it

The next few pages showed the profiles of the victim and killer, It was Saihara and Amami

He flinched at the thought of the other boy, just a few hours ago their positions in this case were switched…..

There was a squeaking noise, he could see the stream of light in front of him traveling down the wall

The more he read the book, the more he began to feel sick

The stream of light passed along the shelves, traveling in a horizontal line

Every detail was identical to the case just now, the only difference being that Saihara was the one that died rather than Amami

Oh man, I’m really sorry Amami

But begin sorry wouldn’t change the fact that he was now dead, and that Saihara would have to deal with the consequences

Smash

…was that glass?

Oh my god you-

You just broke one of the windows, climbing through the shards and racing towards him

“a-AH!” Saihara screamed out, “NO STAY AWAY!”

A giant snap of wood and groan caused the two of you to look up

The books case was split horizontally, the magnified beam of light had acted like a laser and had cut through the supports

With a scream, he grabbed your arm and began to run as the shelves and books came crashing down

There wasn’t too many places to hide, the windows were right by the falling debris, everything else was open; you’d be a sitting duck

Thinking fast, Saihara ran towards the opening in the book shelves, the one that the magnifying glass had came through

The room between it was big enough that you would be able to fit in, no worry of getting crushed if the glass came back to its original place  

You had just gotten to the doorway when a loud creaking nose filled the air

You both looked up, it was coming from the magnifying glass

The glass lens was too heavy for the wooden end to hold, or maybe it was triggered to do that…but it broke, sending a truck- size load of thick glass hurdling towards the ground

Saihara reacted on instinct, he let go of you and pushed you through the doorway

He hear you cry out, tripping and falling as you rolled into the room

The last thing he saw was your frightened expression, calling out to him before he felt the stars connect to his eyes and he felt no more

 Ouma Kokichi:

Ouma kept up the carefree mask on as he was forced to sit in a chair

The various Monokumas around his arms and legs clicked the cuffs in place, keeping him fixed there

Not like he was going to try and escape anyways, but sure

He waits there... various sirens flash as a monokuma rushes in, military uniform,  he places a tray of pills in front of him

Oh, so that’s the situation

Suicide, poison, presumably he’s going to be burned afterwards

Hitler…huh

He can see why...the two of them are both dictators…and had partners..but

Oh no

Another monokuma grabs at his jaw, trying to force the pills down his throat

Naturally Ouma isn’t gonna go down without a fight, clenching his teeth together 

The Monokuma gives a scowl extending his claws and cutting at his gums

Hard Pressure on your gums is painful enough

So having a claw digging into it, is even worse

It’s excruciating, he can barely keep the tears in his eyes from spilling 

And then, from the corner of his vision

He can see you

oh no

He doesn’t want to open his mouth and scream, so he gives a hard ‘MHM!!” Blood dripping down his white attire

You’re running between Monokumas as you try to get to him

He’s really struggling now, trying to break free and throw the monokuma off of him as he thrashes about

The damn cuffs stay in place, despite everything else as Ouma continues to (Internally) scream

It seems the Monokumas are getting impatient, he can feel various bears climbing on his back and around his torso

The more he struggles the harder it becomes for him

He’s still got his teeth clenched tight, at least he has that

He looks around, barely being able to see you

The Monokuma behind you grabs onto your The next few events are a blur

neck, trying to drag you away

Another Monokuma shoves your mouth open

And then the pill goes in

And Ouma screams for real this time

Now there’s something in his mouth

When he tries to spit it out there’s a paw clamped over his nose and mouth, suffocating him as the blood builds up in his mouth

He can’t breath

There’s a minute of resistance, before he has no choice but to swallow the pills dryly

He can feel the effects immediately

Heart beginning to beat quicker, throat constricting, starting to shake and sweat

The poison is working its way through his body, shutting down all forms of life

With a click he can hear the cuffs are off of his arms and legs, he can’t stop his body from falling as it hits the ground, blood drips onto the floor

The next thing he knows he’s being dragged on the floor, out of the room, through a hallway

With another vicious tug, he’s draped messily in the seat of a car

He notices in dismay that you’re there as well, clouded look on your eyes as you sink in shotgun

He tries to call out to you, his words fail him

He wants to tell you how stupid you are for trying to help him

This shouldn’t be right; Monokuma just broke one of his own rules didn’t he?

Unless…by trying to interfere with his plans was considered a violation…

He wants to say something, anything, at least to reassure you about his feelings

But he can’t talk, his body is betraying him

There’s a heat now, he barely feels the heavy air cloaking around his skin

Tears stream lightly down his cheeks, and not just from the smoke

With a final intake, Ouma Kokichi takes his last breath as he lets the heat take him

 Amami Rantaro:

 There was a gun on the table, loaded with a singular bullet

It held 5 chambers, one of them was filled with metal

An single light bulb hung above the table, just barely illuminating the Monokuma apposing him

There were others behind the Monokuma, jeering and yelling loudly for their leader, as it seemed to be

The Monokuma had a grin on his face, decorated with gold jewelry, an eye patch over one eye as he gestured for Amami to take the gun

He took a breath, willing his hand to take the gun and put it to his head

And then he pulled

Click

He gave a sigh as he put the gun back on the table, noticing the ‘boos’ and negative comments from the others

The room was quiet as Monokuma took the gun, placing it to his head

He pulled, almost carelessly

Click

Everyone cheered, hooting and cries of joy echoes in Amami’s ear

Shakily, he reached for the gun,  it took him longer than the first time to put it to his head

He held it there for a few seconds, before he finally pulled the trigger

Click

He gasped for air, throwing the gun on the table, it slid over to the other side as everyone let out moans of dismay, even anger

The boss shook his head, picking up the gun with its paw

He waved it a bit in front of him, perhaps trying to spin the chamber, but he simply shrugged and placed it to his head for the second time

Please please please let it fire Amami begged

Click

I’m fucked he thought

He let the cheering of the others wash and blend in his brain, thoughts beginning to become fuzzy, body shaking

I don’t want to die But neither did Ouma

He took it back; maybe Ouma did wish to die. But Amami shouldn’t have been the one to decide for him

There was a beating in his chest, from his heart as he grasped the gun with slick fingers, feeling the metal between his fingers

He took a breath, steadying himself before-

The door to the room flung open, Amami gasped , knocking the table with his long legs as jumped up

You were standing in the door way, trying to push your way through the crowd as the other Monokumas pushed against you

He gave a cry as one of them pulled a knife on you, your face froze as it pressed closer to your neck

Monokuma can hurt him, that’s fine with him, Monokuma can play whatever game he wants with Amami because he deserved it

But when he touches his s/o?

Oh baby shits about to go down

He doesn’t realize that he’s raising the gun to the weapon-wielding Monokuma until it fires

He also doesn’t realize that he’s really not experienced with guns until the bullet lodges itself in the base of Monouma’s spine

So you can’t expect him to also realize that the boss Monokuma has his own gun pointed at the boy until it’s fired at him

It hits his lungs, he can feel it in his breath

Amami gives a gag and gasp, it hurts to breath more than it hurts from impact

He topples to the ground, blood soaking through his shirt as he lays there, wheezing shallowly as his vision starts to blacken

The Monokuma is standing on top of him, grin still plastered on as he takes the gun from Amami’s limp fingers

He can feel you at his side, lips moving but he can’t hear what you’re saying

He gives you a weak smile, telling how sorry he is

He forces out one final ‘I love you’ before he can’t pull another breath

Amami’s mind blackens and his lips go cold as his last warm breath escapes his lips

Kaito Momota:

The last rocket took off, blasting into the air before it broke the atmosphere

Kaito stood on a dock, gazing up at the sky as it overlooked the ocean

Even though the sun was still up, he could still make out some stars dotting the sky

The outline of the various rockets could be seen up in space, streaking a white tail as they floated through the atmosphere

How uncanny, the ‘SHSL astronaut’ was left behind on this mission

Of course, it wasn’t really a real mission

It was just his execution

He hadn’t meant to kill, it just…he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time….

He still would accept it, he’d done it willingly (Even though no other option stood)

Actually, now that he’s this close to dying, maybe he could have chosen another option to keep his own life

But then they would have attacked someone else

At least this way he was able to protect the people he loved

He’d never forgive himself if Saihara ended up dead because of his choices; and if you died he would’ve gone insane

A rumbling sound filled the air followed by a high, sharp and short whirr. Much like a firework firing

There were meteors entering the atmosphere, burning and turning to dust thousands of feet above Kaito

The display of lights gave Kaito entertainment, it was beautiful if he didn’t think about how it was probably going to kill him

As the meteors grew in size, so did the amount of them all

At first it would be 10, then 15,then 20, now Kaito couldn’t even count how many there were

There was rumbling, from the rocks hitting the ground, he covered his ears to try and block out some of the noise

There was a crash from behind him, some maybe 100 feet out he could see the rocks hitting the ground

They were getting closer, they’d be on top of him in a second

Things couldn’t possibly get any worse, he thought

And then when he sees you running towards him he realizes that it can

He can barely hear himself screaming through the roar of the world falling apart, he’s running at top speed towards you

One of his slippers falls off his foot, he barely pays it any attention

When he reaches you, you’re crying and sobbing as you hug him right then and there

“Dumbass, you’re going to get yourself killed!” His words are meant to be harsh, they come out as a sob

He looks around, there’s got to be somewhere you can at least hide….

But it’s empty field, you’re a sitting duck

“You shouldn’t have come after me…”  oh man, he’s shaking at this point

There’s a small, wild heartbeat; he can feel it beating against him, it makes him want to cry

There’s not enough time, not enough time to say goodbye, not enough time spent with you, not enough time in this moment as he hears another explosion

There’s a ringing in his ear, is he losing his hearing?

He notices that the water isn’t normal a second after he realizes you’ve said something

He points a hand to his ear, miming the words ‘I can’t hear you.’ It seems to make you upset

There’s definitely something wrong with the water, it seems to be building up too much

It’s approaching too quickly, it keeps building up

Oh fuck me

He grabs you by the arms, shaking until you look up to him

“RUN.” He hopes he says that at least, he takes your arm and begins to run away from the shore

It’s hard to run in a straight line, there’s meteors falling non-stop in his way and he doesn’t want to accidently be under one when it comes down

He’s running, pulling you along as you stumble to keep up with him

The air is hot, there’s ashes and dirt being flung in front of his eyes in but he keeps running

He turns behind him, the wave has grown to the size of tsunami and has already crossed the shore

He keeps running, for higher ground, it’ll be your only chance of escaping

Running even when his legs tell him to stop, even when his lungs threaten to collapse

You trip, and he feels his heart stop beating

The wave is too close, you’re not gonna be able to out-run it

With his final strength, he grabs you under your arms and flings you behind him

He’s hit with a wave of water a second later, it kicks him off his feet as he’s tossed around in the water

Like a piece of trash, he’s floating in the murky depths

With a sharp bang, his head hits something. He chokes out a bit of air, air bubbles escaping his lungs

His head throbs like hell, his lungs are drying, he’s suffocating

His death build up, pain as his body screams for him to breath, pain from his head building

When he finally can’t hold it any longer, he releases a breath, inhaling water as it fills up inside of him

He thrashes, I need to breath I need to breath I need to breath , survival instincts kick in as he desperately tries to get a breath of air

There’s a final excruciating second of pain, his eyes rolling up as he catches streams of light filtering from the surface

He reaches a hand up, in a vain attempt of trying to bid the world goodbye before he stills

….

…

You wake up suspended in the air, Monokuma has a helicopter as it takes you back to the others, leaving the destroyed stage and Kaito Momota

Kiibo:

When the robot woke up he was sitting on a conveyer belt

The prepared stage appeared to have various assembly lines, scraps of metal were sitting on them, flowing down just like Kiibo was

Kiibo can see what lies before him but not behind, he’s held in place with something similar to plastic ties, hands and feel behind him

There’s the smell of smoke and petrol in the air, Kiibo doesn’t necessarily have a nose but openings in his body leads to sensors which can detect the properties in the air

Of course, he can’t really ever truly know the smell of these things, but he can at least know whether the smell is good or bad

Thanks to that, he determines that it’s a bad smell that a human would be smelling

Human huh, I guess if he really was human then they shouldn’t have been able to do that

Humans can’t be hacked, sadly

The belt is tipped upwards, Kiibo nearly falls forward from the movement

He hears a sound, it’s…a bit hard to really describe

The shing of a blade? Perhaps? Followed by a toe-curling crunch

It doesn’t curl your toes literally, it’s simply a me-

Crunch

Kiibo gasps, a pain gasp. A gasp from pain. A gasp from losing his hand and feet

He can’t exactly feel pain, thank god. But he can feel his control panel popping up with errors, if you removed an important drive from your computer, an error would pop up, much similar to the error Kiibo is getting

As the belt continues to move forward, Kiibo can see what the device was. A saw blade, bobbing up and down. It remind Kiibo of a guillotine

He kept moving, he hears the slicing of something

Saws cut at his arm, legs, face, chest, each time Kiibo lets out a yell of some sort

After the series of saws, he’s overheating, losing power, and he’s lost half of his components

He’s breathing heavily, the working fans spinning poorly as he hears the final attraction approaching

Slam

Crunch

Slam

Crunch

Oh dear, it sounds like he’ll be really turned into a toaster now

He hears the sound getting closer, he can feel his mainframe giving him many warnings

In other terms, he’s panicking

With each crunch he can feel the AI inside him telling him to get away, ‘human instinct’ that is built in taking effect

Then he sees it, to the left of his vision he can see a figure

“A-ah!?”

It’s barely visible, the next second it’s gone

But that was you, he’s sure of it

Suddenly, there’s a sharp snapping sound, and Kiibo is switched to a different conveyer belt

He can still see the crunching of the press as he passes it, shivering at the sight of it

But where is he going now?

He continues to move along, entering a new room and the thick metal doors close

All he remembers is the appearance of what seems to be torches before his memory card is gone

….

When he comes to he’s no longer a robot

His systems are working differently, he can no longer really walk or talk

He tries calling out, but it fails him

So he simply waits

And waits

Until his screen is open

He gives a peep of joy, as he stares back at you

He can feel you typing on the keyboard, communicating with him

He’s still alive, miraculously

Even if he is now really like a pile of metal….but he can do so much more now

If it can help everyone get out of here , he’ll do it

 Korekiyo Shinguji:

The room has a stage set up, red curtain draped shut. A single chair placed in the middle of the room

Korekiyo takes a seat, seeing no reason to try and oppose this little game Monokuma wants to play

A book is dropped onto his lap, from who or where, Shinguji doesn’t really know nor care

The book is titled ‘The death of Korekiyo Shinguji’ a crude drawing of the anthropologist on the cover

With a sigh, he grips the cover and flips to the first page

“One morning, Korekiyo went out for a walk around town.”

As he read that, the curtains opened, a background of a town popped up, a Monokuma with a messy long-haired wig and mask (Korekiyo nearly snorted at the sight) was strolling about

“He passed by farms, grocery stores, restaurants, hospitals and many more!”

Just like the first time, as he read the story , the performance would match to what he just read

He continued on, “He was feeling hungry, so he decided to get something to eat at the restaurant downtown.”

The background changed to that of a dinner, the Monokuma sat at a booth as he waited to be served

“He ordered a hamburger and salad, unaware of the POISION that the chef had placed in his food!”

When the word ‘poison’ was read, the stage turned a dark purple, smoke machines pumping out black smoke in the shape of a skull (which was pretty amazing, Korekiyo had to admit)

“Luckily, the silly waitress spilled all the food on Korekiyo. So Korekiyo left the restaurant.”

After he read that, a splash of…liquid and solids hit him

He made a noise of disgust, wiping what appeared to be mustard off of his nose

Imagine a plate of the most complicated burger, fries, coke and ice-cream. Put that in a blender and some butter for thickness and you’ve got what he got hit with

However at the same time there was…a smell he couldn’t quite place….

Strange

“Hungry and angry, Kuku (Korekiyo literally growled) looked around for something else to do.”

“He decided to go to the beach! So he got a towel and an umbrella before hiking to the beach!”

He was going to comment on how the Monokuma wasn’t wearing a swimsuit but then again, he didn’t think he’d want to see that in the first place

“He was enjoying his time in the sun. But then a SHARK came out of nowhere!”

Ok, this is supposed to be his death but in all honestly this is just plain silly

“Everyone got splashed with water! But lucky kuku (He still growled a second time) was the only one who didn’t! Instead he got splashed with sand!”

Oh for peats sake-

Moments later sand fell upon him in buckets, clumping with the mush already on him

Is this…sulfur?

It was barely noticeable, but it was still there all the same

“Hungry, angry and now full of sand, Korekiyo left the beach.”

From the stage, he heard a clicking noise. He didn’t do anything about it, but was cautious from then on

“Um. We seem to be having some technical difficulties. Please stand by.”  Why it was written in the book, he didn’t know

True to the book, the lights shut off instantly

He sat in silence, a scuffling sound made him tense. He would be a sitting duck for whatever would come next

Just as quickly as it went off, the light turned back on. Revealing a new backdrop and stage

When he looks upon stage he’s met with your eyes, he’s surprised to say the least

You spot him, immediately lighting up and rushing towards him

This doesn’t seem right…something doesn’t seem right...how is monokuma allowing this?

You keep running, arms open, tears in your eyes

He notices the panel on the floor when it’s too late

He tries to warn you, but you’ve already stepped on it

Then he hears something above his head open, looking up he’s met with

“A flamethrower-”

It turns on, sending sparks of fire in his direction

That strange smell, sulfur, fire

A homemade bomb-

He doesn’t hear or feel anything when the explosion happens

 Gonta Gokuhara:

He fell through the floor boards, falling through the air as he tries not to scream 

A giant spider web breaks his fall, he sticks to it immediately

The web is really sticky, he can’t tug his arms or legs away

Looking around, there’s other insects stuck on the web as well

One moth (It’s almost human size) flies into the web, flapping it’s wings desperately trying to escape

The fluttering causes the web to shake, and that’s when Gonta sees it

Beady red eyes, hairy legs, teeth coated with a  substance that Gonta hopes is honey (But probably isn’t)

It’s enormous, almost twice as big as Gonta

It makes a clicking noise, feelers patting along the string as it draws closer to the moth

Please stay still, please.

But the moth doesn’t realize that it’s about to be dinner in a second, it still continues to struggle

The spider draws closer, talons clicking as it prepares to attack

Normally, spiders will wrap their victims in a cocoon, to preserve the meal for later, sucking their blood for nutrition

This spider however, simply crunched down on the moth’s head, ripping the body apart before it ate ever morsel of the moth

Gonta gulped, no matter what painfully death he received he would accept it…he…did kill after all…

He wondered, how did Angie feel when the bugs invaded her lungs? Not being able to breathe from the hundreds of wings and lungs taking up her air?

There were other bugs, the spider chewing roughly on every one, Gonta held his breath as he felt he blood of one splatter onto his cheek

The spider was now sniffing around, padding around in circles trying to find his final victim

There was a creak from above, the spider had somehow heard it (This thing couldn’t possibly be a natural spider, Gonta should have been able to tell from its height and its way of killing but he still deduced the same)

Gonta carefully looked up, not wanting to shake the web

He could see you, lowering yourself with a rope

Oh no s/o please don’t help me please

The spider let out a high pitched scream, shooting string up at you

It caught you on the leg, immediately sticking

The spider tugged, trying to rip you from the rope. You were clinging desperately as the spider tugged you harder

Gonta cried out, thrashing in the web

The spider stopped shaking, dropping its string as it looked at Gonta

It let out another yell, it approached him

It was on top of him, sinking it’s fangs into his shoulder

Despite what Gonta said about enduring pain, he took it back in that moment

It hurt like hell fire

Bones breaking, tendons ripping, veins splitting, tissue getting crushed, horrible

The spider didn’t just go for his head, no he had to drag it out

It grabbed onto his leg, with each tug Gonta screamed louder

When his leg tore he thought he would black out right then and there

The attack was relentless, torturous

A slow, painful death

When the spider went for the kill to his head, he was slow about that as well

Crushing his temple slowly, pealing the skin and tissue away before breaking the skull as much as it could with its fangs

At this point, Gonta was wishing for death

To take away the pain, to make it all go away

Please be over please be over

The spider positioned itself for the final time, over Gonta’s eyes and skull

It sunk it’s teeth into his eyes and the back of his skull, carefully squeezing before he ripped Gonta’s skull  in half, finally being done with the entomologist

Ryoma Hoshi:

 The feeling of dread built up as he walked to his death

Hoshi stepped into the room, met with a Monokuma

He held a couple of pills and a cup of some liquid on his tray

Hoshi wondered how many times he’d be thinking about swallowing a bottle of pills, or taking a cup of bleach in his life, too many times for him to remember

At the end, he’s gotten nowhere.  He’s still going to go out in a shitty way while being remembered as a killer

Why had he killed in the first place? He didn’t know…

If things had been different, if he hadn’t been the one holding the broom behind Toujo, maybe things would have ended differently…

Maybe, in some different universe, she would be the one holding the broom as she cracked his skull, drowning him before disposing of his body

Hell, she could have just flushed him down the toilet, rather than throwing it in a tank….

Maybe she could have gotten away with it….

…damn

He took the pills, swallowing them without the need of water

Yet the monokuma insisted he drink the liquid, so he did

....woah

He feels…good…

What…the…

A warmth spreading through his stomach as he’s being led through to another room

Wow…all his worries are…gone…

He’s calm, he can do anything

The feeling of bliss spreads when he notices the rope hanging from the ceiling

Is that for him? That’s so nice for Monokuma to make that for him

He just has to use it out, that would be rude if he didn’t

Uhgah

Why is he on the ground now?

Oh you’re there, hi s/o

What are you saying? Telling him he doesn’t have to do this? He has so much to live for?

What do you mean? This is…just…he has to do this right? He isn’t scared, don’t worry

...things are better this way

He pushes you away, despite your pleas for him stop he continues on

Towards the hanging rope

Towards his death

He steps up on the chair, thinking blandly if this is the right thing to do

End his life? Isn’t that what he’s always wanted

Yeah….he supposes it is

The places the rope around his neck, about to step off

But…

Something isn’t right….

He’s…he’s been living for you…

Yeah…he has…he

He can’t go out like this, what is he doing –

He turns around, you’re being held back by a glass door…when did that get ther-

He feels the chair falls out from under him, the rope pulls around his neck as he chokes

He notices monokuma, giving a sly smile

Oh…god…he can’t feel his throat...

It’s hard to breathe…

His hands claw at the rope, trying to find leverage

His eyes water, saliva bubbling out of his mouth

With a final choke, the last of his air is cut off

His hands go limp, falling at his side

[fortunatowrites]

Spectral Assassin

Writing Prompt: Write about an assassin with a gift to speak to the dead.

I am an assassin with a special gift.

Many people come to me for my services, but I’ll only take unique cases. I know, a killer with a conscience? A killer with an agenda? Unheard of. But I’m a very unique individual; a list of quirks that range from my oddly unique way of thinking and all the way down to my significantly effective skill to remove people from this world.

It’s very rare for a normal person to find me, even rarer for me to accept their money and job. I’m not an absolute lowlife who will take out just anyone. I only take out those who aren’t innocent to the underworld of crime that plagues this city.

My door didn’t open, but I hear someone walk inside. I put out the cigarette, close the window behind me, and sit at my desk. It’s set up to look like detective’s office, which is more of a side job for me, but I like to sit out on the fire escape and smoke. It’s also my way of signalling the business is currently open. But to the usual clientele? Like the non-normal person who just walked in? They don’t care for that kind of stuff, they always know when I’m here.

She walks up to the desk, wearing a large white coat of fur. We lock eyes and I pretend I don’t notice the blood that has stained around her stomach and all over her jacket. She’s got a very dishevelled look about her, like she just took a bad fall down a hill. Before she begins to tell me about the terrible things that were done to her, I hold up a hand. “It’s okay. You’re dead and I’m sorry about that. We can talk about it later, but I know why you’re here.” “Why am I here?” she asks, confused but lucid enough to not freak out. “You want me to send them to Hell for what they did to you.” “I just want my old life back or the wandering to end…” she sadly speaks with a monotone fashion. They always sound like that at first.

“Just tell me where you died and let’s get you off this mortal coil. I hear the next side’s a lot better.” “Did someone come back to tell you that?” Damn, I’ve been using that line for the past five cases, but she’s the first to figure out I’m just as clueless as they are. I don’t bother to answer. I just stand up, grab my jacket, check the pockets for my knuckle dusters, and then grab the King Cobra revolver from my desk.

---

I can see the dead, but I don’t see them everywhere. It’s only been one at a time and they only approach me in my office. Afterwards, I can see them following me or meandering at points of interest for them. There’s only been three cases where they see someone they knew and want me to pass along messages. I was once naive enough to try that sort of thing and listened to the first ghost that saw someone. They wanted  me to tell someone they still loved them and I gave it a go. That was such a disaster. So when the other two asked, they had to be upset with my refusal. I don’t plan to ever try that again.

After navigating around town and walking through a park at dusk, we come across a bridge. She tells me this is where it happened, but not up here. At least not all of it up here. Pointing to a statue, I can already tell someone’s hiding behind it. It’s awful dirty around the front but suddenly cleaner towards the back. It’s a hangout spot for someone or people in particular.

She gives me the description ahead of time, but as I sneak around some trees for a better vantage, I already know I’ve found the first target.

“He chased me and I tried to get away,” she begins, “but when we reached the hill over there, he jumped and shoved me. As I fell down towards the river, I think I heard him say tag and that I’m it.” “I think it’s more of a canal, but I don’t know water terms,” I say as I slip a pair of silver knuckle dusters over my right hand.

He’s busy reading a book and occasionally getting up to peek over the statue. Very obviously keeping an eye out for trouble or a new victim. I was going to try and just walk up to him, but there’s too many dead leaves and sticks on the ground. Instead, I opt for throwing a large branch across the way. It hits the intended area, landing higher up in a tree. As it makes lots of cracks and shuffling, working it’s way back to the ground, I quickly walk over behind the guy.

He turns around just in time. “Tag, you’re it.”

CRACK!

The criminal staggers back, blood pouring from his mouth as two teeth fall out. He lets out a scream of pain and anger as he charges at me. Honestly, I’m a little surprised he didn’t just run. I pull back and leap out of his reach, but only just enough. I leave just enough room to reach back in and grab his head. In a swift motion, the criminals head is brought down on my rising knee and a crunch sounds out. Staggering back, blood running down his face, he decides now is the time to run. As he rushes back to the bridge, I’m right on his heels. “Maybe you didn’t hear me,” I say aloud for him. He looks back to see me jumping at him. “Tag, you’re it.” The look on his face is pure horror as he finally realizes what’s happening. I can see the woman standing by the hill and for a moment, I think he sees her too.

We both go crashing down the hill and I manage to kick him into the canal or river, whatever it is. There’s a loud crack before the splash and that gets the attention of the two under the bridge. They’re hanging around a makeshift clubhouse featuring an old couch and ratty blankets that almost match their shambled garments. They see the body floating away before I do.

I wish I could also say they didn’t react first, but one of them managed to run straight at me and tackle me to the ground before I could even look back. I take a swing at him, but he grabs my wrist. I try to wrestle it free and push him off as he uses his other hand to keep punching my chest.

“Knock it off!” I shout, a little annoyed that he’s doing that. Who punches someone in the chest? Bruce Lee? He screams for my death and calls me an obscenity. The other one is walking up with a pipe and telling him to hold me still. This doesn’t look good, but I got three chances here. I snake my free hand into my pocket with the King Cobra and grab it. Just as expected, the one holding my other hand grabs my arm, trying to stop me from pulling out another weapon. I try to aim as best as I can with my off hand. BANG! BANG! BANG!

The man on top of me practically jumps out of his skin from the sound and I take advantage of it to free my dominant hand. I strike him across the face with a loud CRACK and get up, sliding off the duster in a fluid dropping motion and putting the gun in both hands. The other guy dropped his pipe, maybe I hit his shoulder, but he’s still up and running behind the couch.

“Give it to me, coward!” he shouts at someone. BANG! My gun smokes as the other man drops into the river. Man, this is becoming a convenient cleanup, I think to myself. I know I’ll have to go find those and get them through the proper channels though. I laugh a little to myself at the pun. “He’s psychotic, listen to him laughing!” says a third man. “Him,” she whispers in my ear. “He killed me.” The pipe man, no longer holding a pipe, steps out with a shotgun. I have only a few seconds to react, but I try to jump back up the hill where the bridge’s corner can guard me. BOOM! It fires so many tiny pellets, but thankfully, only a few hit my right leg. I can’t help but shout in pain and then curse to myself as I realize I left behind extra bullets. Two shots left. I can make them count.

He lets out some kind of “Yahoo” as he starts running towards me. I hear his footsteps getting closer and I raise my gun. Please don’t duck, I think to myself. The shotgun man rounds the corner and I fire at him. He has a split moment to react and damn it, these guys are good at that today. He ducks the bullet flying over him, but he’s startled enough to not pull the trigger immediately. I blast again and hit him square in the chest, knocking him on his back.

The criminal falls back and the shotgun clatters to the ground. I grunt as I get up and limp over. The shotgun is snatched up as I’m almost there and I turn to see the last guy. He sees the gun in my hand and I quickly put my other hand on it, ready to raise. We’ve locked eyes for a moment and I can tell. He’s crazy.

I take a chance and drop my revolver. Immediately, he smiles. The man tosses the shotgun away laughing as he puts up his fists. “Come on, die like a man!”

I reach forward and he pulls back, making a body blow to my side. Dammit! I think to myself. It’s amazing my body can still function despite all the damage. I fake him out with a swing from the left and give him a right uppercut. I don’t stop, I continue to press forward with a headbutt and stagger him back. The psycho scrambles up cussing and brandishes two switchblades. “Hardly a fair fight.” “We never fight fair!” he screams as he runs at me.

“Neither do we,” I tell him and point directly at him.

This is my special gift.

“Spectral Blade.” The woman’s ghost surges with power as she is pulled into my very body in a flash of light. She pushes through to the front, demonized and pulsing with power, wielding a giant sickle. The man tries to stop and skids towards me, falling down on his behind. He screams for mercy as the ghost slices through him, a huge gash torn up his entire front-side. The life leaves his eyes as he falls back, the force of it all sliding his body back against the couch. The ghost reverts to normal and her excess energy flows back to me like a fog. As it re-merges with my soul, or wherever this stuff goes, I can hear the sounds of pellets hitting the floor. I stretch my leg out to make sure there’s no damage. Once I can see it's fine, I pull out a cigarette and turn back to the woman.

“That felt amazing,” she says, the monotone replaced with elation. “I mean I still feel amazing!” I smile as she begins to do the golden glow. I’m not sure where they go or what it means, but I can tell she’s happy and her business left on this world can be forsaken. All she really needed was some vengeance and a spectral assassin.

[cloudsandcloudsandclouds]

Losing to You

Finding You

WP 

The crisp autumn air brought forth a chilling breeze that rustled his undone jacket back behind him. It was stronger where he stood, under the protection of the platform, the walls making the wind bounce and multiply. He kept attempting to light the cigarette that rested between his lips, but every match he lit was blown out before he could get it to the tip. He sometimes cursed his cheap nature, wondering why he only stole matches from unsuspecting golf courses and places that just left them around, instead of just buying a lighter like a normal person.

He gave up on the cigarette finally, spitting it out into the tracks before him. He glanced across the way, the large trees towering above the parallel platform bright fall colors, whistling in the breeze and falling off in masses, creating a flurry of color that he just couldn't find any joy in. One thought flooded his thoughts, bringing a sort of sadness that he couldn't shake off.

Conner would love this. Conner always loved the bright colors that the autumn brought with it. He was born in the same season and would always brag about the perfection of the weather that he shared a birthday with. Such a trivial thing to brag over, Trevor often thought, but that was just who Conner was, someone who could find the beauty and joy in everything.

He tore his eyes away from the trees and shook Conner out of his head, glancing around the platform afterwards to see who he was sharing the train with. It was oddly empty for a train platform, but he attributed that to the small town he was in. A woman stood alone in the back corner, her eyes focused on her phone before her. On a bench in the center there was a younger gentleman, his hat down over his eyes and a messy work bag at his side. There was a small family of four on a second bench, the parents trying to distract their very noisy children with toys and electronics. He hoped he didn't have a cabin near them, or even on the same cart. It was a long ride, four days total, and he couldn't imagine hearing the annoying brats that whole time.

It was almost as if they were all trying to avoid him, keeping back behind the columns that held the platform up. Occasionally the woman would glance up from her phone to look at Trevor, but when their eyes met she would return to the safety of the screen, her fingers flickering away, her eyes avoiding his at any cost. The parents too would glance at him, but they were much subtler about it, pretending to avert their gaze elsewhere when he would look in their direction. He didn’t think too hard on it, knowing is casual business attire was probably an oddity for where they were headed.

Finally, the blistering whistle of the train rung through the station, and he picked up his backpack and bag and threw them on his shoulders, beyond ready to get on the train and sit down. The train roared into the station, bringing a stronger wind that nearly knocked him off his feet. He watched as the passengers exited on the opposite side, talking loudly as they exited and made their way off. Significantly more people than were getting on, he thought, but attributed it to the early time of day. People going to work.

As the doors on their side opened, he stepped onto the train and flashed his ticket at the teenager at the entrance, who just nodded his head and pointed him in the direction of his cabin. He pushed his way through the small halls until he found it, cringing at the number on the door. 912, Conner's birthday. One he first saw it on his ticket, he found himself nearly throwing up at the eerie coincidence. It was as if God himself was spitting on him with every step he took, reminding him of what he did.

He pulled the door open quickly and stepped inside the small cabin, chucking his bags onto the tiny pull out bed as he slid the door closed behind him. He rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe the sick feeling out of his stomach with any sort of willpower.

"Pull yourself together, Trevor." He muttered, pulling his coat off and hanging it on the back of the door, blocking the hideous number from his vision. He rested his back to the door and dug his fingers into the skin of his hand, the irritation of everything around him growing worse as the loud family made their way down his hall. His breathing picked up as a ringing split his head in what felt like three, the blistering young voices, the number, and the tiredness he was experiencing all hitting him at the same time, driving him further and further into a deep hole-

A door shut, and the voices faded away as they made their way into another cart. He released his palm and slid down to the ground, opening his eyes and staring out the window at the top of the empty platform, banners for long passed events hanging proudly as if they still had something to say. The silence was so welcoming to him that he was nearly falling asleep where he sat, and finally he yanked himself up. He grabbed his bags and promptly dropped them on the floor, taking their place on the bed and drifting into sleep fast.

--

His vision was blurry, the steady stream of thick blood dripping down over his left eye making it incredibly hard to see. He tried to keep his head up and ignore the pain, process the situation, but the force of the hit was making him dizzy. From where he sat on his knees, he could see the figures before him struggling in a clear battle to secure a gun, but who was who was impossible for him to pick out, the darkness of the night only making things worse.

"Trevor!" Conner yelled, his voice strained and scared, "Do something!"

Trevor shook his head, trying to pull himself back into reality, but only making the feeling of uncertainty worse. He crawled forward, the gun that rested before him split in two, wavering and seemingly moving. He tried to wipe the blood from his eye, but it only smudged and blended across his right eye. He was better than this, he knew he was, and Conner needed him. His own incompetence made the situation only heavier on him.

Conner let out a cry of pain and Trevor saw him stumble back and away from his attacker, but not for long, as the other man stepped quickly after him, trying to grab the gun Conner was still held onto out of his hand yet again.

Trevor finally managed to get his hands on the second gun, and with much difficulty he switched the safety off and raised it forward, towards the ongoing struggle between Conner and the other spy. Everything was still spinning, and there was no way to determine who he was shooting at, but for some reason, some ungodly reason, he still just fired.

A still silence split through the area as Trevor's vision slowly cleared. There was only one person before him, Conner, his lovely Conner, pale in the face. Trevor tried to process what was happening, when suddenly, streams of blood started to leak out of Conner's face, out of his eyes and his ears, his mouth and his nose, just thick, red streams. He collapsed to his knees as a red blossom started to spread across his chest as well, down his sides, pooling around him in massive amounts.

"Trevor... What did you do?" Conner whispered, lifting his hand forward to reach for Trevor. The crimson dribbled from his fingertips to the ground below, and the thick liquid started to move towards where Trevor was sat, unable to move an inch.

"Conner, Conner- I didn't mean- I never thought this would happen! I didn't think at all!" Trevor cried out, trying so hard to move, to get away from the blood, but his body wouldn't listen. He screamed as it began to work up his legs, covering him in the warm, heavy fluid, crushing everything as it made its way up his body.

Conner simply watched as he was engulfed, his blue eyes burning in the moonlight. Trevor attempted to speak again, but only invited the blood into his mouth, and it flowed down his throat, choking him. Conner's head fell to the side, and the last thing Trevor heard before he was swallowed whole was a loud, splintering crash.

--

It had happened again.

He sat in the uncomfortable chair across from the bed, staring at the wet stain on the mattress before him. His pants were hung in the small bathroom his room daunted, and the sheets soaking in the tub. At this point, it was so common, he was no longer ashamed. The nightmares he experienced were worthy of the reaction his body had to them. It was more so embarrassing that it happened here, not even on his first night, and there was no way in hell he was telling anyone about it. He'd rather sleep in the mess than have to admit to some poor worker on the train that he, a full-grown man, had wet himself.

He needed a drink.

He stood up and dug through his bag, yanking out a pair of jeans and slipping them on. He ripped the tag off and tossed it in the trash bin, rubbing his legs at the feeling of denim. He couldn't remember the last time he wore something so casual just because he wanted to. His job was one that called for a much more professional attire, and even when he did do a job where he acted as a civilian, it wasn't like he picked out his outfit. They'd called to him from the window of a small store he'd passed in the last town he hid in, and he decided to buy a few just because he finally could.

He pulled off the button down he was wearing and after a moment of deliberation, tossed it in the bin as well. Something about him was still holding on to the past, to the job, to what he was by keeping his old clothes. He decided now to give it up, and pulled on the loose-fitting tee shirt, surprised by the comfort it provided.

He ran his hands through his hair but knew it was no luck, the curly mess never listened, and he had no desire to look at himself in a mirror and mess with hair gel for a bartender he'd speak to maybe twice.

Finally, he exited his room, stepping out into the shaky train car and glancing around to see any sort of signage that would point him to the dinner car. An old, rickety sign hung above the door that split the cars, pointing him in the direction he needed to go. He closed his door behind him and made his way across, happy to find the next car was his destination. Quite the easy trip to and fro.

Much to his delight, the dinner car was totally empty, minus the bartender, who was tucked in the far corner, cleaning a glass with an old rag. It was all very movie-esc, and Trevor made his way to the tiny bar, taking a seat and waiting for the man to turn his attention away from cleaning.

"Must be an easy trip for you, huh?" Trevor asked, unable to help it. He was an extrovert, and the lack of human contact he'd had the past few months was eating him alive. Many bartenders were subjected to his desperate attempt at connection and conversation.

"Most are easy trips. Not everyone is an alcoholic." The bartender replied, glancing over at Trevor finally. He was younger, and Trevor imagined they couldn't have much of a difference in age. His skin was dark and smooth, as if he'd never had a speck of acne in his life, and light hazel eyes complimented his skin tone beautifully. His hair was styled neatly, shaved at the sides with the thick strands all at the top, and very clearly bleached blond. He had a smug look on his face, like his comment had been a hit at Trevor.

"You don't have to be an alcoholic to enjoy a good drink." Trevor gave in return, not trying to fight with the snarky young man, but not taking kindly to his comment.

The bartender rolled his eyes and just grunted in return, grabbing a clean glass and waiting for Trevor to pick his poison.

"Diet Rum and Coke." He said right away, and the other man scoffed and muttered something about 'diet,' but did as requested and filled the glass up with the soda before dumping a heavy shot of rum into the glass, sliding it across to Trevor.

"Thank you." Trevor sighed, grabbing the glass and taking his first sip, letting out a small sigh of relief as the alcohol flooded into his system.

"That'll be 3.23." The bartender slid a small piece of paper towards Trevor, who had totally locked up at the sentence. He stared at the bill with quivering eyes, the numbers burning against the page. Three twenty-three. March twenty third, that was the day Conner was taken from him. No- that was the day that he lost Conner. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for what had gone down.

In some desperate attempt to wash away the dark feeling that was creeping through him, he slugged down the rest of his drink in one swift motion, letting the glass hit the counter afterwards as he coughed just a bit. The bartender watched him with a raised brow, his hands rested on his hips.

“The man that preaches about enjoying a good drink decimates a well made Rum and Coke. What, did the idea of paying for your bitchy drink get to you-“ but before he could finish, Trevor slammed a five dollar bill on the counter and quickly turned away, rushing back to his room.

As he made his way through the dinner car he caught a glimpse at his own reflection; the walls along the sides of the car furnished a mirror that showed nearly his whole frame. He stopped dead, realizing this was the first time he’d seen himself in weeks, probably. He avoided mirrors like they were some sort of plague, the idea of looking at himself almost sickening.

He truly wondered who the person staring back at him was. It was clear to him now why the other people on the platform were avoiding and stealing glances at him, or even why the bartender made the alcoholic comment.

He truly looked like he was sickly, his once tan face a greyish color, pale beyond comparison to anything he’d seen. His eyes, once a bright, vibrant green, were red around the edges, making him look truly like a drug addict; the accompanying bags that rested under his eyes and the long, healing scar above did not help. He hadn’t realized how out of control his hair at gotten- the brown, curly mop that he normally kept well cut and styled was a shaggy mess, spraying in a thousand different directions. To top it all off, he was thin, skin and bones, almost nothing to him. The new tee-shirt he had hung from him, and the jeans barely sat on his hips. The strong, well maintained person he used to be was gone. He had died along with Conner.

He took a shuddering breath in and ripped his eyes away from himself, finally making his way back to his room. Outside, the countryside roared by, endless amounts of foliage and farmland, covered beautifully by the pale orange of the setting sun. He took a seat in the lumpy chair, one hand on his head as he watched the outside fade past and listened to the mechanical rattling of the rails below. He’d ridden a train so many times at this point in his life that the sway of it all meant nothing to him- it was almost all peaceful, and he found himself falling away into another deep sleep.

--

Before him was a mirror, clear as day, probably the cleanest mirror he’d ever looked into in all of his life. It was almost sickening that staring back at him was the mess that he’d become, some sort of creature that he couldn’t even recognize if he tried. He knew that it was him staring back, but at the same time, wished it was somebody else. He looked away, trying to figure out where he was, his brain not connecting the dots.

A thud brought his attention back to the mirror, and his blood instantly ran cold. In the mirror was not only his own reflection, but the haunting reflection of Conner, dried blood splattered across his face, his pale arms wrapped around Trevor in a bear hug, holding him in place. Some part of Trevor knew this wasn’t reality; Conner wasn’t tall enough to lean over his shoulder the way this thing was, but something else told him that being dead, Conner could do whatever the hell he wanted.

“Look at you, finally getting what you deserve.” Conner whispered, pressing his cold, blue lips against Trevor’s ear, sending the worst of chills through his body.

“Conner, please…” Trevor whispered, slowly bringing his hand up to rest it on Conner’s own, the sick feeling in his stomach growing worse as his hand touched the chapped, freezing skin of Conner’s hand.

“Don’t touch me. You don’t get to touch me. You killed me.” Conner hissed, moving his hand away, scrapping sharp fingernails up Trevor’s chest, cutting him deeply. He let out a pained noise and watched as the blood dripped from the cuts in his shirt before looking back at Conner with desperation.

“You know that I would do anything, Conner, anything to get you back!” He tried, his voice pathetic and small. Conner’s lips turned into a scowl and he let out a deep, angry chortle.

“Then why are you running away, Trevor? All you do is run away, when things get tough. You were going to leave me, I know you were. Things were getting too hard for you, with our job, and you couldn’t take it, and you were going to run, just like you’re doing now, because you’re a coward!” Conner screamed right in his ear, and he shook his head around, trying hard not to cry.

“Conner that’s not true, that’s not true, I loved you, I love you-“

“You can run forever, Trevor, they’ll catch you now or never.” Conner whispered then, and the mirror shattered, the broken pieces flying back and imbedding themselves into his body, cutting him deeply, causing pain worse than he’d ever felt to go rushing, flooding through him.

The remains of the mirror fell back with a sickening crunch.

--

“I think you look worse than yesterday.”

The dinner car was empty, breakfast over and lunch still hours away. Trevor sat alone in a booth, nursing a coffee and a plate that he hadn’t bothered to touch. Much to his dismay, the bartender doubled as a waiter, the small trip not calling for two people to work the small car.

“I don’t recall asking your opinion.” Trevor muttered, glancing over at the other man with half a glare. He was resting against a booth opposite to his own, having just finished cleaning up what Trevor could only assume was the remains of the breakfast the loud family had eaten.

“Wow. Yesterday you were fishing for conversation, and today you’re all rude about it? Excuse me.” The bartender scoffed and wheeled away the cart with the dirty dishes, leaving Trevor alone in the cart. He sort of regretted his harsh response and dug his fingers into his eyes before glancing back to make sure the man was gone.

He dug in his pockets and pulled out his cigarettes, quickly pulling one up to his lips and flicking a match ablaze before finally lighting the stick and taking a much-needed long drag. He let his head fall back against the seat behind him, his eyes closed as he let the puff of smoke out slowly.

 “Those things will kill you.” Conner said, sitting across the booth from him. The sunlight flowed in through the window, making his long, black hair shine. He always kept it up in a very neat bun, protocol for their line of work, but today it was all out of place, nobody watching them. The normally well-kept strands were in complete disorder, and Trevor found it enduring and quite frankly, adorable.

“They’ll kill me no sooner than you’ll die, I bet.” Trevor gave Conner a bit of a cocky grin, and Conner rolled his eyes in return, but his own lips split into a small smile. Trevor’s eyes focused on the very noticeable, yet, very cute gap that Conner sported between his teeth. If they weren’t in a public place he’d lean right across the table and kiss Conner, kiss those plump lips and the cute gap and let Conner know how much he loved him.

 “Why didn’t I kiss him?” Trevor muttered, sliding his hand down his face in a dramatic fashion as he relived that moment- that comment, that god awful comment that he just had to say to Conner over in his head.

“Because that would be sexual assault.” The snarky bartender had returned, and he reached across the table to snatch the cigarette right out of Trevor’s mouth, flicking it into his coffee to put it out. Trevor let out an aghast noise, frustrated at the rudeness of the other man.

“I was smoking that! And I was drinking that!” Trevor gestured at the coffee cup with both hands, staring at the bartender, who, in return, gestured at a ‘NO SMOKING’ sign on the wall not far from Trevor.

“This is a public place. Kill yourself in the privacy of our cabins, please, leave the lungs of people who don’t inhale toxic chemicals alone.” The bartender took his coffee from the table and went to walk away. Trevor spun in his seat to look after him, his face heated with embarrassment and anger.

“What is your name! I’m going to tell someone about this-“

“Kirk. Tell whoever you want.” The bartender exited through the back door, and Trevor left out a long huff before grabbing a piece of toast off of the plate and leaving, unable to even think about listening to another second of ‘Kirk.’ If Kirk was even his real name.

“Star Trek bastard. Who does he think he is?” He grumbled, opening the door to head back to his cart and nearly smacking directly into a woman. Luckily, they both caught themselves in time, and Trevor quickly stepped to the side to let her in.

“Sorry.” She said quickly, forcing a friendly laugh and stepping past him. She was clearly beyond nervous to be around him, and it reminded him violently of his current state. He let out a small sigh and just left, deciding there was no reason to scare the poor woman any more than he already had.

--

The rest of the day droned by as he kept himself tucked in his room, reading some old fantasy novel that had belonged to Conner. He told himself time after time, when Conner was still with him, that he would start to read them too, so they could talk about them together. Conner watched soccer and baseball for him, and yet he never got around to just reading a book- a book that was actually pretty good- for Conner.

He had no reason to leave the safety of his room, deciding he’d avoid Kirk at nearly any and all costs. He figured the bastard couldn’t work all day, so he’d make his way to the dinner cart around sunset. Then only two days would remain, and it might take a bit more planning, but he figured he could pull it off. It wasn’t like he ate often anyway.

 “You really grind my gears, Trevor, you know?” Conner huffed, pouting his cheeks out and glancing up at Trevor. They were walking down a packed city street, side by side, their shoulders close together but hands never touching.

“I could say the same for you.” Trevor shot back, and Conner shoved into him just a bit, making him stumble to the side. Trevor laughed and looked back down at the other man, raising his brows to indicate he was wondering why.

“You never eat! Ever! You’re so damn unhealthy. I’ve never seen someone as unnatural as you. You live on cigarettes, coffee, and lettuce, I swear to god. Your organs must be screaming for nutrition of any kind. I looked like some pig in that restaurant, with you ordering a side salad!” Conner exclaimed, gesturing his hands around the way he did when he was excited or passionate about something.

Trevor couldn’t disagree- he and Conner were violently different in their eating habits, and it showed. While he was all lean, thick muscle, Conner was more of a thick, curvy, squishy thing. He had thighs that were so perfect, Trevor found himself nearly salivating at the thought, his eyes fluttering down to glance at them as they walked. The tight dress pants Conner was wearing really made them look wonderful, his hips swaying, his ass looking oh so perfect-

“Hey! My eyes are up here!” Conner said, but was unable to hold back the laugh that came with it. Trevor joined in with him, snorting at the silly line and throwing his arm around Conner’s shoulders in a way that, to anyone watching, was just a friendly gesture. To them, it was more, a shared feeling of intimacy and love as they were pressed close together with no barriers.

“Sorry, sorry. It’s hard not to think about such a fulfilling meal, you know?” Trevor teased, keeping his voice dangerously low. Conner let a breath out of his nose and turned his face the other way, shaking his head around a bit. He brought his hand up and shoved Trevor’s face away, separating them.

“You- You don’t get off that easily, Trevor!” He shook his head and wagged his finger around, “I’m putting you on a diet, but, like, opposite. You have to eat, Trevor, I can’t… I can’t lose you, okay? Whatever goes on in that weird brain of yours, just, let me help.”

Conner’s voice was sweet, and sincere, and Trevor dropped the playful act he had previous and gently pressed up against Conner’s arm, pretending he was more squished from the passerby’s. Conner glanced up at him, a look of worry in his pale blue eyes, and Trevor nodded in return.

“Alright. I’ll listen to you.”

 If that Conner could see him now, Trevor was sure he’d rip him some sort of new hole in anger. Trevor was barely half of the man he was when Conner was alive. Of course, the Conner that he killed- well that Conner would know he was getting what he deserved. Rotting away like this, getting those judgmental eyes and snark comments from people around him; it was all his payment for what he did. Hell’s cold grip could come up from under the tracks and yank him down into it’s waiting embrace this very moment, and he wouldn’t complain.

A sharp knock at the door brought him out of his state, and he sat up a bit on the chair, narrowing his eyes. Suspicion was always the first thing that ran through him in these situations. It was all in his training, in what he’d grown to know over constant years of living as a spy. Even now, on the run from it all, he was still high strung all the time.

“Yes?” He called, cringing a bit at the stupid word choice. Why not ‘I’m busy’ or ‘go away?’ Why was he acting so formal?

“I brought you food. You haven’t come back to eat, and you didn’t eat any of the breakfast that I made you. You’re not starving on my train, got it? I don’t need to lose my job. Open the door.” Kirk’s voice cut through the room like a knife, and Trevor sat still in his chair for another moment before standing up and sliding the door open, meeting eyes with the slightly shorter man.

In his hand was a dinner plate, stacked with a thick flank of steak, buttery warm mashed potatoes, and three different kinds of vegetables mixed together. It looked significantly better than the breakfast that had been on his table that morning, and he raised his brows at Kirk, expecting an explanation.

“The chef made this, you jag-off.” Kirk huffed, shoving the plate into his hands. He wasn’t in the bartender outfit anymore, instead in more of a casual outfit, basketball shorts that fit his athletic legs and hips just right, and a graphic tee-shirt that displayed some television show he’d never heard of before. He was almost cute like this, if he didn’t wear that sour expression on his face.

“I wasn’t trying to insult you. The breakfast this morning just wasn’t near this level, is all I’m saying.” Trevor tried to smile- he didn’t need to make more enemies, let alone some angry civilian that worked on a train. If his picture ever went up anywhere, and Kirk hated him for being the dick on the train, he’d easily sell away Trevor’s last location.

“Whatever. Eat it. Do I have to stay and make sure you do?” Kirk was clearly trying to eye up whatever Trevor had inside his room, his eyes occasionally drifting to the sides to try and look past Trevor.

“I’m not a child.” Trevor replied to him, but took the fork that rested neatly on the plate and took a large bite of the mashed potatoes, almost melting at the taste. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d tasted something so good. Kirk was taking his moment of bliss to really start inspecting the room behind him, standing up a bit on his tiptoes to see over Trevor’s shoulder.

“Thank you for the food, Kirk.” Trevor noticed him inspecting from the hallway and decided that was more than enough, stepping back into his room and sliding the door closed. He let out a small sigh and stared at the plate that rested in his hands before he dropped it into the garbage and instead laid down on the bed, staring at the wall.

It felt nearly impossible to sleep, even with daylight fading away. He knew that he should be tired at this point, the previous two attempts at sleep being ruined by endless, shrill nightmares, and the days long and mundane. He turned onto his back and instead chose to stare at the ceiling, with it’s ancient, rotting patterns and chipped paint. Conner would probably appreciate an old train like this, he’d find it’s history fascinating, and probably buy books on it the second they got off.

Maybe he’d do that.

--

Kirk was not in the dinner car the next morning. Trevor almost felt sad, because the other bartender/waiter was nowhere near as fun as Kirk was. She was older, meaner, and quick with everything, practically throwing his coffee and plate of overcooked food at him before waddling back off to the kitchen. Trevor did not want to start any sort of conversation with her.

He focused on his coffee instead, his eyes tired from the pure lack of sleep he’d gotten the night before. Daylight was dancing against the old, white cup, making it look much more appealing than it actually was. He picked at the food on his plate, taking small bites to satisfy the pain in his gut, when someone took the seat across from him. He looked up with a startled noise, only to relax when he realized it was Kirk.

“You’re going to eat that junk, but you didn’t eat my breakfast?” Kirk said, adding mock hurt to his tone. Trevor rolled his eyes and continued to pick apart the sausage, pulling away the burnt skin to get to the meat on the inside.

“I wasn’t hungry when you served me. If it makes you feel better, I can promise you, yours looked and smelled better than whatever poison this is.” Trevor grumbled, bringing a bit of the meat up to his lips and pressing it into his mouth. Kirk watched him the whole time, leaning on his hand and clearly waiting for something.

“So listen. Are we going to fuck, or what?” Kirk finally spoke, and Trevor nearly choked on the small bite he’d taken, his eyes watering as he coughed and looked at the other man. Kirk was still waiting with that ‘well?’ expression on his face, drumming his fingers on the table.

“What do you mean, are we going to fuck?” Trevor hissed, trying to keep his voice low to avoid any unwanted ears from hearing such a conversation. Kirk, on the other hand, spoke with confidence, like he didn’t care who heard.

“You’ve been flirting around with me since you got here. I saw you checking out my legs last night. Are we going to fuck? I’m not going to wait around for you. I’ve got this morning and afternoon off, so we can mess around all-“

“No. I’m not going to ‘mess around’ with you.” Trevor cut him off, slamming his hand down on the table. Kirk jumped a bit, clearly taken aback by the sudden change in Trevor’s demeanor. He raised his hands up slowly.

“Sorry. I just assumed with the way you’re acting-“ he attempted to say, but Trevor was already standing up, throwing cash on the table for the other waitress.

“Don’t assume. I’m taken.” Trevor said quickly, and before he turned to leave, noticed a very odd expression flash across Kirk’s face. He could care less about it at this point, and made his way to the exit of the car, wanting to be as far away from Kirk as possible.

 “Hey, Trevor? Can I ask you a question?”

The moonlight was escaping through the blinds, casting a faint light throughout the expensive hotel room. The empty second bed was dusted in it’s light, but the two of them weren’t bothered by it, simply sharing the first bed, cuddled together after a very long night of work.

Conner’s eyes were hazy with sleep, but they were expectant and sweet, waiting for Trevor’s response. Trevor wasn’t exactly tired himself, but he didn’t mind laying in bed all night if it meant he could hold Conner like this.

“Anything in the world, babe.” Trevor responded, threading his fingers through Conner’s hair as he undid some of the knots that were still stuck from the bun.

“If I were to die, do you think you’d get a new partner? I think about it a lot, you know? What I would do if something happened to you, what… how I would handle it all…” Conner said, now unable to maintain eye contact with Trevor.

Trevor himself was a bit taken back by the question, trying to find the best way to answer it. Of course, he knew there was no way in hell he’d be able to continue without Conner in his life, without the partner he’d worked with for years to guide him. He’d just never sat and thought on it like this, never expecting to have to deal with the worst.

“What would you do?” He asked instead, trying to test the water and see what Conner was searching for. Sometimes, he was a box of emotions that was just too hard to crack, and it was easier to get in his head before he got into Trevor’s.

“I… I think I’d try to move on. For the agency, for what we stand for. But I don’t know if I could. I’d never date again, that’s for sure, because… you’re my world. You’re my soulmate. I know that, through and through.” Conner said, his voice very serious. Trevor let a small smile slip through his lips, and leaned down to gently kiss Conner.

“I don’t think I could do either. I don’t know what I would do without you, Conner. We’re two halves of a whole. There would be no point to all of this nonsense without you.” Trevor assured him, keeping their lips just fleetingly pressed together. When he felt Conner smile back, he knew he’d said just the right thing.

“Trevor? I love you.”

“I love you too, Conner.”

 Sometimes he wondered how they stayed in such a bliss for so long. Six years together, three of them dating each other, always under constant watch by the agency- but never truly letting it get to them. Their love felt like it was untouchable, for so god damn long. Yet, Trevor had been willing to let it all go. He’d let the stress of everything get to him; the eyes of the agency, the missions they were on, the rest of the world. He let all of it block his vision from what really, truly mattered- Conner.

Now he couldn’t do anything about it. He had to sit, the blood on his hands of the one person he loved more than anything in the world, for the rest of his miserable life. If he was lucky, this train stop would be his last though. A beautiful waterfall sat in the town he was headed to- a popular tourist destination, the world around it beautiful and peaceful. Conner had spoken of it so many times in their years together, always wanting to go and see it. Trevor had never taken him. He was never good to Conner, never in the way he should have been.

Even if Conner wasn’t with him, Trevor believed he was in spirit. He’d go to the falls, and let them both take it in, see everything it had to offer- and then he was going to jump. Join Conner in whatever waited for him on the other side. Screw the agency, screw living, screw the world. He was going to be with Conner like he promised. He was going to make up everything that he did wrong to the person he loved. Nothing was going to stop him.

“Open the door.” Kirk’s voice cut through his thoughts yet again, and he let out a bit of a growl, frustrated at the other man.

“Don’t you have a job to do? Leave me alone. I’ll report you to somebody.” Trevor shot back, not moving an inch from his chair.

“I told you, I had the morning and afternoon off. You’ve only been pouting in here an hour, I still have plenty of time. Let me in.” Kirk replied, knocking hard on the door to annoy Trevor into complying. Trevor let out a bit of a huff, but stood up and cracked the door open just a bit so that he and Kirk could make eye contact.

“What do you want.” Trevor kept his voice low, so Kirk knew he wasn’t into the conversation.

“Listen, I know you’re not taken, so just tell me the truth. Why don’t you want to mess around? We’ve clearly been flirting with each other the past two days. What, is it because I’m black? Or aren’t you gay? No, you’re gay, so don’t even try that one-“

“I am taken. Happily. I don’t need you to go about acting like you know me. I don’t fuck strangers on trains, either.” Trevor cut him off harshly and went to close the door, but he caught Kirk mutter something.

“I beg to differ.”

It was light, and barely audible, but Trevor heard it. He slammed the door shut then and locked it, taking a few quick steps back and away. His hand went straight for his carry on, his eyes never leaving the door as he dug through it, trying to find his gun- but his blood ran cold when he found it was gone. He quickly took the chair and slammed it up against the door so that there was no way to open it beside busting it down, and pressed himself back against the far wall.

There was silence on the other side of the door, but then he heard Kirk’s footsteps retreat down the hallway. Trevor slid down the wall, feeling his body shake just so bad. There was no way in hell anyone else other than an agent of their division would know about the train story. No one else even knew who the hell he was.

When he first met Conner, they had been paired on a mission together. They met on a train, and there was a sort of instant, unquestionable connection between them. They barely waited one evening to throw themselves at each other, christening their new partnership on the rickety bed. Their agency didn’t take this very well, and leaked the sound to everyone else as punishment to Conner and Trevor, and warning to everyone else:

No relationships allowed.

They were lucky they weren’t killed, or worse, when they were put on trial for what they’d done. They were only rookies though, so they were let off with a very stern warning and a slap on the wrist that kept them apart from each other for the next three years of their lives. Fear; their relationship had been built on it. The agency they were a part of didn’t let them forget it, breathing down their necks every day for the next six years.

It got to the point that Trevor started to think that he and Conner would be better apart. He couldn’t live his life with the constant fear that simply being in love could lead to the end of everything he’d ever worked for, or even his life.

Now one of the agents were here. On this train.

Kirk must be an undercover. He’d never met him before, so there was no way he was a normal agent like he or Conner. Kirk was one of the tough ones, that did the hard missions, the ones no one else wanted to do. They were kept under the rug, just in case they ever had to go after another agent- just like now. Trevor never thought that they would catch up to him like this- he had been so careful, he’d covered his tracks in every way possible-

“I think they chipped us.” Conner said. They were sitting naked together in a fancy hotel bed, having just fucked the stress of the day away, and now going over the notes before them for their current mission. Conner was behind him, playing with his hair, when he brushed his finger gently over the back of Trevor’s neck, making him shiver.

“What do you mean, they chipped us?” Trevor asked, trying to turn his head back to look at his own neck.

“You can’t see it, Trev,” Conner laughed a bit, but slid in front of Trevor, pulling his own hair up to show Trevor the back of his neck. If he looked hard enough, squinted his eyes at just the right angle, he could see a scar so small it almost looked like just a mis-colored speck of skin.

“Do you see? You have one too… It’s like were animals.” Conner muttered, staring forward and running his hand down the back of his neck. Trevor frowned, but gently wrapped his arms around Conner, pulling him back into a tight hug.

“Don’t worry about it. We get out of it in the end. They won’t want us when we can’t jump a ledge anymore. You know that. They’ll wipe us like Alec, and we’ll find each other, and grow old, happily.” Trevor whispered, pressing a small kiss into Conner’s temple. Conner relaxed in his arms and nodded his head, pressing his face gently against Trevor’s.  

 He was a moron. An absolute moron. How could he go about and forget such an important thing? The god damn chip. He brought his hand to the back of his neck and felt along, trying to find any evidence of it, but was left with nothing but smooth skin. The bastards weren’t going to let him go this easily, of course not. Kirk had his gun. Kirk had him right where he wanted him.

He felt the tears start to swell in his eyes as he slid down to the ground. All he wanted was to do one more thing. He just had to see the falls, he had to see them for Conner. Why couldn’t they just let him do this one thing?

--

There was a faint knocking that woke him up. It was soft, and light, and it reminded him of how Conner knocked on the door. He stayed where he was on the floor and just took it in, reliving every time he heard Conner knock, or call for him. It was relaxing, almost, until the woman on the other end spoke, shattering his pathetic illusion.

“Excuse me, sir? The train has arrived, sir. You have to get off.” The attendant said, her voice tired. Trevor could only imagine what was waiting for him on the other side of that door. He knew he had to face the music though, and slowly pulled himself off the ground. He didn’t know how long he was laying there, nor did he care.

He picked his bags up in one motion, leaving whatever was out of them out. He wasn’t going to need it anyway. It was all over now. He pushed the chair out of the way and yanked the door open, scaring the girl, who took a quick step out of his way. She looked nervous as all hell, blocking the path to the left, only giving him the option of exiting right.

“Thank you for riding with us.” She said quickly, her head down and her hands clutched together. He let out a grunt in reply, dropped his wallet at her feet, and then made his way to the exit.

It was still outside. The platform was empty, and the night sky was dark around him. Crickets were singing in the night, the only noise around. It was colder than Trevor expected it to be, and as he stepped off the steel stairs, he shivered. There was only one lamp on, and it illuminated a single figure.

Kirk was waiting for him, much more finely dressed than Trevor had seen him the last few days. He wore a slim fitting black suit that hugged him in just the right places, making him look as if he was blended perfectly into the night around them. Like death, waiting for his next victim to walk right towards him. The only difference was his blond hair, that stood out so violently Trevor almost laughed.

“What are you smiling for?” Kirk asked, shoving his hands in his pockets and moving forward to meet Trevor half way.

“It’s almost comedic. Your hair.” Trevor muttered, his eyes stuck on the blond mess. Kirk glanced up himself, but no smile split his face. He was all business now.

“You can’t run forever, Trevor. I’m taking you in now, or never.” Kirk said, pulling his coat up to reveal Trevor’s own gun. Trevor let out a breath of air, almost pitying Kirk. If only he didn’t care about seeing the falls for Conner. He’d fight Kirk right here, if all he cared about was his death. Deep down, he wondered if they knew that.

“What do they even want me for?” Trevor asked, dropping his bags down and holding his wrists out for Kirk, who seemed almost shocked at his compliance to the whole thing. Trevor liked that he was throwing curve balls at Kirk still. It made him feel a little less trapped.

“Conner is your responsibility. They want you to get him back.” Kirk said, and now Trevor was the one who was hit with the curveball. He shook his head in disbelief and took a step back.

“What the hell do you mean? Conner’s dead. He- I saw him fall of the roof, Kirk-“ Trevor stuttered, watching as Kirk pulled out his phone and flashed Trevor a picture- one that made his heart stop. It was a blurry image, taken from a surveillance camera, but who was on it was undeniable. That thick mess of black hair, the rounded face- that was Conner. He was stuck between two taller men, his hands hidden under a jacket, his eyes down- but it was him.

“…when was this taken?” Trevor whispered, his voice wavering with disbelief.

“Two weeks ago. Southern Texas. You’re coming with me, Trevor, and we’re going to go and find him, before whoever has him can get him to talk.” Kirk said, slamming the hand cuffs on Trevor’s still outstretched arms, and yanking him towards the exit. He didn’t get very far though, for Trevor couldn’t hold himself together.

He collapsed onto the ground, his eyes rolling up into his head, the idea of Conner being alive too much for him to handle. Kirk stumbled away from him and let out a huff, placing his hands on his hips and staring at the mess on the ground.

“This is why I don’t do partners.”