#tw: past violence

[seedsplease]

The Stowaways

When she’d first sworn to fight Eden’s Gate, Rook had expected her reward would be gratitude, some misguided glory and maybe even a raise. Instead, she got seven years in Jacob's Armory with a band of doomsday cultists and a permanent spot on kitchen duty. And then, on the fourth day, they found the children. Warnings: threats of violence, past violence Word Count: 9.9k AO3

When she’d first sworn to fight Eden’s Gate, Rook had expected her reward would be gratitude, some misguided glory and maybe even a raise. 

Instead, she got seven years in a bunker with a band of doomsday cultists and a permanent spot on kitchen duty. 

Jacob’s Armory had been built to house many more, but the surprise attack by the Whitetails had taken care of that. If only Rook hadn’t been spotted en route to the rendezvous point by a vengeful Jacob and his - now much smaller - band of remaining Chosen. She flattered herself to think she’d almost lost them when the bombs fell and they’d scrambled their way back to the bunker - Jacob half dragging her behind him. 

It had been a mess; fallen men strewn through the corridors and scorch marks and bullet casings littering the floors of every room. Before she’d been shown a bed, Jacob had made her look into the face of every man that she’d had a hand in killing. 

“Trained them myself,” he’d said when she’d met his eyes after the final one, “before you and your merry band of Whitetails butchered them. Don’t think that sounds like something ‘heroes’ are supposed to do.” 

She’d wanted to throw something at him. 

“That might sound really righteous or some shit to you,” she’d said, pointing a finger squarely into his barrelled chest, “but if I made you look down at all the men you’d had a hand in killing, we’d be standing here all through your Collapse.” 

In hindsight, maybe antagonizing Jacob Seed wasn’t her wisest choice. Kitchen duty was, however, a unique brand of punishment. 

The peggies had been surprisingly clean when dealing with their food, which wasn’t quite what Rook had expected of the bearded men who looked like they bathed every once in a blue moon. Even their fresh food scraps had been added into a composter, presumably for the rooms of growing plants downstairs. The cult really had been prepared, it seemed. 

It wasn’t exactly a difficult job, surprisingly. Most of the recipes were basic enough and she didn’t need to do too much for their small group in the bunker. Jacob usually came down and helped too, which she doubted was from the generosity of his heart and more from the suspicion of what she’d do if left unsupervised. To be fair, that wasn’t unfounded; she’d wanted to tip a whole jar of pepper into the stew before Jacob had caught her. 

She wasn’t able to resist prodding the bear though. 

“Putting a woman in the kitchen?” Rook had asked while chopping beets. “Pretty sexist of you.” 

She hadn’t expected him to respond. 

“Sexist of me to put you in the one place where you can’t get your hands on a gun?” He’d replied from the stove, where he was peering into the pot and watching it boil merrily away. 

She’d sniffed and raised a shoulder in a shrug. 

“Yes,” she’d said petulantly, before scrunching her face up at his logic. “So you don’t care that I can get my hands on a kitchen knife, then?” 

He’d returned her shrug, giving her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“I can deal with you and a knife,” he had said and met her gaze as he’d continued, “You won’t do too much damage.” 

She’d felt something bristle inside her; offended that he thought her so easily contained. 

“Just wait until you see me with the Sunday roast,” was all she had said in reply, however; content to seethe and hold her tongue. 

If she had learned anything about Jacob Seed, it was that her best chance of gaining the upper hand would only come with patience. It was easy, in those few evenings in the kitchen after the bombs had dropped, to be resolved into waiting him out in their strange deadlock. 

And then, on the fourth day, they found the children. 

Rook had been noticing that scraps had been disappearing from the stores; little things at first, just enough to make her assume a soldier had crept down to pinch a little extra when she wasn’t looking. But then it happened during a scheduled training session - because of course, Jacob wanted his men in prime condition - and Rook knew it had to be something else. 

That evening, she’d confessed to Jacob that something was amiss. He’d nodded silently, and returned in a matter of minutes with a gun, gesturing that she was to follow him. She held the torch, beaming it into the areas that were less illuminated. There was a strange sense of doubt about the situation building in her stomach, as though she didn’t want to cause too much of a fuss for what might be nothing. 

“It could be a rat,” she said, and winced because lord, she hoped it wasn’t a rat. The last thing they needed in such close proximity was a chance of disease. 

Jacob hummed thoughtfully from in front of her, though he didn’t look back. They opened the door to one of the storage rooms but he didn’t turn the lights on; instead gesturing that she was to light the way. 

“Have you ever seen a cornered animal, Deputy?” He asked, but it wasn’t really a question. She gave a small hum - neither confirming nor denying - and he continued. “When you see a creature that knows nothing but the fact that it’s going to die, then you see an animal that will try anything to get away.” He led her further into the dark room. “And those animals, if left unchecked, can stow themselves away in the strangest of places.” 

Rook stiffened, beginning to understand what Jacob suspected. She lowered her flashlight slightly, illuminating the path through the stacked crates and supplies. 

Towards the back of the room, they found an opened box. Rook’s heart sank, and she stole a glance towards Jacob’s face; trying to figure out what his intentions were. Whatever stowaway they discovered, Jacob’s unreadable expression told her little about their fate. 

They heard a shuffle, and like a hound to the scent, Jacob’s eyes snapped towards the sound. It was coming from one of the nearby closets, and Rook felt a stab of pity as she saw the hint of movement between the deliberately cracked-open door. 

Jacob stepped closer to the closet, silently gesturing for Rook to open it. She sighed to herself but still reached out, grabbing a hold of the door and swinging it open to shine the light on their stowaway. 

Neither expected to see the three children packed into the small closet, peering up at them with glassy-wide eyes. 

Rook couldn’t move, staring down at her unexpected would-be thieves. They weren’t looking at her, however; their eyes were fully fixated on the very imposing red barrel of Jacob’s gun. He’d frozen too, taking in the sight of the three stowaways. 

After a moment, Rook snapped out of it. 

“Would you put that down?” She hissed, slapping at his shoulder. “They’re terrified.” 

Perhaps she should have been surprised at how quickly Jacob obeyed. Or that he obeyed at all. 

He inhaled sharply, and brought a hand up to rub at the side of his jaw; fingers tense and clawing. 

“How’d you get in here?” He asked, voice firm. 

The eldest child - a boy of about thirteen, she guessed - tightened his arms around his toddler brother, who was clutching at his smoke-stained shirt. 

“The door was open,” he replied, still staring at the gun warily. 

“We didn’t know it was your home,” the third child, a girl of about eight, piped up from the other side of the closet. 

“We...We can leave,” the eldest insisted, eyes flicking between Rook and Jacob shakily. “We can go.” 

Rook opened her mouth to protest, but Jacob beat her to it. 

“Nobody’s going anywhere,” he said lowly, and Rook had to wonder whether he realised how intimidating he sounded. 

She knelt down, still maintaining her distance so as to not spook them.

“What he means ,” she began, giving a slightly reprimanding side-eye to the man beside her, “is that you don’t need to go anywhere. Right, Jacob?"

She didn't expect the silence. In retrospect, she realised that she was placing a foolish amount of trust in a cultist. Perhaps some part of her hoped that even a man who had done horrible things would stop short of harming a child right now, at least. 

"Jacob Seed, don't you even think about it."

He flinched and seemed visibly angered by what she was hinting at. 

"I was thinking about where they're gonna sleep, Deputy," Jacob growled. “What do you think I’d do to some fucking kids?” 

Rook thought of multiple stories she’d heard of what Jacob’s men did to the innocent people of the mountains - the history of Jess was forefront in her mind - but she held her tongue, casting a quick look to the children still huddled in their cupboard. If they were staying, then she didn’t want to scare them. 

“Mind your language,” was all she said, and there was little heart in it. 

There was something raging in his eyes, and it looked for a moment as though he wanted to press the issue. Instead, he only inhaled deeply and a coldness fell over his face; steeling his expression. 

She looked away from him, and returned her gaze to the children in front of her. Rook gave a smile, but she doubted it entirely reached her eyes. 

“Everything’s going to be okay,” she said, resisting the urge to try and reach for the shivering group. “Why don’t you come upstairs? There’s some fresh food, some nice and warm beds.” 

The eldest child stared at her, some hint of suspicion and protectiveness in his eyes, but she watched as he seemed to notice the patch on her shirt. 

“You’re a policeman?” He asked, frowning. 

Rook blinked, and then remembered that her shirt still bore the sewed police insignia, sun-faded as it was. 

“I am,” she replied, and reached up to brush at the edge of the patch with her thumb. 

The boy glanced between her and the eldest Seed, still standing imposingly behind her. 

“And...is it safe?” He asked quietly, as though Jacob wouldn’t hear. 

She heard the real question, and hesitated for a brief moment, following the trail to quickly meet Jacob’s eyes. 

“Yeah,” Rook answered, and something told her she wasn’t wrong in this, at least for now. “Yeah, he’s fine.” 

Dinner was much more lively than she was used to. 

Jacob would usually eat with her after he’d taken the servings up to the other Chosen - for some reason, he’d seemed to prefer her quiet company. There was no quiet companionship in the kitchen this evening; the three children were seated at the table and wolfing down their dinner with the ferocity of the half-starved. 

Jacob and Rook were seated opposite them, barely touching their own servings. At one point, Jacob set down his spoon. 

“Go slowly,” he told them, voice quiet but firm. “If you haven’t eaten, you need to take it slow.” 

The three children cast dubious looks at him, but after a nod from Rook, they heeded his advice and ate with smaller, more controlled bites. 

The eldest boy was called Will, they soon learned. The girl - the middle child, Rook remembered - eagerly began to speak once she was finished, and she told them how they’d come to be in the bunker at all. 

“Aunt Patty hadn’t come back for weeks, and the delivery man stopped bringing food, so Will said we should try and go to the gas station,” the girl explained from little prompting. “He wanted to drive us with Aunt Patty’s old car out the back, but it wouldn’t work.” 

“Probably for the best,” Rook commented, raising an eyebrow at the eldest boy. “Something tells me you’re not old enough to drive.” 

The boy glanced up at her from over his meal. 

“I’m nearly old enough,” he replied, somewhat petulantly. 

Jacob Seed very deliberately kept his mouth shut during the exchange, and Rook had a suspicion that he too hadn’t waited for the right age to start driving. 

“We didn’t get far, anyway,” Will shrugged, staring down at his bowl. “They dropped those bombs and we had to start running.” He briefly stared at the steel roof. “Found this place with the door wide open, so...We didn’t think anyone was home.” 

Rook realised they must have slipped in not long after the Whitetail’s attack, when Jacob had left the bunker unattended to lead his merry men on the hunt after her. She winced as she thought about the bodies, the blood and mess that the children would have seen on their entrance.

“We’re just glad you’re safe,” Rook replied instead of dwelling on her thoughts, looking at the three of them. “You’re going to be fine here.” 

Beside her, Jacob nodded his silent agreement. 

Will glanced between the two of them and then lowered his spoon. 

“I’m Will,” he said, despite them already knowing. He gestured to his toddler brother and sister at his side. “This is Luke and Penny.” 

“Penelope ,” the girl corrected, sending her brother a miffed glare. 

He held his hands up in a surrendering gesture. 

“Right,” Will said, nodding, “Sorry. Penelope.” 

The girl smiled, pleased at her much more professional-sounding name. 

“It’s nice to meet you three,” Rook said with a warm smile, before leaning back and gesturing to herself and the eldest Seed. “I’m Rook, and this is Jacob.” 

Jacob nodded along with her introduction, but was quickly forgotten as Penelope eagerly started to talk to Rook about her ‘strange name’ and Luke resumed happily gargling his water and piecing at his food. 

But Jacob didn’t miss the suspicious glare that Will continued to send his way throughout the evening. He raised an eyebrow at the young boy - challenging, perhaps - but the stowaway only flushed and glanced away; embarrassed at having been caught out. 

When dinner was finished, Rook and Jacob gathered the dishes and made their way to the sink. 

“So, where’ll they sleep?” She asked him as she scrubbed one of the plates. “Do you even have any more proper rooms?” She’d been supervised and escorted to and from very select locations during her time in the bunker, and so she didn’t have much of an idea about the layout of the Armory.

He took the dripping plate from her hands and wiped it over with a dishtowel. 

“Seeing as you wiped out most of my bunker’s population, yeah; they’ll have a room.” 

Rook had the good graces to not provoke him further. 

Their new herd exited the kitchen.

Penelope skipped slightly to fall into stride with Rook and leaned over to grab at one of her hands. She seemed to be a cheerful girl, barely touched by the horrors of what she’d seen - or perhaps it simply hadn’t yet registered. She was talkative, with the interest of adolescence of everything in the world around them, and was pleased to have someone else - a proper adult - to pepper with endless questions.

Rook didn’t mind too much; after she’d joined the station, Staci had been glad to relinquish his ‘dealing with kids’ designation to her with relief - while children seemed to like him, he felt exhausted by them after minutes. Rook was relatively good at keeping them distracted and occupied. She was, however, a little concerned at the prospect of having three kids in the bunker with endless weapons, armed soldiers, and a very dangerous lieutenant at their helm.

At the least, she’d start by getting them to sleep. They were evidently exhausted; weeks of having to hide away in the back of a storage room and surviving on scraps had taken its toll.

“Have you lived here long?” Penelope asked her, sudden curiosity overcoming her tiredness. “Why are you living here?” 

Rook blinked in surprise but clutched the girl’s hand tightly in response.

“I’m here for the same reason you are; to get away from the bombs,” she replied, deliberately leaving out the part where Jacob Seed had dragged her down with him against her will. She’d have rathered rush back to the Wolf’s Den; there, at least, she would have been in friendly company.

Penelope frowned at her answer.

“But this is a really big place,” she pressed on, peering up at the woman. “Did you build it?” 

Rook gave a small laugh.

“No,” she replied, and then frowned slightly as she remembered some of Eli’s offhand comments about his time interacting with Eden’s Gate. “But I think my friend might’ve had a hand in it.” 

“Your friend?” Penelope repeated, and pointed towards Jacob, who was walking in front of them at the lead. “Him?” 

Rook snorted. 

“No, not him,” she said, grinning at the absurdity of the thought, before she paused and thought on Eli’s words. “Though, actually, he might’ve helped too.” She struggled to picture Jacob Seed in work overalls and a wrench in his hands, not like she could easily imagine Eli. “My friend, Eli, has his own place like this. His own bunker.” 

In front of them, she saw Jacob stiffen at the mention of Eli. Rook didn’t have to see his expression to know that he was listening in on their conversation; maybe trying to hear if she would let something drop. She wasn’t sure why; there was no point in waging a war against the Whitetails anymore when nobody could even leave the bunker.  

“Did your friend build that one too?” Penelope asked, wide-eyed. “His bunker, I mean.”

“Pretty sure he did,” Rook replied. “With help from his friends, of course.” 

“Friends like him?” Penelope pointed again towards Jacob. “Did he help with that one, too?” 

Rook smiled thinly as she glanced over at the soldier. 

“No,” she said, loud enough to be overheard and make it clear she wanted it so. “No, he definitely didn’t help.” 

Jacob didn’t look back at her, but she could sense his irritation. Not that he would show it in front of the children. He’d wait until later, no doubt.

Beside her, Penelope was frowning. She tugged at Rook’s hand and gestured for her to lean down slightly so her words wouldn’t be heard. 

“I think that’s rude,” the girl whispered, giving a frown as she looked ahead at the man. “He should’ve helped build your friend’s house too.” 

Rook squeezed her hand, but before she could say anything, Jacob spoke up in front of them. 

“Alright, we’re here.” 

She counted three separate rooms in this section of the bunker - each intended for a cluster of now-dead cultists, no doubt - but Jacob only led them into the one. The bunk beds were still drawn together in the center of the room; blankets strewn across the mattresses for some surprisingly permitted comfort. 

Will led his younger brother towards them, keeping a steady eye on Jacob while he went. Rook gestured for Penelope to follow his lead, and when the children were all safely out of earshot, she sidled up next to Jacob. 

“You’re not giving them their own rooms?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. “There are enough.”

He hummed, arms crossed as he watched the children test out their new beds. 

“The eldest,” he said, nodding towards the boy in question. “He’s not gonna let them out of his sight.” There was a wry quirk to his lips. “I remember what that was like.” 

Rook had read Joseph’s book one night in morbid curiosity; she had enough of an idea about what Jacob was referring to. She followed his gaze, and noticed the oldest boy was still sending furtive glances their way, particularly focused on Jacob. 

“He doesn’t like you much, does he?” She murmured, and shrugged. “Can’t imagine why not; you’ve just got such a winning personality.” 

He barely reacted to her jab, and instead turned around to leave.

“Tuck them in,” he ordered, ignoring her words. 

Rook frowned in confusion, about to protest that he was leaving her alone with all the work, but then sighed, figuring it wasn’t worth the fight. Not when the children were around. Besides, being a glorified prisoner ensured she probably had the least work to do of anyone else in the bunker.

Well, until now.

He was almost at the door when Penelope spoke up, having spied him walking away.

“You’re not leaving, are you?” She asked, kneeling on her mattress. She’d scurried her way up to the top bunk of one set of beds, content to claim her high perch.

Rook watched Jacob turn around. 

“Got some things to do,” he replied, gently in his own, strange way. “I’ll be at the end of the corridor… and she’ll be right next door.” 

Rook raised her eyebrows, pointing to her own chest. 

“She will?” She asked; the arrangement news to her. 

He gave her a thin smile. 

“She will be now.”

__ 

The first challenge came when Luke wanted to sleep on a top bunk like Penelope. He was five, it turned out, and Will was blanching at the thought of letting the youngest sleep on such a high bunk without safety rails. Rook privately suspected that he was also leery of Penelope being on the top as well.

Unfortunately, when Will refused to let the youngest go up, the tears began.

“Luke, you can’t .” Penelope peered down at him, leaning a bit too close to the edge that made Rook take a step closer to her, just in case. “You’re too little!”

This, however, only made Luke cry harder. Will, who was exhausted and on his last legs, just groaned.

“Penny, just come down and sleep on a lower bunk too,” he tried to order, but it came out more like begging. “We’ll all sleep on the bottom ones, okay?”

This was the wrong thing to say.

“No! That’s not fair!” Penelope whined, small hands clenched into the mattress sheet. “I’m old enough, it’s not fair!” Her voice was threatening to rise to a screech.

Rook, sensing a long, drawn-out explosion that could rival the Collapse outside, had to step in.

“Okay, so here’s what we’re going to do!” She clapped her hands together and adopted a no-nonsense tone, sounding alarmingly like the Sheriff. “We’re going clear some space in the middle of the room, and then we’re going to bring down a few of these mattresses and make one big bed from them, okay?”

There was a brief threat of the argument immediately resuming, but Will was at his wit’s end and raised his own voice.

“Stop it, you two!” He snapped, and the shocked silence from the siblings made Rook know this was an unusual occurrence. The teen gave a ‘tsk’ sound and rubbed at his forehead. “Just…do as she says so we can all get some sleep.”

Penelope came climbing down obediently, though still with flushed cheeks, and Luke stood where he was, hiccuping the aftermath of his tantrum. Together, Rook helped Will gather six mattresses in total, stacking three on top of three for extra comfort on the ground, and Penelope gathered a generous amount of pillows. Their makeshift bed was centered in the room, but the bunk bed’s empty stands gave a strange spacial sense of enclosure that was comfortable.

In her head, Rook thought a few blankets could help make a proper hideaway out of the arrangement, though she decided that could wait for another day. The kids were barely standing, and Luke looked near to another tantrum that she assumed would be diabolical.

“Alright.” She brushed her hands together and straightened up. “You’re all set. We’ll see what we can do tomorrow to fix everything up a bit nicer, but for now you’re all good to get some sleep.”

Will nodded at her, gratitude in his eyes despite his wariness that had yet to abate. Rook hummed and turned towards the door.

“You heard the grump before; I’ll be right next door if you need anything,” she said in farewell, though privately noted she wasn’t sure which next door that would be yet, considering this had been sprung on her too.

“Why can’t you stay here?” Penelope said, and like Jacob before her, Rook turned back around to see the girl perched on her knees on her mattress, looking up with a frown.

Will sighed.

“Penny, she has her own room,” he explained quietly. “She’ll be just next door. She’s not going away.”

Penelope sucked in a loud breath and shook her head back and forth but said nothing, even as her face was scrunched up. Rook felt a stab of pity; she realised now that the girl surely had some understanding of what her situation was - what it had been for the past few weeks - and everything surely just kept feeling unfair to her.

Rook turned back around and took a few steps towards one of the surrounding bunk bed stands that still had a mattress on the lower level.

“How about I stay here until you go to sleep?” She offered, to placate both Penelope’s wish for her company, and Will’s protectiveness over his siblings. “I’ll just sit here and stay with you.”

The teen hesitated, but nodded his consent. Penelope was still a little bit put out, but ultimately gave in too; the lure of sleep making her far more agreeable, no doubt.

As the three scrambled into bed, Rook made a note to find them a spare change of clothes for the next day. Jacob probably wouldn’t have children’s sizes, but she was sure they could scrounge something doable.

“Good night!” Penelope piped up, slurring the words slightly as she dug under the blankets next to Luke.

Rook smiled warmly in return as she dimmed the lights in the room, leaving the small lanterns by the bunk beds as soft lights for them while they slept.

“Good night,” she replied gently, letting them drift off.

Will had laid on the right, with Luke tucked in the middle between him and Penelope. It barely took a few minutes before they were dozing off. But just when she thought they were all asleep, Will slowly sat up, letting his blanket fall down to pool around his lap as he stared up at Rook.

With the other children no longer listening, his eyes were narrowed and suspicious. Rook raised an eyebrow at him, and tilted her head expectantly.

“You don’t like him,” Will quietly said, an accusing tone to his voice.

Rook frowned, before realising who he was talking about.

“Jacob?” She asked, nodding vaguely towards the corridor outside the room. “The grumpy one?”

Her attempt at humour fell flat, as the boy continued to stare suspiciously at her.

“Did you lie to us?” Will asked, fingers clenching to a fist against his blanket. His voice hardened. “Is he going to hurt us?”

She grimaced, but certainly couldn’t fault him for being worried; even she wasn’t entirely certain what the answer was. Jess’ story had at least demonstrated that, while not necessarily done by Jacob himself, subordinates of his had brutally tortured children, and she doubted that the Cook’s antics were so hidden. Though, she acknowledged that she didn’t know of any child who had specifically been killed by Jacob - if she remembered correctly, they were to be sent to John’s bunker rather than killed - but she quietly doubted that every single member of the cult were so disciplined as to stick entirely to commands.

When bloodthirsty soldiers have been trained to view others as disposable meat, it would come as no surprise to learn that they hadn’t always shown restraint.

However, she had a slight suspicion that Jacob intended for children to at least survive.

“Hurt you?” She repeated, and gave a shake of her head. “I… don’t think so.”

A stiffness in his shoulders seemed to loosen slightly, showing the boy may have trusted her answer. Will’s expression turned odd, staring over at her with his head tilted downwards; hesitant. He was quiet for a moment, before he softly spoke.

“Is he going to hurt you ?”

Her eyes widened at the question, taken aback that he would be thinking of her. Evidently, she’d underestimated him; he had clearly been a lot more attentive than she’d first thought to realise that there was no love lost between her and Jacob, and that, furthermore, she was at his mercy. She took longer to reply this time; knowing now that the teen would likely see through any placating lie.

“Who knows?” She answered evasively, and found that she was again not completely sure of the answer. Jacob had, after all, defied all of her expectations when she’d been brought back to the bunker. “He doesn’t like me that much, but he’s left me mostly alone. Though, if we run out of supplies, I’ll be the first to go.”

The boy didn’t seem to be entirely reassured, and he fidgeted with his blanket while looking away from her.

“Who are you really?” He asked quietly, less suspicious now. “And…why are you here?”

She understood the real question he was asking; he likely had a lot of confusion about her and Jacob’s relationship. Especially since she obviously was in a dubious position.

“I’m just Rook,” she said again, despite him knowing her name already. She shrugged, and tried to choose her words delicately. “I’m a junior deputy. I was… brought here after I tried to help the Whitetail militia fight against…well, that guy out there.”

Will frowned, something in her words evidently sparking recognition in him. Privately, she was glad that meant he was distracted from the suggestion that she was kidnapped here.

“The Whitetails,” he said slowly, brow furrowed. “Like Mr Palmer?”

Her eyebrows rose.

“You know Eli?” She asked, pleasantly surprised but perhaps she shouldn’t have been; despite his prepper antics, Eli was rather personable to those in the area.

“Our dad did,” Will replied, a distant memory coming over his face. Rook felt a stab of sympathy; of his family, he was likely the only one who remembered much of their father. He cleared his throat, but quietly so as to not wake the others. “He died a few years ago. But Mr Palmer taught me how to use a bow before that…well, a bit.”

His cheeks flushed red, and he adamantly looked away from her to hide it.

She huffed a smile.

“Yeah, that sounds like Eli,” Rook murmured; he’d always had a soft spot for kids, and he was damn good with them too. Something occurred to her and she looked up at Will with a bit more intensity. “Hey, uh, probably not a good idea to mention Eli to the guy out there.” She jerked her thumb towards the corridor.

The boy’s eyes narrowed once more.

“He doesn’t like Mr Palmer?” He asked, the suspicion back in his voice, and she realised that this was probably a better judgement to him of Jacob moreso than anything she could have said.

Rook snorted, feeling no remorse as she told the boy the truth.

“No… he really doesn’t.”

Later, when all the children had finally shut their eyes, she slunk out of the room.

It was her first time totally unsupervised in the bunker; with no nearby guard having their ears trained on her for the slightest noise. She peered down each end of the corridor carefully, still somewhat dim despite the lights on either side of the bunker walls. The natural clicks and rattles of the steel were unnerving in the quiet, and ominous, somehow giving her the sense that there were still eyes on her.

Rook scowled and she straightened up; head tall and proud as she confidently walked straight past the next room’s door. Jacob had stopped short of giving her a command before he’d left the children in her hands, but the implication had been there in his words; she was to go to the next room only. It was still an attempt to limit her freedom, of course.

Maybe she would pay for it later, but so long as there was a line she was expected to toe, she would always seek to push against it.

She found Jacob at the room at the end of the corridor, sitting at a desk. It was a study of some sorts, it seemed; paperwork, reports, flashing screens and radios all around him. One of those screens, she noted with a flush, had been broadcasting a camera from the outside corridor.

“Don’t think I said you could come here,” he said softly, not even bothering to face her fully as he read through a sheet of paper. His rifle was placed behind him on a stack of boxes, the obnoxious red like a neon sign despite the business of the room.

“You didn’t say I couldn’t either.” She flashed him a winning smile, before sobering up and levelling a stare at him that he didn’t return. “The kids are asleep.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, still skimming the report in his hands.

“Don’t be surprised if they sleep through tomorrow,” Jacob said, still not looking at her. Something about that irked her; his nonchalance showed he viewed her as such a minimal threat, barely worth supervision.

Her face wrinkled into a frown, but she pushed down her irritation.

“Won’t that be bad for their ‘bunker routine?’” She asked with only the slightest drawl. The day after the bombs had dropped, Jacob had near dragged her from her bed despite her fitful sleep and insisted that she follow a proper routine.

It was, as he’d said, the best thing for the mind to stick to a proper schedule when there was no light or weather routine to follow. Apparently, it was to help preserve sanity. Privately, she thought there wasn’t much sanity in a group of cultists to preserve.

“They can have a day.” Oh, he was feeling gracious, it seemed.

She didn’t say anything, only staring at the screens around her; dull blue lights almost jarring to look at and the static giving the slightest hum that somehow felt heavy and almost tangible against her skin. The cameras featured various locations throughout the bunker, places she only had the vaguest memory of from the day of the attack. The occasional Peggie strolled through a hallway or guarded a door, but the majority of them were located now in the few dormitories in the level above them.

Privately, she was glad that they weren’t close to the children.

Jacob gave a small, contemplative sigh and leaned back in his chair, relaxing into the backrest. He slowly tilted his head to finally peer over at her, but something about the movement was too calculated to be casual.

“Since you’re here,” he murmured, reaching over to grab a handheld radio - which she suddenly realised was the one he’d confiscated from her - and pushed it along the table towards her.

She stared down at it, a frown pulling at her brow, before she glanced up at him in confusion.

“Take it,” he said, nodding down towards the radio. She didn’t move and he raised his eyebrows, a tone entering his voice that one would use to coax an animal. “Go on; pick it up. Call them.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Them?” Rook asked, playing dumb.

His expression told her that he didn’t buy her act for a moment, but he indulged her in all his generosity.

“Your little Whitetail friends.” He paused for a moment - and she suspected it was more for dramatic effect - before he leaned forward slightly to whisper conspiratorially: “ Eli .”

He settled back against the chair again, elbows leaning on the armrests and hands coming to clasp loosely just above his lap. He still watched her carefully; no amount of performed nonchalance could hide the shrewdness in his eyes whenever she was around, a lion languidly watching a meal it knew could bite.

“Why?” Rook asked, eyes narrowing at him again as she tried to discern his thoughts.

Surprisingly, he gave her the answer willingly.

“I know Eli; he won’t stop looking for you,” Jacob replied, remarkably light despite talking about his greatest enemy. “No man left behind,” he said with a sarcastic lilt to his voice. His eyes sharpened, mirth draining from them as he looked intently at her. “So you’re gonna tell him exactly where you are.”

“What?” She shook her head in confusion. “Why?”

He shrugged, but his expression remained infuriatingly enigmatic.

“Saves me the trouble. Go on; let him know you’re unharmed,” he ordered, and his eyes hardened. “You can even tell him the truth; that you’ve been treated better than you deserved. Or don’t. It doesn’t matter either way.”

She resisted the urge to shiver; she remembered the heaviness of the air around her when Jacob had dragged her back inside the bunker, bombs falling in great rumbles above their heads, and tossed her on the ground among the bodies of the dead - the aftermath of the Whitetail attack.

While he’d waved his remaining men away, he’d knelt to her level and roughly grasped the collar of her shirt. His eyes had been hard - a steel mask for his men to hide any weakness - but she’d sensed the wrath in the very air around him; like calling to like.

“You have been a thorn in this project’s side from the beginning,” he’d murmured, and his free hand had come up to clasp her chin in an iron grip; preventing her from looking away. “And if my brothers have been hurt because of anything you have done…”

He’d trailed off, but the intensity in his face did not fade, even as he’d released her chin and slowly began to straighten back up. His eyes never broke away from her, staring down at her as she’d laid sprawled on the ground, buried deep in a bunker with no escape and surrounded by enemies both alive and dead.

She had never felt so small in her life.

He was simmered now perhaps but the tinder remained. He had never stopped being dangerous, and though he had yet to bite, the point of his blade remained trained on her - the glaring threat in his domain that he had deigned to keep.

“Eli will know what he’s risking if he comes after us,” Jacob softly told her, his tone belying the threat in his words. “No man left behind’ counts for you, too.”

It was a shock to her in that moment to truly feel the weight of her situation once more; for the famed deputy who had wrecked carnage across the county, to be the one in need of rescue felt foreign. Her friends had certainly aided her in the past, but she had never thought to be in a place where she felt incapable of burning her way to safety.

She gave a scoff to conceal her thoughts, and rather than address that mess, she snatched up the radio and brought it to her mouth.

“This is Deputy Rook,” she announced into the radio, proud that her voice didn’t waver. “This is Deputy Rook calling the Wolf’s Den…Is anyone out there?”

The horrible thought suddenly occurred to her that it was very possible that the Whitetails hadn’t made it back in time. That they were still out there somewhere; bodies burnt and buried beneath the ashes of the bombs. It wasn’t something she had ever wanted to consider - it hadn’t even crossed her mind, since she trusted Eli’s dedication to keeping his people alive - but realistically, there was a decent amount of ground to cover between the bunker and the Wolf’s Den.

She gulped; her jaw tightening at the thought and her hand clenched around the radio.

“This is Deputy Rook calling the Wolf’s Den,” she repeated, voice taking on a panicked tone. Her arm holding the radio began to shake and she reached up to hold it still with her other hand.

Watching her from his chair, Jacob hummed softly at the sight of her distress.

“Worried, aren’t you?” He commented, and a flash of something almost smug came across his face, but it was gone in an instant, replaced once more with the slightly enigmatic nonchalance. “You don’t have to be; I’ve heard them already.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, he who had allowed her to work herself into a panic.

“That would’ve been nice to know,” Rook hissed, clutching her radio tightly while willing herself to calm.

His lips twitched but he was gracious enough to not flash her a smile.

“It’s easier to keep you nice and quiet when you think I’m the only hope you’ve got.”

He sounded like he was talking about a wild animal to be tamed, a wildcat to be domesticated in their long burrow, and perhaps it wasn’t too misplaced - the Hope County Cougar badge lay underneath her pillow in her room - but she was rankled nonetheless.

“So you’re saying you aren’t the only hope I’ve got then?” She raised an eyebrow, challenging, and his eyes narrowed, a response of warning.

The crackle of the radio interrupted them both.

“Deputy?” The welcome voice of Eli came through the static.

She whirled to the side, facing away from Jacob and stared down at the radio, eyes wide as saucers.

“Eli!” She said breathlessly, all tension vanishing as Jacob fell out of her thoughts and irritation.

“Holy shit, Dep.” Eli spoke with a disbelieving laugh in his words. “I thought we’d lost you! You’ve no idea how good it is to hear your voice.”

A warmth spread in her chest; she had forgotten what it was to hear such a friendly voice and even though she was still trapped within Jacob’s bunker with the lieutenant himself in arms reach, for a brief moment, she was able to feel a sense of safety. That was always Eli’s effect on others, he protected by building community - whereas Jacob only thought to protect with violence.

“I’m safe,” Rook rushed to reassure her friend, quickly moving on before he could ask for details. “What about the Whitetails? You got back to the Wolf’s Den, I guess?”

He hummed an affirmative noise.

“Most of us, but we lost two on the way.” His voice was grim. “Meyers and Lee. A tree fell right on them; they were gone in seconds.”

Rook’s breath caught at the news; Meyers had proudly showed her photos of his daughter at her first birthday only a month ago, and after a nasty gunshot had knocked Rook out of commission for a week, Lee had spent every day helping her clean and dress the wound.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, knowing that for all her time with the two, Eli had known them years longer. “They were good people.”

Even though she wasn’t looking at him, she could feel Jacob’s eyes piercing against the side of her face.

“Yeah,” Eli agreed, before falling silent for a moment. When he spoke again, there was a strange resignation in his voice. “Where are you, Dep?”

Eli was many things, but he wasn’t foolish.

“I think you know,” Rook replied softly.

She could almost hear his sigh, and she wondered whether Tammy and Wheaty were nearby; she could only imagine how horrified they’d be by the news. Eli, at least, would keep himself grounded for her sake.

“He’s with you right now, isn’t he?” It wasn’t a question.

Rook peered over at Jacob, who was watching her with an unashamedly calm stare; his continued nonchalance doing little to hide that he was clearly listening intently to every word.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, looking straight into Jacob’s eyes.

He merely smiled back at her.

“And are you…okay?” Eli asked hesitantly, almost unwilling to ask the real questions lest he will the worst into existence.

Beside her, Jacob gave a musing hum - the sound more intended to mock than anything else - but said nothing.

“Yeah,” she said again, this time with a grimace at the obvious satisfaction the man next to her was getting from this entire situation.

Oh, how he’d longed to lord her circumstances over his enemy.

“Let me speak to him,” Eli said firmly, voice hard.

Jacob huffed a low laugh, but he didn’t seem to be surprised; she imagined that he’d expected this from the moment he’d allowed her to reach out. If she hadn’t come into the room when she did, she almost wondered if he hadn’t intended to make the call himself.

Meeting her gaze, he raised an eyebrow, generously leaving the ball in her court. She hesitated, fingers clenching slightly around the radio as she deliberated. She knew that Eli would be protective, and there would likely be threats involved. Neither of these options would be to her benefit, and at worst, would provoke Jacob into retaliation.

But she doubted the threat to her person would be lost on Eli. Perhaps she could trust him to keep her wellbeing in mind; he knew Jacob, after all, and would be more familiar than most to know which lines to toe.

With a sigh, she held the radio out to Jacob, her reluctance obvious in her demeanour. It did not go unnoticed by the man, and his expression was amused as he reached out to accept the offered radio. His fingers brushed against hers, calloused skin rough but warm against her palm, and for a moment, she stared down at her hand even as he stepped away.

She had forgotten how long it was since she had been touched by a grown man. She didn’t realise how starved of it she had been.

Rook didn’t have long to ponder on that, however, as Jacob raised the radio to his mouth and announced himself to his nemesis.

“No man left behind,” he almost sang the words into the radio, parroting Eli’s ideology back at him with poorly restrained smugness. His voice was mocking as he continued. “Then where are you now? I thought she was one of yours.”

She felt a stab of anger at the way he spoke as though she couldn’t hear him, but she didn’t bother interrupting him, figuring it would only do more harm than good.

Eli’s reply was swift, and his voice firm.

“You’re goddamn right she is.” His voice had a growl to it, the wolf of the Whitetail’s den. “So am I going to have a reason to come knocking?”

Jacob turned his head to look at her, his eyes low and a small but cold smile pulling at his lips.

“Who knows?” He replied, voice jarringly soft. “Depends on if she behaves herself.”

Rook resisted the urge to shiver; once more, the reminder of what a danger this man truly posed and the fact that she was utterly at his mercy left her chilled.

The wolf of the Whitetails didn’t take the threat quietly, and he bit back with a snarl into the radio.

“Jacob Seed, I swear to god”-

“You want to talk about God, you can talk to Joseph,” Jacob cut him off sharply, before giving a small, satisfied sound. “He was right , after all.”

“Fuck off, Seed,” Eli snapped back, avoiding opening up that particular can of worms. “You leave her the fuck alone, you hear me?”

“Are you really in the position to be making demands?” Jacob asked with a smile on his face, delighting in the power he held over the man he clearly held more of a grudge against than her.

For a moment, Rook allowed herself to be curious about that; given more of an opportunity, she would have been glad to see his entire project go up in flames, but it was still Eli who had earned more of Jacob’s ire. She was not yet bold enough to broach the subject, but she suspected it may have something to do with Eli’s sheer compassion, and how it went against Jacob’s ideology of what a warrior was. Yet Eli remained Jacob’s greatest enemy despite this ‘weakness’ and how it must have galled him.

To feel the power he now held - utilising the very thing he looked down on against Eli - was likely cathartic, to say the least.

Jacob opened his mouth to no doubt sneer something equally baiting at his enemy, but - having allowed him enough satisfaction for one night - Rook reached forward and snatched the radio from out of his hands.

“Okay, that’s enough,” she hissed at him, almost surprised at her boldness. There was a flash of irritation in his eyes, but she met him toe to toe and levelled him with her own glare. Daring him, goading him to try her; feeling every inch the cougar of the Henbane who yearned to repaint her claws red.

For some reason, Jacob stood down, though she certainly doubted it was from fear. He stepped away, unsmiling eyes trained on her as he leaned back against the desk and gestured at her to continue. She angled herself slightly to the side, giving herself even the smallest illusion of privacy, and spoke to reassure her friend.

“Eli, I’m fine. He hasn’t hurt me.” She said, almost exasperatedly. It was more to placate him, even though she knew it was currently true.

Her relationship with Jacob had been turbulent, to say the least, and she was more unnerved by how he hadn’t hurt her since he’d dragged her down into the Armory with such determination and threatened her by the entrance. Finding the children had now introduced another variable into the equation however, and she wasn’t entirely sure that she could predict how he’d react, especially since her judgement of his character had proven to be unreliable.

Evidently, she wasn’t the only one with such a concern.

“Dep, if you need me,” Eli began, voice low as though he were trying to keep their conversation hidden from Jacob, despite knowing it would be futile. “I will find a way to help you.”

The earnesty in his voice gave her a flush of warmth in her chest; she genuinely thought he meant what he was saying, that if she told him she was in serious immediate danger, he would try and walk through an apocalypse to keep her safe. But she, self-sacrificial lamb she was content to remain, would never allow him to do that.

“It’s okay, I really am fine,” she insisted. A thought suddenly occurred to her, spurred on by the conversation she’d had earlier with Will about Eli. “Actually… I have a good reason to stay here anyway now; just earlier tonight, we found some”-

A voice cut her off sharply.

“No.”

Jacob acted quicker than she could register; his hand flashing out to snatch the radio from her hand, quickly pulling it away and out of her reach. She jerked from the surprise, before feeling a flash of anger.

“What? Give that back!” Rook yelled, making a grab for it, but he’d anticipated this and smoothly evaded her. She shook her head and hissed out in indignant anger. “Hey! You said I could talk to him!”

He gave her a steeled glare, eyes cold and warning that he would brook none of her fury in this instance. Holding her gaze firmly, he spoke down into the radio.

“She’s done now.” Jacob said, voice emotionless but final. “If she’s good, I’ll let her have another talk.”

He turned off the radio before Eli could reply.

She sucked a ragged breath, immediately feeling the absence of her friend’s voice; for just one moment since the attack, there had been a strange relief off her back, the sense that she wasn’t alone, and she now felt aggrieved and aggravated that she had been denied it once more.

Still keeping his eyes on her, as one would watch an unpredictable, thrashing beast, he lowered the radio back onto the desk. Her eyes followed it, but she knew it would be a foolish thing to try him now.

Instead, she thought of her only other hope for an ally.

“Where’s Staci?” She asked quietly. It was the first time she had brought this matter up, deeming it too risky in their tentative stalemate to have previously broached the subject. Rook had assumed he was further up in the bunker, but she had certainly noticed the distinct lack of his presence as Jacob’s shadow.

Jacob’s eyebrow rose, the only sign that he hadn’t been expecting her drastic change of subject, and she felt a brief thrill that she had been able to finally return his habit of being unpredictable. He’d likely expected her to either try to wrest the radio back from him, or at the very least, spit and curse at him until she tired herself out.

He leaned back against the desk and crossed his arms, eyes narrowed as he scrutinised her to try and discern what angle she was playing in her unpredictability.

“As far away as he can be from you,” he answered cryptically, before leaning towards her and tilting his head. “Did you think I was going to let you whisper your little treasonous ideas in his ear? Start your little two person mutiny?”

She shrugged. Realistically, she knew that plan would be very unlikely to work; she had seen her colleague the first and only time she had been captured by Jacob, and it did not take long for her to determine that Staci Pratt was currently a very broken man. She could only assume his mental state may have suffered further when the bombs had dropped, but she knew regardless that he would take a very long time to even consider the thought of rebelling properly against Jacob.

But it wouldn’t stop her from trying to at least see him. Like her, he deserved to have a friend in a friendless place. It appeared she would need to bide her time for that, to let Jacob mellow further and be reassured of her ‘good behaviour’ before he would even consider allowing her to get close.

It irked her, but she would blunt her anger with sarcasm.

“With Will, now it could be three person mutiny,” Rook said, snarky and sneering in a drawl to hide her true thoughts.

Jacob did not share in her sarcasm; his eyes narrowed into steel and something very sharp came into his stare. It caused a deep instinct in her to rear up in alarm.

“Could it now?” He asked, soft but incredibly dangerous.

She faltered with a frown, her snark withering away.

“No.” Rook shook her head, voice slightly incredulous that he would even think she would consider it. “He’s just a kid; he’s seen enough violence.”

Jacob seemed placated by this somewhat, eyes softening again into a more unreadable expression.

“He’ll see more,” he replied, slipping back into the reassuring grip of his cynicism. “You think everyone’s going to be friends once we go back out there?” He shook his head, almost amused by the very thought; the man of war who couldn’t fathom the possibility of peace. “There’ll be chaos. And we’ll be ready for it.”

Well, that explained why he was so insistent on training his men despite the lack of enemies. Though she wondered if he realised that so many of the cult’s future enemies would be of their own making. That the very violence he had inflicted in his mission to protect the project would be the machine that created their greatest threats.

This was simply a man who could never lay down his weapon.

“Look at you,” she mused, mouth slightly ajar in a soft gasp of realisation. She just couldn’t resist poking at the bear in front of her. “You’re just always looking for your next war, aren’t you?”

A lesser man may have lashed out at her, and perhaps she wanted him to reveal himself as such; to prove he was indeed the lesser man she had thought him to be. He again denied her satisfaction by not rising to her bait.

“That’s what you’re doing too, isn’t it?” Jacob said softly, peering at her with an eyebrow raised. He wasn’t too impressed with her, but she still got the sense that he wasn’t as angry as she had hoped. “Always trying to bite at me, hoping I’ll bite back. Is that it?” He leaned forward, and there was a very small but almost nasty smile tugging at his lips; the smugness of a man who believed he had her entirely figured out. “Do you want me to snap that badly, Deputy?”

Her eyes narrowed. His unpredictable actions had unnerved her from the start of their cohabitation - and she was starting to suspect that had been his intention all along - and perhaps she was trying to deliberately antagonise him into acting more in line with her expectations. She wanted familiar ground in this uncertainty and his violence was paradoxically safe; she knew how to act in response, she knew how to feel in turn.

Maybe she simply sought to mold him, as he had once sought to mold her.

“Could be fun to make you snap.” Rook was being petulant, she knew, but there was little else open to her when anger would be frustratingly one-sided.

His tension faded, and he leaned back into his more relaxed position; comfortable in his self-assurance that the higher ground remained his.

“Could it?” He said, raising an eyebrow.

Contained as she was, he genuinely seemed to believe there was nothing she would do to anger him into an unrestrained fury. Even in exacting his violence, she had rarely seen him raise his voice. There was a disciplined sort of self-awareness to his wrath - so unlike his younger brother - and perhaps his jarringly soft carnage was even more terrifying than the alternative.

Something must have shown in her expression, because he gave a small huff of laughter and stood back up.

“Go to bed, Deputy,” he said, returning back to his chair.

She frowned, eyebrows wrinkling as the evening was so young.

“It’s not my bed time,” Rook scoffed, placing her hands on her hips and welcoming the change of subject. The words were almost childish, considering she didn’t generally have anything else to do after dinner other than sleep, but it was a matter of principle.

“It is now,” he replied as he sat down and turned his gaze back to his earlier discarded report. “You’re going to be in charge of looking after our new guests, after all.”

She almost wanted to bring up his prediction that the children would sleep through the next day, but she stopped as she privately admitted there was no guarantee, and someone would need to be there for them just in case.

Her pride didn’t allow her to admit that to him, of course.

“Putting the woman in charge of the kids?” Rook said, unable to resist one last snark- she had a daily quota to fulfill, after all. “Pretty sexist of you.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Want one of my men looking after them instead?”

Her smile fell off her face immediately and a chill of ice ran through her.

Jacob noticed, and hummed softly.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He turned away from her, back to his report. “Off you go, Deputy.”

This time, she went without a word.

[shepscapades]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [PART 6] [Part 7] [Don’t Let it Reach the Heart]

[This comic is part of my dbhc au, following the chaos and panic that ensues after Doc and Xisuma try to get Etho back online at the start of s9 after a very rough s8 finale that leaves him a little. broken. It's set to the vibes of Joywave's Destruction!]

[thebramblewood]

Supernatural seduction, take two: the professor has arrived.

Previous / Next

Lilith: I don't think you'll be needing this anymore.

Man in Bar: [flustered] W-why's that?

Lilith: Both of our mouths are about to be very preoccupied.

-

Lilith: FINISH HIM!

Helena: [sobbing] I can't, Lilith. Please don't make me do it.

Lilith: [disappointed sigh] I suppose I can help you out. Just this once.

[sound of body hitting the water]

Lilith: But you’ll have to learn eventually.

-

Helena: [in a dull, detached tone] What turned you into this?

Lilith: Into what precisely?

Helena: A vampire, to start with.

Lilith: [hesitates slightly] It’s a boring story, really. Besides, my human memories have grown so foggy. If you must know, ask Caleb. I’m sure he’d love to spin our maudlin little tale for you.

[halflifebutawesome]

you used to be such a baby.

[torawro]

i like ‘em a little insane, covered in blood and severely mentally unstable <3

[missrosegold]

I met the devil by the window, traded my life

Synopsis: When horrendous acts of violence occur, they sometimes leave behind impressions that continue to linger long after the initial event. Rarely are they ever pleasant.

Sometimes, what’s left behind isn’t necessarily a something, rather, a someone.

You’re about to find that out the hard way.

Word count: 16k

Paring: Dabi x Reader (Fem Reader)

Warnings: Character Death, Manipulation, Mildly Dubious Consent, General Demon Mindfuckery, just know that Dabi is not a good person in this one, he's ment to be unhinged, so Minors or Ageless blogs DNI. This is rated 18+.

Written for @candycandy00 League of Villain's Horror Anthology Collab! Thank you so much for having me love! I hope you enjoy my contribution! I had a lot of fun with this one!

Thank you to the lovely @kimkaelyn for the beautiful banner - and thank you for all the encouragement you've given me recently, it means the world to me. 💙

(Shamelessly inspired by Poltergeist and Silent Hill)

**You can read it on A03 here if the formatting on Tumblr is throwing you off! I cross-post all my works onto my A03 account!

You should’ve known something wasn’t right when you stumbled across the Air B&B booking.

It was too good to be true. You weren’t dumb. Realistically, you knew that anything that was too good to be true, normally was, and you should avoid it like the plague, but for once, you decided to indulge your curiosities a little.

You had been looking for a place to stay while travelling abroad in Japan with a few of your friends, when you had found the listing completely out of the blue. You remember reading the details the website had provided, your eyes bugging out of your head as you swiped to look at the pictures of the listing that were posted.

From an outsider’s perspective, it was perfect. It was a massive house, practically a mansion, located right in the heart of Shizuoka Prefecture. The mansion backed out onto a large nature preserve, and despite being located very close to the city’s core, it was private – a massive retaining wall surrounded the entire property, except for the far side of the yard, which backed out onto the forest that surrounded the property from the back.

The mansion itself was so large, it could easily house you and your three other friends for the two weeks you planned on being in the country for. Best of all: it was cheap. Really cheap. It was well under price compared to what all the other lodgings you’d looked at previously wanted for a two week stay.

You’d booked it for you and your friends without so much as a second though. How could you possibly pass on such a great deal? The simple answer was, you couldn’t.

You’d excitedly told your friends about what you found, and once they’d seen the listing for themselves, they had agreed that even if the house wasn’t exactly like what was shown, the price was too good to pass up on, and that any small issues the listing may or may not have could easily be overlooked.

It was too good to be true, and now you understood exactly why that was.

Currently, you’re running for your life though the same forest you had seen in the listing’s pictures, while your pursuer hunted you relentlessly through the dense brush.

You could feel the heat of the fire on your back behind you, the rancid smell of smoke burning your lungs as you struggled to keep your breathing even, but you didn’t dare stop running, nor did you spare a glance behind you, knowing full well what you’d see.

If you stopped, he’d catch you. If he caught you… God only knew what would happen to you then.

You dove behind a thick tree, clasping your hand over your mouth as you fought to calm your frantically beating heart, and level out your breathing. For a moment, you didn’t hear anything aside from the crackling of the fire behind you and the pounding of your own heart. You almost risked sticking your head out from behind your hiding spot to see if you had managed to lose your pursuer, until a voice cut though the smoke and haze surrounding you:

“Oh little mouse… where are you? Why don’t you come out and play? I don’t bite… much.”

You feel tears spring to your eyes involuntarily at the sound of the otherworldly rasp that cuts through the smoky air like a knife. He sounds close. Too close for comfort, but you don’t dare to try and run from your spot, too afraid of giving up your position to the man—no, the demon that was hunting you through the burning woods.

“C’mon darlin, I was just teasin’ you those other times. I wouldn’t actually hurt you. Not like your dumbass friends back there.”

There’s a horrible raspy snicker after that last comment, and you don’t bother to try and stop the tears you feel roll down your cheeks at the thought of your poor friends, and the state you left them in back at the mansion as you all but ran for your life:

Dead. Burnt down to little more than ash.

Such violent ends for girls who did nothing to deserve them.

You want to cry openly at the cruelty of his comment, but you know he’s baiting you. He wants you to show him where you are. You don’t believe him for a second when he says he won’t hurt you, when you’ve seen first-hand what he’s capable of.

A few seconds of silence pass aside from the ominous popping and crackling of the forest fire that’s steadily drawing closer to your location, before he seemingly loses patience with your lack of cooperation. In the most demonic sounding voice you’ve ever heard, he bellows:

“GET THE FUCK OUT HERE!”

Your blood turns to ice in your veins as the creature seethes with barely suppressed rage. You don’t know what to do. If you stay where you are, you’re dead. If you go to him, you’re definitely dead. You’re fucked regardless of what you pick.

When he speaks again, he sounds smug, and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he calls out to you:

“I’m going to count to ten Doll. If you’re not out here by the time I’m done, I’ll burn this whole fucking forest down, and turn everything around it to ash.”

You let a muffled sob escape, not bothering to try and hide it now. Your sobs only grow harder as you hear him start to count in his chilling rasp, “One… Two… Three…”

You close your eyes, desperately trying to think of a way out; but there is no escape, you already know there isn’t. The demon that’s been hunting you through the forest for the last hour made sure of that when he set the mansion on fire, and subsequently, the surrounding forest.

Your mind goes blank as you take in your current reality, and despite everything, you find yourself thinking back to when this nightmare first started for you and your friends, nearly a week earlier when you arrived at the mansion…

-----

The mansion itself was an intimidating place.

It doesn’t look as foreboding from the other side of the retaining wall that surrounds the property – the massive gardens that sit just behind the wall are well maintained, and the house itself is clearly well taken care of, even though the website mentioned that no one has lived in the house for a little over a decade for some unknown reason.

You first get the impression that something is off with the house the moment you step through the front door. You set your bags down at the entrance, and take in the sweeping archways and long hallways that lead to other rooms of the house you’ve yet to explore with your friends, before you realize how still the interior of the house is.

Aside from the noise you and your friends are making as you move your bags inside, there’s no other sound in the house. As soon as the door to the outside closes, the inside of the house is completely silent.

You can’t put your finger on it, but something about the odd silence has the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. You seem to be the only one affected by the interior of the house, as your friends are mindlessly chatting amongst themselves as they grab their bags and move further inward, presumably to do some exploring.

You best friend nudges your shoulder and gives you a small smile, snapping you out of your reprieve. “You okay? You’ve been really quiet since we got here.”

“I’m fine.” You tell her gently, brushing off your earlier concerns. “I’m just tired.”

She nods. “Same here. I think we’ll all feel better once we eat something and get some sleep. The flight over here was so long.”

Just then, one of your other friends loops back to where you and your best friend are standing, waving you both over.

“Hey! We’re just picking out rooms! Do you two wanna come take a look and see if there’s any you fancy? The second floor of the house is all bedrooms from what we can see.”

You both follow her up to the second floor of the house. Sure enough, the long hallway is lined with sliding panels that open into bedrooms. Some are open and some are still closed. Your other friend pops out from a room near the middle of the hallway and waves at you.

“Come take a look! I think all these rooms are bedrooms. Go see if there’s one you want to claim as our own, I already know which one I want.” She grins as she taps the sliding door of the room she’s in.

You laugh at her antics and move further down the hallway. “Have you explored all of them yet?”

“No, just the ones closest to the stairs and the ones near the middle. Haven’t gotten the chance to look at the ones at the end of the hallway.” She tells you honestly, jerking her thumb to the end of the hallway, where you can see two doors remain closed. 

Your best friend follows you down the hallway, and opens up the panel on the right. “Oh wow. This must be the master bedroom.” She mutters as she peaks in the dim room. “Maybe we’ll just keep this one shut. Seems rude to sleep in the master bedroom. I’ll take one of the other rooms.”

You watch as she closes the panel again and moves back down the hallway to where your other friends are chatting, leaving you to the last door on the left. Just as you extend your hand to open the door, a sudden flash of heat runs up your extended hand and through your body, disappearing as quickly as it came, but it still causes you to pull your hand back with a gasp.

You inspect your hand, looking for signs of a burn, only to find nothing wrong with the skin of your palm. You stare blankly at the wood and paper paneling that makes up the sliding door, not sure what to make of what just happened, before you slowly pull the door open. This time, nothing prevents you from doing so.

You step into the dark room slowly, allowing your eyes to adjust to the dim before looking around. It looks as though no one has stepped inside the room for years, as you notice the thick layer of dust settled upon every available surface. The room looks like it once belonged to a young boy, possibly a pre-teen, as you note the posters of various superhero’s scattered about the otherwise bare walls.

A few pieces of furniture are pushed up against the walls, and for some reason your heart aches when you look at the small, twin-sized bed. Everything in the room feels dated, like nothing progressed past a certain point in time, and you can’t figure out why you feel like that, until you see it:

There, in the darkest corner of the room, is an ornate cabinet-like structure that looks similar to a closet, but something feels very off about the wooden structure. Just as you’re about to move towards it, your friends appear at the door, their happy chatter quieting down as they observe you.

“There you are! We were wondering when you dispersed to!” your one friend grins as she pushes her way into the room, looking around. “Huh, I guess the people who own this house have a bunch of kids. The other rooms aside from the master bedroom are all kid themed.”

You don’t respond, still trying to figure out what about the cabinet is bothering you so much, before your second friend approaches you, nodding to the dark wooden structure. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know.” You admit. “I don’t think it’s a closet though.”

“The website didn’t mention it?”

“No.” You mutter, brows furrowing together as you think back to the pictures you’d seen of the listing. “Actually, I don’t think they included any pictures of this room. I don’t remember seeing any.”

Your best friend makes her way to where you’re standing and squints at the cabinet for a second before her face sours.

“Not to be a downer, but I think this is a butsudan.”

You turn to her, eyebrow quirked in silent question, and she elaborates. “It’s like a home shrine for family members who’ve died. They keep ashes or pictures of the person in there some times.”

“No way, there’s like… somebody’s ashes in there?” your first friend speaks, shuddering, and your best friend shrugs.

“Sometimes, not always though.” She glances around the room. “Really hoping I’m wrong about that, since this is a kid’s room…” she trails off uncomfortably, but the implication of her words is clear:

A child who lived here at some point, died.

For some unexplainable reason, you suddenly feel drawn to the wooden structure and you slowly cross the room until you’re standing directly in front of the doors. Just as you’re about to reach out to open them, your second friend’s voice stops you.

“What are you doing?” she asks, a nervous laugh in her voice. “I don’t think you should touch that.”

“I’m just going to take a peek.” You reassure her, placing your hands on the doors. “If someone has to sleep in this room, I wanna make sure there isn’t a child’s ashes in here.” You cast a pointed look at them. “I’m assuming it’s going to be me. You’ve all taken the other rooms aside from the master, and I don’t think anyone wants to sleep in there out of respect.”

When your friends don’t protest, you sigh and pull the doors open without a second thought, expecting the worst. Thankfully, no urn stares back at you, but something else does:

A picture of a boy, no older then thirteen or fourteen peers back at you through the gloom of the dark cabinet.

You suck in a breath as you take in the boy’s delicate features. He’s young, baby-faced, even though his shockingly white hair would suggest he’s much older than he appears. The other thing you immediately notice about the boy, are his eyes. His eyes are a startling shade of blue, a stark contrast from the surrounding darkness in the room, and before you can stop yourself, you’ve reached out to gently take the picture off its place on the mantal to have a closer look.

The instant the photo leaves the mantal, the same rush of heat flashes through you, only this time it’s worse. This time you feel like you’re being burned alive as liquid fire curses through your veins. The pain is so bad, it locks you in place, unable to scream as you feel like you being incinerated from the inside out. All the while, you’re unable to release your grip on the picture frame in your hands.

Suddenly, two piercing blue eyes surrounded by gnarled purple skin cut across your vision. They glare at you ominously before blinking out of existence, and as quick as the burning sensation came on, it vanishes.

You let out a gasp, and the picture frame slips through your fingers and crashes to the floor, the glass pane protecting the photo, shattering and splintering into pieces as the boy’s deep blue eyes stare back up at you amidst the mess of glass and wood.

“Shit.” You breathe as you stoop down to pick the old photo out from underneath the glass.

“What was that about?” your best friend asks you worriedly, glancing between you and the shattered frame. “We tried calling your name, but you didn’t respond to us. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m… Did you not see that?” you croak, holding onto the photo in your hands gently. “The—the eyes? You didn’t see the eyes?”

“Eyes? What are you talking about?” your other friend pipes up. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting super spacy.”

“Yeah, I’m… fine… just… fine.” You mutter as you glace down at the photo. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“We’ll go into town tomorrow and see if we can find a new frame for it.” Your best friend interjects quickly, seeing the distressed look on your face. “Let’s see if we can get this cleaned up. If you’re sure about sleeping in this room, I don’t want you getting glass in your feet. You get yourself situated; we’ll go find a broom.”

She leads your two other friends out of the room and you find yourself alone. You slowly place the photo back down at the alter and rub your temples tiredly.

“I’m sorry.” You mutter to the picture of the boy, even though you know he can’t respond. “I didn’t mean to do that. I’ll get you another frame. I promise.”

Just as you’re about to close the doors to the shrine again, something catches your eye. Just under the spot where the picture frame sat, there’s an engraving on the shelf. Squinting down at the neat characters, you’re just able to make out a name carved into the dark wood.

Todoroki Touya

The next morning you wake up feeling like you didn’t sleep at all.

You roll over with a groan and take in your surroundings blearily. You had ended up taking the room with the home shrine in it for yourself, but you hadn’t been able to bring yourself to use the small bed the room provided. Instead, you’d taken the pillows and top blanket off, and arraraged them into a small cot at the foot of the bed. It wasn’t the worst makeshift bed you’d ever used, but you hadn’t been able to make yourself comfortable all night – torn between feeling racked with guild over dropping the picture, and feeling like you were being watched.

The second feeling you couldn’t explain. You had woken up multiple times during the night, feeling like there were eyes on you, only for nothing to be there when you looked around your immediate surroundings. Each time you’d woken up, it had taken you ages to fall back asleep, leaving you drained by the time the first morning sunbeams filtered into the room from the covered window.

You opt to stay in bed for a little while longer, only heading downstairs when you hear the distant sounds of your friend’s voices floating up from the hall. You trudge downstairs, following the sounds emanating from what you assume is the kitchen, only to find your friends in the middle of making breakfast.

Your best friend looks up as you enter the kitchen, a small smile plastered on her face.

“Good morning.” She greats you kindly, passing you a plate piled high with eggs and breakfast meats. “Did you sleep well?”

“Not really.” You admit as you accept the plate. “I kept waking up during the night. Couldn’t get comfortable.”

“I still can’t believe you slept in that room.” Your other friend interest, biting into her toast. “You couldn’t pay me to sleep in there with that… thing.”

She doesn’t need to say it for you to know what she’s talking about. You shrug your shoulders and dig into your eggs.

“Didn’t feel right sleeping in the master bedroom. Honestly the room is nice, that’s not the issue. It’s just really… quiet in there.”

“Maybe it’s haunted.” Your other friend chimes in with a giggle, and you roll your eyes.

“With my luck it will be. Pretty sure I’m going to have a vengeful spirit on my ass after I dropped that picture.” You joke as you stare down at your food. “I’m going to go into town after this and see if I can find a replacement frame. I still can’t believe I did that.”

“I’m surprised they never had any pictures of that room on the booking site.” You best friend mutters as she slots herself next to you at the countertop. “That seems a little weird.”

“Well, the website said that no one’s lived in this house for a while. Maybe something happened to one of the kids.” You supply, and your friends grimace at your suggestion.

“You think maybe they’d mention that on the listing. You know; this house is haunted by a ghost child, stay at your own risk.” Your friend across from you quips, causing you to snicker.

“Some people pay big money for that. If anything, they could use it as a selling point. But I doubt it. I don’t believe in ghosts.” You finish up your breakfast and put your plate in the sink. “I’m going to get changed and head into town. I’ll be back in an hour or so, and then we can do some exploring.”

Your friends let out a muffled chorus of agreed noises, before going back to their breakfast, leaving you to head back upstairs to change. You shut the door to your room behind you and flick on the light so you can pull out some clothes out of your bag.

Just as you’re about to pull your sleep shirt over your head; a wave of heat flashes through your body like lightening, and suddenly, you feel the same soul-piercing eyes on you again.

You gasp, and slam your shirt back down, covering your exposed breasts again with a shudder. You glance around the room wildly; half expecting to see someone lurking in one of the corners, but just like the other times before; no one’s there. You’re alone, even though the prickling of your skin is telling you otherwise.

You don’t dare move from your spot, as you still feel like you’re being watched by something, but after a few moments the feeling dissipates, and you feel your body relax as the tension you didn’t realize you were holding onto, bleeds out.  

You change quickly and do your makeup, before grabbing your purse and bidding your friends a quick “bye!”, before heading out the front door, and out into the warm sunshine.

Outside of the house, everything feels better. The atmosphere is more inviting compared to the almost oppressive feeling the upstairs gives off, and you find your anxious feelings fading away as you make your way into town.

You eventually find a shop that sells all manor of things, and decide to try your luck inside. The old woman behind the counter greets you with a smile, and just as you’re preparing to use what little Japanese you know, the woman greets you in perfect English.

“Hello dear. What bring you in today?”

You tell her what you’re looking for, and she leads you to a section of the shop where you can see a few wooden frames tucked away in a corner. As you pick out one that looks like it would fit the photo, the woman asks you how long you’d been in Japan for.

“My friends and I arrived last night actually.” You tell her with a smile as you pay for the frame. “We’re going to do some exploring around town when I get back. I’m just here to get a replacement for a picture I dropped last night.”

The older woman hums as she bags your purchase. “I see. Where are you staying dear?”

“I think it’s called the Todoroki house? I can’t remember the exact name of the listing.”

The old woman freezes just as she’s about to give you the bag. Her face displays a myriad of emotions, but the most dominate look on her face is concern… with what appears to be a tinge of fear.

“Do you mean the house that borders Sekoto Peak?” she murmurs quietly. “The one that backs out onto the forest?”

“That’s the one.” You confirm as you gently take the bag from her. “How did you—”

“You shouldn’t stay there.” The older woman cuts you off, shaking her head. “You and your friends should find another place to stay while you’re here.”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” you press, causing the woman to swallow heavily. She smooths back a strip of white hair and mutters,

“Bad things have happened in that house. Nasty things.”

“What sort of things?” you ask as you flex your grip on the bag handles. The older woman looks around the store, almost as if she’s checking to see if someone is listening in, before she leans in towards you.

“That house has sat empty since the fire, and for good reason.”

“Fire? What fire? The listing never mentioned anything about a fire.” You mutter. The woman shakes her head, causing white strands of hair to fall out of her bun.

“It wouldn’t. the fire happened over ten years ago. Awful thing. The entirety of Sekoto Peak went up in a blaze. It almost burned down the Todoroki household with all of them in it.”

“All of them?”

The woman nods sagely. “The Todoroki’s. Enji, his wife Rei, and their four children: Fuyumi, Natsuo and the youngest, Shoto.”

“That’s three.” You correct her quietly, “What happened to the fourth?”

The woman’s thin lips press into a firm line, and once again, she looks around the shop nervously. Once she’s content that you’re alone, she continues:

“Their oldest boy died in the Sekoto fire. The blaze was so hot, it turned his bones into ash. There was nothing left for his family to burry.”

You feel tears spring to your eyes involuntarily at her admission. Suddenly, your mind wanders back to the butsudan sitting in your room, and the shattered picture of the snowy-haired boy you found in it.

“What was his name?” you ask her gently. The woman hesitated for a moment, before she sighs, and mutters under her breath,

“Touya Todoroki.”

You feel your blood turn to ice in your veins as you remember the name you found engraved into the dark wood where the picture sat.

Touya. So that was whose room you were staying in, and that was how he died: Burnt to ash and scattered into the wind.No wonder his family didn’t have his ashes in his shrine: there wasn’t anything left of him to grieve.

And you had dropped his fucking picture, shattering it. For all you know, that’s the only thing his family has left of him. The bag you’re holding onto suddenly feels a thousand times heavier in your grasp as you hold it tighter.

If the woman senses your inner turmoil, she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she continues on, snapping you back to the present.

“We started hearing about some strange things happening around the house. Sometimes the family would come home and the house would be trashed, other times rooms would smell of smoke even though no one had been burning anything…” she paused. “and then the children started seeing things.”

“What kind of things?” You lift your head so you’re looking the older woman in the eyes as she quickly tacks on,

“No one’s really sure. Supposedly they’d wake up in the middle of the night claiming that were being watched, or something was standing in the room with them. Then some awful things started happening to little Shoto…bad things.”

You chew on your lip, not certain if you want to know what she means by that, but you nod, signaling for her to continue. The old woman swallows thickly. “We heard he was clawed multiple times in his sleep… among other things. Whatever was tormenting those children, Shoto got the worst of it. Things were not the same in that house after Touya died, but it didn’t stop.”

The woman frowns softly. “The lack of sleep, and the stress from her son dying must have gotten to Rei over time. Last we heard; she’d taken a kettle to Shoto… burned half of that poor child’s face. Her husband had her committed to a hospital immediately afterwards, and not even a week later, they were gone.”

“They… they just left? Just like that?” you ask subdued, thinking about the other rooms your friends were staying in, and how they were all kid themed. Now that you think about it; it really did seem like whoever last lived in the house left in a hurry. It almost seemed like they hadn’t taken anything with them.

Maybe now you were starting to see why.

“If memory serves, they bought another house closer to the city and moved there. They still own the one you’re staying in… they couldn’t find anyone to move into it, so now they rent it out… a mistake if you ask me.” The old woman informs you bitterly. “Bad things have happened at that place. Nothing ever good came from the other tourists staying in it.”

“Other tourists?” you pipe up, confused. “The site I was using to book made it look like the listing had only been up for a few weeks at most. It didn’t have any reviews or anything.”

The older lady only shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter my dear. Take your friends and find another place to stay. Get out of that house. Take it from me, It’s not worth it.”

Her tone let’s you know the conversation is over. You leave the shop without another word. Feeling lost and overwhelmed from what you discovered. You grip tightens around the handles of the bag as you make your way back to the house, determined not to let what the woman said bother you.

All the while, all you can think about is the pair of cold blue eyes from the other night in your minds eye, staring into your soul, and a part of you can’t help but wonder if there’s some truth to what the older woman told you.

By the time you get back to the house your friends are gone.

A note on the kitchen counter from your best friend lets you know that your other two friends had gotten impatient, and wanted to do some exploring on their own. She writes that she left some lunch for you in the fridge, and that if you needed anything to text her.

You can’t really blame them for wanting to go out and do their own thing, after all, your errand had taken you longer than you thought it would have, and after everything you’d heard, you just wat to relax for a little bit.

You set the rest of your belongings down and make your way upstairs to the room at the end of the hallway. You stand in front of the sliding door for a moment, almost expecting to feel the familiar, burning sensation from before, but nothing happens, allowing you to breathe a sigh of relief and, enter the dark room.

You set your bags down and pull out the new frame you’d picked up, before making your way over to the home shrine. You open the doors slowly and pull out the old picture of the snowy-haired boy. You smile sadly down at it as you slip the worn paper securely in between the wooden slates.

“Sorry Touya. I don’t know what caused the fire, but you didn’t deserve to die like that.”

A sudden wave of exhaustion rolls over you and you stumble backwards slightly. Maybe you were more tired than you originally thought. You think to yourself as you stumble over the to the small bed and collapse down onto it, ignoring your makeshift pile of blankets and pillows you used the night before, as your eyes slowly slide shut.

The last thing you remember seeing before your eyes closed completely was a hazy-looking figure standing in one o the dark corners adjacent to the bed.

-----

Dabi snorts as he watches your eyes close.

Humans are such simple creatures; a mere fraction of his power could send even the strongest-willed ones into the deepest slumber, or curse them with everlasting nightmares if he so chose.

He would know, he’s done it so many times in the past, it’s hardly fun for him anymore.

Once he’s sure you’re not going to wake up, he glides over soundlessly to stare down at your prone form. Originally, he’d planned to kill you after you disrespected his shrine, but the look of horror on your face after he’d partially revealed himself to you, made him reconsider. It’d been so long since he’d seen fear look so delicious on someone – the sadist in him wanted to see more of it.

He told himself he was letting you live because you’d seemed remorseful enough after you’d shattered his picture, and he wanted to see what you’d do to fix the mess you’d created. You hadn’t disappointed him at least – you’d gone out and bought another frame to relace the one you’d broken, just as he heard you say you would. He was still mildly pissed off, but he figured he’d let you live for a little while longer.

At least you were… pretty. He mused to himself as he peered down at you. You had better manners then most of the other tourists who had been brave enough to stay at the house in the past, despite its history with the locals. Many had seen his shrine, and had been stupid enough to go poking around in places where they shouldn’t have, and he couldn’t have that.

Most people didn’t tend to make it past the first night.

Dabi snickers to himself as he backs away from you, allowing his body to turn to smoke once more, just as he hears the tell-tale sounds of your friends re-entering the house from the ground floor.

He wasn’t sure what had possessed you and your friends to stay at the house, but it had been a long time since he last had visitors. He thought he’d done a decent enough job scaring everyone away after the last batch of moronic tourists had come through, but clearly that wasn’t the case.

He’d watch you and your friends for a little while longer before he made himself known, he decided, as he left you alone to wake up slowly.

For now, he was content to sit back and observe. But he’d be out to play very soon.

-----

You wake up to the room smelling faintly of smoke.

You sit up with a groan and hold your head in your hands as you gain your bearings. You couldn’t even remember falling asleep, which was strange, considering you didn’t think you’d been out for very long. A quick glance at your phone confirms your suspicions, leaving you even more confused by what happened, until the sounds of your friend’s laughing downstairs catches your attention.

You stand up too quickly and stumble slightly as the light smell of smoke invades your nose again, making it crinkle.

What the hell? You didn’t remember the room being smokey before you passed out.

You look around the small room, trying to find the source of the smell, but your search turns up nothing, puzzling you further, until something the shop woman said earlier comes to mind:

Strange things started happening around the house; rooms would smell of smoke even though no one had been burning anything.

You fight down a laugh that tries to force its way out of your mouth. There was no way the house was haunted, even if the woman you spoke to earlier seemed convinced that it was. Obviously, the last owners of the house had suffered a terrible tragedy with the death of their eldest son, but that didn’t mean that the house itself was haunted. Even the oddities from the night before weren’t enough to truly convince you of that. You could chalk all of it up to you being overtired, which was probably exactly what it was.

The sounds of your friends from the first floor pulls you back to the present, and you make your way downstairs, suddenly grateful for the extra company. You enter the living room and are greeted with the sight of your friends gathered around the seated table in the middle of the room. They wave you over and you sit with them as they tell you about what they did while they were out.

“So, were you able to find a new frame?” your best friend asks you once there’s a lull in the conversation. You nod.

“Yeah, I got one. You’ll never believe what I found out about the house though.”

Your best friend quirks a brow at you, prompting you to continue, and you snicker as you rest your head in your hands. “I spoke to a local earlier. They seem to think this place is haunted.”

“Oh?” you friend asks you from across the table. “What brought them to that conclusion? Nothing weird has happened since we got here.”

“Well, I found out a little bit about the people who lived in the house previously.” You tell her, pointing upwards. “They had four kids, which is why all the rooms upstairs look like they belong to young children, but the eldest died in some sort of forest fire.” You frown slightly as the image of the white-haired boy crosses your mind. “I’m staying in his old room.”

“That’s fucked up.” Your other friend mutters, hugging her legs close to herself. “So what? He’s like… haunting the place or something?”

“I’m not sure.” You admit. “The person I spoke to didn’t say that specifically. Apparently, some weird things started happening after he died, and it drove the mom crazy or something to that effect. They moved out not long after that, but I don’t fully believe the place is haunted. It sounds like there was a lot of personal issues with the family, and that might have had something to do with it.”  

“You think the website might have disclosed something like that.” Your best friend interjects quietly, pulling out her phone. “That’s… a lot.”

“Apparently it happened over ten years ago, so it wasn’t recent.” You tell her with a frustrated sigh. “What I’m more interested in, is why the listing didn’t have any reviews on it. According to the person I talked to, the original family rents out the house, and has been doing so for a number of years. When I was booking it for us, the website made it seem like this place was brand new – that no one had stayed in it yet. But it sounds like that’s not the case.”

“Maybe it really is haunted.” Your friend grins, kicking you under the table. You’re about to swat her back, before your best friend’s quiet voice stops you.

“I think you guys need to take a look at this.” She tells you softly, beckoning you all over as she points down at her phone screen. She holds it up, and you can see she’s done a quick search of the house by address. You feel your heart sink as you read the first three web articles that come up in the search:

Three Tourists Found Dead In Japanese Home.

Swedish Couple Found Burnt In Japanese Mansion.

Fraternity Party Gone Wrong As Massive Fire Erupts in Backyard—

You can’t bring yourself to read the rest of the internet searches, and to your horror, it just keeps going. Your friends are just as mortified, if the looks on their faces have anything to say about it.

“What the fuck.” You friend breaths as she shoots you an almost accusatory look. “You didn’t know about this?”

“No! Of course not!” you snap back at her. “If I’d known this was H.H. Holmes house of horrors 2.0, I wouldn’t have booked this place!”

“Well, that explains why it’s so cheap.” Your other friend mutters under her breath, but you can’t bring yourself to care, still too in shock over what you’re reading to come up with a response.

“It’s not her fault!” your best friend cuts in, before either of your friends can say anything else. “If houses are on a booking website for anyone to look at, then they should’ve passed some kind of safety inspection beforehand. How this one was able to be listed with this kind of rap sheet is beyond me, but getting angry about it won’t solve anything.” She turns towards you. “I know you’ve already pre-paid for the house, but would you be open to finding another place to stay for the remainder of the trip?”

“Fine by me.” You mutter. “We’re going to have to stay here until something else comes up though. None of us have the funds on-hand to stay more than several days in a hotel.”

“That’s fine. We’ll figure something out.” You best friend soothes, squeezing you hand. “In the meantime, would anyone like to play a game? Getting overly stressed out about the house isn’t going to solve anything.”

“I’m good.” You mutter, standing up from the table. “Actually, I think I’m going to go lie down. Sorry guys.”

Your friends don’t protest as you leave the room, still in a daze from what you discovered about the house. Suddenly, you would’ve much rather preferred if it was haunted, because in actuality, it was so much worse than what you initially thought.

Screw spirits, this place was a modern-day mass murder site.

As you climb the stairs to the second floor, you’re suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of being watched. You glance down the hallway nervously from your perch on the last step, half expecting to see something waiting for you at the end of the corridor, only to be greeted with the sight of an empty walkway. Even with the reassurance that nothing seemed to be upstairs with you, you can’t shake the feeling that your every movement being monitored.

With bated breath, you slowly peek your head into each child-themed room as you silently make your way down the hall towards your room, but to your relief (and almost slight disappointment), you don’t see anything in the rooms aside from your friend’s luggage. Despite the reassurance, you still feel eyes following your every movement.

The feeling only gets worse as you near your room, and you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up as a sweltering heat suddenly manifests behind you. You don’t know what’s causing it, but any doubts you had about the house possibly being haunted, vanish as you quickly become aware of a presence that wasn’t there before:

There’s something standing behind you. You’re sure of it.

You don’t dare turn around to find out what it is. You fling the sliding door to your room open and slam it shut behind you in one fluid motion without turning around to see what’s behind you. You foolishly thought that you’d feel better once you were out of the hallway, but as soon as you take a step into the room, you’re suddenly aware of how hot the room is.

The still air is sweltering, almost burning – the heat is so intense, it nearly knocks you over as it causes a fresh sheen of sweat to glisten on your brow. You have no idea why the small bedroom is so warm when you know it wasn’t like this when you were in it last. The small thermostat mounted on the far wall only confuses you further, as it shows a cooler temperature then what you’re currently experiencing. At first you think maybe it’s broken, but after playing around with it for a few minutes, you determine that it’s working fine as you dab at your forehead.

Then you feel it again: something is watching you.

Before you can even think to turn around, the glaring blue eyes from the night before flash across your field of vision. You let out a startled yelp before you can stop yourself, as the angry turquoise irises pin you to the spot. Strangely enough, they don’t disappear as quickly as they did the first time, allowing you to get a better look at them.

They have to be the most infuriated set of eyes you’ve ever seen. They’re narrowed in clear distrust, and heavily lidded. The skin under them looks darkened and gnarled, as if it’s been charred, and yet, you can’t help but think they’re the most stunning shade of blue you’ve ever seen.

For some reason, you think you’ve seen them somewhere before.

Almost as if they can sense your shift in thought, the eyes blink, and then they’re gone, leaving you reeling in shock. This time, you know you’re not hallucinating. What you experienced was very much real.

At this point you’re so bewildered, you throw caution to the wind and scour the room, looking for the eyes again. You check under the bed, and in the closet, you even open up the window and stick your head outside to see if someone is out there, but your search turns up nothing, leaving you stumped. All the while, the feeling of being watched becomes increasingly worse, to the point you feel like you’re going to throw up if you stay in the bedroom one second longer.

The room is so suffocating, you end up changing in the bathroom next to the master bedroom, and the feeling is only marginally better as you do your nightly routine. By the time you finish, you’re dreading going back into the bedroom, afraid of what might be waiting for you inside. Your friends are still downstairs, and you contemplate grabbing one of them to help you sweep the room one last time before you try and go to sleep, but you don’t want to bother them, and you have the feeling that they don’t want to talk to you right now anyways.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you steel your nerves and force the door open again, half expecting to see someone standing directly on the other side of the door, but the room is void of any other human life aside from you.

The temperature has gone back down to normal; you note, as you close the door behind you again, and to your relief, you no longer feel like something is watching you. The room is exactly how it was when you woke up this morning, with no indicators that something was ever wrong in the first place.

I must be losing my mind. You think to yourself as you slowly sink back down onto your makeshift bed on the floor, but a small part of you doesn’t think that you are. You know for a fact something was behind you in the hallway. You’re not sure what it was, but you know something was there.

And you know that you weren’t imagining those eyes either.

As you lay on the pillows and wait for sleep to take you under, you glance at the dark butsudan in the corner. You don’t know what possesses you to say it, but you sigh under your breath as you turn over onto your side so you’re facing the dark cabinet.

“Good night Touya.”

You’re certainly not expecting a response, but you realize with a jolt how quiet the room has suddenly become. You can’t even hear the dull hum of the air conditioner anymore as you slowly look around the dark expanse of the room.

You re-direct your attention to the dark cabinet, when realization suddenly hits you full force. You slowly peel off your blanket and make your way towards the doors. Opening them gently, you’re greeted with the familiar sight of the photograph of the snowy-haired child, frozen forever in time.

You kneel down until you’re eye-level with the picture of the boy. Your eyes trace over his delicate features, taking in the fullness of his cheeks and the soft looking texture of his hair, but you’re hyper-focused on his eyes, more specifically, the particular shade of them. Sure enough, they’re the same piercing blue as the ones from earlier.

“What the fuck?” you breathe, as you lean in for a closer look. “What the hell is going on here—”

“More then you know.”

Your eyes widen impossibly at the sound of the raspy voice behind you. Before you can even think to scream for help, the feeling of immense fatigue washes over you like a tidal wave, rendering you senseless.

You feel your eyes grow heavy, and roll back against your will no matter how hard you struggle to keep them open. You feel yourself pitch back into unfamiliar arms, and the last thing you remember seeing before you pass out completely, is the metal glint of staples and the same burning eyes staring back down at you from the picture of the small boy.

-----

Dabi catches you before you can hit the floor.

He doesn’t bother concealing himself as he watches the consciousness leave your eyes before they dip closed, knowing that you saw him, or at least, what’s left of him.

He scoops you up and deposits you on his old bed, staring down at you for a moment longer then necessary, before leaving you alone to sleep off his influence.

He allows himself to fade out before reappearing in the gardens just outside the living room, where he can hear your friends talking amongst themselves without a care in the world – completely oblivious to his presence.

He snorts to himself. He’d fix that soon. Playtime was over, and he was getting bored.

A bored Dabi was a vicious one.

He’d wait until they went to bed before making himself known. It would give him time to figure out what he wanted to do with you in the meantime.

It was a little ridiculous, honestly. Normally he had no qualms about killing anyone who stepped foot in his house – the long list of people who he’d killed in and around the property was a testament to that – but he had some reservations with you.

You, the first person who had managed to capture his attention since he had become what he is now.

He’s not sure what exactly drew him to you. Maybe it was your kind disposition, maybe it was because he didn’t find you as annoying or clueless as your idiotic friends, or maybe it was because out of all of the people who had come through the house, you were the only one who had bothered to show some shred of respect to his burial shrine, or even bother to learn his past name. Regardless, he could say with certainty that ever since he turned into this, he had never taken in interest in someone as much as he had you.

He’s still not even sure what he is exactly. He’s not dead, though his outward appearance might suggest otherwise. His body – as damaged as it is – is still very much solid, and he still ages, though seemingly at a slower rate than before. He’s not the same thirteen-year-old boy as he was when he was incinerated. He’s older now, roughly in his mid to late twenties, just like he would’ve been if he were still alive. A demon is more accurate term to describe what he is; since he’s able to exist in the physical world, and incinerate his victims, turning them into little more than piles of ash. Ironic, the powers he came back with where the same ones that killed him in the first place.

Dabi glances down at his arms, taking in the sight of his scorched, mangled skin, held together by what little of his healthy skin remained with surgical staples, before chuckling to himself as he notes his macabre reflection in a passing window.

He didn’t always look like this: a walking corpse with an appetite for destruction and death. Ever since he burned up, this reality has been his life now. But he’s not really living, is he? He’s not dead, but he’s not exactly alive either. He exists somewhere in between both planes of Earth and Hell.

Touya was dead, but Dabi is very much alive, at least, he thinks so. All it took was for his past self to die – turned to ash and scattered into the wind. At least, that’s what his family thinks happened to him. In actuality, what really happened was far more gruesome. The memory almost makes him smile.

The fire was hot. He remembers that vividly. He hadn’t meant to set Sekoto on fire, he really hadn’t. He’d gone for a walk to escape from his hellish household for a while – The neglect from his father had been getting to him more than normal, so he had gone deep into the forest behind his house to escape for a little while. The air had been dry and the lighter he forgot he had in his pocket had fallen out, igniting the forest around him faster then he could put it out.

He should’ve died. This much he knows, but for some reason, he didn’t. Despite it all, he lived. He’s not exactly sure how much time passed from when the flames completely engulfed him to when he regained consciousness, but what he does know is that when he woke up again, he was this… thing. Half alive, half dead, and full of rage and pure fire.  

By the time he’d made it back to the house, it was apparent that quite some time had passed, and his family believed him to be dead. They had moved on without him, but the most horrifying realization of all was even though he was gone, nothing had changed in his absence.

His father was still a bastard, and his mother and siblings were still sheep as far as he was concerned.

And that simply wouldn’t do.

From then on, he terrorized the house. At first, he was content to simply scare his family; standing in the corners of his sibling’s rooms while they tried to sleep, purposely letting them see him in all of his nightmarish glory, to making things go bump in the night to keep his parents always on edge, never letting them sleep or know a moments peace.

When his father demanded they ignore what was happening (despite the terrified claims of his siblings), he kicked it up a notch.

He started set things on fire randomly, taking sick delight in the panicked screams of his mother and siblings, and the look of dread on his father’s face. He’d destroy the house while his family was out, carving twisted messages on the walls to let them know he was there, cackling as their collective will to try and ignore what was happening began to waver. Finally, when that got boring: he started physically lashing out.

That they couldn’t ignore.

He often targeted his youngest brother, Shoto. Not only because he was his father’s favourite (and his replacement), but because he often made it too easy for him.

When he had gouged deep, red lines into his brother’s back for the umpteenth time, it had sent his mother over the edge. She broke – either from the stress caused by his father and her terrified children, or the lack of sleep – and had scalded Shoto’s face, burning him to the point it couldn’t be hidden, much to his glee.

She was carted off to an institution shortly afterwards, and his father had packed up his siblings and left the house not long after that, never to return.

The house had sat vacant for a while, leaving him to roam about its halls freely, and even though people occasionally came to see the mansion from time to time with the intention of buying it, they never ended up staying long, as he’d always find a way to chase them off, further souring the manor’s reputation.

For a long time, no one had come to the house, and he had eventually drifted off to sleep in the welcoming darkness, only to be awoken again after an uncertain amount of time by random strangers in his house. From them, he discovered when his father hadn’t been able to sell the estate due to its less than stellar reputation, he had decided to rent it out as a guest house in an attempt to bury the truth about what happened all those years ago.

The thought infuriated him.

His father might have been content to try and forget about him, but Dabi was more spiteful then Touya had ever been. Dabi always remembered and never forgave.

If he couldn’t take his rage out directly on his father… then the cannon folder he sent willingly into the house would have to do.

From then on, he made it his personal mission to burn everything and everyone who set foot in the house, if only so word could get back to his father to let him know that he was still here and still pissed.

He’s not sure how the old man does it, but every time he ends up killing someone who’s stupid enough to rent out the house despite its reputation, his father is somehow able to cover it up. He’s killed well over thirty people at this point (though he stopped counting after thirty-two), and yet they still keep coming – though less frequently than before.

Perhaps it’s his old man’s way of atoning: by sending unaware people into the house so he can take his wrath out on them instead of him. There’s no way his father doesn’t know it’s him by now. He simply doesn’t want to face the monster he created, and is more then content to let other people suffer in his place instead. He always was a coward like that.

His good for nothing father… the reason he’s like this in the first place—

Dabi hisses irritably to himself. Best not to think about him. It only made him even more homicidal than he already was.

He allows himself to turn to smoke once more, and mist back into the house so he can keep a closer eye on your friends. He watches as they head off to bed, stalking them from the shadows as they settle down in his siblings’ old rooms for the night, but there would be no sleeping for them tonight, he would make sure of that.

Tonight, he wanted to have a little fun – to shatter the fragile illusion of peace they had created.

Once he’s sure that your friends are mostly asleep, he slithers into the room of the friend who had been so rude to you earlier. He looms over her prone from with a sick grin plastered across his face.

Time to let them know they weren’t alone in the house as they thought.

-----

You wake to the sound of blood-curdling screams echoing from down the hall.

It takes your sleep-addled brain a moment to realize that it’s coming from the room your friend claimed as her own, but the moment you do, you’re up and all but running down the hall to the room as her terrified screams get louder and louder.

You call out her name desperately as you stumble into the dark room, flicking on the light as your tired eyes find her thrashing form hopelessly tangled in the sheets on the twin sized mattress. You rip the blankets off of her, calling her name, only to realize her eyes are still tightly shut, but her hands are grabbing at her back, as if she’s in pain.

You shake her awake violently and her eyes fly open just as your other friends rush into the room behind you. Your friend’s mouth twists open into another scream as she grasps at her back, wailing as she begins to sob unconsolably.  

“The man! The man! Did you see him?” She wails as she writhes on the mattress, clawing at the back of her sleep shirt.

“What man? What are you talking about?” You ask her as you desperately try to calm her down while she continues to sob.

“How can you not see him?” she cries unconsolably. “He was there, he was right there!” she points to the spot where you’re currently kneeling, still in tears. You look around the small space, but aside from you and your friends, there’s no one else in the room with you. You shoot a bewildered look at your friends who are still crowding the door frame, and they return the look.

“Sweetheart, there’s no one else here.” Your best friend tries to sooth her as she slowly makes her way over to where you’re sitting, and kneels down beside you at the foot of the bed. “You just had a nightmare, that’s all.”

“No, he was real, he was there, I saw him!” your friend bursts into a fresh wave of tears as she curls into a ball. “He was there, just standing over me with that horrible grin on his face. Oh god, his face!”

“What did he look like?” you press. “No one else has come in or out of the house aside from us! We would’ve noticed if someone else was here!” The words sound hollow, even to you. You can’t help but think of the rough voice you heard earlier before you passed out, and for some reason the unsettling blue eyes from the last two days haunt your thoughts.

Your fears are only confirmed as your friend manages to choke out: “He had burns all over his face and arms… and his eyes… they were so blue… so, so blue.”

You’re frozen in place, unable to speak, as your friend finally manages to pull her sleep shirt up, exposing her back. “That’s not all he did… he—he clawed me. He clawed my back. It hurts so fucking bad…”

You peer at her back and feel faint as you take in the sight of five angry red lines running from the top of her back, all the way down to the end of her ribs. The cuts are deep, and some of the marks are slowly oozing blood, as your friend continues to cry.

“What the fuck.” You hear your other friend breathe, as she finally makes her way over so she can get a closer look at the marks. “Are… are you sure you didn’t just scratch yourself in your sleep?”

“There’s no way she did this to herself.” You mutter as you touch the worst of the marks, feeling your friend flinch under your touch, and muttering a quiet apology to her. “They’re too deep to be self-inflicted. She would’ve woken herself up. Something did this to her.”

“What then?” your other friend groans as you retract your hand and pull your still sobbing friend’s shirt back down.

“I don’t know!” you snap. “A fucking ghost from the sounds of it.”

“It was the man… the burned man.” Your friend mumbles as her tears finally begin to slow. “He’s real, he was there, I saw him!”

“Well, whatever he is, he’s not here now.” you mutter, wearily looking around the room. “C’mon. We gotta get you cleaned up. You can sleep with one of us, we’ll bring your stuff with you.”

“I’m not sleeping in your room. Not with that thing in there.” Your friend whimpers as your best friend helps her up slowly.

She means the butsudan. You don’t blame her for that one. It is pretty unsettling in the dark.

“She can sleep with me.” Your best friend offers gently as she helps your friend to stand. She gives you and your other friend a pointed look as she slowly ushers your still crying friend out of the room. “Keep an eye out for anything strange. If what she’s saying is true, then we might not be alone in the house.”

“Yeah, sure.” Your friend mutters sullenly beside you as both girls leave the room to go back to your best friend’s room. As soon as they’re out of sight she gives you a pointed look. “Still think this place isn’t haunted?”

“I don’t know.” You breathe quietly, as you look around the room one last time. “I seriously don’t know.”

None of you end up sleeping through the night.

The incident with your friend set you all on edge, the slightest sounds in the house would wake you up in a panic, looking around for some unseen intruder – only to see nothing, but still feel like there were eyes watching you from somewhere, though you couldn’t pin point where from.

Your friends didn’t fair much better either, and by the time the first rays of morning sun peaked through the cracks in the blinds, you were already up and so were they.

Breakfast is a quiet affaire. None of you slept much after your friend was attacked, and the bags residing under all of your eyes are telling. Your friend barely says two words the whole time, absentmindedly stirring her tea while lightly touching her back. Your best friend had done her best to clean up the wounds and bandage it, but you could tell it was still bothering her.

You don’t even know what to say to her. You don’t know what to say to any of your friends. Do you tell them about what’s been happening to you the last several days? Do you stay silent in order not to worry them any further? You don’t know what to do.

Thankfully, you don’t have to say anything, because your best friend breaks the silence.

“I think we need to discuss what happened last night.” She says quietly but firmly. She gestures to your still silent friend. “Something attacked her last night. I don’t know what exactly, but I don’t think this place is safe to stay in anymore. We were deceived and lied to, and I think it’s best if we find another place to spend the rest of our trip.”

“I agree. You other friend mutters next to you. “I didn’t sleep at all last night. I kept hearing you guys whispering and playing on your phones all night long.”

Your brows furrow as you turn to her. “I wasn’t on my phone, and I sure as hell wasn’t whispering to anyone last night, I was by myself.”

She glances back at you, almost as if she doesn’t believe you, before she sends a questioning look at your best friend who also shakes her head, gesturing between her and you friend who has yet to say a word. “We weren’t on our phones either. We were cuddling the whole night, but we weren’t talking.”

“Are you sure?” you friend presses harshly. “I kept hearing things last night. It didn’t really sound like any of you, but it was really distorted and muffled so I couldn’t be sure. I thought you playing on your phones or something.”

“After what happened, no. I wanted to be as alert as possible.” You tell her sincerely. “I don’t think any of us slept after that.”

“What the hell…” you friend mutters, rubbing at her temples. “I definitely heard voices last night. I don’t know what they were saying, but they didn’t seem happy—“

A sudden sound of shattering glass from upstairs stops what she was saying, causing all four of you to stop and look at each other with wide eyes. Your friend who was clawed suddenly bursts into tears, and hugs her knees to her chest. “Fuck this, I don’t like it here! I wanna leave!”

“We will!” you assure her as you slowly get up from your chair. “Screw this place. We’ll stay in a hotel if we have to, and then we can figure something else out from there.”

“Where are you going?” you best friend asks as you slowly make your way towards the stairs.

“We have to get our things. We can’t just ditch everything here; our passports are upstairs.” You try to reason with her as she follows you to the base of the stairs. “You three wait down here, I’ll go see what that sound was and I’ll get our things together.”

Your best friend looks like she’s about to offer to come with you, but you shake your head before she can, and purposely lower your voice as she comes closer to you.

“I think it’s better if you stay down here and keep them calm.” You murmur to her as you quietly admit; “Some weird things have been happening to me since we came here too, but I haven’t been physically attacked. It’s probably better if only one of us goes. If I need you. I’ll call.”

Your best friend opens her mouth like she’s going to argue with you, but the look you give her makes her relent. She sighs. “I’ll give you five minutes to grab the important stuff, then we gotta go. I don’t like the feeling I’m getting from this place now… it’s… oppressive.”

You know what she means, but you don’t comment on it. Instead, you slowly make your way up the wooden steps and onto the second floor.

It’s eerily silent. Too quiet for it to be considered normal, especially after hearing something breaking. Despite how still the upstairs floor appears to be, the air is charged, almost electric with how much energy is coursing through the air around you. Your best friend was right: it is oppressive up here, more so now than before, and you don’t like the shift in energy.

Holding your breath, you creep through the hallway towards the bathroom, the only place you can think of that has glass in it. You don’t stop to peer into each of the bedrooms – too scared of what you might be staring back at you – until you’re finally in front of the bathroom door. You push it open gingerly, only to gasp at what awaits you inside.

The large mirror that was previously mounted above the vanity is cracked beyond repair. Large pieces of glass have fallen into the sink, while others are scattered around the counter or on the floor near it. It almost looks like someone punched the glass by how it’s shattered, but you don’t see how that’s possible.

Forgetting your pervious hesitation, you make your way into the bathroom to investigate the damage. You squat down and pick up a large piece of glass near you as you hold it up to your face, and that’s when you see it…

No, not it. Him.

Towering behind you is a man. He’s dressed in tattered black clothing from head to toe, save for an ash-stained white t-shirt. His inky black spikes give him the impression of being covered in soot, or having freshly walked out of some dark abyss, but what stands out most to you about his startling appearance, are the scars.

He’s covered in gnarled, wine-tainted skin, from under his eyes, to his lower jaw, and down his neck from what you’re able to see peeking out from underneath his clothes. The damaged skin is angry and inflamed, held onto what remains of his pale, healthy skin by jarring surgical staples. The silver rings look like they were harshly dug into his mottled skin in a futile attempt to keep him together, and you can’t help but wonder if they hurt him, seeing how many he has decorating his patchwork skin.

You gasp as you whip yourself around on your hunches, tossing the broken piece of mirror away from you in your panic, as you scoot backwards until your back hits the opposite wall. Bits of stray glass dig into your palms but you don’t dare take your eyes off the stranger.

He grins wickedly at your terror – showcasing white teeth too sharp to be considered normal – as your eyes slowly make their way up his body to rest on his. Your breath hitches as you find yourself staring up into electric blue eyes – the very same ones that had been haunting you since you arrived.

You open your mouth to scream – whether for help, or to warn your friends of the man – before the disturbing smile slips off the man’s face momentarily as he growls at you, “Quiet.”

You feel lightheaded as you hear him speak for the first time. You recognize his voice too. It was the same voice from before you suddenly passed out yesterday. Just how long had he been in the house with you and your friends? Who was he?

Despite your mounting panic, you nod slowly, not wanting to piss the strange man off further, and he rewards you with a small nod, the unnerving smile returning to his face as he stares you down.

He holds a finger up to his two-toned lips. “Shh.” He tells you through a grin. “Not a sound, or I’ll burn this fucking house to the ground with you and your friends in it.”

You shake your head frantically, torn between wanting to beg him to spare your friends and you, but not wanting him to act on his promise. Once he’s content you’re not going to scream, he straightens up slightly and takes a slow step towards you, his massive black combat boots crunching the glass underneath it ominously, until he’s directly in front of your trembling form.

He bends down so you’re eye-level with each other and reaches down with one freakishly warm hand, tilting your chin up so you’re looking him directly in his blazing azure irises. “Do you know who I am?”

You shake your head as much as you can without him digging his fingers into your skin.

He snorts. “Figures. Why don’t you take a closer look? You’ve seen me before.”

You have no idea what he means, but you hesitantly looking up into his face again. You scan it closely, all the while the man doesn’t remove his fingers from under your chin, keeping your head in place as he allows you to examine him. Now that you have a closer look at him, you can see three studs on one side of his nose and several other cartilage piercings lining his burnt ears, as well as the staples holding the scorched skin under his eyes together and the burns lining his lower jaw.

The longer you gaze at him, the more you start to realize that he’s right, you have seen him before. He’s older now, his hair is onyx instead of white, and his features have changed drastically, but his eyes… his eyes haven’t changed from the old photo of him in his shrine—

“Touya.” You breath, causing a smirk to grace the man’s scarred lips.

“There you go.” He rumbles, tapping your cheek once before straightening back up, finally releasing you from his scorching grip.

“How?” you whisper, as you reach up to touch your skin., still feeling the searing imprints of where his fingers were on you. “You… you’re dead… you died—”

“No.” the scarred man shakes his head. “Touya died, but Dabi is still very much alive.”

The bathroom suddenly heats up all around you like a sauna, making you flinch at the sudden change in temperature. You peer at him, taking in his deranged appearance. “You’re not human… are you?”

Dabi only grins wider. “No.”

“Then what are you?” you whisper, dreading the answer, but needing to know.

The raven-haired man’s smile pulls at the staples near his mouth. He opens his mouth to answer you, only to be interrupted by the sounds of frantic pounding on the bathroom door.

“Are you in there?” you hear you best friend call out from the other side of the door. “You’re taking way too long! What are you doing?”

“No! Don’t come in! He’s in here” you scream before realizing your mistake. You slap your hand over your mouth, eyes like saucers, as a threatening snarl rips its way out of Touya—no, Dabi’s throat, as he turns to face the door.

“What are you talking about? Who’s in there?” your best friend yells back. You watch helplessly as the doorknob shakes. “Unlock the door!”

Dabi watches the doorknob rattle some more, before casting a careless look over his shoulder at you. “Your friends are pretty annoying.” He rasps, eyes suddenly cold as ice. “I think I’ve tolerated them enough. You’re lucky I view you differently. Otherwise, you’d end up the same as what they’re going to be.”

“Stop it! What do you mean? What are you going to do to them?” You sob, completely frozen in your terror, but to your horror he only smirks as one of his scarred hands suddenly erupts into bright blue flames.

Your tears dry in your eyes as you watch the azure flames lick up his flesh and tattered clothing. The cries of your best friend, and the pounding on the door fade away into background noise as your brain struggles to make sense of what you’re seeing.

“You wanna know what I am?” Dabi rumbles, eyes glinting meanly as he takes in your shaking form. “Here’s your chance.”

“No don’t hurt them!” you wail, as you bolt to your feet. You leap towards him in a desperate attempt to stop him, only to collide into the sink. You look around the small bathroom frantically, but the man—no, the demon is gone. You don’t get to ponder how that’s possible, before you hear a scream from other side of the door. You instantly recognize the cry belonging to your best friend, and you feel your blood turn to ice in your veins at her panicked screams because she sounds absolutely terrified.

You fling yourself towards the door and grasp the handle, jiggling it frantically, before you realize you’re locked in the bathroom from the outside. You pound on the bathroom door, calling out for your best friend to run, but your voice is drowned out by the sound of roaring flames from outside of the door. You feel the wood heat up to insane levels under your palms, and it takes you a moment to realize you can’t hear your best friend outside the door any more.

You quickly devolve into hysterical sobs, sinking to the bathroom floor, as you slow, methodical foot-steps walk past the door and down the stairs. You swear you hear the faint screams of your two other friends’ downstairs, but they fall silent all too soon as well.

You don’t know how long you’re stuck in the bathroom for, but eventually, you hear a click from the bathroom handle, signaling that the door had somehow unlocked itself. You slowly push yourself to your feet and shakily open the door, only to let out a blood-curling scream at the sight that awaits you out in the hall.

The hallway is a mess. The walls are blackened, and look like they’ve been ravaged by fire. The air is thick and smoky, making you gag on the ash that floats through the air like gray snow, but the true horror is what lies just outside the bathroom door.

There is a corpse a foot away from the bathroom and you already know it’s your best friend as you take in what’s left of her. She’s burnt so badly that you can barely make out any distinguishable features, much to your horror, but you know it’s her. You rip your eyes away from her as you reach violently – you can’t bring yourself to look at her any longer otherwise you’ll lose what little of your sanity remains. For some reason you suddenly remember what she told you about the other people who’d stayed in the house before you and your friends had arrived – how they had met violent, fiery ends themselves – and you know she befell the same fate as them.

You hadn’t understood how it had been possible at the time. Now you understood all too well.

You don’t even have time to properly morn her, before it occurs to you that you left your other friends’ downstairs, and you don’t know where they are. You choke broken apologies to your dear friend as you stagger away from her, knowing there isn’t anything you can do for her now, and force your legs to descend the stairs, dreading what awaits you on the lower level of the house.

The downstairs hasn’t fared much better. The air is stagnant and a thick haze of smoke rolls overhead, followed by the potent smell of burnt flesh. The smell gets worse the closer you come to the kitchen, and a fresh wave of tears stings your eyes as you peer overtop of the counter, only to come face to face with two other freshly charred corpses on the other side of it. Just like that, any hope you had of your other friends making it out of the house are shattered, and you know that your friends are no more.

Your legs give out, and you hit the refrigerator hard as you crumple onto the floor. You whimper and shake as you sob into your palms, barely able to process what the hell happened to your friends. The terrifying thing is, you know what happened – or rather – who happened, and you don’t know what he is or where he is, and that thought petrifies you.

Almost as if he can sense your thoughts; the air around you heats up to concerning levels, and you know the scarred man is standing directly in front of you. You don’t bother looking up, keeping your face buried in your hands as you sob. You don’t see much of a point facing him, you already know what he’s going to do to you. You wait for the searing blue flames he’d shown you in the bathroom to tear you apart, much like it did your friends, but blistering heat never comes.

Instead, you hear the man—Touya, Dabi—you’re not particularly sure what to call him now – huff, before two heated hands slide under your arms and pull you into a standing position much to your protest. You try and push him away, but he only tightens his grip on you as you try and bat at him through your tears.

“You—you killed them.” you sob as you try and dislodge his hold on you. “Why? Why Touya? What did they ever do to you?”

“They were irritating me. They had to go.” The dark-haired man states plainly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Surely you didn’t think that your friend was exaggerating when she showed you my house’s history. I don’t like unwelcome guests. Especially annoying ones.”

“Oh god you killed all those people.” You cry as your mind flashes back to the extensive history your best friend had shown you of the horrid deaths that had occurred on and around the property. You steel your nerves best you can before you dare to ask your next question: “So, you’re going to do the same to me aren’t you?”

Dabi falls silent at your question, and you feel his hold on you shift slightly as his thumbs rub circles onto your arms in what you assume is a feeble attempt at comfort. “No.”

“No?” you echo incredulously through your tears. “What do you mean, no? You had no problems murdering my friends. What makes me any different?”

“I don’t know.” Dabi hums and you see he wears a thoughtful expression on his scarred face as e takes you in. “I don’t know what makes you different from the rest, but you are.”

You don’t bother hiding the shudder that makes it’s way up your spine at his choice of words. You don’t like what he’s implying, and your stomach twists itself into knots when he utters his next words:

“It’s decided. I’m going to keep you. You’re mine.”

You shake your head frantically. “No.”

Dabi smirks meanly. “You don’t have a choice.”

“I don’t belong to you. I’m not going anywhere with you.” You resume your desperate attempt to get out of his bruising hold on you. “Let go of me right now.”

“I don’t think so.” Dabi hisses, smoke pouring out of his mouth, halting your struggle. Your eyes widen impossibly, and the unshed tears in your eyes dry, as you watch the man in front of you start to change before your very eyes.

His haunting blue eyes grow even brighter, and you watch with horror as the part of his chest that isn’t covered by his ash-stained shirt starts to glow a frightening blue – almost as if he’s being lit up from inside his body like some sort of demonic jack-o-lantern. You can visibly see heat-waves vibrate the air around you, as his grip on you becomes white hot, to the point that you can feel your skin of your arms being burned into the shape of his hands. Smoke hisses out of the seams in his face as the pyromaniac pins you to the wall behind you, and suddenly all you see is white.

For a horrible second you think you’ve died – incinerated to nothing but ash – until you blink and realize the dark figure before you is no more. Instead, you find yourself staring at a white-haired man, dressed in a pale, flowing robe, which you faintly recognize as a traditional burial shroud.

For a second, you allow yourself to forget about the atrocities he’s committed. For a brief moment, he is simply Touya again; a small boy who lived and died all too soon. You don’t know how or why he came back as the creature that stands before you, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Touya is dead. All that remains is a damaged husk who wears what’s left of his face.

“What the hell?” you gasp as Dabi leans in close to you, grinning manically as he allows you to get a good look at him. It’s only then that you realize the burns on his face have somehow gotten worse, as well as the ones that mar the visible parts of his body from what you can see under his clothes.

“Do ya get it now?” he rasps, as his eyes adopt a hooded look. “I have powers far beyond what you can imagine. You can’t hope to escape from me, so you might as well accept it and submit to me willingly.”

“I don’t—” whatever you were about to say is cut off as the demon roughly smashes his lips onto yours, effectively silencing you, as he pulls you in.

You’re so disorientated all you can do is let him kiss you. The smell of sulfur that persistently clings to him invades your nose and makes you light-headed. You almost loose your fading grasp of what little remains of your sanity, until the faint smell of burnt meat brings you back to the depressing reality of your situation.

Your friends are dead. Killed by this demon’s wrathful flames. You can’t let him do the same to you. You have to get out of here.

Spurred by pure adrenaline, you kiss him back. You feel Dabi reflexively stiffen at your sudden eagerness, before he lets out a pleased nose at the action. His grip lessens on your arms, and you take your chance.

You wrench your arms out of his abnormally warm hands and shove him back from you. Dabi grunts and his eyes narrow dangerously at you as he registers what happened.

“Don’t you dare—” he starts, but you don’t let him finish his sentence. You bolt to the nearest exit which happens to be the side door that leads out into the backyard. You throw it open and hit the ground running, making a beeline towards the back of the property where the beginning of Sekoto forest starts. You figure if you can get to the woods, you’ll be able to hide and eventually find your way to the surrounding town so you can get help. To your horror, the outside world is pitch black, signaling night has fallen. Just how much time had passed since you’d first encountered the demon--?

A rumbling sound followed by an intense blast of heat and the deafening roar of fire has you turning back towards the mansion, only to scream in horror as you watch it erupt into an inferno of bright blue flames.

You fall backwards just on the edge of Sekoto forest as you watch as the manor is consumed by the blaze, only for your eyes to widen in pure fear as a figure emerges from the flames.

Dabi strolls out of the fire unscathed as if he’s taking a leisurely stroll somewhere, and not walking out of hell itself. His fiery blue irises find your frightened ones, and a slow grin spreads itself across his two-toned lips.

“That was dumb.” He admonishes you. “Do you really think you can escape from me? Just give up now and save yourself the trouble.”

You push yourself back up from off the ground. “No, I’m not going anywhere with you. If you want to take me, you’ll have to kill me first.”

His grin flickers slightly, and an unkind glint enters his eyes as he regards you cooly. “That can be arranged.” He rumbles low in his throat as he stalks towards you, moving faster then you thought possible.

You let out a yelp and book it into the dark woods behind you, running away from the inferno that was once a beautiful home, away from your friends, and away from the demon behind it all.

You hear him laugh once, a curt, sharp noise, as you flee into the dense underbrush.

“Run, little mouse.” He calls after you mockingly. “I will catch you, and once I do, you’re mine.”

You hope he won’t make good on that promise.

-----

Which brings you back to the predicament you currently find yourself in.

You’re still huddled behind the tree, contemplating what to do as you hear Dabi’s raspy voice continue to slowly count down from ten a few feet away from your hiding spot.

At some point you believe he may have set the forest on fire behind him when he entered in an attempt to smoke you out, because the ominous blue glow of his flames seems to be encroaching on your location from all sides, and the smoke in the air is getting progressively thicker, making it harder and harder to breathe.

You have no idea how long you’ve been dodging Dabi in the forest for, but dawn looks no closer to arriving then it did when you first escaped from the house. You don’t bother concealing your sobs as you cry freely, not knowing what to do.

You were trapped. You didn’t see a way out. He had you cornered on all sides, boxing you in.

He had lived up to his promise after all.

You glance up at the canopy of branches above your head, hoping to catch one last look at the stars, but you’re so far into the woods embrace, you can’t see their tiny lights.

You force a watery smile on your lips as you prepare to step out from behind the tree and face the pale haired demon.

At least you’d had a little bit of fun during the first part of your trip. You just wish your friends hadn’t had to die such pointless, painful deaths. They hadn’t deserved that.

You breathe in slowly and take a step out to the side, ready to face Dabi head-on in one last show of defiance, only to realize you don’t hear him counting anymore.

You whip your head around the tree to the spot you’d last heard him, only to discover he’s not there.

Your blood turns to ice in your veins as you recall how quickly he was able to move from one place to another, seemingly vanishing before your eyes, only to reappear in a completely different spot. It’s even more terrifying out in the total darkness of the forest.

The smell of sulfur enters your nose once more, and you turn back around, only to find yourself staring into burning turquoise eyes, surrounded by wine-tinted skin and surgical staples.

You don’t even have time to scream before a searing hand wraps itself around your throat, pinning your back to the tree as you gasp, and claw frantically at the charred skin of his forearm.  

“Found you.” Dabi hisses as he leans in, his eyes mocking as he scolds you. “Did you really think you’d be able to escape from me? Sekoto Peak was my playground when I was alive. I know this forest like the back of my hand. You couldn’t possibly hope to escape.”

“G-go to hell.” You sputter out, but he only throws his head back to laugh at your weak insult.

“Been there, done that. Hell doesn’t want me, Doll. They sent me back so I could fuck with my bastard of a father, and the weak, pathetic people he sends to my damn home.”

“So… all those people you killed… and my friends and me.” You wheeze, giving up at trying to dislodge his grip from your throat. What was the point anyways?

Something in his rage filled eyes softens as he regards you quietly. His free hand reaches up to trace one of your cheeks absentmindedly.

“No.” Dabi mutters, almost to himself. “Not you. I don’t know what makes you so different than the others that came before you, but I suppose I have an eternity to figure it out.”

A lone tear rolls down your cheek at his words, and he swipes it away before lessening his grip on your throat slightly so he can lean in to kiss you again.

This time, the kiss isn’t as rough or demanding as the first one It’s not tender, or sweet, but you can tell that for the first time in his life, he’s trying to be gentle. In his own warped way.

When he pulls back, he looks away from you to something behind him. You follow his gaze, and you feel your heart fall into the pit of your stomach as you see a black void materialize itself behind him out of thin air.

You don’t bother asking what it is. You already know.

You start to tremble violently. Dabi spares you an unreadable look as his scorched hand trails down your arm to grasp you hand tightly, his thumb warming circles on the back of your hand.

“You don’t need anyone else.” He tells you as he pulls away from you, not letting go of you hand. “I’ll take care of you from now on. You belong to me, I’ll be the only one you need. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Please don’t do this.” You beg him one more time. Trying to reach out to any remanent of Touya that remained locked away inside of the demon. “You don’t have to do this Touya.”

The white-haired man freezes slightly and spares you a singular glance over his shoulder, and it tells you all you need to know:

Touya is gone. He had been for a long time. All that remains is Dabi, and all he knows how to do is take. There will be no sympathy from him.

“Let’s go home.” He tells you quietly, as he pulls you into the dark void after him.

You regret the day you found that god-forsaken listing.

Breaking News: House Of Horrors Home Burns To The Ground.

Police have deemed blaze suspicious and are still looking for the cause of fire.

Four tourists were staying in the house at the time of arson. All woman in their twenties. So far three bodies have been found and identified. Police are still looking for the fourth woman.

If you have any information about the fire or the whereabouts of the missing woman, please call the non-emergency service number provided below.

[cjaus]

what to do if your manipulative boss doesn't respect you, step one:

[negotiumcrucis]

When Joe’s bag gave way, spilling all its contents on the corridor floor, it took every ounce of willpower not to fall on his knees and weep like a child. Of course, Hana had finally settled down in her carrier, and she continued to sleep despite the crash of a half dozen cans of baby formula hitting the carpet, so Joe merely blinked back unshed tears and took a deep breath, finding his key and unlocking his flat. He left the door ajar as he carefully put Hana’s carrier on the sofa and quickly went back to retrieve the scattered cans.

After the tragic passing of his omega sibling, alpha Joe got custody of his newborn niece. Unfortunately, things weren’t progressing as well as they should and now Joe has found himself in dire need of a wet nurse.

--

a heart like mine a slow burn JoeNicky omegaverse AU

[aftgficrec]

Hi! Thanks so much for doing this i have wanting to catch you open for so long!! How are you? I hope you have a good day!

I was wondering if there were any fics focused on neil and mary/neil and Nathan? Like his emotions, thoughts, etc, and the things he went through bcs of them/how they still affect him even now? Thank you so much in advance!

Our poor traumatized Neil! Yes, there is much to explore on this topic. -A

most previous asks lead to more recs:

angsty bad days for Neil here

Neil with ptsd here

more Neil with DID here

Neil cries, comforted by Andrew/foxes here

Neil says ‘it’s fine I’ve had worse’ here

Neil’s scars 2 here

scars and healing here

Neil goes to therapy here 

Neil attempts suicide here

‘You're Wonderful’ here

‘Hold My Hand?,’ ‘I'll Still Solve You,’ and ‘Fear (but not of you)’ here

‘The Books of Baltimore’ series: ‘Ghost of You’ here, ‘Run to You’ here

‘the upswing’ (completed), ‘please (don't bite),’ ‘Will you love me for who I am…’ ‘To be safe,’ ‘Safe with him,’ and ‘i called your name ‘til the fever broke’ here 

‘my friends and I…,’ ‘Pasts Intertwined,’ ‘My Stomach is a Wasteland,’ ‘side effects may vary’ ‘Bad Apple,’ and ‘You Are So Much More Than Your Father's Son’ here 

‘Medicated rabbits don't run as fast’ here

‘Broken Symmetries’ and ‘No More Fucks To Give’ (updated) here

‘24 Floors’ here

‘A Quiet Little Seedling,’ ‘If I Knew You,’ and ‘Step By Step’ here

‘slow down (you crazy child),’ ‘Make a Home’ (updated), and ‘make me a promise’ here

‘Dreamed in red’ here

‘...Just Us, and Y(our) Friend Kevin’ here 

‘Nothing Mattered Until You’ here (jeanneil)

amputation or permanent leg damage:

Neil's legs (the fucked up edition) here and here

Neil dies/amputations in Baltimore here

‘La jetée n'est plus loin’ here

‘I’m More Than This Body of Mine’ here (completed)

‘Next to You’ here

‘Rare pair hell series’ part 9 here

‘Live for you / Stay for me’ here 

‘“I pick up daddies at the playground.”’ here

‘lie to me (for i do not wish to live the truth)’ here

‘White Hands’ and ‘If Neil, Then Fox’ here

‘(don’t fear) the reaper’ here

‘Under the kitchen lights…’ here

‘Point Nemo’ here

‘Lifelines’ here

‘does the dog die at the end’ here

you may also like:

Neil runs after joining the foxes 2 here

andreil on the run from the mafia here

soulmates who feel each other's pain here

Mary/Nathan's people come back here

Mary tries to take Neil from the foxes here

Neil kills Nathan here

tell me where i came from, what i will always be by geeseproblems [Rated G, 317 Words, Complete, 2021]

She lives in his body like no other.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: canonical character death

Down with Something by pawnofkings [Rated T, 3051 Words, Complete, 2021]

Neil is sick, and he does his best to keep anyone from finding that out. He collapses in the middle of practice.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

you asked for this by Anonymous [Rated M, 790 Words, Complete, 2022, Locked]

Neil Josten and guilt

tw: implied major character death, tw: child abuse, tw: emotional abuse, tw: blood, tw: negative self talk

A reflection or a lie by ShadowDolphin [Rated G, 839 Words, Complete, 2022]

Sixteen year old Neil Josten has an identity crisis cuz depersonalization is a wonderful thing that exists and he doesn't feel real

tw: implied/referenced child abuse

i know you'll take me with you by lil_macaroon [Rated T, 6129 Words, Complete, AFTG Mixtape Exchange 2023]

Neil has feelings that make him want to run. The only thing that keeps him at Palmetto State, hell, what keeps him in South Carolina, is the promise he made when Andrew asked him to stay three years ago. Unable to run, it all keeps building within him until one day, Andrew puts him in the car, and they go.

keep your head above the water (I can’t) by drewdrop44 [Rated T, 1156 Words, Complete, 2022]

The feeling of water moving over his head, swallowing him whole. Neil woke with a scream trapped in his mouth.

tw: drowning, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: violence, tw: nightmares 

It's a punch and a kiss, I'm trying to remember by beckdarkthrone [Not Rated, 18604 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2024]

He has a hold on himself as Neil, as Abram, as Nathaniel.. Until he doesn't.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: dissociative disorder, tw: blood, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: internalized homphobia

NB: this author has a podcast with aftg-centric episodes; check out ‘So You Think You Like’ on spotify.

We're all Monsters Here by serene_chaos [Not Rated, 892 Words, Complete, 2022]

"I am part of the slaughter house. I feel that makes me more of a monster than you.” “Don’t look at me to absolve you.” Andrew flicks his cigarette towards Neil. Sparks landing inches from Neil’s hand. OR Neil doesn't think Andrew is a monster, but thinks he might be.

tw: childhood trauma, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture

Who Am I to You? by serene_chaos [Rated M, 91907 Words, Incomplete, Updated April 2024]

Neil Josten was born with violence in his blood and raised as a weapon to hide in plain sight. And then he finds himself surrounded by foxes and his usual survival tactics ruined by a five foot goalie. The whole mobster mafia problem isn’t helping either. -- Cue a Neil who cares a little less, a past raven, and potentially a little something more to live for.

tw: attempted rape, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: murder, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: attempted nonconsensual drug use, tw: panic attacks, tw: flashbacks, tw: homophobia, tw: alcohol abuse/alcoholism, tw: animal abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm 

you will always be my favorite form of loving by something_boring [Rated T, 15831 Words, Complete, 2024]

5 times the Foxes tried to take care of Neil and 1 time they didn't have to.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: panic attacks, tw: nightmares, tw: alcohol abuse, tw: blood, tw: vomit, tw: violence, tw: bullying

pain our brain has made by pipedreamaddy [Rated M, 16052 Words, Incomplete, Updated July 2024]

Neil and his discovery that he has trauma-induced migraines because we all know how he neglects his health. Between everything else going on with him, a migraine seemed very minor to him. But now that he is in a healthy, safe, and loving environment where he is thriving, he can take care of himself—theoretically speaking, at least. Or the fic where Neil finally gets the healing that he needs.

tw: needles, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: childhood trauma, tw: implied/referenced torture,  tw: flashbacks, tw: ptsd, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced murder

Keep Your Head Down and Don't Look Back by Capheira [Rated G, 775 Words, Complete, 2024]

Neil has spent most of his life running from his past but perhaps this time he was a little too efficient.

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks

Scars Like Stars by Kory_Rory [Rated T, 3429 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2024]

Neil deals with his trauma by biting himself while being completely oblivious to the harm he's putting himself through. But it's okay cause the foxes are there to help him :)

tw: self harm, tw: body dysmorphia, tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: negative self talk, tw: flashbacks 

I’m not used to all this water, love (it’s true) by niicowo [Rated T, 1415 Words, Complete, 2024]

Neil never thought anyone could ever love him. His parents never made him feel loved. But then again, what did he know about love? Nothing, he guessed. But one thing he did know was that Andrew loved him. And he just may love him too.

tw: past suicidal ideation, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Razor’s Edge by godless_writer [Rated T, 2178 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil Josten, a caring, shit-talking, striker for the Palmetto State Foxes. Nathaniel Wesninski, a runner, and the son of The Butcher of Baltimore. When Neil thinks that Andrew is in danger after he walks into Kevin and Andrew fighting, his world turns red and those lines become blurred.

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: dissociation

Don't let me be by Cutie_Wan [Not Rated, 1983 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil suffers a major dissociation episode in front of the Foxes.

tw: dissociation, tw: self harm, tw: violence

grin and bear it by wlwmlmsolidarity [Rated G, 1221 Words, Complete, 2024]

neil has chronic pain due to lola and tries to just ignore it and push through on a bad pain day, andrew forcefully makes him relax and accept help

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: chronic pain

NB: includes fanart by @clementinecloudz

scream and yell but i feel speechless by DepressedTerrestrial [Not Rated, 6770 Words, Complete, 2023]

Neil had some unnecessary surgery done when he was younger. No one (including Neil) knows how to handle this except for Andrew (kind of).

tw: past medical abuse, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced torture

Isn't he the monster by DarkD [Not Rated, 16033 Words, Complete, 2021]

On a day when Neil "wakes up" in a particularly bad mood, hearing anyone being cruel to Andrew becomes unbearable to the point that he is on the verge of an explosion.

tw: violence, tw: blood, tw: self harm, tw: dissociation, tw: panic attacks, tw: child abuse

Art

Day 19: bullet and Day 4: stitches art by @thefluffiestbird

Nathan was known for his extravagant parties and incredible entertainment art by @mac-monsters; twitter

Neil & Mary on the run edit by @romanovass

These ouches feel a little rough for a child on the run. comic by @softerstorms

“Don’t you dare be more afraid of me than you are of Andrew” art by @rainbowd00dles 

There’s nowhere to run art by @/tryashaa on instagram

“I’m fine” - *literally dying* art by @/koldangrey_art on instagram

[obsidiancreates]

Henry Spencer Is A Bastard (With A Broken Nose)

Shawn and Jules have been living together for two weeks when Jules storms into the precinct, grabs Lassiter by the arm, and drags him into the interrogation room.

“O’Hara, what the hell is-”

“You’ve spent time alone with Henry,” she says, sitting Lassiter in the suspect chair. “What was he like?”

“What?”

“This is important, Carlton.”

Lassiter sighs, looking around the room for a moment before answering. “Unpleasant and judgemental. He had every quality of a great cop but none of an actual person I’d spend time with.”

“Which for you is saying something,” Jules mumbles, looking to the side. “Would-would you say you think he’s capable of intentional child endangerment or neglect?”

Lassiter sits up more. “What? O’Hara, what is this about?”

Jules takes a deep breath, looking down at her hands. “I was helping Shawn get some stuff from his old room, and we found an old journal from when he was a kid.It was mostly just doodles and half-finished homework, and he said to just throw it away, but… I kept it. I thought it was cute, to be able to look at what went through his brain as a kid.”

“O’Hara. If you’re alleging what I think-”

“I read more later while he was out with Gus and one of the pages was a failed writing assignment. He was supposed to write about what he did over the weekend and he wrote that his dad locked him a trunk and made him pretend to be kidnapped.”

Lassiter lets out a breath. “Okay. But you and I both know Spencer’s imagination-”

“Carlton, remember the kicked-out tailight? When he got shot?”

“O’Hara, I was with Henry through that whole investigation, and I don’t think I can say that the man I investigated with would purposefully hurt or neglect his son. He was like a machine through the whole thing.”

“There was more, though, Carlton. One of the assignments was to write about how they spent Easter and Shawn’s said he got cut on some glass trying to dig up his eggs. He drew a picture, it-”

She pulls out her phone and hands it to her partner. Lassiter looks at a crude drawing of a small stick figure on it’s hands and knees, overly-large shards on the ground in front of it, and an egg a good few lines below it. There’s a taller stick figure behind the small one, with a wide-open mouth and the words ‘You can do better, Shawn,’ written beside it.

The teacher’s note on the side says that Shawn needs to stop making up stories for assignments about his real life.

Lassiter hands the phone back. “O’Hara…”

Jules sits back in her chair a bit, the tension giving way to a slumped tiredness. “I know they’ve never had an… easy relationship, but Henry has always been so present, ever since we’ve known Shawn. I thought that was a good thing and Shawn’s discomfort was just Shawn being… Shawn.” She looks down at her hand in guilt. “What if I completely missed that he has reason, Carlton?”

Lassiter grabs one of Jules’s hands. “O’Hara, Henry Spencer is a bitter, unlikeable, and overbearing old man- but I really don’t think he’s capable of child abuse.”

Jules holds his hand back and gives it a squeeze. “I just… don’t know how to ask Shawn if these are real. He’s not exactly forthcoming about messy emotions and memories.”

Lassiter nods, and then blinks. “So let’s ask Guster. They’ve been stuck together like flies on a flytrap forever.”

Jules shakes her head. “If Shawn isn’t going to say anything, I really don’t think Gus will.”

“Well, you can either ask Guster if these are real, or you can worry about it forever and never get any answers.” Lassiter knows his partner well enough to know that’s unacceptable to her.

She gives his hand one more squeeze. “I’m just worried. Henry works here. He’s in charge of Shawn.”

“And I’m sure that when we talk to Guster about all this, we’ll learn that Spencer was just exaggerating like he always does.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gus reads the page with wide eyes. “Wait, he was serious about that?”

Lassiter stifles the urge to shout ‘Come on!’ when he hears Jules suck in a breath.

“You mean you knew about this already?”

“I mean, Shawn told me once that he liked Easter at my house way more because there was no ‘manhunt training’, but I thought he just meant something like when his dad would have him stakeout their porch.”

“He what?”

“It, sounds worse than it is. … I think.” Gus looks down at the old notebook again. “I thought. … I mean, Henry was always a little intense. When Shawn and I were boyscouts he used to set up challenges that were impossible to win, and then make us feel bad for not winning.”

“What do you mean, impossible to win?” Lassiter is starting to get concerned now. Shawn’s incessant need to show everyone up has been a pain in his ass for years, and if Henry reinforced that grating attitude and now acts like he tried to quell it-

“Stuff like telling us to go find a rocket in the middle of the woods and then going and grabbing it himself. He used to promise us ice cream if we won, then say he’d eat it himself if we didn’t win next time.” Gus’s face pinches the more he talks about the memories. “Gosh, I haven’t thought about that in years. I guess I didn’t realize how messed up that is until I said it out loud.”

“It’s horrible,” Jules says.

“But not criminal,” Lassiter reminds her. “And as… weird and dangerous as the eggs thing is, that’s not criminal either. … I think.”

“What about the trunk, Carlton?”

“... Yeah, that part’s looking pretty bad.”

Gus shuts the notebook. “We need to talk to Shawn about this. I don’t know if I’m even remembering right, but I know he will.”

“He’d never open up about something like this,” Jules says, gesturing to the notebook and letting her arms drop back to her sides with a flop. “He barely tells me about his childhood at all.”

“Well I was there for most of it, and I need to make sure I didn’t miss some serious abuse going down for our entire lives. Do you know how many times I’ve defended his dad to him, Juliet? … Oh my god, on that same boyscout trip with the rocket, he told me his dad had never said he loved him!”

Lassiter doesn’t need to look at Jules to know she’s probably seething with the rage of the entire underworld- if he believed in such a thing. 

Henry better hope they find out it’s not as bad as it’s seeming.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Shawn gets home, Jules, Lassiter, and Gus are all sitting on the couch looking somber. Well, Jules and Gus look somber. Lassiter looks mildly offput.

“Guys! What’s all this, are we having some kinda surprise party?” Shawn looks around for decorations, but there’s nothing. He looks back with excitement. “Is it a case? A big one?”

“Shawn, sit down, we need to ask you about something.” Jules gestures for him to take a seat on a different chair.

“Uh-oh. That’s not your happy voice.” Shawn sits down and leans forward. “Hey, babe, what’s wrong?”

Jules takes a deep breath, and pulls out the notebook. Shawn looks at it. “Oh, that? Please don’t tell me that my drawing skills when I was eight are a dealbreaker.”

“Shawn, did Henry…” Jules falters. Shawn’s expression… 

It doesn’t harden, per say. It just… shifts. Becomes a little closed-off.

“Spencer, did Henry actually make you dig through broken glass to find ridiculous holiday candy?” Lassiter says, offering Jules his hand for support. She takes it.

Shawn’s mouth quirks up in the corner, a huff-laugh escaping him. His eyes aren’t as amused, a dark look in them. “What? How-how’d you know about that?”

“Oh my god.” Gus looks sick.

“Guys, seriously, what is this?” Shawn reaches out and snatches the notebook, flipping through it. Fast at first, and then slower. The slight smirk disappears completely, and Jules and Gus know that habit of sticking his tongue over his teeth means Shawn is not in a good emotional space whatsoever as he reads.

He closes the notebook and tosses it onto the coffee table, sitting back into the chair and sniffling. “It’s uh- it’s nothing.”

“Dude, that is not nothing. I thought you were making that stuff up when we were kids!”

“What? Why would I make that up?” That just seems to confuse Shawn.

“Because you were always making things up!”

“Not about my dad! You were like, the one person I could talk about him with! You thought I was lying about everything the whole time?” Now he looks hurt. 

“Not everything, but crazy stuff like him locking you in a trunk in the middle of a hot day and putting broken glass over your eggs, yeah! Oh my go- this makes me look back on everything I know in a completely different light, Shawn!”

“Okay, you can’t actually be this surprised, Gus. I mean, you were at my house all the time, you know how he was. We couldn’t even play hide-and-seek without me getting a lecture about hunting perps the right way.” The bitterness in his voice is familiar to his friends, the way he keeps from meeting their eyes, the arms crossed over his chest and tense body language. It’s not that they’ve never seen him like this. But they’ve never seen him like this and truly understood it. Even Gus.

Gus, who looks increasingly horrified as he thinks back on more and more memories. “When we were really little and you told me your dad would throw you out for reading comics, were you serious?”

Shawn scoffs a little. “No, I wasn’t.”

“Did he actually ban them?”

“... Yeah. That part he did. He said they made cops look bad.”

“Good god, Spencer, you’re talking like everything in your house was about cops twenty-four-seven.”

“Gee, Lassie, I wonder why. You’ve met my dad, right?”

“But you’re talking like he expected you to be a perfect cop from the second you were born.”

Shawn goes silent. He still won’t look at any of them.

“Oh, my god.” Jules reaches out to put a hand on Shawn’s knee. “Shawn, did he expect that?”

“... Look, guys, it’s… it’s done, alright? It is what it is, and… I’ve accepted that, and I’m working on making things work with my dad. I don’t… I don’t need this. Okay? I don’t want to think about it and get all…” He huffs. “Last time I thought a little too hard about all this stuff I ended up on my motorcycle with nowhere to go, and-and I don’t want to do that again, alright?”

“Shawn, this is important. We’re all working with Henry constantly, watching how he treats you, and this changes how some of that looks.”

“How?” Shawn finally looks at Jules, right in the eyes. “How does this change anything? He’s the same person, Jules. He-he’s controlling, and-and expects way too much, and is disappointed in me. That’s not different now just because you know he went overboard with stuff when I was a kid.”

Lassiter lets out a deep breath. He’d really… really been hoping this wouldn’t be the case. “How overboard, Spencer?”

Shawn looks at Lassie, and then clicks his tongue and looks away again. “Not in that way, man. He never hit me or anything.”

“So what did he do?”

“Why is this an interrogation?” Shawn stands up, pulling away from Jules’s outstretched hand. “This is stuff for me, and my dad to hash out, okay? Just me and him.”

“Did your mom know about this stuff?” Gus asks. 

The mention of his mom seems to make Shawn shut down even more. “Now this is really over.” He walks away, and pauses for just one second to turn around and say, “Don’t- don’t go my dad about all this. I don’t want…”

“... Don’t want what, Shawn?” Jules’s voice is soft and careful.

Shawn doesn’t seem to be able to find the end of the thought. He just shakes his head and walks back out the door.

The three sit in silence for a minute. Jules has tears in her eyes. Gus looks almost shellshocked.

Lassiter stands up. “Alright, I’m officially taking lead on this case.” He looks down at his partner. “O’Hara, find out who in the precinct knew Henry well and still works there. We’ll interview anyone who he might’ve talked to his son about, see if we can dig up any leads there.”

“Whoa, Shawn just said he didn’t want his dad finding out we’re asking about all this, and we just learned he’s way worse than we thought,” Gus says, standing up too. “We can’t start poking around the precinct, because in case you forgot Lassie, he works there!”

“Part-time.”

“He’ll know something is up.”

“Please. I think I know how to run a discreet investigation, Guster.”

“Could you hide something like that from Shawn?”

“... Of course.”

“No, you couldn’t, and if you can’t hide it from Shawn it’s a safe bet that you can’t hide it from his dad.”

Jules stands up. “No, Carlton is right. None of us realized how these pieces fit together until we all talked about it with each other, right? If Shawn won’t… can’t, open up to us about it, the next best thing is getting as many witness statements as possible.”

“Why? It just feels like digging things up to dig them up at this point.”

“Because Henry is currently in charge of Spencer’s livelihood, Guster.”

“I know! He’s in charge of part of mine too!”

“Right.” Jules looks up at Lassiter. “And if we can prove to The Chief that Henry has a negative, unreliable bias against Shawn, we can lessen some of that control!”

“As much as I’d hate to see Spencer off the leash again, I’d hate to be helping enable an abuser even more,” Lassiter agrees. 

“Abuser is a strong word.” Gus doesn’t look like he feels that sentence is 100% true. “He wasn’t all bad a lot of the time. I mean, he loosened up on the comic thing when we were older.”

“We know he cares, Gus,” Jules assures. “But, caring doesn’t mean he didn’t do something wrong. Really, really wrong.”

Gus swallows, and then nods. “I know.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They collect a good few statements over the next week.

One statement claims that Shawn would play poker with some of the officers when Henry brought him to the station- why Henry was bringing a seven year old to an active police station and then not keeping an eye on him was something that went unanswered- and that Henry was obviously upset when he discovered this. Another statement corroborated the story, and added that he caught sight of Henry taking all the money Shawn made from the games and shoving it into the police donation box.

One statement was from an elderly file sorter, who claimed that Shawn was sometimes sent down to grab files for his dad and used to complain to her that henry would only buy Shawn cop car toys, and no others. When she’d asked Shawn if he wanted to be a cop when he grew up, Shawn had reportedly said quote, “Something about not getting a choice.” Other statements claimed, when this was brought up, that Shawn seemed very excited by the idea of being a cop when he grew up- until his arrest.

One statement, given by someone Lassiter vaguely remembers being rookies with back in the day, lends more credibility to the recollections of the elderly woman. The statement claimed that when the rookie would go on ride-alongs with Henry or work under him, Henry would almost always complain about Shawn. Everything from Shawn having an interest that didn’t relate to being a cop, to Shawn ‘acting like a child’ when he would have been under twelve according to the timeline, to Shawn ‘not even trying’ during a specific incident where Henry claimed Shawn forged his signature to go on a field trip and quote “hesitated for a second with his pen or something- I remember it was something really minor, and Henry couldn’t stand it. I thought it was weird that he was teaching his son how to forge signatures and then expecting the kid to never use the skill, but it wasn’t really my place to say.”

By the end of the week, Jules is steaming and Shawn hasn’t come around the precinct at all. Gus keeps dropping by, digging up old journals of his own to use as cross-references when possible. Shawn is quiet with Jules at home, like he’s waiting for something big to happen and he’s worried he could trigger it early.

It makes Jules more upset at Henry, because now her boyfriend’s emotional immaturity seems a lot less like a natural childish nature and a lot more like having genuinely never been taught how to handle anything.

No, according to the information she and Lassiter have gathered, it looks like all Henry taught Shawn was that winning is everything, being the best is non-negotiable, and Shawn was born to be a cop and anything that didn’t align with that idea just… shouldn’t be there.

“Wow.” Lassiter tosses the latest statement onto his desk. “And I thought Henry didn’t discipline Spencer enough as a kid. Some of this stuff makes it sound like Spencer grew up in a boot camp.”

“He basically did,” Jules says bitterly, reading over one of Gus’s old notebooks. “Gus wasn’t even looking for evidence of it, and these journals are full of casual, offhand observations that look worse and worse the more we know. Listen to this one. ‘Today Shawn was in a bad mood, and when I asked him why he said his dad stole his mood ring after showing him to turn the box upside-down. I said that’s cheating, and Shawn said it can’t be if his dad said to do it.’ Who the hell steals a mood ring from a kid?”

“You’re getting caught on the small stuff again, O’Hara.”

“I know, I know. I just- now that we know some of the major things, even the small stuff is making me just unbelievably angry.”

“Yeah, it’s rough to read. At least you and I wanted to be cops.”

“Right? No wonder Shawn ended up a psychic detective, how do you just do something else after being raised so specifically like that? And no wonder he-he buys EasyBake Ovens and goofs off all the time, he had it so strict as a kid…”

“Mmmmm… let’s not excuse every antic, O’Hara. A lot fo it is still just him being a jackass.”

“I won’t get into this with you again, Carlton.”

“Good, I don’t want to get into it again either. … Heads up.”

Jules closes the notebook and tucks it into a desk drawer as swiftly and inconspicuously as possible, Lassie doing the same for his file. Henry walks past them, barley sparing a glance as he makes his way somewhere else.

Jules stares daggers at him so intensely that if dropped to the ground covered with enough puncture wounds to imitate Julias Caesar, Lassiter would think it was a mild scene all things considered.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s three weeks since Jules found the notebook when Shawn rolls over in bed, puts his arm around, and mumbles “I have an eidetic memory.”

Jules puts her book down and looks at Shawn with furrowed brows. “What?”

Shawn sighs and sits up properly. “I have an eidetic memory,” he says again, “And… I don’t like looking back, because I remember everything perfectly. Which means I usually remember what I felt perfectly too, and it usually wasn’t great feelings.” He can’t look her in the eyes this time, either, but instead of the tense, protective body language of before, he’s holding a pillow close to his chest and slightly burying his face into it, almost sagging around it.

Jules starts to rub his back. She knows how hard this kind of… difficult emotional discussion, is for him. Now she even knows why- suspects why, really, because not all of it is proven in full, but still she thinks she can cout is as knowing. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“About the memory?”

“Yeah. That sounds… really difficult to deal with, Shawn. Does Gus know?”

“Yeah, he knows. I think other than my dad, and… and you, he’s the only person who knows.”

“Shawn…”

“I just, I just want you to know… that I’m not asking you to drop it for no reason,” Shawn says, “Or-or because I don’t feel like it’s important. I know it is, I do. I just…”

“Don’t want to relive a lot of it,” Jules says softly. “... Shawn, does this mean you remember everything perfectly? All the time?”

“Eh… fifty-fifty. The ADHD gets in the way sometimes.”

“... But when it doesn’t?”

“I just try not to think about a lot of it.” Shawn moves again, to look her in the eyes, He takes a deep breath, and he looks a little pained. This kind of thing is painful for him, he’s so unsure how to navigate it. “I have to keep moving forward, Jules. It’d be so… so easy to just get stuck, forever, in all the stuff stored in my head. And I’m really, really trying to, I mean that. It’s difficult, and I’m not… always great at it, but I’m trying.”

“And you’re worried we’ll set you back?”

“No! No, I… I don’t know.” Shawn lets Jules pull him close to her chest and begin running her hand through his hair. “My dad and I don’t solve stuff, Jules. We just… argue over it. I’m getting tired of it.”

“... I understand.” She kisses the top of his head. “But I don’t like him being in charge of you when you’re a grown man anymore.”

“You think I do? … But it’s making him a lot happier than he’s been in a long time.”

“You should be happy too, Shawn.”

“Hey. Hey, I am happy.” He looks up into her eyes. “Look at me right now. I’m being cradled like a sweet little baby seal by the most beautiful, badass woman in the entire world. Of course I’m happy.”

Jules laughs a little and contorts a bit to kiss him on the mouth. “I’m glad you told me that, Shawn. And I promise, I won’t ask you to relive anything else for me.”

“... But you’re not going to stop investigating my dad, are you?”

“Did you stop with mine?”

“... Fair enough.” Shawn lays his head back down, and soon enough Jules hears soft snoring from him and mumbled phrases in his sleep.

…

An eidetic memory. Perfect recall.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Jules goes over everything they have so far knowing Shawn has a perfect memory, it makes her angry to such a degree that she thinks it might kill her. Not literally, but it feels strong enough.

She has some of Shawn’s old report cards, some statements she got from former teachers via social media contact, and some copies of pages of one of Gus’s old journals laid out in front of her, and she sees a pattern.

Shawn didn’t do good in school. His report cards are less than average, and are packed with notes about how he doesn’t pay attention, doesn’t seem to absorb any information, and doesn’t remember anything he’s taught. The statements from the teachers describe Shawn as hyperactive, passionate about everything but his schoolwork, and having difficulty with staying observant in class.

Gus’s old journals are full of the same, but also the opposite. Shawn didn’t pay attention in school, but sometimes he could pull something the teacher said from his memory word for word without even trying, and then a few entries later Gus would mention Shawn failed a test on that exact subject. Shawn got beat up because he told a bully he memorized the pattern of answers used in the math tests, but his dad told the teacher and let Shawn know he was doing it. And most of all, Gus writes about how freaky his friend’s ability to look at people and figure them out is. How Shawn notices almost everything almost all the time, and usually makes some dramatic conclusion that isn’t right, but he still notices things and Gus can’t figure out how Shawn fingers things out.

Detective training, and an eidetic memory, and psychic visions. Jules is now pretty sure that Shawn covers up some of his deductions using his visions- he’s known enough impossible information that they can’t possibly all be deductions in disguise, but when she thinks back there’s a few times where it’s obvious in hindsight he used his abilities to cover up the fact that he’s an incredible, highly-trained detective.

Maybe she’s jumping to a conclusion, but she finds herself thinking ‘Because Henry made him hate that he can do it so well,’ as she pieces it all together.

Gus’s journals lend a lot of credit to that theory. Shawn is smart, and Gus knows it, but Shawn acts dumb sometimes and Gus doesn’t understand why, and then Gus mentions that it’s weird that Henry kept Shawn up all night before to stakeout their porch and now Shawn is tired during Little League and Henry tells him to get his head in the game because Henry is the coach.

Henry is the coach, Henry is the chaperone on the field trip, Henry is their Scout Master- he’s in charge of every part of Shawn’s life except for school. And Maddie is rarely brought up, even when Gus writes about spending all day or night or even weekend at the Spencer house. Jules hasn’t seen Shawn’s Mom since Yang almost blew her up, and she just figured that Maddie wanted to stay out of Santa Barbara after that, understandably. She’s getting a different feeling about Maddie staying away now. It seems a lack of presence was her main impression in Shawn’s life, or at least, Shawn’s life through the lens of Child Gus.

So it was basically just Henry. And her heart aches for the thought of someone being stuck in a bad marriage, basically raising a kid alone, and that kid being as hyper and curious and chaotic as Shawn. But the ache is smothered in the sense of righteous rage when she reads other entries about things like a girl throwing a ball at Shawn and missing, and an ostrich choking on the ball, and Henry dragging Shawn away. The entry goes on to say that Shawn told Gus that Henry didn’t believe him when he said he didn’t do it, even after then-superior officer Captain Connors came in and tried to vouch for Shawn.

Henry always assumed the worst. Assumes, the worst, still.

Shawn tries so hard, sometimes, with his dad, and Jules is starting to realize that Henry doesn’t put the same effort in. He tries some, she knows it, she’s seen it, but she also sees him constantly berate, put down, and insult Shawn, publicly and privately. 

Suddenly she remembers something from when Shawn went undercover on the dating show, something she’d been too upset over about Shawn being there at all to really take in in the moment.

“I’m sorry, this woman is way too good for my son. If it was me, I’d vote no.”

She doesn’t have Shawn’s memory, so without rewatching the clip she can’t be totally sure those are Henry’s exact words, but she’s certain that it’s the exact sentiment.

First of all, she takes a little offense to that for herself. But secondly and more strongly, she takes offense for Shawn. As she thinks about it she can remember the way Shawn tried to cover up the awkwardness in the clip, the way the girl on the show whispered “Is this a joke?” and the way it absolutely was not. The way Henry said that on TV, to Shawn’s face, with no hint of shame.

“O’Hara.” She looks up to see Lassiter holding a cup of coffee and a bagel for her. She takes them and Lassiter says, “There’s more steam coming out of your ears than there is that cup.”

“Sorry,” she sighs. “I just… I don’t know if I can control myself tomorrow when Henry comes back in. The more I dig into this, the more I want to just- go back in time and pick little Shawn up and take him somewhere better.”

“Well as much as we don’t like it, O’Hara, Spencer is who he is because he was raised the way he was raised.”

“I know. And I like, who Shawn is!”

“Inexplicably.”

“Carlton.”

“Mmm.”

“Anyway… I love Shawn, and who he is, all of him, but I still wish he could’ve been who he is without going through all of this. It’s not okay.”

“No. No, it’s not.” Lassiter sighs. “Look, O’Hara, put the case down for a while. At this point we’ve got enough to at least make The Chief doubt some of Henry’s intentions and judgements when it comes to Spencer and, well, that was the goal.”

“... Yeah. Yes, okay, I will… I will put this down for a few days.” Jules closes up the file and puts it back into her drawer. “Shawn is still less than happy I’m working on this, anyway. He understands why, but I know he wishes he didn’t.” He probably understands a lot of things he wishes he didn’t. Jules has had to grapple with the realization that she actually doesn’t know as much about how Shawn’s mind works as she thought she knew, and that it’s possible she’ll never know a lot of it. There’s more than just psychic visions to the mystery of his mind, and some of those mysteries are locked up with a key cast out of self-resentments and resentments of his dad.

God, she hopes she can keep up a poker face when Henry comes in.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her file is missing from her desk the next day, and so is Lassiter’s. They both know why.

They march over to Henry’s desk just as Gus comes in to collect a check, and all three end up standing over Henry as he openly and unashamedly reads through the Spencer Upbringing Case File. Gus takes a step back when he realizes that’s what’s happening, as does Lassiter.

But not because of Henry.

Jules looks murderous.

Henry purses his mouth in a frown and nods, raising up the file and then closing it and tossing it onto his desk in one smooth movement. “It’s comprehensive,” he says, like he’s grading a paper. “But it’s a bunch of biased bull.”

“Give them back.” Jule’s voice is ice-cold. 

Henry shrugs, moving his head side to side for a second, still frowning, and then says, “Nah.” He takes the files, and drops them in the trash. “I think you owe me an explanation for why the head detective and his partner are investigating the way I raised my son. Why’d Shawn put you up to this?”

“He didn’t.”

Henry scoffs. “Yeah, right.”

Jules slams one hand onto Henry’s desk. The whole bullpen goes quiet.

“I was helping Shawn get something from your house, and I found a notebook,” she says. 

“Oh, so, you found one of Shawn’s little projects where he exaggerated things to make himself look like a victim of the world?”

“I found the writings of a little kid who didn’t seem to realize at the time of writing that being locked in a hot car trunk and digging through broken glass for Easter Eggs wasn’t normal.”

Henry laughs, crossing his arms. “That’s what you have a problem with? It’s called training, detective. You went through it yourself.”

“When I was an adult, by my choice, and I sure as hell never had to dig through glass.”

“You’re really hung up on that.”

“Because it’s genuinely evil!”

Henry’s smug look melts into a scowl. “How dare you.”

“How dare I?! Do you understand how much all of this is still affecting Shawn, even right now?! He can barely talk about all of this!” “Oh, well, he sure seem capable of reminding me of it.”

“Because you did it! You’re the only other person in the entire world who understood what was done to him in the name of training because you did it!”

“Done to h- you’re overreacting, detective!”

“I, agree, what is going on out here?” Chief Vick hurries over to Henry’s desk from her own. “Detectives, there had better be a damn good reason-”

“There is, Chief.” Lassiter reaches into the trashcan and pulls out the files.

“Karen, Detective O’Hara has allowed her romantic entanglement with my son to-”

“Henry was borderline abusive during Shawn’s childhood,” Jules interrupts, facing her Chief. Chief Vick’s eyes widen and her mouth drops open, a disbelieving laugh escaping her even as she accepts the files and flips them open. “You understand what it is you’re alleging, O’Hara, and against who?”

“I do, Chief, and I think our case file speaks for itself.” All eyes are on them now. Jules doesn’t back down. “I’m well aware of my emotional ties to this case, but I assure you I’m not allowing it to cloud my judgment. If I was, I wouldn’t have used the word borderline to describe the conclusions I’ve come to.”

“Karen, this is ridiculous.”

But Chief Vick is focused on the files in her hands. Her eyes flick up to Henry. “Is it?” She looks over to Gus, who’s been watching with the quiet tension of a prey animal waiting to make a run for it. “Mister Guster, can you genuinely testify to the validity and accuracy of the claims in these files?”

“Oh, um, well, most of those are from my own journals.” Gus’s eyes flick between Henry and Jules. “I’d say that’s even more reliable than just plain memory.”

“It certainly is.” Chief Vick turns her eyes back to the file. “Henry, I think after I’m done going through these we’re going to have a chat about some of your current responsibilities and extent of authority over consultants.”

“Oh, come on, Karen!” Henry looks around at the entire precinct staring, and judging. “This is completely unfounded, and-and blown way out of propor-!”

Henry doesn’t finish the sentence because Juliet O’Hara punches him in the nose.

There’s gasps from everyone in the room. Jules’s fist is bloodied. Henry’s nose went CRUNCH! when her fist made contact.For a long moment it’s like the whole room has collectively stopped breathing. 

“I don’t make unfounded accusations, Henry,” Jules breathes. “Especially not when I have been building a case for over a month, and have watched Shawn completely close off whenever I asked him about this.”

Henry holds his nose, looking at Jules with fear that Lassiter and Gus don’t think is nearly intense enough. “Juliet,” Henry pants, blood streaming out from between his fingers. “This is insane.”

“Quiet, Spencer.” Lassiter moves Jules a little farther away. Her fist is still raised. “I won’t tolerate you disrespecting my partner, especially not in the same way you do your son.”

“What?! You can’t believe all this too, Lassiter.”

“You know I’m not Shawn’s biggest fan, but if you think what O’Hara has done over the last month is anything less than the best damn investigation possible then I have to seriously reconsider some of our shared opinions of your son’s work.”

Gus glances at a box of tissues on Henry’s desk- and then subtly moves to knock them on the floor and kicks them away.

“Herny, I’m going to have to ask you to step away from the precinct for a few days while this gets handled. O’Hara, I’m going to need to speak with you in my office.”

Jules lowers her fist, and nods. She knows she can’t just punch Henry and get away with it scot-free, and she accepts that.

No-one moves to help Henry. Not a single soul. He grumbles as he makes his way past Gus to grab a different box of tissues.

“It’s like he just sucks the respect out of people,” Henry grumbles. 

CRACK!

No-one is more surprised than Gus when his fist slams into Henry’s jaw. Gus reels away immediately, shrinking and cradling his hand, as Henry goes down.

“Mister Guster!” Chief Vick moves forward to try and catch Henry.

“Uuuuh!” Guss whines, shaking his hand. “I-I mean, you don’t get to say that about Shawn! He asked us not to keep doing this! You gotta stop assuming the worst of him all the time!”

“When he earns it!” Henry barks out, then groans and spits. It’s mostly blood.

“You won’t let him earn it!” Jules is furious again. “How many killers does he have to catch for you to see that your son is an amazing man?!”

“It’s not about catching killers,” Henry says, spitting again. “It’s about growing up.”

“Says the grown man who can’t even tell his son ‘I love you’.”

“He doesn’t say it either.”

“That’s not helping your case, Spencer.” Lassiter has his eyes on Jules and Gus. “And considering I’m the only one on said case who hasn’t taken a shot at you yet, I’d say keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh, what do you know.” Henry spits a third time. The Chief looks about ready to punch him herself. “Father-son relationships are complicated, especially when the father wants what’s best for the son and the son just wants to throw everything away and get himself killed!”

“You wanted him to be a cop, Spencer, you didn’t exactly put him on a path to a peaceful and easy life.”

“I put him on the right path, and he never appreciated it, and that is what your case file should say!”

“You know what, Spencer?” Lassiter takes a step closer to the bleeding man. “I’ve put up with a lot of crap from both you and your son over the years, and you two are a lot more similar than you think. But one thing I can say that Shawn has over you is that he doesn’t mean it when he says stupid crap like that.”

“He looks up to you, you ass,” Jules adds. “And he is willing to put aside all of the things you say and do to him to have a good relationship with you. Do you understand how incredible that is? That you don’t even have to work to have him in your life? That he comes to you no matter how many times you tear into him for it?”

“He comes to me because he never listens when he needs to.” Henry’s face is starting to become very purple as the bruises set in. “I don’t know what he’s been telling you, but he needs, my help.”

“Exactly! And he feels like you’re reliable enough to give it to him, and you do! So why do you treat that as though it’s a fault? Do you have any idea what I would have given as a kid, and even now, to be able to just-just go up to my dad and say ‘I need help,’ and have him be there to help me? That means the world!”

“Not to Shawn.” Henry looks pained beyond just the broken nose and possible broken jaw. “The kid is too focused on himself.”

“You don’t know your son at all, then.” Jules turns and walks with The Chief to her office.

Gus shakes his head, grabs the check out of Henry’s paperwork pile, checks that it’s signed, and leaves. 

“Oh, really? It’s up to me to take him to the hospital?” Lassiter looks around and then huffs. “Alright, Spencer. Don’t bleed on my seats, or my dashboard, or anything but yourself.”

“I’m not a bad father,” Henry says, still holding his nose. “I care about my son.”

“Yeah, and somehow Shawn knows that even though you act the way you do.” Lassie buckles Henry in for him so that the nose remains pinched. “But here’s the thing, Spencer. Your son is an arrogant, attention-hogging, impulsive, completely absurd person, and he didn’t just become like that out of a vacuum.”

“Yes he did. I did everything I could. I did everything right as much as possible.”

Lassiter sighs as he gets into the driver’s seat. “You seriously think that? You’d be okay with your grandkid being raised that way?”

“If they had Shawn’s potential, yes.”

“... Dammit.” Lassiter turns to Henry, and punches him in the gut. Henry coughs, and then chokes on his own blood, and then coughs again.

“What the hell?!” Henry gets out between hacks.

“O’Hara would’ve done it. I feel like I owed it to her. … And honestly, Spencer, after compiling that damn case, I’ve been wanting to do it for myself anyway. I already knew you were an overbearing perfectionist with a control issue, but you wishing your son was more like that than he is is even worse.”

“Shawn’s no perfectionist,” Henry wheezes. 

“But he is overbearing with a control issue more often than not. Like I said inside, you two are a lot more similar than you think, and frankly I blame you for the parts of Shawn that go past mild annoyance and into infuriating obstacle.”

“I’d never just hand a collar over to save someone’s ego,” Henry coughs out.

“See, that’s where I wish Shawn wasn’t like you.”

“He’s handed you a collar twice.”

“What? He has not.”

And Henry must be a little delirious from the repeated blows, because Lassiter is pretty sure his next words of “See, this is why Shawn should’ve been head detective,” wouldn’t come out of him otherwise.

Lassiter grips the steering wheel tighter and makes a sharp turn into the hospital parking lot. “Well he’s not, and from the sound of things he never would’ve been anyway.”

“He could’ve been a perfect cop.”

“He’d have been miserable and you know it.”

“He’d be doing things right.”

“You’re hopeless.” Lassiter isn’t any gentler helping Henry out of the car than he was helping him in. “I’m not picking you back up when they’re done with you.”

“I’ll call Shawn.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you will.” And Shawn will come, and probably be mad on his dad’s behalf, and will definitely be mad at all three of the punchers, because he loves his dad enough to overlook years and years of mistreatment that most people would probably consider ground for cutting contact. “And Spencer? If you ever insult O’Hara’s work again, or say anything that gets her that angry, I will help her cover up your disappearance.”

“You don’t mean that,” Henry scoffs.

“Try me.” Lassiter gets back in his car. “And if I hear from her that you’re still badmouthing your son to his face, I’ll make you disappear myself.”

And then he drives away. 

And Henry walks into the hospital alone.

[hannahbarberra162]

Can't Fix Fix A Broken Heart, Chapter 19

18+ MDNI All chapters

Warning: very heavy on PTSD, dissociation, anxiety, trauma. No smut in this chapter.

on Ao3

Thatch POV

You’d spent a quiet evening watching him work, ending with a pleasant night spent chatting over drinks with others from the fourth division on the deck. You were coming out of your shell somewhat, engaging a little more in conversation that you had before. You largely listened in but occasionally offered your thoughts or opinions. You were intelligent and interested in what the others had to say. Since you’d spent some time in the kitchens, you were on friendly terms with his division, even laughing once at a dumb joke someone made. It made his heart soar to hear your laughter - he thought it might be the first time he’d heard it. A true milestone in your progress. He was jealous that someone else made you laugh but he didn’t doubt that there would be more to come.

You looked tired, so he decided to call an early night for you. Even though you were taking more breaks, you still did not get undisturbed sleep at night. Between that and all the work you took upon yourself, he was still worried about your physical health. Marco and Ace were unavailable, so you were back with him tonight, much to his delight. Even though his cock twitched at the thought of you in his arms again, he wanted to give you some rest. He took your hand and led you back to the stairs, yelling a good night call to his crew. He knew others were watching him leading you to his room, but that was the point. He wanted them to see that you were his - no matter how friendly or engaging you were. They could chat with you but you would never be with any of them. Marco had broken some arms, but that wasn’t Thatch’s way. He preferred a more subtle approach. And if that didn’t work, arms could be broken again.

Once in his room you started to take off your shirt, but Thatch stopped you.

“Allow me, Mami. Arms up,” he said, taking the hem of your shirt in your hands. You looked like he had asked you to jump into the ocean.

“I’ve been undressing myself successfully for years, I think I can do it myself,” you said indignantly while trying to pull away. 

Your snippy frustration was adorable, but he wasn’t going to tell you that. “I know you can. But I want to. It would make me happy, and wouldn’t that make you happy?” You considered his words for a moment then lifted your arms. It was so easy to change your mind, he thought to himself. It worked in his favor but also made him feel slightly sad for you. You were so used to pleasing people that you discarded your own desires quickly when faced with any conflict. 

Thatch stripped you down, letting his hands linger a little. You were so beautiful and you didn’t seem to notice at all. He saw the way the other men watched you on the ship - it wasn’t just because there were so few women. You were exceptional - and all theirs. You tried to cover yourself with your hands.

“Don’t hide, I want to see you,” he said while moving your hands away from your luscious breasts. You were clearly uncomfortable being naked generally but especially in front of them. Even though they all had seen you before some shreds of modesty - or maybe shame - still lingered. It was endearing but he wasn’t going to allow it. His eyes roved over your figure while you looked everywhere but him.

“Magnificent,” he whispered to you, to which you made a face. He was going to help you see just how resplendent you were, one step at a time. He took a clean shirt and put it over your head. It was one of his and it turned him on to see you wearing his overly large clothes. He rolled the sleeves while you put your arms through. He loved taking care of you, anticipating your needs, and providing for you. He got a thrill when you depended on him - when you had to come to him to fulfill your wants or to help when you were in distress. You needed him, you just had to see that for yourself. Once you were dressed he picked you up and put you on the bed. You huffed but didn’t say anything. 

Thatch offered to read to you before sleep, which he could tell you were not expecting. You accepted his offer and laid your head on his chest as he started reading a light novel aloud while reclining on the bed. It was intimate with you listening calmly as he read to you by the light of the lamp. You were interested in the story and started absently stroking his chest as you paid attention. After the third time you yawned, Thatch took it as a sign you were ready for sleep. He blew out the lamp, laid on his side and gathered you to him. He kissed the top of your head and settled in for the night. 

~~~

Y/N POV

You were grateful that Thatch didn’t want anything from you tonight. After the previous night with Ace, you wanted a break to recalibrate yourself. You’d liked the story - about righteous pirates trying to help a princess in distress - but were glad for the reprieve. You turned so you were facing Thatch and dozed off into a fitful sleep.

~~~

The next morning Marco and Ace were leaving on a mission together. They stopped by to say goodbye while you were still sleeping in bed. Even though they tried to be quiet, they still startled you awake. Marco sat on the bed and leaned down over you.

“We’ll be back before you know it, dove.” He kissed you sweetly on the mouth. 

“Wher’re you goin’?” you yawned and answered, still half asleep. 

“Gettin’ some business done, y’know, boring stuff” said Ace with a smile. You looked at him intently - he seemed OK, no worse for the wear. If anything, he looked excited. You pulled away from Marco, stood up on the bed and gave Ace a hug. He hugged you back and spun you around, bringing you back to the bed. You giggled at the unexpected movement.

“It’s just you and Thatch right now, you’ll stay with him until we get back,” said Marco pleasantly. 

“Don’t forget about us! We’ll miss ya,” said Ace. He picked you up around the waist and kissed you as well. With that, they were off to do…whatever it was. 

The rest of the morning was easy. You dined with Thatch, fixed doors and sails, took breaks with the fourth division, nothing new. In the afternoon, Fossa asked you to go and fix the pipes in one of the smaller Mobys. It was being repaired after a battle, so no one was living on it. It was a good time to do a wealth of repairs, you thought. You boarded the smaller ship and he guided you to the location that needed the most repairs. Ace had been right - it was always the pipes.

Unfortunately, whoever made the plumbing for the Moby was not asked to do the plumbing for the Moby Jrs. You would have to get into a tight crawl space and maneuver around to reach what you needed. Fossa left you to do your work, after opening the hatch to the crawl space. You went in on all fours, feeling cobwebs on your body and hair. It was dark, but the light from the outside helped and your fruit was pulling you to where you needed to go. You were deep in the crawl space when you heard someone outside.

“ZEHAHAHA, someone must have left this thing open. Wouldn’t want anyone to trip on it.” With that, the light to the outside vanished. Whoever it was had shut the hatch. It only opened from the outside - you were trapped inside. You were locked in the dark. By yourself. You yelled and banged on the walls with increasing panic but no one answered. 

You…remembered.

Everything was closing in on you. You felt like you couldn’t escape your own thoughts, reliving some of your past horrors. You were scared and paranoid, even though logically you knew that many of the people you were thinking about were long dead. But then you started thinking of the battle with the Marines and the pirates and the deaths they caused and your brothers your poor brothers your sweet brothers your little brothers and you were starting to have trouble breathing normally, where were you, were you on a pirate ship, where were your brothers, you felt like you were suffocating, like you couldn’t get a deep enough breath, like you were drowning, like the noise inside your head was going to be the only thing in the world, can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe

~~~

Thatch POV

Thatch was working on tonight’s dinner when Izou came into the kitchen. Thatch handed off his work to another sous chef - Izou explicitly did not like coming to the kitchen -he said it drenched his silk kimono with the smell of oil. So whatever Izou had to say was important enough to interrupt his work.

“Y/N was supposed to meet me half an hour ago.” Izou was tapping his foot on the floor. To some it might look like impatience but Thatch knew it was a cover for stress.

Thatch frowned, getting slightly worried. Were you hiding and sleeping somewhere? “Maybe she’s late?” 

“Y/N is never late. And I can’t find her.” Thatch went from slightly worried to alarmed. If Izou couldn’t find you, there was trouble. You couldn’t have left the ship - someone would have seen you. Where were you?

“Let’s go.” 

~~~

An hour later, after asking almost everyone on board, Fossa finally mentioned that you had been on the Moby Jr. earlier in the day. He said that he thought you left since the hatch was closed and the pipes were working again, but he didn’t actually see you leave. Thatch nearly jumped to the Moby Jr. looking for you. He ran to where Fossa said the crawl space was, and listened for any kind of noise. He had a sense of foreboding, like something bad had already happened. He didn’t hear anything but he thought he smelled blood. 

“Y/N! Y/N! Are you in there?” No one answered. It felt eerie, being on an empty ship, yelling with no one answering. He opened the hatch and held a lamp dial inside the space to illuminate the darkness. 

You were there, sitting with your arms around your knees. Your eyes were open, not blinking. There was blood all over the floor, your clothes, and your skin, but he couldn’t see any open wounds on you. You looked like you were a husk of yourself - physically present but mentally gone. It made his skin crawl looking at the macabre scene. 

“Y/N! There you are!” Thatch tried to reach for you but you withdrew farther back into the crawl space. He tried to reach you but he was too big to fit into the cramped area. He hesitated, he didn’t want to scare you further, but he had no choice.

“Y/N…come here.” Thatch put every ounce of authority he had into his voice. He knew how it sounded -  he had used it to make many recruits cry. He had never wanted to use it on you, given your past experiences, but he needed you out of there, now. You bowed your head and started coming to him. He knew you’d obey immediately, even if the real you wasn’t around. You made your way out of the hatch, and he swooped to pick you up as soon as you were out. You danged limply from his arms, not present in the world. 

~~~

Thatch came to visit you later that night in the infirmary. Deuce and Tate were looking after you, monitoring your vitals every fifteen minutes. You were catatonic, laying as they had placed you in the infirmary bed. You weren’t moving - you were barely blinking. You were pale and breathing shallowly. Your wrists had been cuffed to the railing of the bed. Deuce figured out the source of the blood - you had been scratching your arms repeatedly until you bled then fixing your own wounds. Deuce saw you do it and had to restrain you to get you to stop. You occasionally tried to scratch yourself more and stopped when you encountered resistance from the cuffs. 

Thatch was upset that Marco wasn’t there to help, but it wasn’t Marco’s fault. He and Ace had gone to destroy a Marine base connected to your former enslavement. Thatch did trust Tate and Deuce, he would entrust his own life to them. He just wished his brothers were here to help you as well. 

~~~

Y/N POV

You came back to consciousness slowly. It was night now. Dark again. Moon in the window. You noticed that your clothes felt soft against your skin. They weren’t woven from rough cloth like you normally wore for work. You looked at them. Someone had changed you from your clothes into a medical gown. It was light blue. Your arms hurt. You tried to look closer at them but when you pulled they didn’t move. Your wrists were in handcuffs. You didn’t remember doing it, but you could guess why. You were shivering, but not cold. You laid back into the pillows and waited for someone to come. 

A few minutes later, Deuce came in with a chart in his hand. He looked at you, seeing your eyes track him across the room.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” He came closer to you, sitting at the edge of the bed.

“Yeah.” You were already tired. You didn’t know if you had slept or not. Probably not.

“Do you know who I am? Do you know where you are?” Deuce was talking to you slowly and patiently.

“Deuce, on the Moby.”

“That’s right. Do you remember what happened?”

“Not really.” 

“That’s OK.” He took the stethoscope off from around his neck and put the ends into his ears. He reached for you with the stem and you flinched. You tried to pull away but you were still cuffed. You tugged at your hands uselessly. He listened to your heart, then looked down at your hands.

“Can I uncuff you?” Deuce took out the key and waited for your response.

“Yeah. I won’t … I won’t.” You couldn’t even finish your sentence. Deuce unlocked your wrists and you rubbed them where the cuffs had worn against your skin. You rubbed your sore forearms. Your stomach hurt, maybe you had thrown up. You didn’t know.

“I’m going to let Thatch know you’re up. Please stay here.” He got off the bed and left. You stared out the window at the moon.

~~~

Twenty minutes later, Thatch came in. You watched him come into the room, feeling empty. He sat next to you on the bed. You didn’t know what to say. You felt ashamed, tired, empty, guilty, a million negative emotions. You felt bad he had to deal with you, that anyone did. He reached out and pulled you into his lap. You kept yourself from flinching, to some degree of success.

“You’re going to have to start talking about it,” he said as a way of greeting. You didn’t answer. You pinched your fingers and bit your lip. You wanted to repress the memories forever but that wasn’t working anymore.

“I’m sorry” you whispered.

“You don’t have to be. I’m proud of you.” You buried your head in your hands. You couldn’t deal with this right now. What on earth could he be proud of you for? For wasting his time? For being a burden on everyone? For being weak?

“I’m going to get you a glass of water. Stay here.” You grabbed his arm before he could move. You didn’t want him away from you for even a moment. You were trembling and just wanted to rest on him. You shifted so you were facing him, hunched over yourself.

“Please.”

“OK, for now. You’ll have to drink water later.” Thatch put his arms around you and rocked you gently while you mentally drifted into nothingness.

“Y/N, what were you thinking about?” Thatch said to you later - it could have been minutes or hours, you didn’t know. You didn’t answer.

“You’re going to have to start talking about it if you want to get better.” You still didn’t say anything, just closed your eyes and nuzzled in closer to his chest. He pulled you an arms length away from his body.

“No, that won’t work this time,” he said gently. “You can talk to me or Marco but you’re going to have to start. What were you thinking about?”

“Bad memories,” you whispered. You didn’t open your eyes. You couldn’t face seeing him.

“Of what mija?”

“My brothers.”

“What did they do?”

“They - they all died. They were k-killed.” You’d never said the words out loud before. It hurt you. He brought you back to his chest again.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” But you were already gone, remembering your brothers killed while you watched, useless helpless powerless weak the blood the blood the blood 

“Hey, Y/N. Y/N. Come back to me, come here.” Strong arms had you trapped, you couldn’t get away, you pushed and pushed but nothing happened. You struggled more, trying to get away. The arms let you go and you curled yourself into a ball.

“Y/N….it’s OK, you’re safe.” The hands reached for you again and you drew back, expecting a blow. Nothing came but you still didn’t unfurl yourself.

“Carina, I’ll be right back.” Garbled speech reached your ears but you couldn’t make sense of anything. 

You felt something cold and wet on the back of your neck, startling you. It started running down your back in cool rivulets, making you shiver. 

“Do you feel the water dripping down your back? Does it feel good?” The voice was talking again. You nodded, it did feel good. 

“Try to focus on the water - can you breathe in with me while you think about the water?” You nodded again. The voice counted to five and you inhaled to the counting. You didn’t make it to five but you tried again. And again. After thinking about the water and breathing to five for a long while, you realized you were curled up shivering in someone’s lap. Thatch’s lap. You looked up at him. He smiled benevolently down at you.

Thatch POV

He was not expecting that answer from you. He thought you would talk about the Marines or maybe even your time aboard a pirate ship. He knew a lot of terrible things had happened to you, but you’d never mentioned any brothers. Or any family at all. No wonder you’d never asked to go back to your island - maybe everyone you’d loved was gone. 

He would never tell you, but taking care of you during your panic attack filled him with love. You were so fragile, so weak, so easily broken, and you had turned to him for safety and comfort. When you grabbed him to keep him with you it took everything in his power not to push you down and thrust himself into you to thank you for trusting him. He would always be there to pick up your pieces and help put you back together. 

You weren’t looking at him, just at the moon.

“Maybe I should leave,” you said quietly.

“Leave the infirmary?” Thatch purposefully misunderstood your statement. 

“No. Leave the ship. It’s too - I’m too much. It’s a lot - for everyone.” You were just airing your thoughts, trying to lessen your own guilt. He wasn’t going to punish you right now. You weren’t in your right mind after all. He hugged you tighter. You wouldn’t be leaving the ship, why would you when everyone who would help you was on board?

“It’s not too much mi vida. Everyone has things they need to work through. Yours are just more…difficult.”

“But it takes so much time from everyone, so many resources. I’m not- “

“Don’t finish that sentence. You are worth it. And you’re not leaving. Have you forgotten about your bounty? You stay with us now. You need us and this only proves it more. What would have happened to you if I wasn’t around? If the crew wasn’t around to help you? How do you think this would have ended?” 

You didn’t reply, just leaned your head against him. He didn’t like this line of thought and made a mental note to talk to Marco and Ace about it. You wouldn’t be leaving and you needed to come to terms with it.

[crownsandbishops]

I am curious about that unicorn, moonbow.

[adultish-momma]

Ink Dandelions

Ruggie agrees to what he thinks is just a fun outing with Yuu before everyone comes back from break and vies for their attention, but as he should expect when it comes to them, things end up more complicated than he bargained for.

TW: Tattoos and getting tattoos, mention of past trauma, mention of past violence, mention of scars, mention of nightmares, mention of asphyxiation/snakebites, mention of intentional violence, possessive thoughts.

A/N: MONTHS. THIS TOOK MONTHS TO WRITE. I really really really wanted to write this concept, I really really really wanted Ruggie to have his time to shine, to show it's not just the OB boys and Housewardens who are affected by this Yuu, but COHESIVENESS man gets me everytime :'(

"Where are we going exactly? Because I remember something about donuts, and this is not the way to the donut stall."

"I know, and I will get you those donuts, but after my appointment. This place doesn't allow any food or drink, besides water, for the clients."

"So explain to me why exactly I had to be the one to come with you then? Don't you have your pet cat and that card duo to drag along on your errands? I already gotta play errand boy for Leona, what's in it for me?"

There's a way Yuu will look at people, this intense look in their eye that he's never been able to quite pin down before. They're not looking through you, it's different than the way somebody like Floyd or Riddle might look at you, like you're not even there. And Yuu's stare isn't invasive either, not intentionally at least, no Ruggie is well aware of what that looks and feels like. There are too many guys at NRC that have perfected that calculating, dissecting gaze of looking into you, of being able to find your every flaw with just a heavy look. (He sees it enough on his own Dormleader's face.)

Yuu levels him with their unique, flustering, soul-searching look right there on the street corner. They're quiet as they wait for the signal that it's safe for them to cross, seemingly giving his sarcastic question some serious thought. It makes him squirm, makes his skin itch in an unfamiliar way, makes his ears flick and his tail twitch and it's not unpleasant, particularly, but it's different and he's about to say something taunting and probably rude just to get the Prefect to stop looking at him like that and -

Suddenly they're wrapping their hand around his own, gentle but firm as they finally turn away and tug him across the intersection. He thinks they're just going to ignore his earlier jabs, and that's fine, there was nothing serious behind them in the first place. Leona hasn't come back from break yet, and Ruggie had just returned yesterday, so as long as they held true to their promise of sugary delights, the hyena really didn't have any other plans today.

"I think you're the only one in all of NRC who will actually understand why I have this appointment. And if you decide you want it too, then I'm more than happy to pay for yours." They aren't looking at him, eyeing a nondescript storefront that they are determinedly dragging him towards. But their voice is somber, serious in a way he's really only heard inside the confines of the school infirmary. It makes him reach for his elbow, fingers tracing the scar he tried very hard to hide from his family over the break.

They catch the movement, he knows they do. But instead of commenting, they push inside the shop, letting him go once he's passed the threshold so they can approach the person at the reception desk. And Ruggie is left standing there, thinking to himself that this must be what whiplash feels like, because the stark difference between slipping into a slow spiral of complicated memories and baffled bewilderment is absolutely wild.

This is not where he thought the Ramshackle Prefect would be taking him today.

The tattoo shop is warm and cozy, surprisingly enough. Almost every inch of the waiting area up front is covered in tattoo designs. There's art in every different style known to man. From small, modern, simple designs to some massive traditional pieces he'd see back in the slums of the Sunset Savanah to everything in between from every corner of Twisted Wonderland. Ruggie is pulled back from his admiration for the art by the conversation brewing between the Prefect and the tattoo artist leading them to the back, Yuu waving at him to follow along.

"This is gonna be the last one right? I shouldn't have to see you in here again after we finish up this piece, correct?"

"Wow, okay, I see how it is, already sick of me huh?"

"Nah, of course not, you're one of my favorite customers. Some of my favorite art to walk out that door too. But considering exactly why you've enlisted my services, yeah, I want this to be the last one."

Ruggie feels like he's having an out-of-body experience. Sure, he can still feel the shop around him, too many predator instincts ingrained in his DNA to truly lose all his faculties. But as the artist and Yuu keep talking in that weirdly professionally intimate way, he feels his mouth go dry and his limbs lock up. And as Yuu takes off their overly thick turtleneck, revealing the tank underneath, it feels as if the world slows down to a syrupy crawl, like his head is dipped underwater and the only thing solid and real in this new world of his is the expanse of the Prefect's skin that he's now faced with.

Ruggie was there for Azul's Overblot. True he passed out before the fight had ended, but he dimly remembers seeing the cephalopod's tentacles wrap around Yuu's neck and squeeze. (He wakes up in cold sweats some mornings, trying to gulp down as much oxygen as possible when his nightmares decide to play around with that particularly traumatizing experience.) So there's a part of him that flinches, hard, when he sees the tentacles that are inked into the Prefect's skin. They wrap around their neck the same way the Octavinille's housewarden did, although these ones are more stylized than the real thing, purples and lilacs and oil-slick blacks creating a haunting effect on their skin. The suckers look a little more raised than the rest of the artwork, but otherwise, it's a gorgeous piece of work. Makes him less nauseous to see that than the old, awful bruising that used to decorate Yuu's collarbone.

It's the piece of artwork on their right shoulder that cause a ball of anxiety to develop in Ruggie's chest. Sure, the stark reminder of that day in Octavinille isn't exactly pleasant, and seeing the pottery-crack scar on their left shoulder always fills Ruggie with a complicated concoction of emotions, but he knows about those events, he was there for them. He'd seen the damage firsthand for both, helped them with their bandages for both occasions, shared one of those scars with them. But if they are getting tattoos as reminders of the events that left them scarred so far this year, which Ruggie is inclined to believe is the case as he watches the artist prep the area surrounding Leona's mark, then what happened to them over the winter break?

Slithering up the Prefect's right shoulderblade is the tail of a snake, burnt oranges and blood reds and coopery bronze scales climb the snake in an almost hypnotic pattern. They turn, and he can see that the head of the snake rests on the front of their shoulder, fangs poised over two holes just to the right of where their collarbone meets the shoulder. Its hood is flared, and the cobra's garnet-red eyes seem to follow you, daring people to come close lest its fangs end up embedded in them. It's an incredibly detailed and realistic piece, the snake leaving shadows along Yuu's skin and the fangs actually looking like they've... pierced... skin...

"Did you get bitten by a snake??!!"

"Yes, and?"

"What do you mean 'and?'?? When? Why? How?"

And as the Prefect settles down in the chair, they tell him.

-------

Ruggie has spent the past hour in silence, processing everything Yuu told him, watching their newest tattoo bloom to life on their skin, trying to force the nausea to leave his system. At first, he thought Yuu's near-death experience was his main cause of discomfort, and don't get him wrong, it did bother him. Incredibly so.

But the longer they sat there under the tattoo gun, the pissier he became.

It's not like this new tattoo was ugly or anything. In fact, it was gorgeous, something that would make him salivate in any other situation. It was done in the traditional Sunset Savanna style, harsh lines and bold swirls, matte black lines creating an intricate design across their left shoulder. He spent the past hour watching the cracked, jagged lines of Leona's scar disappear beneath a complicated geometric pattern. When he realizes they've replaced the mark of a lion with a massive inked lion head, something in him snarls.

"It's a reminder, not a claim."

"... I don't know why you think you need to explain. 'Aint got nothin' to do with me."

"It's a reminder. It's a reminder I choose, something I have control over. There's no magic in existence that can heal the scars left behind from an Overblot, these are scars I'm stuck with for the rest of my life and I had no choice in it. These are my choice. And I chose to swap the scar tissue for a lion so nobody, especially the person who hurt me could forget it."

Well, now Ruggie feels bad. A little. He gets it, probably the only person on campus who can get it, but that doesn't quell the possessive urge inside of him that's furious with the Prefect for doing... something. He's not quite sure what exactly about this whole situation that's got him so upset.

He grabs his elbow, as the artist paints glimmering gold for the lion's facial features, stuck in his own messy, complicated feelings from that messy, complicated day. Leona is one of his closest relationships, a weird mess of a balance between friend and servant, equal and lesser. Their relationship has always been about mutual benefits, symbiotic always, platonic sometimes. And Ruggie can’t even look at his arm because it reminds him that there was a moment, before Leona Overblotted, before you can write it all off as something done under magical insanity, a moment where Leona actively tried to hurt him, actively and intentionally tried to maim him. And Ruggie is still bitter about it, still brings it up occasionally to inflict some of the complicated hurt on Leona that he still feels, but Ruggie is also exhausted and tired and wants to move on.

He looks up and Yuu has him pinned with that pleasantly infuriating look again, like they can read every thought he's currently having and every thought he's ever had and every thought he could have in the future. And it makes him feel so incredibly seen, but right now while he's drowning in such an emotional internal shit show, he wants nothing more than for them to stop looking at him. He's too vulnerable like this, too on the edge, too irrationally mad.

"I think you should get a coverup tattoo."

"I think you're projecting your emotional bullshit."

....

"What would I even get, huh? No way in hell I'm getting a matching tat."

"I think you should get a Dandelion."

....

"I don’t know, I just don’t feel like you should let Leona have such a physical claim over you. Like, turn this thing that he did to you, this mark he gave you, and make it into something that’s yours. Your flower, your mark, your body, you know?"

And it's not a bad idea, not at all, but it does nothing to satisfy the feral thing that's been pacing in his chest, snarling and chomping at the bit during this whole stupid endeavor.

"Besides, we can say we've got matching flower tattoos!"

If anyone ever doubted Ruggie's predatory status, they should've seen the way he fucking locked onto the Prefect's newly revealed thigh. He was so intently taking in the vine of roses circling their left leg, a constricting band of blood red and bone white roses, vivid green leaves and night black thorns, so intent was he that he almost missed how his disquiet had quieted, calmed and placated.

Oh. Oh, that's what was bothering him.

Because he’d been watching the tattoo come to life and a part of him had died a little inside with every stroke of ink but he couldn’t figure out why. But it turns out he’d always thought of the scar as a sorta good thing, a little bit, in the very back of his head. Because Yuu had the same scar, and it tied them together. And when Yuu erased their scar (for very valid reasons he knows this) they erased the connection they shared with him. Erased their connection and replaced it with something connecting them to Leona of all people.

But instead, he can now have this with them, something they both choose to happen to them. In this cozy, tucked-away store on the far side of town, they can have this tie, and Ruggie really, really likes that idea.

[meloncholy-words]

Robin: A Word That Means Run (Chapter 2: Red Hood)

Red Hood died as a Robin, and came back as something else. The name still means something to him.

A/N: Forgot to post this on Friday. Most of this chapter was pulled out of my ass because I don't know how drug dealers or city work works so. Enjoy <3 Again, actual canon does what it wants so I do too. If it's bad I apologize, I rewrote this like 7 times because I kept accidentally writing myself into corners

~~~

Chapter Warnings: Explosions, gun violence, canon typical violence, swearing, drugs and drug dealers, drug dealing to kids(it's only mentioned), past character death(it's Jason), brief descriptions of that night but nothing graphic, weapon inaccuracies probably, descriptions of blood and injury. No death occurs! Let me know if I should add more warnings please.

AO3 | Chapter List

The new bunch of dealers Red Hood was tracking were starting to become an issue. He would have been happy to turn a blind eye for a bit, get a feel for their operation before approaching them with either the offer to be under his control or the threat of being run out. But the kids in the alley talked. Not usually, but to Hood? Always. The kids told Hood that these guys were trying to sell to them, which was a pretty big no-no.

So Hood couldn't let them think they were getting away with this anymore.

Taking down their initial startup was pretty easy. All he needed to do was break a few bones and shoot a few limbs before they were scattering like flies. And that would've been the end of it, if they didn't seem so determined to set up shop.

This time around, the didn't stick to one place. Every time he got a tip as to where they might be, the place always turned up empty. They were in those places, if the scraps left behind were anything to go off of, but they'd gotten annoyingly good at scattering before Hood could appear.

The only good thing that seemed to be coming out of this dance was that not having a consistent place of operation meant selling the drugs was actually pretty hard to do efficiently. These dealers were pissing Hood off by still being around, but at least he could piss them off right back by tanking their sales.

One more bust in trying to track them down, and he was thoroughly frustrated.

There wasn't a lot to find as he stalked through the abandoned warehouse, mostly just scattered trash and a few old chairs likely picked up off the street. No forgotten drugs, no loose files, no dropped receipts, nothing that could be used to hunt them down any further.

A grumble rumbled deep within the mans chest. It had been a few weeks since he'd been trying to get a hold of these guys. He'd been itching to get his hands around their throats, slowly ingrained no-kill rule be damned. But he had other things to worry about, other scumbags, and he didn't want to dwell on these ones any longer than he had to. Which meant that he'd need help, which meant that he couldn't kill them.

Whatever. Dealing with this issue was more important than the disdain he had for dealing with his family, and they'd known he'd been on this for weeks now. They'd be willing to help.

Tapping into the Bat comm line, he was met with a conversation he didn't care for.

"Listen- listen! The cookie part of the Oreo is objectively the best!" Nightwing yelled into his mic.

"How does it feel to be fucking wrong?" Red Robin shot back.

"Well I wouldn't know, because I'm not."

Gods he hates this family.

"Exhilarating debate going on! I'll stop you right there," Hood cut in, ignoring the whisper of Thank fuck from Oracle. "O, can I get some help here? I need you to try getting camera footage from around me. Every time I try I'm too late and footage is missing, but you might be fast enough."

"Yep, on it. Give me a second." If Jason strained, he might be able to hear the clacking of a keyboard and mouse over his dumb siblings arguing over a cookie. Then there was silence; O had switched their channels. Jason would be sure to visit her with pastries more often. "It looks like we're a little late. There's a path of cameras with recently cut footage. So we can't get them on camera, but we might be able to track them down. That good enough for ya?"

"Yes, thank you, Oracle, my beloved eye in the sky."

"Haha, don't flatter me." She sounded like she enjoyed it anyway. "You've been on this for a while, should I send someone over to help you? You might be able to tie this up faster, but I get it if you wanna do this alone."

"Actually, that would be great. Who've you got for me?"

There was more silence. "Ok, Red's the closest to you, but he's only passing by on his way to a potential armed break in. That would take him ten to get over there, and fifteen if it turns out to be a real threat, not including the additional travel time to circle back around to you. Bats is only about seven out though, and he's unoccupied. Everyone else is more than ten. Thoughts?"

Hood audibly groaned at that. Ten minutes wasn't a long time to have to wait, but it may end up being just long enough to be a problem. Red wouldn't ditch his mission, which Hood didn't blame him for, but that would be a twenty minutes wait. Batman was the only logical person to send over. But that meant he'd have to be around Batman, which he wasn't sure was worth it.

Possibly let these guys escape, again, or have to deal with Batman? Escape or Batman, escape or Batman, escape or...

"Fuck it, send the old man over." He hoped he wouldn't regret this.

"Got it. Sending you both directions to that last camera. He should get there a little bit after you."

"Thanks O, you're the best and I love you~!"

The trail led him to a few blocks of old, abandoned buildings. This place had been sectioned off by the city years ago, deemed too unsafe due to the amount of chemicals and pollution that seemed to unnaturally gather around this singular point. Bruce had been trying to put in money for years to get this place cleaned up, but the city didn't seem to notice. Or care.

It was the perfect place to lay low until Hood was off of their trail, and then they could go somewhere actually habitable, because no one would even think about being here for more than ten minutes. Except that Hood already here, and this was ending tonight.

The soft flutter of a cape let him know that the old man was here without him having to turn around. Sure enough, there was a living shadow beside him in seconds.

"So, we split up and try locating them faster?" It was the fastest option, and they could cover double the distance in about the same time.

Batman only grunted in acknowledgment, the bastard, before he faded into the darkness on one side. Hood scoffed, muttering something under his breath as he took to the other side.

The place was a mess. There was glass and graffiti everywhere, bits of door and wall scattered along the roads. An average Crime Alley look, to be sure. Hood scanned the windows and doorways carefully, looking for any sign of life, or even where their potential vehicle might be. Anything to give away the location of these bastards.

His comm crackled in his ear, a deep voice coming out of it.

"Found them." A simple two words, and Hood's grapple was clinging onto a building, pulling him to the direction of the Bat.

By the time he made it over to the building of their choosing, the sounds of an altercation could be heard from above. Jason couldn't help but be a little jealous that they hadn't waited for him. The sounds of metal batarangs clanging against wall and floor was soon overcome by the loud ring of gunfire and Hood tucked and rolled into a window that wasn't broken just yet.

There was blood. Blood and broken bones and grunts of pain and exhaustion in the air. Jason was careful to deal harmful, maybe permanent but not fatal damage. The joints were hard to aim for, but putting a bullet into their limbs was good enough. They had been trying to convince Jason to switch to rubber bullets recently, and as the drug dealers who thought selling drugs to kids was a good idea yelped and screamed and writhed in pain on the floor, he was glad he hadn't been convinced just yet.

Movement caught his eye. Movement that fled out of the door, that thought they could get away. Hood wasn't going to let them. Everything was almost wrapped up here, Bruce would be find on his own while he went to deal with this straggler.

The form weaved between buildings with the grace of a Gothamite who knew when to run and a rabbit who knew it had been caught. It was clunky and frantic, but it knew how to run like hell from danger. Unfortunately for them, Jason could run like a predator.

The person dipped into a building, one at the end of a block. There was nowhere to go after this - not unless they were willing to be out in the open with a marksman chasing after them. And who would want that?

Jason slowed to a walk. More of a stalk, actually. His steps were firm and calculated as he entered the space. There were stairs to one side that led to nothing(the second floor was missing), and a door to the other that likely led into a dining area. Door number one it is.

Slowly, carefully, cautiously, Hood grabbed the doorknob, pushing it open.

On the far wall there was an open window, pushed and left open. Silent in comparison to it breaking instead. And in the middle of that room, a few feet away from the window, was an old, worn out dining table. On the dining table?

Bombs.

Old bombs that had likely been sitting here collecting dust. Likely to be used in the destruction of this place before the city decided it wasn't really worth it and left all their equipment just lying around in one of the most unsafe places in the city. In the center was a timer that was ticked down to 0:02.

Jason had been here before. In front of a timer that ticked down the seconds until he died, in an old abandoned place that no one would ever find him in and no one was coming for him. He hadn't made it out on that day, dying until the smothering, fiery rubble of another building in another country.

But things were different now. He was older, smarter, not tied up and left to rot and die in the cold. He could get out. He could close the door and run, maybe try to use all the weight he'd gained to break down the wall. He could do that. He should do that. He should-

"Robin!"

He knows that name. It used to be his. He used to wear it proudly, happily. He wore it to everything, even his death day. He'd died with that name, taken it to the grave and when he crawled his way back out it wasn't his anymore. He'd grown to resent the person it belonged to, then learned to get over it. There was another Robin now, one that was neither of them. Robin was not longer him - hadn't been his in a long time.

He moved anyways.

There was warmth and tightness around him, pulling him close and away from that bomb that reminded him of his biggest failure. Pulling him into his fathers arms, and suddenly it didn't matter that he was a lot bigger and heavier than that man now. Because it wasn't true.

Here in his arms, shielded from an explosion, he was 12 again, smiling and laughing and bright and happy, because he had never died before, and the name Robin was magic to him.

It took a moment for the world to stop spinning, for his ears to stop ringing. When it did stop, he was still there in those arms. He wasn't 12, though. He was 22, and his dad still held him close.

Stray pieces of wall continued to rain down, lighting pittering and pattering against the bomb-proof material guarding him. There was dust in the air, thick and heavy and gross, but it didn't touch him when he was buried so deep into the darkness. A few seconds passed, and when Jason felt that they were properly in the clear, he shoved Batman away, picking himself up and dusting himself off.

"Do you think that's funny?" he yelled, spinning around. There was a light anger in his voice - not as bad as it was when his eyes glowed a vibrant green, but not as soft as when he mocked his brothers in the kitchen. "Where do you get off, old man, calling me that name again? What's wrong with you?"

Batman stared at him for a moment from where he lay on the floor, then another.

"Well?

A small smirk picked at his lips. "You responded to it."

Jason sputtered for a second, thankful that his helmet covered his face because he may have gone a little red. "Yeah- well- you try betraying three years of instinct next time!"

"Instincts you haven't used in seven years?"

"That- I- I've only been conscious for like three of those years!"

"Of course, Jaylad." The old man was standing now, upright and facing him with a soft smile on his face.

"Pssh, whatever. There's- we still need to get that other guy, we don't have time to sit around and handle sentimental shit."

"Of course."

"Don't say shit to anyone,"Jason called as was already turned around, walking fast in the direction he decided to go. He didn't bother listening for a response, huffing to himself and mumbling something under his breath, too quiet for his helmet's modulator to pick up.

Yeah, he regretted bringing Bruce along. A lot.

Well... maybe only a little bit.

[blackberry-jam]

That post about cannibalism becoming too mainstream and destigmatized by certain sections of the internet and therefore losing its weight and horror and visceral nature just has me thinking about how HABIT ate a baby and everyone was like oh lmao he’s just an edgy cool guy!!!! He’s just like me fr!! Haha!!! Which. I think not enough people are freaked out by the fact that he forced Evan to eat his own child raw and possibly alive. He mentions “the bones” and implies that it took awhile. Like that wasn’t Hannibal-style Brioche With Baby Pâté and Shredded Zucchini in a Plum Vinaigrette, he just opened Evan’s mouth and bit down until the job was done, and I think that says a lot more about Habit than people want to examine. Idk it just. has me thinking. The number of times hurting children comes up in entries and supplementary materials about HABIT is kind of overwhelming, really. I’ve seen people talk about how they think he’d draw the line at hurting children, but the source material goes out of its way to state otherwise- just about every time he’s in contact with children they die. Or worse. He’s the summation of the worst of humanity, the combined aggregate of all of our flaws and crimes, and one of those crimes is cannibalism, so honestly I wouldn’t be surprised if he made a habit (ha) of it.

[jankwritten]

Jasico Bingo Challenge: Jason Remembers Nico

Sunlight streaks in through the half-open arena roof, bathing their section in warm, mid-afternoon gold. Jason, who has decided to spend their short mid-class break sprawled out in the dirt, basks in the warmth of it. 

He’s hot from training, sure, and maybe everyone else is smarter for seeking shelter in the shade of the spectator stands, but something about the afternoon sun is like wrapping up in a blanket. A cozy, tingly kind of warmth. 

Maybe, in another life, Jason was a child of Apollo. Wouldn’t that be something? Jason Grace: still a child of the sky, but without all the pressure. It sounds pretty nice, he won’t lie. 

As the class murmurs in the background, Jason lets himself relax. Really, truly relax, starting with his shoulders, down his arms, his wrists, his knuckles. He loosens his back on a deep exhale, and down his legs, until he feels as boneless and one-with-the-earth as he possibly can. 

A cool shade passes over him. It settles across his face, as if something has come by and blocked out the sun. 

He peeks. 

“You’ll get a sunburn,” Nico says, hunched over with his elbows on his knees, face in his hands. 

“And you won’t?” Jason closes his eyes again. Honestly, having Nico’s chilly aura nearby is kind of awesome when the sun’s this perfect. Yin and yang, right? Balance. 

Plus, y’know, doesn’t hurt a guy’s pride to have the well documented people-avoider seeking him out. Even if it’s to save him from himself. Score one: Jason. 

“My hair will spare my neck, I’m sure.” 

Jason smiles. “I like your hair long, you know. I wish I could grow my hair out like that.” 

Nico makes a scoffing sound, like he can’t decide if he wants to be amused or offended. Jason peeks again. 

“Perfect Praetor Grace wants to look like an unwashed rat?” 

“That’s not what I said. I said I wanted to grow my hair long, like yours.” 

He watches Nico rolls his eyes and shake his head, but he doesn’t push the point. 

Score two: Jason. 

A breeze rolls in off the strawberry hills, bringing the scent of grass and summer in to mix with the kicked up dirt and metal of the arena. Jason lulls into it. 

Gods, this is peaceful. It probably shouldn’t be, in the middle of teaching a class on self-defense. Jason’s always been a creature of habit, though, and battle was always an ironically safe space for him. Let out his aggression in a semi-healthy way, or something. 

Back at Camp Jupiter, they would have him fight in the coliseum every so often, a demonstration of his power, his capability to lead. They called him ruthless. He only ever lost one fight, which earned the victor a massive wave of support when it came time to elect praetors. 

It’s a strange memory, but one he smiles at nonetheless. Reyna was nothing short of vicious when they went toe-to-toe; she was the only person who ever fought the way Jason felt like he needed to, like it was sink or swim. Victory or death. 

There was one match, after Reyna, after people realized that Jason could be beaten, where he accidentally let too much of that side show. When he threw down his sword and took his opponent to the ground to fight like the wolves did, in the grass with teeth and claws and the rest of the pack swarming around them, snarling their approval. 

One face stood out in that crowd, afterward, of people stepping around him, giving him a wide berth while he scrubbed the blood off his mouth. It was a boy, wearing a too-loose purple shirt and a look on his face like he knew exactly what he’d seen. A boy with hair that turned brown in the light and eyes like nothing Jason had ever seen - not quite haunted, but certainly too old for the face they sat within. When the light hit them, it almost seemed to disappear. 

Jason never spoke to the boy. 

He opens his eyes again. Nico blinks down at him, his head tilted, eyebrows creased and mouth frowning. 

Jason grins back. Nico’s eyebrow twitches. 

“What.” 

“Nothing,” Jason says. A lifetime ago, Jason singled out one boy in a crowd, and despite having forgotten, lost everything, built himself anew—here that boy sits. Shielding him from the sun. Still, somehow, knowing Jason better than he’s ever known himself. “I’m just glad we’re friends.” 

“Ugh, gods,” Nico’s face goes pink, and his hands move, covering over his mouth and nose. “You’re worse than Will.” 

“I’m doing my job well, then.” 

Nico shakes his head, his hair drifting over his shoulders in the process, hanging in the air between them. Jason wants to reach up and touch it, fiddle with the strands like Leo does with Piper’s hair when they’re hanging out in the bunker. 

“I should let you burn,” Nico says. He doesn’t move. 

The victor in the colosseum would have shored up his walls at that. Closed himself off from the boy with underworld eyes. Heard nothing but the implication that Jason needs someone else to keep him safe, to keep him from getting himself hurt. 

Maybe that’s why Nico never spoke to him, back at Camp Jupiter. Maybe that’s why Jason never got up the nerve to approach him. Too scared to let himself trust. 

“I put my life in your hands,” Jason teases, crossing his arms behind his head. 

The sun is warm on his skin. The chuff of Nico’s disbelieving, snorting laugh is warmer.