#v: with these bloodstained hands (i’ll make you whole)

[devil-kindred]

you who reach with bloodstained, shaking hands— it will get so much worse before it gets better

- (annette “annie” wattkins x frank castle)

[dothwrites]

part v of mafia!au 

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

---

Dean’s never been so happy to see Sam in his entire life. 

His gangly little brother sits behind the wheel of the Impala, face drawn tight with worry. He relaxes in stages as he sees Dean, sees the blood on his clothes, then sees that little of it belongs to him. 

“Where’s Gabriel?” Sam demands as he rushes to open the backseat for Dean. His eyes widen as he takes in the ruin of Castiel, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“I don’t know,” Dean says, grunting as he hefts Cas’ unconscious body into the backseat. “Get his legs.” 

Between the two of them, they get Cas into the backseat, though not as gently as Dean could hope for. If a few extra bruises are the price which Cas has to pay for his freedom, then Dean’s willing to fork that payment over. 

He collapses against the Impala’s sturdy frame, chest heaving. Carrying Cas wasn’t easy; despite all his jabs about Cas being a nerdy little dude, Cas is solid, and carrying his deadweight through the halls of the Novak mansion counts as a workout. Sweat dapples the back of his neck, cooling unpleasantly as Dean waits. 

Once again, he’s in the garage of the Novak mansion. He tries to keep his eyes away from the spot where he last saw Cas, though he can’t stop his morbid fascination with the place. He wonders if there’s a bloodstain there. 

“Where the fuck is Gabriel?” Dean growls, when his body temperature changes from overheated to clammy. “We can’t risk sticking around here too much longer.” 

As if in response to his prayers, Gabriel comes tearing down the staircase. He races towards them at a dead sprint, tossing a few flashbangs behind him. “Get in the car, get in the car!” he shouts, heaving himself in the passenger seat. Dean doesn’t wait for another invitation, but gets into the backseat, arranging Cas’ head on his lap. Sam spares him one shocked look before he gets behind the wheel. 

Sam slams on the gas too hard, causing the Impala’s wheels to squeal and smoke against the concrete of the floor, but when he eases off a little, she jumps forward, as eager for freedom as the rest of them. Dean doesn’t breathe until they crash through the gates and the outline of the mansion disappears in the rearview. 

After weeks, they���re all finally free. 

---

Only when the mansion vanishes completely does Dean dare to look at Castiel. 

Once he does, he regrets it. 

He got a few glimpses when he first saw Cas, but he hadn’t been too interested at cataloging injuries. At that moment, escape was the only thought in his mind and Cas’ injuries were only obstacles to be overcome. 

They have time now, or at least a lack of pursuit. In their world, it amounts to same thing. Dean flicks aside the tattered remains of Cas’ shirt and looks down at the bleeding ruin of his chest. His gorge rises as he looks at the wounds littered over Cas’ torso. Some of them are still bleeding.

Bruises spread over his skin in varying shades of purple, yellow, and green. There are several puncture wounds that Dean recognizes as belonging to a taser. Rage clouds up high and sour in his throat as he considers the varying stages of healing of the wounds. They’ve been hurting Cas from the first day they had him. 

Rage and nausea rise in Dean until he thinks he might choke on them. The bastards turned Cas into a canvas.

“Son of a bitch.” He looks up to see Gabriel leaning over the front seat. Thin white lines of fury etch along his mouth and eyes. 

In the past few weeks, he and Gabriel have come to understand each other as partners and allies, pushing aside their prejudices in favor of a common goal. Dean trusts him as much as he trusts anyone other than Sam, but for the first time since he began working with Gabriel, a little tendril of fear pokes at him. 

“He’s alive,” Dean says, the barest form of comfort he can offer while being truthful. “He’ll be ok. He’s strong.” 

A muscle twitches in the corner of Gabriel’s jaw as he stretches out his hand to brush through Cas’ hair. A soft noise caught between contentment and distress escapes through Cas’ lips and Gabriel withdraws his touch. 

“Just get us home,” Dean tells Sam. 

---

In hindsight, he should have expected the nightmares. 

They made it back to their safehouse without anyone following, which makes Dean stupidly think that they’re out of the woods. Sure, they probably have both the Novak and Winchester families gunning for them, but he, Sam, Gabriel, and Cas are all under one roof. Together they’ve got enough brains, skills, and ruthlessness to take down any threat. 

Dean thinks that right up until the first scream splits the peace of the night. 

He bolts upright, gun already in hand, eyes darting wildly around in search of the potential threat. When he finds none in the immediate vicinity, he runs out of the room, already calling for Sam. 

Sam’s head pokes out of his room, hair sleep tousled and eyes heavy with interrupted slumber, but he looks confused instead of terrified. The fear on his face is directed outward instead of for himself. “Dean? What’s going on?”

Another scream rips through the night. This time Dean recognizes the voice underneath the terror. 

“Cas,” he murmurs, thundering down the hallway. 

The door opens under his touch into a horror show. Cas writhes in the middle of the bed, sheets tangled around his body. His back bends into a rigid, impossible arch as his fingers claw at the mattress. Tendons in his neck bulge as he forces a scream out through clenched teeth. His feet kick uselessly, forcing Gabriel to try and dodge his inadvertent blows. Blood trickles down Cas’ bare chest as his wounds reopen. 

“Cas, you’re ok, you’re all right, come on Cas.” Gabriel’s voice is frantic as he tries to pin Cas’ flailing body. “Easy Cas, easy!” 

Cas screams again. The raw sound tears through the quiet night like a knife blade. The safehouse is removed from civilization, but not so far away as to be isolated, and Cas’ shrieks are loud enough to break glass. 

“Sam, go get my bag,” Dean says. His heart is pounding so hard it’s amazing he hasn’t fainted. His gun is heavy in his hand, pulling his whole arm down to the ground. “There’s a sedative in there; it should be enough to knock him out.” 

“No!” 

Gabriel’s voice cracks like a whip, stopping Sam in his tracks. “What the hell?” A ragged, tortured sound rips out of Cas’ throat. It seems impossible that a single person could hold that much tension in their body without snapping in half. 

Wild eyes and bared teeth are all Dean sees of Gabriel. “You are not putting anymore drugs into him!” 

Dean’s eyes fall to Cas’ arm, to the series of haphazard bruises blossoming along the vulnerable flesh of his inner arm. An awful, terrible picture paints itself in Dean’s mind, one which explains Cas’ state of mind, his hazy eyes and wandering train of thought. It’s not real, none of this is real...in my head, there are things, there are people, and they lie--

Dean thinks he might be sick.

Without consciously realizing it, Dean finds himself moving forward. At first, he means to do nothing more than to help Gabriel restrain Cas from hurting himself, but then he finds himself murmuring soft reassurances, things that his father would have slapped out of his mouth if he could. 

“Hey Cas, you’re all right, you’re all right, you’re ok, I’ve got you, me and Gabe are here, you’re ok now--” 

He runs his hand over Cas’ forehead, wiping sweat away from his skin. “You’re safe, you’re all right. No one’s going to hurt you, I’ve got you.” 

He’s aware of the weight of Sam and Gabriel’s eyes, but he keeps his eyes focused on Cas. One last, thin wail rips from his throat and then, like a puppet cut from his strings, Cas collapses bonelessly onto the mattress. He shudders once and is still. 

Dean holds his breath for ten seconds. Then, when Cas sleeps peacefully on, he lets it out in one long whoosh. His knees buckle, threatening to send him crashing onto the mattress right beside Cas. 

“Go back to bed, Sam.” A few hesitant protests come from Sam, but they’re swiftly silenced with a sharp bark of his name. 

“Call me if anything changes,” Sam shoots off as a parting salvo, but Dean doesn’t think it’ll be necessary. If Cas has another screaming fit, Sam will know.

Sam’s door closes and Dean takes a few steps backward. His shaky legs give out just as his back hits the wall, and he slides down until his ass hits the ground. “Jesus,” he breathes. He buries his face in his hands, unwilling to allow Gabriel this view of his weakness. “God, oh god.” 

For thirty seconds, he allows his horror, and anger free reign. Then, with effort, he pulls himself back together, stitching together reason and rationality until he’s able to think. He looks up at the bed, where Gabriel’s head is bowed low over the mattress. 

“Drugs?” Dean finally asks, his voice a hoarse rasp. 

Gabriel’s head rises like it’s moving on rusty hinges. His golden eyes are bleak. 

“I recognize the handiwork. It’s from Naomi, one of Dad’s pets. She likes to experiment. Pump them full of hallucinogens, tear them apart, and see what falls out. By the end, they’re reprogrammed into something else they wouldn’t even recognize. Stands to reason they’d set her loose on Cas.” 

Bile rises in Dean’s throat. Cas is brilliant, his mind sharper than a steel trap. Behind blue eyes, thousands of gears are constantly turning. To think of someone rummaging around in that machine, upsetting the delicate balances and systems...It’s perverse, an upsetting of the natural order. Dean doesn’t believe in God, never has, but the idea of Cas losing his reason due to outside influences is as close to blasphemy as anything else. 

“Why don’t you get some sleep? I can stay with him.” 

Gabriel’s scoff isn’t as strong as it could be. Instead, he just looks weary and defeated. “You know, when I first thought of a Winchester taking my place, I thought I was going to kill you myself. And now...” He shakes his head, dismissing whatever he was going to say next. “I’m going to get a few hours worth of sleep. I’ll come get you then.” 

For a moment, Dean thinks Gabriel might go so far as to pat him on the shoulder. His hand hovers awkwardly in mid-air before it drops to his side. Gabriel shuffles towards the door, each step taking an eternity to accomplish. He waves at Dean, a limp gesture, before he heads down the hallway to his bedroom. It shuts behind him, leaving Dean alone with Cas. 

It takes almost all of Dean’s energy to make his way to the opposite side of the room. He collapses into the armchair, still warm from Gabriel’s ass. 

Blood dries tacky on Cas’ chest. None of the wounds he ripped open were deep enough to really hurt him, but seeing the reminders of his treatment torn stark red on Cas’ chest is still like getting a punch to the gut. 

It seems wrong, somehow, for him to see Cas brought low. He knows Cas wouldn’t want to be seen like this. When he wakes up, Cas will probably either punch him or shoot him, and that’ll be fine. It’ll be worth it to see Cas’ eyes open and shine with lucidity. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally says. His voice sounds harsh in the quiet of the room. The very air molecules bristle with disapproval. It’s nothing compared to the contempt which Dean feels for himself. 

“If it hadn’t been for me, you never would have been caught up in this. For whatever reason, you looked at me and you saw someone worth saving. I don’t know why you thought that. I don’t know what I did to make you think that I was ever worth this.” 

Dean’s fingers crawl across the mattress to take Cas’ hand in his. Cas’ fingers are cold and limp. Blood is caked into his cuticles. In his sleep, Cas murmurs. Whether it’s a sound of distress or happiness, Dean doesn’t know. He’s afraid to know. 

The first time he saw Cas was at the exchange. The Novaks were lined up on one side of the hotel and the Winchesters on the other. Dean had barely been able to swallow his rage at being sold off like a pawn, all so his father could swagger around the city like he owned something. He’d focused that rage on the family who, up until a few weeks ago, it was his purpose to thwart in any way possible, death not excluded. Now he was expected to join them, with nary a word spoken otherwise. 

He recognized Michael Novak and he’d gotten intimately familiar with Gabriel Novak’s file. Neither of those Novaks were as interesting as the Novak who stood at the back of the room. 

Even without knowing his name or anything else about him, Castiel was the Novak who caught his attention. He moved through the rest of them like a panther moving through wolves, all coiled grace and tightly bound intent. Where the other Novaks were stiff, he was fluid, where they were cold, he burned hot. Dean looked at him and saw the proverbial diamond in the rough, one jewel amidst a sea of imposters. 

And now here he is, shattered into a thousand pieces, a sacrifice laid in front of the altar of Dean Winchester. 

“I’m sorry.” Dean’s voice croaks on the last syllable. “Cas, I’m so sorry.” His instincts tell him to crush Cas’ hand in his, to bring him back with nothing more than sheer force of will, but he already knows that’s not an option. He needs to learn how to hold things without destroying them, how to love something without smothering it. 

“I wasn’t worth it. Whatever you thought you saw, it wasn’t worth this.” Heat prickles behind Dean’s eyes and works its way up his throat. “I’m so sorry Cas.” 

Misery forces his head low and Dean presses his forehead against Cas’ knuckles. Cas’ hand is so cold. The rise and fall of his chest is subtle, worryingly so. Dean doesn’t know how it feels to fall asleep without the taste of fear thick and sour on his tongue. 

He falls asleep with his lips still shaping the word sorry. 

---

Dean drags himself up from the pit of sleep, roused by a stimulus so weak it might as well be nonexistent. It’s still enough to pull him out of a troubled slumber, heart pounding. 

It takes his pupils a few seconds to adjust to the lack of light. When they do, they immediately find Cas. He lies, flat on his back, but his hand reaches out towards Dean. The weight of his hand is almost like a whisper as his fingers ruffle through his hair. 

“Cas,” Dean croaks, his pulse suddenly racing like a runaway carriage. “Cas, are you awake?” Are you ok, are you whole, please, tell me you’re all right, tell me that I didn’t destroy you like I destroy everything else in my godforsaken life-

A faint smile creeps over Cas’ face, like the sun struggling to break through the darkness of night. It’s a faint sliver of a thing, but it’s there, inescapable and wondrous. 

“Hello Dean.” 

[thejollyroger-writer]

To Serve and Protect - Chapter 5

SUMMARY: Detective Killian Jones has been investigating a stalker-turned-murderer for months by the time he goes home from the bar with Emma Swan. But when he thinks he sees the very man in question outside her apartment, can he separate his feelings for her and his need to keep her safe?

TRIGGERS: well, this is a fic about a serial killer. mentions of violence and death, with some physical violence/whump. as always, if you need me to discuss this further for you to be comfortable, message me. – rated teen

Prologue // Ch. 1 // Ch. 2 // Ch. 3 // Ch. 4 // Ch. 5 on AO3

a/n: another Monday, another chapter, another cliffhanger?, still no baby. 

-- -- -- -- 

Graham shows up first, quickly clearing the two flights of stairs that lead to Killian’s walkup apartment. The first thing he notices is the open door. 

The second is the emptiness in the space at the top of the steps. Emma’s not there, only a few bags of groceries and a bottle of wine. 

Jesus, what’s he going to tell David — but he pushes the thought down with a gulp, not even allowing his brain to go there. 

“Jones!” he calls out, turning his attention towards the half-open door. “I’m coming in!” And for a moment, the whole world stills, only silence greeting him on the other side. And then: 

“Oh, Graham, thank god.” Emma’s voice comes from across the room, half-shrouded by the couch. He catches his breath closing his eyes for half a second. “Did you — are you —” He doesn’t even know what questions he’s trying to ask, but they’re not coming out either way, so he snaps his mouth shut before crossing the room to where Emma is kneeling on the floor.

There’s blood. There’s a lot of blood, actually, something which has long since stopped bothering Graham. But seeing Killian Jones passed out on the floor, a blood-soaked light blue towel pressed against his shoulder, makes his stomach churn. Sure, Killian can be a pompous asshole, he sometimes doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut, and he’s been known to defy an order or two, but Graham would still place him on the short list of his friends. 

“The stalker’s dead in the kitchen,” Emma says, her eyes never once leaving where she’s putting as much pressure on Killian’s gunshot wound as she can. “At least, I’m assuming it’s the stalker. And I’m assuming he’s dead, given that there’s been no movement or sound from over there since I came in.” 

Graham nods, changing his course to check on that, first. Sure enough, behind the counter that separates the kitchen from the living room, there’s a dead body, a bullet in his chest and one just below his neck. Of course Killian would manage two almost-perfect shots while he’s getting shot himself. 

“Yeah,” Graham confirms, pressing his fingers against the man’s neck even though there’s no way he could still be alive after those two shots. “He’s dead alright. How’s Jones?” 

Emma sighs, but before she can answer, Henry calls to them from the hallway: “Jones! Miss Swan! I’m coming in!” 

“We’re clear, Mills,” Graham says, meeting the young man at the door, and they share a nod before both holstering their weapons. “One DB in the kitchen, and Jones is unconscious with a shoulder injury but still alive.” 

“And the ambulance?” 

“On its way,” Emma says. “A few minutes passed between when I called you and them, so they should be here any minute.” 

As if on cue, the two paramedics push their way into the apartment. 

“Sheriff,” one of them says gruffly, sharing a nod with Graham. 

“Booth. Officer Jones is behind the couch. And there’s a DB in the kitchen.” 

“DB’s are your jurisdiction,” he half-jokes, but rushes to where Killian is lying on the floor. “Emma,” he says, kneeling next to her on the floor, and Graham notices the way a soft blush rises to her cheeks. 

“Hey, August.” 

“You did a great job with the towel. Probably saved his life.” 

“Thanks,” she mumbles, letting August take her place at his shoulder, and she reaches out to sweep Killian’s hair off  his forehead. 

“I’ll take it from here,” he says, but Emma is already pushing herself off the floor and wiping her hands on her already-bloodstained dress. 

“I’m… gonna change,” she says, her voice still soft, and she doesn’t meet anyone’s eye before she turns back towards the bedroom. 

“You can take all the time you need, Miss Swan,” Graham says, and she stops but doesn’t turn towards them. “I’ll wait for you and you can ride to the hospital with me.” 

But she’s already shaking her head. “No, I’m going with him.” 

It’s not a question, but Graham still turns to August who confirms. After finishing his current task, the paramedic meets his eyes, nods with a shrug, and goes back to what he’s doing. 

 She told herself she didn’t need to know. She even told Killian that, if given the choice, she didn’t want to know. But now that the choice is here, literally, dead in Killian’s kitchen, she can’t stop thinking about him. 

Because what if he is someone from her past, as improbable as it is? What if all of this was because of her? 

She takes a deep breath in and holds it, pausing from trying to wash Killian’s blood off her hands to look at herself in the mirror for a moment before releasing it. From what she can tell, though her dress is ruined, none of it soaked through to her bra, which she only thinks about since she doesn’t know if she has another here to change into. 

Anything to keep her mind off of what happened in the last ten minutes. 

It doesn’t all come off, the blood staining her hands and her arms, but she does her best. It’s a warm day, but she has no idea what the temperature in the hospital is going to be like, so she opts for leggings and a plain white v-neck, but before she leaves the bedroom she pulls a blue and white flannel shirt from Killian’s closet overtop. 

She is silent as she crosses the apartment, her arms crossed over her chest to make her as small as she can, but she’s made up her mind. 

“Emma, are you—” Graham starts, turning away from where they’re moving Killian to a stretcher, but when she doesn’t stop, her path clear, he crosses the living room and tries to stop her. “I don’t think you want to do that.” 

“No, Graham,” she says, shaking her head as she pushes past him and into the kitchen. “I’ve made up my mind, I need —” She swallows, stepping around the counter, but her attention is still on Graham. “I need to see him, I need to know.” 

When she does turn her eyes down towards the body on the floor, though, everything stops: her words, her mind, her heart. Her breath catches in her throat. She might throw up — hell, she might faint. She needs— 

Air. 

Deep breaths. Slow movements. The balcony. Fresh air. 

Holy shit. 

“We’re ready to go here, Miss Swan, if you still want to come with us.” 

But she knows she can’t. She can barely breathe, nonetheless make it down a flight of steps, so she shakes her head. “No, I — I’ll go with Graham. We need to talk to David.” 

Though Graham offered to pick him up at the tavern, David insists on meeting her at the hospital. Between the slow night and the fear in Emma’s voice, he leaves almost immediately, much closer to the hospital than Killian’s apartment, but Graham and Emma still beat him there in the sheriff’s cruiser. 

She’s a mess. An absolute mess, pacing in the waiting room, unable to stop moving — her feet, her hands, her mind, everything moving a mile a minute. Graham tried to get her to talk on the way there, but she couldn’t do it, wasn’t able to explain anything with David there. (Odd, he thought, but she’s certainly in a state of shock, so he doesn’t question it.)

It only takes David a few minutes longer than them to get there, but she spends them trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, trying to figure everything out. 

It doesn’t help, though. If anything, it just makes her head spin faster, dizzying her to the point where she needs to sit down for a moment — a moment that finds a quick end when David finally walks through the doors. It’s obvious by both his crazed expression and the amount of his hair sticking up in different directions that he’s been worrying about her since she hung up the phone, which doesn’t surprise her, but there wasn’t much she could do about it, since she couldn’t fill him in over the phone. 

He greets Graham first, sharing a handshake with him before wrapping his arms around Emma. She’s always thought that was part of the reason she got along with him much better than James, even though she’s much similar to his gruff, silent personality. But David always seemed to understand her, was there for her emotionally the way no one else ever tried to be, and he truly has been pretty much her only best friend until Ruby came home to Storybrooke a few years’ past. 

“Emma, please, tell me what’s going on,” he says after a moment, the silence of it all finally getting to him.  

So she does. She fills him in, letting Graham give a little background on the stalker case after she talks about going home with Killian that first night. She doesn’t share anything that doesn’t need to — he is still her brother, and she would be okay if both he and Graham just assumed that she and Killian’s relationship had never gotten physical. She sums up the past few weeks quickly, seeing him throughout the day, spending nights between their apartments, everything he needs to know, until she gets to earlier that night, to standing in the hallway helpless as she hears the gunshots, to hoping that it’s safe for her to go in even though all that greets her on the other side of the door is silence — and how she found Killian on the floor behind the couch with a bullet in the shoulder and the stalker in the kitchen, how she called 9-1-1 and they talked her through finding a towel and putting pressure on the wound until the paramedics got there. 

At the end of it all, David sighs from the seat he decided to take next to Graham, even with Emma still pacing between them and Henry, now seated on the other side of the small aisle. “So everything’s okay, the stalker is taken care of and now we just have to wait for Killian to get out of surgery.” 

Emma shakes her head as she whips to face him, movement enough to make her vision go blurry for a moment. “Everything is not okay, David,” she says, which grabs the attention of both men. “It all comes back to Neal.” 

“What?” 

“The stalker. It was Felix.”

Graham stands up, running his fingers through his hair. This is beginning to be too much for him. “Wait, you— you know the stalker?” 

At this, Emma nods, sitting in the seat he just stood from. “After I graduated from high school, I needed to get out of Storybrooke, but you already know that. So I went to Boston, and that’s where I met Neal. I got into the wrong crowd almost immediately, and he was — well, he was in charge of it. I knew he was older than me, but I never cared about how much older. I was seventeen and stupid and I though he was the answer to the thrilling life that I thought I needed. And I thought I loved him, which blinded me to what he was really doing, which was serious crime on top of all the gaslighting and manipulation towards me in particular. He would be out all night, come home all bloodied up but happy, and told me I was insane when I tried to ask him about it. Plus he had all this money, which he said came from his dad, who was apparently the ambassador of something, some kind of Boston big shot, so I shrugged off the fact that he had so much money.

“His best friend was this guy named Felix, who was even more terrifying than he was, covered in scars and tattoos and he had a violent past, though Neal convinced me it was all in the past even though he was apparently wanted for murder or something near the end, which was when I found out what they were doing, what they had been doing the whole time we were together. But I was young and stupid and I thought I was in love, so I shrugged it off, especially when he talked about running away from it all, leaving behind his life in Boston that required so much from him to somewhere quiet, where we could live in peace after one more big grab. That’s what he called it. And I believed him. 

“We were supposed to leave that night, so I met him at his father’s mansion, everything packed in my car. I just needed him to come home. But it was a set up, and they called the cops and claimed to have me under citizen’s arrest, though I wouldn’t have even had anywhere to run had I tried. I was seventeen, an orphan, technically family-less since Ruth had never finalized her adoption, so I went to prison until my eighteenth birthday and then came home. I’ve been trying to forget about Neal and his cronies for ten years, and since Ruth passed a few years ago, David is the only person that knows what happened in the year and a half I was gone, except that little bit I’ve told Killian over the past few weeks but seeing Felix’s face tonight, even seeing him dead in Killian’s kitchen, brought it all back.” 

David, who wrapped his arm around her shoulder near the beginning of her story, pulls her in closer, an awkward hug at an awkward angle, especially with the arms of their chairs between them, but it calms Emma nonetheless. 

“I don’t think it’s over, though,” she says after a moment, voicing the fear that has chilled her since she recognized the body in Killian’s kitchen. 

Graham is still trying to wrap his head around it all, and this certainly doesn’t help. Both he and Henry look back up at her. “Why? What?” 

“Everything Felix did, he either did because Neal told him to, or because he was trying to impress him. So if Felix really is behind all this, as you seem to believe he is—” 

“He matches the sketches that some of his victims have given us, he’s definitely the stalker,” Graham cuts in, needing to have some semblance of control over the situation. 

Emma nods, but continues. “He either did it because Neal told him to, or he did it for him. Either way, I can’t help but think that wherever Felix is, Neal can’t be too far behind.” 

“Fuck.” The word slips through David’s teeth, sounding foreign to Emma in his voice, but it’s fitting. 

“So you think this Neal guy might be here in Storybrooke?” Henry asks. 

Hearing the words spoken out loud makes Emma want to scream, or cry, or curl up in a ball on the floor. Or all three. But that doesn't change the fact that: “Yes. Or he will be soon. He may even be listed as Felix’s next of kin.” 

She doesn’t like making plans without Killian, since he has been so integral to her and her safety for weeks now, but hearing Graham and Henry trying to piece a plan together, one that involves police escorts and uniforms stationed outside David’s house — the only safe place for her to stay, obviously — begins to calm her still-pounding heart. 

They sit in silence for a while, each of them still trying to fit all the pieces together in a puzzle that seems totally impossible, but it’s not long before Dr. Whale comes out through the doors, a smile on his face that clashes with the tension in the waiting room. 

If he senses something is off, he ignores it, spreading his arms wide in what can only be described as a welcoming gesture. Understandably,all four of them in the waiting room ignore it. 

“I have good news, and I have good news!” 

He’s much too happy for them. Graham rolls his eyes, as he does multiple times every time he has to deal with the doctor. 

When only Emma and Henry physically turn their attention towards him, he tones the theatrics down a bit, which might be all that he’s capable of. “Since it was a low-caliber bullet, it didn’t pass all the way through, stopped by his shoulder blade and the muscles around it. Normally we’d worry about irreversible nerve damage to his hand and arm, but since he already has a prosthetic, that's no concern to us and he should heal just fine, with some minor physical therapy to fully regain use of his shoulder.”

“Can we see him?” Emma asks, her voice noticeably quieter than normal, making her seem smaller. Weaker. 

Dr. Whale purses his lips, his eyes turned to the floor — avoiding meeting any of their gazes. “He’s not awake yet from the anesthesia, and probably won’t be until morning.” 

“Besides,” Graham starts, practically cutting him off. “You should get some rest tonight. Tomorrow I’m going to need to take formal statements from both of you, a lot of paperwork and a lot of formalities. It’ll probably take most of the day.” 

Emma sighs. “We’re supposed to meet with Mayor Mills tomorrow to go over a few cases.” 

Everyone in the waiting room, including the doctor, watches in awe as Graham blushes, a soft smile gracing his face. “I’ll take care of Mayor Mills for you, don’t worry.” 

A shocked silence takes over the waiting room. David laughs. 

Dr. Whale clicks his tongue. “Well. Mr. Jones will be ready for visitors in the morning,” he says, then turns away from them and pushes back through the double doors he came through. 

David barks out another laugh, breaking the silence that has built around them, slipping his arm around Emma’s shoulder. “It appears our boy here has developed himself a little crush.” 

Graham rolls his eyes, but his blush deepens nonetheless. “For your information, Nolan — not that it’s any of your business anyway — it appears that she returns my ‘crush,’” he says, putting his own air-quotes around the word. “And she and I have been on a few dates as our busy schedules have allowed.”  

Henry covers his face with his hands. David, apparently, can’t stop laughing. Emma’s not even sure how to feel, but can’t keep the smile off her face. 

Graham shakes his head. “Let’s get out of here, alright? The smell of antiseptic is upsetting my stomach.” 

She was worried about not being able to sleep. It was much easier to convince herself that she was safe when she could feel Killian beside her, when she knew that if anything did go wrong, he would be right there to protect her, either from the ghosts in her mind or the ones that had recently manifested in the real world. But she can’t get rid of them, the memories of Neal from ten years ago and the nightmares that have plagued her since, not to mention the memory of Felix dead in Killian’s apartment. Sure, Graham told her not to, and he was probably right, but she had to, had to know. Did it make anything better? Questionable. In some ways, it definitely made it worse, the shadow of Neal hanging over her more than ever before. 

She can’t do this, though. Every time she closes her eyes, she’s met with Felix, or Neal, or one of his other cronies, or something from those long few months she spent in jail. Sighing, she pushes herself out of the bed, making her way to the guest bathroom as quietly as she can. 

She turns on the faucet, needing some sort of sound to stop the ringing in her ears, the screaming in her head, and it almost works. Splashing the water on her face helps a little, too, helps calm the pounding of her heart. She runs her fingers through her hair, fisting some of the strands. For a moment, she thinks about showering again, even though she stood under the spray for far too long when they got home from the hospital, but she fears that nothing will make the nightmarish pictures on the other side of her eyelids disappear. 

But she has to try. So she shuts off the water, turning away from the mirror before she can meet her own eyes, and leaves the bathroom, deciding instead to try sleeping.

And it almost works. She drifts off quickly, somehow, but it doesn’t last for too long before the piercing ring of her cell phone cuts through the silence of the house. 

Graham Humbert, the screen reads. 

Well, fuck. Her mind begins to race immediately, but it’s racing in circles around one main point: Neal Gold. 

“What? What happened?” 

“Emma, relax, please,” he breathes, though his own inability to do so is prevalent in his voice, even over the phone. “Killian is fine, he wasn’t hurt, but there’s been — there was an attempted attack at the hospital, and we got him. But Killian wants you here, just in case there’s someone else here. Henry’s waiting for you outside David’s.” 

“Okay.” 

“See you soon.”

But then it hits her: “Wait!” she says, hoping it’s not too late, and Graham hums. “You said you got him, but who was it?” 

“Oh,” he says cooly, as if his next words aren’t going to rip her world apart. “It was Neal. Neal Gold.” 

-- -- -- -- 

tagging: @shireness-says @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @darkcolinodonorgasm @profdanglaisstuff @stahlop @teamhook @snowbellewells @carpedzem @pepperspotts @imlaxdris71 @gingerchangeling​ @lfh1226-linda​ @kday426​ @scientificapricot​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @galadriel26​ @jennjenn615​ @therealstartraveller776​ @nightskylover​ @xarandomdreamx​ @kristi555 @nikkiemms​ @vvbooklady1256​ @withheartfulloflove​ – if you want to be added or removed, please let me know

[definitelynotsuzumi]

Make  a Wish [Chapter 3]

Zen x Reader

Mystic Messenger x Puella Magi Madoka Magica

With one impulsive wish, comes many dangers and responsibilities.

[Masterlist]

You kept a close watch on your Soul Gem as you climbed the stairs. This time, a Witch had appeared on the roof of an apartment building near Rika's apartment. 

You transformed into your Magical form. However, before you could take another step into the portal, you felt something coming your way. With a metallic thud, you realized that someone had tried to shoot you with an arrow.

"Who the hell are you? This is my territory, step off!" A young girl with brown hair spat out as she clutched her bow. She was dressed in a similar fashion of vibrant colors and glittering fabric. Her brown hair glinted in the rays of the evening sun. 

'Another Magical Girl?' You blinked in surprise before remembering what Kyubey had said. There were other Magical Girls in this universe. 

"Says who? I don't see your name on any of the road signs, or this Witch, for the matter." You bit back. 

"Why you little..!" The girl was interrupted by another girl. 

"Ae-Ri, calm down. This is not how we treat newcomers." A girl with black hair jumped onto the roof. A crossbow was fixed onto her left arm. 

"I assume you're new to the Magical Girl business too, huh." She looked you up and down. 

"Well yeah...I just came in...I just came since my Soul Gem started glowing like mad." You felt a flush growing on your cheeks as the girl studied you longer. 

"Hm...Well, the Witches here are a lot stronger than other areas of Korea. Let's just stick together for now. And please...Don't get in our way." She shrugged you off. 

Ae-Ri did not take to the idea as she protested loudly against it. 

"But Soo-Jin, there might not be enough Grief Seeds -We have enough stockpiled. Plus...With Ha-Ri gone...I don't know if we can even survive or do what we used to do, with all of us being new." Soo-Jin snapped. 

Her eyes swelled with tears before she huffed and shut her eyes, wiping them hurriedly. 

"Let's get this over with." 

With that, you joined the duo in the hunt. 

"Soo-Jin! On your right!" Soo-Jin was quick to respond to your calls as a purple crossbow bolt sprouted out of a Familiar's head. You quickly took care of the Familiars around you while Ae-Ri batted back a minion wielding a pitchfork. 

"You sure you're just a newbie?" Ae-Ri panted as she sent it flying into the wall. 

"You're one to talk. I just play a lot of games." You grunted as you kept moving and slicing. 

'Please...Wake up!' You blinked in surprise as you heard a familiar voice. Soo-Jin had finished off another Familiar when she saw you frozen. The Familiar holding the Pitchfork was about to impale you when Soo-Jin tackled you out of harm's way. 

"Focus! You could have died!" Soo-Jin scolded you when she saw the confusion and fear in your eyes. 

"Th-There was a voice..." You managed to stutter out. 

"The Labyrinth must be messing with you. Let's kill her before we lose our minds here." Soo-Jin hauled you to your feet, pulling you into the next room. 

You shook your head earnestly. You had to get your bearings. Once again, you found yourself in a large room. A small form sat atop what looked like a pillar. Hospital beds and equipment littered the floor. On the walls, several screens flashed in different colors. 

As soon as you came close to one, you heard it again. A blurry figure took up the center of the screen. 

'Please...I need you in my life...Wake up...' You heard it once again. 

"Focus, girl!" Soo-Jin fired her crossbow to deflect the projectiles flying towards you three. 

With a frustrated roar, you flung your disc forward, breaking the pillar easily. The small doll-like Witch fell off. 

"Ae-Ri!" Ae-Ri fired a shot at the form, tearing a large hole through its middle. 

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The doll exploded and a large snake-like creature seemed to sprout out. You retrieved your disc and flung it under the brown-haired girl, who was frozen in shock. 

Just as the snake seemed to lunge forward to bite, Ae-Ri found herself falling to the floor beside you. 

"Wha-What? How?" Ae-Ri blinked in surprise. 

"I'll explain later, just take her out already!" You summoned another disc and flung it but it was too slow. It bounced off the wall and came flying to you. You caught it in time and kept trying to attack the snake, who flew around in a rage. 

Soo-Jin nodded as she kept shooting at it, running around the room to dodge the snake. 

"You have teleportation powers?!" Ae-Ri got to her feet as you threw her bow to her. 

"Ya! I said I'll explain later! When there isn't a snake trying to bite our heads off!" You yelled in pain as you dodged a little too slow. Its sharp teeth dug into your arm and you rolled away. 

"ARGH!" You winced in pain. 

"Girl!" Soo-Jin's eyes widened to see blood pouring out of your arm. You stumbled as you tried to staunch the blood. 

"Ae-Ri, finish it off!" You barely dodged the beast as your wound didn't seem to stop bleeding. Pain shot through your body as you gripped the affected area to make it stop. 

With a blast of pink and purple light, the beast wailed in pain. Ae-Ri had shot an arrow right through its head while Soo-Jin had shot her bolts into its throat. The Witch crashed into the wall in a heap as the Labrinth disappeared. 

Soo-Jin was at your side as she whipped out her Soul Gem. You felt the pain slowly disappear as she healed your injuries. 

"You...You saved my life..." Ae-Ri had returned to her regular state. You noticed that the two girls wore similar school uniforms. 

"You okay? I think I need to sit down..." You slumped onto the floor, returning to your regular form as well. 

"Ya, I think you need rest more than just sitting down." Soo-Jin chided you, wiping away the blood from your arm the best she could. 

"What's your name?" Ae-Ri asked as she helped you back up after a few minutes of rest. 

"...(Y/N)...(Y/N) (L/N). Sorry if I seemed rude when I called out your names earlier..." You scratched the nape of your neck nervously. 

The girls picked up the Grief Seed and handed it over to you. 

"You...You can join us I guess...I'm sorry for shooting you before too..." Ae-Ri looked away bashfully, holding the black object out to you. 

"But you have the power of teleportation, don't you? What kind of wish did you make?" Soo-Jin's eyes glittered with curiosity. 

"I made a wish to be with the one I love. So...Here I am...Haha..." You felt increasingly awkward as more questions were flung at you. 

"But...You girls are so young. If I were to say, you guys would be of middle school age..." You knitted your eyebrows, "What kind of wishes did you guys make?" 

Their expressions turned sad and nostalgic. 

"I made mine to save my mom from cancer..." Soo-Jin confessed. 

"And I wished to survive...My family was killed in a car accident...I was the only survivor." Ae-Ri looked down to the ground.

 You suddenly regretted asking and speaking out as the air turned quiet and sad. 

The sound of Soo-Jin's phone ringing broke the moment of silence as Soo-jin looked apologetically and went away to take her call. 

"Let's exchange phone numbers. Now that you are one of us, we should stick together. Like we said earlier, Witches here are quite strong." Ae-Ri held out her phone to you. Tapping in your information, Ae-Ri did the same to your phone. 

"I'll pass your number to Soo-Jin once she's done talking to her mom." Ae-Ri rolled her eyes jokingly as Soo-Jin said goodbye to her mother. 

"Yes, mom. Ok, mom. Love you, mom. Bye!" Soo-Jin sighed in relief before turning her attention to you. 

'They are so young...Too young...' You thought to yourself as the girls adjusted their schoolbag handles. 

"I'll need to go home and cook dinner. Ae-Ri, don't forget your homework. And (Y/N)...Stay safe. See you around!" Soo-Jin flashed you a bright smile before taking off, leaving dust in her wake. 

"A mommy's girl, that one. Let us know if you see a Witch, okay? The more we stick together, the higher our chances of survival. And...Thank you...I owe you my life." Ae-Ri shook her head at Soo-Jin before turning to you with a smile. Like that, Ae-Ri went in Soo-Jin's direction. 

You felt a wave of exhaustion overwhelm you. You needed to rest at home and catch up on sleep and chatrooms. 

Lugging yourself back home after procuring your dinner for the night, you set to work on eating up the food. 

However, in a bunker far away, a certain hacker watched your movements. You seemed exhausted and...Was that blood on your skirt?! Seven knew he needed to focus on the hacker but you were a whole mystery he could not figure out. 

Where on earth were you going that made you that tired? And who caused the bloodstains on your clothes? 

He then felt his phone vibrate. V's name flashed on his screen. 

"Yeah, V? Yeah, (Y/N) is clean but...Her movements are weird...I dunno but just give me time." Seven sighed, staring into the security feed.

'At least, she's eating...' Seven sighed once again. It was tough work tracing the hacker and he has another big issue on his plate. 

Are you a threat? Or were you innocent? 

Seven rubbed his eyes as he put down the phone. He had not slept in a day and the issues on his plate seemed to pile higher by the hour. 

Vanderwood, who had been cleaning the room, observed with some interest. Seeing Seven in this state was as rare as seeing a shooting star. 

"Ya, you don't look so good." Vanderwood felt a little worried. 

Seven looked back to him, raising a tired eyebrow," I finished off the work boss asked me to do already. I just need to complete the RFA...thing before I hit the sack." 

"Ya, but it'll ruin my life if I see your corpse in that chair of yours, so you better take care of yourself." Vanderwood protested. 

Seven sighed once again. There were not many traces for him to go on. 

'I'll just fix and upgrade the security of the app...I can do the tracing and the background check later...' Seven poured the remaining half can of Dr. Pepper down his throat as Vanderwood yelled out empty threats of tasering him so that he will take a break. 

"Leave me alone for like...An hour...I'll take a break when this is done." Vanderwood felt like tearing out his hair as Seven pushed the can down to the floor. Drops of Dr. Pepper poured onto the white floor of the bunker. He just finished cleaning up and Seven had once again made a mess. 

"You're gonna be the death of me...You better take a break then or I swear to God..." Muttering under his breath, Vanderwood cleaned up the mess. 

'I'll fix this mess...And find out who you are, (Y/N)...' The red-headed hacker vowed to himself as he went on with his work. 

[bakugousmyboy]

when the party’s over Dabi x Reader Song Fic

Listen to when the party’s over by Billie Eilish (link below) on repeat while you read for maximum Hurt™                              https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b6WNdcZpDhQ

_________________________________________________

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me Y/n!”

Don’t you know I’m no good for you?

The sound of the bathroom door slamming shut was his only response in the now silent apartment you both called home. Just because you’d slammed the door in his face didn’t mean this conversation was over in his book. “You can’t really have believed that this whole time. Hey! Are you listening to me?!” His hand hit the wall beside the door when no answer came. “Baby! I told you right from the start what I was and you said you didn’t care! I told you I wasn’t gonna change and you said that was fine!”

I’ve learned to lose, you can’t afford to

You sat with your back against the door listening to him yell. Tears rushed down your face but you made no sound, your shoulders didn’t shake. You were far beyond that point. This felt numb, you felt numb. He was right, you had said those things. You’d known from the beginning that he was a villain and it truly hadn’t mattered to you then. But that felt like a lifetime ago, you’d fallen in love with him since then. “Why is this so important to you all of a sudden? I don’t even see why this matters!”

Tore my shirt to stop you bleedin’

The door was suddenly thrown open and there you stood with tears streaming down your face but what caused him to take a step back was the emotion in your eyes. You looked like fury incarnate. “You wanna know why it matters Dabi,” you spat his villain name like venom. “This is why it fuckin matters!” You shoved dried bloodstained cloths in his face, most of it was bandages and washcloths but amongst them was one of your shirts. “Since you’ve apparently forgotten I’ll remind you! You stumbled in here not even a week ago bleeding and barely conscious for the third time this month!” 

But nothin’ ever stops you leavin’

He keeps his expression a mask of neutrality which only furthers the white-hot rage coursing through your very being. “And then every time I’m done patching you up you just fucking leave without a word and you're gone for days!” The only response you received was a bored blink, “And once you’re back you act like nothing happened! Like you weren’t bleeding all over me and the chair and the floor! Like I don’t stay up all night every time making sure you stay breathing!” You were shaking now, “Like when you walk out that fucking door I don’t wonder the entire time you’re gone whether or not you’re gonna come back in one piece! Or hell if you’ll even come back at all! Maybe you’d end up bleeding out in some alley and that’s why you wouldn’t answer my calls, not that I’d ever know. No, I’d be asking myself if you stayed gone because of something that I’d done wrong. I’m done.”

Don’t you know too much already?

He raised an eyebrow and his tone was condescending as he spoke, “You’re done? You mean you’re done with me? You’re gonna leave me is that it?” You wiped your tears. “Don’t you fucking dare patronize me. You really don’t get it, do you? I love you! I want a life with you! I want a future with you! And you don’t think that stumbling into my apartment wounded at four in the morning is a problem?” A muscle in his jaw feathered, “Oh it’s your apartment now?” Your hands clenched in anger, that was what got him? “My name is the only one on the lease because we can’t use your real name, can we T-” 

I’ll only hurt you if you let me

“Don’t. Say. It” His voice was stern as he cut you off. His eyes were sharp and held quiet anger, “I told you when we got together, my career comes first above all else, no exceptions. You and my health included. If that bothers you then that’s your fuckin problem, not mine.” That stung and you couldn’t, wouldn’t hide it. His eyes softened when he saw you wince and he reached out to comfort you. “Baby I didn’t-” you slapped his hand away and new tears began to prick in your eyes. Your voice was strained from yelling but still held strong as you interrupted him, “No. No. I said that I’m done and you clearly don’t give a shit.”

Call me friend, but keep me closer (call me back)

You brushed past him, grabbed a bag, and started packing your things. He stood there stunned, mouth agape watching you for a moment. After what felt like an eternity his voice cut through the suffocating silence,  “So that's it. You’re really walking out on me.” You froze dead in your tracks and turned to face him, staring him dead in the eyes. You could see a flash of hope in his eyes, you almost gave in. Almost. You tried to make your eyes cold and your voice colder, “You walked out on me first.”

And I’ll call you when the party’s over

Your words landed on him like a blow. You could see the tears brimming in his eyes and his lower lip tremble just slightly before his voice came out harsh, “I did not walk out on you, I have never walked out on you. That’s not what those times were. I left every time you took care of me because I didn’t want to put you in danger or under suspicion, you know that.” You could feel your resolve weakening as he looked at you with teary, pleading eyes. “If that’s true and you want me to stay then stop. Just promise me you’ll stop.”

Quiet when I’m coming home and I’m on my own

“I can’t. I can’t just stop now, even if I wanted to. I mean, I have a bounty on my head Y/n, that’s not just gonna go away because I suddenly decided to stop. Besides, you know I’m not just doing this because I want to.” Your voice came out soft and resigned, “Then who are you doing this for? Because it’s not for me and it’s not for you.” His expression changed to one of exasperation and frustration. “I’m following Stain’s ideals for a better world, you know that.” You couldn’t hold back your scoff as you shook your head and kept packing.

And I could lie, say I like that, like it like that

He was angry now and you could feel it permeating off of him like a cloud of smoke. “Ya know what? Fine. Go. Leave. I don’t need you and I know for a fact that I was better off before you! I had less stress, fewer problems. I didn’t realize how good I had it.” You didn’t bother to indulge him with a response of any kind to his obvious bait as you placed your bag on the bed to make sure you had everything you needed from the bedroom. Going over your mental checklist you ignored his stare as you walked into the bathroom to grab the last of what you’d need, closing the door behind you.

But nothin’ is better sometimes

As soon as you closed the bathroom door he felt his throat begin to tighten and the tears fell despite his best efforts to keep them at bay, despite how badly he tried not to feel anything. This couldn’t be happening. You couldn’t be leaving him. Not after everything you’d been through. Not after all of the love and time you’d shared. His eyes started to wander around the room and immediately began taking note of the things that were missing, the things that were now in your bag. Your notebook, some clothes, a jacket, the picture that you kept on the bedside table.

Once we’ve both said our goodbyes

You came out of the bathroom to find him sitting on the edge of the bed holding the picture you’d put in your bag. It was the only picture you two had taken together, it had taken a lot of convincing from you. He didn’t usually like taking pictures and even if he did want to, he didn’t want you having a picture with him to come back on you should the police somehow trace him back to you. You stood in the threshold for a moment taking him in, he looked utterly defeated. His face was hidden by his hair but his shoulders shook and you could see the teardrops fall onto the glass protecting the picture.

Let’s just let it go

Slowly you walked over and placed the items you’d gathered from the bathroom into your bag that sat next to him. You made sure you had everything one last time before you zipped the bag and slung it over your shoulder. You looked at him one last time before heading for the front door. If you didn’t leave now you weren’t sure you’d be able to without breaking down first. Your hand reached for the door when he spoke, voice raw and breaking as he made his way toward you, “Please. Please don’t go. Let's just forget about it for now and we can talk about it in the morning. If you still love me please stay.” 

Let me let you go

You turned to find him within reach, tears cascading from his blue eyes with no sign of stopping, the eyes you loved to fall asleep and wake up to. Shaking the thought from your head you brought your hand up to his face in an attempt to banish the tears, “That’s why I have to leave. I love you. I love you so, so much. That’s why I can’t sit here and keep watching you put yourself through this hell until you either get arrested or killed. I can’t. I won’t. I’m sorry.” You pushed back his hair and leaned up to give his forehead one firm, final kiss before you turned and walked out the door.

Quiet when I'm coming home and I'm on my own

The tears you'd been fighting back fell fast now and the chilly wind only made them bite into your skin more. You couldn’t stop the sobs as they fell from your lips, nor your thoughts of doubt as they ran rampant in your already loud mind. You just had to keep walking and no matter what not look back. Your legs carried you to the nearby bus stop and you forced yourself to sit. Whether you were worried or relieved that your phone didn’t get a single notification, you weren't sure.

I could lie say, I like it like that, like it like that

As soon as you left, the warmth and light in the apartment that had been your home left with you. He was now sitting on the bed, the picture still in hand with nothing but his mind to keep him company. Some of his favorite memories had been made in this place, in this home. The only real home he’d ever known with filled with the only real love he’d ever felt. The good memories that hadn’t been made here had still been made with you. All of them seemed to come rushing back and all he could do was sit there on the bed in this suddenly seemingly empty skeleton of a home and relive them, clutching the last piece of you he had left.

I could lie say, I like it like that, like it like that

[beerecordings]

Want

Part 18 of My Brother’s Keeper (Part 1 l Previous l Next)

My taglist is a separate post so let me know if you want to be added or removed! This is v long chapter because I love.... so many of these scenes... I hope you will enjoy it. Also happy Henrik appreciation week he deserves better I love him <3333 and also you for reading <3333333

Edit: yo @florenceisfalling made SUCH A LOVELY JAMIE AND CHASE PIECE with a tiny bit of inspo from this chapter and I love it so much!!! you can see it here

tws for self-hatred, panic attacks, and weight mentions/food

also major abuse themes sorry i should have included that right away this whole fic has major abuse so please be careful

He thinks that maybe all that he hoped for has come to be, and yet...

“Well, what do you need now, Jameson?”

“What do I need?”

“What do you want to do, I mean? We can get some food in you, you can lie down, maybe we need some more ointment for that throat of yours – where did Chase put that, he might have something for your ear infection too – well, whatever you feel like. What sounds good?”

“What – you want me to choose?”

“Yes, we have time for anything. We have a lot of time now. What would you like?”

Jameson stares up at Henrik, still sitting in the warmth left on the mattress as they slept.

“You sure you want me to choose?”

Henrik stops bustling around and turns back to him. He tries to smile but he can’t make his mouth move, just tries to look warm. “From now on,” he says. “You get to choose what you do and who you are. How does that sound?”

Sounds like breaking the rules. He bites down hard on his lip, closing his eyes, trying to banish the thought of all that Anti would do to him if he knew he was anything other than a prisoner here.

If he knew that he was beginning to be glad that Anti let him go.

“I want,” he says. “To go back to Anti.”

Henrik closes his eyes, breathes in deep. “Well,” he murmurs. “That is the one thing you cannot do.”

Jameson stares down at his scarred hands.

“Come on, Jamie.” Henrik steps closer, hands outstretched. “What do you want to do?”

What do you want to do? What do you want? What do you want to be?

“I want,” says Jameson.

He has to pause, has to pause to choke, overwhelmed just for an instant, as he realizes he has never once in his life signed the word.

“I want,” he repeats. “I want a shower.”

“A shower,” says Henrik, and smiles. “Well, I think that much can be handled.”

He's staring at his hair.

“What did you think it looked like?” Chase laughs, presenting him with a clean t-shirt.

Jameson ducks his head down, nervous with a stranger beside him, but his eyes flicker up again, and he's staring at his hair.

Staring at his face, clean.

“When was the last time you got to wash it?” asks Chase, frowning now. He reaches out to touch Jameson's hair and then thinks better of it, drawing away politely. Jameson tries his best to smile at him. If he's gentle and harmless, Chase won't hurt him, right?

“Long time,” he manages, his hands stammering as they tremble.

There are three different showers in the house that Marvin made. The one in the bathroom across from the spare room is, in two words, absolutely spiffing. Jameson's not really supposed to use old words – Anti said they made him sound stupid and didn't make sense to sign anyway – but for the remorseless pressure of the steaming hot water, where he stayed for two hours, rubbing shampoo into his hair and scraping his skin clean with soap the scent of oranges, he makes a mental exception.

Besides... Anti's not here.

He tries to smile at his reflection in the mirror. His hair has dried into a warm, earthy brown color. Its stiffness is gone and the streaks of dust and filth that used to make him feel so disgusting have vanished into a warm coconut smell. It even curls, just a little – tumbling gently over his forehead in a fine coil of brown and teal.

He's clean. He's clean and so is the house. Everything's clean. Even his nails are picked into white crescent moons. Finally, finally.

“You look good,” says Chase, and Jameson flinches to be mocked, but then he turns his gaze and sees only sincerity in Chase's face. “Here, want your shirt?”

“My shirt?”

“Yeah, sorry, I haven't had time to go buy you anything new yet. Just went to work and came back today, didn't even visit Jack. Schneep's feeling a little jumpy still, but when he chills out, I'll take you out of the house and we'll go buy you a whole wardrobe. Yeah?”

“Yeah – really, clothes all for me? – wait, can I – can I visit Mr. Jack sometime?”

“I like that sign for him.” Chase laughs and copies him, making the sign for infection over his eye. “You're kind of sassy, aren't you, Jay? I don't see why not.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, dude! He's, uh. Not great company, but still... I like to think he'd be glad you came to see him. I like to think he's glad when I come to see him, you know?”

Jameson doesn't know. Coma patients do not rejoice for a visit in his understanding. But the thought of finding Mr. Jack, of seeing him, of knowing where he is and how to get to him – that sounds amazing.

He chooses that. Henrik says he can do what he wants. He wants to find Jack. He's been wanting to know him his whole life, so a few days? That's nothing. He can wait.

He grins at his reflection again, easier now, and tugs Chase's shirt – no, no, it's his shirt now, Chase said so – over his head.

“How about some food?” offers Chase. “You want something to eat? Skinny little guy, I gotta tell you. Schneep says you probably need to put some weight on, which is great for me, cause I really like to fucking cook.”

Chase talks a lot, and never with any malice. Jameson kind of likes listening to him.

“Sounds good,” he agrees, a little less nervously.

And when Chase grins and reaches out, Jameson accepts his hand in his own, and lets him tug him towards the kitchen.

He's hungry so he gets something to eat.

That's just how things work here. It's bizarre.

Bizarre and wonderful.

That first meal they share together is pasta, if only just a little, to go easy on his stomach. Chase presents it to him with garlic and chicken and sweet alfredo sauce and basil and tomatoes.

“Does that look good?”

Jameson can't even sign “yes.” He is gripping the fork too tightly. He puts a mouthful of pasta in his mouth and then he reaches up to hold his head in his hands, crying over a fork’s worth of penne.

Chase reaches out and takes his hand and tells him, “Hey, hey, calm down, it's okay! It's okay, bud. It's all okay.”

Jameson says “I'm sorry” and Chase says “don't be, it's just pasta” and Jameson says “not for that, for everything, for trying to kill you, for hurting you – ”

And all Chase says is, “Oh, well.

That's okay too.”

Over the course of the next few days, Chase makes sandwiches with pesto and feta and savory pork with spoonfuls of yellow rice and zucchini fried in bread crumbs, brings home ice cream with big chunks of chocolate, drizzles fruit in sweet sauce, cooks fish and American burgers with barbecue sauce, bakes fresh bread, gives him protein and fats and sugars according to the diet Henrik helped them decide on, and asks him, every day, if there's anything new he'd like to try, anything he didn't get to have before.

“Sorry, I just like spoiling you, cooking is like the only thing I'm good at and I always cook for my family, you know? Is that weird to say, that we're family? Really, I think we should have been brothers a long time ago, like, right away, but then – see, but you're here now, so we're brothers, right? Anyway, here, I'm making a grocery list. What do you want, JJ?”

No one's ever asked him what he wants. No one's ever called him JJ. No one's ever cooked for him. He thinks he might love Chase. Anyway, he nods when he calls him “brother.” He smiles when he calls him brother.

Yes, he thinks they should have been brothers a long time ago. Isn't that what Anti told him? That if Chase hadn't been Mr. Jack's for so long, he would have been a good puppet too, and they could have been brothers a long time ago?

Jameson would have liked that. He tries to be grateful for right now.

Things are good.

Things are unbelievably, impossibly good.

And he doesn't deserve any of it.

“Can I sleep with you?” he asks Henrik on that first night after he has called him his brother.

“Oh,” says Henrik. “Look, Jameson, I had some dependency issues when I came back from – well, I've had some dependency issues too, but I wonder if it wouldn't be healthier for you to sleep on your own.”

“Please,” Jameson begs. “Please, it's too cold in my room and Jackie is across the wall from me. I'm frightened. I want to sleep in here with you.”

Henrik's face is blue and white with bruising and exhaustion. His chest hurts badly. He has just re-stitched one of the cuts on his stomach, not that he told anyone it tore open.

Jameson isn't the only one who could use comfort.

“Okay,” Henrik admits, sighing and flopping down onto his pillows. “Yes, alright, you can sleep in here. Come lay down and let’s get some sleep.”

The bed is warm. There are no bugs or bloodstains. During the night, nothing bites him or attacks him or crawls, unexpectedly, into bed beside him, dragging static-electric hands along his flesh or kissing at the side of his throat, whispering promises of torture for later if he doesn't behave –

The nice thing about his panic attacks – Chase has been trying to teach him about having a positive mentality – is that they are silent and stiffer than a frozen tree, so he doesn't wake Henrik up four times a night like he would otherwise.

He thinks about Anti often, about all the things he should have done so that his big brother wouldn't have had to throw him out. His brain has also begun to play a cruel trick on him where suddenly the warm memories he had with Anti become sinister.

Do you remember the time he gave you your knives? You were so happy. (He also threw you down the stairs once for missing the target twice in a row, and your head split open and you bled and bled and bled.)

Do you remember the time you were so hungry you could not rise from your bed, and then he brought you – oh, they were so tasty – real donuts covered completely in sugar? You wept for joy. (The only reason you were starving in the first place was because he thought it was funny. He could have brought food for you anytime.)

Do you recall Christmas, when he brought you your blanket? You loved that thing. Slept with it every night and dragged it around after you everywhere you went. He called you his baby and you smiled. (That thing was filthy and disgusting and I hate being treated like a child, I just played along because it made him smile, and anyway Chase and Henrik have a dozen blankets a hundred times better than that one, my only fucking comfort in that god-awful – oh, oh, what am I thinking?)

He is scared that he will no longer want Anti if he stays here.

And that is the worst thought of all.

The thought that maybe – just maybe – Anti didn't actually – Anti wasn't actually –

No, no, no, no. He can't admit it. Can't even think it.

Because if Anti never really loved him, what was he doing all these months?

Anti loved him. He knows that. He's sure. It was all worth it. It must have all been worth it. He cannot accept that his suffering was meaningless. Impossible. Unthinkable. Terrible.

He loves Anti. And this place? As wonderful as it is, it is not where he belongs.

He's afraid of what it will turn him into if he stays.

Sometimes he hears Jackie moving around downstairs. This noise alone is enough to make him tremble harder than before, and bury his face against Henrik's chest, wondering if the doctor is powerful enough to protect him from the hero, when the time comes for Jackie to kill him.

He's allowed outside whenever he feels like it.

He and Anti had to hide, so, at the old house, there were only certain times he was allowed outside, and only for so long, and anyway it was winter. But this?

This is spring and he is free in it.

He doesn't know where they are. All he knows is that it's as beautiful as the glimpses of stars he used to catch through his window.

They live in the midst of a grand forest, creaking with age, where trees stretch up to the sky like God has invited them to the best garden party ever and they're trying not to be late. The branches are full of hollering birds and budding leaves and there are these fat little chipmunks scurrying along the forest floor like a kid spilled a whole box of fluffy brown marbles, and the air is clean and good and warm and Jameson – Jameson –

Jameson is in love.

He walks through it often and his brothers don't even ask him where he's going or when he'll be back. They just let him wander. His favorite spot is a river, among the trees, where he likes to come and just stand, rolling up the jeans Chase gifted him and watching the water sighing past his feet, cool and clear. The rocks press against the pads of his feet.

Once, he saw a white cat, there on the bank of the river.

He got so excited he nearly slipped, and, anxious and delighted, he signed a shaky “hello!”

The cat looked at him with big, clever blue eyes.

He reached out to touch it, but it ran away.

He still hopes to find it, one of these days. He thinks Chase feeds it in the morning, but that feels like cheating, so he waits until the sun is high in the sky, and walks every day, watching, wandering, free.

He plans to escape by way of the forest.

He'll be sad to see it go. Maybe someday he can bring Anti back here, and they'll walk through the trees together, and no longer have to hide.

“Okay, like that – yep, turn a little!”

Jameson curves the remote.

“Yeah, yep! There, now you're in the right direction. Okay, hit – yeah, that button there – and you're off! Okay, watch for the ledge!”

He sees the ledge getting closer and closer, but can't turn in time. He watches with a disgruntled twitch of his mustache as Bowser Jr. plummets to his death once again, only to be resurrected by a flying turtle.

Chase is laughing. “It's okay,” he says. “It's okay. Want to try again?”

JJ straightens up, the frown melting away. Chase never gets angry with him for fucking it up. “Yes,” he nods quickly, lifting up his little remote again. He'll keep trying til he gets it right.

“Okay, turn, then button – there you go. Can you get around the hill? Curve it – good job, bud! I'll show you how to drift in a second. Watch out for the – oh!”

Baby Bowser successfully swerves his motorcycle out of the way and continues through Moo Moo Meadows.

“Good job!” cheers Chase.

JJ puts his remote down, laughing. His clock reads eleven o' clock in the morning. “You have to go to work,” he reminds Chase warmly.

“Damn, you're right! Guess I have to say goodbye.”

JJ grins wickedly, scooting forward. Chase watches with raised eyebrows, slowly beginning to get up from the couch.

Jameson tackles him back down, grabbing a pillow to slam it over his head, and Chase yelps out a laugh and grabs him around the waist, heaving him up and off him. “Help, help,” he cries, shoving Jameson halfway off the couch, so his head hangs over the edge. “A dork with a hipster mustache is attacking me again!”

Three days ago Chase had tried to go to work and Jameson had grabbed his hand and refused to let go, grinning mischievously as Chase struggled to get free. It was the most emotion he had shown Chase thus far, and he was so delighted that he tussled with him for a full hour and then stayed home from work.

Fuck videos. He's got a little brother now. And Jameson smiles easier every day.

“I love you,” mumbles Chase, leaning down to press their heads together.

“Asshole,” signs JJ, cheekily.

And then he presses his forehead against Chase and smiles, closing his eyes and pressing the word “love” against his brother's chest.

Chase smiles til his face hurts.

“What are you morons up to now?” asks Henrik, appearing at the top of the stairs with three used mugs hanging off his hands, only now being mercifully returned to the washing machine after days of neglect.

“I was trying to teach Jamie to play Mario Kart.”

“Ah, I hate that fucking game.”

“He only says that cause he's bad at it,” Chase whispers to Jameson.

“Aren't you late for work?” asks Henrik, washing his mugs off in the sink. Jameson rises and steps towards him, soaking in the sunlight wandering in through the glass-windowed door to the patio.

“I set my own schedule!” says Chase. “And by that schedule, yes, I'm late.” He lets out a boisterous laugh, throwing his head back. “I’m distractable lately! Jamie, toss me my shoes? Good throw – got it! – oh, shit – ah, barely caught that one!”

“Stop throwing shoes!” Henrik snaps, turning to glare at his giggling brothers.

“Bye, guys!” calls Chase, clutching the door handle. He leans his head towards it for a second, closing his eyes, and then steps through.

Weird. That door's always locked when JJ tries it. Shrugging it off and tidying his mussed hair carefully, Jamie moves towards Henrik and sets his chin on his brother's shoulder, watching him rinse out the cups, still stained with coffee at the bottom.

“How are you doing today?” asks Henrik. He moves the mug in his hand and the water splashes up towards them, getting water in Jameson's face.

Jamie shoves his shoulder playfully and falls back, shaking his head at Henrik's laughter. He comes closer again and takes a coffee-free mug from his brother, turning to set it in the washing machine.

“Actually,” he admits. “There's something I wanted to ask you.”

“Don't keep me in suspense.” Henrik hands him a second mug and picks the third one up in his hand, turning to look at him as he signs.

Jameson puts the mug in the washer. “When are we going back to Anti?”

Henrik drops the mug.

Flinching hard at the awful shattering of the glass, Jameson backs away.

The whiteness of Henrik's face only makes him flinch harder, cowering, a long-conditioned fear waking up in his stomach, making his heart pound a harsh reprimand against the inside of his ribs. He is terrified, suddenly, of the old stories Anti told him about all the things he would do if the others were his puppets, how he would bring his prisoners to the doctor and make him name each one of their bones as they shattered, keeping them alive for weeks after Anti had made them beg to die, and Jameson sees Henrik before him as he was in that cold basement only two weeks ago, covered in blood and subject, completely, to Anti's will, and terror burns at the back of his throat like whiskey.

“Get the broom,” whispers Henrik.

“What?” signs Jameson, and then he panics, realizing he's questioned an order, he didn't mean to, it just happened, he reaches up a hasty first to circle a “sorry!” around his heart –

Henrik reaches out and grabs his hands. “Just go get the broom,” he rasps, closing his eyes.

Jameson dashes towards the laundry room. He brings the broom back right away, but in the seconds he was gone, Henrik has collapsed in on himself. His hands, stiff on the kitchen counter, are keeping him standing, but his face is so pale Jameson drops the broom and reaches forward to hold his shoulders, anticipating a fall.

Henrik grabs his shoulders in return, looking up at him with exhausted eyes as blue as the ocean where the light hits the water. “Why would you ask that?” he asks.

Tears fill and overflow and come running down his face.

“I thought,” he whispers, trembling, holding onto his little brother as tightly as he can without hurting. “I thought you were happy here. Or becoming, anyway. I thought you wanted to be our brother.”

“I do, I do!” Jameson resists the urge to tear at his hair, panic rising like a bonfire in his stomach. “Don't be upset with me, please! I just thought we would go back to Anti together! You and Chase and I could all be together still. We could all go back!”

“Go back to Anti together,” Henrik repeats.

He is no longer whispering. He shouts.

“Go back to my torturer? Go back to your torturer? And bring Chase Brody? Bring my fucking little brother? Bring my friend?”

“No, no, no.” Jameson shakes his head so fast it hurts. “Not back to a torturer, he wouldn't torture us if we came willingly!”

Henrik shoves him away, gasping on the despair in his throat, and Jameson falls back like he's been struck, covering his face with his hands and collapsing to the floor, huddling back against the patio door, crying so hard he can barely breathe.

“Oh, God, why?” pants Henrik. He wants to turn away, he's scared of what he'll do if he looks at him, but it's not fair to turn away from his signing. “Oh, God. You don't – you don't understand anything.”

“I understand plenty,” Jameson protests, trying frantically to wipe the tears off his place. “I understand that being in this place has already made you forget who we belong to.”

Henrik screams aloud, slamming his fist against the counter.

“How can you say that!” he howls. “After all he put you through! I thought you were happy here! I don't understand! How can you say that!”

“What the fuck is happening?” a voice interrupts them, and Jameson stiffens like a rabbit that just heard a gun go off.

Jackie stands in the entryway, eyes wide.

Eyes angry.

“Henrik, what's wrong?”

“Nothing,” fumbles Henrik, barely able to speak. He is stumbling away from Jameson, his eyes flickering desperately from wall to wall. “Nothing, it's not his fault, he doesn't know, it's not my fault, I didn't know, I was just trying to be his, I just didn't want to get hurt, I was just trying to survive and he told me I was his but I don't believe him I don't believe him I don't believe him – ”

Jackie moves forward to grab him as he falters, gripping his hands firmly and leading him back towards the couch as his brother unravels, drowning in his own terror.

He doesn't even look at Jameson.

Stiff and silent, shaking in the corner, alone.

His scarred right hand rests on the handle of the patio door.

Henrik will not come with him. He understands now. His brother has been through too much. The bad blood between him and Anti can't be settled. Jameson will go without him.

And Chase, too, he must leave behind. It was selfish, thinking he could bring him. Anti always talked about slaughtering him like a pig. Chase is too far gone, too loyal to Mr. Jack, his old friend, sleeping sound. Yes, Jameson must go without them.

It will break his heart, but he must go without them.

He’s trying to work up the nerve.

Anti didn't love you, says one part of his brain.

This part of his brain has told him this since he was perhaps two days old. He has ignored it every time. Repressed it. Swallowed it down. Told it to shut the fuck up and wondered if he could cut it out of the side of his head before Anti sensed his disloyalty.

But that night, beside a forgiving, bone-weary Henrik, with Chase across the hallway, both sound asleep, both watching over him –

For the first time in his life, the rest of him answers that part of his brain: I know.

But I must go back anyway.

I don't deserve this.

To be clean and fed and free and happy.

To be loved.

I don't deserve them.

He wants them. Wants all of it. Wants to be theirs and his own, but never again Anti's. He wants it so much it makes his heart hurt and his hands shake and his eyelids have to squeeze tight together to stop tears from falling.

He wants it, but he doesn't deserve it.

He begins to plan his escape.

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch14 (V x Reader)

Chapter 14 - The Weight of Truth

___________________________________________

June 6th, 8:28 am

You wake up slowly as V traces a pattern on your thigh, the sunlight peeking through the curtains in the tiny bedroom you had…

 Oh… oh my…

“You’re blushing, Y/N…” V mutters, only adding to your embarrassment as the memories of the night before fly through your mind, the sweet ache between your thighs only confirming the truth of your recollections of bliss. You turn over to face him, this wonderful man who had done such amazing things to your body last night, your tinted cheeks fully in his view.

“Good morning, my little fox. How do you feel?” he asks you gently.

Instead of answering him, you pull his face to meet yours for a tender kiss, your hands stroking his obsidian locks lovingly as you sigh against his full lips. He hums happily as you part, a smile gracing his mouth.

“I feel… amazing,” you finally answer and he chuckles wryly.

“Well, you definitely felt amazing last night… shall we try the shower?”

Your cheeks flush again at his reminder, but the thought of a shower distracts you from your embarrassment. The stickiness between your legs and the sweat on your skin scream to be cleansed and you nod, pulling back to sit up. V hands you a small towel and you smile gratefully at him as you wipe away the worst of the mess.

“Would you like me to join you or would you rather shower alone?” he asks kindly.

As much as the idea of sharing a shower with V thrills you, you need a few moments to yourself to process and think on what you had shared with him, get your thoughts in order before the pair of you had to continue your journey.

“Alone, this time,” you answer him shyly, smiling in an attempt to convey how much you’d enjoy him joining you in the future. He smirks and stands, reaching down to put his briefs back on before walking over to your side of the bed to offer you a hand up, a towel in his arms.

 Could he be any more perfect?

You take his hand and rise slowly, thighs only shaking for a moment before you stabilize. He wraps you in the towel, dropping a sweet kiss on your shoulder before you step away.

“I’ll go see if I can find some food,” he informs you as he leaves the room, still naked other than the briefs. You can’t help but grin, pleased by his comfort level around you. You find the bathroom easily enough, pausing only briefly to close the door behind you before dropping the towel on the counter. The knobs turn with a loud screech, water cascading from the showerhead shortly after. It takes a long time to warm, but eventually you step into the spray and close your eyes, enjoying the cleansing heat on your skin.

___________________________________________

In the kitchen, V opens and closes cupboards haphazardly, searching for some kind of recognizable food. He can feel an itch in his mind, like he’s forgotten something. He tries to ignore it, focusing on his task, but the sensation only grows more insistent until he can’t ignore it any longer. The itch resolves itself suddenly as he hears a voice in his head.

 Let me out, Shakespeare! We gotta talk.

 Griffon?!

 No shit, Sherlock. C’mon, lets chat.

He raises his hand and with a flick of his wrist, Griffon appears in a flash of black shards, sitting on the kitchen counter and staring him in the face.

“Oof, much better! It ain’t easy talking to ya from inside, I tell ya,” the mouthy bird says, fluffing his feathers.

“I didn’t know you even could,” V responds with a look of surprise still etched on his face.

“Yeah, neither did I till just now! Guess I just needed something important to say, is all,” the bird replies snarkily.

“And what would that be?” V asks.

Griffon seems to study him for a moment, his three irises taking in his state of undress and the sweat on his skin. The bird fluffs his feathers again before continuing.

“V… you gotta tell Y/N the truth. Maybe you’re too close to see it, but she needs to know. Not just half the story, but the whole shebang. Urizen, Vergil, your birth. The whole story,” he states emphatically.

V looks away, refusing to face the truth in his friend’s words. He busies himself by looking in a few more half-empty cupboards for something to eat, frowning deeply as Griffon continues to speak.

“Don’t you think she’s been through enough? She’s said it herself, she never wants to stand by and watch someone die again, and here you are forcing her to do just that,” he adds, watching V’s every movement as he opens yet more drawers with more force, his anger leaking out in waves.

“I… I can’t. She’ll not want me anymore,” the poet grinds out between his gritted teeth.

“That’s her choice to make, my friend. Don’t let your selfishness take that away from her, she deserves better and you know it,” Griffon concludes insistently before falling silent.

V shakes where he stands, mind filling with the knowledge that Griffon is right yet still refusing to accept it.

 There must be some other way, something I can tell her that won’t hurt her as much. I couldn’t bear it if she walked away from me now. I couldn’t bear yet another person leaving me behind.

A tear falls from his eye as he thinks of his mother and the night that changed his life forever.

He had been playing at the park a few blocks from home, pretending to be a mighty warrior like his father as he swung a stick from his perch on a mounted horse, envisioning himself commanding legions of mighty fighters in battle. At first, he hadn’t even been aware of the fire, the attack at his home. It wasn’t until an echoing crash had reached his ears that he looked toward his home where his twin brother and his mother were waiting for him, the first stirrings of fear coiling in his stomach.

It was on fire, flames licking the wooden structure hungrily. The upper floor was completely engulfed, the lower starting to catch as his terrified young eyes watched. Unbidden, his legs pumped as he ran toward his home, praying to find his family safe, outside, looking for him. He didn’t want to make them worry and ran as fast as his short, childish legs could carry him.

He could see in the front window now, see his mother screaming, the sounds being swallowed in the crackling flames as everything he ever knew was destroyed. He saw her fall, saw the heavy wooden beam pin her to the ground as demons closed in on her helpless form. He was still sprinting to the door when he saw a spray of blood, his mothers’ blood, coat what little glass was still in the shattered windowpane.

He had wailed, then. Screamed, fists beating the cobblestones at his feet as he began his cycle of self-torment for not being strong enough, not being fast enough to save her.

 I should have been there, should have been able to stop this, to save her! I’m such a failure, I’ll never be strong enough to protect that which I love!

Griffon’s voice brings V back to the present to find tears coating his cheeks, his chest heaving as he cries silently.

“V… If you don’t tell her soon, I will. But… she should hear it from you,” the demonic bird says gently, and V releases his hold on his friend, watching as his form dissolves into black shards and sinks back into his skin. He struggles to stifle his tears, wiping them away angrily and sniffling. He takes a deep breath, centering himself using a habit borne from years of self-control.

Only once he was calm did he allow himself to truly consider Griffon’s words, his stomach sinking and his heart clenching in fear as he realizes the simple truth.

 He’s right, she deserves the truth. She deserves the truth from me. As terrifying as it is, I have to tell her. Have to give her the chance to make her own decision. I can’t take away her freedom by denying her that much.

Griffon hums his approval from within V’s body and he directs his thoughts at the bird carefully.

 I will tell her. Give me time to find the right moment, let her hear it from me.

Griffon hums again in agreement, a low undercurrent of suspicion underlying the sensation and V knows the bird won’t wait forever. He sighs heavily, decision made. The weight of it settles on his lean shoulders as he opens the last few cabinets, finally finding some bags of chips and cookies.

He hears your footsteps approaching and stuffs his troubled thoughts down, hiding them away in a dark corner of his mind for now as you join him in the kitchen and wrap your warm arms around his bare torso from behind, the soft scent of the soap you had used easing his discomfort.

“Shower’s open, V,” you murmur into his back from where your head rests. He turns to face you, kissing the top of your head and giving you a quick hug before he steps away to clean himself, leaving you to forage.

___________________________________________

You can tell there’s something on V’s mind as you set out an hour later, bellies full and bodies clean. You take his hand like you did the day before, squeezing his fingers in a gesture of reassurance.

 Whatever is bothering him, I hope he lets me help.

You don’t speak as you follow him outside, beginning another long day of walking and fighting to advance every block. You make quick progress at first, nothing more difficult than a few Caina disturbing you and V as you progress. The residential area extends for over a mile, the houses clustered together like dandelions in a patch of grass. You occupy your mind with imagining who may have lived in the homes, picturing families and happy couples having summer barbecues on their small lawns, children playing as the parents enjoyed a beer over the grill. The vision reminds you of a cheesy TV movie, one of the ones that made it look like life could actually be that perfect if you were the right kind of person.

A cluster of the horrible husks brutally shatters your imaginings, two adults and a child crouching by the SUV parked in the driveway in a final embrace, an expression of the love they had for each other. Your heart clenches painfully at the sight, once again reminded of how lucky you were to be alive. You wipe your eyes, harshly scrubbing away any approaching tears that might threaten to spill as your empathy and compassion force you to imagine the terror those two had felt as they died, their child in their arms dying as they watched.

 How horrible, to be so powerless to save the person you love most in the world.

You try not to look, but periodically you spot more of the wretched husks, each time your heart breaking a little bit more. You sniffle and smother your sadness as best you can, but V has already noticed your shift in mood.

“Y/N, what is it? What’s wrong?” he asks you gently, concern apparent on his face in his furrowed brow as he walks on, cane clicking on the sidewalk with every other step.

You struggle uselessly to maintain your already questionable composure and as the silence stretches on, V turns you to face him, stopping to focus solely on your needs.

 We shouldn’t stop, not for this… we have to hurry.

He tilts your chin so you’re looking up into his emerald gaze and you hiccup as a sob threatens to burst through.

“Little fox, talk to me. What’s troubling you?” he insists, and your resolve cracks at his worried tone.

“It’s this whole stupid situation! I keep seeing these husks, what’s left of all these people, and I just… I can’t believe how much pain a single demon has caused, how many deaths Urizen has triggered with this idiotic plan. Why couldn’t he just have stayed in Hell? Why did he have to come here and ruin so many people’s lives?”

You step away from V as your sadness morphs into rage, the injustice of it all making bile rise in your throat and your head spin as you pace, shouting your wrath to the sky.

“We have to stop him, V, we can’t fail. This… this monster doesn’t deserve life, and its up to us to take it from him. We will end Urizen, I swear. No matter what it costs us. We have to, or all these people… they deserve justice, and we’re going to give it to them,” you pronounce, body shaking in rage as you ball your fists and grit your teeth, your anger obvious in your every motion as V listens quietly.

When you face him again, the look on his features shocks you into a stunned silence. He looks… agonized. Like something was physically hurting him. You pause, waiting for him to speak and respond to your fury.

“I understand, Y/N. I’m sorry that this has happened to you, that you’ve been pulled into my battle out of necessity. Maybe I shouldn’t have invited you to travel with me, should have insisted that you get out of the city…”

Your anger instantly deflates at his pained tone and you go to him, wrapping his slim, tattooed frame in your arms as you hold him close, pausing to choose your words carefully.

“I wish none of this had happened, that we had met under different circumstances,” you murmur into his vest. He lets out a small laugh, his arms coming up to rest on your shoulders.

“As do I, little fox,” he responds slowly. A few moments pass without motion, the two of you enjoying the feeling of being in each other’s arms. Finally, you pull away with a regretful smile.

“Sorry… we should keep moving,” you mutter apologetically, and V takes your hand as you resume your travels, giving your fingers a soft squeeze.

___________________________________________

V

Your boiling rage, your hatred of Urizen had made his stomach revolt, threatening him with his own breakfast. He had never seen you so angry, so filled with hate. He didn’t like it, seeing your face screwed up in an expression of fury, fists balled at your sides… He much preferred your happy smiles or quiet sighs from the night before.

Knowing it was his other half that caused such a reaction was the hardest blow.

 How can I possibly tell her that Urizen and I are two sides of the same coin? How could she possibly still accept me, care about me after she knows what I’ve done?

 You’d better not chicken out, Shakespeare.

V rolls his eyes in frustration, having momentarily forgotten the privacy of his very thoughts is no longer able to keep his doubts from his friends.

 Not my fault your thoughts are so damn loud…

V clenches his jaw, shoving his irritation away and focusing instead on the feeling of your soft hand in his, fingers intertwined. He strokes the back of your palm with his thumb, the contact soothing him.

 When you gonna tell her you love her?

V’s eyes go wide, his steps faltering as Griffon’s insistent voice pipes up yet again. He glances at you to see you looking at him curiously, and he shakes his head to indicate nothing’s wrong as his steps resume.

 I don’t know what you’re talking about.

 HA! Nice try, pal, but I can see your feelings now. You can’t hide it from me!

V carefully schools his features into an expression of calmness, inwardly groaning as Griffon’s raucous laughter echoes in the walls of his mind.

 Do I? Do I love her?

He tries to analyze his own feelings, searching for truth within his thoughts. Yet without any prior experience, he can’t be sure. He knows he cares a great deal for you, would put himself in harms way to keep you safe, but love? Was he even capable of feeling it?

 V, shut up. You’re in love.

He hears a roar of approval and a low rumble like rocks falling from a cliffside; Shadow and Nightmare affirming Griffon’s words, causing the bird to break out in laughter again.

 Even Nightmare knows it! The damn pile of rocks figured it out before you did, genius!

He can’t help but grunt a laugh out at that, slowly coming to see that Griffon is, once again, correct. The blue demon sends him a visual, of him preening and fluffing his feathers in pride, and a series of chuckles escapes his full lips.

“What’s so funny, V?” you ask him curiously.

“Ahhh… Griffon has figured out how to speak to me within my mind. He’s making some rather… inappropriate comments at the moment,” V responds slowly, enjoying your face gain a hue of pink as you blush at the idea.

“Oh. When did he figure that out?” you ask, eyes wide.

 Hey, it was her idea!

“He says he got the idea from you, Y/N,” V chortles out, amusement still prevalent on his face as he does his best to ignore the stream of images Griffon is sending him, most featuring him enjoying some pets from you and V watching with a scowl from nearby.

“Shit… sorry, V. I didn’t mean to give him any ideas,” you say apologetically and he can’t help but smile, his heart filling with tenderness as he comes to terms with his new understanding of what he feels for you.

“Not to worry, I’m sure he would have figured it out on his own eventually anyway,” the lean poet reassures you with a light squeeze of your fingers. Griffon sends him an image of those same fingers tangled in his hair, stroking it gently as he leaned down to kiss you, his naked form suspended above yours by one arm as his fingers brought you such enjoyment.

 Griffon, if you don’t behave yourself…

 What? What are ya going to do, huh?

 …I’ll think of something.

Griffon lets out another round of cawing laughter at V’s inability to imagine some form of consequence for his lewd behavior. V grits his teeth and sends back an image of chicken noodle soup, with Griffon as the main ingredient. He can feel a jolt of fear run through the bird’s consciousness and smirks to himself as Griffon settles down at last.

___________________________________________

You leave the residential area behind and enter a shopping district, windows displaying wares in every direction, bright banners flapping gently in the light breeze. The area is familiar to you; you once went on a shopping trip with some friends here and you smother the bittersweet memory harshly as you stride forward.

"Y/N."

You're startled from your thoughts as V speaks, drawing your attention to your surroundings to check for danger. The Qlipoth roots cast long shadows across the courtyard as the sunlight struggles its way through the clouds, making a pattern almost like shattered glass across the well-maintained landscaping. You spot the now familiar red webbing form a barrier between a shoe store and a French bakery as several demons start appearing yet again, but something is different this time. The air feels heavy, weighted. It reminds you of the atmosphere right before a thunderstorm, humid and dense with approaching chaos.

The demons themselves are ones you’ve yet to encounter. There’s three of them, two standing slightly behind the third as if in deference, holding heavy shields in front of their bodies. They look human at first glance, until you note the red lines pulsating across their intimidating armor. The metal looks thick and you wonder how your meager weapons can possibly do any damage against such heavy plating. You realize you won’t be able to help V win this fight and look to him in concern, hoping he’s up to it. The look of rage on his face makes you take a step back in shock; you’ve never seen him this angry. In fact, you’ve never seen him angry at all.

His arm pushes you behind him, as if to keep you hidden as he speaks, his cane outstretched as if in invitation.

“The vision of Christ that thou dost see, is my vision’s greatest enemy,” he intones heavily and all Hell breaks loose.

Griffon and Shadow spring from V’s cane, leaping and flapping into action. They attack, claws and teeth seeking blood. Griffon whoops as he flaps hard, and lightning strikes in a grid across the demons, hitting all of them. They barely seem to notice as they begin to advance. Shadow shifts into a spinning blade, cutting into the demonic knight on the left harshly as she spins into its body. Blood drips where her bladed body slices, the ground slowly turning red.

“Stay close to me, Y/N. These demons are too much for you,” V says softly, deftly stepping aside with you in tow as a huge blade strikes the ground where he was standing a moment prior. You nod, knowing the truth in his words. You shift with him, standing as close to him as you can as he stalks through the battlefield in a now familiar dance of death.

You try to track the movements of the demons, but the battle is too chaotic. Lightning bursts forth from Griffon, Shadow shifting into new forms as the demons advance and attack in a ballet of blood. It’s all you can do to stay by V’s side as he expertly conducts his symphony of summoned friends.

Griffon spits a ball of lightning at the feet of the nearest demon; as it hits the ground, it splits into two long streaks of electricity. They drift towards each other, meeting in a flash that nearly blinds you. The lead demon seems to barely glance at the bird as it advances toward you and V. It swings its massive sword at his head and he ducks, pulling you with him. You hear Shadow’s roar and she dashes back to you and V, dissolving into a black cloud as she slides beneath V’s feet. He tugs your arm, pulling you onto the cloud with him, and the pair of you ride Shadow to a less crowded corner of the field of battle in front of a clothing store, the windows occupied by stylish mannequins.

The moment you and V are out of the lead demon’s reach, Shadow reforms and runs back into the fray, her tail elongating and sweeping across the area knocking back the trio of demonic knights. She shifts again, into a form that reminds you of a Venus flytrap. Her… jaws? Close on one of the demons, and it stumbles back several paces. Shadow turns to the center demon, swiping at it with her massive paw before her neck elongates strangely, striking the demon again and again in an almost laughable approximation of a bitch slap. Griffon swoops by, spitting lightning at the demon and suddenly you feel V dart forward to land the killing blow, leaving you alone.

“Die,” he rumbles as his cane sinks into the demons chest. He pirouettes in midair, deftly wrenching his cane loose as the creature dissolves into black mist.

Your attention is so fully focused on V that you don’t notice the third demon approaching you, shield held up to cover its face. It draws its sword as V laughs darkly, landing on the pads of his feet after the graceful attack.

You feel a sharp pain in your right hip, and you let out a harsh scream as you fall to the blood-soaked ground. You instinctively raise an arm to shield your face as your landing knocks the breath from your lungs. Agony is all you know as you look up to see the demon raising its sword again, preparing to slice you in two.

[breanime]

Bloody Secrets (Part One)

So this is my first time writing a Reader-insert fic, so any feedback would be really appreciated! There’s some brief smut and vague descriptions of violence (I mean, it’s Billy), so be advised. 

*gif by @banditthewriter, who was kind enough to proof read this for me*

The best thing about your terribly expensive school was the quality of their labs. You had always wanted to practice medicine, so you had been ecstatic when you’d gotten into your top choice university. Price of tuition aside—it was the perfect school for you. You especially liked the labs; working on the dummies helped you hone your craft more than any textbook could.

“Um, Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You didn’t look up from the dummy you were practicing on. Maggie always had questions—in the lecture hall, in the hospital, in the lab, you were relentless. But you liked her. She was kind, and eager, and not one of the (many, many, many) Ivy League silver spoon babies. So you two became friends.

“I think your boyfriend’s here.” There was a smile on her face when you finally did look up. You followed your gaze and had to bite your lip to keep from grinning as well.

Billy Russo—head of Anvil, best friend of the Punisher, playboy ex-Marine Special Ops soldier—was standing in the doorway of the lab. Your professor was talking to him animatedly; and you could almost see his glasses fogging up in his excitement. Several lab assistants were staring at Billy hard. But, who could blame them? He was wearing one of his famous 3-piece suits, a tasteful dark gray number with a navy-blue tie. He leaned against the doorway, his long legs crossed at the ankles and his hands in his pocket. He was smiling, but when his eyes landed on you it turned into a smirk.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you turned back to Maggie immediately, “He’s… we’re friends. We’re bangbros.” Maggie made a face and you laughed, putting down your tools. “Lemme see what he wants.”

You watched Billy watch you as you approached. You were wearing a simple V-neck school shirt and jeans—nothing special. But his eyes scanned over you in a way that had your skin tingling with warmth.

“Mr. Russo,” you greeted him calmly, interrupting the professor’s nervous rant.

“Miss Y/L/N,” he said back, tilting his head as he spoke, “I’m interrupting your lesson, forgive me.”

You felt the corners of my lip tug up. “It’s fine,” you were blatantly casual in front of your watching professor and classmates, “What can I do for you Mr. Russo?”

His eyes flashed, and you could guess the kind of reply he wanted to say. But instead he said, “I’m afraid I need your assistance on something,” he glanced over at your professor, “with, of course, your permission sir.”

It took no time at all for the professor to agree—he was a huge fan of Billy’s. Most of your classmates gave you awed looks as you packed up, while some shot you looks of envy. Maggie blew you a kiss as you left. The story you had told everyone, about how you first met Billy, was that the two of you had ran into each other outside of the city. You were on your way to visit your little sister and he was out training a few of the guys. Long story short: three of his guys got hurt, so you had taken it upon yourself to step in. All of that was true. What you didn’t tell them was what happened afterwards.

“You usually travel this far out of town by yourself?” He had asked you.

You were wiping your bloodstained hands on a towel he’d given you. Your hair was a mess, hastily thrown in a bun with strands falling on your sweaty face. Your coat was somewhere on the ground, but your sweater was ruined, it was dotted with blood. Billy was wearing all black, looking slim and dangerous as he surveyed you.

“It’s usually a quicker route,” you said back, “y’know, when I’m not stopping to perform street surgeries.” A glance over at his three guys, leaning on each other like tired children after a long day at the playground, made you smile. It was kind of cute. “Can I ask what all this,” you gestured to the men, “was?”

“You can,” he said breezily, “doesn’t mean I’ll answer, though.”

“Typical military,” you said back. You weren’t offended. You had heard of Billy Russo, prominent New York businessman and playboy before, so you weren’t at all naïve enough to think he was just a pretty face.

“How’d you know I was military?”

“I read magazines,” you answered, “I think it was GQ who had a whole 3-page layout on Billy Russo.”

He laughed. “So you know my name.” He took a step toward you. “But I still don’t know yours.”

“Y/N.”

“That come with a surname?”

You smirked. “Y/L/N. And to answer your first question: I was on my way to my sister’s place,” you paused and looked down at my bloody clothes, “but I think it’s better that I don’t anymore.”

“Are you sure?” He had looked genuinely concerned. “I can take you. We can get you some new clothes on the way, stop at a hotel—”

“—Mr. Russo,” you feigned shock, “just because I’m out alone at night in a dark alley covered in blood does not mean I’ll just go to a hotel with you,” you put the back of your hand to your forehead, “What kind of a girl do you think I am?”

He had laughed then. It started out as a bark of laughter before it became a full-on laugh. “My sincerest apologizes,” he said between chuckles, “I just meant, you could take a quick shower. I’d hate to mess up your plans with your sister.”

You shook my head. “Nah, it’s cool. It’s getting late, anyway, I have class in the morning,” you gestured blindly with bloody hands, “Med school,” you explained.

“Makes sense. At least let me give you a ride home,” Billy had turned to look back at his guys, “Looks like these guys won’t be dying—thanks to you.”

“Sure, thanks,” you had said. And you were off. Your jaw nearly hit your chest when you saw Billy’s Rolls Royce for the first time. Truth be told, you had been afraid to get in, because of the blood, but he just chuckled. He had taken care to buckle you in. You made sure to call your sister and tell your you had to stay home and study, which you were fine with. Billy silently wiped the last of the blood off your face and hands. He touched you with such care, it made you feel safe even though you had just seen how dangerous his lifestyle was. The two of you talked the whole ride back to your apartment, and you were almost disappointed when the car pulled up in front of your building.

“Would it be wrong to say I hope we can do this again?” You asked once he’d walked you to your door.

He had chuckled, his dark eyes sweeping over your body. In most circumstances, the appraisal would have made you balk, but you couldn’t help but like the way he surveyed you.  “Maybe not in the exact same way,” he’d said, “But I’d love to see you again, Y/N.”

So, you exchanged numbers, and while you hoped he would want to come in, he’d told you that he had to get back to work, but that he’d call the first chance he got. That chance ended up being the next day, and you talked between classes. He had told you how his on-staff doctor complimented your work and even asked for your resume, which made you laugh—since you had no resume to give him. After that, you texted the next few days before he finally asked if he could take you out for dinner and drinks as a thank you for your help. So you went out.

It took hours to find the right dress—something sexy, but not too revealing—but it was time well spent, because Billy looked at you like a hungry man in front of a buffet.

“So, how often do you do this?” You had asked, gesturing with your wine glass. You elaborated when you saw the curious tilt of his head. “Take random co-eds out to dinner?”

“Not usually,” he answered smoothly, his New York accent rolling with his words, “Do you usually stop and help total strangers?” He had raised one perfect eyebrow. “Total strangers who are at risk of bleeding out?” He added.

You shrugged. Best to just tell the truth. “Only when their boss is as good looking as you.”

“You think I’m good-looking?” He had been smirking then.

You took a drink, stalling. You actually hadn’t meant to say that, but it was true… “What, you don’t own a mirror?”

He chuckled. “I own several, actually,” he had said, “By the way, you look amazing tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“You looked pretty good the other night too, if I’m honest,” he had gone on, “I mean, for a co-ed covered in blood.”

That prompted another two hours of conversation. You talked steadily through dinner and desert, and he had put his hand on the small of your back as you walked back to his car. The two of you had been talking about your school and his work when you pulled up to your apartment. Billy had gotten out and opened your door.

“This was fun,” he had said, smiling over at you with those dark eyes.

“Yeah,” you agreed easily, “It was.”

“What time do you have class tomorrow?”

You made a face. “7 am.”

“Clinicals, right?”

“Right.” You had been impressed by his memory, or rather, that he had actually listened to your ramblings about school. “Thanks for this, for dinner, it was really nice.”

He put his head down and then up again, smiling at you. “My pleasure.” He had paused then, and asked: “Can I see you again?”

You almost broke your neck nodding. “You can see me right now,” you blurted out, “if you want, I mean… You can come inside—” you could feel your face burning by that point “—the apartment, I mean. You can come up to the… ah, fuck…” Billy laughed then. “Shut up,” you had said, laughing a little as well.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But I can see you thinking it.”

His dark eyes flashed. “If you could see what I’m thinking,” his voice was low, “we would have already been upstairs.” He grinned at me. “But it’s good to wait, sometimes.” He had leaned closer to you, then, and your heart started pounding. His lips had pressed against yours, sweetly, for a brief moment, before he pulled back. “Till next time, Y/N.”

The next time he came up to your apartment.

Billy had pulled you into his lap as soon as you got into the car. He didn’t generally like being driven around, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold off once he got you alone. Billy had been out of the country for the last three weeks and he was not above knowing his limits. He licked into your mouth, one hand on the back of your neck, the other on your ass. You were wearing jeans; he preferred you in leggings, but he could work with what he got.

“This is what you needed me for?” You asked, grinning as you looked down at him.

“Mm hmm,” he murmured back, sliding his hand between your tangled legs to unbutton your jeans, “Figured you have the skills, you can afford a day off.”

“Oh, I can, can I?” You giggled. “What if today’s lesson was important?”

“More important than this?” He asked, rubbing one long finger against your folds. Billy licked his lips as you closed your eyes and sighed against him. “More important,” he asked again, continuing his ministrations, “than this?”

“No,” you breathed against him, your lips almost on his. You moved your hips and he groaned at the feeling.

He kissed you again, grinning as he pushed two fingers in and you gasped. You put your head back and he kissed along the side of your neck, breathing in your scent. Your skin was soft and warm, and you were wet where his fingers touched. It had been Billy’s intention to just screw you and be done with it 3 months ago when you first met, but he liked you. He liked sleeping with you—definitely—but he liked your company, too. Billy had told you about his childhood—the bare, ugly details about his mother’s abandonment, the group home—and a few very, very bare details about his time in the military, mostly about his good friend Frank. You were rolling your hips more and more now, and he could tell you were close. He brought his lips to yours. “I missed you,” he said between kisses.

“Missed you, too,” you said. Your eyes were squeezed shut and Billy moved his hand faster, and you yelped at the increased movement. Billy’s eyes caught the driver’s and they narrowed dangerously. The driver rolled up the partition and Billy made a mental note to handle him later. Until then, he bit a bruise onto your neck as you came on top of him. He held you to him, lightly kissing your cheek and neck as you panted, coming down. He was hard, but he had the patience to wait. “Shit, Billy,” you sighed, your body melting into his.

He kissed you on the mouth, rubbing his cheek on yours. “I gotta get you home, sweetheart,” he whispered, “make up for lost time…”

And he did. Over the course of your…whatever you were, the two of you had fallen into a nice rhythm with a fair understanding of each other. You usually met at his place; Billy had no qualms about going to your apartment, but you said it was too small and “woefully poor” (your words, not his), so you rarely ever went there. You learned not to ask too much about his work, especially what he did when he was overseas, and he learned not to ask you how you afforded medical school with no job. It didn’t really matter to him; he was curious, of course, but he figured you had a secret trust fund or a shitload of student loans—either way, you didn’t seem too eager to talk about it so he didn’t push. He actually was curious about a lot of things in regards to you, but he knew timing was important, so he held on to them…for the moment.

Billy had you naked and underneath him in seconds once you reached his penthouse. Your nails raked his back as he pushed himself in and out of you, grinning at the sounds and faces you were making. He bent his head down, kissed you, and then moved his lips to your neck. You had protested the first few times the two of you had been together about him leaving marks, but he couldn’t help himself. He had no way to know who you were with when he wasn’t around, so he wanted to be sure he left his mark on you, and he told you that much. As a compromise, he’d gotten you a set of some very fine concealer that was personally made to fit your skin color sent in from France. So now he could mark your up to his delight. Which he did.

He had you three more times that day. You took a break to order some food and put on a movie. Halfway into the movie, you climbed into his lap and you proceeded to move onto round four. Now, you lay naked in his bed. You had your head on his chest and he had one arm holding you, the other holding a glass of bourbon. You didn’t know it, but this was the happiest he’d been in days. He had gone over to Kandahar to dig up some old intel for Frank—he owed him the favor, however much he didn’t want to go back there. It was tiring work; both physically and mentally. He was glad to be back, to be with you. He looked down at you; your hair was loose and wild from all the activity and his hands in it, and your eyes were heavy with sleep. He could see a few hickeys forming on your neck already, and he smiled at his success. You were wrapped in his arms and his blanket, and Billy couldn’t help but think about what this would be like if this were his life…

“So when do I get to meet her?” Frank had asked, staring out into the water. He and Billy had met to debrief around 4 am when Billy landed back in the States. Billy was tired, dead on his feet, but he was glad to see Frank. Slowly, with a lot of caution and care, they were starting to rebuild their friendship. It also didn’t hurt that they were working a mission together again: to bring down Agent Orange. Frank had wanted to meet him as soon as he got back, and because he was brooding Frank, he’d wanted to meet at the waterfront, which was colder than usual in the night.

“Meet who?” Billy asked, running his hand through his hair and resting it on the back of his neck. He was still wearing his combat gear.

“The girl. Your girl,” Frank said, a grin on his lips. The grin widened when he saw the look on Billy’s face. Frank, wearing a hood over his head, a big coat, and holding a dossier actually looked like he was close to giggling. “When do I get to meet her?”

Billy smiled, despite himself, and rolled his eyes. “Never, man,” he said back, “Y/N’s just a friend. We’re just having fun.”

“Uh huh,” Frank hadn’t sounded convinced, “Seems to me you’ve been ‘having fun’ for close to what? Two months now?”

“Three,” Billy responded automatically.

Frank raised an eyebrow, like he had just made a point. “Seems like a long time to be having fun, Bill.”

Billy smirked. “Not the way we do it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Frank chuckled, “I’m just sayin’, Bill, it’s important to have loved ones, family…”

“That’s what I got you and Curt for,” he said easily.

“Yeah, that’s right, you do. But uh… I can’t speak for Curtis, but you know I only like you as a friend, right?”

Billy laughed. “You’re hilarious, Frankie,” he rolled his eyes, “you should do stand-up.”

“I’m just sayin’,” Frank persisted, “Maria and me… We always hoped you bring a girl around, settle down…”

“Quality over quantity,” Billy said wryly.

“Exactly, buddy,” Frank paused, weighing the dossier in his hands, “You know, after this… Things will be different. This, killing Rawlins, exposing what he had us doing, won’t bring Maria and the kids back,” Billy lowered his head at that statement, his guilt was too raw on his face to show to Frank as he continued, “But it’ll make us… not clean, but a little less dirty.” Frank grinned at him then. “Anvil won’t be powered by blood money anymore; nobody will own us or command us. As new starts go, it’s not a bad one…”

“Provided we don’t die,” Billy added.

Frank nodded, dark eyes serious again. “Provided we don’t die.” There was a silence between them then, but neither man rushed in to fill it. They looked over the dark waters for a moment before Frank went on. “When you’re ready,” he said easily, “I’d like to meet her.”

Billy thought back on that as he held you, naked and warm, to his chest.

“Hey,” he said softly, half-hoping you were asleep.

“Yeah?” Your voice was soft and low and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“What are you doing tomorrow?”

“Hopefully you,” you smirked up at him.

He chuckled. “Well, in-between that, if there’s time, you wanna come meet a couple of my buddies with me?” Billy figured it he was going to do this, he might as well rip the band-aid off and throw Curtis in the mix as well.

You sat up, interested. This was definitely a step. Billy had met Maggie in passing, but Maggie was a school-friend. You hadn’t even told your sister about him, and the two girlfriends you’d talked about him with didn’t know he was the Billy, as in Billy Russo head of Anvil. You’d never even discussed what the two of you were, let alone anything about meeting friends.

Your silence served as an answer to him. “You don’t have to,” his voice was smooth, “I’ll just step out for a bit, meet ‘em, and be back before you know it.”

“No, I want to meet your friends,” you said, placing your hand on his bare chest, “I just… I wasn’t expecting this.” You paused, putting your head back down before putting it up again. “Wait, are your friends ladies? Are these lady friends?”

“Why? Would that be better or worse?” Billy asked with a smile.

“Worse… These are Anvil people or military?”

“Ex-military. My friends Curtis and Frank want to meet you—”

“—why?”

He shrugged, only a little sure of the answer himself. “Cause they’re nosy bastards. Frank’s my best buddy, we were stationed overseas together. We did eight years,” Billy paused, “He’s been through a lot, lost his family,” he felt like he was oversharing, but he couldn’t stop, “He’s my brother, his family… they treated me like their own, called me ‘Uncle Bill’ and everything…” He was starting to feel a heavy sadness come over him, so he decided to move on, “My other friend, Curtis, he’s a vet too. Technically he works for Anvil part-time,” he smiled softly, “He counsels other vets, hooks them up with jobs, support, that kind of thing. He lost a leg in the war. He’s a real good guy… Him and Frank both.”

“And they want to meet me?” Your voice sounded awed.

Billy ran a hand through his hair. “They do,” he said back, “Frank’s the one been buggin’ me about it. They know I’ve been spending a lot of time with you, which, y’know,” he smirked, “hasn’t always been the case with me. So, they wanna meet you.”

“Oh,” you sat up so that you were shoulder-to-shoulder with him. You wouldn’t look at him, you were looking straight ahead.

“What? You don’t want to meet them? You don’t have to,” he shrugged, “It’s not a big deal.”

“No, I want to, I…” You put your hands in your lap and Billy felt himself tensing up. Childhood abandonment aside, he still wasn’t used to the sting of rejection. And something about you; the way you laughed, how you kissed him, the sound you made when you came, made it hit a lot closer to home. “I just don’t know… what are we?”

You were looking at him now, and he felt his eyes widened. That was your problem? He laughed. “I didn’t know labels meant so much to you, babe.”

Your eyes narrowed at him. “It’s not just a label,” you maintained, “It means something. I just…” you looked away again. “I can never tell if this,” you waved a hand between the two of them, “means something to you.”

Billy nodded, eyes on your hands, which had found their way back in your lap. He leaned closer to you and put a finger on your chin, turning your face towards his. His dark eyes bore yours, and he meant his next words with every part of him. “This means something to me,” his voice was low and serious, “You mean something to me. You think this is all just fun and games to me?” You shrugged, your eyes wide. He huffed out a bitter laugh, determined to get through this conversation. “What’s it to you, huh? What does this,” he imitated your gesture, “mean to you?”

“Danger,” you said immediately, your voice soft but seeming to take up the whole room. You smiled. “I like danger.”

He felt a heat go over him, but ignored it for now. “Yeah? What else?”

“What else does this mean?” You repeated. “It means I’m way in over my head,” you took a breath, “look at you. I mean… in what world would a guy like you be interested in a girl like me?”

“In this world,” he quipped back, “In every world. Give yourself some credit, sweetheart. I’m the fucked up one here, not you,” his eyes softened as he looked at your, naked and wrapped in his sheets, “you’re perfect.”

Your smile made his knees go weak, and he wasn’t even standing. “So, we’re doing this? The big B and G thing?”

“The what?”

You leaned forward, dropping your voice to a whisper. “The boyfriend and girlfriend thing.”

He leaned in as well, bumping noses with your and smiling. “Yeah,” he said, claiming your lips for a kiss, “We’re doing this: the boyfriend-girlfriend thing.”

Frank and Curtis took to you like two old uncles. They doted on you, making any and every joke or comment at Billy’s expense that they could. You, in turn, became their go-to person whenever they needed a knife wound or bullet hole patched up—which was becoming more and more frequent the closer they got to bringing Rawlins down. It had been four months since you and Billy had officially started dating, and nearly seven months since you’ve begun seeing each other. It had been surprisingly, scarily, easy for Billy to get used to their new relationship. Somewhere along the line, he had realized that money, cars, and clothes were fine to play with, discard, trade up, but women were different—particularly, this woman was different. There was only one problem.

“Should I tell Y/N about this shit?” Billy asked, rifle on the edge of the railing. He, Frank, Curtis, Micro, and Karen were staking out a warehouse where one of Rawlins’ top men was housed. He had crawled his way from whiny assistant to suitcase-holding secret keeper and graduated to owning and operating his own small faction in the local non-ethnic mob.

“The covert mission shit we’re on now or the old army shit we were on before?” Frank clarified. Billy could hear muffled shouts and grunts—Frankie was doing what he was doing best in the warehouse while Billy had his six.

“One kind of leads into the other,” Karen said. She and Micro were in a van a few blocks away, running point. Billy wasn’t 100% okay with her involvement; both as a member of the press and his buddy’s potential squeeze piece, but he had to admit, she had a grounding presence and a good head on her shoulders. Despite her (suspicious, in his mind) interest in Frank, she was an asset to the team. Plus, she had a point.

“Got a couple heading your way, Russo,” Curtis said, his voice clear in the earpiece, “And my opinion? You should lay it all on the table. I think you can handle it.”

Billy closed one eye, focusing his vision through the lens of his rifle. Sniping was easy for him, it was basically second nature. Plus, with Frank and Curtis on the mission with him, he felt at ease. “Could turn out to be a bad idea,” he reasoned, putting five guys down in the matter of seconds. He switched out the magazine and took out another two. “Shit’s been great between us, don’t wanna ruin it.”

“The truth will set you free,” Micro said sagely, “but first it will piss you off.”

Billy restrained himself from rolling his eyes. “Thanks Homeless Yoda,” he said sarcastically, “but for the record, I was talkin’ to Curtis and Frank, not you and Journalist Barbie.”

“Hey!” Karen protested.

“Don’t be an asshole, asshole,” Frank grunted, he sounded like he had just taken a hit to the gut, “It’s good to have a feminine opinion on this.”

“Thank you, Frank,” Karen said lightly.

“And Lieberman?” Billy asked, sending a shot through the eyebrows of one of the mob guys.

“He’s pretty useless in these matters,” Frank replied honestly. Billy chuckled at his response and Micro’s answering “what?!”

“Look, Billy,” Curtis cut in, “it’s up to you what you tell your and when. But, if you ask me, it’s better to get it all done and out in the open sooner rather than later. You don’t want her finding any of this shit out by accident or from someone else.”

“And Y/N deserves to know the truth,” Frank said, “she’s a good girl, Bill. And she loves you, she’ll love you no matter what.”

Billy shook his head slightly but said nothing. The two of you hadn’t said those three words to each other, but he was close to letting them out. He could feel it; every time you smiled at him or laughed at some stupid comment he said or sighed when you patched up a wound that he wouldn’t tell you about. Even tonight, he had told you he was going out with the guys—partly true—and you had just said ok, but you’d given him a look…like you knew something else was going on. You’d pressed him about it once, on suspicions that he was meeting up with a girl, but he’d squashed that. Several times, actually, he thought with a smirk growing on his lips. He had told you, and left no room for argument or doubt, that you were the only woman for him. Period.

The mission didn’t last much longer, and once they got the target (aptly named “The Fat Man” by Micro), all it took was a search done by Karen using Billy’s Anvil program to sort the truth from fiction. The Fat Man agreed, in exchange for his life and not being left alone with either Frank or Billy, to set up a meeting with some of his mob guys. While Frank threatened the trembling criminal to keep quiet until it was time for the showdown, Billy walked away a few yards and called Y/N.

“Billy?” You said. He smiled at the sound of your voice, it was clear you had been sleeping.

“Hey, baby, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, it’s cool,” he could hear the covers shifting as you sat up, “what’s up? Somebody need stitches?”

Billy looked over at his friends—and Karen and Micro—they looked fine. “Nah, we’re good. I’ll be headin’ home in a few. Just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You’re coming home soon? How soon? I can stay up.”

“No,” he shook his head, a smile on his face, “Go back to sleep, baby. I’ll be there soon.” You would not, under any circumstances, give up your shitty apartment, but Billy had been able to convince you—in various ways—to spend the night at his place more and more. You had a key and were given full clearance by his security team. The two of you talked for a little while longer before you hung up. As Billy looked out at the bodies all over the courtyard of the warehouse and up at the bright yellow moon, he couldn’t help but think… maybe it was time to tell your, maybe you’d understand. Maybe you’d be okay, still care for him…

…or maybe you’d leave.

Billy was at work, prepping a group of guys for a security detail assignment when his burner phone went off. He dismissed the guys with a turn of his head and picked up the phone.

“Russo,” he answered. He had a good idea who it was, but he was used to answering calls in that way.

“Bill, it’s me,” Frank’s voice was rough and breathless, “I’m with Micro and the Fat Man. At the warehouse he told us about. You need to get here quick.”

Billy put a hand on the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, willing himself to have patience. “Frank,” he hissed into the receiver, “I can’t just leave, I’m working, this is my job…”

“Y/N’s here.”

Billy’s blood ran cold. He had been leaning on the wall, but he stood erect now. “What?”

“Bill,” Frank swallowed, “I think she might be working for the Fat Man.”

Billy had never broken so many speeding laws in his life. He was still on the phone with Frank, who was telling him that Y/N was one of the dozen people at the Fat Man’s second warehouse, where they were packaging dope. He was pissed. Beyond pissed. Frank was trying to calm him down, but he was too far gone. His silence was proof of that.

“I don’t know if they have her hostage, I don’t think she’s hurt…” Frank was saying.

“I’m gonna kill every last one of those rat bastards,” Billy said, his New York accent thick in his rage, “What’s the Fat Man say? She one of his?” The question, the phrasing of it, made him grip the steering wheel with anger. His knuckles were white on the wheel.

There was a silence on the other line as Frank repeated the question. Billy could tell from the garbled response that the Fat Man had probably already been busted in his lip; probably by Frank. “The Fat Man says she’s not on his payroll, but he knows her. Says she’s been doctoring his guys for a while now.”

“How long?”

Another pause. “A year.”

Billy cursed in his head, but said nothing out loud. He pulled up to the side of the warehouse where Frank and the Fat Man were. Micro’s van was there, the door rolled open. Billy didn’t even give the geek a cursory glance as he stalked over to Frank and the Fat Man. The Fat Man’s lip was indeed busted, and his nose was bleeding as well.

“He says this is where they package their dope, sell their guns, shit like that,” Frank said, standing behind Billy as he ripped his suit jacket off and practically threw it at Micro. “They call her here,” Frank was careful not to say your name when Billy’s eyes looked like that, “every few months.”

“She’s a doctor,” the Fat Man explained, looking like a guilty child caught with the cookie jar, “Her brother owed us big, so she took over his debt. She worked it off in a matter of months.”

This was news to Billy. You had mentioned your brother in passing, but you never even gave his name. Billy had just assumed you two weren’t close and didn’t press it. “So what is she doing here now, then?” Billy asked, his voice tense.

“I—we hired her on to do some more work for us. Patch up work, mostly, on a few of the fellas. She said she needed the cash, she made good on her brother’s debt… We—I didn’t know she was with you.”

Billy cocked his gun, done with the Fat Man for now. He turned to Frank, who nodded. They didn’t need to speak—they could read each other’s faces.

Frank turned to address Micro. “Can you get us eyes in there or what?” He asked.

Micro turned back to his computer and began typing away. “Got a few,” he reported, he glanced at Billy, “Y/N’s not on them.”

“The girl works in the back room,” the Fat Man supplied, eager to help, “no cameras. Just her and the guys.”

Frank put a steadying hand on Billy’s shoulder as they took in those words. Billy’s trigger finger was itching. “Show us the location where she works.” Billy demanded. Micro and the Fat Man pulled up the camera. It was a short corridor to the back room, which was sealed off with a heavy wood door. Billy couldn’t wait to break it down.

“Who’s in there with her?” Frank asked. Billy could feel himself growing impatient; he rolled his head but kept quiet. These questions were important.

“She’s operating on Little Louie,” the Fat Man answered, “he’s one of the packagers. He’s got blockage in his lungs or some shit. She’ll be in there, one guy to assistant, and at least two other guys to, y’know, make sure she does her work and then pay her when she’s through.”

“So they’re armed?” Billy asked.

“Yeah,” the Fat Man blanched, “but they’d never hurt her—she’s a nice girl, the doctor. We like her a lot.” That was the wrong thing to say.

Billy grabbed him by his collar and knocked him into the side of the van; hard. His face was inches from the Fat Man’s, so the other man could see the uncontained rage and very real threat of violence in his dark eyes. “Somethin’ happens to her, I’m gonna come back out here and shoot you in your fucking fat gut, you got that you piece of shit?” He hissed. The Fat Man nodded quickly and Frank sighed behind him. Billy’s eyes narrowed. “Fuck, I might shoot you anyway.”

“We don’t got time for this, Bill,” Frank’s gruff voice brought Billy back. He pushed the Fat Man away from him and turned back to his friend. “Cuff him and move to the back,” he ordered Micro, “we’re going in.”

--To Be Continued

~~So I can make this two or three parts, if anyone is interested. Just let me know. Again, this is the first time I’ve ever written something like this so I would love love LOVE any kind of feedback or comment. 

[vagrantblvrd]

A Place So Dark (2/?)

Summary: Gavin died on a Thursday.

                 That’s what the official records say, anyway. 

                 They also say he died in an accident.

Notes: This is loosely (very much so) based on the movie The Wraith and inspired by Michael and Gavin messing around in the GTA V Jetpack Joyrides video. (Look, I don’t know what happened either. Also, let’s pretend Tron isn’t a thing in this AU, because reasons.)

Chapter 1 || Chapter 2 ||

(Read on AO3)

When Michael turns, Gavin has the helmet in his hands and this small, awkward smile on his face.

He looks...uncertain.

That hesitant little smile Michael knows so well. The one he’d get when he’d done something stupid or messed up and fucking well knew it, couldn’t apologize like a normal person, no.

Just.

A mess of issues and stupid about it all, and hoping Michael would somehow be able to read his mind. Understand that whatever had happened wasn’t his intent. That there really was a reason the toaster was suddenly in pieces, or the plumbing was fucked up.

A whole slew of things gone wrong that shouldn’t have, really, Michael, he didn’t expect it to happen.

After a moment Gavin’s eyes slide away from Michael’s, shoulders hunching because Michael cannot stop scowling at him.

Anger burning hot in his chest because this stupid bastard. This stupid motherfucker who got himself in trouble, got in so deep someone wanted him dead.

Fucking Gavin who made Michael promise him months and months and months ago. Goddamn years, that if he was ever in trouble he’d go to Gavin.

Ask for help and Gavin would give it, no questions asked because it was just that simple. They’d figure it together, no reason to go it alone when it was the two of them against the world.

Partners in crime, the two of them, and this stupid little giggle from Gavin because they’d both had a little too much to drink. Gotten the kind of serious you do sometimes when you’re like that.

Dumb jokes and stories, this sideways slide into the heart of things without a by your leave. Gavin worrying about Michael and the bruises and worse he’d come back to their shitty apartment with sometimes.

“Your arm,” Gavin says suddenly, frowning slightly as he sets his helmet down on the table and moves over to Michael.

Gavin moves slow, careful as he reaches out and pulls Michael’s arm toward him. Looking to him as though he’s asking permission as he examines a cut on Michael’s arm visible through the ripped sleeve of his jacket.

Michael fights the urge to yank his arm back, annoyance rising because now that Gavin’s called attention to the injury he can feel the damn thing. Feel a myriad of small injuries he must have gotten earlier and hadn’t paid attention to with his focus on getting them out of there. Quashes the feeling as he watches Gavin.

Concerned frown on his face so damn familiar it hurts. Sharp ache in his chest that’s almost a physical pain, because he never thought he’d get to see it again.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches for it,” Gavin says, and looks up to meet Michael's eyes. “But you should put a bandage on it at least.”

He glances at the abandoned bag with the medical supplies and cocks his head just so, a gesture Michael knows so fucking well because he’s seen it so many times before.

Just another one of the things he should have picked up on earlier. Another one of Gavin’s quirks and ticks Michael had seen the biker use and never thought to connect to Gavin.

So much evidence in front of him leading to the biker’s identity and Michael just never seeing any of it because why the fuck would he expect to when Gavin was dead?

The Gavin he’d known was an awkward, clumsy dork who was good with computers and loved playing with his cameras. An idiot who never let on he wasn’t quite who Michael thought he was, but then again the reverse is true because Michael did the same, didn’t he?

Lies upon lies, and all of them mean to protect each other because it was dangerous not to.

This fucking city.

And maybe it’s not just Los Santos to blame for all of this. The secrets they both hid from each other, thinking they were protecting each other and doing more harm than good in the end, but it’s easier to cast blame than it is to face up to how stupid they've both been about this.

The fact that somehow Gavin’s here, looking at Michael with those eyes of his. Big and worried and holding himself like he thinks -

“I can’t do this on my own,” Michael hears himself say as he stares at Gavin’s hands. Fingers curled around his wrist, thumb resting over his pulse point.

Gavin blinks, mouth opening to ask why – always with he questions because he has a curious fucking mind doesn’t he. Never satisfied until he’s picked something apart, gotten a good look at what makes it tick and finds a way to put it back together again. (Not always right, but he tries.)

“I’m right handed, idiot.”

The cut’s on his right arm, and Michael could manage to slap a rough bandage on it, keep from making things worse, but it won’t be pretty. Might as well not even bother for all the good it will do him.

“I’ll fuck it up,” Michael says, and shrugs at the look Gavin gives him.

Michael doesn’t know how any of this is possible. How Gavin is standing in front him, solid and real and so goddamned familiar.

Watching Michael with that worried look he used to get when Michael would come home after a rough job and lie to him about it. Tell him some idiot at work had run into him, or that he’d hit his head on something. Nothing important, serious, so no need to worry about it.

Nothing but lies mixed tied up with the truth like that was just the way things had to be and why change things if it worked?

Gavin patching him up with this little frown between his eyes and so, so careful no to ask even though Michael could tell he wanted to more than anything.

Gavin starts to let go.

“Gavin.”

Gavin freezes, eyes skittering away from Michael’s.

He still looks the same.

Dumb hair that looks like it never met a comb it liked and that fucking nose of his. Laugh lines around his eyes that Michael always hoped he’d contributed to. The mole under his eye, so many other things Michael was worried he’d forgotten, and it’s killing him a little.

This whole mess is killing him because he can’t do this alone the way he was so convinced he could.

Just him against Carmine’s organization like one of those godawful movies Michael loved as a kid.

Good triumphing over evil, white hats against black hats. Scenarios where good always won because that’s how the stories were supposed to go.

Somewhere along the way he forgot on of the hardest lessons he ever learned, forgot that life isn’t like that. Realized just how fine the line between good and evil is, and which side he landed on as he grew up, made the kinds of choices he did.

The way people like Carmine with money and power behind them win out more often than not. That people like him and Gavin get trampled underfoot and forgotten, because they were just a statistic in the end.

Michael’s been lucky so far. Luckier than anyone has a right to be, but that same luck is bound to run out on him sooner rather than later with his hard he’s been pushing things.

And for whatever reason Gavin’s here, he’s back.

He’s the asshole half the city’s talking about.

This incredible force – anger and fury and something else to him Michael can’t explain, doesn’t have the words for - going after Carmine and his organization with equally single-minded determination.

He’s done more to hurt Carmine in these past few weeks than Michael has in the entire time he found out about his involvement in Gavin’s death. Cracked the foundations under Carmine’s feet, but it’s still not enough.

Worse, after tonight they know Gavin’s not invincible. They managed to make him bleed, proved they can hurt him. Kill him, and they’re not about to forget that after what he’s done to them, cost them.

“I can’t do this on my own,” Michael says again, and he sounds like he picked smoking back up. Voice fucked up because he’s not just talking about Carmine and his hired guns, doesn’t think he could take losing Gavin again. “I’ll fuck it up if I try.”

He’s been driven by anger and grief, this need to make whoever was responsible pay and no real plan behind any of it. Belated realization that he never expected to make it as far as he has. Expected Carmine or Rat-face to sniff him out, realize what he was up to and make an example out of him the way they did with Gavin.

He’d only gotten as close as he has through sheer luck, and doesn’t know where to go from here.  

Gavin stares at him for a long moment, and Michael can’t read him. Can’t tell what he’s thinking, or even if he knows him as well as he thought he did to be able to read him.

“Let’s look at your arm first,” Gavin says, eyes dropping away from Michael’s as he goes to get the medical supplies. “Wouldn’t want it to get infected.”

Michael watches him walk away and wonders what the hell he as expecting. For Gavin to jump at the chance to team up with him like this is some kind of stupid superhero movie?

“Yeah, alright,” Michael sighs, and follows Gavin to the cramped bathroom where the lighting is better.

Gavin gives him a small smile as Michael sits on the edge of the tub. Helps him peel off his jacket, managing to reopen the wound a little in the process. Dried blood gluing it to his skin and it's not pretty, hurts like hell as Gavin cleans the wound up best he can with their available supplies.

His hands are cool, which isn’t a surprise because Gavin always runs cold, but there’s a different quality now that makes Michael uneasy.

“I’d hate to be the one to find that,” Gavin says, seeming to pick up on his mood and  trying for a bit of levity as he tips his head towards the pile of bloodstained washcloths he tossed into the bathtub.

Michael snorts.

“I’d hate to be the one to find anything in this dump,” Michael shoots back because there’s not enough money in the world for that.

Gavin makes a face, gagging as his mind pulls up likely scenarios, and Michael’s chest aches because it’s such a familiar sight. Michael fucking with Gavin because it was always so easy, and cackling about it because he’s that kind of asshole.

“You’re a bloody bully Michael,” Gavin says, wounded note to his voice like he hasn't learned better by now.

And Michael -

“Literally,” he says, unable to stop himself as Gavin spreads ointment over the cut and tapes a gauze pad over it.

Gavin sighs, world-weary and such a brave little toaster for putting up with the terrible shit Michael puts him through, and it hurts how normal this feels.

Gavin leaves his hands on Michael's arm, frown on his face as he traces the edges of old scars from Michael’s line of work.

A few are from knives, but there’s a bullet graze near his elbow. Road rash that never healed quite right from a spill off a bike running from the cops once. More scars and marks left from countless fights, scrapes, he’s been in hidden by his clothes.

Souvenirs of a life that’s probably going kill him before long.

“Gav?”

Gavin reluctantly pulls his hands away and looks at Michael.

“You’re not going to stop even if I say no, are you.”

That.

“No,” Michael says, calm, even.

It would be better if they worked together on taking Carmine down because Gavin’s the one with all the cards here. Found something that spooked Carmine enough to have him killed, and Michael’s just been fumbling in the dark.

But if Gavin says no, chooses not to work together with him Michael’s just going to keep going until he succeeds or gets himself killed, whichever comes first. Can’t just let it go, even with Gavin here in front of him now.

The worst part about is that Michael’s still a coward, isn’t he. Can’t tell Gavin why he’s so determined to do this. All those words he had time to figure out after Gavin died, things he swore to himself he’d tell him if he ever got the chance to seem to have dried up and crumbled to dust on the back of his tongue.

Gavin huffs a laugh, and sits back to look at Michael.

“I can’t stay,” Gavin says, and waves a hand toward the window they can just see through the open door of the bathroom, sunlight breaking through the curtains. “There are rules, limits, to this. To whatever I am.”

Michael feels that uneasiness from earlier rear its head.

“What, are you a fucking vampire now? Do you burn in the sunlight?”

Gavin gives Michael this look, like maybe Michael’s parents dropped him on his head as a kid one time too many.

“What? No. You’ve seen me in the daylight before, haven’t you?” he says, and his tone of voice backs up the look on his face perfectly. “But I used a lot of energy tonight, didn’t I, and I have to go back.”

There’s something about the way Gavin says it that sends a chill down his spine.

“Go back?” he asks, trying to hold Gavin’s gaze but the fucker is a champ at avoidance.

Motherfucking gold medalist.

“For a little bit,” Gavin clarifies, still not meeting his eyes. “Just to rest.”

“Gav - “

“Give it a day or two, yeah?” Gavin pulls the latex gloves he was using off and slings them into the trash can under the bathroom sink. Gets to his feet. “Try not to do anything stupid before then, and we’ll talk about things. Get everything sorted.”

Like they’re talking about whose turn it is to do the dishes or why the fuck Gavin can’t remember not to throw a half empty cup of coffee in the trash from across the room. Like it’s something simple, stupid, small.

Like Michael isn’t terrified that Gavin won’t come back. Will just be gone, or that Michael hallucinated all of this. Hit his head and ended up in some stupid movie coma only to wake up and find out it was a dream all along.

Gavin finally looks at him, bright smile on his face like this whole situation isn’t fucked.

“No promises,” Michael says, hands clenching where they rest on his lap, grasping on to the sting, burn, that runs through his injured arm. “Don’t fucking stop for coffee on your back, you fuck.”

There’s a mirror over the sink facing the tub Michael’s sitting on. Dirty and cracked, and Michael stares at his reflection in it as Gavin pauses to squeeze his shoulder as he walks past, hand burning cold where it touches him.

Michael doesn’t hear the outer door when Gavin leaves, and it’s a long, long time before he can make himself get up.

========

Jeremy knows something is up when Michael slinks back in later that morning.

Would have to be blind not to given the state Michael’s in even after he made an effort to clean up. His clothes are still fucked and there’s no adrenaline to allow him to ignore the fact he’s hurting.

Still, Jeremy doesn’t say a damn thing.

Michael gets this look from him. The kind of worry Jeremy shouldn’t waste on a shitty friend like him, but that’s just like him, isn’t it.

The same way it’s just like him when Jeremy sits down next to Michael on the couch and pushes a cup of coffee into his hands to help warm him up. Sets a plate down with one of the donuts he picked up a few days ago.

Pretends like he’s not keeping an eye on Michael to make sure he’s not about to keel over on him right there and then. Force Jeremy to drag him down to a clinic or the emergency room.

Turns on the television so they can listen to the news, hear all about the commotion the night before in the industrial district. Fire fighters still on site, and various news crews vying for the best  shots. Solemn faced reporters going over what they know so far, batting theories and rumors back and forth with their counterparts behind the anchor desk back at the news station.

“Looks like a mess,” Jeremy notes, taking a sip of his coffee and carefully not looking at Michael.

Michael sighs, slumping a little into the soft cushions of the couch.

It’s so goddamn tempting to just tell Jeremy everything. What’s been going on to make him worry about Michael so much when he doesn’t deserve it, but Michael wouldn’t even know where to start without sounding like  damned lunatic.

Weird shit happens in Los Santos all the time, but this?

Got to be enough to get him locked away, and he’s not sure it wouldn’t be warranted at this point.

“Yeah,” Michael says, and splits the doughnut between them as a peace offering.

He can’t tell Jeremy what’s going on, but he sure as fuck appreciates that he wants to help.

Jeremy snorts, flipping through stations until he lands on an early morning cartoon.

Bright colors and weird animal characters with no real plot to speak of. Simple cartoonish bullshit accompanied by whimsical music that is clearly meant to be a punishment of some sort because it’s all so bad.

Which is fair, really.

Better than what Michael deserves, that’s for damn certain.

========

Rat-face calls Michael and tells him to lie low for now. That Carmine and his top people are coming up with a plan to deal with Gavin once and for all and they’ll contact him when they need him.

Michael plays his part, gives him yes sir, and no sir, and I understand, sir, and feels this thread of fear wrap tight around his heart because he still hasn’t heard from Gavin.

Doesn’t know where he is, if he’s okay. Doesn’t know a goddamned thing, and the  not knowing is killing him, but there’s not a lot Michael can about it until Gavin decides to show his face again. (Michael’s half afraid he won’t, that he just imagined the whole thing and Jeremy’s not wrong about Michael losing his damn mind.)

He makes a few half-hearted attempts to crack Gavin’s password, and watches daytime dramas that he doesn’t pay attention to. Too worried about Gavin and what Carmine and his flunkies are up to to focus long enough to understand the plot.

Pretends like he doesn’t see the worried looks Jeremy keeps tossing his way and does his best to act like he’s not slowly going out of his mind.

After the fifth day it gets old, and something drags Michael back to the apartment building he and Gavin lived in.

There’s not much left to it anymore. It’s been hollowed out by the fire, scavengers and worse in and out picking over the bones, looking for anything of value and coming up empty-handed.

Michael kicks aside a piece of charred wood and carefully makes his way through the rubble left behind from the fire. The place smells faintly of rot and decay over the lingering stench of smoke, or maybe that last is his mind overlaying memories with what his eyes are seeing, who the fuck knows.

“Christ,” he mutters, walking into what used to be the his – their -old living room.

Barely big enough for that stupid couch Gavin made him haul up several flights of stairs so long ago.

Stupid heavy and ugly as all hell, but something about it had caught Gavin’s eye and he’d spent money they couldn’t really afford on it. Big, stupid grin on his face and cajoling note to his voice, and Michael?

He always did have a hard time saying no to Gavin, even when he knew better.

So he lugged the fucking hideous thing upstairs while Gavin fretted and fussed. Offered up completely useless advice as he “helped”. Dropped his end of the couch more times than Michael cares to remember, mumbling sheepish apologies and laughing about it.

The damn couch is a pile of blackened wood now, melted bits of metal.

So much of their lives here gone up in fire and nothing but rubble and ash under his feet and if that isn’t some kind of shitty metaphor, Michael doesn’t know what is.

Michael lifts his head when he hears footsteps behind him, hands curling into loose fists at his side because he knows who it is.

Heard that fucking bike earlier, the low purr of its engine as it pulled up.

“Fire department said it was faulty wiring.”

Bad wiring in an old building, and shit like that happens all the in a city like this where code enforcement is so lax. No one gives much of a damn unless it makes the news, and even then it barely makes a ripple in the news cycle.

Why would it, when this is the kind of place where the police look the other way when it comes to crime all the fucking time? When people tsk over a murder and shake their heads before moving on because it’s just another statistic?

Always such a shame, and so convenient that it happens to someone else.

Gavin doesn’t say anything, but Michael can hear him sifting through the mess, looking for something.

Michael finally turns around, almost expecting Gavin to disappear the moment he does like that fucked up Greek myth about the asshole who went to the underworld in search of his wife after she died.

But this is reality, for whatever that’s worth, and Gavin doesn’t fade away when Michael looks at him.

Seems solid and real as he sweeps a pile of debris aside with his foot, glancing around with this odd frown on his face.

“Michael,” Gavin says, frustrated note to his voice. “Where was the bedroom?”

Of all the things he was expecting to hear from Gavin, that wasn’t anywhere on the list.

“What?”

Gavin looks frustrated, annoyed.

“Well it’s not like I had the floor plans memorized, now is it?” Gavin asks, turning his head away when Michael keeps staring.

They lived in that shitty apartment of theirs for years. Tiny and cramped, hardly enough room in it for the two of them and their shit. The kind of place you learn where everything is real quick or otherwise end up with stubbed toes and bumps on the back of your head moving around in the dark.

Th single bedroom they shared because they were adults who could handle sharing a bed with their couch being uncomfortable as hell. Always a bout of insomnia or work project that couldn’t wait for a reasonable hour, some other excuse that would keep one of them awake and trying to be considerate of each other.

Gavin had been prone to those kind of nights more often than Michael, ended up knowing it better than he did.

Gavin still won’t meet his eyes and Michael lets it drop because looking around now, he can see how it  would be hard to pinpoint where the hallway ends and the bedroom begins. Where everything should have been.

“Over here, I think,” Michael says, and moves past Gavin to gesture towards a pile of debris where the doorway to the bedroom door used to be. “What are you looking for?”

Gavin twitches a shoulder in a shrug as he maps out where the boundaries of the room would have been.

“Of course,” he mumbles to himself, and sets to clearing away what looks like part of the ceiling and half of the wall.

“Don’t just stand there, give me a hand, you bastard,” Gavin calls over his shoulder in a fit of pique, and Michael snorts as he goes over to help.

Follows Gavin’s orders as they dig out a small area roughly where the bed used to be. Stands back when Gavin drives the heel of his foot down on a section of floor to reveal a hidden compartment containing a fire safe.

“Maybe it was worth what I paid for it after all,” Gavin muses as he crouches down to examine it for damage, eyes meeting Michael’s over it. “Did you get the package?”

Nice and casual, like Gavin’s asking about the weather or something equally normal.

As if Gavin hadn’t planned ahead, expected for something to go wrong with whatever he’d been doing.

For someone to kill him.

Like he hadn’t taken the necessary precautions to ensure that whatever he’d found made it to Michael, that he’d gotten him everything he’d need to start up a new life somewhere, like that something people just fucking did.

Goddamn, it makes Michael angry all over again just thinking about it. About Gavin realizing how much trouble he was in and taking all these steps to protect Michael without giving a fucking thought to how he’d feel about things in the aftermath of his death.

As though Michael wouldn’t lose sleep wondering what he could have done differently to get Gavin to trust him enough to ask for help. What he’d done to make him think he wouldn’t drop everything if Gavin had just fucking asked.

“Yeah,” Michael says. “About that.”

Gavin looks up, frown on his face like he doesn’t know what the fucking problem is.

“Why didn’t you come to me with this?” Michael asks, hating the way his voice sounds rough, cracks showing through because Gavin’s secrets got him killed and Michael was too stupid to ask. “I could have fucking helped.”

Gavin stares at Michael like he’s trying to think up a lie, some excuse or reason that he thinks Michael’s just going to buy and that’ll be the end of that. No reason to get bothered over any of it.

“I don’t care if you didn’t know I was involved in this shit,” Michael says, before Gavin can interrupt him, say something that will just make him angrier. “I would have fucking helped you, Gavin. Jesus fuck, you know I would have.”

If nothing else, they were friends and Michael thought Gavin had known that. Known Michael would have done anything for him if he asked.

But he hadn’t, had he.

Had just dug himself deeper into whatever trouble he’d found that it had gotten him killed, and Michael left behind to pick up the pieces of his life. Move on, like it ever would have been so simple.

“Carmine’s a monster,” Gavin says, low and quiet. This fierceness to his voice Michael's never heard. His hand is splayed over the top of the fire safe like he’s keeping whatever secrets are inside from spilling out like Pandora’s box for better or worse. “You have no idea what he’s capable of, Michael.”

Michael can guess, given what happened to Gavin. The things he picked up when he was trying to find a way into Carmine’s organization. Bits and pieces he overheard from the others once he did.

The way Jeremy and others Michael’s come into contact with on his search for answers have warned him away from the fucker. Want nothing to do with him, which says so goddamned much in a city like this.

“By the time I knew what kind of monster he was, it was too late to back out of things, and I wanted to keep you out of it,” Gavin says, gaze focused on the damn fire safe under his hand. “I thought if he didn’t know about you, you’d be safe. That he couldn’t use you against me if he found out what I was doing.”

Oh, Christ.

“He was toying with me the whole time,” Gavin says, and his laugh sounds all broken and wrong, jagged little pieces to it. “Let me think I was getting away with things, that everything was going to turn out okay. That I didn’t manage bollocks everything up.”

“Gav - “

“I had a plan, Michael,” Gavin says. “I had a plan.”

But life – especially here in Los Santos – has a way of fucking you over if you’re not careful. (Sometimes even when you are.)

Michael stares at Gavin.

At this fucking idiot who tried so hard to keep Michael safe with no one there to watch his back, no one to keep him safe. Lying like his life depended on to keep Michael in the dark, and managing it all right up until the end.

Goddamn.

“You fucking idiot,” Michael snarls, and drags Gavin into a hug. Closes his eyes at Gavin’s startled intake of breath, like he was expecting Michael to hit him instead, like he would have deserved it, and holds on tighter.

There’s no way to change what happened, no point in second-guessing Gavin’s choices when it would be nothing but cruelty now. Salt in fresh wounds, but maybe, maybe, they can find a way to make things right now if Gavin will let him.

“I have to go,” Gavin says, some time later, even though he makes no move to let go of Michael. “Michael, I have to go.”

Michael wants to ask him why. Plead with him to stay, maybe, because he knows Gavin’s not going to give up on Carmine. Knows he’s still going to after him even though it almost got him killed (again, a part of Michael’s mind points out, again) last time.

“Be careful, asshole,” he says, because he knows he can’t stop Gavin even if he tries. Might drive him away altogether if he does. “They’re planning something.”

Gavin laughs, like this is all a fucking joke.

“Of course they are,” he says, and then he’s untangling himself from Michael's hold, this sad smile on his face that’s breaking Michael’s heart. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Like he has any fucking right to say something like that after everything that’s happened.

Still.

“Same goes for you, asshole,” he says, and watches Gavin walk away.

========

Gavin goes on his hit and runs, and Michael hears about it on the news afterwards.

Watches the so-called experts attempt to analyze what little data about him they have. Pinpoint his methodology, reason for his attacks, with little success.

Gavin’s smart about things, switches up his plan of attack even as he focuses on Carmine’s allies with his organization laying low after the ambush.

Chipping away at his support, whittling away his options one by one by one.

In the midst of all this, Jeremy’s crew has him running around doing damage control. He’s out at all hours and starting to look like shit warmed over.

According to him Gavin hasn’t gone after them, shouldn’t have reason to, but they’re understandably concerned. Their allies are understandably concerned, and there’s not much Michael can do to help him without revealing too much.

Feels like an asshole as he watches as Jeremy spends less and less time at the apartment until he might as well not be there at all.

So of course, of course, that’s when Gavin comes to visit.

Picks a day when Jeremy’s out, or maybe he’s been watching them the whole time and waiting for just the right moment.

Either way, there’s no mistaking the sound his bike makes when it pulls up outside.

When Michael opens the door, Gavin has his bike helmet tucked under one arm and he looks -

He looks tired.

Exhausted.

Like someone at the end of their rope and barely hanging on, and he asks  after the package he sent to Michael.

“Why do you want it?”

Gavin opens his mouth to speak, and stops.

Eyes narrowing as he looks at Michael.

“You don’t know.”

Michael doesn’t bother denying it. Not when he’s been trying to crack Gavin’s fucking password for so long, been tempted to drag Jeremy and Matt into this whole mess when he couldn’t.

“No,” Michael says, and decides to try on some honesty between them for size. “But I sure as hell want to.”

He wants to know what Gavin found that was so important, so fucking terrible that he couldn’t tell Michael about. What Carmine wanted him dead for.

Gavin stares at him for a long, long moment. Long enough that Michael thinks he’s going to pull another one of his disappearing tricks. Claim he can’t stay, that he has to leave and then fuck off the was he’s been doing for one reason or another, but he doesn’t.

“If I show you,” Gavin says, like he’s still not convinced Michael's serious about this, or maybe just doesn’t want to pull him in any deeper than he already is, “there’s no going back.”

Christ, be more melodramatic.

“Really?” Michael asks. “Really?”

Gavin makes a face, looks away because even he knows that was a little over the top, even with everything else about this clusterfuck.

“It’s...complicated,” Gavin hedges, not quite making eye contact. “And it’s dangerous.”

No shit.

The fact Gavin’s still trying to protect him is as sweet as it is heartbreaking, but it’s a little too late for that now. Michael’s not giving up until Carmine’s dead, and while he’d be thrilled to work with Gavin on that, he’s not going to be deterred if he has to do it on his own.

“Alright,” Gavin says, because he must see all of that in Michael’s expression, or maybe he’s just tired of going it alone. “Alright. Bring the package along because we’re going to need it.”

========

Gavin takes them to several stops around the city. Has this cagey look to him as they pick up packages and other shit he’d stashed, all of them under different names and aliases.

Sends Michael on ahead with combinations or passwords. Shuffles his feet when he hands over a key and runs a hand through his hair when he tells Michael they’re almost done.

Avoids Michael’s eyes when he looks up from studying the scorched key chain singed tag attached to it like he wouldn’t recognize it as one of Gavin’s. (The way the metal of the key itself feels hot to the touch. Hot enough to burn.)

“There are only three people authorized to access it, and it would be awkward if I went in to collect it,” Gavin says, and flips the visor of his helmet down to end the conversation, a new habit of his that’s already gotten old.

It’s another storage facility. The kind of place that has the kind of security that requires ID to get past the main desk. Only one like it of all the places they’ve been to, and it has him paying even closer attention to things once he goes inside.

Unlike the others, this one is under Gavin’s real name. Paid for in cash with no paper trail to lead back to it and a certain air to the whole thing that feels borderline legal. Very discreet and hush-hush. Guards with weapons showing under their jackets and this veneer of civility that does nothing to hide how dangerous they are under it all.

The woman behind the counter gives Michael a cursory glance when he walks in, finishes up what she’s working on before turning to him with a polite smile.

“I’m here about locker 339?” he says, holding up the key Gavin handed off to him.

Her eyes narrow, but apparently she’s seen worse because she just asks for his driver license to verify he is who he claims to be. Spends a moment to make sure everything is in order before she buzzes him through the security door.

There's an attendant on the other side of the security door to escort him to the lockers, standing just inside the door while Michael checks the contents to Gavin’s.

There’s an external hard drive instead of the USB drives they’ve collected today, as well as several envelopes with Gavin’s handwriting on them.

Feeling oddly guilty, Michael flips through them. There’s one for the dead reporter Gavin wanted Michael to go to, and another addressed to Michael.

It looks older than the others, including to the one he had sent to Michael.

Battered, worn, almost as though Gavin kept it with him for a while before deciding to put it here.

“We have secure rooms,” the attendant says, because Michael's just standing there like an idiot staring down at it. “If you’d like to view your items privately?”

Michael blinks, realizes he’s taken longer than he should have. Was supposed to collect the locker’s contents. Gather up whatever Gavin had squirreled away here and close out his account, not whatever the hell he thinks he’s doing wasting precious time like this.

“No,” Michael says, sliding the letters into the interior pocket of his jacket along with the external hard drive and shuts the locker. “No, that won’t be necessary.”

He gets an odd look for that, but the attendant lets it slide. Probably attributes it to grief – their records are up to date, after all – and quietly leads the way back to the front desk.

Michael settles things with the woman there, something final about it that has him hurrying back out to Gavin. As though sighing his name on the dotted line is what’s going to be what sends him back to wherever he keeps disappearing off to, ridiculous as it sounds.

It’s raining outside the way it had been threatening to all afternoon and Michael instinctively pulls his jacket around him tighter to protect the external hard drive and letters.

There are dark gray clouds overhead, flashes of lightning in in the distance and the faint sound of thunder rolling in off the hills around Los Santos. Heavy downpour that cutting down on visibility, and the world around them muted.

Gavin, thank God, is still out there on that bike of his. Head tipped up to stare at the sky, rain trailing down the smooth face of his helmet.

“You got it, then?”

Gavin turns to look at him, and something about it – his posture, the slow movement – looks tired.

Far more so than when he appeared at the apartment earlier, like the weather is sapping his energy away.

“I – Yeah,” Michael says, nervous and unsettled for no reason he can name. “What - “

“One last stop,” Gavin says, and starts his bike, low growl almost drowned out by the rain, something almost like laughter in his voice. “Try to keep up, Michael.”

And then the damn cheater peels off, tires squealing as he gets one hell of a head start. Manages to weave through lanes of traffic the way he damn well knows Michael can’t in his car, the fucking asshole.

========

Michael catches up to Gavin at a red light a few streets over.

Glares when the asshole looks straight back at him and revs his bike’s engine. This full-throated growl he can feel through the floorboards of his car. It rises in pitch to a scream when the light turns green and Gavin speeds off, just missing the asshole who thought he could beat the yellow coming the opposite direction through the intersection.

Michael leans on the horn, flips the fucker off and races after Gavin who, terrifyingly enough, has gotten even more reckless now than he was before if that’s even possible.

Maybe it has something to do with what he is now, whatever that is. Doesn’t think anything can hurt him now, or maybe he just doesn’t care. (Michael isn’t sure which possibility scares him more.)

Gavin takes them through back streets to a quiet little neighborhood in just one more rundown part of the city. It’s late enough by now that most of its residents are either asleep or working the night shift.

A handful few people are outside smoking or talking bullshit, bursts of noise every so often, laughter echoing off the brick and stone walls of the buildings around them. Shady figures lurking just out of range of the streetlights.

“Safe house for when I’m...here,” Gavin says, entirely too cryptically as he gestures at himself when Michael gives him a questioning look. “No one else knows about it.”

That’s -

“Huh,” Michael says, adding it to the things he never knew about Gavin and wondering how many more there are left to discover.

Gavin lets them inside an apartment on the third floor. Shabby little place a few steps down from their old one. Decked out with tacky furniture and terrible carpeting. Has one hell of a lived-in look to it.

There’s a goddamned murder board up on one wall. Maps of Los Santos and the neighboring areas with what seems to be color-coded pins. News articles and other shit hanging up alongside the maps, and a laptop on the coffee table.

Goddamned plethora of old mugs of coffee and empty energy drink cans next to it. A medical kit or two, rust brown splotches and smears on the lid, the latches.

Michael looks up, catches Gavin watching him taking all of it in.

“You - “

Gavin smiles, this twisted thing, and gestures for Michael to set the boxes and packages on the coffee table as he shoves things aside to make room for them.

“I’m not invincible, Michael,” he murmurs, and leaves it at that as he starts his laptop up.

Like that’s not a fucking kick to the chest, hearing Gavin admit to it even after seeing the proof for himself. Imagining Gavin retreating here to lick his wounds alone, even with that healing factor he seems to have. (Knowing how fucking much Carmine and Rat-face want him dead, how hard they’ve tried to make it happen.)

Michael watches him for a long moment, feeling too wrung out to argue.

Much.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, looking around at the mess.

Gavin winces, slides him a look. A Little defensive, a little annoyed. Dumbass all the way.

“I’ve been busy Michael,” he grumbles, because they lived together too long for him not to know what Michael’s thinking. About all yelling that isn’t happening because what even is this situation right now? “Haven’t had the time to tidy.”

It doesn’t hold the usual bite it would because Gavin’s distracted. Rooting through the pile in front of him to organize the drives and memory cards according to some bizarre system of his. Doing his damnedest to ignore Michael as he works.

That’s so much like him that Michael can’t help but laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face as he gets up to collect empty cans and dirty mugs to put in the sink. Give them both a little time to gather themselves for what’s ahead.

Shakes his head at how familiar this much is in spite of the circumstances, following along to clean up after Gavin. Oddly soothing as Michael finds an old grocery bag for the cans and shoves as many of them in there as he can.

Opens the fridge to find more energy drinks and – of all things – a box of baking soda. Containers of take-out shoved to the back that are well past being remotely edible that immediately go in the trash.

Apparently still human enough to eat and drink, or as capable of it as still being the same fucking slob he always has been, whatever that means.

Christ.

Michael’s contemplating the task of cleaning out the cheap little coffee maker when Gavin calls him back into the living room.

“Michael,” he says. Stops. Fidgets. “Michael, you don’t have to – You can still leave.”

Michael stares at him.

“Take the money and leave, go back to Jersey if you want,” Gavin says, flicking a hand at the packages they recovered earlier, more than just USB drives and memory cards.

Enough money to get both them far, far away from Los Santos. False identities and all the paperwork to go along with them to go somewhere Carmine can never find them and disappear, if such a place exists.

No.

Where Michael can disappear while Gavin stays in Los Santos to finish what he started, make sure Carmine won’t find Michael.

Lie to him, claim he’ll be right behind him and Michael waiting for a day that won’t come, because he knows this little idiot, doesn’t he.

All the lies between them and some things that never changed because they’re such an intrinsic part of the people they are under it all.

Gavin’s looking at him like he wants Michael to just give in. Take the easy way out even thought they both know it’s too late for that. That Michael was fucking clear about things from the outset, and still.

He’s still trying to get Michael to see sense, to do the smart thing. Give up on his stupid quest for vengeance like it doesn’t mean anything. Like Gavin was never worth it.

“No.”

Soft and even, every last bit of Michael’s conviction behind it, because he’ll be damned if he walks away now. Turns his back on Gavin when he can help him this time, do something worthwhile.

“Fuck you, no,” he says, anger starting to bleed into it when Gavin looks like he’s going to try another tack. Come at Michael sideways like he won’t see it coming. “Stop trying of get rid of me and just let me fucking help.”

If his voice breaks a little on that last, neither of them mention it.

Gavin’s hands clench into fists before he lets out his breath on a long exhale that goes a little ragged at the end.

“Okay,” he says as he reaches for his laptop. “Okay, then."

Michael eyes him warily because Gavin folded too easily, backed down way too fast for him to believe this is the last time they’re going to do this.

“I had a system,” Gavin says, darting a look at Michael when he sits next to him. “Didn’t want Carmine or any of his people to figure out what I was doing, so I was careful about it.”

Gavin clicks on a file, smile on his face that says he was too naive about just how careful he was.

“Thought I was, anyway,” he admits with a humorless laugh as the file opens.

At first it’s meaningless to Michael, letters and numbers laid out in some kind of code.

Before he can ask about it Gavin plugs one of the USB drives they recovered into the laptop. A prompt pops up and Gavin enters a password and drums his fingers nervously as he waits for it password to be accepted.

“Shipment schedules here,” he says, gesturing to the spreadsheet while they wait for the USB drive to load, taps the screen as a new window for the drive opens. “Codes here.”

It’s empty.

Gavin flashes Michael a cheeky little grin and plays around with file options until hidden folders appear, and opens one showing several files that he clicks on.

More gibberish once they open, but Gavin resizes the windows and places them side by side with the spreadsheet open behind them.

“What the hell am I looking at?” Michael asks, even though he thinks he knows, focus flicking between the windows.

Gavin laughs, tapping the laptop screen again.

“A cipher key,” he says, and highlights a row on the spreadsheet. “Broken up a bit, but you see it, yeah?”

Michael looks at the spreadsheet, and down at the open windows. The cipher key isn’t complete with just the two files he has open to work off, but he can see what Gavin’s talking about. See how it lines up with the spreadsheet, able to figure out just what kind of information he’s looking at.

“This is all outdated,” Gavin says. “Old files I got my hands on in the beginning. Waters – the reporter I told you about in the letter – got a little too close around that time. Spooked Carmine into upping his security around his files. Made getting my hands on them harder.”

Gavin falters there, smile fading.

“Guess I should have known Carmine would know about him,” he says with a tired little laugh. “Bastard was always three steps ahead the whole time.”

Michael watches helplessly as Gavin goes through the files on the other USB drives, the memory cards. Connects them together like a fucking puzzle, shows him more shipping manifests and other incriminating evidence that could put Carmine and his people away for life.

Hesitates before the connects the external hard drive to the laptop and brings up a media player.

“I planted bugs, listening devices where I could,” Gavin says, palms flat on the coffee table as he plays goddamned audio clips of Carmine ordering hits against his enemies. “It was too risky to try to sneak a camera in, but even this is more than enough to incriminate him.”

Rival crews, gangs that didn’t bow and scrape fast enough for his liking. The rare few willing to cross him, testify against him for protection. Politicians and public figures in Los Santos and beyond who ended up dying in unfortunate accidents here and there.

The ones he wanted to serve as messages to anyone getting ideas about bringing him down.

Michael’s blood goes cold when he realizes there are several folders listed on the external, and they’re just listening to the first one.

Wonders distantly if there’s a recording out there Gavin wasn’t able to retrieve in time ordering his own fucking death. (Given the way Gavin’s hands shake a little when he stops the playback on the final recording, he’s had the same thought.)

Carmine’s a bigger deal than anyone realized. His influence is spreading through Los Santos like a disease, creating what threatens to be a vast criminal empire for him and he’s still not satisfied.

“Gavin - “

Gavin shakes his head, and holds up the package he had sent to Michael, pushing on because he promised he’d explain everything, didn’t he. Let Michael know what he’d been doing, what got him killed.

“I put copies of the most recent files I’d gotten on here,” he says. “Along with instructions on how to find the rest.”

All of it neatly packaged up for Waters, items he’d entrusted to Michael. Knew he would have gotten it to Waters because Gavin asked him to in that letter of his, told him it was important and to leave Los Santos when he’d done that and stay the fuck away from it afterwards.

Christ.

Michael stares at the USB drives and memory cards, the contents of Gavin’s stashes spread over the coffee table and can’t help but wonder would have happened if he’d just been able to figure out his fucking password.

Wonders if this could have been over by now, all this damning evidence in the right hands and Los Santos turned upside down to rip Carmine from its underbelly like cancerous growth. If Michael would have found a way to fuck everything up, gone to the wrong person without realizing it, and all of this buried with Michael the way Carmine had tried to bury it with Gavin.

Wonders where they hell they can even go now.

“Christ,” Michael says, mind reeling.

Gavin laughs again, the one that’s all wrong on him. So full of bitterness, angry at the edges.

“Carmine knew,” Gavin says, staring blankly at his laptop screen. “He knew I had...I had someone I was protecting. The whole time I worked for him, I thought I was being so goddamned careful. Never let anyone know about you, but he knew there was someone.”

Gavin looks up at him, crooked smile on his face.

“I guess he thought it was Waters. Must have had someone follow me, or someone told him about the two of us when we’d meet. I don’t know.”

And then Carmine had had Waters killed after he’d dealt with Gavin, leaving Michael to fumble in the dark on his own once he got his head out of his ass.

“It was a bit of a shock,” Gavin says, and there’s something to his voice that has Michael worried. Has him watch the way Gavin’s picking at his thumbnail, worrying the skin there. “When I saw you at the compound, I mean. Wasn’t expecting that.”

Oh, fuck.

Gavin laughs, mouth twitching like he’s trying to remember how to smile, make it convincing.

“I thought - “ Gavin shakes his head, frowns. “I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me back then, kind of new to everything and all. Not being dead, you know. Thought I was seeing things.”

There’s a stinging sensation at the back of Michael’s eyes, this ache in his chest he’s grown used to since Gavin died as Michael listens to him talk. Explain how he thought Michael had betrayed him, gone from being the one thing he’d been certain of all this time to -

“I wanted to be sure,” Gavin says, more to himself than to Michael. “I needed to be sure.”

Wanted to be sure Michael wasn’t involved with Carmine, Michael knows. That he hadn’t been working with him all along, or just sold him out for the right price, Jesus fuck.

“Gavin - “

Gavin keeps talking, like if he stops now he won’t be able to get the words out later.

“I followed you for a bit after that, figured you wouldn’t be doing all this if you had been working with Carmine the whole time, it just didn’t add up,” he says, like it’s not a fucking knife in Michael’s chest digging deep. “And you were so stupid about it, Michael!”

Gavin’s glaring at him now, all hurt and anger and fear under it all, because he’s already died because of goddamned Carmine. Somehow came back – and fuck if Michael isn’t going to get that story out of him – and here idiot Michael is trying to do the same fucking thing.

Only stupider.

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” Michael asks, so fucking tired. Feels cracked open and bled dry because he hadn’t stopped to think what he was doing might have looked like to Gavin. “The bastard killed you, what did you want me to do? Was I supposed to just walk away? Let him get away with it?”

It sounds so stupid out loud, like a kid angry at the world for not being fair, because this is Los Santos and so much worse goes on here every fucking day.

No one cares in this city.

People like Gavin, like Michael, they don’t matter here.

Go missing every fucking day, and no one thinks twice about it.

“Yes!” Gavin yells, getting up in Michael’s face. So fucking furious, and this light flaring in the back of his eyes.

The same blue-white of that fucking bike of his that gives Michael pause almost as much as the fact Gavin’s angry enough to yell, to mean it.

“He’s dangerous, you idiot! You should have taken everything I left you and gotten out of the damn city! Started a new life somewhere, been happy!”

Gavin’s breathing like he’s run a goddamned marathon, chest heaving and so damn scared under that anger he's wearing like armor.

“But you didn’t, did you. Just marched right on into the lion’s den like you had a bloody playdate scheduled!”

“Oh my God, no,” Michael says, even though Gavin’s uncomfortably close to the truth with that. “I had a plan too, asshole.”

Gavin’s still so fucking smart, though. Knows Michael well enough to know the kind of plan he’d come up with.

The stupidly suicidal kind, because he’s an idiot. Blunt fucking weapon compared to Gavin.

“What was your plan then, Michael?” he asks, so very quiet. “Tell me, Michael. What was your plan?”

It feels like Michael’s chest is caught in a vise, no way to shake it loose with Gavin this close after losing him the way he had. Everything Gavin showed him, told him, tonight and stupid, stupid Michael trying to play catch-up the way he always has when Gavin’s involved.

“He took the most important person in my life away,” Michael says, because that’s always been at the heart of this for him, this one simple truth. “And I’m going to kill him for that.”

Whatever it takes.

Gavin freezes.

Goes so still Michael doesn’t think he’s even breathing, and Michael lets him see everything. No point in hiding anything anymore when all their secrets haven’t done them any goddamned good.

Knows he’s probably fucking things up here. That there has to be a better way of doing this, damn sure there’s a better time and place for it, but he’s just so fucking tired of waiting on them to come around. (Already wasted too much time before, and  Gavin had died without knowing what he means to Michael, and goddamn but this is selfish of him.)

“You stupid bastard,” Gavin hisses, pulling away from him as he stumbles to his feet.

Michael reaches for him, but Gavin ducks away. Expression shuttered as he grabs his helmet he carelessly dropped onto a side table earlier, makes his way to the front door.

“Gavin!”

Michael follows, but stops just short of arm’s length when he sees the way Gavin’s holding himself. (Fragile in a way he’s never been, like the slightest breeze might be enough to shatter him and send the pieces flying.)

Gavin stops, ducks his head as he pulls the helmet on and glances back at him.

“I need to think,” he says, and then he’s gone.

========

Michael doesn’t know what to do after Gavin leaves, suddenly terrified that he’s pushed him too far too fast this time. That this is the thing that makes him leave.

Go back to where he goes when he’s not here, wherever that is, and Jesus Christ there’s still so much he still doesn’t know. (Might never know now because he just had to lay his cards on the table like that, think doing so would make things better sometime.

Jesus Christ, but Michael’s an idiot.

As much as he wants to go after Gavin, he knows he can’t. Has already pushed him hard enough as it is, doesn’t want to risk making things worse.

And he doesn’t want to leave the evidence Gavin worked so hard to gather, sacrificed his fucking life for just sitting here without anyone watching over it, so he waits.

He waits and hopes like hell Gavin’s going to come back at some point and feels useless and stupid as he does.

Picks his phone up off the coffee table where he left it before his cleaning spree and Gavin’s reveal, and fucks around with it. Deletes old apps and other shit he doesn’t need anymore and ends up scrolling through his contacts.

Stops he lands on Gavin’s, and wonders what would happen if he called him now.

Gavin’s phone was lost in the “crash”, but his account is still active. Bullshit clerical errors and something having to do with company policy because his name is the only one connected to his account and they won’t give Michael the time of day.

He doubts Gavin would pick up now, would probably just let it go to voicemail and delete whatever message he’d leave.

And honestly, Michael can’t find it in him to blame him if he did after that little shitshow, so.

“Idiot,” Michael mutters, and keeps scrolling.

Stops again when Jeremy’s name pops up, and almost calls him before he thinks better of it. Jeremy’s with his crew handling the city-wide crisis Gavin’s caused, managing to put the scare into anyone with criminal leanings.

All the crews and petty little gangs in a panic over what his next move is going to be, like they haven’t figured out that he only goes after very specific targets.

And even though Jeremy reassured Michael that his crew is sure to be safe from Gain, they’re smart enough to be concerned.

It’s still tempting to call him though, because Jeremy is a hell of a lot smarter than Michael. Solid and steady and has more common sense to him than you’d expect given his life choices. A voice of reason when it’s needed, and goddamn is it needed now.

Michael fucked up tonight, and he knows it. Spooked Gavin because he was an idiot and now -

“Fuck,” Michael sighs, gaze drifting back to Gavin’s laptop and the files still open on it.

Flips his phone back onto the coffee table as he slides over see if he can make better sense of them.

He spends a few hours slogging through the sheer amount of information Gavin’s put together, learning more about Carmine’s operations than he honestly ever wanted to.

Michael knew the fucker was involved with just about everything you’d expect to find in a place like Los Santos, but never suspected the extent of his involvement.

Traffics drugs, weapons. People, and Michael wants a shower just reading the damn files. Can’t imagine how Gavin must have felt being involved in it, taking the risks he had.

Listens to the recordings again, struck by how cold, indifferent Gavin sounds in the ones he must have been wired up to get. Like he’s not affected at all by what Carmine’s doing. That it’s all just business to him, another callous bastard in a city full of them, when he used to think Gavin was a shit liar.

Used to think Gavin couldn’t bluff his way through a game of cards for anything, and yet -

And yet, it makes a surprising amount of sense with how much time they spent lying to each other about what they did. Lies come so goddamned easily to them about it in order to protect one another from the truth that Michael hadn’t suspected a damn thing until the end.

When Gavin must have been under so much stress from dealing with Carmine he didn’t have anything left to lie convincingly to Michael.

And why should he, when Michael was so fucking clueless about it, caught up in his own lies? All Gavin had to do was offer up what scraps he had left and let Michael do the rest, so fucking simple.

Michael gives up then, puts his phone back in his pocket and freezes when his fingers brush up against paper.

Gavin’s letters, forgotten in the face of everything that happened. That odd reaction of his when Michael met up with him outside the storage company, like he’d known Michael would find it, but he’d never actually said anything, had he.

Michael feels strangely guilty, like a damn snoop going behind Gavin’s back as he takes the letters out of his pocket. Part of him so damn scared about what Gavin would have put in it after everything that had been in the letter he’d meant for Michael to have.

Why he locked this one away like this, kept it somewhere only Waters should have had access to if something happened to him. Where it would have been his choice whether or not Michael ever saw it.

“You idiot,” he mutters, not sure who he’s talking to, and takes care not to tear the envelope or the letter itself as he opens it.

The letter spans several pages, folded and folded again, uneven creases that Gavin bothered to go back to fix, which is telling in itself.

It’s clear he struggled with this one, Michael able to see the starts and stops in the flow of words. Dark blots where the ink from the pen bled into the paper, realizes Gavin must have used that old fountain pen his father gave him to write it.

The ink’s a certain kind of blue Michael remembers seeing staining Gavin’s fingers in the past. His bright laughter as he threatened to smear blobs of it on Michael before they dried. Use it’s refill cartridges as weapons when Michael bitched about what a mess he was making, papers everywhere and goddammit you asshole.

Michael’s chest aches because the pen was lost in the fire, just one more thing among many but so important to Gavin even if he always tried to play it off like it wasn’t. (Another thing for Carmine to answer for.)

He stares at the letter in his hands, and starts reading.

========

Gavin comes back a few hours later, moves with a  stealth and grace Michael’s never noticed before. Never bothered to look for, when Gavin’s always been his own best distraction, noise and flash and an uncanny ability to piss Michael off with a single word.

“Bloody hell,” Gavin says, when he turns around and finally notices he’s not alone in the living room.

Skirts around Michael warily after flipping the lights on, head cocked when Michael just watches him.

“Michael?”

Gavin seems...tired still. Slump to his shoulders like he’s carrying the weight of the world on them.

“I read your letter,” Michael says, glances at it sitting innocently in its envelope beside Gavin’s laptop. “The one you put into storage at that last place.”

Gavin sighs, moves to sit in one of the chairs across from the coffee table, picking the letter up as he does.

Michael watches him playing with a bent corner on the envelope like it’s something he’s done countless times before. Is the reason the damn thing’s bent to start with, and avoids meeting his eyes.

Has to be a goddamned pro at avoiding eye contact at this point, which is funny in all the ways it isn’t.

“We’re both idiots,” Michael says, another one of those simple little truths.

A couple of idiots who’ve been too afraid of risking ruining one of the best things in their lives. Always though they’d have time to do it one day, and ran out of time when they weren’t looking.

Gavin tenses slightly before forcing himself to relax, make it look like he’s calm and relaxed. Absolutely nothing to worry about here, really.

Worries the corner of the envelope over and over, nervous energy and this deep-rooted fear.

Michael doesn’t ask why Gavin never told him how he felt in all the time they’ve known each other because it would be insulting to them both, not to mention hypocritical as fuck.

Gavin laughs, turning the envelope over in his hands, seems to find it so damn fascinating.

“Always had a problem with terrible timing too,” he murmurs, one part truth, one apart deflection.

Michael smiles, stupid little thing.

Thinks about Gavin’s letter, all the excuses and rationalizations he gave himself that he explains to Michael. Lays out so plainly in a way he’d never been able to say out loud. So much easier to spill everything into a letter, leave it behind for Michael to find one day and read the truth of them. Where Gavin wouldn’t have to sit there waiting for the rejection he was so sure he’d get if he told Michael how he felt.

All of it so close to everything Michael’s told himself that it would be funny if it didn’t mean so fucking much, and his heart hurts at the thought of all the time they’ve wasted.

“I love you,” he says, words he’s choked back so many times before coming so easily now.

Gavin looks at him helplessly, so Michael pushes on.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he says, holding Gavin's gaze because this is important, something he doesn’t want to fuck up. “I’m sorry I didn’t see what was going on until it was too late. I’m sorry you had to do that alone. I’m sorry - “

Gavin’s face twists, strangled noise caught in his throat as he pushes himself out of his chair, closing the distance between them until he’s looking down at Michael.

“You stupid bastard,” Gavin says, nothing like anger to it this time as he searches Michael's face for something he must find because then he’s bending down to kiss him.

Awkward angle and graceless as hell, simple stupid human want, need.

Something heartbreakingly desperate to it, hands shaking where they cradle Michael's face, and so fucking sweet because of it. Pulls back to rest his forehead against Michael's, breathes out a little sigh.

“You stupid bastard.”

Far from being a confession of undying love except for all the ways it is, and Michael refuses to let it slip through his fingers this time as he pulls Gavin down for another kiss.

========

Waking up in a strange place is never a great experience.

That initial moment of disorientation where you try to remember how you even got there, and why.

If you should be worried, or just deeply disappointed. (In yourself, the universe at large, it all works out to be the same in the end.)

This time is no different as Michael closes his eyes. Hand coming up to massage his temples because of the steady, low-grade headache that’s taken up residency there.

Not enough sleep, or water. Too much stress, maybe all of the above, who fucking knows.

He bites back a groan when it spikes right behind his eyes, painful enough to make him grasp at any distraction at hand. His idiot brain deciding now would be a good time to retrace his steps to answer the questions of where the hell he is, and how the fuck he got here.

Flips back through flashes and glimpses of moments, remembers Gavin showing up at Jeremy’s apartment. The jumbled series of events that followed falling into some kind of order as his mind sorts itself out bit by agonizing bit.

Running all over the city to pick Gavin’s stashes clean, the drive back here. Gavin finally showing him why Carmine wanted him dead, what got him killed. The relentless soap opera level drama that followed, and -

“Oh, fuck.”

Jesus.

The two of them with their emotionally stunted confessions. The kisses that had lead to the bedroom because hell if they were both going to fit on that damned couch. Both of them too tired after the day they’d had to do much of anything pass trading kisses and giving voice to the things they couldn’t before. Things too fragile for the light of day, protected in the bubble around them under the overs with the lights out, whispered to one another in confidence.

Falling asleep, only for Michael to wake up alone and the other side of the bed long gone cold. (Waking up alone if never a great experience, but it’s so much worse after something like that.)

Michael looks toward the direction of the living room when he hears noises coming from there.

Footsteps and something heavy hitting the floor, the low murmur of someone’s voice pitched towards annoyance that follows not long after.

Gavin.

Michael breathes out a sigh of relief that he hasn’t managed to spook him again. Chased him away again, but trepidation comes creeping in soon afterwards because he doesn’t know what to expect now.

He listens to Gavin moving around in the other room until the ridiculousness of the situation forces him into action. He’s still dressed, jacket dropped by the side of the bed and his shoes kicked off by the doorway.

Michael feels more rested than he has in a long time even with that bitch of a headache, and remembers Gavin’s medical kits. Probably aspirin to be found in one of them he could take to get rid of it.

Nothing to be gained hiding in the bedroom anyway, so Michael shuffles out to the living room.

Gavin’s pacing restlessly in front of the wall he's turned into a murder board, arms crossed and a frown on his face.

He turns when Michael somehow manages to find the one goddamned squeaky board in the whole damned place. Just plants his fat fucking foot right in the middle of it to alert the goddamned world to his presence.

Michael almost misses the guilty look that flashes across Gavin’s face. Chases the frown away only to be replaced in turn by a small, hesitant smile.

“Good morning, Michael,” Gavin says, even though it has to be closing in on noon with the way sunlight is slanting through the spotty curtains on the windows.

Still, he Michael will give him an A for effort and all that bullshit as his attempt at normalcy, strained as it is.

The laptop is humming away on the coffee table, files from the previous night pulled up.

Gavin must have gone out, because there’s a new batch of empty energy drink cans that weren’t there the night before littered around the room, which might explain the pacing.

“Morning,” Michael greets cautiously. “What are you doing?”

Gavin tips his head as he considers Michael, and turns to look at the murder board like he’d forgotten it was there. Licks his lips nervously when he looks back at Michael.

Comes to some sort of decision and holds his hand out to him in silent invitation.

Michael goes, easy as anything. Lets Gavin pull him in close, feels the vise around his  chest loosen at the soft sigh from Gavin as he does, tension bleeding out of him.

Smiles at Gavin, small and shaky and closes his eyes when Gavin kisses him, slow and sweet.

Laughs a little when Gavin makes  a noise in his throat, muttering about morning breath when they break away for air, cheeks tinged red as he feigns annoyance to avoid meeting Michael’s eyes.

“Gav?”

Gavin elbows him for the teasing note in his voice. Turns his focus back to the damn murder board and Michael does the same, his smile fading as he takes it in.

Gavin’s been busy, it seems.

There are more pins in it this morning, overwhelmingly red with a few other colors scattered across it.

A healthy amount of black pins, along with a thin band of yellow and a broad swatch of green.

“I started this using locations of Carmine’s operations I knew about, remembered,” Gavin says, gesturing at the main map. “I needed the files on the drives and memory cards for the rest.”

Michael studies the map, eyes narrowing when he sees where they’ve been placed.

Matches it against the dodgy mental map he has of Los Santos and territories claimed by various crews and gangs.

“The black pins are for places I’ve hit. Yellow ones are for Carmine’s allies, and the red ones mark the rest of Carmine’s operations,” Gavin says, and shrugs. “The ones I’m still sure about, anyway. He’s probably moved some of them by now, or will before too long.”

There’s still a hell of a lot of red up, outer edges starting to bleed into the green.

“What the hell is the green for?” Michael asks, even though he’s pretty goddamned sure he knows what Gavin’s answer is going to be.

There are only a handful of crews in Los Santos that would have that large of a presence, that kind of reach. Really only one that might pose any sort of threat to Carmine and what he’s attempting to do, even without outside backing. One with more than enough reason to want to push back with him encroaching on their territory.

Gavin hesitates, arm around Michael tightening briefly because he has to know this has a significant chance of backfiring on them if they’re wrong about this.

“People we might be able to go to for help,” he says, and gestures to the side of his damned murder board covered in photographs and stills he must have taken from security cameras and God only knows what else. “The Fake AH Crew.”s

[092219archive]

With Ozymandias

i. Calvin Harris - Outside [Audio] ft. Ellie Goulding ii. Ellie Goulding, Daft Punk - Something About Us Under The Sheets iii. Xan Griffin - Taurus (feat. Tedy) iv. Kulakostas - Hold Me Down v. Synchronice - Distraction (feat. Karra) vi. Mika Nakashima x Hyde - Kiss of Death

so it’s difficult for my to explain “outside” since it’s sending me such mixed messages (do they love each other? do they hate each other? friendzone? broke up and are getting back together?) but there’s bits of it that basically tells me that they’re improving from each other and that’s basically why i added this song.

real talk, this is the ozy/eren song (aside from “taurus”) because i did not expect ozy to make such a big impact on my life. like... with my other fate selfships, they didn’t make that much of an impact and i say this because the relationships were primarily soft and comforting for those involved. ozymandias on the other hand...

i think some of you were able to witness how he basically busted down the blockade to my emotions instantly much to my dismay. the sudden intrusion cause a lot of emotions to arise aaand here we are.

“you left your bloodstains on the floor; you set your sights on him” makes me think about my other fate selfships with karna, arjuna, etc. and how i used produce a TON of content for them, until like... well... ozy. the relationships i had weren’t “left behind” but the feelings i have for them aren’t as strong as they used to be. i still love them and appreciate them because, well, they were there first, you know? they guided me into fate as a whole and opened up so many ideas and let me have a ton of creative liberties with other selfships. building blocks almost. they started the foundation i’ve come to today, so they’re still dear to me. i’m just not as “smitten” but maybe more so content with them, if anything.

there’s a liiittle bit more of a negative context with the first verse and the rest of it, so like any person, we completely disregard it and focus on what Matters.

and everything after, whether it be with “this is our luck baby, running out; our clothes were never off” or “it might not be the right time; i might not be the right one,” is kinda like, the general beginning of the ozy/eren relationship.

but, the lines where it says “we’re under the sheets and you’re killing me; in our house made of paper, your words all over me” were ACTUALLY gonna be the lines on the moodboard before i settled for one of his quotes. while they haven’t been “under the sheets canonically” yet, this symbolizes what ozymandias has done to eren’s life and i’m pretty sure i wrote about something similar in that extremely lengthy gushing ask response i received a while back. you know, about making his mark and all that...

people have this tendency to leave a little bit of themselves with others, whether it be on purpose or completely unintentional. even if they’re gone, that little bit stays with you after the time they’ve spent with you regardless whether the relationship has been relatively long or extremely short, if it was good or bad, if it was platonic or not... sometimes it can be evident, sometimes you don’t even realize that it’s there. with the kind of guy ozy can be, he’s bound to leave an entire story on someone who’s history has so many gaps in which he can fit himself into easily. you know, someone who doesn’t have a lot of experience with other things other than weaponry and combat tactics, someone that doesn’t know what forgiveness or what compassion is, “what’s a god to a nonbeliever” kind of person — you know, eren.

and “under the sheets” can even be a little bit more metaphorical rather than literal. under cover, a time and/or place that others can’t interrupt, something occurring but an event that just so happens to be just between the two of them. “you’re killing me” isn’t like... ozy is not hurting eren in any sort of physical manner, but it’s more so that eren is forced to deal with intense and unfamiliar emotions that they’ve never had before with the kind of person that they were supposed to avoid.

although it’s pretty much self explanatory, the lyrics written by daft punk (the whole “it might not be the right time” stuff) is just... ozy in response to eren’s feelings because clearly, they’re incapable of dealing with and sorting those out themselves. it’s not like ozy is going to force himself into eren’s life if they don’t want him in because, while he’s a confident dude and the world is his, he’d respect their feelings. and he has had multiple experiences with many women so i can’t ignore the possible factor that maybe one of them was a little more reluctant than the rest. but also, he does know that eren has some kind of feeling for him and that there is indeed “something between [them]...”

and yes, he would respect those feelings, but he’s not going to sit around idly, waiting for eren to have answer a problem they can’t even think about solving by themselves. he’s going to help eren even if he’s the reason why they’re so distressed around him, even if he’s just constantly pushed away because eren’s an idiot and they can’t do things like this on their own even if they say they can. maybe things will turn out poorly, or maybe they both can benefit from the situation — but as a servant, he decides to help his master as they’re incapable of working things out properly.

“in here the world won’t bring us down; our plan is gold dust” kinda describes their situation in the war, i think. gold dust is tiny (not referring to quantity) but extremely valuable — important even, given the correct situation. they’ll fight their way to victory in the war (granted, they are kind of required to do that to survive) and will use whatever methods they have in their arsenal to acquire the grail for their father. given their position and where their skills lie, eren would act secretly, probably taking out certain targets that gave them information on who the other masters of the grail war are or spending their time with technology to find people and/or locations.

bUT ALSO, WAR THINGS ASIDE-

ozy would be there for eren while they act secretively, maybe while they’re having their “moments of discovery.” he’d help with their reserved attitude towards others and bring out the little more sensitive and honest side of them, the side that wants things they can never have. breaking down walls in order to build a stronger defense to emotions and destructive thoughts.

so “taurus” is basically “how to deal with a tsundere 101: written by the king of gods.” eren has many, many depressive episodes but pushes their problems aside since they view their problems as less important than the work they have to do.

but ozy is there to handle eren when eren’s just feeling like utter garbage, to actually sit down and help eren find some kind of answer to their problems (of course, in his own fashionable way).

"i just need you to come a little closer; i could show you how i feel...” kinda portrays how ozy is a man of like... physical care? the way he deals with problems, even if they’re not tangible, is with his own hands. even if he can’t beat up eren’s depression or anything, he has other methods of tackling those issues and that’s with a whole lot of touching and words.

“stuck on this lonely road, standin’ in the dark; let me pull you closer, let me in your long nights” can refer to those times that ozy is bold enough to care and handle eren when eren can’t take care of themselves, when they’re up all night thinking of things that they shouldn’t have to think about, when they start to impulsively do things they shouldn’t do, when they start trying to reason with themselves that what they’re doing is okay, when they think that they have to do everything themselves or everything will fall apart otherwise — times when eren acts like they have no purpose other than to work, like a robot, maybe one that was made to be disposed once it’s lost it’s functions.

but he’s there to keep eren grounded, to remind eren that they’re a fucking person like anybody else.

“it don’t matter what you fear, i’ll be the one to take you there; ain’t no better one i swear, and you’re the one who knows me there” is, much like other lines, ozy helping eren out with their feelings. eren’s kept people at a distance for their own reasons, because they don’t have a need for friends. they don’t want people to be close to them, because friends are bothersome. pointless. relationships? completely unnecessary. but ozy is then summoned and eren realizes that “so i may or may not have certain feelings and desires that probably shouldn’t be acted upon.”

eren doesn’t want “affection” but then desires a closeness that friendships don’t “have.” a place where intimacy can be shared between people, a place where they can find a home they never had, where the relationship will help them improve themselves and perhaps the other — one where they can learn the things they were never taught or given. there’s so much that eren doesn’t understand because they’ve been inside their own little bubble for so long that ozy was able to burst it without eren noticing, having eren realized that there’s a lot they haven’t truly grasped. new and unfamiliar things are terrifying to experience, you know?

“hold me down” is, as the title and the song states: keeping eren in the present. catch that bitch before their head goes off and does something stupid!!!!

a bit of a continuation of “something about us under the sheets” — “distraction” is just a really sappy song about ozy and eren thinking about each other. _(:3 」∠)_

NEW SONG

this... is definitely... based off lieandlee’s cover of kiss of death because i dunno what nakashima’s singing about :^) so right off the bat, we already have some important ~symbolism~ (sdghdfg) going on!

“won’t you come my way? my self-restraint is crumbling; it’s just me, so don’t you be afraid” is basically... ozy wanting to fulfill his desires of Increasing his Bond Level with Eren, but also making sure eren will feel safe and secure under his care. he’s not going to rush eren, but they should have an answer to his feelings and motives at some point, and that’s something he would want to know.

“a flightless bird was dreaming, that it could touch the sky; but that blue color’s changing, to a bright shade of red” is like... i envision that eren, or smolren, at some point, was a really ambitious kid when they were younger. like many other kids, there were a lot of things that they wanted to do, but their ideas were instantly shot down by their father if eren even thought about that. with a blood-stained past, eren still wants to do something, but what they want to do is just... it’s blurry. something’s there, but they don’t know what. and at this point, they just... would rather not know. they play it off as “i don’t care what it is so long as i fulfill my duties” but they do care.

“somebody’s knocking at my door, i cover my ears at the sound; could it be you i’m waiting for, or is it someone else?” eren, having built up so many walls and hardening themselves, numbing themselves - it’s hard to break years and years of work like that down. they’ve steeled themselves, and ensured that it stay that way in order to prevent themselves from getting hurt, whether it be physically or mentally. but you know... loud golden pharaoh... on his way with a wrecking ball, about to destroy all of eren’s hard work...

“will your lips taste the kiss of death?” SO OBVIOUSLY, this is a metaphorical and literal thing. eren’s brought chaos all around them, separating families, making sure that nobody involved on a mission gets out alive - they’re like a weird personification of death. but under... under golden pharaoh... eren... Weak.

“darling, destiny is racing through my body; world in motion finally, could this be love?” POST slowburn, eren would. find something new goals to believe in and things to fight for. it’s not going to be them following orders, but them living for themselves. things won’t be so gray and things won’t seem so dull. it’s not that eren gets bored of killing things or something, but it gets. repetitive. and the fact that eren’s numbed themselves to that just makes it seem like “just another day of doing what i was built to do.” eren will come to realize that, “hey, this is probably. wrong so i should change that.” maybe after, they find some hidden potential and capabilities within themselves, some day to be shown to the world that they can be someone strong and without a gun.

“i just want a taste, i’m sorry if that’s strange; but it takes two to find love, and to kindle that flame” is, once again, from the ozy perspective except he’s not sorry that it sounds strange. he knows there’s something going on between them, but for things to truly work out, eren needs to do their part of the relationship they have. while it could be ozy doing all the work, that can get really stressful and problematic in the long run. also, wanting to know eren’s flavor ‘,:^)

“we hold each other close to heal, all of the scars fresh in our hearts; the breath left upon your lips” BIG WINK EMOJI

“darling, my heartbeat is racing through my body; all this love is melting me, but i don’t mind” EVEN BIGGER WINK EMOJI

“i came close, to facing my own end; but it was the taste of you, that led me back instead” eren... breakdown. ozy. smooch.

[little-b1rdy]

Chapter 9 - Story time

 Flower was staring at the entrance of the cave, not being able to sleep made her feel weak and extremely tired. She glanced over to look at the other who was laying down, and they seemed to have no trouble sleeping even though they probably slept for 10 hours before this. Flower looks away and sighs, leaning her head back on the wall, she could almost laugh.

 If she told herself 1 year ago that you would be locked in this hell, she wouldn't believe herself. She was still convinced this was a dream, but some of this stuff that happened proved otherwise. Flower closed her eyes with another sigh, she hasn't been able to relax in a while, and she could barely relax right now. Moon said this was a horrible idea, but it doesn't seem as bad as she thought it would be.

  Flower was so focused on her thoughts, that she didn't hear the other start to get up and sit down next to her. They stared at the opening of the cave for a little bit until Flower spoke up, “I..I know I'm not really open but,” She sighed and looked up at the cave ceiling, “I wanna talk about a dream i had.. I.. I told Moon considering she would listen and the first person i saw in the morning.. And.. She brushed it off like nothing, but.. i feel like..? It means something but I'm not quite sure what..”

  She felt the other shift beside her and sigh, “Hit me with it then..” Flower smiled gently then laughed quietly before she started talking.  

  She told them everything. The figure who stood there, the wood, the fire, the bodies..

  They didn't seemed fazed by any of it.. Except when she started explaining the appearance of the figure she saw.

  They put their hand up to their head, mumbling incoherent things. They snapped their head over to the cave entrance, then back at Flower, who seemed alarmed by their reaction. ??? took in her expression and decided to calm down and respond with a short, “Sorry, i thought i heard that description before.. but I'm not sure.. where?”

  Flower stared at them then turned around and laughed a little. “Well, yeah.. You.. You sorta had the same reaction as Moon did.. But hers was.. A little bit more.. Alarmed and? What’s that word.. Hesitant? No.. That’s not it.. I’m not sure but the way she reacted was.. Scary..”

   Flower hugged herself quietly, while the other sat beside her, opening and closing their mouth, trying to figure out what to say to her. They ended up sitting in silence for what felt like hours.

  Flower glanced over to ??? and opened her mouth to say something then closed it knowing they probably won't like it. They noticed this and looked over at her and said, “Spit it out..”     She flinched lightly but settled down again and sighed obviously reluctant to say this but she knew she would say it anyway..

   She opened her mouth again hesitantly, then whispered, “W..What.. What did Moon do to you..?”

  They stared at her, trying to recall the memories that made them hate Moon with such a passion. They looked over at Flower to find her staring at him, waiting for a answer.. “I.. I’m not sure if i’ll get all the details right. But.. Sure.. I’ll tell you”

  They fell down here.   They hit their head.   They don't remember anything from before.   That’s how this whole thing started after all

  They hesitantly opened their eyes, scared of what might be seen as soon as they do so. When they open their eyes and let everything adjust, ?? notices the pain shooting throughout their body.

   They hoisted themselves up and looked around, trying to figure out what was happening, and trying to get used to their surroundings.

   Eventually they managed to stand up and start walking around .

  They walked around and walked into a room which seemed to be empty. They looked around and noticed that there was a hallway at the other side of the room, they took a step toward it, seeing how it looked like as soon as they walked past the door frame on the other end they would immediately be back to where they came from. So they ran, ran through the hallway aaaannd right into someone..

   The two people collided and instantly felt the shock from the collision and the two tumbled to the ground. The person screeched and tried to launch themselves away from them but only ended up on the ground with them.

    The person was clearly pissed at the outcome of this situation and started snarling and trying to scramble away from the person on their back. But ended up giving up after several attempts at getting up, so they settled with throwing a few curse words at them.

     After they come to a realization on how they were laying on top of them, they quickly launched themselves backwards and off of the person, who went quiet. Then they watched as the person quickly sprang upwards as soon as they got free and snapped their head over too them. They stayed in silence, both of them staring at each other, not breaking eye contact. One afraid of them attacking, the other seeing if they remember this person.

    Finally after realizing that, this person looks like a threat,  they started reaching behind their back to latch onto their pocket knife. The persons eye darted to their moving hand and their eyes instantly went into slits and bolted upwards in order to get the advantage of being taller than them, at least while they were on the ground.

   Finally the other smirked as they eyed the pocketknife then sneered, “So, what you gonna do with that pocket knife, Precious?” The other stared at them for a little bit, then replied with a small laugh, “What you think I'm gonna do with it, Precious?” It felt weird calling someone ‘Precious’, especially after hfbsjaknuahjksb,nhygkhghdksbdfjnm,.  ykjghfgxdfsxygcjghgjhg. She stared at them then smiled slightly, “Can’t deny that.. Anyway, why don't you put  that knife down, and..?” They stared at her, then hesitantly put the knife down, and they noticed how she had a look of shock and relief flash across her face when they ended up dropping the knife.

    She eventually muttered, “You, You aren’t like them.. Are you.. You’re different..”

     They were confused on what to say, was !@$%^@ ^^Different? “Nevermind,” She said with a small laugh, and waved her hand dismissively, “Anyway.. What’s your name, Precious. I’m honestly very curious..” !@$%^@^^ had to think for a moment, they knew they had a name, but… It wasn’t there anymore. They knew that it should come naturally, when someone asks your name it should be immediate.. Not anymore. She instantly took notice on how they couldn’t respond and instantly said, “That’s ok!! I’m gonna give you a name, Precious.. How about..” She stares at them for a few seconds before saying, “Ares, How do you like that?”

      The other seemed really happy with that name so they said, “Sure, but in order for you to call me Ares I get to call you something.” She seemed interested, “Fine, but make sure it matches my fantastic personality, Precious.. Also, don’t expect me to stop calling you Precious, it fits..” Ares ignores that comment and stares at her for a second until saying, “I’m.. I’m going to say you look like a Moon!”

“..But i mean.. I like the name Moon..”  !@$%^@ smiled, “Your new name is Moon then!”

   Ares and Moon stare at each other for a little bit, until Moon speaks up, “I need to make a deal with you..” Ares ears perked up at that and saw as Moons’ eyes flashed, “Sure, what is it about..?”

“Making sure the things down here know their place down here..” “It’s how we can work together and try to save this place..”

       When they made that deal, It was important to both of them, both for different reasons. They both seemed to enjoy each others company before.. Moon, got a little carried away when trying to save this place.

         Ares watched in horror as Moon stood before a shadowy mist, that was slowly disappearing and as soon as it disappeared, Ares noticed a blood like stain on the ground. Ares looked up at Moon and stared at her who was turned around now. It was weird. She, Moon, who looked harmless in most cases, considering how she always avoided conflict, stood before Ares, with bloodstains all on her clothes and face.

           Moon smiled, and spread her arms out wide, “Ares!! My man! What brings you over here? You.. You’re supposed to be sleeping..” Ares stared at her, then eventually noticed something was up, it was only one monster so far. It’s not even that bad. So Ares walked over to Moon, grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the spot. To a place near a pond..

“er the training session somehow there was a pond nearby and Mo”

    “There.. There was this person!” Moon’s eye was darting around looking for something that wasn’t there. “They.. Their neck.. It.. It was all wrong.. Their eyes.. Their eyes and mouth were all fucked up!” Ares flinched and Moon kept going, “It.. It kept telling me things it. I don’t know what it was scary it was! It was here.. IT WAS HERE,” her body jolted as she realized this and then snapped her head toward the pond that was sitting right next to them.. Moon seemed to stare at the far end of the pond for a little bit until lifting her hand and pointing toward there..

       “It was there..” That was all she could say before Ares noticed her skin go a little pale, and her eye seemed to dim as well, the light it had was now gone. Ares stared at her in disbelief, Moon turned her head and stared at Ares for a second, before pulling him into a hug. She muttered a few things Ares couldn’t comprehend, and then stood up suddenly then turned away and walked away.

              Ares noticed so many mood swings when hanging out with Moon, it was less enjoyable to be around her, and noticeably awkward. Ares also noticed a change in motives. She was more violent, like she was that night Ares found her, and pushed Ares to join in, and.. Well, he didn’t. Well, he did.

          Ares never paid much attention. But now when around her, he was always paying attention, seeing if she was going to hurt him, showing any signs of betrayal. Ares was aware..

A w a r e o f e v e r y t h i n g . . . .

       One day, when Ares got wrapped up into a battle trying to help Moon out of a dangerous situation. She tried killing Ares. Ares tried killing her

        They were back to back, fighting out several shadow monsters who Moon clearly pissed off, until Moon quickly turned her back and jumped on top of them, trying to get the upper hand like she tried doing when they first met. She had it for awhile, until Ares fought back finally, and managed to rip off that eye patch and scratch down the side of her face. Everything went downhill from there..

           Ares was staring at the ground once he finished the story, hatred burning in their eyes. Flower was shocked, she.. She didn’t know what to say until it clicked, “Did.. Didn’t you say she changed.. Both physically and mentally? Like.. I have a feeling? It wasn’t really her faul-” Ares snapped their head at her, disbelief in his eyes, “You? Are trying to defend that monster?! Even after i told you! What happened to me!!??”

              Flower stared at them. “S-Sorry.. I’m just.. I’m someone who likes to hear both sides of the story so when i only have one side.. I.. Try to look for their reasoning for them…”

              Ares glared daggers at her, and then muttered a few things under their breath until standing up and saying, “Time to face this beast, Well, never mind. Not yet, right now we go look around for an exit for us after we beat that jackass..”

[yeehawdante]

Heaven on a Landslide pt. 8

June 15th, 8:57 a.m. 

Nico had driven off while they were dealing with Geryon, and the pair just assumed that Nero had called for her aid. Penelope pushed down the thoughts of her son, knowing what V was going to ask of him. She didn’t feel right relying so heavily on him to defeat Urizen. Of course, no one was forcing him, Nero wanted the demon king dead as much as the rest of them. But knowing her son was going to face the creature that had defeated Dante, the powerhouse that he was, she was...afraid. She rarely felt fear, but the thought of losing her son was enough to paralyze her. 

Penelope was growing unbearably wary, she wasn’t physically tired, it was a horrible, emotional exhaustion that was ripping away her will to continue. V’s behavior wasn’t helping, the poet she had grown to care for had suddenly gone back to his aloof and distant behavior as if they didn’t spend a whole month practically attached at the hip. And searching for a single damned sword in such a large city was like trying to find a needle in a haystack, on top of the fact she didn’t even want to find it. She was begging the gods to let them stumble upon a phone. 

She kicked at the rubble littering the road in frustration as she walked, noticing the droplets hitting the pavement. She looked up at the dreary sky, a few freezing cold drops of rain hitting her face. Fitting, she thought bitterly. 

They turned the corner, a beat up, bloodstained van coming into view and Penelope nearly knocked V over when she pushed him to the side to run into the van. She stopped dead in her tracks when she stepped inside, the Geryon piece nearly dropping from her hand at the sight before her. Lady was sitting on the couch, bundled up in a blanket and seemingly unscathed. It sent her mind into places of hope she thought had died a long time ago. If she was okay then maybe...

“Wow, it’s...it’s good to see you’re okay,” Lady’s mismatched eyes cast to the floor, the feeling clearly wasn’t mutual. Penelope wasn’t surprised, of course, the only reason Lady even tolerated her was because of Dante. It certainly still stung. 

“You too,” she murmured. Penelope’s gaze fell on her son, whatever conversation she had interrupted, it wasn’t a happy one. She cleared her throat nervously, fidgeting endlessly as she spoke.  

“Do you know-” 

“I don’t know what happened to Dante, no.” 

“Oh,” she bit her lip, and sucked in a shaky breath. V, rather mercifully, entered the van behind her and brought everyone’s attention away from the tense conversation. 

“You can’t travel through here in a car,” he stated. 

“Yeah, we know. We’re just waiting on you,” Nero answered, and Penelope wondered if he had better luck with talking to Lady. “There’s only one way up that tree. Hang on, I’ll get ready,” Penelope stepped to the side to let her son past. She held the demon remnants up, catching Nico’s eye. She shot to her feet before the woman in blue finished speaking. 

“I found these, I hope they’re useful,” she trotted over to her, snatching the Geryon remnants from her hand with an excited twinkle in her eyes. 

“Wow! I can make something truly awesome out of this!” Penelope blinked in surprised when Nico embraced her in a quick hug before scurrying back to her workstation. She was frankly shocked to find herself smiling, she’d definitely never underestimate Nico’s charm ever again. 

She stepped out of the van, picking up on a piece of a conversation between Lady and Nero. Seems they didn’t trust V, and come to think of it...Penelope didn’t feel so trusting as of late either. She hadn’t expected the realization to make her chest hurt as severely as it did. Her gaze wandered over to the man in question, she had really felt like they had a connection but it was all one sided it seemed.

“Ready to go?” Nero’s voice pulled her eyes away from V’s back. 

“Born ready,” she sighed, following her companions down into the subway station. The place felt like something straight out of a horror movie, the abandoned train cars and the loose wires sending sparks everywhere. And to top it off, the creepy lizard-like demon prancing around at the end of the tunnel. She wasn’t going to watch a horror movie ever again after it was all over.  

 The group had split up to navigate the station efficiently and Penelope couldn’t put into words how relieved she was to be fighting side by side with her son again. His company brought  her immense comfort despite the horrible feeling twisting her gut around, his humor mixed with the retellings of what he got up to while she was stuck with V provided a much needed distraction. 

It wasn’t long before the pair reunited with V, the three devil hunters making quick work of the small time demons lurking in the subway. They emerged above ground, and the white haired man noticed the way his mother had stopped. She was looking around, chewing her lip like she always did when she was lost in thought. 

“Something wrong?” He asked her, and she seemed to snap out of her daze. 

“No, no, I just recognize this area. This is where the theatre was, it was so beautiful,” she smiled the brightest she had in what felt like eternity, “my father used to take me there all the time,” her face fell when she noticed the theatre in shambles ahead, a dull ache spreading through her chest. It was silly to be heartbroken over a building, she knew that, but she didn’t have many memories of her father. Nero patted her on the shoulder, offering a small smile. 

“Let’s go, mom,” he said softly, nodding toward the theatre. She swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded, following the men down toward the tattered remains of the once beautiful theatre. They stepped onto the stage, which was surprisingly still very much intact. Penelope took notice of the various torches alight with blue flame, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the fact they were even lit at all. 

The sound of movement above them brought them all to a stop in the center of the stage. A large figure dropped down in front of them, brandishing a gigantic sword and Penelope couldn’t help her big mouth. 

“You, uh, compensating for something there, big guy?” A snort sounded from beside her as her son readied his sword. As if waiting for their queue, four identical knights emerged from the back of the stage. The confident grin on Penelope’s face faltered when she got a good look at the demons blocking their path, all of them painful reflections of her traumatic past. She reached for her sword with shaking hands just as Nero let out a laugh. 

“Nice, getting the band back together, huh?” 

“What evil lurks…” V started, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I must destroy,” he raised his head with an icy glare. He almost seemed more worked up about the angelos than Penelope, which had her contemplating what history he could have with them. She only knew one other person who would get that worked up over the mere sight of the demon knights...

“I thought that was the plan all along,” Nero stated nonchalantly. Just as the three warriors broke into their respective battle stances, an absurd amount of debris collapsed behind them and blocked their way back. Penelope nearly lost her balance when they were jostled forward by the force of the stage moving forward. 

Between Nero’s brute strength, Penelope’s expert moves, and the help of V’s demon pets, the angelos stood no chance. Penelope finished off the largest of the group with a verocity that Nero had never witnessed from his mother, watching as she sunk her sword deep into the knight’s chest with her teeth bared like a rabid animal. She pushed him back with her foot, retrieving her sword as her chest heaved. Nero turned her attention to the approaching cliff with a nod of his head, and the group abandoned the stage right before it went plummeting below. 

“Took us long enough to get here,” Nero sighed, and Penelope froze when she realized just where they were. The Qliphoth...they were finally there. A whole month leading up to that very moment, she felt like she was gonna be sick from the nerves. There’d be no more questions afterward, either they’d find Dante in there or not. She wasn’t so sure she was quite ready to face the answer to that question. Nero turned to V, giving him in an odd look and bringing his mother’s attention to their tattooed companion as well. 

“What, tired already?” 

“I’ve just remembered something...this town was attacked once before,” Penelope’s face twisted up as she recalled the agonizing memory. The fire everywhere, the terrified look on her father’s face, her mother’s cries of pain. 

“Is that so?” Nero pressed, glancing at his mother in confusion. She had never told him about that. V gave him an unsettling smile. 

“I was here...I can still see it,” V knelt directly in front of a rusted steel horse, a child’s playground toy, “In fact, I was playing right here,” the color seemed to drain from Penelope’s face. It felt like a tornado had plowed through her thoughts, stirring up memories long repressed and buried deep. She was plummeting into a sea of questions, but her voice was caught in her throat. She couldn’t pull her eyes from V, her heart pounding in her ears as she sucked in shaky breaths through her nose. V pointed with his cane, leading everyone’s eye to a decrepit house in the distance, “that was the house.” She was unsure how he could even tell, the distance paired with the shattered remains made it look like any other building. 

She couldn’t process what else was said between the two men, her eyes seemingly stuck on the house in the distance. It was...making her feel something she couldn’t quite place. Her mind was trapped in an endless haze, and she almost hoped a demon would come and smack her on the head so she could just. Stop. Thinking. 

Penelope was pulled from her thoughts by a hand on her shoulder, warm and familiar. She blinked slowly, shaking the fog from her thoughts and looked up at Nero. His brow creased in worry, and her chest twisted up in guilt and fear at what they were about to face. Whatever happened, she needed to make sure he won. 

“Stop frowning,” she tapped at the crease between his eyebrows, “you’ll get wrinkles,” he gave her an incredulous look before chuckling slightly. 

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she certainly felt like she had. 

“I’m fine, just ready to meet the guy all this fuss is about,” she hoped the smile she offered didn’t come off as strained as it felt. “Let’s get going.”

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire Shadow Ch33 (V x Reader)

True Ending Part 1: Hope Rewarded

Graphic descriptions of torture.

Soundtrack here, for your listening pleasure - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IDleI-vm7z4

(It’s Unkle, Burn My Shadow.)

______________________________________________________________

Nero

Nero barely senses the motion to his side as V collapses, his metallic arm shooting out on instinct alone to catch the lean man’s body before he hits the ground. His concerned eyes shift from staring at you, still frozen over Urizen with your hands tightly wrapped around your sword to rest on V as he lowers the poet gently down.

Shit, he doesn’t look good…

V’s eyes are shut tight, teeth exposed in a grimace of pure agony. The lines on his skin are multiplying and branching out into fractal patterns as Nero watches, flakes the size of his fingernails dispersing in the air as if someone was already spreading the man’s ashes after cremation. The poet’s breathing is rapid, his tattooed chest rising and falling at a speed that painfully reminds Nero of the pace of the fire alarm’s shrill beeping back home whenever he burns his toast. V’s hands are clenched so tightly blood drips from his palms, fingernails embedded in his ravaged flesh as he desperately battles for his very survival.

Fuck! I gotta get Y/N over here!

“Dante, get Y/N over here, now!” he cries at his uncle, and the man in red sprints to where you still stand frozen.

If V goes back into Vergil, Dante’s going to fight him, maybe even kill him. I’ll lose my only chance to ever know my father.

Dammit, what do I do?

Nero thinks faster than he ever has before, rehashing the structure of your theory yet again and searching for a way to help the lean poet. His eyes widen dramatically as a low blue light springs from the man’s leather vest right over his heart, pulsing weakly but edging its way toward strength. A glance at Urizen reveals that he, too, has the strange blue beam struggling to burst out. The two beams tilt toward each other and V lets out a pained howl.

That can’t be good. C’mon, think!

Nero sighs in resignation as a ludicrous idea enters his mind, but leans closer to the dying poet, making sure his voice is loud enough for him to hear if he’s at all coherent.

I hope he doesn’t remember this…

“Uhh, V? Um… it’s Nero. I’d prefer if Vergil doesn’t show up, so… yeah. Fuck, I don’t know how to do this shit, just… don’t die, okay? Keep fighting it,” the young warrior awkwardly urges, scratching the back of his neck as he blushes slightly.

“Nero…” V moans, a tear leaking out his eye.

Hurry up, Dante!

“Yeah, that’s right, it’s me. Everyone’s here rooting for you, the whole family. All… three of us,” he finishes lamely with a cringe.

The light twitches, receding a fraction of an inch. Nero gapes as some of the flakes still scattering near V’s skin zoom back to meld into his body once again, partially restoring him.

Okay… this is officially the craziest shit I’ve ever seen.

Come on, Dante! I could use a little help here!

______________________________________________________________

Dante

Dante runs as fast as he can, reaching you in a few quick strides of his muscular legs. His pulse thunders in his ears as he takes in the look of hopelessness on your tear-streaked face, your hands locked in a white knuckled grip around the hilt of your sword. He can hear your breath hitching as you barely inhale, eyes still shut tight as if you can somehow will the darkness away.

Shit, poor kid…

The faint blue light illuminates your bloodstained shoes, the hesitant glow too dull to reach your awareness from what Dante can tell. He reaches out, grasping your wrist gently.

“Hey, Y/N, c’mon. We gotta go save the good part of my idiot brother,” he tries to remind you, but you give no signal that you’ve heard a single word. He glances anxiously back to V and Nero, seeing the same blue glow coming from the prone poet as Nero crouches over him, lips moving as he speaks.

Right, no time to be gentle then…

He scrambles up to joining you upon the dead demon’s chest, carefully angling his body to not touch you unnecessarily, but in the end there’s no other way as you remain out of touch with reality.

Sorry, kid. I got no choice.

He reaches out to pry your fingers from the blade, going slowly to avoid hurting you. Still, you don’t react. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, the other going under your knees to lift you into his arms bridal style and he leaps back to the ground, already racing back to his nephew and brother. A low wail escapes your lips as you finally regain awareness, clearly panicking as you don’t immediately see V.

“Shhh… it’s okay, I’m taking you to him. He needs you,” Dante informs you as he reaches the two men.

Fuck, I really don’t wanna kill Vergil. C’mon, V… fight!

______________________________________________________________

You can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t think. Don’t want to think. You have no concept of time passing as you remain locked in a tableau of death above the other half of the man you love, too terrified of what you’ll see to even turn your head. Silent tears pour down your cheeks, dripping off your chin to mix in the fallen demon’s blood under your red stained shoes as you struggle to even draw breath.

Some corner of your mind registers the flickering blue light rising from the corpse of Urizen, emanating from where your blade is still embedded in his chest.

Please… please, let it have worked…

Who could ever fill the void he’d leave in my heart? I’d never love again.

You picture his adorable smirk, the glimmer of amusement in his eyes when he finds something entertaining.

The soft lilt of his voice, enthralling and magnetic when he recites poetry, the perfect line always on the tip of his tongue.

The silken texture of his obsidian hair, the way it catches the light and covers his right eye so enigmatically.

The press of his lips on yours; his uncanny ability to communicate through his passion even when his mouth is occupied.

His protectiveness, borne of the most terrible sort of tragedy but manifesting in yet another way to communicate how much he loves you.

The shape of his lips on the rare occasion he fully smiles.

The sound of his laugh.

His wry sense of humor.

His assertiveness.

His focus.

His selflessness.

I have to look.

But I don’t want to.

Suddenly you feel arms pulling at you, trying to get you to let go of your sword. The calloused fingers pull you off the crimson-stained corpse and into a man’s chest, leather against your cheek as he carries you away from Urizen. You take a deep breath but it leaves you in a rush – the man carrying you doesn’t smell like V. You look up, seeing Dante’s face as your lip begins to tremble. A terrible wail leaks through you, an expression of the despair that crushes your heart like a vice, making your chest cavity feel so utterly vacant.

“Shhh… it’s okay, I’m taking you to him. He needs you,” Dante whispers softly, his steps slowing as he reaches his destination.

He’s still alive?!

The vice vanishes, your heart fluttering like a hummingbird as hope floods your senses. You wriggle in Dante’s strong arms and he carefully lowers your legs to let you stand on your own, your hungry eyes searching until at last you find Nero crouched by the poet’s prone form.

Nero looks at you worriedly, his hand resting on V’s cracked shoulder. Your friend shifts aside so you can see V properly and the vice around your heart tightens once more. His entire body is clenched, muscles visibly screaming as he endures an ungodly amount of pain, the blue light coming from his chest growing and shrinking in turns as he gains and loses traction in his internal battle. The cracks mirror the light, widening into thick valleys or narrowing into shallow wrinkles. Even the vanishing specks reflect his struggle, fluttering away or returning to make him more whole in turn.

Did it only slow the process? Did my stupid idea force him into this pain?

What have I done?!

A long, tortured groan slips through his cracked lips as a massive chunk of his hand floats away, so substantial you can see the void left in its absence. Nausea pulses in your belly as you realize you may end up watching him die. Just like Lara, but so much worse.

No!

You reach his side at last, instantly taking his hand and cradling it against your face. You can feel the wetness of his blood against your cheek from where his nails cut him, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters right now except supporting him any way you can.

“V, I’m here! I’m right here with you, stay with me!” you exclaim, forcing his fingers open so he can feel your face in his palm. His shaking hand recognizes you instantly, drawing you closer as he murmurs your name.

The blue light grows, the cracks widening as another huge chunk of his hand fades away.

“I’m… sorry… hurts so much…” V’s strained voice answers you. You stroke his hair, his cheek, smoothing over his furrowed brow in a futile attempt to ease his suffering.

“I know… but you can’t give up. Just think about coming home, about all the happy memories we’re going to make together,” you remind him, tears spilling over his hand from your desperate eyes.

Dante sits on V’s other side, leaning over and grasping his other arm heartily.

“C’mon, Mr. Poetry. We’ve got so many years to make up for. I don’t want to kill my brother, so stick around, yeah?” Dante states, his jaw clenched painfully tight.

Nero squeezes the shoulder in his hand, his own turbulent voice joining in. You’ve never had more love for the two men than you do right now, as they put aside their embarrassment and stupid masculine pride to support V when he needs them the most.

“You can’t go yet; you haven’t met Kyrie. She’s going to love you, just you wait and see. She likes poetry too, you’ll get along so well,” Nero rumbles haltingly.

The blue light fades, but not by much. It still flickers alarmingly, ever reaching toward its other half in a bid to reunite and become whole.

He’s already whole! Piss off!

“I… it’s too much…” V gasps out weakly. The blue light shines brightly, so bright you automatically close your eyes. You hear V scream, his voice breaking in his overwhelming agony and only the touch of his hand remaining on your face keeps you from falling apart entirely. Panic and reckless desperation plant the seed of an idea in your mind and you can only hope that V will forgive you as you move his hand from your cheek to your belly, leaning over him to shout in his ear.

“You can’t die! Your child needs you!” you scream, hovering over his face to watch his reaction.

His tightly shut eyes shoot open, emerald gaze meeting yours easily as a look of absolute wonder replaces his prior expression of fear and pain. You see his eyes narrow; his brow furrow as his teeth grit so tightly he could crack his teeth. The poet roars, a cry of defiance so powerful it sends you reeling back.

The blue light wavers, stubbornly flickering for what feels like an age even as V’s cracked skin smooths over, tiny particles of him soaring back to fill in the crevasses. He glares darkly out at the world, rage and fury exuding from him in a thick aura as he forces himself to sit up.

“NO!” he howls, his voice louder than you’ve ever heard it and echoing across the strange illusion you’re immersed in. Your amazed eyes watch as the beam coming from his heart stutters, then finally, blessedly, goes out. V falls back to the ground, obviously exhausted by the ordeal. His chest heaves and he trembles lightly, but even in the aftershocks of his agonized trial, he starts laughing.

He opens his eyes slowly, that beautiful emerald gaze searching for yours. When he sees you, his smile is the widest you’ve ever seen on his lips and a tear leaks out the corner of his eye. You collapse against him, his arms automatically rising to catch you as you fall into them.

His hands stroke your hair as you sob against his chest, completely overwhelmed by relief.

He’s alive! It worked!

“I’m alright, little fox. I’m right here. I’ve got you, it’s alright now…” he murmurs reassuringly, soothing you into silence.

______________________________________________________________

V

The pull is gone. The urge to join with Urizen, the voice telling him how much easier it would be to surrender… gone.

It’s over. I’m alive.

And I’m going to have a child all my own.

The instant you had told him, everything had changed. Instead of panic, he was filled with rage. Instead of fear, he was filled with hope. Griffon had even sent a few images of what your child might look like, giving him even more fuel for the enormous inferno that raged within him. A surge of strength had rushed over him, the pain of the last few minutes insignificant, forgotten as his body healed as he focused on life, on being there for his child.

A mental tug-of-war ensued, his willpower and determination being tested beyond anything he’d ever experienced before as Urizen’s dark energy stubbornly refused to die. He could feel the cold, blank void of his other half encircling him, goosebumps prickling his flesh as every sinew and tendon in his body instinctively lurched away from the terrible sensation, forcing him upright.

The voice had tried one last time, telling him his child would be better off without him, that he was toxic, but he’d howled his refusal for the world to hear even as agony coursed through his veins as his blood caught fire. He refused to submit when his organs melted along with his bones, the heat within him enough to liquefy titanium. Not even his skin being flayed inch by torturous inch could shake his resolve.

I will not yield!

Hammers descended on ethereal spikes, forcing their harsh points through the aching flesh covering his joints; his wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles were all pinned to the ground like a butterfly on display. What little remained of his innards was exposed to the air as knives sliced through his chest, opening him up from collarbone to pelvis.

I will not go!

He was frozen, impaled, buried alive, drowned, dropped from skyscrapers, crushed, beaten, staked, burned, stabbed, drawn and quartered, stretched until his limbs were pulled from his body, disemboweled, trampled, mauled and eaten alive.

V died a thousand deaths in a matter of seconds, yet still he didn’t succumb.

I will never surrender!

And just like that, he’s free. His flesh knits back together along with his mind, coherent thought returning as his muscles finally release. The last echoes of his trial fade away like dew in the morning sun and he falls back to the ground, euphoric relief making his perceptions swim.

Or are those tears in my eyes?

Both, most likely.

He can’t help but laugh, amazed that you had managed to save his miserable, doomed life. He had always hoped, but not until now has he believed. He opens his eyes, searching for you and grinning like a fool as he spots you watching him carefully. Your expression collapses as you see his joy, your body following a moment later into his reactive grasp.

“I’m alright, little fox. I’m right here. I’ve got you, it’s alright now…” he whispers softly, stroking you tenderly as your exhausted but overjoyed sobs shake against him. He glances around, emerald eyes coming to rest on Dante and Nero nearby. He mouths a silent thank you to them both, easily remembering every word they had spoken to help him anchor himself against the pull of Urizen.

Dante responds with a smirk and a solemn nod of acknowledgement, Nero going pink and scratching his neck. V takes the opportunity to inhale your scent deeply, glorying in the fact that he can now do so for decades to come.

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch37 (V x Reader)

Alternate ending epilogue and final chapter of this fic. Sequel is in prgress and will follow the events of the true ending.

Nero

Nero covers you with a blanket, carefully concealing your frozen features in a sign of respect and mourning. He sits across from your body at the red table with a heavy sigh, swallowing harshly to restrain his tears. Nico sits across from him, a mug of coffee in her hand. She’s been almost inconsolable, utterly shattered by the loss of both you and the poet. Lady is in the driver’s seat, Trish beside her as she starts the van and begins the long journey to Fortuna.

How the hell am I gonna tell Kyrie about all this? It’s all so fucked up…

The young warrior grits his teeth, almost snarling in rage at the way events had unfolded. That blow had been meant for him; he should’ve been the one to fall. And what the hell had you meant about balancing the scales?

It doesn’t matter now. She’s gone.

A loud sniffle from Nico draws his attention as she stares forlornly into her mug. Nero reaches out, resting a hand on her wrist and giving her a sympathetic smile. She sniffles again, her eyes rising to meet his.

“Do you… y’know, wanna talk?” he asks her awkwardly.

“I guess… it’s just a lot, y’know? Feels like we lost even though Urizen is gone. Sort of,” she starts solemnly, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Yeah, I hear ya. Doesn’t really feel like a win,” he replies thoughtfully. Nico hums her agreement, her eyes drifting to rest on your covered body sadly.

“Dante said the thing that got her was aiming for you, right? What happened, exactly?” the mechanic inquires softly. Nero cringes at the reminder, bracing himself to tell her the whole story.

“After Vergil came back, things got weird. He kept shifting back into V, like he was still in there fighting. But Vergil wouldn’t let him out, kept trying to fight Dante. He was aiming for me when he stabbed her. She… she jumped in the path, did it on purpose. She saved me,” he explains sorrowfully. He bites his lip, the pain helping keep the sadness at bay.

“Did she suffer?”

Nero sighs, unsure how to answer. He rubs the back of his neck in discomfort as he gathers his thoughts.

“Not for long. There was enough time for us to try to save her. It was weird, one second Vergil’s trying to kill Dante and the next he’s trying to save Y/N. He completely lost it when she… when she died. She had time to tell me it was worth it,” he recalls morosely. He would never forget the look on your face as you touched him for the last time, the spark of life going dark in your eyes as he watched, helpless.

 Worth it…

 Am I? Am I really worth her life?

Nico stands, stepping closer to him to wrap him in a firm hug as his face crumples, unable to keep the sorrow at bay any longer.

_____________________________________

By the time the van pulls up to the home he shares with Kyrie, the sun is low in the sky. Long shadows extend from the trees lining the road, skeletal shades reaching for him as he approaches the door. Before he can reach its familiar white paneling, it flies open with a crash as Kyrie runs out to meet him with an ecstatic grin.

He knows the second she registers his blood-soaked clothing; her smile vanishes, her steps faltering in concern as she reaches him.

“Nero! What happened? Whose blood is that?” she prods instantly. He glances back at the van as Trish, Nico and Lady all carry your covered body forward. None of them had any clue what to do with your remains but still knew better than to leave you in the vehicle overnight. Kyrie’s expression goes from concern to dread as she follows his gaze, still unsure what’s going on.

“Kyrie… It’s Y/N’s blood. She died to save me. We lost V and Dante, too,” he begins in a strained tone. Her arms wrap him in a hug, ignoring the patches of slightly damp blood as she comforts him.

 I missed you so much, missed this…

He inhales deeply, reveling in the scent of the woman he loves so dearly. An ocean of gratitude rises within him, not knowing if he would have made it back to her without your sacrifice. Her thoughts seem to mirror his as she speaks.

“Then I owe her a debt that can’t be repaid,” Kyrie murmurs softly. Nero holds her close, her presence soothing his grief to a point where he can bear it. She is an island amidst the chaos, a refuge from the pain as she always has been.

“I’ll call a mortician. I suppose the garage will have to do for now, can you show them where to put her?” Kyrie asks calmly. Nero releases her and nods tightly, not trusting himself to speak as she smiles sadly at him and retreats inside to make the terrible phone call. Nero sets his shoulders, turning to face the three women carrying you to him.

“In the garage, I’ll make a spot for her,” he mumbles, already walking toward the massive rolling door. With a simple keycode, it rolls away to reveal the familiar grey concrete floor and brick walls. He stomps over to the folding table to the right, quickly moving all the tools and various bottles of fluids to leave a space for you to rest. His throat tightens uncomfortably as the three women lug you inside, carefully arranging you on the cold plastic. The four of them stand in silence for a moment, staring at the body beneath the throw blanket in anguish.

The echoing patter of Kyrie’s approaching footsteps breaks the silence as she enters the garage, phone held up to her ear as she approaches him.

“Did she have any family, Nero?” she asks gently. He frowns, looking at the floor as he realizes none of them had bothered to try and contact your mom yet.

“Yeah, her mom is in the next town over from Red Grave. Last name is Newman,” he replies. Kyrie nods and returns inside with the phone to finalize the arrangements, leaving him and the three other women alone once more.

“I’ll see if I can get her number from the phone,” Nico mumbles, heading back to the van outside with slumped shoulders. Lady sighs and looks at Trish.

“We should head back, to wait for Dante,” she reminds the blonde quietly. Trish nods and gives a strained smile to Nero.

“We’re going to keep Devil May Cry going until he gets back. You’ll tell us when there’s a service for her?”

He nods tightly, eyes still locked on your covered body. Trish lies a hand on his arm in sympathy before she turns away to leave, Lady coming over to give him a warm hug. Nero grips her tightly, trying to return her support in kind.

_____________________________________

The morning of the service dawns bright and cold, a chilly wind blowing in from the sea. Robins and sparrows flit happily around the graveyard, a startling contrast to the group of mourners assembled around your casket. It’s a beautiful dark oak, silver handles decorating the sides and white lilies arranged on the lid.

It makes Nico want to vomit.

 How can everything seem so nice and pretty when she’s gone? It ain’t right!

She wants to rip the flowers away and carve deep grooves into the wood, marring the smooth surface with her pain. She wants to scream and cry, to punch someone, anyone.

Instead she takes a seat near the front, holding her offering in silence as the minister drones on. It had been your mother’s decision to have the boring man speak, talking about heaven and hell as if he knew what either of them looked like.

Nico knows better.

She pretends to listen as the preacher rambles for what feels like hours, her thoughts hidden behind a careful mask of blank attention. At long last the man falls silent and the mourners step forward to leave their small tokens for you. Nico waits until everyone else has had their turn before she steps forward, grasping her item tightly as she approaches.

She can hear several quiet murmurs behind her as she unsheathes your sword and holds it high, a few gasps of surprise as she plunges the blade straight into the wood, embedding it there for all time. It feels right, feels like the perfect way to remember you to force those here to admire the sword you had wielded to prevent your home from being overrun by demons.

She returns to her seat as the tears fall at last, memories of you flooding her mind. Beside her, Nero wraps an arm around her shoulders awkwardly, doing his best to support her even as his nose turns red and he sniffles.

The creaking sound of the casket being lowered makes goosebumps erupt on Nico’s arms. She hates that sound; it reminds her painfully of those she’s lost. Now she has you to add to that list. She stares at the too-green grass under her feet as the echoes fade, your casket now at rest at the bottom of the earthen pit. The minister leaves, several of the mourners who hadn’t known you well following soon after.

Then it’s just her, your fellow devil hunters and your mother. The unfamiliar woman glares at the group angrily, clearly still blaming them for your demise.  Kyrie alone approaches the distraught woman, her kind personality giving her the ability to find the right words to ease the woman’s suffering. Nico watches from far as the two women embrace sadly.

She looks away as the sensation of intruding on a private moment overwhelms her, standing and gazing at the plain tombstone that decorates your final resting place.

 May she walk with angels.

 Seriously? That’s it?

Nico snorts, wondering who was the dumbass that chose the words. If it’d been up to her, it would’ve said something about being a badass who never gave up. Nero joins her with a sad smile, his nose still quite red as his gaze follows hers to rest on the granite stone.

“Damn, that’s it? Doesn’t seem like enough,” he murmurs quietly. She chokes out a laugh, leaning against him as he wraps an arm over her shoulders in comfort.

“No words ever are,” she comments sadly.

_____________________________________

Two Years Later

A warm breeze rustles through the trees dotting the area, a few leaves breaking free and fluttering free in the wind. His steps echo on the stone pathway as he approaches the simple granite marking. He sighs heavily, crouching to leave the bouquet of irises in the waiting opening.

 May she walk with angels.

 Pathetically inadequate.

He brushes his white hair out of his eyes distractedly, more focused on your grave as his brother follows a few steps behind him. Dante keeps a respectful distance, for which he’s very grateful. It’s been a long two years; their time in the underworld had helped them to understand each other but it wasn’t until they’d made it back that they had truly become brothers again.

That was two months ago.

Dante had been here a few times since their return, but this was Vergil’s first visit.

He sits on the green grass, crossing his long legs and staring at the carved words marking your resting place. Dante backs away even further, leaving hearing distance to peruse other markings until Vergil is ready to leave. He sighs again, gathering his thoughts.

“I’m sorry its taken me so long, Y/N. I’m sorry for many things, actually,” he begins regretfully. The familiar ache settles over his heart as he addresses you, his longing to see you again forever left unsatiated. It still baffles him how much he cares for you, how much he misses you.

 There will be no one else.

“I want you to know that things are different now. I no longer wish to kill Dante,, though sometimes he makes it difficult. Nero’s coming around, though he’s understandably cautious. There’s much work to be done,” he explains hesitantly. It still makes him uncomfortable to show any amount of weakness, but there’s no one else here.

“I miss you,” he concludes, gritting his teeth as he forces the words out. Silence greets his words, not even the hush of wind responding to him. He stays still for a long time, not speaking a word but content to reflect on the past, on his short time with you while you were alive.

By the time Dante returns, the sun is setting behind him, his shadow being cast over your tombstone and draping you in darkness. Vergil recognizes the sound of his brothers footsteps and stands to meet him.

“I’ll return soon,” he whispers as he turns to leave with his twin.

And he does.

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch26

Chapter 26 - Sons of Sparda

__________________________________________

V

Despite the passage of time, V’s recollections of the night his mother died have not faded. Not in the slightest. He can still smell the smoke, feel the terror coiled in his belly and the images will forever be painted in his mind. He closes his eyes tightly as the memory fills him and he begins to speak, his voice catching periodically.

__________________________________________

Vergil was sitting at the kitchen table, short legs swinging absently underneath him as he sketched battle plans, formations for massive armies against even more numerous foes. He’d always had a mind for strategy, for tactical thinking. It made him feel closer to his father every time he imagined a battlefield, and as time passed after his father’s disappearance, he found himself doing so more and more frequently. It brought an unpleasant ache to his heart, but he ignored the sensation and focused on his schemes.

Dante sat across from him, doing his best to copy his slightly older twin and create his own battle plans, but the younger Sparda twin had never been as strategically inclined and often fidgeted or peeked at Vergil’s sketches for ideas. It irked him; he hated his hard work being copied, his brother’s laziness and lack of drive getting more irritating the more he did it.

 Why can’t he just do his own work and stop stealing mine?

Dante sighed heavily, his boredom reaching its peak. “Vergil, let’s go spar! This is boring!” he complained childishly. Vergil gritted his teeth and took a breath before answering.

“You can go if you like; I’m not finished yet,” his tight tone replied.

“And spar alone? No way! Besides, think how happy dad will be when he gets back and we can fight as well as he can! We have to practice!” Dante countered with an excited grin, and his words made Vergil’s patience finally snap. He slammed his pencil down on the table, his cold eyes rising to stare into his twin’s eager gaze.

“Don’t you get it? Dad is dead, he isn’t coming back! Not ever! It’s up to us to protect mom now, so stop being so lazy and selfish!” he snarled harshly.

Dante gasped, his lower lip trembling as he absorbed his brother’s brutal words, as well as their truth. Just as Dante began to cry, their mother’s quiet steps entered the kitchen from the living room where she had been reading. Her clever eyes took in the scene instantly and she came to lay her gentle hands on Dante’s heaving shoulders as she spoke.

“What happened, boys?” her kind voice asked. Vergil hadn’t even opened his mouth before Dante answered in a tortured wail.

“Vergil s-said dad is dead!”

Eva gave Vergil a look, that Mom Look that said he was in trouble. Indignation filled him as he snapped back.

“Dante was being lazy again! It’s not my fault he’s too stupid to figure out the truth on his own!” he shouted, standing so quickly his chair clattered to the floor.

“Vergil! Apologize to your brother!” Eva commanded with a slight frown, and Vergil’s frustration reached a new high.

“No! I won’t! He is stupid, and lazy, and selfish and I hate him!” he cried out and ran out the side door, leaving the house far behind as his fury and hurt fueled his pumping legs.

“VERGIL!” he heard his mother call behind him, the last time he would ever hear her voice without pain marring it. He didn’t even turn around, instead clenching his jaw and ignoring her as he ran onward.

 Stupid Dante! He always gets me in trouble!

He didn’t stop until he reached the playground, his favorite spot blessedly open. He climbed on the horse with a grimace, his anger still swirling in his mind. He wished it were a real horse, so that he could ride it right into Dante’s stupid face and make him piss himself in fear!

The image soothed his anger at long last, and Vergil paused as he reflected on the cruel things he had said.

 Maybe I was a little mean… I don’t hate him, he just makes me so angry sometimes!

He sighed, knowing he’d have to apologize when he eventually went home. For now, he decided to keep working on his designs, visualizing them in action around him in a massive clash of forces, painting himself as a mighty general. He picked up a stick from near his feet, raising it like a sword over his head and slashing it down in a command to attack.

A loud crash breaks his indulgent fantasies, forcefully bringing his mind back to reality. He tried to find the source of the noise, his eyes drifting around him until they at last settled on where he knew his home to be.

 Smoke!

 It’s on fire!

He dropped his stick, almost tripping in his hurry to run home and make sure his family is safe from the flames. Fear coiled in his stomach like a viper, a poisonous tang rising in his throat as his short legs carried him home with all the haste he could muster.

A block from home, he could see the flames licking the wooden structure, the top floor completely engulfed and the ground floor not far behind as his terrified young eyes watched. He couldn’t see his family outside and kept running, his breath coming in short gasps as he reached the front of his blazing home at last.

 Please… please let them be okay!

He looked toward the front stoop, his horrified eyed spotting his mother within through the window. She was screaming, her agonized cries barely audible over the crackling flames. Vergil stepped forward, determined to reach her somehow, but the doorknob scorched his small hands when he touched it and he instinctively recoiled. A low growl escapes his throat as he wraps his shirt around his palm to try again, but a huge beam crashes down inside and the force knocks him to the ground several feet back. He looked through the window again, the glass now shattered from the heat, and he saw his mothers form pinned beneath the heavy beam that had fallen.

He stood as quickly as he could, already running back to the door when the demons approached his helpless mother, their cruel blades sinking deep into her tender flesh as he watched outside. Her screams reach a fever pitch as her body is ripped apart savagely before her young son’s eyes. A spray of her blood coated what remained of the window and he retched heavily, his body shaking as his eyes flooded uncontrollably. He backed away from the inferno, the terrible knowledge that he couldn’t do anything to help his mother already a treacherous whisper in his mind.

He collapsed to the ground a few strides from the home, his tiny fists beating the cobblestone street uselessly long past the point of being bloody. The pain in his hands feels just, feels right. The searing agony of the burns and the sharp bolts with every strike are only the beginning of his punishment, his self-torment only just beginning as he rages against his own weakness, his own slowness and inability to save that which he never knew he treasured so much.

 I should have been here, should have been able to stop this, to save her! I’m such a failure, I’ll never be strong enough to protect that which I love!

__________________________________________

V falls silent, his sorrowful tale told. Its only now he realizes his cheeks are streaked with a few tears, his efforts to remain calm and relay only the facts clearly having failed. He looks to you and sees a mixture of anger, sympathy, and heart-wrenching sadness upon your face, a wide stream of tears still leaking from your eyes as your breath hitches and your shoulders shake subtly.

 I’m sorry, little fox. I wish I had more happy tales from the past to tell you instead.

He pulls you into his darkly lined chest, wrapping you in a comforting embrace and kissing the crown of your head gently, smelling your hair and closing his eyes.

 I love the way she smells…

 Like home.

 Glad I didn’t have to bust your balls to get ya to tell her that bit, Shakespeare. You’re getting better at this whole “being human” thing.

 Hmm. Perhaps.

 You gonna tell her about being Nelo Angelo?

 Eventually. For now, it can wait.

 Fair enough. You gonna tell the others?

 I… suppose I should.

 That one’s on you. I’m staying out of it.

V pauses at the blue demon’s words, hos arms around you still tight as you slowly begin to calm.

 Why did you intervene for Y/N, but not for Dante, then?

 Ain’t it obvious? I actually like Y/N. Dante? Not so much.

V sends an internal chuckle and Griffon fades into the background of his mind as you look up into his eyes at last.

“I’m so sorry, V. That... that’s a terrible thing to have seen as a child,” you whisper hoarsely. He kisses your forehead, heart warming at the sympathy you’ve shown him.

“If… no, when we get through this, I promise we’ll make so many happy memories together you’ll forget what it feels like to be sad,” you murmur softly. V can’t help but smile at the thought, images of the two of you together a soothing balm to his still weary soul.

“I’d like that very much, little fox,” he replies, and he leans lower to kiss your soft lips, tasting the salt from your tears as he begs you for entry. After a long moment of mutual comfort, you pull back with a sigh.

“We should get moving,” you remind him.

V stands, offering a hand to you with a tender smile. The two of you step forward together, hand in hand as you continue your search for the legendary sword of Sparda.

__________________________________________

For the next few minutes, nothing worse than an Antenora disturbs your progress. You follow V through a creepy mausoleum, letting Griffon help you down a huge hole in the floor and continue further through the strange area. At one point, you face a new foe that reminds you of the Greek trio of sisters called the Fates; the legend of their scissors cutting the threads of a person’s life to sever their hold on life is an uncomfortable thought as V makes quick work of the shadowy, masked demons using Nightmare.

You and V pass through yet more labyrinthian pathways, navigating gradually closer to the energy he can somehow sense nearby in silence. You’re about to enter another courtyard as he finally speaks.

“This presence… it’s the devil sword Sparda, no doubt about it,” he comments quietly. You squeeze his hand where it still holds your own and step into the open area to see three strange demons.

At first, they look like humans bent over in some demented form of a crab walk, but all four of their limbs end in hands. They feature an extra limb, extending out of their backs to form a massive clawed hand, holding a green totem. Their bodies are hideous, bones and bloody flesh exposed to the open air as they dance haphazardly in a pool of blood. V twitches his wrist and Griffon appears over his shoulder in a burst of black shards, already commenting rudely on the sight before you.

“Whoa this is some kind of ritual shindig, isn't it? You guys got the dance fever for Sparda, huh?” he caws at the three strange creatures. They turn to face your group, taking a few threatening steps toward you with an off-putting howling sound. You shudder as Griffon speaks again, drawing your sword in preparation for the coming fight.

“Whoa, easy there on the dance floor there, partner,” the bird adds, seeming almost frightened.

V turns, raising his cane to point at a handle sticking out of the building beside you.

“I’ll be taking that back,” he growls, turning to face the demons again as he continues, tapping his cane against his palm thoughtfully. “You know your endless worshipping isn’t making the Sparda any happier.”

V darts forward, snapping his fingers as his feet carry him into the center of the demons. Nightmare’s comet descends in a fiery, smoking ball of death to strike one of the three demons heavily, the golem forming soon after in a splash of black. Griffon and Shadow attack, V having summoned the panther while you weren’t looking, their lightning and claws striking true against the closest foe.

You twirl your blade, getting your wrist ready for battle as one of the beasts advances toward you. It’s even more disturbing up close, its face a mask and its body a thrashed wreck of bone and muscle. You hold your sword in a guard position, determined to fight defensively until you get the measure of this new enemy. It leaps forward in a burst of motion, its various limbs all coming forward to strike you. You duck and roll, only one of its limbs managing to land a shallow scratch on your arm as you dodge.

You rise to your feet again as the demon advances, holding your sword defensively. Before it can leap again, you sprint at it and slice through its extra limb, severing it with a splash of crimson that paints the air. The creature howls as its arm hits the ground, rising to two hands to use the others to attack you. You block one hand and try to dodge the second, but it still catches you on your upper thigh, leaving another small cut behind.

 I’ve been lucky so far that none of these hits have been too deep…

 Got to be careful.

You circle the creature warily, watching its every move. Its muscles bunch as it prepares another leap, and as it comes at you your sword extends right in its path. It doesn’t have time to adjust its course and your blade sinks into its core. Its hands feebly reach toward you as it twitches, the limbs shorter than the blade and unable to touch you as it dissolves into ash.

 One down.

You survey the fight to see that V is on the last demon, gleefully smacking it with his cane repeatedly. It makes a sound like glass breaking every time it strikes true. He smirks as he finishes with a harsh overhead blow, pinning it to the ground as he grinds the sharp edge of the cane into its head, making the ghastly thing dissolve.

You rejoin V just as he glances at the blade embedded in the stone building, his eyes following the structure to a bulging red mass; a root waiting to be destroyed. He thrusts his cane into the mass with a low grunt, using all his weight to push it in further as it gushes blood. He withdraws the silver cane with another grunt, turning back to face the root as it turns grey and shatters, a shard of it striking the building and knocking the sword to the ground nearby.  

You follow V to where the sword lies amongst the rubble as the dust settles, a few small bits of stone sitting atop its massive blade. The sword looks heavy, far too heavy for one person to life alone. If you and V want to take it with you, you’ll have to carry it together.

V steps forward, his long arms reaching to grasp the hilt. He grits his teeth, letting out a low grunt of exertion as he struggles to lift the blade. He manages to get it a few inches off the ground, but promptly drops it again with a disappointed sigh.

“It seems this sword is still too strong for me...” he murmurs sorrowfully.  

 It must mean a lot to him, to not be able to lift it.

“So close, though, so close. You got a lot of heart, kid, you really do, but you're a bit of a sissy in the strength department. Hey, hey, no offense, uh, you know,” Griffon adds unhelpfully, circling the group above.

“Nero... he has the strength,” V responds, seemingly ignoring Griffon’s rude commentary entirely as the wheels within his mind whirl away.

“We’ll have to bring him here, then. How could we even begin to bring it with us?” you speculate thoughtfully. Shadow’s emphatic roar draws your attention; she’s standing on the edge of the cliff and looking down below. She turns her head to look at V in a clear command for him to look for himself. He heaves the sword off the ground again and drags it behind him as he joins the panther. You follow as well, curiosity and unease prickling your skin.

For a long moment, you aren’t sure what you should be seeing. All you perceive is more of the same rubble and detritus you’ve gotten accustomed to since the Qlipoth struck. But ever so slowly, you see a human form resting on a statue, covered in dried blood.

 Is that… a person?

“Dante...” V growls beside you.  

 Wait… that’s Dante? He looks like shit! Is he even alive?

V sends Shadow and Griffon down to the prone body and together they drag and carry him up the rise to rest near where the sword lies. Griffon circles overhead excitedly as you check for a pulse and find it beating powerfully beneath your fingers.

“Oh my god… He’s got a pulse! He’s alive!” you exclaim in astonishment.

“I don't even have the words. I--He's alive, he's alive!” Griffon adds, his own shock obvious. It’s V who figures it out first, his mind easily sliding the various puzzle pieces together to form an image of how Dante had somehow not been found for a month.

“The devil sword Sparda was concealing Dante's presence,” he informs the group tiredly.

“How does one friggin' guy get so much luck, huh!?” Griffon chimes in. You carefully watch V’s face, knowing he must be struggling with having found his hated brother alive.

If you hadn’t been paying attention or known V so well you would’ve missed the look of unrestrained fury that crosses his features as he throws his cane down scornfully and lifts the Sparda, dragging it to where Dante lies helpless with you still feeling his pulse.

 Oh no… no, V, come on!

Griffon seems to follow your thoughts and flaps nervously nearby as he tries to reason with the lean poet. “Uhh, V? No no no, get a grip on yourself now, c'mon!”

“V, don’t do this! Murdering your brother won’t make you stronger – if anything it’ll probably make Urizen stronger!” you cry out desperately, but V ignores both you and Griffon and steps ever closer to his prone kin.

“If only you could defeat Urizen... if only... no,” he mutters to himself, apparently having forgotten anyone else was here. You stand and try to figure out a way to restrain V without hurting him, just until he calms down.

“V? No no no...” Griffon caws anxiously.

“V, come on! This is madness, you said it yourself that Dante is the strongest devil hunter around! We might need him to win this!” you insist angrily, your fists balled at your sides.

“If only you never existed... then I....!” V takes no notice of your words, instead lifting the blade as best he can. The point dangles just above Dante’s closed eyes and you reach out to shove it away as V plunges it down.

“Don't do it V! No no NO!” Griffon pleads helplessly from above.

Your hand strikes true, forcing the blade off course so it strikes a few inches away from Dante’s face. You can feel the intensity of V’s glare as he begins to raise it once more, but to your utter bewilderment, Dante opens his eyes!

V drops the sword and you lower your hand quickly as Dante sits up with a quizzical look.

“For a second there, I thought you were gonna shish kabob me,” the man comments. His voice is a pleasantly masculine rumble, but nowhere near as low as V’s. The poet himself sits down, seeming to realize what he’d almost just done, struggling to catch his breath as he grapples with his own murderous rage.

“I know how stubborn you can be. I thought it'd be the only way to wake you,” the tattooed love of your life replies ruefully.

 That’s a lie! You would’ve killed him if I hadn’t been here!

“What day is it?” Dante asks, running his hands through his bloody hair and trying to get some of it off with a grimace.

“The 15th... of June,” V responds haltingly, as if that might lessen the blow. To your surprise, Dante seems unconcerned by the fact that he’s been unconscious for so long.

“A whole month? No wonder I'm so stiff,” the absurd man jokes, standing and stretching. He finally seems to notice your presence and freezes, a sly grin edging its way onto his face as he takes in your appearance.

“Well, hello there… My name’s Dante, what should I call you, aside from beautiful?”

For a long moment there’s complete silence as your eyes widen at his flirtation.

 Is he… serious?

Griffon laughs uproariously from above at the ridiculousness of the moment, not saying a word so as not to spoil his entertainment. You’re so caught off guard you don’t react as Dante takes your hand in his and raises it to his lips to kiss your knuckles, as if he were some kind of gentleman in the 1700’s.

“It’s alright, sweetheart, I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that kinda thing, then I’ll bite whenever you like,” he adds with a roguish grin.

V steps forward and the look on his face is a flat mask of hidden rage that only you know him well enough to see. You pull your hand out of Dante’s grasp as if he had electrocuted you, reaching out to extend your arm in the poet’s path, keeping him a few feet back from Dante.

“Her name is Y/N, and you will not touch her again,” the poet whispers carefully, his fury hidden behind a tight seal. If the situation was less strained you might be pleased by his possessiveness, maybe even a little turned on, but this is not the time.

Dante glances between the two of you and for a moment you think he’s caught on.

Then he opens his mouth.

“What, is she your sister? That’s real sweet, but don’t you think she should make her own choices?”

 Oh, for god’s sake…

You glance at V, but the only outward reaction is a tiny narrowing of his eyes. The lack of response is somehow worse than if he’d summoned Nightmare to beat some sense into Dante. Before V has a chance to respond, you take his hand in yours, twining your fingers together and you hold your joined hands out to show Dante.

“I’m not his sister. And I’ve made my choice, thank you very much,” you inform the idiot in front of you politely. V smirks beside you, pulling your knuckles to his full lips for a much more welcome gentlemanly kiss.

“You tell him, little lady!” Griffon cries from above, still chuckling in enjoyment.

Dante’s face shifts with slow realization and he grins again teasingly. You grip V’s hand tightly, crushing his fingers between yours as the man in red puts his foot in his mouth yet again.

“Ah, well, if you ever want to try some grade-A beef, you lemme know!”

 Alright, that’s it!

You look right into Dante’s eyes and give him a wide grin, letting him think he’s scored a point before ripping the rug out from under his feet with six simple words.

“V is grade-A beef, thanks,” you inform him calmly. A glance at V shows the deepest smirk you’ve ever seen on his face, his satisfaction and pride from your words as obvious as the sun on a cloudless morning. Dante chuckles, then laughs outright.

“Oh, I like this one, V! You sure you can handle such a fiery woman?”

“It has been my pleasure to ‘handle’ her,” V replies in a low purr, using the tone he saves just for you, just for when your naked flesh is joined with his in ecstasy. It sends a thrill rushing through you, a low pool of heat settling in your stomach.

Dante laughs once more and turns around to stretch, throwing a few punches that remind you of Nero as he bobs and weaves. Suddenly V tugs you into his chest, leaning down to plant his lips on yours with a low growl. His tongue skillfully dips into your mouth, teasing you mercilessly in a wordless promise as his hands rise to hold your face against his. He presses his hips against yours, letting you feel his hardness and pulls away, briefly tugging your lower lip on his way.

You give him a light swat on his ass as Griffon chimes in, flying over to hover near Dante.

“Right, sunshine, now put a fire on it. We gotta get going, 'cause that annoying pimple Nero is making a beeline for Urizen. And if he gets there he's gonna—”

Dante’s red-clad arm shoots out, his hand wrapping around Griffon’s beak and throwing him to the side nonchalantly as the blue demon finishes his sentence.

“Smashed like a buuuuuuug!!!” his gravely voice concludes as it grows farther away.

Dante turns back to face you and V wearing a grimace. “Hey! This is my gig. Leave Nero out of this,” he commands, throwing his arm out to the side to emphasize his words.

“If you could defeat Urizen... then I never would have dreamed of it. But Urizen... is much stronger than we could have imagined,” V replies regretfully, stepping away from you and reaching down with a small grunt to pick up his cane.

“Alright, enough's enough. Can't let a boy do a man's job,” Dante answers back, easily picking up the Sparda. Your eyes go wide at his lazy motion as he rests the weight on his shoulder and starts walking away.

“Hey! I'm not done talking to you ye-“ V begins, but he crumples to the ground. You rush to his side and help him sit up as Dante turns back with a strange look on his face.

“OK. You get some rest. By the way, I guess I owe you one,” the brash hunter concludes as he leaves you and V alone once more.

You watch in mind-numbing horror as he lifts his hand up and a few flesh colored particles float away in the breeze.  His beautiful eyes meet yours and settle in an expression of defeat.

[keeroo92]

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch16 (V x Reader)

Chapter 16 - Revelations

____________________________________________________

V

The time had come; he couldn’t put it off any longer. Every time you stepped into battle with him was another instance in which he was risking your life. You getting hurt was the final straw. He couldn’t risk your life, not even if it cost him your love. He clenches his jaw at the idea of you no longer wanting him, of you walking away in disgust. Griffon sends him an image of you hugging him close, encouraging V as best he can to speak.

He starts slowly, easing you into it. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth, almost like he’d just eaten a peanut butter sandwich. He swallows against the sensation, forcing his reluctant mouth to give voice to the words he must say.

“I am half of who I once was. I was… split. Not long ago. My full self is known as Vergil, and I am, or was, Dante’s twin brother.” He pauses, looking at your reaction to his words thus far. You seem more confused than anything else, your hands still gripping his own. You don’t speak, and he strengthens his resolve with a squeeze of your delicate fingers.

“Vergil had a human mother and a demonic father. He was alone as a young man, after losing his mother and brother in a demon attack. He had to learn how to survive on his own, developing a lust for power as a result. He embraced anything he believed would make him stronger and eschewed all he perceived as weakness, including his humanity.”

A grimace crosses V’s face as he remembers being Vergil, being filled with anger and bitterness. He has all his memories, as best he can tell. Few of them are pleasant. He can feel Griffon listening intently, making sure he tells the whole story as he had promised.

Your fingers stroke his palms, offering comfort as he doggedly continues. “After many years of suffering, Vergil came to believe his human side was his undoing and resolved to cleanse himself of it. He performed rituals, dark rituals, to attempt to remove his human side, but it wasn’t until recently that he was successful. It was Vergil who stole Nero’s arm, knowing it housed the legendary sword Yamato, which is known for its ability to split energies of many kinds. He used it to split himself into two parts. Into Urizen, and me.”

He slowly looks into your eyes, dread encasing his heart at what he’ll see. What he finds shocks him – you aren’t fearful. You don’t pull away from him as he expected. Instead, there are miserable tears in your eyes, and you hold his hand even tighter now as if afraid he would vanish.

 I can’t… I can’t do this to her.

 V… tell her the rest.

He shudders and takes a deep breath before delivering the final blow. “Half a being cannot endure on its own, thus my growing weakness. To stop Urizen, I must reunite with him. It will likely reawaken Vergil. I will cease to exist as you’ve come to know me, and Vergil will return.”

He pauses once more, gathering his strength and swallowing his agonizing wretchedness and dread as he whispers the last few words. “I am fated to die, either from reunion or through my slow loss of life force.”

He falls silent, the truth laid bare at last and feels a tear fall from your eye onto his hand, still gripped tightly in yours.

 Good job, V.

A soft roar and the sound of rocks shifting accompany Griffon’s praise, and V sends back a grunt of acknowledgement, barely hearing their soft reassurances as he watches your face fall, crumbling into despair as tears fall from your beautiful eyes. He longs to ease your suffering but knows there is nothing he can say to help.

____________________________________________________

For a long moment, you can hardly breathe, the agony in your heart too powerful for your lungs to inflate. You can’t think, mind utterly blank save for one thought in shock at V’s confession.

 He’s going to die.

You take a halting breath at last; feeling V’s fear through his tender hold on your hands reminds you that you aren’t the only one who has to face this. Has to carry the weight of it like an anchor.

 He’s going to die, and there’s nothing I can do.

All your years of training, of working so hard to balance the scales, and the one person you couldn’t handle losing is beyond your ability to help. How do you even begin to deal with that? How can you?

The faces of every person you had failed to save flash through your mind in a slideshow of your inadequacy, V’s face coming up last. His beautiful emerald gaze frozen, mouth exhaling his final breath as the spark of life leaves his body. His hand falling away from your grasp as his limbs go limp in death.

Your shoulders heave, choking sobs breaking through your throat like shards of glass; each one leaving a trail of agony in its wake. V pulls you into his arms tenderly, his own shoulders shaking as he cries with you. Tears rain down onto his lap, puddling in the folds of his leather vest. You cry so hard your teeth chatter, jaw shaking uncontrollably in your grief.

“I’m sorry, little fox, I’m so sorry…” V gasps out amongst his own tears.

 Goddamnit, this isn’t fair! This is so wrong! It can’t have all been for nothing, it just can’t! There has to be a way to save him, I just have to find it!

"There has to be something. There must be a way... we'll find it. I promise.”

He smiles sadly at you, having already accepted his fate.

"I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. This is never what I wanted, but there’s no way to escape fate,” V murmurs into your hair.

You frown. You’ve never subscribed to the idea of destiny or fate. To you, doing so would mean surrendering any iota of choice you have left, when so many choices have been forced upon you. Fury floods your senses, utter rage at the cruel situation. You ball your hands into fists, so tight your nails leave little crescents of broken skin behind. You clench your jaw, every muscle in your body tensing simultaneously in a state of coiled energy in preparation to fight.

"No, I won't accept that. I refuse to accept that! I won't let you go, V! I couldn't bear it, not after everything else. Maybe you're right, maybe nothing can be done, but if I don't try I'll never forgive myself. I can't just do nothing, V! You know I can’t! I’ve seen where that path leads, I’ve done nothing before and it’s far worse than failing!" you exclaim angrily.

 How dare he expect me to just accept this!

He sighs heavily but doesn't let you go. Not that you would let him, anyway.

You take his face in your hands, turning him to face you and look deeply into his emerald eyes. You choose your next words more carefully than any in your life.

"Maybe Vergil thought humanity made him weak, but you aren't Vergil. You're V. You may have come from him but that doesn't mean you have to share his fate. I won’t let you,” you tell him emphatically.

He finally smirks, leaning in for a kiss. He sighs into your mouth, his lips moving against yours in a symphony of life.

 That's it, V. Stay with me… don’t give up. ____________________________________________________

V

V revels in the taste of you, the feel of you against him. Your words have soothed a worry he has struggled with since his creation, that he and Vergil were one and the same. He takes comfort in knowing that in your eyes at least, he is only V.

 I don’t want to die. I don’t want this to end, don’t want to leave you behind.

He craves life with every fiber of his being, knowing in his very soul that his existence is destined to be far too brief.

Your hands stroke his hair, barely pulling it. Just enough to make him react, knowing what promises are held in your fingertips. He moves his mouth to your neck, kissing his way to your collarbone. He loves the sounds you make, the little moans and sighs of pleasure he evokes from your beautiful lips. He feels himself hardening and presses his hips forward, gently letting you feel his erection against you. You smile, and your hands drift to his length to stroke it through his tight pants. He moans deeply into your chest, peppering kisses across your soft skin.

Suddenly you gasp, going rigid in his arms. He pulls back, only then remembering your injury.

He gives you one more kiss, soft as a breath of wind, then sits back. "We'd better stop, I don't want to hurt you. Let me just hold you tonight, I've missed waking up in your arms."

You smile at the thought of simply waking up with V, pulling him closer again. The two of you curl up on the couch together, holding each other intimately as sleep claims you. ____________________________________________________

V

V blinks his eyes slowly, Nico’s cluttered table sluggishly resolving itself before him through the soft strands of your hair. V is pressed against your back, his face enveloped in the scent of you. He inhales deeply and nuzzles your neck, not yet wanting to leave the comfort of your warm embrace to face you, his terror rearing its ugly face as it crashes back down, wondering if you’ll have changed your mind sometime in the night.

He holds as still as he can, savoring every second you remain in his arms as he grapples with the knowledge that there are far too few left. After far too short a time, he feels you stir in his arms and his heart sinks as you wake.

 Stop that, V. You don’t know what she’s gonna say, stop torturing yourself. It fucking hurts us too, you know.

He cringes, sending a guilty apology to all three of his friends that reside in his body as you yawn and ever so slowly turn to face him, a sleepy smile on your lips as if last night’s conversation had never taken place.

“Good morning, my poet,” you mumble, and you lean forward to kiss him.

 See? Dumbass…

He ignores Griffon’s jibe, choosing to focus instead on your lips on his, the taste of you on his tongue, a little sour from sleep but he doesn’t care. He can tell the exact moment you remember his revelation; your lips falter, quivering against his as you pull away. The pain in his chest returns, thinking he’ll never have the joy of your lips on his again.

“Do the others know?” you ask him quietly.

“Just you,” he responds succinctly.

“You should tell them. They might have an idea that could help,” you pronounce sadly.

It had been nearly impossible to tell you the truth, Griffon having to give him an ultimatum to force his hand. The others… he wasn’t as close to them, but still. Telling them was not something he wanted to do, imagining Nero’s rage at his unspoken connection to the demon king. How Nico would react, he couldn’t even begin to guess.

“I’ll think about it,” he responds and you nod wearily.

“Knock knock, lovebirds! You guys decent?” Nero shouts from the door, waiting for a response before daring to open it. V sighs as you shout at Nero to enter as you rub the sleep from your eyes. He wishes you could’ve had a few more minutes alone together.

“Hey, Y/N! How you feeling?” Nero asks as he steps inside, Nico right behind him.

You struggle to sit up and V quickly moves to help you, taking your weight onto himself as you settle. You flash him a small grateful smile before responding to Nero.

“A lot better… Where the hell were you guys? I was worried sick!” you exclaim, and V cringes as Griffon howls in triumph.

 I told you so!

 Yes, yes, you were right. Now hush.

Griffon grumbles but settles, his tattoo moving slightly as the bird’s consciousness fades into the background.

“We uh… well… we went and killed a bunch of demons,” Nero answers you awkwardly.

“Idiots!” Nico chimes in helpfully from where she stands. She pushes past Nero, shoving him aside in her hurry to get inside the van and see you and V firsthand. Her eyes sparkle as she takes in the sight of you leaning on the poet, your weight resting on him as he sends a lackluster glare at Nico.

She crosses her eyes and sticks out her tongue in response, not intimidated in the slightest.

“Oh… did you guys take down a root at least?” you ask hopefully, and V sighs as he shakes his head, already knowing what’s about to happen.

“You mean to tell me you left me alone to worry myself sick over you and Nero, and you guys didn’t even make any real progress?”

Your eyes widen in rage and a long stream of curses comes out of your mouth, Nico grinning as you rip V and Nero a new hide. Griffon cackles in amusement within V’s head as he recalls what he had been doing while you had, apparently, been panicking over his absence.

____________________________________________________

V would never forget the sound of your scream that day. Not in a thousand years, not even if he united with Urizen and became Vergil again. That sound would haunt him for the rest of his days.

Something unfamiliar had coursed through his veins as he dispatched the last demons. He had never felt so strong, so focused. Nothing mattered except eliminating the threat. He didn’t question it, didn’t have time to question it, not after that terrible screech of agony had been so cruelly ripped from your throat.

Within twenty seconds of your scream, the last of the demons was dissolving into a fine ash, vanishing into nothingness as it deserved. He ran to your side, ignoring his own pain, pushing it away until he could deal with it later.

 She comes first.

Even as he pulled you into his arms, the thought shocked him. He was not a man prone to selflessness, never had been. Yet here he was, breaking down at the idea of you slipping away into nothingness like the demons he had so brutally dispatched.

He had been awestruck with how you instructed him in first aid, even as you were bleeding out in the middle of a demon-infested hellscape. As if it was a regular occurrence for you to have to stitch your own flesh back together. His own clumsy bandage over your neat row of stitches only highlighted the contrast, his panic throwing your courage into stark relief.

And then, you had passed out and he voiced the words that had formed on his tongue days ago, begging to be set free and spoken.

“I love you.”

Even now, sitting by your side in Nico’s van holding your hand and waiting for you to wake up, he marveled at his own feelings. Awestruck by the sheer power of the emotion you had woken inside him after lying dormant for so many years.

It felt so good, and so terrible.

The terror of losing you had faded somewhat with the bandage in place, your own flawless stitches holding your body together. Knowing it was what you did every day reassured him, the reliability of your experience easing his worries. Yet even so, he couldn’t help his thoughts from parading an endless amount of scenarios in which you didn’t recover fully.

 What if she can’t walk? What if she never wakes up? What if she is in too much pain to accompany me moving forward? What if, what if, what if…

He had been sitting with you for hours, becoming more and more irritated at his lack of ability. Was there truly nothing else he could do? Nothing but sit and wait?

 I feel so useless, just sitting here.

V was a man of action; he saw what he wanted, devised a plan to get it, and then enacted that plan flawlessly to achieve his desired outcome. That was the pattern of Vergil’s life and he carried it within him; decide, plan, enact, achieve. He was finding the pattern much more difficult to hold now, as V. There were too many outside factors, too many external forces at play for his frail form to compensate. He felt like a passenger in the vehicle of his own life. It made him want to hit something.

The door to the van creaks open, breaking V’s thoughts and scattering them like leaves in the wind. Nero’s signature heavy trod announces his arrival, his eyes immediately finding your face and his brow creasing in worry.

____________________________________________________ 

Nero

Nero’s eyes easily spot V holding your hand, reading his body language and seeing how much he cares about you, and his mind flashes back to when he had been powerless to save Kyrie; remembering the sheer agony of not being able to do something.

Nero shuffles his feet, scratching the back of his head awkwardly as he tries to think of something to say to ease V’s pain, but comes up empty. He finally settles with laying a hand on the other man’s shoulder in what he intended as a gesture of support and understanding. V looks up at Nero, giving the young warrior a look at his eyes for the first time.

He looks like shit. His eyes are sunken, casting dark shadows over the planes of his face, darker than the normal ones. He looks haunted.

“What do you want, Nero?” V asks him tiredly. Where the words themselves could be interpreted as hostile, V’s tone identifies them as a simple question. The lean poet has no extra energy to spare on pleasantries.

“Nico told me what happened, I wanted to check on her,” he pauses, considering whether he should continue speaking or not. He thinks of his fiancé, Kyrie. She had a way of reaching people in pain and soothing it somehow, and he tried to imagine what she would say if she were here.

“Look, V, I uh… the thing is… you wanna go kill some demons with me?”

 Wow, great job thinking like Kyrie. I’m an idiot.

V’s lips slowly spread into a feral smile, eyes flashing as he carefully sets your hand down and stands, turning to fully face Nero as he answers, “Absolutely.”

 Huh. Okay, then…

The two men head out, going straight for the area with the most demon activity according to Griffon. V is silent the whole way there, and Nero knows better than to press him. He remembers the overwhelming urge to just let loose and destroy something, assert his dominance over something to remind himself he wasn’t as powerless as he felt.

For the first few fights, Nero holds back, knowing how much V needs this. He gives the dark-haired man plenty of room to command his summons, making sure to keep a portion of his attention on Nightmare whenever it joined the battles. That thing made him nervous. When he starts to notice V losing some of his rageful energy, Nero covers his back and lets loose some of his own fury. He cares a great deal for you, too. Your friendship has come to mean so much to him, your camaraderie a soothing presence when he misses Kyrie the most.

The two men tear through the hordes, wrathful strikes overpowering demon after demon. Nero’s rage quickly starts to cool, but V only seems to get angrier. Nero stays with him the whole time. They battle for the next three days, taking only a few hours each night to find cover and sleep.

By the third day, Nero’s thunderous temper has long since dissipated, but V seems determined to burn through every last scrap of his anger no matter how exhausted he gets. Even Griffon tells him to turn back, to rest, but he only pulls the bird back within him and continues fighting using only Shadow and Nightmare.

Finally, the dark-haired man breaks. He wrenches his cane free from the dissolving corpse of an Empusa Queen and howls, falling to his knees in a pool of demon blood. His cry echoes with all his rage, his frustration, his bitter self-loathing and his deep despair over his own fate, all the crueler for having learned what it feels like to love.

He bows his head, spent. Nero goes to him but doesn’t speak. He just sits next to the lean man and waits patiently.

“Thank you, Nero,” V finally says.

“No problem. Ready to head back now? I bet she’s awake,” Nero says reassuringly.

V nods and struggles to his feet, exhausted after the last few days. Nero walks beside him and they return to the campsite together, a silent understanding between them. A brotherhood of sorts.