#Cringe is dead. I took it back behind the dumpsters kill it.

[darkspace7]

Somehow, combining a few of my favourite tropes (throwing randos into situations way over their head and found family formation via feral vigilante youths and their reluctant but just as chaotic guardians) have somehow resulted in the following: the vicarious need for a phantom thief spiderman.

And who am I to ignore my gremlin-brain impulses?

Enter: Pitch Warker "The Glass Arachnia"

• So this spidey wasn't "bitten" in the traditional sense but was instead pricked by a cursed bejewled spider-broach thing. (Think something along the lines of that shitty mask from JoJo part 1.) Maybe this happens when they go on an errand to, idk, deliver lunch to their Uncle Mais -who works as a security guard at the "New Londattan Gallery of Art"- at the bequest of their Aunt Benita (who are local Aunt May/Uncle Ben variants but cisswaped/roleswaped for some reason?)

•Okay and so while on this normally easy errand somehow the two of them get caught up in a jewel heist with some mook trying to get at the "Glass Spider" (a polished silver & garnet broach with a diamond decal so clear that it looks like glass) and that's what gets this ball rolling.

•The spider jewel apperantly has some legendary curse associated with it. Something about how "the blood shed in the darkened night shall beholden to whims of the fanged court albeit at the cost of forever being ensnared upon their shadowy throne." And so during the scuffle our little wannabe hero tries wrestling back the jewel from the thief but gets scratched in the process. Getting blood on the diamond activates the curse (which for...plot reasons...can only have one bearer at a time?) In the confusion the crook tries takes aim at our hero only to be pulled back by Mais. The weapon misfires hitting the man in the process.

•As expected, Uncle Mais kicks it while the mook takes the opportunity to abscond with the now useless gem leaving a traumatized kid behind for the cops to (not) deal with. (Also because this is New Londhatten, where the only cure for bereavement to either lock yourself away in mourning clothes and drown yourself in absinthe & gin or find a sketchy religion) Aunt Benita kind of dips off for a while to (not) deal with being newly widowed, and so our newly cursed spiderling takes it upon themself to find out why this happened and (hopefully) avenge his relative's death. And what better way to catch a thief is to become a thief yourself and find a way lure out the other? Not the healthiest of coping methods but whatever, it's not like the police are gonna believe some kid coming up to them and spouting on about 'cursed gems' and magic abilities' right?

•I'm thinking of a fancy victorian gentleman thief/steampunk-themed "spider" suit. Something distictly regal and vaugely unearthly to fit with the more magical aspect of the origin as opposed to the usual techno-organic radioactive superhero sthick. Maybe a nice white suit with an gossimer capelett and attached hood. Coupled with an interwoven reddish-silver spiderlace design as the (bulletproof) vest. A spider-shaped broach (perhaps modeled after the "missing" Glass Spider?) Pinned to the neck, a dashing caravat matches sticky-palmed gloves (that somehow never manage to leave a smudge.) They compliment the ruby-tinted lenses of goggles set in that strange porciline mask. Oh and of course what gentleman is without his multi-purpose utility cane (now with retractable grappling hook!) Really, stark white clothes and clacky heels don't mean a thing when you can become the shadows themselves.~

•After not only attracting the attention of the New Londhatten police but managing to snag the attention of other interesting characters as well. Like: Lady Jamie Joan Jameson, a gossip reporter desperate for the next breaking scoop on that 'dastardly snitch-thief Glass Arachnia' with a fondness for that queer little bookbinder who always seem to have their head stuck in some little tinkering thing this or sewing project that. Or Mikelangleo "Mike" Jones, the lovestruck youth with a massive pining for the bespecticaled little bookbinder, whose dry (and often unintentional) sense of humour and keen intellect continuously sends his heart a-flutter. (Such a shame that said bookbinder is completly uninterested in Mike's advances & any and all attempts at disuading the other have -through a continuing comedy of errors only sought to bolster the himbo's impression of the other. A misunderstanding like this would probably easily be solved if there was just a moment of direct communication but when has a phantom thief been direct about anything?) Luckily Gunther Stetson, current owner of Bugel's Books, resident "guy-behind-the-curtain" (Pitch's words -not his-), and the only (self proclaimed) sane man, runs interference.

•And after a while of doing this thieving gig the cursed spiderling hits paydirt. It turns out the mook who stole the Glass Spider was actually part of a larger scheme by this shifty organization to steal away cursed gems and use their powers to do horrific and unspeakable things. Also, something about getting enough of them and it equal immortality. Somehow? I mean what kind of name is Sinistrum Orichalcium, anyway?

•Gunther: "So yeah, that's bad and someone reasonable and totally equiped for this should probably go stop them? Right? Right?? [Of course it has to be them, damn it all Pitch...This is only going to end poorly.] (He was right. Oh mercy, he was right. The youth watched as the body of his ((only)) friend slipped off the crystiline horn of the rhinocerous-beetle-that-was-once-a-man. A lunge forward, torn glove outstreched as the hand r e a c h e d o u t. Metalline claws dug in ((burning agony it hurt)) and rapidly drug his form up and away. He writhed against the restraint, razor blades that drew him back again and again as solid steel scales absorbed the blows. ((Let me go let me go please I can't reach!)) Cackling as groping fingers wriggled under the dirtied white of his mask and ripped it away ((his shield, his safety nonono!)) Recognition. "So this is what you really are little spider. Even now you try to bear your milkteeth." A derisive snort as a gnarled tendril cupped his face an mockery of care. "Poor little Pitch, who would've expected the simple bookboy to have such a storied life?" Everything he had worked for, all that he had sacrificed was now crumbling around him as the other went on, "Feh, you are as brittle as the pages of tomes you peddle and as fragile as the Glass you come from." A contemplative look and the porcaline shattered. "Now look at your ruins and weep.")

• When it rains it pours. Thanks to the combined efforts of the Sinisturm Orichalcum, the New Londhattan Task Force, and Lady Jameson, our hero is now not only wanted for numerous accounts of thievery, breaking & entry, and other assorted stuff related to his vigilantism but now Pitch Warker aka the Glass Arachnia is (erroneously but not that they'd take his word for it) on the list for no less than three counts of battery, assault, & murder. The Sinistrum and their allies basically have been given free access to all of the remaining gems that they need to complete their plan and the city itself. Oh and Mike hates him now. So he fine. He can totally handle this solo. Not like he's the reason his close loved ones are dead and a bunch of villains are going to become supervillains that he still somehow has to stop despite being public enemy number one. Yep. Totally.

•(Spoiler: He is not fine. The spiderling is very stressed and needs a break. Not his supposed villain origin story. Let our adhd boi rest.)

[empyreanwritings]

Redeemable

Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Villain!Reader

Word Count: 3k

Summary: You weren't a do-gooder; the idea of saving the world gave you hives, if you were being honest. But you'd do anything to make sure Spiderman knew he was better than anger.

Warnings: mentions of Gwen's death, violence, language, canon-level fighting and crime, grief, minor angst

A/N: This is my first TASM!Peter piece, but I have a feeling I'm going to get hooked and want to write more for him! Please let me know what you think - reblogs and comments are always welcome :) x

Divider by @firefly-graphics

Word spread around the city that Spiderman was different. More violent towards criminals. Didn’t stop to chat with his fans. J. Jonah Jameson had a field day every time another story came out about Spiderman’s cruelty. You didn’t want to believe it, but it started happening so often, it was too hard to ignore.

He wasn’t your responsibility, but what good is being a villain if the hero assigned to you is going off the rails? It made every job you took boring - and you didn’t do well with being bored.

You noticed the famous web-slinger flying through the alleys one night, and you took it upon yourself to follow him. Sometimes you listened to the police scanners just to know what part of the city you should avoid, but now you listened to know where Spiderman was going to appear next. Reports of a bank robbery were flooding in, and you knew that was where he was off to.

The suspects fled the scene. Go figure. Spiderman was hot on their trail, and you were right behind him. You didn’t get to the suspects first, but you landed in the alleyway just as he slammed one guy’s head into the dumpster more times than necessary. The wet smack of his skull against the metal made you cringe. You quickly ran up to intercept him, but the man was already slumped over before you could.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You gasped as you assessed him. His breathing was shallow, but he would live. You turned back towards Spiderman, who was already trying to swing off, but you latched onto his wrist before he could. “You could have killed him!”

“Why do you care?” Spiderman bit back. “He’s a criminal who needed to be stopped, and I stopped him.”

“He’s a thief who looks barely old enough to drink. He didn’t deserve to get his brains smashed in.”

He scoffed. “As if you care who really gets hurt in this city. Didn’t your last job end up with three people dead?”

“Three pedophiles are dead, yes. Do I have any regrets? No, but those are the cards I’ve dealt in my life. You’re supposed to be better than this.”

“Maybe I’m not anymore.”

His voice broke at the end. You moved to reach out for him again, but he flinched. Something must have happened in his personal life, and you weren’t on good enough terms to get him to tell you, but for a brief moment you wished he would. Just to get it out in the open. Just to let out whatever pain he fostered inside of his stupid spidey heart.

You sighed. “Listen, you don’t need to go down this path. You’re not like us bad guys, Spidey. You’re not irredeemable, and I don’t think you should let the world believe you are.”

You weren’t sure if he liked what you said because he swung away without another word, but you silently prayed he would listen. A thought crossed your mind after another beat, and you internally groaned. You knew you wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the idea now that you’ve thought it. It was stupidly self-righteous of you, but you had no other choice now.

If Spiderman wanted to beat the shit out of criminals, you were going to get to the crime scene before he did and take care of them yourself. Every potential step down the dark path was going to be thwarted by you. And you hated it. You weren’t supposed to be the good guy; you weren’t supposed to care about chaos running through the city. But for some stupid reason, you cared about Spiderman. You couldn’t let him make things worse on himself.

At first it had been a challenge. Spiderman had a horrible advantage with his web-slinging. He could soar over some of the tallest buildings, while you were stuck running on foot. Even with your enhanced speed, you still struggled. You solved the issue by stealing a motorcycle from one of the criminals Spiderman got a hold of before you could.

The guy was already hospitalized - it wasn’t like he was gonna need the bike for a while anyways.

Having the ability to swerve in and out of traffic made things much easier. You arrived on scene minutes before Spidey could, and it was enough time to apprehend whoever caused the trouble. At first, he didn’t say anything about it. He simply scoffed and swung off, leaving you to follow him to make sure he didn’t cause any more trouble.

But by the fifth scene you secured before he could, he finally snapped. He was tired of seeing you there to help the bad guys. Tired of feeling all the pent up aggression inside of him have no place to be let out. Mostly, he was tired of you looking at him like you pitied him because you had no idea what he was going through. He didn’t want your pity. He just wanted you to leave him the hell alone.

He caught you on a rooftop one night, getting ready to jump in on a mugging. He ripped you off the ledge and slammed you down onto the gravel. You cursed but made no move to fight him off.

“Why are you doing this?” He shouted in your face. His hands gripped the front of your suit so tight, you were surprised it didn’t tear. If he didn’t have a mask, you imagined his nose would be pressed against yours.

“I told you, Spidey. You’re better than this, and I’m making sure you don’t ruin your image to the point of no return.”

He let go and stumbled back almost as if he were caught off guard by your words. Most people resorted to hating him now. Even the kids who once looked up to him pretended not to see him swinging through the sky because they knew the Spiderman they saw wasn’t the same. It was almost as if they could see the empty shell of a man he became.

He certainly didn’t expect you to care. You met three years ago when he caught you trying to swipe a painting from the Museum of Modern Art. When you spoke to him then, he felt nothing but venom in your words. You can’t possibly understand what it is like to need to steal to survive, you said. Sure, the more he intercepted your jobs, the more you warmed up to him. The hateful comments turned into witty quips that left him wondering if you were flirting with him or not. Not that he would ever entertain flirting with you when he was with Gwen.

When.

Spiderman cleared his throat and looked down at you. You continued to lie there and look up at him, clearly trying to figure out if you were going to have to kick his shins in just to stop him from swinging away again. He held out his hand to help you up. You reluctantly took it and brushed the bits of gravel stuck to your suit once you were fully up.

“I lost someone recently,” he murmured. “It was my fault. I couldn’t save her, and she- she shouldn’t have been in danger in the first place. If she didn’t know my secret-”

“You know that’s bullshit right?” You cut him off with a huff.

“What?”

“I know what you are going to say. ‘If she didn’t know my secret, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt’ as if that was a decision for you to make.” You adjusted your mask over your nose, being careful not to let him get a glimpse at too much of your face. “Leaving her in the dark could just as easily have gotten her killed. You can’t change the threads of Fate once they’ve been woven, so at least you had her while you could.”

He shook his head. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Maybe I don’t. I have plenty of enemies, but I haven’t had the opportunity to know what real love is like. I think you’re lucky,” you paused to give yourself a moment to climb back onto the ledge, “And if she was great enough to leave you in ruins when she died, I know she wouldn’t have wanted to see you this way. Get your shit together, Spidey. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You leapt from the ledge, leaving him to ponder on your words. You weren’t sure why you had such a soft spot for the hero. Maybe he gave you hope that not every superhero was a jackass. Sometimes the ones you interacted with were insufferable and just wanted to throw you in jail, but Spiderman? He always tried to have conversations with you. Most of the time it was only witty banter that went on until he decided to web you up, but it was still more decency than anyone had shown you before. It gave you hope - made you believe he saw something good in you that you stopped seeing a long time ago.

You glanced up at the roof and hoped he would take your advice. Until then, you would keep ruining every plan he had to beat the shit out of people.

You expected to run into Spiderman the next day, but you grew suspicious when you arrived at four crime scenes and he never showed up. You continued on for several days in hopes he would come, but days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into a month. Headlines started to change from “SPIDEY-MENACE STRIKES AGAIN” to “Spiderman abandoned the city when it needed him most.” You nearly rolled your eyes out of their sockets when you saw that.

The media spent so much time criticizing him, but now they cared because he no longer stopped crime?

All you could do was hope he didn’t get himself killed because he tried to hurt the wrong person. You doubted that was the case, but you still worried. You knew what some people were capable of, and you knew how much anger Spiderman kept close to his chest. Anger made people sloppy. What if he slipped up and got himself hurt because he finally let the anger win?

You shook your head. You couldn’t let yourself think about it.

The news caught on to a “new hero” saving the day, but they didn’t know who it was. You were grateful. The last thing you needed was for people to catch a picture of you saving someone instead of robbing them blind. But you didn’t want to stop either because you still hoped Spidey would show up and see you again. You held onto that hope for another six months before you began to wonder if the worst scenario really came true.

“You think Spiderman is ever going to come back?” Your friend, MJ, asked as you grabbed your coffee from the barista.

You pulled out one of the stools at the counter and took a seat. You tried not to sit too close to the guy who occupied the corner seat, but his shit was everywhere, so it wasn’t as if he made it easy.

“I don’t know,” you replied. “I just hope he isn’t dead.”

MJ gasped. “Do you think he could be?”

You shrugged but chose not to answer. Yes, you did think so. Why else would he fall off the face of the earth without saying anything? You hated jumping to conclusions, but your world was full of the worst case scenarios. What else were you supposed to think?

“Well, I guess if he is dead then Black Cat is off the hook, huh? You can start stealing from the museums again!” MJ teased, nudging your arm with her elbow.

You shushed her, missing the way the man next to you seemed to lift his head at her words. “I told you that in confidence, you crazy-pants. Are you trying to get us killed? I have too many enemies for you to fuck around like that.”

“First of all, you didn’t tell me. I found out because you leave your suit lying around the apartment. Second, you know what I mean. It was only a matter of time before you got caught doing Spiderman’s work, did you really want a hero title?”

She gently squeezed your arm and turned her attention to her phone. “I gotta go. See you tonight for dinner?”

You nodded and bid her a quiet goodbye as you looked down at your coffee. You didn’t want a hero title. You just wanted Spiderman back.

Heat started to burn the side of your face, and you looked over to see the man in the corner staring at you. The look on his face made your stomach turn, so you offered him a shy smile and quickly left the coffee shop. You made a mental note to check the camera feed of the place later to try and locate his face. If he overheard your conversation then you were going to have to threaten him into silence. You groaned. This was so not how you wanted to spend your Saturday night.

You slipped into the crowd without a word, but you could feel the guy following you. Hair rose on the back of your neck, and you tried to slip deeper into the crowded sidewalk but he stayed close to your heels. You didn’t have any of your weapons on you and that’s what made you panic. At best, you had a comb that could be used as a shank, but it was at the bottom of your bag and you weren’t sure if you had enough time to grab it.

You just needed a distraction. You glanced down at a kid scarfing down an ice cream and smirked. Good enough. You fisted the scoop of ice cream right off the cone and lobbed it at the man. It hit him in the middle of his chest, and he looked down at it in surprise. The kid’s mother started to yell at you just as he began to wail. It was enough of a distraction to get you down the sidewalk and out of sight.

Your lungs burned by the time you turned down an alley to catch your breath. You looked down at your hand and frowned as you tried to shake off the excess goop on it. Was it your slickest moment? No. Did it still work? You sure hoped so because you weren’t in the mood to kick anyone’s ass to keep your secret right now. You were hoping for nothing more than mild threatening, but look at where those hopes got you!

“How did you know I liked mint chocolate chip?” Someone laughed from the entrance of the alley. He must have noticed the way you jumped and reached for the nearest thing that could be used as a weapon because he held up his hands in surrender. “Wait! Wait! I’m sorry- I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snuck up on you. Or chased you down the sidewalk.”

Your grip tightened around the broken plywood, but you didn’t take a step forward. “You think? What the hell did you think you were going to accomplish by following me?”

“Listen, I know this probably makes it worse on myself, but I heard you and your friend talking at the café.”

“You’re right, it does make it worse, so I’m going to give you ten seconds to talk or I’ll turn your brain into Jell-O.”

Something about your words made his eyes twinkle. His nervous smile changed into something more sly, and you couldn’t put your finger on why that didn’t make you feel as unsettled as it should have.

“That would just be hypocritical of you,” he teased. “Do you want to be known as a hypocrite? I mean, what would Spiderman think?”

“What does he-” Your eyes grew wide. You scolded Spiderman for trying to de-brain a criminal, and you know the ones who got their asses kicked wouldn’t remember what your conversation was…which meant…

You closed the distance between you and gently punched him over the ice cream stain on his shirt. “You! You bastard! I thought you were dead, and you’re spending all your free time stalking women at coffee shops?”

“To be fair, I haven’t been stalking anyone. You just happened to be my first victim.” He held out his hand, making you scoff at how polite he was trying to be right now. “My name’s Peter Parker. I think we have a lot to catch up on.”

You smacked at his hand. “Don’t make it weird. You’re only revealing yourself to me because you feel bad that I got outed fifteen minutes ago.”

He laughed but you noticed he didn’t deny it. You took this moment to finally get a look at his face. You never wondered what Spidey looked like under that mask of his because you respected his privacy, but now that you were seeing him with your own two eyes, it didn’t feel real. You hated that he was so handsome. It made everything about his persona even more insufferable than before.

“I took what you said to heart,” he confessed quietly. His eyes focused on his shoes, but you kept your gaze locked on his face. “I got some help. I knew it was going to take time, so I hung up the suit for a bit to focus on getting better.”

You smiled softly and reached out to grab his hand. He didn’t pull away from your touch but gave you a gentle squeeze instead. “I’m glad to hear you’re doing better. I told ya, you’re better than us criminals.”

To avoid getting into a deep conversation, you gave his hand another squeeze and slipped around him. You were relieved to know that Spiderman wasn’t dead, but everything that happened within the last twenty minutes was catching up in your brain and making you dizzy. You needed to make a break for it.

“You aren’t irredeemable, you know,” he called after you. You stopped, turning your head just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye. “You took the time to help me, and now I’m going to take the time to make sure you know it too.”

You stuck out your chin defiantly. “Is that a threat, Parker?”

He smiled - a big crooked smile that made your heart race in your chest. “It’s a promise.”

[babygirl-diaz]

Samtember 19: Madripoor

1296 Words | Rated T | For @samwilsonfest

"Smiling Tiger, this is for you."

Sam turned around to find the bartender offering him a purple and white shot. "But I didn't order it," Sam told him.

"It's courtesy of that lady over there," he pointed over Sam's right shoulder and Sam turned around to find a brunette piercing green eyes and a dangerous smile waving at him.

"You sure you wanna have that?" Bucky mumbled, breaking character for a moment.

Just to prove to the man that he wasn't scared, Sam took the shot glass, raised it towards the woman, and knocked it back. It was sweet and tasted like vanilla ice cream, much to Sam's surprise.

Sam immediately got a round of spins and felt a hand on his bicep. He looked up to find Bucky giving him somehow both a perturbed and a concerned look.

"Soldier," Zemo let out a low growl, and Bucky hesitated for a moment before removing his hand from Sam's arm.

"You okay there, Smiling Tiger?" Zemo asked, standing a little too close for Sam's comfort.

"Yeah, I'm good." And Sam wasn't lying. He was fine after that round of spins.

"You know, I never noticed before, but you're really hot," Zemo said, throwing Sam off.

"Excuse me?"

Before Zemo could reply, more people started coming over to Sam and talking to him.

"Can I have your number?" One man asked.

"What?" Sam replied.

"Hey, man, back off, he's mine," said a woman, and Sam balked at her.

Another man tried touching Sam, but before he could, Bucky grabbed it and twisted his arm behind his back, making the man scream in pain.

"Try to touch him again and I will break more than your arm."

Sam heard Bucky growl in the man's ear.

He let him go and then got in front of Sam when more people approached him.

"Soldier!" Zemo seemed horrified at Bucky breaking character.

Another man tried to touch Sam, but this time, before Bucky could grab him, someone else did and threw him to the ground. "He's mine!" A woman announced.

"NO, HE'S MINE!" Another man yelled, throwing a punch at another, and that's how a fight broke out.

People threw kicks and punches at each other, all the while yelling that Sam was theirs.

Sam and Bucky looked at each other, confused.

"What is happening?" Sam asked

"Hell if I know," Bucky replied and grabbed Sam's hand. "But we better be ready to run."

"STOP!" someone yelled, and the crowd immediately stopped fighting and dispersed.

A blond woman dressed in a leopard print suit approached them, a throng of guards following her.

"Selby," Zemo greeted the woman, but she seemed less than interested in him and instead came over to Sam and Bucky.

She looked down at their intertwined hands and smirked. "Soldier. Smiling Tiger," she greeted them.

Bucky's grip tightened, and Sam noticed him glaring at the woman.

"There's something different about you, Conrad," the woman -Selby- said to Sam. "You seem... more vibrant than before. There's a whole new light about you." Selby stepped forward, but Bucky growled -literally growled- at her.

"Soldier, stand down," Zemo chastised him once again, but Bucky stood his ground this time.

"That's okay," Selby said, putting up a hand. "I am quite enjoying this. So, Soldier, what will it take for you to let go of Conrad over here and let him come with me?"

"Nothing," Bucky replied without missing a beat.

"Uh... we need information from her," Sam whispered in Bucky's ear, which earned him a glare from the former soldier.

"What information do you need, Smiling Tiger?" Selby asked. "I'll give you whatever you need."

Sam tried his luck and just outright asked. "The super-soldier serum. Who has been making them? And more importantly, who has been commissioning them?"

"That's it?" Selby scoffed. "The Power Broker... he runs this town. He has been commissioning the serum from Dr. Wilfred Nagel, a former Hydra scientist."

Well, that was easy.

"So now that I've answered your question..." Selby gave him a suggestive smile.

"Back off, before you regret it," Bucky warned the woman.

"I really didn't want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice," she sighed. "Kill them," she ordered the men behind her.

Just as they raised their guns towards Sam and Bucky, a loud popping sound rang through the air and Selby was down on the ground with a bullet hole in her forehead.

"RUN!" Bucky yelled and pulled Sam along just as chaos broke out around them.

Sam could hear bullets behind them.

"Will you run faster?" Bucky shouted at him.

"I can't run in these heels!" Sam let out a frustrated noise.

Soon they were cornered by three men at a dumpster and Sam was sure they were done for when someone shot them dead.

"Sharon?" Sam called out, surprised when he noticed the familiar face.

***

Sharon took them over to her place. Turns out she's been living in Madripoor since being on the run.

She provided them with a change of clothes, and just as Sam was putting on his, he felt eyes on him.

He found Zemo hungrily looking at him like he was dinner. Sam cringed and quickly picked what he was going to wear.

"I'd rather you went without that," Sharon commented as she walked past Sam, brushing her fingers over his bare shoulder.

"W-what?" Sam stuttered. "Not you too."

"Not me too what?" Sharon asked from where she was sitting beside Bucky, who looked like he was about to murder her.

"Everyone has been hitting on me since I got here," Sam replied, frustrated.

"Oh," Sharon mumbled. "Did you drink anything while you were at the market?"

"Yeah, some snake drink?" Sam replied. "But turns out that's regular for Conrad Mack."

"You also drank that purple shot," Bucky reminded him.

"Purple shot?" Sharon perked up. "Did it taste like ice cream?"

"Yeah..." Sam trailed off. "How did you know?"

"There's a witch who has been coming here for a couple of months now. When she finds someone interesting, she gives them a type of love potion to "help" them find love. The only problem is that the drink makes everyone around the person fall in love with them for 24 hours."

"What?!" Sam screeched. "Witch. Love potion. Are you kidding me?" Sam asked as he sat down on the coffee table in front of Bucky and Sharon.

"Nope," Sharon chuckled. "Welcome to Madripoor." She paused for a moment and eyed Sam before saying, "Oh, and I've been wanting to do this for the past hour." Without warning, she leaned in and kissed Sam.

She lingered for a good few moments and only pulled apart when a low growl came from somewhere behind them.

They both looked over to find Bucky throwing daggers in Sharon's direction.

"Ohhhh..." She trailed off and smirked.

"What?" Sam asked.

"Looks like you found your true love."

"Huh?"

"Has he tried to kiss you?" Sharon asked, nodding towards Bucky.

"No?" Sam replied, unsure.

"That's because he's trying to hold himself back. He's fighting against the spell," Sharon replied while Bucky blinked at her.

"What are you talking about?" Sam was getting more and more confused by the minute.

"This potion is supposed to find you your true love and the person who is most affected by the potion but also fights back against it and wins is your true love."

"So you're saying that... Bucky..."

"...is your true love," Sharon replied.

Sam looked up at Bucky, who looked back at him. Instead of saying anything, he shrugged and got up from his seat. When Bucky got close and Sam felt his heart beat hard against his chest.

"Buck-"

Bucky cut him off by sealing their lips together.

[foulserpent]

nosleep mods deleted this for apparently not being a horror story. enjoy

My friend Ed is a bit of an outdoorsman. Not one of those hardcore 'two week hike hunting for food and sleeping in the dirt' types, but he does his share of hunting and camping. He and I got into it together when we met in community college and went on a weed-fueled camping trip over spring break, and since then he has far outgrown my own outdoor endeavors.

He's gotten some great stories to tell over the years. Finding a pair of souvenir Vegas dice in the stomach of a rabbit he was cleaning, getting hit by two skunks in a single day, close encounters with pumas and bears, and the far more harrowing and painful encounters with other hikers. But he's never come back with anything all that disturbing. Until his last trip.

Ed had been making an admirable effort of converting his 'spend the fall watching netflix and consuming pumpkin themed beverages' oriented boyfriend, Saúl, to some small game hunting. About a year ago, the two of them had taken a trip down south to do just that.

A few days into their week-long trip, I got a flurry of panicked texts from Saúl. It was all things like, "omg we just saw something so messed up" and "never going to the desert again LMAO there was a naked guy" or something to that effect.

I barely remember. I was bedridden with the worst case of the flu I'd ever experienced, and received these texts through a haze of fever and Nyquil. At that time, my response to those texts was more or less "Wow, hate when that happens :("

Neither of them provided elaboration upon their return, and I was a little too consumed in my own misery to ask for it. It was left at that.

Last week, Ed and I were practicing our usual 7 o'clock ritual of smoking behind the gas station during his break and complaining about the mere existence of customers. His mask was pulled down to his chin and he was fumbling with an entire cigar he'd brought to work, complaining about some customer who was shirtless in the middle of November and clearly blitzed out of his mind.

It was as he was describing the man's public indecency that I remembered the frantic texts I had received last fall.

"Hey, speaking of nudity...What was the story with the naked dude in the desert?" I asked him.

He cringed.

"From last year, on your trip?" I pressed.

"Yeah, I know, I know. God. Did Saúl text you?"

"Yeah, but he didn't give me the details of it."

Ed finished lighting the cigar, and took a long drag.

"Yeah, okay." He said. "I was honestly trying to forget about it but like. I don't know why Saúl was so stuck on the nudity like, that was the least messed up part of it all. It was the craziest thing."

It was the craziest thing is the set of words he would begin every particularly intriguing story with, and I realized I should probably settle in. I made myself comfortable against the dumpster in anticipation.

His story was as follows.

"So, yeah. We were out in the scrub. Technically weren't supposed to be there, we were a little ways off my aunt's land but like, there's no one to bug you about that out there. It was this kinda rocky area, lots of little hills and tall brush. So you couldn't see very far from the ground. And it was pretty well into the afternoon, and we hadn't caught a damn thing, so we were just kinda screwing around at that point. And we were near this bigass arroyo, and-"

He paused.

"Wait, you know what an arroyo is?" He asked me, taking another drag from his cigar.

I shook my head. He nodded solemnly at my midwestern ignorance.

“Okay, yeah. So it's a dry sorta riverbed in the desert. You ever seen a dried up creek? It's like that. They form when the rains come and are completely dry the rest of the year. And a lot of them are pretty small, but this one was like, a miniature canyon. Probably thirty feet across and ten feet deep. And it kind of winds around the hills before getting shallower when the elevation changes or whatever.

“So anyway we’re… yeah we’re there. The arroyo is on the other side of some rocks, and the open desert is in front of us. And we were sat down in the shade, having some beef jerky and stuff."

He paused again. He seemed to be lost in thought, eyes squinting and looking somewhere distant.

"So yeah, we're having a grand old time, just having a snack or whatever. And suddenly we hear screaming. Some guy’s screaming, ‘help! help me!’ out in the bush somewhere nearby.”

“And you know how Saúl is. Too much of a sweetheart for his own good. He's like nudging me and going "Eddie, we should go help." And yeah, sure, I wanted to help but there was something… Weird? About it? Like the shouting sounded real close but I wasn’t hearing anything else that, you know, accompanies a call for help. Like, no running, no sounds of struggling or being mauled by a wild animal or whatever. It was DEAD silent whenever the guy wasn't shouting.

"And like, call me an asshole but I'm not gonna do some ‘white person in a horror movie 'lets split up, gang!'’ shit. I was staying right where I was.”

"So we just kind of sat there, listening to it. The guy had started just- shrieking. No words, just making noise. And at this point I was starting to feel like a complete bastard for being the pragmatic one, but Saúl didn't seem to wanna move either. Like, it was super off.

"And then, there’s another sound. Kind of a…uh… Gurgling noise? Like-”

Ed broke off to make an odd sound in his throat. It was a low, prolonged croak that slowly lifted into a 'whoop!’

Some old woman in the process of fueling her SUV glared at him. He scowled back.

“Okay, it was actually nothing like that. But you get the idea.”

“And that happens a couple times, and it... It didn't sound like a person's voice anymore. And I'm thinking maybe the world's most fucked up coyote just killed a guy and was celebrating or whatever, but it didn't really sound like an animal either. It was kinda inorganic, you know what I mean?

"But yeah, it kind of whoops a couple more times, and then the last time it just... Didn't stop. It kept going, and it turns into this- music? It sounded, uh, sort of like a bunch of different flutes being played at once. But lower. Very deep. I don’t remember the tune so don’t ask. But it was music, and me and Saúl are just looking at each other like "what the fuck?”.

"And at that point, curiosity is kicking in and I'm gripped by this wave of idiocy, so I get up and start walking towards the sound. Low to the ground, super slow. Stealth. And I can tell it’s coming from the arroyo. So I just verrrrry carefully climb up the side and look inside.“

Ed paused to grasp for words.

"And there’s a man in there. Some pasty dude. Sunburnt, t-shirt tan lines, all that. Pretty scrawny, but otherwise normal looking from the chest down. No injuries or nothing, which I can say for sure because, yeah, the dude is completely naked. I mean naked. There was a pile of his clothes nearby, and his whole dick was out and he was barefoot. And he was DANCING. He’s just dancing naked in this friggin’ ditch.

"And it took me a bit to process what was going on with his head. Like, the music sounds are coming from up there. And I’m thinking he’s got some sort of weird instrument over his head, but he dances towards me and um. He has no head. Or like- Shit. He kind of has a head? Like I could sort of make it out, but it’s tilted all the way backwards. Like, touching his back. So his neck's facing the sky, and his eyes are just kind of staring out behind him.

"And there’s all these… tubes. Coming out of where the nose and mouth probably used to be. Big fleshy tubes, skin toned. But they didn't flop around, they were like, pretty firm. And they’ve got little holes all over them. And that’s where the music is coming from. He’s playing them.”

Ed lifted his arms over his head and mimed with his fingers. “Like a flute”

“So like, it’s the most fucked up thing I’ve ever seen, basically, but I can’t stop watching. And Saúl eventually comes up beside me, and we don’t say anything, we just watch this guy. It’s gotta be like… A solid hour we’re just sitting there, with this guy playing his music and dancing around. And he starts moving up the arroyo, still dancing the whole time, and eventually he’s out of sight. But we hear the music a good while longer until it gets too distant. I don't think he ever saw us. Or he didn't care. I don't know."

He was silent for a long while. I waited for him to continue, but it was evident that it was over.

"And... That was it?" I asked.

"Yeah, that was it. We got the hell out of there and didn't see him again. Or hear anything about a crazy nudist in the area."

He took another puff of his cigar, and coughed.

"I mean, it could have been... A really, really good costume or something. Like, REALLY good. I mean I definitely saw his eyes blinking. On the head that was... You know. Bent entirely backwards. But hey, could be a costume!" He added with a flourish, clearly not entertaining this possibility whatsoever.

"Holy shit." I said.

He laughed, and snuffed out his cigar in the snow. "Damn right."

[anthropwashere]

deadfic: Get Out, Get Gone

Yet more deadfic for @goodintentionswipfest! And also another giftfic I never finished, because that’s just who I am as a person! \o/ 

@ghostfiish did this truly excellent art of Danny’s transformation rings as a galaxy way back when that I promptly lost my whole entire shit over, and also took it as an opportunity to get some kind of manic with the writing style. That, combined with my sort-of accidental, sort-of intentional smashing yet more rad headcanons into it until the whole thing collapsed under its own weight. Still, I remain very fond of this one and what I was trying to do back in 2014, so here we are. 8.7k’s nothing to sneeze at, at least.

Oh, and! While we're at it, have an old Danny playlist I never got around to sharing that fits the mood this fic is going for. Title comes from To Kill a King's "Bloody Shirt (Bastille Remix)," which is unfortunately not included on the Spotify playlist.

=

There’s a weight to you now that wasn’t there before. You’d think with your powers—

(and doesn’t it feel strange to call them that, when you shake and shiver at the sight of your bones under your meat, when you walk down the stairs and your feet don’t touch anything at all)

—you’d weigh less, be less. A thing of smoke, and ectoplasm, and all that awful electricity arcing through your nerves. But that's not what happened. 

You remember that day with a surreal nightmare quality, memories fuzzing and skittering like white noise in your skull. Pain and green light and being so, so certain that had been it. Zap! That’s all she wrote. But it wasn't, and here you are, hovering three inches off the grass and praying no one will see, that no one will know.

You aren’t less for all that’s changed, for all that’s changed in you. Tucker and Sam haven’t said anything about it, and it’s clear they don’t have a clue. Your first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight against the Lunch Lady knocked you right out. They had to carry you all the way home from school after you failed to stop her. It’s a wonder nobody stopped them, dragging your sorry carcass across town. If either of them had noticed, if either of them could have noticed, they would have told you. Or worse, they wouldn’t have managed to get you home at all.

You noticed it when you changed. Not the first time, in the shadowed, silver throat of the Portal—

(electricity cooking you from the inside out, the Portal writhing, burning, tearing itself into existence, a physical hole ripped so cleanly between realities even your parents don’t understand it and they built the damn framework, boiling ectoplasm splashing on you, over you, inside you, changing you forever)

—but after. Changing back and forth without any control, cringing behind dumpsters and hedges, tossing desperate prayers skyward that nobody had seen the light, that nobody had seen you change from kid to freak. So much of you changes when this strange, alien light stretches across you, not just your clothes and eyes and hair, no, you’re different now down to your cells, down to the very structure of your DNA. You know, you’ve checked. So much of you is different, it’s a wonder you didn’t figure it out sooner.

When you change, you’re heavier. Heavier. Not like ten pounds or something any normal kid might stress over. You become the kind of heavy that leaves brushstroke smears in asphalt, reduces sturdy brick walls to dusty rubble, punches craters through solid ground. It hurts when you fall, god does it hurt. But your bones never shatter. Your guts never liquefy. Your brain never dribbles out your ears. How? How can you possibly survive the beatings every new ghost is so eager to give you? 

Ah, but there's never any time to think about it though, not really. No time for anything but a raw, thready panic and clumsily scrawled homework copied five minutes before the bell. Your chance to tell your parents came and went, and now there’s always another ghost attacking the city.

Mom and Dad are so happy now. You’ve never seen them happier than this, with the stuff of your grade school nightmares on the rampage. It’s proof they aren’t crazy, proof they haven’t wasted their whole lives on a pipe dream, proof that everybody who ever called them quacks were wrong. Good for them, you guess. Meanwhile you’re picking yourself out of the wreckage of another storefront, glass needled all down your spine, and you can’t help but marvel at the damage your body has done. Can do. Will do.

Because you’re stronger, you’re getting stronger every day. The weight in you that your Sam and Tucker don’t—

(can’t)

—notice grows more noticeable, and after a few fights you're quicker, too. And perhaps you're changing still, perhaps the accident isn't done with you yet, because one day there’s sickly green light at your fingertips, and in no time at all you can manipulate the energy buzzing inside you—

(the electricity and hot ectoplasm from the accident screaming through you, out from your palms and striking down the things that used to scare you as a little kid, back when door knobs and faucets were out of reach of your tiny fingers and there was so much dark in your big big house, and now your hands trail light like after images from staring at the sun too long, now you can patch your hurts up by the light of your own blood, now you're learning that you don’t need to be afraid of what hides in the dark anymore)

—in ways you never thought possible. Sure, lots of what you do is learned the hard way, mid-battle against sizzling green things with teeth like hunting knives, running on instinct and adrenaline and terror all tangled up in your throat. Lots more is later, when it’s quiet and safe again, practicing things you’ve seen other ghosts do again and again and again until you can mimic it, improve it, make it yours.

But no ghost you fight has the same heaviness as you do. No improbable weight that defies the logical mass of their ectoplasm. If it’s big, it’s heavy. If it’s small, it’s light. Unexpected logic from creatures that defy logic in every other way. 

There’s a lesson you learn the hard way, testing the strength of these invaders against your bruised and splitting knuckles. You learn caution. You learn restraint. If you punch them hard enough, some ghosts, the little formless ones your parents have captured once or twice now, burst like water balloons—a hard pop of searing green, an overwhelming smell-taste of citrus and hot pennies. Too much of your supernatural strength pressed into the soft hide of a monster and the end result is a glowing puddle where someone used to be. 

You learn this lesson quickly. You learn that even when you’re fighting for your life, you’ve got to hold back. You defend, you protect. Death scares you too much to risk killing—

(is it killing when it’s already dead, where does a ghost go when it dies, is there something more to the Ghost Zone than what you’ve glimpsed with your own eyes or is that it, is that all, have you erased someone from reality forever, these are the questions that make your stomach hurt, that make it hard to breathe, that make it hard to fake a smile when Jazz asks if something’s wrong)

—something so much like yourself. Even if it’s got teeth like hunting knives.

You think you’re an anomaly, a freak, the only one stupid enough to walk into a Ghost Portal and zap yourself full of juice that by rights should have killed you—

(and a little part of you wonders if that isn’t just what happened, if you’re just a dead thing walking around in your body, wearing it like a meatsuit and waiting for the rot to show, but it’s been a month, it’s been months, and you eat more and you sleep less, not because you don’t need it but because there’s never any time, and you’ve grown another inch and there’s new definition to your muscles, and that all must mean you’ll be okay, that you are okay, it has to)

—until Wisconsin. Until Vlad.

He’s in the same boat as you, plus twenty years of experience and enough self-made loneliness to turn him bitter and crazy and dangerous. He wants Dad dead and Mom his, like she’s some kind of carnival prize he can win if he throws his weight around enough. Swing the mallet, hit the bell, and congratulations! The woman you haven't spoken to in twenty years who has made her own life without you is now yours to take home! Ugh.

But god, he can hit hard. Lightning, real lightning, nothing like the weak little zaps of electricity inside you, rattles at his fingertips like a living thing, furious burning strikes of pain, and he knocks you aside like he’s bored. You have a thousand questions, but he won't give you a single answer unless you concede defeat or whatever he wants, so it looks like you’ll just have to beat the answers out of him instead. Who cares if he’s got twenty years on you? He’s not out most nights pummeling wayward ghosts back into the Ghost Zone. He’s not out most days saving people from ghosts with bloodthirsty, power-hungry vendettas. What you lack for in time and experience you make up in rooftop fistfights and stolen first-aid kits. 

Sure you managed to outwit him—

(barely, hardly at all, he just wanted to save face in front of Mom, if he hadn’t cared about that, if he’d just tried overshadowing Mom instead it all could have turned out so differently, and doesn’t that thought make it hard to sleep the first few nights back home)

—but you can’t stop thinking of what it had been like to fight him, of what it was like to see another person do all that you can and so much more. You remember every second of each fight, like it’s been burned across your eyelids. You replay it all every time you blink for days, for weeks. It’s easy as thought to recall the light arcing around his waist as he’d transformed. Just like yours, and yet nothing like yours. The color, sure, that had been the obvious difference. When you change it’s a white light, sharp and searing enough to leave stars in your eyes if you look at it. His transformation—

(black like cave darkness, black like a power outage, black like the vastness between stars, sucking in light like a hungry thing, like it’d swallow you whole if it had had the chance)

—had been like a punch to the gut even before he’d buried his fist in your gut. You’d known without words, known in some primitive bit of brain that still looked up at the night sky and thought magic before science, you had known. You and Vlad were made out of the same mess, but maybe, just maybe, those twenty years were stacked against him.

Trouble is, the transformation is so quick you can’t make much out but the light/non-light of yours and his, and luckily—

(unluckily?)

—he’s all the way in Wisconsin so you don’t have many opportunities for a closer look at his. You ask Sam and Tucker to take pictures and videos, change back and forth so often you almost forget which side of you is which, but the quality is never good enough to see what you know is there—

(but can’t explain, not with words, even though you try for the benefit of your friends because they’re the ones there for you when everything else has gone topsy-turvy, but you’re just a kid who leaks green when dead people hit you too hard, just a kid with bad grades and a lot of questions to evade, and what you’re trying to pinpoint frame by frame is something so beyond your vocabulary you can only shrug, can only say you want to know more about your powers and hope this is one of those white lies nobody catches you in the act of)

—so you stop.

Do you give up? No, but there are more important things to focus on. It isn’t shelving your questions so much as putting them on the backburner. There are ghosts to deal with. Ghosts that want to hurt you, ghosts that want to hurt humans, more and more ghosts with strange and terrifying abilities pouring out from the Portal all the time. Closing the Portal doesn’t slow them any, which doesn’t make any sense to you. Then again, Dad was up to his elbows in most of the Portal’s guts and wiring, so applying logic to any inch of it is pretty pointless. You’ve learned not to ask too many questions about anything with a Fenton sticker slapped on it.

You’re busy now, busy all the time, bruised and burned and even stitched up all the time. Super strength is only so good when you’re fighting things with teeth like hunting knives. But it’s whatever, it’s no big deal, really. Because you’re keeping people safe. You’re learning more about the Ghost Zone and the things that inhabit it. You’re learning more about yourself; your powers, your weaknesses, how quick you can be with a snarky quip. Yeah, your parents are aiming guns and questions at you. Yeah, teachers with red pens and detention slips are hounding after you. And yeah, you’re fourteen years old bare-knuckle fighting monsters and no one ever says thanks because they think you’re just like every other ghost out there or maybe that you’re some human-loving freak—

(and when you think of your life like this, in lists of who wants answers and who wants to see you bleed, it sounds so bad, it sounds like you should be one inch away from a complete breakdown, but is it weird to say you’re happy, is it weird to say you couldn’t imagine your life any other way)

—yet you grin through a mouthful of red-and-green and keep going. Elated? Maybe, sometimes. Scared? Absolutely, sometimes. You’re just a kid with eyes that flare like headlights when somebody’s pissed you off. 

It’s only right to be scared, sometimes.

Still, it’s the weight of you that keeps you grounded, keeps you human when you need to be. Sit in a chair, walk across a bridge, it all makes the same creak under you as it would for Sam and Tucker. But take one of Skulker’s shoulder rockets to the face, you leave a crater in Central Park so big they decide to just turn it into another duck pond. A permanent new addition to the park, and all your face gets is a nasty bruise Dash takes the credit for. You let him, because Lancer overhears. Dash is the one getting detention for once, and there’s a nasty satisfaction to be found there.

You and Jazz share a bathroom, and she’s got a scale she keeps in the towel cupboard. Curious, you take it out one day after school and try to weigh yourself. Last time you checked, you were somewhere near 120, puberty stretching you faster than your appetite can keep up. This time, the numbers whirl past 280 pounds before the scale makes a metallic groan and crumples like tissue paper under your sneakers. Sheer reflex launches you into the air, and you bounce off the ceiling with your knees hugged so tight to your chest you can hear tendons creak, your heart a thundering jackhammer in your chest. Thank god you’re home alone, because you hover there for who-knows how long, too scared the floor will crack under your illogical, impossible weight, too scared you’ll plummet straight down to the hard steel of the lab if you try to stand, too scared you might plummet even further.

When you finally do scrounge up the courage to touch down, an air bubble in the old linoleum crackles under your heel and you damn near jump out of your skin. After that, all you can do is laugh and laugh until your sides hurt. You throw Jazz’s scale out in a dumpster a block away and never tell her what happened to it.

What does this mean? Is the weight of you optional? If you think about it too hard, does it become real? What about when you’re fighting, causing all that property damage the city hates you for? You’re not thinking of the strangeness of your mass during a brawl, you’re thinking in terms of survivability. Punch this hard to win, get punched this hard to lose. What about when you’re thinking about it at school? Why don’t you break your desk, or the floor, or the stairs?

You don’t know. Your parents might be able to figure it out if you told them, but you don’t. Knowing about you, about what you really are—

(a freak, a monster, an accident, an anomaly bleeding out energy with every burst of green light you bury into the spiny hides of other monsters, who knows how long until your white rings burn black, if one day you’ll look in the mirror and be no different than Vlad, not because you didn’t try your hardest but because there was never any biological choice, what kind of choice can a species of two even make)

—would just scare them. It’s easier, keeping them in the dark, even if it means they’re trying to hunt you down and take you apart molecule by molecule any time you’ve got white hair.

But it’s not just flying and invisibility and energy you can summon with a thought—

(ray or bolt or fire, you don’t know what to call your power, you never really did pay attention when your parents got going even before you had to worry about all their blinking tech going nuts around you, but sometimes your green light is cool and wispy and other times it's hot and sizzling, sometimes you know which one will bloom between your fingers and sometimes it’s a surprise, sometimes it’s almost like your body knows what to do in a fight better than you, sometimes it’s easier to stop thinking and just let it happen, to just be the freak that you are, to burn white-hot and damn the consequences)

—you have to worry about. You’re stronger every day, stranger everyday too. You feel a little bit more at ease as a ghost as time goes on. It stops being a strain and starts being an ease, even a comfort, and some days you dread the thought of going to school because a ghost might not attack and you’ll be stuck as a human all day. 

That kind of thinking should worry you, probably. 

But so what? You could sneak into your parents’ lab in the middle of the night and try more tests, more experiments, but really, what would that do? You’re a freak, plain and simple. You and Vlad poked your noses in places you shouldn’t have and paid the price, and that’s that. 

Eventually you get sick of worrying and just let it be. You’re a freak who can walk through walls, disappear, and fly. You’re the freak protecting a town full of people who pretty much hate you. Really, what can you do? The same old same old, that’s what. Try and get a little more sleep outside the classroom, maybe. As for the townsfolk? Well, you can’t always avoid the property damages, but you can at least save a few lives along the way.

People even start to say thank you, even if it’s from a distance, even if they think you're some crazed vigilante ghost, and doesn’t that make this whole superhero thing worth it?

But then of course something has to come along and ruin even that much, ruin this budding chance at gratitude, at finally feeling like a real life superhero. And it isn’t a ghost this time. It’s a human. You hadn't ever considered humans to be dangerous the way a ghost can be.

Freakshow happens, and all that hard work is undone in just a few short days. Days you can’t remember with any clarity, just blurs of color and noise, your hands full of stolen money and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t let go, you couldn’t stop. Attacking the cops when they pursued, terrorizing any humans that got too close, puppeted by that grinning, painted maniac who treated you and the other ghosts like animals, like slaves—

(minions, he’d called you all, and he didn’t even bother to learn your name before he sunk his fingers into your brain, and you never did find out who any of those other ghosts were, what their names were or who they had been before that crystal ball had pulled them under, and they were gone before there was a chance to even ask)

—and tanked Invis-o-Bill’s reputation to a whole new low. Trashing nearly every car the Amity Park Police Department has and robbing the city blind at the behest of a psychotic ringmaster would have done that even if you’d been considered the hero you try so hard to be. Oh well. At least nobody was hurt in all that, unless you bothered counting Mr. Lancer getting left in the custodial closet for a weekend. You mostly don’t feel guilty about that. Mostly.

Sam says you ought to count yourself too, but you try not to think about any of what happened—

(all that time spent exhausted and hungry, he never let you rest, not once, because ghosts don’t need sleep, ghosts don’t get tired, ghosts don’t need friends, but it’s over, it’s all over now, you don’t have to hear yourself laugh as the little humans scream below, you’ll never have to watch Sam fall and wonder if your body will listen to you in time, you’re yourself again, you’re in control again, everything’s alright, you’re alright, you’re safe, you’re home, you’re yourself again)

—and try to pass yourself off as fine afterwards instead, just confused, just tired, just sorry for everything that’s happened.

For weeks after the police shoved Freakshow into the back of a car, your dreams are red. Not with blood, thank god for that. No, it’s like a filter. A stain. Strawberry candy red, saturated fire engine red, the color Sam said your eyes were when you were under his control. It doesn’t matter if you’re having nightmares—

(more common than you’d like, but you’ve never been one to shout after a bad dream and you don’t intend to start now)

—or regular old brain dump dreams. It doesn’t matter if you’re dreaming of broken bones and monsters or forgetting to study for a test; it’s all filtered through that darkroom shade of red.

What does it mean? You don’t know. You don’t bring it up to Sam or Tucker. They’d just worry, and they worry about you enough as it is. Besides, you’re fine. The Circus Gothica billboard is up for two weeks after Freakshow’s arrest, and it doesn’t do anything to you, not like before. You don’t lose time, you don’t say anything creepy. Your eyes stay blue or green, depending on whether or not there’s a ghost in need of wrangling nearby.

It’s just a weird, harmless after effect, that’s your best conclusion. Then you do your best to stop thinking about it. Who you were under Freakshow’s control wasn’t you. It wasn’t. You tell yourself that until you almost believe it. Eventually, you dreams return to their factory settings. Huzzah.

Meanwhile everywhere you go, people badmouth Invis-o-Bill like they’re getting paid to do it. They call him—

(you)

—thief and monster and dangerous, they call him—

(you)

—a menace and a bad influence on the children. A liar. Traitor. Conspiring with other ghosts to earn the trust of humans to terrorize Amity Park all the better. Kids at school spread awful stories about Invis-o-Bill, say he—

(you)

—was probably the ghost of a troubled teen who got in too deep with bad people and paid the price, and now he—

(you)

—spends his afterlife seeking revenge on humans and ghosts alike. They say a lot of bad things about you, for a while. You try not to pay much attention. You’re getting pretty good at that.

After Freakshow, there’s a lull. That doesn’t mean ghosts don’t stop attacking or causing havoc, it just means that, for a handful of weeks, it’s just the little ones. Hungry animals and disoriented blobs and the Box Ghost. Easy stuff. You actually have time to unwind, time to let the tension bleed from your bones, time to catch up on all your late homework and even squeak your grades up to passable. It’s nice. You’d almost call it relaxing.

Of course, the lulls never last. You know this, you’ve learned this, they made you understand this from your very first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight with the Lunch Lady. You have one fight with Sam the wrong ghost overhears, and everything that’s happened is wished away. You are wished away. For a couple of days, you never walked into your parents’ ghost portal. You were never torn apart and melted back together by heat and light and pain. You were never Phantom at all. Worse still, you have no memory of your erased past, not so much as the slightest disquiet to niggle in the back of your brain when Sam walks up to your locker and starts going on about imaginary monsters like they're real. 

Sam Manson—

(a stranger, a total stranger, just a bottle-black pretty girl you stare at because you’re fourteen and desperate for a connection you’ve never had and don’t understand, she’s nobody else, she’s nothing else to you but a chance at your first kiss and later you will hate yourself for thinking of her like that, not as a girl because of course she is that, but as a prize you might earn, and who cared if she was crazy because she just might have kissed you for some unfathomable reason, and Sam is so much more than the sum of her body, Sam is worth so much more than that, Sam is worth so much)

—is the vehement Goth girl who's in half your classes and is [unfinished]

=

In those stumbling, halting days of dismissal followed by doubt followed by a desperate curiosity to believe that there might be more to life than growing up and settling for less, that movies haven’t lied and there really is something beyond the disappointment growing up has been for you so far. Sam’s purple mouth is a thin, grim line of—

(worry, guilt, fear, shame, envy, panic, uncertainty)

—complicated emotions you can’t parse as you zip up the jumpsuit your parents got you for your birthday. You’ve never worn it before, the fabric stiff and reluctant to bend at your joints. You don’t know how they’re comfortable wearing theirs all the time [unfinished]

=

Sometimes after a fight wears you out, leaves you bruised and smeared with shining green, you don’t fight the transformation. Not because you can’t, but because it feels good to have that fake pulse vanish, to hear real blood pounding in your ears. The weight of you shifts too, and even though you’re so much weaker when you’re human, it’s easier to sink your fingers into the dirt, to haul your meat out of the mess your ghost left behind, easier to duck out of sight before the news vans and curious bystanders get too close. Nobody ever sees you. Nobody ever puts your bruises and Band-Aids and the trashed Dunkin’ Donuts together. It helps that nobody’s ever heard of a half-ghost, that Vlad was cunning enough to hide his powers. Everybody’s heard of the Wisconsin Ghost, but Wisconsin is a big damn state and unlike you, Vlad and Plasmius hardly look like the same man.

Everybody at school just thinks you’re the football team’s personal punching bag, which is definitely true. Thing is, after spending a couple months fighting ghosts, a gut-punch from a junior is kind of a joke. You’re getting ganged up by a bunch of guys in letter jackets behind the auto shop and you have to mime pain to get them to leave you alone. 

Is this real life? Yup, and it’s hilarious.

Time passes, as it does. You get stronger, faster, heavier. You hone your powers. You stop losing control, mostly. New ghosts terrorize the streets. Old ghosts do too, they’re just smarter about it. They all know who you are by now. Hell, a whole other plane of reality knows your name by this point, knows who Danny Fenton really is. Funny though, none of them ever spill the beans to any humans. What better way to take down the one person standing in their way of world domination or an army of hypnotized teens or whatever they’re trying to score than to oust his secret identity?

You don’t ask. Maybe they haven’t caught on that humans have no idea you’re trying to keep a secret. Maybe there’s some kind of code among ghosts; don’t spill a guy’s weakness, even if you hate his ectoplasm. Maybe especially if you hate his ectoplasm?

You’ve had a couple more run-ins with Vlad too. Each time he changes, transforms, you breath hitches, because you can almost see it. Whatever makes up the both of you, piecing the mystery together through the differences—

(light and dark and it’s cliché as anything, it’s so transparently Star Wars, but maybe there’s something to clichés, because you might be the one wearing mostly black but he’s the one with a sucking core, a void, something more horrific for its absence, like he used to be full of stark white light too but it’s all been burned up and whatever’s left is just playing through the motions, pretending at being something else, who knows what it means but you know that it scares the hell out of you)

—between you and him. He goes on and on about how you’re more like him every day, but he’s wrong. He’s so wrong. You’ll never be like him, and it isn’t just a matter of morals.

What you are, down to the complex disaster of your DNA, is different than what makes up Vlad, and you don’t need to slide a piece of him under a microscope to see that. You thought differently once, but now you know better. A glance is all you need. What you are and what he is, has become—

(powerful yes, but ugly and hating and cruel, the rings that flash at his waist are just shadows reflecting light, trying to hide a black mouth brimming with hungry teeth)

—well, you might as well be different species.

Vlad’s crazy and Vlad’s a jerk, but he is right about one thing. There’s so much about the Ghost Zone you don’t understand, and it’s this ignorance that just might get you—

(or somebody else, and isn’t that an old favorite in the nightmares)

—killed. You don’t know if it was fate or a simple coincidence that your parents were working on the Ecto-Skeleton when Pariah Dark woke up. You’re fourteen years old and you can shoot lasers out of your fingers; you don’t have the wherewithal for philosophical theology. You’re just glad they got it functioning in time to stop the King of All Ghosts from overrunning the city, even if the stupid thing nearly kills you.

You don’t fret much about the Ecto-Skeleton vanishing after you pass out. You do, however, remember Pariah’s nasty grin—

(having that much power, it’s a burden, isn’t it child)

—when you stumbled under the strain. You don’t know if he meant what the suit enabled you to do or if he meant the power in your own two hands. Either way, you remember those words, like they’re branded onto your brain, and you don’t have a choice but to hear it over and over every time you try to sleep. They rang in your head like bells in the days after you’d pushed him back into that sarcophagus, stuck in bed aching and weaker than you’ve ever felt in your life.

Because it is a burden. Everybody hates and fears you, but at the same time they happily expect you to protect them from hordes of skeletal ghosts. Sometimes you panic, so aware of how young you are, of how little comic books and video games have prepared you for a life like this, hiding bruises and spinning bold-face lies to everybody from your parents to the U.S. government. Teenagers are supposed to rebel, sure, but if you ever come clean you’d be thrown in a cell and they’d never, ever let you go. Not just because you’re a criminal—

(and you are, thanks to Freakshow and thanks to dozens of ghosts, and you’ve left an imprint of your tiny, impossibly heavy body all over the city, and you’ve done your best to protect everybody but you leave rubble and shrapnel wherever you go, ambulance sirens wail through the streets every day, and everybody’s just as scared as you are, just as fascinated as you are, and yet so many students and teachers have left Casper High, so many faces you used to see everyday in the hallways have vanished, so many business and restaurants and homes sit empty, gathering dust and graffiti, and it’s your fault, if you hadn’t walked into the Ghost Portal none of this would be happening, none of this would ever have happened at all, and you’re too much of a coward to show your face, to tell anyone but your best friends what kind of a monster you really are)

—but because you can phase through solid objects, you’re considered a monster with less rights than a dog.

Sometimes you wish Sam wasn’t a budding ghost-rights activist. You’d probably have an easier time studying if she didn’t rattle off all these statistics and news articles, stories of government agents in white suits quarantining whole city blocks to purge the ghosts inhabiting them, of ghost attacks stopping all at once in little towns after strange men with guns and knives and felonies like grave robbing and murder slunk through in the night. Ghosts are dangerous, there’s no questioning that. But so are bears. So are people. Just because something is dangerous doesn’t mean it should be destroyed.

Maybe that’s why the ghosts have never spilled your secret. You’ve never tried to kill them. You just want them to leave Amity Park alone. Who knows for sure though? You don’t have the guts to risk asking any of them.

Still, this whole mess is worth it. It is. You can fly, for god’s sake. If you’re careful you could juggle minivans, mimic all your favorite action movies and outdo even the craziest Hollywood stunts. What kid hasn’t dreamed of doing any of that? But you’re not being selfish. You’re not. It’s like Dad says; you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Progress is a disaster when you’re living it, when it isn’t past tense, when it isn’t all tidied up in a few short paragraphs in a high school history book. What’s happening now is worth it, for the future.

If you ever do tell Mom and Dad—

(you’re not afraid of what they’ll think, you’ve never worried about that, not really, they’re your parents before they’re scientists, and any experiment or test would be to ensure your safety and your health, because that’s what parents do, that’s what good people do, and they’re the best people you’ve ever known)

—you know they’d be able to break down your powers into reams of clinical data in no time. They’d figure out how you survived the accident, how your abilities generate and develop in power, maybe even pinpoint the how of your strange, mutable weight. They’d tell you what that light is, when you change, that light that reminds you so strongly of the stars. After all, just because they’re too oblivious to realize their son is the infamous Ghost Kid doesn’t mean they don’t know what they’re doing. They aren’t known as the leading scientists, engineers and weapon smiths in the paranatural fields for nothing. Mom’s practically got more letters after her name than there are in the alphabet, and while Dad may only have a fraction of that he thinks like nobody else out there. Most Fenton tech are his designs, wild and absurd and covered with stickers of his beaming face, and Mom’s the one who works out the bugs with fond exasperation.

Still, they have to get their knowledge from somewhere, and you’ve seen what they do down in the lab to the formless, red-eyed ghosts, the ones too weak to do much more than snarl wetly. Sometimes they snare something bigger and stronger, something fond of curling prickly tendrils around the nearest human and squeezing. More often than not it’s Dad that’s the unlucky one, always so eager to parse the secrets hidden in each fanged little beastie they’ve fished out of the Ghost Zone. He’s got nearly as many as bruises as you do, some weeks, but he’s never happier than when he’s holding a bag of frozen peas to his head.

After a good wrestle with something that wailed and whistled like a boiling kettle, Dad’ll limp up to the kitchen and settle heavily into a chair, grinning and running his mouth nonstop, talking about how much progress they’ve made today—

(wait ‘til the boys over at the GIW hear about that one, he’ll say with a bray of laughter, makes the piddly little Class Threes look darn near cuddly, didn’t it Mads, why Danny you should’ve seen the fangs on this fella, nearly bit through the exam table in one bite, y’oughta come down to the lab more often, Danny, seeing these spooks up close and personal’d be a great way to help you get over that silly fear of ‘em, and there you are, smiling meekly and holding up your hands and making up any excuse you can think of off the top of your head to keep you out of the lab when your parents have all their equipment up and humming, just in case, aw Dad I dunno, I’ve got this essay due, not today Dad I’ve got like six pages of algebra I haven’t even started yet, sorry Dad I’m sleeping over at Tucker’s tonight and his mom insisted I come early for dinner)

—and every time, Mom will smile indulgently, like she’s falling in love with Dad all over again. She’ll push him back into the seat and tell him to quit fidgeting so she can clean up the nasty cut behind his ear, and every time you smile behind your hand and think, how could Vlad ever hope to break your parents up? They only thing they might love more than each other would be you and Jazz and ghosts, and you’re all so much of their lives they can’t help but love you all completely. How they love each other and their kids and the ghosts they’ve studied all their lives, well, that’s like saying they love breathing. They love each other because without each other, they wouldn’t be themselves. It’s sappy as hell and like any kid you hate seeing your parents get all lovey-dovey, but you can’t help that secret smile as you walk out of the kitchen to give them a little privacy.

Seeing Mom and Dad so hard at work, so happy at work, is why you don’t tell them. They think you’re slacking off, they think you’re getting bullied, and they’re worried about you sure, but better they think their son’s lazy than a freak. If they knew what you did, what you could do, if they knew you were the one facing up against ghosts that made the ones they picked apart in their lab look like kittens, if they knew you’d heard all the awful things they want to do to Phantom once they finally nab him—

(you know they wouldn’t say it if they knew you and him were one and the same, you know you know you know, but sometimes you can’t help but be hurt anyway, to see all that fierce dedication focused on seeing whether or not Danny Phantom has bones, and if he does, how much pressure could they withstand before breaking)

—they wouldn’t know what to do or say or think. They’d be so eaten up with guilt, why hadn’t they known, why hadn’t they realized, what if they’d finally gotten a lucky shot in, what if one of all those cruel ghosts had gotten a luck shot in, what if what if what if—

(and you’ve pictured it a hundred times, it’s so easy to imagine the looks on their faces, the horror the shame the fear, and you know they’d love you all the same, you know this like you know the distance between the Sun and every planet, even little Pluto they just declared wasn’t a planet at all, but you’re young and selfish and definitely some kind of stupid because sometimes you can’t help but feel they’d shun you for the freak you are, turn you over to the GIW because they couldn’t bear to look on the thing their son’s become, and you know that couldn’t ever ever ever happen but still, it’s so easy to imagine)

—and you couldn’t do that to them. You won’t do that to them, no matter how many times Sam or Tucker try to convince you otherwise. How it is now, secrets and lies and detention slips and broken curfews, can’t last forever. You know that. But until then, it’ll have to do, and you’ll have to parse all your growing weirdness without all of Mom and Dad’s knowledge or experience, fingers crossed that their ticking and glowing machines won’t reveal your secret before you’re ready to do it yourself.

=

But you’re turning out stranger in ways you can’t even recognize, and for all that Sam and Tucker are by your side to help you as you change and burn brighter and hotter and faster and heavier, they don’t see it either. Jazz is the one who points it out, one day not long after the Spectra… thing, all out of the blue. She’s been noticing lots of things lately, and acting so strange, like she might have pieced it together. But she can’t have, of course not, you’re so careful, you are always so careful. Jazz is just clever, Jazz got all the brains and you got the leftovers. Everybody knows that. Even you know that.

She comes into the kitchen one morning with a curious little spin to her step, craning her head around and around like she’s running late for school and can’t find her keys, but it’s a Saturday. You’re there by the fridge, cobbling together something that might resemble an edible breakfast, moving slow because you’ve got a bruise all down your right side that makes it hurt to do more than breathe shallowly or raise your arm more than a couple inches. You sniff the milk and instantly regret this decision, and while you’re pouring the lumpy mess down the sink Jazz asks if the kitchen’s always been on the second floor.

You stare at her, too tired and baffled to give her the proper what the hell a question like that deserves, but she drags you over to the kitchen door and pushes it open, and since when has there been a door to the kitchen and oh my god the kitchen is on the second floor.

She gapes at you and you gape right back, and the rest of that morning is spent going over every inch of the house and seeing what else has changed compared to your shared memories.

Everything has, in some way or another. Doorknobs have shifted, cupboards have lowered, doors moved from one part of a room to another. Even chairs have changed their heights. There’s a whole new door neither of you can remember ever existing before connecting the upstairs bathroom directly to your room. Thinking back—

(staggering through your open window, mouth thick with the hot penny burn of ectoplasm and blood, your right hand pressed against the throb all down your side, and aren’t you grateful for your weight, your sturdiness, because before you finally peeled the faceguard off of Skulker’s exoskeleton and sucked that little jerk into a Thermos he got a good shot in with a rocket that hit you hard right in the ribs, and if you’d been normal there would have just been a dark wet hole where your torso used to be but lucky you, you’re every inch the creepy little freak Spectra called you, so you get to limp home and clean up as best you can on your own since it’s four in the morning and no way are you gonna wake Sam or Tucker up again, and you have to be quiet, you have to be so quiet, biting down pain, you can’t make a sound or Jazz might hear, grabbing the first-aid kid from your underwear drawer and slipping into the bathroom, and for once the hinges didn’t squeak, thank god, you think, thank god)

—you hadn’t even noticed last night or even this morning that a door had sprung up where there’d just been NASA and Nat Geo posters before. And your windows have moved, and your bed has moved, and you and Jazz just stare and stare. Why had neither of you noticed any of this until now? Why haven’t your parents? How long has this been going on? 

What could cause something like this?

It takes half an hour to convince your mom that something’s off about the house, and even longer to get your dad to grasp what you both are trying to say. Their eyes just keep glazing over the differences, even something as huge as the kitchen being on the wrong floor. Once they finally do see though, it’s a whole other story. After the initial shock, they drop all their experiments and spend the next week measuring and scanning every inch of the house.

Their conclusion, a week and some change later? The Ghost Portal leaks. 

Even with the huge steel door locked up tight, it seems there’s enough residual energy slipping through to warp, literally warp, the house. Somehow. The way your mom’s lips thin as she says all this means she’s not satisfied with this conclusion, but she puts on a wide smile when Jazz asks if you’re all in any danger. A smart question, one you think you might’ve asked yourself. Y’know, if you still needed to worry about something like exposure. Your dad just laughs big and loud and says not to worry about it, says if there were going to be any creepy side effects they would have manifested by now. Everything’s fine, they assure you both, but you look at the crease between your mom’s eyebrows and you wonder.

Later, when they’re out taking readings from the ectoplasm-damp wreck you and the Lunch Lady made of a McDonald’s and Jazz is studying at the library, you creep down to the lab and pull up all their documentation of the house. Most of it is dry as dirt; neatly typed spreadsheets and tidy, color-coded graphs (clearly your mom’s handiwork), but there’s also nearly a gigabyte’s worth of photos. Clicking through them, you can see Dad’s sloppy angles and the occasional square pinkie slipping into the frame. Most of the first hundred photos have been untouched, but the two hundreds have been filtered all to hell, like Mom and Dad went through the house a second time, trying to find something the human eye can’t see. Just shy of 300, the photos turn a dusty black and white, splattered in places with an all-too-familiar starkly glowing green.

No. Not splattered. A few spins of the scroll wheel zooms in on a crooked picture of the kitchen. There’s green all over everything; the fridge, the microwave, the drawers and cupboards, cluttered thickly at the kitchen table. These aren’t splatters. They’re handprints, slapped in layers and layers over themselves, like somebody dipped their hands in neon paint and went to town.

Every photo taken in that black and white filter shows the same thing. Handprints on doorknobs and railings, footprints on tile and carpet, green smeared and stamped everywhere, tracking the movements of something—

(somebody)

—for what must be as long as the Portal’s been active.

Why didn’t Mom and Dad say anything about this? Why haven’t you sensed it? There’s a ghost, an entity, some thing lurking around your house like it has every right to be there! Green gathered on the couch, on every table and sink, even the upstairs shower and your room and—

(the pictures of jazz’s room are nearly clean, the pictures of Mom and Dad’s room are spotless, but your room is practically bathed in green from floor to ceiling, your bed and desk nearly washed out by a poisonous haze, and no wonder Mom had looked so worried and no wonder Dad had laughed so loud, they know something’s wrong with you, they’ve always known you were messed up thanks to the accident but now here’s irrefutable proof, how can you lie your way out of photographic evidence, how can they look at you and not see you for the freak you are)

—oh.

You close the files, power down the computer, and walk quietly out of the lab. That’s… that’s all you can really do. Sooner or later your parents will knock gently on your door and ask you to come downstairs. Just a few tests, they’ll say. It’s for your own good, they’ll say. We’re worried about you, they’ll say.

But they’ll find out. They’ll find out what you are, and it’ll go one of two ways. They’ll either accept you as the freak you are, or hate you for the freak you are. Either way, there will be no more hiding. It’s… it’s almost a relief, to know the other shoe is finally going to drop.

Except it never does.

You wait, quietly, patiently, expectantly. They don’t treat you any different. They never say a word. When they call you down to the lab, it’s just to show off the latest in Fenton ghost hunting technology. Why? Why don’t they ask? Why don’t they administer tests, if not on you than on the house and the Portal? Why does nothing change?

=

They’re wrong on nearly every count, sure, but you’ve got hurts aplenty to hide. Sam and Tucker have seen the lightning splashed across your skin dozens of times by now, and when they hear the A-listers spreading this bad joke of a ghost story and see you laugh, they laugh too. There wasn’t much chance of hiding it for long from them, after all, when it’s so much easier to patch up the nastier cuts when you’re bleeding sluggish ectoplasm instead of blood pumped by a heart full of adrenaline.

The first time Sam had insisted on unzipping your suit to get a good look at the slash on one shoulder, Tucker cracking a half-hearted attempt at a dirty joke with hands shaking so bad the first aid kit rattled like a live thing, they’d both stopped cold. For ten long seconds, they just stared, pinning you down with matching expressions of horror. It was the longest ten seconds of your life. You’d been scared before, of being found out for the freak you are, of being overwhelmed by powerful ghosts, but this, you’re pretty sure, was the first time you were ever terrified.

But then Sam hugged you, and Tucker had smiled and squeezed your good shoulder, and that had been enough. There wasn’t anything to worry about after all.

They understand now why you gasp when your ghost sense goes off—

(shock like plunging feet first into a frozen lake, shock like drowning with a chest full of dead air, shock like electricity buzzing hot and cold and terrible through your nerves, leaving you breathless and tingling, your fists clenched so tight your knuckles burn white, teeth clenched and grinding as you dart for the nearest lonely corner to gather up your heaviness and summon the starlight in your heart)

—and they know why it took you so long to realize you don’t have a heartbeat when you’re a ghost. The first few times you changed, you’d felt it, felt it like a rush of blood flow to a sleeping limb, but it took weeks to put it together. To realize the stinging, cool pulse radiating from your hand to your chest wasn’t your heart but something else altogether. All that star-bright scar tissue pulses. Involuntary, but without any reaction to how much energy you exert. A constant, steady [unfinished]

=

Breathing is optional too, when you’re a ghost. You’d found that one out the hard way, choking on mud in that stupid duck pond and tangled in one of Skulker’s nets.

[teenwolffanclub-me]

Season 1, Episode 7: Night School (Part Two)

Hey there beautiful reader! If you’re new here, this is a series I’m writing where each chapter is an episode from the first season of Teen Wolf. If you’ve been here before, hey! I missed you! Previous and future chapters are linked at the end of each part if you want to catch up.

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader (eventually)

Notes: Okay, this one is a lot too. I may have gotten a bit carried away, but so much happens in this episode! And it’s my favorite!

P.S. Jackson manages to be more suspect than the alpha, Allison needs a chill pill ASAP, and Derek is wanted for murder

                                                    ———————

“Why did you come? What are you doing here?”

Scott rushed the words out the second he laid eyes on Allison. She looked between the three of us, her gaze pausing over my underdressed state, before staring at him in bewilderment.

“Because you asked me to...” She held up her phone as proof, pointing to a text that was very much from him telling her to come here.

Scott’s eyes widened in shock and he snatched the phone out of her hands. She reeled back, surprised.

“I didn’t send this.” His voice was hard as he scrolled through their messages.

“What? What’s going on? Who sent it then?” Her eyes continued flickering between us, searching for answers.

The phone stated ringing in Scott’s hands and she took it back quickly. She glanced at the caller I.D, huffed out a breath of relief, and put it up to her ear.

“Where are you?” She immediately demanded.

Just then, Lydia and Jackson came striding through the lobby doors. They both seemed annoyed to be here, but at least Jackson didn’t look like he was actively dying anymore.

“Finally.” Lydia sighed, raising her eyebrows at us expectantly. “Can we go now?”

Before any of us could respond, there was a loud thud in the ceiling above us. The tiles started creaking as slow footsteps stomped around. We all froze. My heart instantly began racing again at the thought of the alpha so close.

“Run!” Scott yelled at the same moment it came crashing to the floor beside us.

He grabbed Allison’s hand and they took off, the rest of us not far behind. The alpha growled and barked as it chased us down the hall, which was honestly surprising. I never imagined werewolves barking.

I struggled to steady my breathing as we made our way down the hall and into the cafeteria. Scott slammed the doors before locking the deadbolts into the floor. Instantly, everyone started freaking out.

“Help me get these in front of the doors!” Scott was trying to use a table to baracade us inside.

“What was that? Scott? What was that?” Allison shrieked, tugging her hands through her hair.

“Was it in the ceiling?” Lydia added, throwing her arms up in confusion.

“Wait. Not in here.” I heard Stiles mutter, and I wasn’t sure if he was even talking to us or just himself.

“The chairs! Stack the chairs!” Scott was rushing around frantically, not even bothering to check if anyone was actually listening to him.

“Guys, can we just wait a second? You guys, listen to me!” Stiles raised his voice, annoyed that he was being ignored.

Jackson, Lydia, and Allison sprang forward and started grabbing anything they could to add weight to the table. I just wrapped my arms around myself and watched, worried about the level of noise they were all making.

“Guys? Stiles talking. Can we hang on one second please? Hello!” I jumped in surprise at his unexpected shout, and turned my attention his way.

Everyone else whipped around to face him expectantly, ditching their effort at the doors.

“Okay. Nice work. Really beautiful job, everyone. Now...what should we do about the twenty foot wall of windows?” He gestured toward the aforementioned windows with a jerk of his arms.

I cringed, knowing he had a point. The alpha was in the school with us now, but that didn’t mean it would stay that way. It had already proven its intelligence by trapping us with the dumpsters. I wasn’t about to make the mistake of underestimating it again.

“Can somebody please explain to me what’s going on here? Because I am totally freaking out and I would like to know why.” Allison’s voice shook as she tried desperately to fight back tears. She tugged at Scott’s arm and called his name when he avoided her pleading eyes.

Alright. Come on. This is when you tell her.

He pulled himself free and stalked over to a nearby table before letting his elbows rest on it and pinching the bridge of his nose. Allison threw her hands up in exasperation and her gaze moved to me in question. I gave her a one shouldered shrug, not knowing what else to do.

How the hell would we get out of this without telling them everything? A few moments of tense silence passed and I huffed in frustration. If he wasn’t going to do it, I would. I was beyond done with the secrets and the lies. I opened my mouth, about to spill the beans, when Stiles interrupted me.

“Somebody killed the janitor.” He sent me a pointed look and took a few steps toward where Allison, Lydia, and Jackson stood in a line.

I clenched my jaw and tightened the sides of his jacket around my torso. They were going to find out eventually. It would be much better if it came directly from the source.

“What?” Lydia looked terrified by that news, her emerald eyes widening in horror.

“Yeah. He’s dead.” He confirmed with a surprising lack of emotion, glancing around the room to gauge everyone’s reaction. I blame his weird fascination with his dad’s line of work. He’d seen way too much even before the supernatural was involved.

I’d somehow almost forgotten that had happened, and the reminder brought the seriousness of our situation crashing back down onto me. Someone was dead because of the alpha. And now we were stuck, bound to be next any minute.

“What’s he talking about?” Allison forced out a pained laugh and looked to Scott. “Is this a joke?”

“Wha—who killed him?” Jackson spoke up for the first time, not sounding completely convinced.

“No, no, no, no.” Lydia’s eyes welled with tears as she started breathing erratically. “This was supposed to be over. The—the mountain lion...”

“Don’t you get it?” Jackson interrupted harshly. “There was no mountain lion.”

“Who was it? What does he want? What’s happening?” Allison demanded, her voice hard.

I chewed on my bottom lip nervously, feeling like we were quickly losing control of this situation. Keeping them in the dark was making things so much worse right now.

“Scott!” She snapped when he didn’t respond, and he finally spun around to face us.

“I-I don’t know. I just—if we go out there, he’s gonna kill us.” His voice wavered on the lie and he barely raised his eyes from the floor.

“Kill us?” Lydia asked pointedly, crossing her arms over her chest with a pop of her hip.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. Leave it to her to think she’d be exempt from a psychotic murderer.

“Who? Who is it?” Allison was nearing a complete panic attack at this point.

I was ready to end this whole thing and face the stupid consequences later, when he finally spoke up. He shook his head and pinched his eyes shut tightly with a sigh.

“It’s Derek.” He muttered, avoiding both mine and Stiles’ stunned expressions. “Derek Hale.”

What the hell was he doing? Derek is dead. And, not to meantion, pretty much the only person we know for sure isn’t the alpha. He must’ve lost his damn mind.

“Derek killed the janitor...?” Jackson narrowed his eyes at Scott skeptically.

Yeah, you’re onto something buddy. Maybe for the first time ever.

“Yes. He killed them. All of them.” He rushed the words out, still refusing to look at anyone.

My jaw clenched tightly. Why couldn’t we just tell them the truth? Would it really be that bad? They were already majorly freaked out. Might as well hit them with the supernatural shit too.

“But the mountain lion...” Lydia tried to reason.

“No. It’s been Derek the whole time. Starting with his own sister—”

“And the bus driver?” Allison was visibily calmer now that she had an answer, but her voice still shook with fear.

“And the guy at the video store. He’s in here with us, and—and if we don’t get out now...”

He finally raised his gaze to look around the room. His eyes were shining with several intense emotions including fear, anxiety, and guilt. He should feel bad. He just threw a dead man under the bus, and lied to his girlfriend in the process. It wasn’t going to end well on either account.

He let out a heavy sigh and carefully considered his next words before speaking. “He’s gonna kill us too.”

A moment of silence passed before Jackson scoffed in annoyance. “Call the cops.”

I had to agree that it seemed like the most logical choice at this point. I’m not sure what they’d be able to do, but they at least had more resources than any of us.

“No.” Stiles said immediately, shaking his head for good measure.

“What do you mean, no?” Jackson furrowed his eyebrows in disbelief.

“I mean no. What, do you wanna hear it in Spanish? No.” Stiles threw his hands down to his sides in frustration. “Look, Derek killed three people. We don’t know what he’s armed with.”

For some reason, his willingness to go along with Scott’s lie really bothered me. He was by far the most loyal person I’d ever met, so it wasn’t surprising, but it still didn’t sit well with me. Sometimes it was hard to distinguish the truth with them, and that made me nervous.

“Your dad is armed with an entire sheriff’s department. Call him!” Jackson raised his voice, his anger spiking at Stiles’ apparent hesitation to do anything helpful.

He had a point. I knew the last thing Stiles wanted to do was involve his dad in any of this stuff, but there came a time when we needed adults to step in. I’d say this was one of those moments.

“I’m calling.” Lydia pulled out her phone and began pacing away from their bickering.

“No! Lydia. Would you just hold on a second?” Stiles moved toward her, one arm outstretched, until Jackson stepped between them and shoved him away harshly.

“Hey!” Scott rushed to Stiles side, who just narrowed his eyes angrily.

Oh, God. The last thing we needed right now was a fight. They shouldn’t even be arguing about this, either. I didn’t care what it was, we just needed to do something—anything—to try and get out of here safely.

“Yes, we’re at Beacon Hills High School. We’re trapped and we need you to—but...” Lydia lowered her phone from her ear slowly in disbelief. “She hung up on me.”

“The police hung up on you?” Confusion seeped through my voice as I stepped toward her. Why would they do that?

Her eyes snapped up to mine, her bottom lip quivering. “She said they got a tip saying that there would be prank calls about the high school. She said if I called again, she’d trace the call and have me arrested.”

“Okay, so call again!” Allison cried from behind her, growing frantic again.

“No, they won’t trace a cell.” Stiles mumbled. “They’ll send a car to your house before anyone comes here.”

Once again, I was surprised at his level of knowledge about police procedures. Just how much had his dad let him in on?

“What the—what is this? Why does Derek want to kill us? Why is he killing anyone?” A stray tear escaped Allison’s eyes as they jumped around the room, hoping anyone could answer her questions.

They were all valid, and I felt terrible that she was so freaked out. Although, I had a feeling that knowing a werewolf was actually the one chasing us wouldn’t help to put her mind at ease. I wanted nothing more than to tell her the truth. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” Scott asked upon noticing that all the attention was on him.

“Is he the one that sent her the text?” Lydia rushed the words out quickly, her eyes wide with fear.

“I don’t know.” Scott muttered through clenched teeth.

I wasn’t sure why they thought he’d have all the answers. I mean, he did have some kind of connection to the alpha, but they didn’t know that. To them, he should be as clueless as the rest of us.

“Was he the one that called the police?” Allison threw her hands up in exasperation as she desperately tried to piece any of this together.

“I don’t know!” Scott snapped, the sudden anger in his face immediately disappearing as he saw the way Allison recoiled from him.

Okay, this conversation was going nowhere, and fast. I grabbed ahold of Scott’s elbow and dragged him across the room as Lydia wrapped a comforting arm around Allison. Tensions were incredibly high right now, and everyone needed to chill the fuck out and stop fighting if we wanted to survive this.

“Okay, first of all.” I whispered with a raise of my eyebrows as Stiles quickly joined us. “Throwing Derek under the bus? Nice one.”

“I-I didn’t know what to say. I had to say something!” He tugged a hand through his hair as he tried to calm his breathing. “And if he’s dead, it doesn’t matter, right? Except if he’s not. Oh, God. I totally just bit her head off.”

He tried to sneak a glance at Allison over my shoulder but stopped when Stiles clasped a hand on his bicep. “And she’ll totally get over it. Bigger issues at hand right now. Like how do we get out of here alive?”

“But we are alive.” I cut in, voicing something that had been bothering me this whole time. “It could’ve killed us already. It’s like it’s...cornering us or something.”

“So, what? It wants to eat us all at the same time?” I glowered at Stiles for suggesting that ridiculous theory and he shrugged.

“No!” Scott whispered harshly. “Derek said it wants revenge.”

“Against who?” I couldn’t help but wonder which one of us could’ve somehow wronged the thing this badly.

“Okay, assheads!” I jumped as Jackson suddenly yelled and strode toward us with a scowl. “New plan. Stiles calls his useless dad and tells him to send someone with a gun and decent aim. We good with that?”

God, what was his problem with Sheriff Stilinski? He’d made so many comments about him recently. At this point, it was getting weird. Everyone looked to be in agreement, though, which wasn’t good for Stiles.

“He’s right.” Scott said, surprising both of us. “Tell him the truth if you have to. Just...call him.”

“I’m not watching my dad get eaten alive.” He insisted harshly with a twitch of his eyes.

“At this point, the alternative is that we get eaten alive.” I hissed, annoyed with all of this back and forth. We just needed to do something.

“Alright, give me the phone—” Jackson lunged forward, ready to call the sheriff himself.

I let out a yelp as Stiles reared back before landing a punch square on his jaw. Allison immediately rushed to his side as he fell to the floor, clutching his face. Scott put a hand on Stiles’ chest to hold him back, but he looked pretty satisfied with the damage he’d done.

I didn’t miss the way Jackson smirked to himself, seemingly getting exactly what he wanted. I realized at that moment that he’d been trying to provoke Stiles to this breaking point the whole night, and he’d finally succeeded. But why?

I’d never seen Stiles so much as kill a bug, let alone punch someone in the face. His dad was a really sore subject, apparently. He huffed out an irritated breath and begrudgingly yanked his phone from his pocket. Our gazes locked as the call went to his dad’s voicemail, his honey eyes shining with fear as he left a hasty message. 

We all jumped as the cafeteria doors started rattling violently. Allison and Lydia ran over to where we stood, hiding behind Scott and Jackson. My eyes grew wide as I watched the large bolts bending in the floor from the force the alpha was using to try and get in. 

“The kitchen.” Stiles pocketed his phone and strode over to my side. “The door in the kitchen leads to the stairwell.”

“Which only goes up.” I reminded him, my attention still locked on the doors. They wouldn't be able to hold back for much longer. 

“Up is better than here.” 

With that, we all took off running again. We stumbled up the stairs and into a random unlocked classroom, falling silent as we waited to see if the alpha had followed. Allison stood with her back against the wall just beside the door, Lydia and Jackson huddled close in front of her. Me and the guys stood on the other side of the doorway. 

I tried to steady my breathing as I watched the hallway closely through the small window in the door. Scott leaned toward it, trying to listen for footsteps, until Stiles fisted his jacket and jerked him back. A shadow moved across the glass, everyone visibly relaxing once it was gone. 

“Jackson.” Scott whispered. “How many can you fit in your car?”

“Five, if someone squeezes on someone’s lap.” He breathed, bracing his hands against the table behind him. 

“Five?” Allison snapped incredulously. “I barely fit in the back.”

“It doesn't matter.” I shook my head solemnly. “There’s no way we’re getting out without drawing attention.”

Now that we were on the second floor, our chances of escape had dwindled to almost none. There were no exits up here. We couldn't jump from any windows without getting seriously hurt. There really weren't many options. 

“What about this?” Scott suddenly jogged toward a door in the corner of the room, and we all followed. “This leads to the roof. We can go down the fire escape to the parking lot in, like, seconds.”

“That’s a deadbolt.” Stiles snarked and pointed to the spot that held the door firmly locked.

I rolled my eyes at his attitude. Scott was only trying to help. Now was not the time for his signature sarcasm. 

“The janitor has a key.” Scott looked hopeful at the realization. 

“You mean his body has it.” I corrected, my stomach twisting painfully at the memory that someone had died right in front of us tonight.

So much had happened since then. I hadn't even begun to process it. 

“I can get it. I can find him by scent, from the blood.” He leaned toward us as his voice dropped on the last sentence. 

“Well, gee. That sounds like an incredibly terrible idea. What else ya got?” Stiles quipped. 

I had to agree. While using the fire escape was probably our only hope at this point, going out there with the alpha was not a smart move. According to Derek, Scott is the one it wants. What’s to say it wouldn't just kill or take him on sight?

“I’m getting the key.��� He insisted, his face tightening with determination. 

He pushed past us, heading straight for the door, until Allison stepped in his way. “Are you serious?” Her eyes welled with fresh tears and she looked up at him desperately. 

“It’s the best plan.” He tried to reassure her, but she just shook her head in disbelief. 

I mean, it was a dumb plan. But Scott could handle himself. He’s a werewolf. Someone had to do something already. I was about to go out there myself if we didn’t get a move on. 

“You can’t go out there unarmed.” She tried to reason with him, but his mind was already made up.

He looked around before pulling out a flimsy pointer finger on a stick. I tried my best to hold in a snort at the thought of him defending himself with that. Everyone just stared at him, and he shrugged. 

“It’s better than nothing.” 

“There’s gotta be something else.” Stiles said hopefully.

It was obvious that he didn’t want Scott going out there, either. I wouldn't say I was thrilled about it, but I knew that someone was going to have to make a sacrifice to get us out. He was the most obvious choice, plus he was willing. Who were we to stop him?

“There is.” Lydia glanced toward a cabinet filled with chemicals in various sized beakers behind me. I hadn't even realized we were in one of the chemistry labs. “In there is everything you need to make a self-igniting Molotov cocktail.” 

“Well, we don't have a key for that either.” I pointed out, turning around to inspect it. It didn’t exactly solve our problem. 

Jackson rolled his eyes with a huff and reluctantly stepped toward the glass case. With a scowl, he used his elbow to easily smash it to pieces. 

Well, there’s one way to do it. 

                                                 ————————

It had been nearly ten minutes, and there were no signs of Scott or the alpha. The five of us had barely spoken, simultaneously processing this insane situation and being too afraid to make any noise. The air between us was thick with tension. 

Allison had gone into full freak out mode when Scott left. She’d tearfully begged him not to leave, but he obviously didn’t listen. I understood her fear for his safety, but she had to know that it was our only hope. I had every bit of confidence in him. He would be able to get us out of this. 

Suddenly, an earthshattering growl echoed through the school. The floors beneath our feet shook with the sheer volume of it. Lydia winced and covered her ears as if the sound pained her. I glanced at Stiles, silently asking whether Scott could make that kind of sound. I’d heard him howl earlier, and it had been impressive, but it was nowhere near whatever the hell that was. 

I staggered back a step as Jackson unexpectedly fell onto his knees in front of me with a groan. He scratched at the back of his neck and began breathing heavily. Lydia and I grabbed each of his arms and hauled him back onto his feet as he continued wincing and moaning. He shoved us away, and I stumbled over my own feet. 

“Don’t. I’m fine.” He turned to face us, still rubbing at the spot where I knew Derek’s claws had dug into his skin not long ago. “Seriously, I’m okay.”

“That didn’t even look remotely okay.” I huffed, concerned. 

I mean, what the hell was that?

“Hey, what’s on the back of your neck?” Stiles peered over Jackson’s shoulder and stretched an arm out toward him.  

He swatted it away and avoided all of our eyes. There was no way that was normal. Why would he react that way to the alpha’s growl? It didn’t make any sense. 

“Well? It’s been there for days and you won’t tell me what happened.” Lydia crossed her arms skeptically. Clearly, it had been bothering her. 

“As if you actually care.” He barked harshly, and she looked away, tears glistening in her eyes. 

I was just about to lay into him for how not cool talking to her like that was, when police sirens sounded from outside. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and ran toward the windows, before looking down to confirm that help was actually here. 

For the first time tonight, I felt myself relax. We were going to be okay. 

                                                  ————————

I pulled the sides of Stiles’ jacket tighter around myself, shivering against the frigid night air. My eyes were locked on him and Scott as they talked to the Sheriff. He was called away, and they continued whispering nervously. I would’ve preferred to be right there, listening, but Stiles said he’d drive me home. So here I stood, leaning against his Jeep. Waiting. Freezing to death. 

I let my eyes follow them as they walked over toward an ambulance that Scott’s boss was sitting inside of. I had to admit, his mysterious disappearance—and subsequent revival—was insanely suspicious. I wasn't entirely convinced that he was the alpha, but he wasn't exactly in the clear, either. 

After briefly talking to him, Scott and Stiles went their separate ways. Scott joined Allison, who had already told Lydia and I that she was going to break up with him. She was doubting pretty much everything about him after tonight, and I couldn't really blame her. He was keeping a huge part of himself secret, and it was pretty obvious at this point. I didn’t envy him having to figure a way out of that one.

“You could've gotten in.” I jumped at the sound of Stiles’ voice next to me, but forced myself to relax as he popped open the passenger door for me. 

I climbed inside, buckling my seatbelt just as he slid into the seat beside me. My house was only a few minutes away, and I already felt my anxiety rising at the thought of sleeping there by myself after everything that had just happened. Mom was working the night shift again. 

My fingers began trembling in my lap as the weight of tonight’s events came crashing down onto my shoulders. 

I felt Stiles’ eyes on me, but kept my head down. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I sighed. It wasn't technically a lie. I was still breathing, and that counted for something. “I’m just not really looking forward to being home alone tonight.”

I felt heat crawl up my neck as I continued to avoid his curious gaze. I don't know what had compelled me to admit that. There was no reason for me to share that with him. I’d be fine. 

I finally looked at him as the car jerked to the left so quickly I nearly fell out of my seat. 

“What are you doing?” I balanced myself on the dashboard as we made a full 180 degree turn. 

“You’re staying over.” He’d said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

I gaped at him, shocked that he would even suggest it. The last time we did that... “Stiles—”

“It’s okay.” He interrupted hastily, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “My dad won’t care.”

“Stiles...” I let myself trail off that time, not sure what I wanted to say. 

I didn’t want to be alone, and the last time we slept in the same bed, I’d had the best night of sleep since moving. It wasn't a bad idea per se, but...I don't even know. It was Stiles. And he made me nervous. 

“Look. It’s really for my benefit. I mean, that was terrifying.” He let out a sigh, trying to make that sound believable. 

“Nice try.” I scoffed, shifting back in my seat now that we were driving straight again. “You’re so not afraid of anything.”

He glanced at me briefly. “What makes you say that?”

“It’s true?” I finally looked at him again, studying the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed. I took a moment to admire the view I had of his profile. The yellow lighting of the street lamps outside beautifully highlighted the freckles that dotted his skin, and pulled out the natural orangey tint of his eyes. 

“You’ve had all this supernatural stuff thrown on you, and you’ve just accepted it like it’s no big deal. You’re always jumping at the chance to help, even though you’re human, and you’re usually the one who figures things out first. None of that strikes me as someone who’s easily scared.”

He looked at me with a small smile, his eyes trailing over my face appreciatively, and I felt my own lips tugging upward in return. 

About ten minutes later, I was following him into his bedroom. It was much cleaner than I expected. It was small, nothing more than a bed with a plaid comforter—of course—a couple of bedside tables with a small lamp, and a desk. He shut the door behind us, and we stood there for a moment awkwardly. 

I wasn't sure if I should sit on his bed or the plush chair in front of the desk. He was still by the entrance, one hand on the doorknob while the other rubbed at the back of his head. I made my choice and walked over to the bed.

I plopped down, tucking one of my legs beneath myself while the other dangled off the edge of his mattress. I let my toes brush against the cool hardwood floors as I watched him consider his options. 

After some hesitation, he moved to join me on the bed. He sat about a foot away, and I was simultaneously disappointed and grateful for that little bit of distance between us. He played with his fingers in his lap and avoided my eyes. 

“We could’ve died tonight.” I breathed, mostly wanting to break the silence but also just beginning to process everything. 

He looked up at me tenderly and reached a tentative hand forward to tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “But we didn’t.”

“Don’t you find that weird?” My skin erupted with heat as he let the tips of his fingers linger on my neck. “I mean, the alpha had so many opportunities to kill us and it just...didn’t. It was almost like it was playing with us or something.”  

I could practically see the gears turning behind his eyes as he studied me for a moment. He parted his lips, and it looked like he was going to say something before thinking better of it. “We should get some sleep.”

“Or...we could do something else.” I rushed the words out before I could let any doubt creep in. His gaze quickly flickered to my mouth as I chewed on my bottom lip nervously. 

“Something else?” His voice was barely above a whisper as his eyes moved back to mine.  

“It’s just...” I swallowed, trying to gain the courage to say what had been swirling around in the back of my mind all night. “Our first kiss was at school. While being chased by a psychotic werewolf...”

“Yeah.” He breathed, chuckling quietly. “That’s not really how I imagined it.”

I blinked a few times, only just then noticing that we’d been moving closer together this whole time. “We could try again?”

There were only a few inches separating us now. Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered as he leaned forward and connected our lips gently. He tilted his head, slanting his mouth against mine, and I couldn’t help but arch into him as my eyes slid shut. The kiss was timid, just a bunch of barely there caresses as we slowly got more comfortable with each other.

We both pulled away fractionally, our noses still barely touching. I let out a shuddering breath as my anxiety slowly melted away. This was really happening.

“Was that better?” He murmured against me, his warm breath fanning my skin.

“Much.” My hands found the sides of his face and I pulled him back to me, locking our lips together again.

My mouth parted against his as one of his arms snuck around my back to bring me into his chest. His hands trembled against me and I felt my lips tug upward into a small smile, reassured that he was nervous too. I let my fingers trail toward the back of his head and tugged him impossibly closer. 

A soft gasp escaped me as one of his hands squeezed at my hip before dragging me on top of him. With my legs on either side of his, I suddenly realized how quickly this was moving and pulled away. My eyes fluttered open just in time to see Stiles pout with a hum of disapproval. He leaned forward to capture my lips again, but froze at the sound of his door being thrown open.  

“Oh, dear God. Son, really?” 

I scrambled off of him as my eyes landed on his father. He was still wearing his uniform, so he must’ve just gotten back. I smoothed down my clothes and crossed my legs, trying to make myself look more presentable.

“Um. It’s not—uh...what it looks like?” I cringed at that sorry attempt at defusing the situation, and cleared my throat. 

“Mr. Stilinski.” I greeted, hoping the twitch of my lips looked more like a smile than a pained grimace. 

His eyes narrowed at me before moving to Stiles, who was stiff as a board beside me. “Call me Sheriff. And get to bed.”

With that, he was gone just as suddenly as he’d appeared. I let out a sigh, deflating with exhaustion. I had been through way too much for one day. We shared a quick glance before Stiles turned off the lights.

We crawled beneath his comforter and followed his dad—I mean, the Sheriff’s—advice. Once again, I quickly fell into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Episode 7, Part One          Episode 8

[kl-writes]

From the other fic. This is part 1 of substory “Is this what Anxiety Feels Like?”

Chapter 5: October 8th, 2047

Chapter 5 Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

It was about ten pm. Bull and Johnny sprinted down the street, back towards the Shattergraves. Their stomachs were still empty. After about a mile, Bull finally turned around, and stopped to wait for Johnny. Johnny had his hands on his knees a few blocks back, and was dry heaving. The streets were still empty, so Bull trotted back to his friend. “I think we lost them,” said Bull. Johnny nodded, out of breath. “Going to Southside was a dumb idea,” Johnny hacked up some spit. “I feel worse off, now.” “It's not a fragging walk in the park for me, either.” Bull paced around. It was too late for a couple of teenagers to be out. It was only a matter of time before some gangers started to harass them, or worse, some ghouls tried to chase them down for food. He and Johnny were trying to save up for a piece, but after their last food stash got raided, they had to spend it all. Ever since he goblinized, he felt hungrier, worse than when puberty first hit. “Maybe we should just try to find some rats.” Bull grimaced. “Last time we did that, you were sick for a week.” “I took care of it!” “Yeah, but your healing magic whatever almost killed you.” “Look- let's just go find somewhere to sleep.” Bull rolled his eyes. Neither of them were capable of sleeping on an empty stomach. Still, it was best to get off the streets while it was still quiet out. They wandered around the alleys for a bit, and finally found a dumpster nobody was using. Both of them shoved the dumpster off at an angle. Bull set their sleeping bags up between it and the wall. Johnny didn't have enough energy to do their usual illusion bit, so they'd just have to hope nobody would notice them. Or at least, that nobody would care. Johnny passed out almost immediately. It was really bad if they were getting like this, but Bull still couldn't stay asleep. He just leaned against the dumpster, closed his eyes, and thought. He needed to do more odd jobs for the Trawgs, so that they'd let him use their console again. It wasn't anything like a deck, what he really wanted, but it was access to the matrix. To information. Johnny had that old guy, Tailspin, teaching him magic tricks. Johnny was way too proud to let that guy pull him off the streets, though. A bit like Bull. Bull didn't even have that- he had to find access to the shadowlands, watch what others did, and teach himself his own tricks. The matrix was where he belonged. Bull heard a shuffle, and some muted talking. It was down the alley, but coming closer. He put a hand over Johnny's mouth and slugged him in the gut. Johnny woke up immediately, furious, then froze. Quiet as they could, they got too a crouch. Bull peeked around the dumpster. About four corp suits, coming out of an unmarked black van. The van itself was nondescript- it was a 2041 BMW Reisende. Marketed towards families, but could be used to securely transfer others. Johnny tugged at his arm, then signed an “M.” One of them was a mage. Corp headhunters again, snatching up awakened SINless kids from the Shattergraves. Nobody knew for what, but none of the kids they took were seen again. Bull grabbed Johnny's wrist in a vice. There wasn't anywhere to hide. They had to run. Bull bolted out of their hiding spot, half-dragging Johnny behind him. It was only a second before Bull felt a stick 'n shock strike him in the back. But they kept running. Bull felt Johnny stumble, and fall to the ground. Bull tried to drag him up, but he had been hit. Bull looked up for a second. One of the suits was right on top of him. The suit smiled, no soul behind her shades, then fired.

~~~

Something prodded Bull in the side. He was face-deep in the cold mud of the same alley. He pushed himself up and tried to shake the haze out of his head. “Hey, Spill! He's not dead!” a cracking voice called out. Bull looked up at him. Shark and Spill, kids of one of the Trawgs gangers, and probably the only troll twins in the city. They were maybe the closest thing Bull had to friends, outside of Johnny. “It's too bad,” sighed Spill, “I really like your jacket, Bull, I kind of wanted it.” “Billy, you okay?” asked Shark. “Where's Johnny?” “It's Bull,” said Bull, “Come on, Shark, use the street name.” “Sorry Billy. Where's Johnny 99?” “I don't know. I think the suits took him.” Bull looked around. It was still dark out. “What time is it?” “Uh..." Spill tapped at his watch. "A little past midnight, I think.”

October 9th, 2047

“Drek, he could be anywhere by now!” Bull paced around. He froze, and looked at the twins. “You guys need to get me access to the Matrix. I need to find out where they took him.” “No can do Bull,” Spill shook his head. “Dad says that we need to charge you by the hour if you want to use the computer. And you're broke. I just checked.” “No, not the console- I need Inga's deck!” “What? No!" said Shark, “She's super protective of that thing. There's no way she'd let anyone touch it.” Bull scoffed, “She doesn't even know how to use the thing right. Come on, guys- I just need it for five minutes. Just to look up their plate numbers.” Bull didn't remember the plate numbers. Shark and Spill shuffled awkwardly. “Come on, guys! They took Johnny! I'll make it up to you, I promise.” Shark sighed. “Fine, we can get you five minutes.” “What!?” exclaimed Spill. “But you'll owe us big time.” Spill nodded. “You better believe it.” The duo towered over Bull. They goblinized only a little after Bull did, but were still two feet taller. “You got a deal,” said Bull. Shark and Spill already had motorcycles- benefits of being “born into” the gang. Bull held on tight to Shark's back as they raced through the streets. They brought him to the back of the Gojira, a hole-in-the-wall bar. Spill fiddled with the lock of the back door, eventually snapping the doorknob off. “Dad's not going to like that,” called out Shark. Spill flipped him off then continued in. Bull followed after the two. It was still pretty loud in the bar, but nobody was in the kitchen. Schmoov, the bartender, had closed it down already, but would be serving drinks well into the morning. They brought Bull to an office door. Shark gave it a knock. They didn't hear anything, so he shoved the door open. Inga, the gang's resident dwarf decker, was passed out on the couch. She was no longer jacked in to the deck, which had slid out of her grip and onto the floor next to her. Bull cringed, lifting it carefully away from the spilled beers and snacks that littered Inga's workshop. He sat down in a corner, and nodded at Shark and Spill. Spill held out a hand at Bull, “Five minutes.” Bull nodded, then jacked in.

[lukebygrace]

Merc; Liam | The Peacekeeper

The middle aged man crouched behind the car, behind the engline block, a dull, faded blue Sudan, with aged tires and a creaking hull. Dirty brown, greasy curled locks fell from his hair and loosely down past his jaw line, a fuzzy set of thick stubble tickling the greasy hair as it went past. His jaw held tight, teeth locked against each other and barred.

His shoulder pressed tight up against the thin metal, the shoulder strap of his vest digging deep into his black overalls, strapping against the thick fabric, bulging out a small amount of ruffles, the vest held tight against his frame, fastened straight with velcro and straps, the jiggle of a spare mag clacking against the zipper. His hand held tight against the rifles pistol grip, the polymer grip digging against his calloused, pudgy hands.

His brow furrowed over his face, his breath dragging out of his lips loudly as his eyes looked across the scarred concrete road. He wasn’t meant for this. The pins and needles in his boot clad feet gave it away, the pain it took to squat for minutes, behind some low car to save his skin. He knew he shred tonnes of skin when he was younger. His arms pulled up his rifle, holding it with one hand to look at his bare right hand, clean and calloused. When he was younger, his hands would’ve been burnt by saw dust, scarred by belt sanders and hacked into by chisels, the work of a carpenter was never done, though now of all times, his hand never felt so unsteady, not even the rough seizure of a jack hammer could give him such a shaky feeling. He could feel his bones hold stiff, his skin drawn taught, but his muscles felt spasming. His grip was fine, though he could feel something deep in his cartilage, something that wasn’t right.

Far from the scene, he heard the bump of a cars suspension, squeaking as the car was hit. His eyes forced shut, clutching his rifle tight, the metal stock digging into his shoulder, barrel down against the asphalt. A series of ear shattering, loud gunshots exploded away, a quick burst, 7 of them in just a second, the sound echoing in his ears. A loud clatter as feet hit the pavement harshly, “WOOOO!...HOH MY-FUCK!” James yelled from where the sound was heard, a loud snickering laugh coming after, “HAHHAAAAA!” The laugh high and snappy, “ONE DOWN BOYS!” he yelled again, a smile audible on his lips.

He couldn’t do it as easy as James did it, could he?

He slowly pulled his eyes open, looking down towards the ground, and his feet lifted higher, his knee pulling away from the ground, his stature rising up from his slouch. Why hadn’t his damn enemy fired yet? He pulled his head up to look to where the sound came from, on the other side of the street, peeking over a concrete barrier where the road split, where James crouched behind  another car, standing dead still next to his victim. Dressed head to toe in forested camo gear, a mandible like helmet and hell, even desert sand like gloves, submachine gun clutched in his dead hands, a small pool of sanguine blood drenching the asphalt beneath him, dying the fabric a deadly hollow red.

The shade he had seen before, red velvet seats in the back of a fancy car, back when he worked in his fathers shop. And before he knew it, Liam stood up, he stood right up like a deer in the headlights, he quickly spun his frame and position to look ahead of him, bolstering up his rifle and slamming his cheek to the stock, looking down the guns barrel to in front of him.

A barren road filled with emptied out cars, some car doors open, some not. Some had sped when the first shot rung, others got out and sprinted. Liam had only hoped they had insurance. In front of him, 15ish meters was another car, stopped dead straight, a vanilla grey rounded car, bigger than the one he crouched behind. No human dare stand up in the middle of their no mans land they had created.

His eyes darted across the empty space in front of him, searching for his assailant. Though through the tinted wind shield, and the back window, he could see just an inch of his silhouette, slouched behind the car, head swinging back and forth subtly, helmet held on tight. His barrel locked onto the sight, swaying left and right with each small movement his head gave, trying  to find the centre mass of where this kids head was gonna be…

Before he stopped, and in the split second he had to think about what he was about to do, he paused, his body shook it's self rigid. That poor kid.

That poor, poor boy. He didn’t know any better. He din’t even know he could be seen through that damned window. Cmon boy. Look at me.

His shoulders fell loose.

Look at me. Come on boy. Just turn around.

He stared on more, and saw him, sitting, waiting, waiting for a chance to step out. Recovering maybe, was he shot before, did someone else shoot him while Liam sat back?

His breath grew ragged and grunt like, he let out a grunted sigh, his arms letting his gun fall down to his side, his left hand pulling back to his hip, grasping the curved pistol grip of his antique revolver, pulling it out of the holster, and raising it up, Liams posture shifted onto his side, arm held out high to point towards the kid, though to the side of him, to where he should be standing.

To where, if that kid would just damned get up, he’d have him.

He wasn’t gonna kill a kid like this, no. He couldn’t. Gimmie hell or high water, I ain’t gonna kill that kid til he gotdamn knows about it.

He stood there, yet the kid didn’t move. God damn boy looked like he was rockin himself to sleep.

Before Liam could think about it, his dry lips opened, “C’mon boy. Outcha get now.” He spoke, his voice warm like a fire, opening and accepting, though a starchy spark at the back of it, something of misunderstood, misguided anger.

The soldier didn’t move, stood behind that car, silhouette found still. The kid froze up, the gun barrel pointing out of the cover, and Liams eyes stared to it, just one flick of that thing and the tables would turn, but he didn’t dare think about it. He’d rather this kid drop dead having known about it, than making an unlucky mistake. His eyes snapped back to just in front of the car, trained on that empty gap to where his enemy would poke out from, arm held stiff out in front, his finger held trained on the trigger.

“I can’t be waitin around much longer. I ain’t gonna hurtcha.” His lips spoke once more, his eyes frowned and he looked down to the ground, his teeth gritted, his face cringing up as he shook his head just lightly. ‘Cmon Liam, don’t lie to this kid, not now.’

His lips opened once more, taking in a breath, before he saw on the other side of the street, another man, dressed similarily to the rest, stand up from the side of a dumpster. Liams eyes flicked to the sight, and his heart skipped a beat, he swear he could see the swing of that barrel to him. His eyes ripped wide open, and his body tensed up in a small jump, his arm flung off to the windscreen and took a shot, his mouth dropped agape as he yelled, his rifle clad hand flung up to cover over his head as he dropped flat onto the ground, slipping right back, fallin gthrough the air and clashing his lower back and rear right onto the asphalt.

The explosion of the gunshots clapped through the air, screaming into his ears as he laid flat, upper body curved up into the car, to save himself from any exposure.

Within the seconds there, as Liam laid on the floor, his hands moving down to push himself up off of the floor, with his ears ringing and his teeth loosely ground together, he heard that one sound he couldn’t forget.

The unmistakable sound he had heard all too often the past 3 days. The sound of the throat muscles unclenching, the sound of the jaw dropping, the sound of one last held breath being pushed up by keilo’s of armored vests, the sound of the tongue rolling back and twisting into the throat.

The absolutely disgusting gurgle of death.

[tenaciousarcadeexpert]

Criminal Minds-The Good Ol’ Days

Chapter 4-The First Case

@marvelfanlife, @itsmeedee, @stunudo, @veroinnumera​, @derekmorgansoffice, @dontshootmespence, @cynbx, @jaqren, @literallyprentissstwin, @gabriellewritermua, @blitzz11, @beenthroughalot, @princesswagger14​

Special Thanks for @princesswagger14 for helping me

The twelve students and Rossi all got on to a van where they would head to the airport. However, rather than stop at the front, the teens were rather surprised when the van stops at a special hangar. Once everyone got out, they look to see a very beautiful jet.

“Wow, this pretty.” Says Garcia as she practically squeals.

“Thank you.” Rossi responds. He then noticed Emily with her arms crossed as she scoffs at the jet, though he didn’t mind it, seeing that she had a hell of a long day. Then again, Emily was use to traveling on private jets, so this was nothing new. She couldn’t help but watch everyone being all dumbfounded by the jet.

     “Well if everyone can just pick up their jaws on the way in the jet please.” Rossi laughed as he walked in.

Everyone soon hurried in as they sat down and buckled up with their seatbelts. Ashley seemed to feel a little anxious as she looks out the window and heard the engine start up. Matt took a deep breath once he heard the engines start up and rest his head against the seat. He then saw Luke offer him a piece of gum.

“Uh thanks.” Matt replies as he grabs the gum.

“You’re welcome. My dad said that it helps.”

“Really? How?”

Luke points to his head. “It stops your ears from popping due to difference in air pressure.”

“Wow.” “I know. I didn’t think it actually work, till I tried it.”

“Cool.” “Yeah.” Matt smiled back at Luke and the two along with everyone else settled down as the plane starts to move and take off. Garcia couldn’t help but clench onto Derek’s arm just as the jet takes off.

Once the plane was still and steady, Rossi then called everyone over to a table.

“Gentlemen, ladies. Will you all gather around at the table?” The teens got up and gather around Rossi as he passed out a couple of folders to them.

“What’s this?” Kate asked. “This looks so…...real.” “Because it is real.” He then stares to the twelve different faces. “Listen, the truth is…….about this trip, we’re going to a crime scene.” “A crime scene, like a real, crime scene with an actual murder?” Ashley asked.

Rossi nods. “Mm hmph.” “B-but why? What does this have to do with us, let alone only 12 of us?” Reid asked.

“Yeah, shouldn’t the entire class join us?” Ashley adds.

“Maybe he wouldn’t be able to fit everyone on this jet if he did.” Elle sassed, only to get a gentle slap on the arm by JJ.

“Well, to answer your question, the whole class isn’t with us because half of the class doesn’t want to be in the damn class to begin with and even have the grades to prove it.” “Well, how do you know that we do care about the class and that we are trying at all?” Derek asked. He gave a wry smirk and pulls out a pile of paper, spreading them out on the table.

“What the hell are those?”

“You remember the questions I gave you during the first day of class?” “Yes….and?”

“All of your answers were different, yes. But, there was something special they all have in common. Deep down, I knew that based on your responses, you all have an interesting sense of character in you. It’s not about picking the right or wrong answer, but finding an answer that suits you. That’s why I chose all twelve of you, cause you all bring out something different, and who knows, maybe you can all combine your skills and help solve this case, this one case. Is that clear?”

“Yes sir. Sorry.” Elle apologized.

He then turns to everyone else, who nodded in agreement, though they were still confused to why Rossi picked them. Nevertheless, they decided to go over the case Rossi has given them.

“So professor Rossi?” Tara asked. “What kind of case do you have for us?”

“Well, if you open the folder, you’ll know what’s there.” The teens open up their folders as they saw a worded document and a photo of a dead man, which grossed out a couple of people, especially Garcia.

“25 year old Riley Clark and 24 John Hail were both murdered on Wednesday 17th and Wednesday 24th at approximately 7:00 pm. They were both strangled to death with a leather belt. They were also both restrained, and tortured. Both families reported them missing after they didn’t come home two nights in a row.” Rossi explained as the rest of the students looked on in horror and confusion.

“They look like they took one hell of a beating.” Emily said as she looked at the file.

Hotch looked down on the photos and squint his eyes, while everyone else discuss over the case.

“So based the cuts and beating, I’d say our suspect is a man.” Derek pitched in.

“Looks like it.” Luke adds.

“Or possibly a woman.” Elle responds. “I mean look at where they were. It looks like both of them were killed in an alley, each lying near a dumpster.” She scratched her head. “This could be me, but it’s possible that this suspect is leaving out a message of some sort.” “What, like in ‘All men are trash’ or something like that?” Kate adds.

“Something like that, but it’s just an assumption, it’s not really correct or anything like that.”

“Well, I think that was a really good assumption, Elle.” “Thank you, professor.”

“You’re welcome, and this goes out to all of you. This is what criminal profiling is, you analyze and make assumptions on what goes on in a crime scene.”

“So now we’re about to land so the first place we go is Clark’s crime scene. They’re we’ll find out a bit more about the situation. See how this unsub lured these men in the allies.” Everyone head back to their seats as the plane lands. Not long after, they were all driving to the scene with half of everyone in two SUV’s. Rossi had called the rest of the team in the SUV behind him.

“Now please everyone remember, please, don’t touch anything at the scene without gloves, listen to whoever is supervising you, and most importantly, don’t and I repeat, don’t separate from the group. I don’t have to remind you that like a parent lecturing a 13 year old, but god forbid that something happens to one of you. I don’t want us to head back and leave someone behind, do you?”

“No sir.”

“Good. Now does anyone have any questions?”

Rossi saw as Reid raised his hand, only to pick on Garcia, who nervously lift her hand up.

“Yes Garcia?” “Uh…..professor? I don’t know how to put this but blood and guts and gore isn’t really my cup of decaf tea. Do you catch my drift?”

‘“I do.” “Oh okay, does tha-” “I still can’t let you sit this one out.”

“Oh, okay.” “But, I can assign you somewhere where you won’t have to analyze corpses.”

“That works for me.” “Good, anyone else?”

“No sir.”

“Alright is everyone ready? We’re almost there.”

The two vans drive off as they head to the police station. Once inside, they saw several policemen, along with a couple of men and women in business attire. Garcia cringed as she saw all the boring colors, hoping to god she didn’t have stuff like that while in the field. Everyone else, felt intimidated by the presence of business-looking like people approach them.

“They all look so serious.” Emily whispered to JJ and Elle.

Reid whispered to Hotch “Who are these guys?”

“I have no idea, but they mean business.” “You don’t think they’re lawyers or anything?” Matt asked.

“It’s possible.”

They froze as the same people approach them, only for them to smile and welcome the students with open arms.

“Hello students.” One of the men said. “Uh…...hi.” The teens reluctantly wave.

“Um, who are you, if I may ask?” Ashley asked.

“I’m Agent Phillip Branch, this is Agent Mark Powell and Agent Kiera Skye.”

“Ooo Agents. Are you guys from the FBI?”

“Yes miss we are. We’re here to help you guys and keep an eye you.” Agent Skye said.

“Is it just the three of you?” Matt asked.

“It’s been like this for three years.” Agent Powell laughed.

“Oh.” “Anyway, it’s nice to see you all. Though I’m sorry but we haven’t gotten any of your names.”

“Shouldn’t you guys already know who we are since you’re from the FBI?” Emily snarked, only to get elbowed by JJ and a couple of angry murmurs from the others, only for the three agents to chuckle in amusement.

“Oh no, but do you mind telling us your names please?” Asked Agent Branch.

“Oh, well, I guess I’ll go first. I’m Emily……..Prentiss.” “I see. Well, it’s nice to know you, Miss Prentiss.” Branch then turned to the other students. “What about the rest of you?”

“I’m Jennifer Jareau, but my friends call me JJ.”

“Um, I’m Matthew Simmons. But you can just call me Matt.”

“Will do, Matt.” Branch responds.

“Hi, I’m Aaron Hotchner.”

“I’m uh Elle, Greenaway.” “Ashley…..Seaver.” “I’m a...a...Luke Alvez.”

“Tara Lewis.”

“Kate Callahan.”

“Hi there! I’m Penelope Garcia! Aka your bottle of constant sunshine!”

“Oh wow!” Branch and the other agents smiled as he turns to Rossi. “Quite the girl I see!”

“She is.” Rossi responds.

Branch then turns to Derek.

“I’m uh Derek Morgan.” “Nice to meet you Morgan.” “Thanks.” He then turns to Reid, who was rubbing his hands. “And you are?” “Oh, I-I’m, uh, Spencer Reid. But you can call me Reid.”

“Will do.”

“Okay, is that everyone?” Brach asked after he and his peers exchange greetings and handshakes to the teens.

“It looks like it.” Rossi responds.

“Alrighty then, down to business.”

The agents then escort the teens to a large room while Rossi chats with the Police chief.

The teens were surprised to see a large board filled with different writings, and photos, whom some resemble just like the ones Rossi gave them.

“I see that your professor gave you an insight on the case we’re currently working on.”

“Yes he has, we have theories.”

“Oh really? Tell us. It’s better than anything we have now.”

Just then, Kate elbows Elle in the back, knowing that she has a theory. When she turns, all Kate did was smile.

“Greenaway, it seems like you have something. Do you want to share it?” She chuckled lightly. “I don’t know.” “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll take any answer, there is no wrong or right in this.” Skye responds.

“Well, I did say that the suspect could possibly be a woman, given how the bodies were left.”

“So based on how the bodies were left and where they were left, what’s she saying?” Skye asked.

“Uh….” Elle rubbed her head. “I guess, that men were trash? It seems a bit too much, but that’s all I could think of.”

“Like Skye said they’re no right or wrongs in this. But that is good. So if this is a woman, who’s the man who hurt her?” Agent Branch asked facing the board.

“Maybe an ex of some sort? Like a jilted lover?” Tara asked.

“Or maybe a father figure or brother?” Reid asked.

“We should write this down.” Branch said

Emily goes for her notepad and pen and starts making notes.

If this woman is trying to get revenge on the man that hurt her, why hasn’t she gone after him?” Tara asked.

“Well Tara, if we go by Elle’s theory, we can assume that these two men are simply surrogates.” Skye responds.

“Surrogates?” “In some crimes, victims are not usually killed randomly. The suspect would use them a surrogates, to prepare for his or her endgame, the real target.”

“Is it too typical to say she’s a victim of sexual assault?” Asked Luke.

“No, not typical. It’s fine if you assume the obvious.”

“So these guys are pretty young.” Emily says.

“Yeah, what’s your point?” Asked Elle.

“Well wouldn’t that be a little to young for a father figure? My gut is saying that this her brother.”

“Well, there’s always the ex-lover.” Tara adds.

 Just then, an officer enters the room, whom Powell exits out just to speak to him. Not long after, he re enters the room.

“What is it Powell?” “Clark’s parents and Hail’s fiancee are here.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Oh goodness.” Matt says staring at Clark’s family.

“Uh, who’s going to talk to them?”

“Well, fortunately, your professor gave us this chart. Seeing that there’s twelve of you, and only three of us, that means we each get four of you.”

“So…..how does this work?” Ashley ask. “Which one of us gets to work with either of you?” “Hmm, let’s see….” Branch said, looking at the students. “Aaron, Emily, Matt and Luke. You’re with me. We’ll go to the first crime scene.” The four nod as Branch turns to the others.

“Derek, Elle, Kate and Ashley. You’re with Powell. You’ll head to the second crime scene.” “Which means, the rest of you, stay with me.” Agent Skye adds. “You all will be talking to the victims’ loved ones.”

“What do we say to his family?” Reid asked.

“I guess we’ll figure it out once we meet with them.”

“Okay.” “Well, that seems about it, any questions?” Branch asked, only to see no response. He then clapped his hands. “Okay, let’s roll out.”

[paranoid-fighter]

Original Fiction: Chapter 7: “Oh. Great.”

Alternatively: Meet Fred.

(Trigger warnings: bodily harm, mutilation - Geoff has to investigate a corpse.)

The only consistent thing about crime scenes were the people.

There were always people.

They stood on the edges, behind the ribbon-laced barrier, staring and talking amongst themselves. He had learned not to pay them any mind as he worked, but they were always still there.

Watching.

Listening.

Talking.

They usually spoke in hushed whispers as they stared at the crime scene with looks of horror or confusion on their faces. Other times, their voices drowned out the din of the city as they shouted their frustrations to the world. And, sometimes, they would cry.

He hated when they cried.

There were plenty of sounds that Geoff hated - nails on chalkboards, dog whistles, the birds outside his bedroom window and plenty more besides - but the sound of a broken soul was, by far, the worst. Those cries could pierce through even the noisiest environments and would all but shatter the stone facade that Officer Simeon wore. He found himself longing to help those broken souls, to comfort them, and sometimes he did just that, sitting with them as he lent them a shoulder. Other times, he would simply do his job, knowing that his investigation would bring them the comfort that he himself could not provide.

Geoff stepped out of the squad car and stared at the scene just yards away.

The people were there, as they always were, and they were talking.

He squared his shoulders and walked towards the cordoned area. The men and women who had gathered around hardly paid any mind as he walked up to the shiny yellow ribbon and ducked under it. They stepped aside, scarcely adknowleding the officer - and why should they even notice him, Geoff frowned as an armored officer strode past him, when the area was crawling with SWAT?

He came to stand just before the doorway of the building, having tried and failed to identify the officer in charge of the scene. He didn't want to go further into the building without alerting someone else of his presense, but--

--that person had done nothing but stare at him ever since he arrived on the scene.

Geoff was used to this by now - he tended to draw stares - but this was different, felt different. That man wasn't just staring at him.

That man was looking for him.

Geoff began walking towards the staring stranger, frowning as the man gave him a slick grin before turning on his heel and walking towards a nearby alley.

He stopped and stared at the man's retreating back - why was he walking away? After all of that staring, he thought the man would at least want to--

Geoff's frown deepened as the the other man stopped and looked over his shoulder, brown eyes meeting Geoff's blue. If looks could kill, Geoff knew he'd be dead from the man's pointed stare.

With a quick glance around, Geoff ducked back under the flimsy barrier and followed the stranger as his hand came to rest on the pistol's grip. He knew this was a risky move, but he also had a feeling that this man wasn't here because he was curious about the crime scene...

"About time," the man said as he lit a cigarette. "Never thought I'd get you away from the rest of them." "What do you want?" Geoff asked. He blew a cloud of smoke over a denim-clad shoulder. "Just trying to give you a letter." "Who wrote it?" "Someone y'all are gonna get real familiar with here soon." "What?" Geoff's eyes narrowed. " You're getting a new ally soon, Alpha. He's one of ours. Sort of. He's gonna help y'all with this little sitch-e-ation." The vampire clamped down on the cigarette in his mouth. "We thought we could handle the ghouls, but we was wrong." His gaze returned to Geoff. "We're askin' you for help before we have to invoke the old bond."  "Old bond?" The stranger frowned. "The oath between yours and mine. Y'all know this. Was told you swore it, too." He took a step closer. "We're all fighting the same fight, 'specially since we got all them ghouls running around." Another draw from the cigarette. "Time's come for us to help each other. Well," he chuckled, "not you and me specifically, but you get what I'm saying, yeah?" He smiled, his fangs glinting in the shadows of the buildings. "Can I give y'all this damn letter now?"

Geoff's brow knit as he took a half-step forward. His hand never left his holstered gun. "You can put it on the ground and then keep walking down the alley." "That's it? That's how y'all're gonna treat me? I risk my own life to meet you at a crime scene crawling with cops and y'all won't even let me hand you a piece of paper?" "You're one of Jean-Claude's vampires, aren't you?" Geoff had a feeling he already knew the answer. "Yeah, he's my master, but he ain't my sire. He killed my sire." The vampire chuckled. "How'd you know I was one of his?" "Lucky guess." Geoff said flatly. "Now, where's this letter?" "Right here." He pulled a folded piece of paper out of his old jacket. "Come take it, Alpha. I ain't gonna bite you."

Geoff cast a quick glance around the alley before walking up to the vampire. He grabbed the letter out of the man's hand...

...and shoved it into his pocket.

"Y'all ain't even gonna read it?" The vampire sputtered. "Nope. Not right now. I'm here to look at the latest ghoul victim." "Ah. Yeah, got it." He exhaled, shoulders slumping with disappointment. "Just curious, though. I saw him writing it out and I'm real interested in what he said. Not often this guy shows up, let alone says something."  "What's this guy's name?" "Nocte." The name was stretched over three syllables. "Real secretive; spooky. Wears a mask." "A mask...?" He blinked before shaking his head. "Good to know." Geoff looked around the alley, frowning when he couldn't see the body. "What do you know about this victim, mister...?" "Fred." "Fred." Geoff echoed, staring at the vampire before him. "Hi, Fred. I'm Geoff." "I know." Geoff faltered before mentally shaking himself. "Alright; can you show me where the corpse is, Fred? I'd like to get this over and done with." "Sure thing; follow me. Body's not in the building, so we should be nice and alone while you work."

Geoff glanced over his shoulder at the empty alley and the armored vehicles on the street. "So the diversion was staged why, exactly?" A shrug. "Building was crawling with people. Now it ain't." "But the body wasn't inside, or so you said." "Well yeah, but there was people around the building, too. Now they ain't." Fred began walking. "'sides, I ain't the one that ordered the diversion. I was just told to wait for you."

The officer stared at the vampire's retreating back before falling into step behind him. This whole situation sat poorly with him, but he had no other options than to play along. Fred knew where the body was and had been told to wait for him - presumably by Jean-Claude. With a sigh, Geoff came to stand next to the vampire. "Y'all got a strong stomach?" Fred glanced over at him. "Yes." "Good. Y'all gonna need it; this ain't pretty." "I can handle it." Fred held his gaze for another moment before slowly nodding. "Alright. Body's just past the dumpster over there. Knock yourself out." He snuffed his cigarette out and flicked the butt into the dumpster. Lighting another cigarette, Fred walked away as Geoff pulled a pair of gloves out of his pocket and approached the body...

Fred joined him a moment later.

"Ghouls did a good job on him." Geoff said nothing as he took pictures of the corpse. "They always go for the soft flesh first. Ate the junk clean off before moving to the guts and thighs. Something stopped the feast before they got to the arms. They don't like the arms, though. Too much bone there, but they'll eat it if they're hungry enough. They always do. Better than hogs for that, y'know. Can't chew through bone like hogs can, but y'don't gotta starve ghouls to get 'em to eat a body."

Geoff paused at that, slowly turning to face Fred. "Really?" "What?" "You just compared ghouls to hogs." "Yup. It's a good comparison. Both'll eat anything if hungry enough. Hogs are smarter, though."  Another pause. "How much do you know about them?"  "Ghouls or hogs?" Fred laughed. "I know enough about both, but I know more about ghouls. Y'pick up a lot when you hunt 'em. There's some people that consider me an expert on 'em." He puffed his chest out. "Jean-Claude--" Geoff cringed at the brutalized pronunciation. "--himself called me up a few months back. Imagine my surprise, gettin' called by Master Daemonis himself," Fred continued on, oblivious to Geoff's grimace, "it was like winnin' the lottery. He sent a car for me and put me up in a nice place with good pay. Ever since then, I've been helping him hunt ghouls down, but I ain't been able to find the source. Well," Fred paused as he wiped some ash off his jacket, "the main source, that is. There's too many for just one nest." He held the cigarette between his teeth. "Was working with Elizabeth, y'know, but she got mauled." "Mauled? Jean said she had been attacked, but mauled?" "Yep. They worked her over right good and proper, they did. We got her safe, but, well, she ain't gonna be walking any time soon. Or ever." Fred shook his head as he exhaled. "Y'all better be careful, Geoff, or you'll end up just like her." "Understood..." Geoff finished taking his pictures and looked over to the vampire. "There's still more I need to do. Is there anything else you needed to tell me?" "Naw, that's it for now. Oh," he pulled a card out of his jacket pocket, "here. If you need me, give me a buzz."

Geoff took the card and stared at it. "You made business cards." "Man's gotta advertise." Fred grinned. "Well, Geoff, unless y'all gonna tell me what Nocte wrote, I'll see you later." Geoff hesitated but slowly took the letter and unfolded it as Fred all but trembled in anticipation.

The script was neat and uniform; it would've looked more at home on a computer screen than on the woven paper. "He wrote this?" Geoff asked in disbelief. "Yup. What's it say?" "Geoff, I have been tasked to help you with eradicating the ghouls. I will be in touch. Nocte." He frowned down at the paper. "That's ominous." "I wouldn't worry; Nocte's only dangerous if he's here to kill you."  "Oh. Great." Geoff's frown deepened as Fred laughed.

"Y'all have a good day, Geoff. Stay safe." The vampire turned and walked down the alley, leaving a very confused Geoff standing next to a mostly eaten corpse...

[eene-fangirl]

Ed, Edd n Eddy Big Picture Show Chapter 2 [A Fanfic Novelization]

The Eds  remained completely quiet. Ed squeezed both of his friends slowly backing into the corner of the room.

"This is all your fault, sockhead." Eddy whispered to Edd.

Edd felt his face heat up. "My fault? Funny, isn't it, how it's always my fault when yet another of your amazing scams goes awry."

"Yeah, well, I didn't see you try and stop me," Eddy muttered. No, Edd did. Edd explained countless times what may happen if he pressed the red button. And now look what happened. "You should have known it would go bad!"

"And boy did it go bad." Ed chimed in.

Their talking seized upon hearing a creak from out in the hallway. They were going to be in here forever if they didn't know what was happening. Eddy spotted a glass on the refrigerator. Sliding Edd over towards the door he handed him the glass.

Immediately knowing when he should do Edd pressed the water glass against the door. He heard shuffling,  Rolf was muttering to himself while Kevin was instructing everyone to be quiet.

The only thing that Eddy could hear was his own heart pounding, not only from being in his brothers room, but what the kids may do to them if they were found.

Edd started looking calmer when he heard Kevin say that they weren't here.

Just when they thought they were going to get away, both of them heard a crunching noise. Ed found a piece of buttered toast and was unaware of the noise it made.

The glass slipped out from Edd's hands and landed in his puddle of sweat.

In a matter of seconds the door began rattling around as the kids finally found their victims.

"We are not long for this world!" Ed hollered realizing it was his piece of toast that caused them to get caught.

Edd ran to the windows and opened the curtains. Only they were unable to escape that way. Eddy clawed at the cemented bricks. "What's with my brother and these stupid bricks?!" Eddy exclaimed not even noticing that he was walking into Edd.

They tripped over the rug which revealed a ventilation shaft. They were running out of time as Edd noticed the door breaking off its hinges by the second.

As Edd and Eddy struggled to open the ventilation shaft, Ed was thrown off the purple stuffed camel and slammed into the wall. A red box with a glass opening caught his attention.

"More bricks, Double Dee!" Eddy yelled out when he tried to escape through the vent. His brother really made it hard for someone to escape his room.

"Ooh, this-a-way guys!" Ed yelled grabbing the two of them. He put Edd and Eddy face to face with a red alarm box.

"'In case of movie break glass?'" Edd read. Movie?

"Bingo!" Eddy said smashing the glass in seconds. "My bro is always prepared."

What he pulled out was a lone peanut. His brother always did this! He made every plan have a flaw in it because he thought it was funny. Misery was his happiness.

A fist smashed a hole through the door and Kevin’s tattered burn smudged face poked in. "End of the line, dorks!"

The peanut flew out of Eddy’s hands inadvertently landing in Ed's throat.

"It was just a scam, Double Dee, how could it go so wrong?" So terrified beyond words Eddy actually latched himself around Edd in full fear hugging his friend so tightly.

Obliging to the hug Edd also wrapped his arms around his friend. "Eddy, the laws of probability can be a real mean..."

Ed got their attention when he bit down and broke the nutshell of the peanut.

It was a key! "It must be for my brothers car!" Eddy said opening the passenger side door.

"Eddy, we're too young to drive!" Edd soon ignored his own warning when a piece of the door planted on the ground.

All three of them got in the car. Empty pizza boxes or other stains inhabited the car.  Eddy was able to get the key through the ignition, but when he turned it, nothing happened. The car was working when he set it in this spot, but that was eight years ago.

Rolf smashed his head through the door, breaking the chains along with the impact. A large bump had grown out from his head. It look as if he were hit in the head pretty hard. "Rolf's vengeance will be slow and painful, like Papa's charcoal anecdotes, Ed boys!"

The cul-de-sac kid's smashed through the door. Edd found it a relief that none of them were dead, but they all looked horrendous. A bear trap snared Jonny’s head! Nazz was still inside the magician box and her hair was torn to pieces.

As Edd and Eddy cringed in fear, Ed had an idea and immediately took into action. He smashed his feet through the floor of the car, like one of those Flintstones cartoons.

Just when Kevin grabbed the mirror, Ed ran from the room and smashed through the wall of Eddy's house.

Kevin, Rolf and Jonny fell to the grass and took a moment to collect themselves. They were all injured enough already from the scam.

"They're getting away, guys!" Nazz called out seeing the Eds begin to destroy the cul-de-sac as they tried to escape.

Rolf let out an ear piercing whistle, which Wilfred immediately came to. "There is no escaping the son of a shepherd!" And he was off following the Eds in the red car.

Sarah and Jimmy peaked behind the house. They watched the Eds run past in the car. What happened to the kids? Rolf had the side of his body bitten off. And Nazz, was she naked under that box?

"Yowzers, what do you think they did this time, Jimmy?" Sarah asked

"Whatever it was, it must be worser than ever." Jimmy pointed out.

The two youngsters followed at a distance so they wouldn't get hurt.

The Eds were almost at the end of the cul-de-sac. It would be safer to get away from here. The kids looked hostile this time and didn't look a if they were fooling about killing them.

"I think I'm gonna be sick!" Edd yelled gripping his seat. He could feel his stomach churning from the events circulating.

"Not in my brothers car you're not!" Eddy warned. Did it matter though? His brother hadn’t been around for some time.

Just then, Plank landed on the windshield. The boys screamed upon seeing the creepy boards painted, now fading smile, stare deep into their souls. "Let 'em have it buddy!" Jonny hollered with his head still ensnared in a bear trap.

Ed swerved the car until he leaped in the air. The car came crashing on top of the sides of the fence in the lane. It just kept rolling along.

Edd tried to catch his breath, beginning to hyperventilate. Were they actually going to skip town? Would his parents actually come home for once and see he wasn't there? They actually spent some of their time with him before working got in the way.

"So much undone, unsaid," he belted out. "Mother and Father will be so annoyed.

Suddenly, Ed screamed in pain and began to slip out from the car. Rolf was following underneath with his teeth sinking into Ed's leg. This would be his first kill.

"They got me, guys! I'm a goner! Save yourselves!" Ed whined. Eddy watched as Ed's fingers slipped one by one. Were the kids going to kill him? “Don’t forget about me?” As he watched his last finger slip off, the memory of their first meeting came to his mind.

"See yah!"

"Ed!" In an instant Edd and Eddy grabbed their friend and will all their strength pulled him out of the grip of a maniacal looking Rolf.

"Curse you, Ed bo-" Rolf smashed into a dumpster as the Eds were ricocheted into a forest of trees, smashing them to pieces until landing in the junkyard.

Kevin was perched high above and watched the red car run past. He quietly made his way down the trash and saw the other kids coming. He made jesters about what they were going to do. They agreed and Kevin was off first.

Before Eddy could glance at his rear view mirror, Kevin smashed against the car rocking it off kilter. Edd looked at Kevin, seeing that the boy was no longer there. The devil looked as if it had replaced him.

Kevin rammed the car a third time making it somersault off a pile of junk. Eddy gripped the wheel as he was thrown out the window and was literally running along side it.

This chase was more insane than anyone thought. As soon as Eddy was spun back inside, the car broke through the junkyard, and spun out of control down the creek.

"Prepare for Rolf's water-laden bladder!"

"Plank's freaking out!" Jonny screamed at the back of everyone.

"Double D, you got any great ideas?!" Eddy asked. Glancing to the passenger seat, Edd wasn't able to answer the question. He finally threw up into a bag relieving his churning stomach. The rickety car chase was not helping anything. His face took a pale coloring when he saw Kevin's head reach for the door handle.

"How do you like your faces, fried or scrambled?" Kevin asked opening the car door.

The door was thrown open. Ed wasn't losing without a fight. He shut the door and Eddy rolled up the windows. It would hopefully keep them safer from just a little longer.

Their hearts jumped at the sound of thumps on the top of the car. Wilfred's tail speared through the top.

The head of the car was ripped off. Exposed!

"Time for payback!" Kevin yelled.

"Plank wants first crack at 'em!"

"Rolf will use their hides as a crutch for Nana's goiter!"

"Like, thanks for the help up here, guys? Duh!" Nazz said upon nearly falling off the car.

"It wasn't me, Eddy did it!" Ed yelled before his head disappeared into his shirt.

"In your dreams!" Eddy backlashed. He struggled for a moment, knowing to himself that this whole thing was his fault. No, it wasn't. Nothing was ever his fault. "It was Double Dee!"

Edd was left alone to face the kids as both his friends hid. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the playground.

"Uh, excuse me," he spoke, as always being polite. "I'll be right back."

Edd grabbed the merry-go-round which spun them all around. One by one each kid let go of the car and went flying in different directions. The hood ripped off leaving only Kevin.

His devilish eyes almost reminded Eddy of his brother when his last scam took a turn for the worst.

"You dorks ain't seen the last of me!" Kevin hollered when he was thrown off the car.

Edd's fingers slowly slipped off one by one.

Once they did, they catapulted through the sky, over the trees, until the kids could no longer hear them.

"DOOOOOORKS!!!" Kevin screeched at the top of his lungs. "I can't believe it. I almost had them!"

Sarah and Jimmy watched from a far and listened to the older kids from a far. Jonny slowly slipped away as Rolf ranted off and Nazz followed Kevin.  

The children were alone as they all left to hunt down the Ed's.

"Golly gosh, Sarah, they're gonna hunt down the Ed's! What on earth did they do?"

"I don't know, Jimmy." What were they going to do to Ed? Would it be worse then one of her poundings?

"Think of what they'll do to them, Sarah. It'll be worse than soap in your eyes. Worser than polyester chafing!"

"Let's have a picnic and watch!"

Both children agreed and walked off through the now destructed cul-de-sac.

[garecc]

The Hidden Oracle+1

Chapter 2

Thugs hurt Apollo / Struggling is very pointless / An urchin appears

I had not witnessed my brother beaten so badly in a fight since that time he decided to fight Poseidon in hand to hand combat a few hundred years ago. That had been one of the worst ideas he’s had. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t take my eyes off the scene unfolding directly in front of me. It was almost like I was paralyzed, I do not recommend being paralyzed under any circumstances. It is a very unpleasant experience. Despite the fact that Cade was holding my head to face my brother, I doubt I could have looked even if my head was free. It was like I entered some sort of trance, and I know ALL about trances. (i’m looking at YOU Hecate) I’m not a god of healing, but I’ve had enough experience with mortals to know that Apollo really shouldn’t be being kicked while he had broken ribs. In fact, mortals shouldn’t be kicked like that ever. Your kind are much too fragile to sustain such damage.  I watched as he curled into himself, trying to protect himself from their savage kicks. I could tell from here that his broken ribs made it difficult to curl up much smaller than a loose fetal position. He was dealt blow after blow, kick after kick. I felt more panicked as time passed. Every time Mikey’s foot collided with his body I flinched. I needed to get out of Cades vice-like grip. I needed to get Mikey away from my brother. Struggling did nothing, I couldn’t budge his arms a centimeter. Every time Apollo retched I fought harder against him. I couldn’t break out of this mortals grip.

The first time my brother blacked out I thought he was dead. He went completely limp all too suddenly and it was like my brain screeched to an absolute halt. I found that I couldn’t pull air into my lungs after a few moments black rimmed my vision. I couldn’t make a sound. I couldn’t even scream. Everything felt numb. I was shocked. That’s all my mortal brain could manage. For a good 10 seconds, I was unable to react, them what just happened smacked me in the face and his name was violently torn from my lips by some unknowable force. Then I was screaming. Thrashing and yelling and fighting as hard as I could.  A hand clamped over my mouth and shushed me. I somehow struggled harder, thrashing in Cade’s arms. Then a shudder ran through Apollo’s body and he started retching again. Relief washed over me. He was alive. He wasn’t dead. That initial relief was followed by a mind consuming panic that resulted in more struggling.

He might be alive, but I needed to get them away from him. Passing out was never a good thing. Apollo passed out a grand total of 8 times during Mikey’s assault.

When we became gods again, I am going to make Hades give these two a special spot in the fields of punishment. Eventually, the one holding me, Cade wanted a turn. It made me sick how these mortal males thought that beating up my brother was a GAME! They reminded me of some of the more… unsavory… roman emperors, Commodus especially. That man enjoyed decapitating defenseless ostriches and slaughtering lions. I never could understand what Apollo saw in him. Despite that, I knew how attached to that certain mortal he had been. After Apollo killed him, he had been absolutely devastated. I was the one to find him sobbing over the emperor’s body in that bath. I needed to protect my little brother. Cade dropped me and I rushed towards Apollo, a fist collided with my stomach and I doubled over. Mortal bodies are unfathomably weak. So weak I cannot even begin describe it. How do you not die? How do you survive so long? Mikey’s arms held me back. “You can’t help him, why not just enjoy the show?” I knew struggling was pointless, but that didn’t stop my futile attempts to wiggle free. My arms are weak as noodles in this wretched form. I watched helplessly as Cade hit Apollo over the head with a bag of garbage. He let out a sharp shriek of pain. Coffee grounds and fruit peels exploded out of it, covering him in rotting trash. He curled into a tighter ball. They patted him down, finding nothing they turned to me. They then patted me down, taking the wallets. The moment they let go of me, I was by Apollo’s side. He was out like a light, I cradled his unconscious form to my chest. He felt so small. He was scrawny I realized with a start. My brother was never scrawny. “There ID’s read Livia and… Lester Papadopoulos. That’s worse than Apollo and Artemis!” Cade snorted. I didn’t care. My mind was racing. I had to get us out of here quickly. Maybe.. Maybe I could ask a favor… I looked up at the sky. “Hermes!” they looked at me oddly. “Do me a favor and transport us to Perseus’s apartment.” I waited for a reply. A stray can rolled across the ground and into my hand. Trash. So that’s a no then. Apollo’s nose had swelled up, I feared it was broken. “Hey, Livia, care to explain why you don’t have a phone or credit card?” I ignored them. Cade took a step closer to me. “The boss said these guys would be loaded.” Boss. They had a boss. “Boss?” “That’s right, Livia.” Cade took a step towards us. I tried not to flinch. “‘Go to that alley,’ the boss told us. ‘Easy score.’ He said we should rough you up, take whatever you had. But this” he waved the bills around. “this isn’t much of a payday.” “Who’s your boss? Is it Ares?” They looked at each other like “Can you believe these two?” Before Cade picked up his knife and Mikey took off his belt and wrapped it around his first. Shit . I was prepared for the worst; completely ready to shield Apollo from their wrath. I doubted his new mortal form would be able to take much more abuse. The thugs took a step forward and I leaned over him, gathering him in my arms and curling over him, hoping this would be enough to shield him. Suddenly, a voice yelled “HEY!” The thugs turned. Above us, a girl about 12 was perched on a fire escape. She wasn’t one of my hunters, but she was the age of one I would recruit. Maybe I wasn’t about to be beaten up. This girl could be our savior yet. I couldn’t help but notice that she was dressed like a traffic light. I could tell from here she was strong. The expression on her face told me could easily drive away the thugs. The thugs, however, did not seem impressed. “Get lost kid.” The girl stomped her food. “My alley my rules!” So she was homeless. She would be a wonderful recruit to my hunt. “Whatever these losers have is mine. INCLUDING their money” “You’ve got to be kidding me. Beat it, you brat!” Cade glared at the girl, his face was almost as red as his hair. He picked up an apple and threw it at her. The apple landed harmlessly at her feet The girl didn’t even flinch. She would be an EXCELLENT recruit. “You want to play with food?” The girl says slyly. This was gonna be interesting. “Okay.” I didn’t see her kick the apple, but it came flying back and hit Cade straight on the nose. Pacifism is sweet my friend, but payback is sweeter. Mikey made an angry snarling noise, not unlike a jackal. He made his way to the fire escape ladder, but he gracefully stepped on a banana peel and fell on his ass. Wonderful . “OWWW!” I dragged Apollo away from the thugs, I wondered if we should make a run for it, but I knew we wouldn’t be able to make it far. At least not without hurting Apollo further. The girl climbed over the railing. She dropped to the ground without missing a beat and grabbed a garbage bag from the Dumpster. I was going to recruit this girl when this was over. “Stop! Let’s talk about this!” Cade sounded nervous. Great. Mikey groaned and flipped on to his back. The girl’s lips were chapped. She had wispy black fuzz at the corners of her mouth. I felt obligated to protect her. If they made a move against her I will intervene. “I don’t like you guys,” she said. “You should go.” “Yeah!” Cade said. “Sure! Just…” He reached for the money. The girl swung her garbage bag. In mid-air the plastic exploded, revealing a ton of rotten bananas. “Leave my alley. Now.” in the dumpster, trash bags burst and exploded. Showering the thugs with trash. Despite their injuries, they scrambled to there feet and made a run for it. I turned to the girl, grinning weakly. “Thank you.” I left my protective stance behind and laid Apollo down flat on his back, he showed no sign of waking up. The girl had two rings with crescents on them. My symbol. I knew she wasn’t one of my hunters so obviously I was confused. Maybe I had blessed her as a child. My memory was still painfully fuzzy. “Don’t thank me,” she said. “You’re still in my alley.” She walked a full circle around us. Studying us like Apollo used to with those cows of his. “Your gods?” “WERE gods.” I corrected bitterly. “You don’t look like gods.” “Well, we were just mugged. Our father expelled us from Olympus.” I paused, then cringed eternally as I realized I said that purely for dramatic effect. Apollo was rubbing off on me. “And who are you?” She smelled faintly of apple pie, which was surprising since she looked so dirty. “The names Meg.” “That’s a good name, Meg. Are you a demigod?” She didn’t respond. I figured she hadn’t heard that word before. She pushed up her rhinestone glasses. “Why would you think that?” “You have some sort of power. You chased off those two with rotten fruit. Quite the talent, if I were immortal I would offer you a place in my hunt. As for your parent… Controlling garbage in an interesting power. My brother here once dated a Roman goddess, Cloacina, she protected the city’s sewer system. Perhaps you’re related?” Meg frowned, Did I say something wrong? “I think I’ll just take your money.” My eyes widened. “Go on, get out of here.” “Wait! I- I need a bit of assistance!” I hoped this girl was as kind-hearted as I hoped. It felt… odd to ask for help from a mortal. But I couldn’t drag Apollo uptown alone… At least not without him paying for it. “Say I believe you” Her voice turned singsongy, reminding me of Hermes when he was planning something. “Say I decide to help. What then?” “That’s.. That’s a good question… We ARE in Manhattan right?” “Mmm-hmmm. Hell’s kitchen.” I nodded gravely. I knew that going to the empire state building was a dead end. The security would either call police or Zeus would smite us. Camp half-blood was our only option. Camp Jupiter was too far, and I have always disliked Romans. But getting to camp would be dangerous, two defenseless mortal gods would be top targets for monsters. Then there was Cade and Mikey’s boss. “I know a guy who lives on the upper east side. If you can get us to him, I will reward you.” Meg made a sound between a sneeze and a laugh. A sound Hermes would make. But children of Hermes don’t have garbage powers. “Reward me with what?” She twirled around, snatching the 10 twenty-dollar bills off the ground. “I’m already taking all your money.” “Give it back!” I’m not sure how much of my panic made it into my voice. I NEEDED that money to hail a taxi. She threw me the wallets, now empty except for the ID’s and our junior driver’s licenses. “I’ve got your money, I’ve got your money.” She sang. I stifled a rude remark. “Listen, mortal, we won’t be like this forever. Someday we will become gods again. Then we will reward those who helped us—and punish those who didn’t.” She put her hands on her hips, laughing. “How do you know what will happen? Have you ever been mortal before?” “No. But he has. Twice now. His punishments only lasted a few years at most.” I suddenly remembered I had yet to check over his injuries. I started gently prodding Apollo’s chest, looking for broken and cracked ribs. His entire right side was spanned with cracks and a few bad breaks. I winced in sympathy. He wouldn’t be walking far anytime soon. Hopefully Zeus gave us fast healing. If only to make us able to suffer more faster. “Oh yeah? And how did he get back to being all goddy or whatever?” “Goddy isn’t a word.” Apollo would make a haiku with it. “But our father required him to be a slave to an important demigod. I assume those rules apply to me also. The person uptown I mentioned, he’d probably be the demigod we are too work for. As long as we behave, we should be allowed back to Olympus.” I explained impatiently. “How do you know what demigod?” “Well… I don’t really know-” “I’m Meg McCaffery! And I claim your service!” Overhead, thunder rumbled. It echoed through the city, almost sounding like laughter. “Well… I walked right into that one. I guess that’s that then.” “I’m a demigod.” “Well yes, our father confirmed that with the thunder” “And now I have two sidekick gods, Lester and Livia!” I groaned and put my hand on my forehead. “Father, I am not abandoning Apollo, but please recall us back to Olympus… I beg of you…” There was no response. I had made my choice the moment I refused him what felt like hours ago. “Cheer up,” Meg said. “Who’s that guy you wanted to see, the guy on the upper east side?” “A demigod.. one of the most powerful of your generation. He beat the war god in a fight when he was 12, that was what? 6 years ago? Ares still hasn’t lived that down. If anyone can get us to camp in one piece it’s him.” My stomach growled. I realized I was hungry. Mortal bodies are pitiful things.  “And food” I added silently. “Good food?” “Yes, I suppose.” “Then that’s my first order, we’re going to find this guy to take us to that camp you mentioned.” I nodded. “As… As you wish..let’s find Percy Jackson.“

[First]

[Next]

[sad-trash-writing]

Fast Forward To The End

AO3 Link

Hunter just watched his best friend get locked in a box for the next 70 years AND discovered that his found family of the last three years has been blasted into some apocalyptic hell-future. He needed to make a phone call.

The glass on the cryo chamber iced over and Hunter let the forced smile fall from his face.  He shot a final instruction/word of warning to the creepy bald guy to keep Fitz safe and stalked out of the bunker. 

Robin and her mother glanced up at him as he strode through the room to the elevator. 

“I’ll be back in a bit. I just need to…take care of something,” he told them gruffly. 

The elevator ascended and deposited Hunter back in the known world. It seemed strange that so little had changed, but everything was different now. He stepped into the sunlight out of the shadow of the lighthouse and there was nothing amiss. The birds still chirped. The clouds still drifted lazily across the blue sky. No one else was aware that, for the hundredth time, his life was turned upside down.

Most of the earth-shattering changes in his life came with a bit more drama. He had seen his friends turned to stone by mysterious weapons, a tiny, new recruit obliterate a forest with her mind, and a man with a murderous shadow try to stage a political coup. All came with explosions, gunfire, destruction. 

There was no fanfare around the death of Hunter’s best friend. 

Sure, he wasn’t technically dead, but he going to be frozen in a box for the next 70 years. Even if Hunter did live well into his 100s (which was highly unlikely in his line of work), there was still an extinction-level event that he would have to survive. 

So in his mind, Fitz and the rest of his friends at SHIELD were truly dead. 

No more scanning the news to see if Coulson or Mack were in the background of a crowd, no more pouring over all the negative PR Daisy was garnering as 'Quake.'

No more semi-coded messages in football fanzines that were mostly just to talk shit on each others’ teams. 

Hunter forcefully wiped a tear from his eye. He didn’t cry—couldn’t cry. No matter how much Bobbi tried to drill into him that expressing his emotions was 'healthy' and 'natural' and 'for god’s sake, only one of us can be an emotional robot,' Hunter couldn’t let himself. A mercenary who cried was either weak, untrustworthy, or new and none were good traits to be known for if he wanted to pay his bills. 

Hunter flipped out his latest burner phone and tapped out a message. 

It was to Bobbi.

He knew it was well early for their next check in; they did their own thing most of the time, but would still check back in for a night or two in each other’s arms when they were ready or if they needed it. 

Hunter could admit he needed it tonight. 

He proofread the message one more time before he hit send (these stupid, old flip phones didn’t have autocorrect).

<Did you hear about the corgi convention in downtown Phily near Bill’s Tavern? Sounds up your alley>

Once he was certain the message sent, Hunter closed the phone, jammed it into his pockets, and headed towards the road. He didn’t expect a response. The Zephyr was still parked nearby, just cloaked, but he figured he should aim for low-key still.  

It took him a day and a half to hitchhike his way to Boston, but it was still well within Bobbi and his agreed upon timeframe. They typically gave each other a four day window to get from wherever they were to their meeting spot. If the other didn’t show up by then, it was their way of saying they needed more time away. 

Neither of them had ever missed the window, though. 

Hunter strolled into Bills’ Tavern, ordered a drink, and then sat down at a corner booth. He tried his damnedest to avoid thinking about Fitz or the team and what could happen to them in their frozen state and in the post-apocalyptic future, but Liverpool was playing and it dredged up the thoughts anyway. He downed his drink and ordered another. 

At 9:04 pm exactly, he finished off his final drink and headed towards the toilets. He walked straight passed the door to the toilet, making sure no one was following him, and slipped out the door to the back alley and the dumpster. The alley was mostly deserted. There were a few employees hanging by the dumpster on a smoke break.

“Mind if I bum a smoke?” he asked. One of the employees, who barely looked old enough to buy his own cigarettes, slipped one out of a pack and handed it over with a lighter. 

Hunter then proceeded to make small talk with all of them until they snuffed out their cigarettes and headed back inside (Hunter’s brand of 'small talk' was a blend of highly inappropriate jokes and totally falsified overshares that made the employees hide their cringes until they could use the excuse that their break was over to leave).

Again, like too many times this past year, Hunter was left alone.

He didn’t normally smoke, but he held on to the lit cigarette just for something to do. The acrid taste in his mouth and the burn of the smoke filling his lungs kept him present, but the shapes that swirled in his exhaled smoke drew him back into his memories.

He waited half an hour behind the bar, alone, before giving up and heading to find a motel to crash in. 

He repeated the ritual the next night. Bar, drink, 9:04—head to the alley, scare away the locals, and wait. 

Another no-show. 

He was starting to get concerned. Not that something had happened, (please, Bobbi could take care of herself better than he could), but that she wasn’t going to come. 

He had used their emergency code and everything. Sure, it had only been about a month so they’d last met up, but they always showed up for the important things. 

The last time they’d used the emergency code, Bobbi wasn’t sleeping because of flashbacks to her torture. They had been apart longer that time, but Hunter still dropped the job he was on and got himself to Reno in three days. Hunter flicked another pilfered cigarette into the alley and marched back to the motel. She still had one more night to show. 

At 9:04 the next night, he was back in the alley. If she wasn’t here by now, she wasn’t coming. Still, he wandering into the small cluster of regulars, who made a beeline for the door when they saw him approach, and opted to give her ten minutes.

Ten minutes in which he got progressively more morose. 

Nine minutes and thirty-four seconds into his ten minutes, a car screeched into the alley, blocking one of the exits. It was an expensive, shiny black model that set Hunter on edge and he slowly slid his hand towards the gun in his waistband.

The driver of the car killed the ignition and the door popped open.

  It was Bobbi. 

Even with her hair dyed a deep brown again, the large prescription glasses perched on her nose, and the low light of the streetlamp that illuminated the alley, he would recognize her in a heartbeat. 

Hunter’s shoulders relaxed and he let out a breath. All frustration with her faded away to be replaced with relief and a flood of emotions he had been trying to squelch for four days. 

“I was worried you wouldn’t still be here. I’m so sorry, I was in Oregon when I got your message and it took forev—“

He didn’t care about the explanation. He crossed the distance between them in three long steps and threw his arms around her waist. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder and just breathed her in. She was here. He wasn’t alone anymore. 

Bobbi froze. Hunter didn’t break down like this for much. Even in the most dire situations, he would laugh it off with a snide joke in public and then be broody and quiet once it was just him and Bob. 

She knew something was very wrong.

How could he even begin to tell her why he called? Because, maybe, the world would end tomorrow. Because Fitz might turn to ice in that chamber and never wake up to save the day. Because the family they built over two years with a handful of misfits was flung into some apocalyptic future and may never return. Because there was a little girl and her mother who they needed to protect and the girl was the only reason he knew any of this. 

Bobbi wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and his shoulder to squeeze him tightly. Hunter hugged her tighter as he bit back broken sobs. They weren’t in a private enough place for him to let himself go, but he was finding it hard to hold it in. 

  Thankfully, Bobbi wasn’t the type to whisper sweet nothings in his ear by way of comfort. She just held him firmly, silently, until he was ready to talk. Hunter was sure her spy-brain was racing through a million possibilities right now. He would tell her everything in due time. For now, he just needed her: a physical person, alive, unfrozen, in the present day, to ground him and tell him that, for one night, it would be okay.

[buckyscrystalqueen]

The Other Winter Soldier: Part 1

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff

Word Count: 4,592

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You could tell just by the slightest shift of his mannerisms that the Winter Soldier knew he was being followed. Though, you weren’t trying to be covert; not today at least. After all, you had been following him for the past month and he didn’t even notice until that day. But then again, you were the most lethal assassin in the world. Even more lethal than him in more ways than one.

He let you follow you a couple more blocks as the two of you dipped around New York City shoppers in Midtown Manhattan. You, personally, didn’t like the city despite how easy it made hiding. It was just so loud. You preferred the likes of Eastern Europe but Thailand was your favorite place to hide.

You watched the soldier, Bucky you had learned all 15 years ago, dip down an alley. You took a deep breath as you dropped the hood of your jacket, your face still hidden by a baseball cap. You stepped around the corner and walked toward the trash dumpster you knew he had to have been standing behind.

“Why are you following me?” Bucky demanded as he suddenly reached out, grabbed you by your throat and slammed you into the wall behind the dumpster. You kept your face hidden for a moment and let him think he had control.

“You’re the only person who can help me.” You though. You used the mutation the super soldier serum had given you to force the thought into his head as you looked up at him. You watched his eyes go wide as his grip on your throat lessened.

“(Y/N)?” He thought as his eyes searched yours. You nodded as you slowly reached up with your left hand and pulled off your hat. You let your long (Y/H/C) hair fall down your back as he let you go and took a step back.

“Hi Bucky.” You said out loud. His eyes danced over your body before settling on your right arm where it hung, dead next to you. His brow furrowed slightly at the rigidity of it. “That’s part of the reason I’m here.” You said as you put your hat back on with your left hand. “It’s short circuiting. But I’m here for you.” His eyes shot up to you and he took another step back. You took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. “Buck, someone wants me to take you out.”

——

“I don’t know who it was.” You told Bucky as the two of you sat in the old, abandoned Renwick small pox hospital on Roosevelt Island just east of Manhattan. You had been calling it home for the month you spent watching the soldier. Bucky helped you out of your jacket and your long sleeve flannel so he could look at the lovely, currently damaged metal arm HYDRA had given you. “His Russian was shit so I don’t think he was HYRDA. He pulled me and only me out of cryo over a year ago and told me my mission was to find and kill you and anyone you were with.”

“What happened here?” Bucky asked as he looked at the smashed panels of your arm. You shook your head and shrugged as you started to collect wood from your dwindling wood pile with your real arm to start a fire in a small metal trash can in the basement.

“He didn’t wake me up from cryo like HYDRA used to; those shocks… by the time I came too completely, I heard voices yelling so I hid. Didn’t know if it was HYRDA or not but all the other soldiers were dead so I wasn’t risking anything.” Bucky came over and took your place in setting up the small fire and you gave him a weak, appreciative nod as you moved to sit on a broken chair you had found upstairs.

“The people were fighting about something, I couldn’t figure out what but then the building started to come down. I got trapped under a pile of rubble when I was trying to figure it out and my arm got crushed. It took me a minute to get out but the second I did, I ran to find you. Figured you’d either help me or put me out of my misery.”

“I would never put you out of your misery, doll. You mean too much to me. You helped me through some tough times.” You nodded in agreement as he lit your little fire and grabbed a seat on the bottom of the stairs. “I just had my arm fixed myself. Had to go to Wakanda, spent a little time in cryo and they erased the brainwashing.” You smiled and looked over at him.

“That explains why I couldn’t find you for a while. I can honestly say, with no offense meant, that I am grateful I was able to skirt around that.” He nodded as he leaned back on the step behind him.

“For your sake, so am I. But I still have to wonder, if you didn’t have your brain shit if you would have had to go through that.” He gestured to your dead arm. You glanced down at it and shrugged.

“It’s not an issue when it works. But anytime I move it right now and I get a massive shock.” He hissed and cringed as he sat up and grabbed his cell phone from his pocket.

“I’ll call Steve. See what we can do about getting it looked at and fixed.”

“I don’t want people to know I exist. I just want to go back to Asia or Europe and go back into hiding. I don’t want HYDRA finding me and I don’t wanna be used for my abilities either” He nodded as he dialed a number before his fingers froze. He looked up at you with his brow furrowed.

“How long have you been out of cryo?”

“One year, seven months, two weeks and four days.” Bucky mumbled ‘shit’ as he finished dialing the number.

“The man who let you out of cryo is in the hands of the UN. He’s not HYDRA but he wants all the Avengers dead and thought you would be the one capable of doing it. I was there when that building burned down.” He looked up at you as he hit ‘send’ and put the phone to his ear.

“Guess it’s a good thing I faked my brainwashing then. Neither of us would have made it out of that building.”

——

“Now, I need you to not freak out.” Bucky said as he led Steve down the dark stairs to the basement. You moved so that you were standing in the light of a stolen lantern as you watched the two men come down the stairs. “She won’t hurt you. I trust her with my life.” You watched Steve stop short and take a step back up the stairs as he looked at you.

“What is this?” He asked Bucky; his eyes staying trained on your metal arm.

“She’s one of the super soldiers but she isn’t going to hurt us. I just need you to hear us out.” Steve panicked and took another step back up. You didn’t want to do it, but you couldn’t risk him leaving and giving away your existence.

“Your going to come back down the stairs, sit down and hear us out.” You said, using your abilities to force him to comply. It was like ‘The Force’ from Star Wars. You took a step back as Steve walked back down the stairs and sat down on the last step. You looked up at Bucky and whispered ‘sorry’ and with a small nod to you, knowing exactly what you did, he moved the chair in front of his friend and sat down.

“She was never brain washed but she is a super soldier. Stronger than me even, because I was the one who trained her and the rest of them. But when they gave her the serum, it unlocked her abilities. She is capable of making people do things simply by suggesting it, she can read thoughts and project her thoughts into other people’s minds. She can even make people see things.” He looked back at you and nodded. “Show him the waterfall.”

“The nightmare one?” You asked as your brow furrowed and Bucky nodded once more. You gave him a small returning nod and projected the image into Steve’s head.

“Oh, my God!” Steve said as he began to look around the room. You knew he was seeing a jungle with a large waterfall right in front of him. Your projections were so vivid, you knew he could not only hear the flow of the water and the sounds of jungle animals but he could smell them as well. If he didn’t know any better, he would have honestly thought you had transported him to the jungle.

“Bring him back.” Bucky said and you pulled the image from Steve’s mind. “I have one more to show you to prove a point but you need to understand, we are all right here in New York and no one’s getting hurt no matter what she makes you see.” Steve nodded as he looked over at you expectantly. Bucky sighed and looked back at you. “Do the thing.”

“You wanna see it, too?” He shook his head and you took a deep breath and sighed. You hated seeing the faces accompanied with this vision.

Steve jumped a bit as the basement around him transformed into a HYDRA base torture chamber. You sat in the middle of the room in a large chair being shocked with high volts of electricity. Your made up screams echoed in Steve’s head as a HYRDA agent shouted out the code words to turn you into an active soldier. You let the image run though until he saw you comply before you brought him back to the basement.

“They shocked me once before I started projecting my torment. I made the man at the switch think he threw it and everyone saw what you just did. This happened when I was in cryo.” You said as you pointed at your metal arm. “I guess my visions were too good because they wanted me to take his place.” Steve looked at you with a look of pure sadness and shook his head.

“I’m so sorry.” You shook your head and waved him off with your left arm.

“I had a lot of awake time to work through my issues when I wasn’t staving off his nightmares or telling him stories. We kept each other company.” You said as you sat down on the small wood pile. “Look, HYRDA killed my family to get me to comply and I lost my arm to them. Now, I can be grateful that I got to help Bucky out when he needed it, I know how to speak like 31 different languages and I can kick the Winter Soldier’s ass on his best day because he basically taught me how. My abilities help me stay hidden and keep people away from me. I just need help with this.” You said as you pointed to your arm. “But I have gone over a year and a half without it so if you can’t help me, I’ll just go. I don’t wanna cause trouble…”

“No, no that’s not it at all.” Steve said as he stood up almost as if to block the exit. “We can help you, but I don’t have a choice but to let Tony know. I have no other way to get you to Wakanda quickly without him.” You glanced over at Bucky.

“Are you coming with me?” You asked him, mentally. He nodded in response and you looked back at Steve. “OK. Let’s go talk to Tony, but you can do the talking. Let them think I’m mute or foreign or something. I’ll just think to you two.”

——

“Do we have to keep her in the box?” Steve asked as four guys strapped down the large, metal, transportable jail cell you were in at the back of the Quinjet. “She’s not gunna hurt anyone.”

“I’m not taking any risks.” Tony said as he stood off to your right, monitoring the progress. “It’s bad enough I have to deal with him.” He said as he gestured to Bucky with his thumb.

“I really wanna fuck with him.” You thought to Bucky as you kept your eyes straight forward. “What do you think he would like to see more; me breaking out of the box or the plane crashing?” Bucky snorted a laugh as you closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the chair with a smile on your face.

“What are you laughing at, Buck?” Steve asked from as Tony checked the straps while Natasha started the jet. Bucky shook his head as he fought to collect himself.

“Say it was a joke you saw on TV the night before.” You fed him. You smirked to yourself as Bucky told Steve what you had said. Steve glanced over at you out of the corner of his eye and nodded as the jet took off and headed to Wakanda.

“What did you tell him?” Steve thought over Tony’s mental bitching about a second Winter Soldier. You picked your head up and opened one eye to look at Steve.

“Debating what to show Stark. Me breaking out of the box or the jet crashing.” You watched Steve smirk and fight to keep his laughter in as you settled back into your chair and closed your eyes again. You gave it a few minutes before you thought of a story in your mind and fed the images to Bucky. You used to do this just to pass the time when he was fighting himself as the Winter Soldier. You heard him mentally sigh as he sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, letting your story of choice, Slaughterhouse-Five, play out in his head.

“That’s one of my favorites.” Bucky though as you finished, only minutes before you landed. You nodded with your eyes still closed.

“I remember. That one and Lord of the Flies.” You could feel him trying to place the story in his memories. You picked your head up and looked at him as you gave him a brief run down of the story as the jet landed.

“You’ll have to tell me that one again. It’s not clicking.” You nodded to him as a few people from Wakanda came in to escort you out at gunpoint.

“Go slow with her arm.” Bucky snapped as Tony popped the lock on the door and unlocked the thick, metal straps holding you down. You committed the unlock code to memory from Tony’s thoughts as you stood up, cringing and letting out a whine when your arm settled at your side, sending an almost crippling shock through your upper arm, shoulder, chest and back. You shook your head a bit and stepped out of the box.

“Let’s get her to the med bay.” A man in an all-white medical suit said. You followed his gesture as the four Wakandan’s with guns took point around you. You forced yourself not to roll your eyes.

“Did they do this to you?” You asked Bucky as he fell into step beside you. He barely shook his head as the two of you kept your eyes straight forward.

“No. I’m a victim here. I don’t know why they are doing this to you.” You looked over at him, catching his eye for only a moment before looking down at your arm.

“I’m a risk. You had Steve. I don’t have anyone but you that really knows I’m not a threat and you can’t explain why you know that. To them, I’m just a brainwashed Winter Soldier.” You paused with the small group at the medical bay.

“We should have her arm fixed in a few hours. The brainwashing will take some time.”

“Tell them you need to be with me incase I have an episode.” You mentally shouted to Bucky. “Say you’re the only one that has a chance to contain me.” Bucky relayed your message to the doctor. The man simply nodded as he gestured the small group into the medical bay. You glanced back at Tony, Nat and Steve on the far side of the door as you were lead to an operating room.

“We need you to take off your top so we can get to the shoulder." You nodded as Bucky stepped toward you and helped you.

“You’re gunna be just fine.” He said as he simply ripped the shirt in half so he didn’t bother your arm at all.

“At least take a girl out for drinks first.” You teased out loud in Russian. He chuckled as he shoved the torn t-shirt in his pocket.

“Steve always used to tell me I moved to fast.” He joked as he carefully tore the right strap of your bra. He handed you the front strap and pressed his chest against yours in an attempt to keep you sort of modest while he ripped the back part of the strap off the back.

“You know you still owe me dinner. Do you remember the night you had planned?” His brow furrowed as he leaned back to look at you regarding your silent question.

“Remind me while they work?” You nodded at his thought as you were lead over to the table. You laid down and laid your arm out as gently as you could on the part that was meant for your arm.

“Can you tell her we need to strap her down for all our safety?” One of the nurses asked Bucky. You sarcastically thought ‘seriously’ in his head as he repeated what the doctor said in Russian; the only language you let on to knowing.

“I just have the strong urge to fuck with everyone.” You thought him in response as they strapped your body down.

“With Sargent Barnes, we were able to do this in cryo.” The scientist explained as a couple nurses brought over tools and pieces of metal that they were going to have to fit to your arm on the spot. Bucky translated simply for posterity as the doctor continued. “Unfortunately, we are not capable of doing that. So this will be a long and sometimes painful process and I am very sorry in advance for that.”

“Oh, fuck.” You groaned when Bucky had finished. “Shit just tell them to cut the fucking thing off, man. I’ll survive without an arm.” You said as someone gave Bucky a chair. He sat down next to you and took your hand in his.

“I’ll help you like you helped me. We can do this, doll.” You nodded as the electric sound of tools and machines firing up filled the room. “Now, remind me.” He thought as they got started.

You started from the beginning, showing him the outfit he said he would wear and the dress the two of you had decided would be that you wear. You showed him the details he had described of the restaurant he wanted to take you two. He changed little details here and there; adjusting them as he remembered more about his favorite restaurant in Brooklyn from when he was growing up. Neither of you even knew if it was still around but this game was a good way to distract yourselves from the HYDRA torment 15 years prior. By hour two, the Wakandan scientists found your nerve center. Indescribable ripped through you as they fought to get your whole arm working again.

“Hey, look at me.” Bucky shouted in Russian as he jumped on top of you on the table seconds after you easily broke out of the metal restraints. “Look at me!” Tears streamed from your eyes as he used his body weight to hold you down. Your tear blurred (Y/E/C) eyes met his steel grey blue eyes as he hovered inches away from your face. “Let’s do Steeplechase. We never finished that.” You sobbed and nodded as you forced yourself to bring up the entrance of the park he went to as a child. You had only gotten through part of it before they put you back in cryo.

As Bucky held you in place, his eyes boring into yours, the two of went through the every single detail of the classic theme park. He forced you to focus on his thoughts, cataloging every lightbulb, game, sound and smell he could come up with; real or imaginary. Through the three hours of pain, he gently brushed your tears away. After that, he stayed where he was and  gently brushed his thumb lovingly across your cheek as the Wakandan’s worked as fast as they could rebuilding your arm from the shoulder down. To anyone watching, it looked like Bucky was simply laying on top of you and staring at you. But to the two of you, he was helping work you through your own personal hell.

“Just gotta square out those ferris wheel wheel buckets, doll.” Bucky thought softly as he glanced over at your arm at the end of hour eight. You weakly corrected what he told you as he looked back down at you. “That’s perfect. You’re almost done, baby doll.” You nodded as you let the image of the park fade from both your minds. You turned your head into his hand as exhaustion took over and let your eyes flutter closed. “Hey, stay with me, doll.” You nodded and looked back up at him as he cupped your jaw in his hand.

“I’m so tired.” You mumbled in Romanian, not even capable to think in Russian at the moment. He nodded as he smiled down at you.

“I know, doll. You’re doing so good for me. Just stay awake with me a little longer, baby.” You nodded as you rolled your head to the right to look at your arm for the first time. The shiny metal looked so foreign to you compared to the tarnished, broken metal that had been there before. You tentatively moved one finger and sighed in relief when you received no jolt of pain.

“They did it.” You thought to Bucky as you watched the man adjust the shape of the last four panels. Your arm still looked like a metal jigsaw puzzle but it looked like a better version of your original metal arm.

“Want to arm wrestle?” Bucky thought. You looked back up at him and rolled your eyes, lazily.

“We both know I would win.” He smirked and nodded as two of the last few pieces were put into place and fastened together. “You may be the HYDRA ghost but you trained me to be better.”

“Yea, yea.” He thought as he rolled his eyes. You both looked back over as the last two pieces were put into place.

“Can you ask her to move her fingers, please?” The man who was the head of the project asked. Bucky translated, unnecessarily as he sat up and got off the table. You immediately missed the weight as you carefully curled your fingers into your palm. The man had you run through the rest of your arm; moving your wrist, bending your elbow and moving your arm up and down. You laughed as raised your arm above your head and windmilled it in a circle next to your body.

“That is so weird to do after a year and a half of not having an arm.” You said in Russian as you looked at your arm. You turned back to the Wakandan and smiled.

“Thank you.” You said in English. “Thank you so much.” He nodded and bowed his head to you. You turned back toward Bucky as you showed him your hand. “I’m shiny.” He laughed and nodded as the door to the med bay opened.

“Alright. Let’s get the super killer in the box for the night.” Your smile fell at Tony’s words.

“Whoa! She just spent nine hours having her arm fixed. Why does she…” Steve tried but Tony looked back at him.

“Because that was the agreement. T’Challa and his men fix the arm then she goes back into the box until we can find out how and why she hunted us down. No more murderers on the loose.”

“Let it happen.” You thought to both Steve and Bucky. Steve rolled his eyes and tossed his hands in the air as Tony looked back at Natasha.

“Tell her she’s going in the box for the night. We can’t risk having her running around, picking us off in our sleep.” Nat nodded as she stepped forward and translated half of what Tony said.

“Stay close to where ever they have me. I’m not staying long and I’d like to say goodbye to you.” Bucky’s head shot over to you at the thought as you followed Natasha at gunpoint out of the med bay and down a hall. The small group lead you into a large room that had nothing in it but the jail cell box you had been brought to Wakanda in.

“Take a seat. We’ll bring you something to eat and drink. You can use the restroom after that to shower and clean up.” You nodded to Natasha as you stepped into the box and sat down. You didn’t fight as as you lined your legs and arms up to where they needed to be. You lifted your head up out of the way as the thick, heavy straps across your chest were fastened.

“You’re not even gunna give her clothes?” Bucky asked as he pointed at your nearly bare torso.

“When we give her dinner, we will.” Tony said as the straps around your limbs were locked into place.

“You’re a real class act, Mr. Stark. Such a gentleman.” You said in English as you looked at the man. His face dropped as the door was closed in front of you. You kept your eyes locked on his as the door was secured.

“You can speak English?” He asked as he stepped up to the box and looked at you. A slow, small smile spread across your face. You didn’t say a word as you twisted your metal arm slightly in the brace and flipped him off. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the seat as Tony fumed. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?! What else haven’t you told us?” He screamed as he bashed his fist on the door. Your smile got bigger but you kept your eyes closed.

“Is his face all red?” You thought to Bucky. “It is, isn’t it?” You heard Bucky cough to cover up his laughter as Tony tried to get answers out of you.

“Alright, Tony. Let’s let her sit for a while. We have all had a long day.” Steve said as he stepped forward. Tony shouted and stormed out of the room.

“Smooth.” Steve thought to you. You opened one eye to look at him and with a simple shrug, you went back to closing your eyes.

“I’ll stay as close as I can.” Bucky thought to you as he headed out of the room with Nat, Steve and the other Wakandan’s. You nodded subtly as the room was plunged into darkness.

Part 2

[conspiraships]

got angry and wrote out my feelings. uh trigger warnings if u read this: blood, violence, straight up just some murder and i tried not to be too graphic but it’s still kind of a lot, also its not smutty at the end but its like,,, suuuuper suggestive and implied

anyway enjoy wonderwall

———

Maiken didn’t consider herself a violent person, not really. Sure, she had violent thoughts. Sometimes thoughts so violent they made her cringe. But she prided herself on the fact that she’d never once acted on those thoughts. She got angry, and ranted and raved about it, and didn’t let herself get swept away by the urges. Maiken always put her foot down if the thoughts got too far. Always.

But… Now… If it came down to a court case somehow, she’d defend herself with undue stress or something. Arthur had just lost his job and the sole income of the Fleck-Reyes home fell to Maiken's job at the Wayne’s restaurant and rich people did not tip well. Their household had cut back on so much just to make ends meet, and Arthur wasn’t taking his medication now because they simply couldn’t afford it anymore. Penny’s health was getting worse as the days passed, and Maiken couldn’t afford to see her therapist and was becoming steadily more stressed out.

The group of men making a snide comment about Arthur when he picked her up from work really just… Was the last straw on Maiken Reyes’s psyche.

Maiken wasn’t a violent person. Or if she was, she kept it so close to the chest that no one had ever noticed. She wasn’t… She’d swear up and down that she wasn’t a violent person.

But not even Maiken could deny the sick satisfaction she felt when she smacked one of the rude men’s heads against the dumpster in the alley a few streets over from her workplace. His skull cracked and he finally stopped shouting.

Behind Maiken, the other two men were not so quiet. One man was openly sobbing, and the other was cursing at her boyfriend, hurling slurs at him that didn’t even remotely apply. Maiken rolled her eyes and, for extra measure, smashed the man’s head against the corner of the dumpster a few more times until she was sure the only way he’d be leaving the alley was in a body bag.

“Sweetheart,” she called, turning finally to face Arthur and the other two men.

Arthur didn’t look away, but he asked, “Is he taken care of?”

“Mhm,” Maiken chirped cheerfully, closing the distance so she was at Arthur’s side in seconds. “Messy business though. Do we have peroxide at home?” She couldn’t remember. Arthur might have to run into the convenience store on their way home to get some. Maiken quite liked the jeans she was wearing, after all. The man at her feet now spat out a curse, drawing Maiken back into the moment. She swept her eyes over him, locating the bullet wound just above his knee and another in his shoulder. The other man suffered similar bullet wounds, which meant that Arthur’s gun only had two left.

“The fuck is wrong with you psychos?” the man spat. “Fuckin’ crazies in Gotham… Jesus Christ you both should be locked up.”

“Maybe if you kept your mouth shut, your friend’s skull wouldn’t be split open right now,” Maiken told him in her most cheerful tone. “You’d probably live to see tomorrow, too, if you could just,” here, Maiken stepped forward, stomping her foot down on the bullet wound in the man’s leg, “keep your fucking mouth shut.” The man let out a howl of pain and Maiken stomped down again with all the force she could muster. The other man let out another sob as his friend screamed. “You need to be quiet.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” he spat. Maiken jumped a little as a bullet went through his head. The other man let out the worst sounding sob as his friend’s body crumbled to the ground with a hard, wet thud.

“Who does he think he is?” Arthur asked rhetorically. Maiken looked up at him and her entire body warmed at the fierce, vicious look in Arthur Fleck’s eyes. Arthur’s finger twitched on the trigger of his gun again, and the last bullet in his six shooter went through the already dead man’s head again.

Down the alley, the final man continued to sob.

“Messy,” Maiken remarked, looking down at her jeans as well as at Arthur’s clothes. Blood and brain matter had splattered back onto them. They’d need to go straight home and go out for peroxide in cleaner clothes, she realized. “Oh, I don’t want to have to do the laundry tomorrow,” Marin whined at the thought.

Beside her, Arthur laughed. For a moment, she couldn’t tell what kind of laugh he’d let out but the louder it got the more she realized it was his nervous laugh that he couldn’t control. His gun shook in his hand at his side and his free hand fluttered between covering his mouth to stifle the laughs and holding his throat.

The other man in the alley sobbed.

“Shut up,” Maiken hissed at the sobbing man, and then hastily said to Arthur, “Not you, my love. Never you. Breathe. You need to breathe. Remember our exercises?” When Arthur managed to nod between laughs, Maiken took a deep breath through her nose. “Okay. Do what I do. In through your nose, out through your mouth. In, two, three, four. Hold. Out, two, three, four.” Arthur kept laughing and gasping for breath.

The other man in the alley sobbed. Arthur gagged on his laugh and hunched over. The other man in the alley sobbed.

“M-Mai-” Arthur cut himself off with a laugh that ended in a coughing fit. “Maik-”

The other man sobbed and Arthur gagged again.

Maiken crossed the alley quicker than she knew she could move and, in one harsh motion, kicked the sobbing man in the side of the head. His arm gave out and he hit the ground, still sobbing, and Maiken delivered a harsh stomp to his skull, and another, and another, and another, and then the only sound in the alley was Arthur’s desperate and ragged breathing broken up by harsh laughter and Maiken's own heavy breathing and the low ringing in Maiken's ears.

She moved back to Arthur’s side, one shoe squelching as she walked, one pant leg clinging to her skin more than the other.

“Maiken,” Arthur managed to say. “We… I…”

“Sh, sh,” Maiken soothed, wrapping an arm around his waist. “I’m here. It’s okay, Arthur. I’m here.”

Arthur laughed again and shook his head. “It’s not that,” he said. “Maiken, I killed those men on the subway last week.” The ringing in Maiken's ears silenced at his statement, and she curled her fingers into his hoodie as she peered up at him. Maiken's silence brought about another round of nervous and uncontrolled laughter from Arthur and he pulled out of her grip, turning his back on her as he clearly tried to silence his laughter in his hand. His gun was still tight in his grip but his hand shook violently.

Maiken swallowed.

Arthur gagged on his laughs.

“Breathe,” Maiken told him, staring at the gun that shook so badly she was worried he’d drop it. “In… Hold… And out. Just like that. Like we practiced.” He breathed, and he laughed, and he choked and coughed, and he breathed until he wasn’t laughing so painfully and his hand around his gun wasn’t shaking anymore. “Better?” she asked, wanting to step forward and gather him in her arms and make sure he really was okay.

“Yes,” Arthur said. He took a loud, shaky breath and turned around to face Maiken again. His eyes were wide, vulnerable, as he met her gaze.

“Okay.” Maiken nodded and took a deep breath. She wanted to close her eyes, gather her thoughts, but she got the feeling that if she looked away now, things would change between the two of them. And not in the way she wanted. Things were about to change, but… Maiken couldn’t lose him.

There was no sobbing in the alley. Only the distant sounds of sirens, and the train rushing passed. It was probably their train, Maiken realized. She hoped Penny would be alright with them getting home later than usual.

“Maiken,” Arthur said, drawing Maiken back to him. To the alley. To … This.

She stared at him, his eyes dark and indecipherable in the night.

“Arthur,” Maiken said in return. “I just killed two men, and helped you kill a third. You watched me kill two men, and help you kill a third.” She licked her lips but didn’t look away from her boyfriend. “I … Don’t think anything could scare me away from you at this point.” Maiken finally let herself look away and she ran a hand through her hair, swearing when her scalp felt wet. Right. Blood literally on her hands. “Fuck.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

Maiken snapped her gaze back to Arthur in time for him to grab her hand out of her hair and press a hard kiss to her mouth.

Warmth shot through her body when Arthur guided her hand in between his legs. She grasped at his jacket with her other hand while he kissed her and thrust his hips against her hand.

“Arthur,” Maiken murmured against his mouth. He hummed and pressed a kiss to her neck, still moving against her. “Arthur… Mm, fuck.”

“Going to,” he said.

His words ripped a startled laugh out of her. “You’re not going to fuck me in an alley filled with corpses.”

Arthur stilled against her, and then laughed. His head dropped against her shoulder and he laughed again. “When you put it like that, no. You’re right, Maiken.”

Maiken laughed, too. “I know I am.” She turned her head and pressed a kiss to his jaw. “We should… Really get out of here.” Arthur exhaled against her neck and she felt him nod. “Fuck. Fuck. We just… Fuck.”

“We didn’t,” Arthur teased, although his next statement was said seriously. “We did just … Kill three men.”

“They should have kept their filthy mouths shut,” Maiken spat, vitriol burning like bile in her mouth. “Let’s go. We… We need to go.”

The pair separated and they took a few moments to straighten their clothes and hair out, to look presentable as long as no one looked too closely at them. This late, though, in Gotham City and in what was considered the slums, no one would look twice at the couple covered in blood as they rushed home.

(Arthur fucked her against the bathroom door as soon as they were home and able to get in the bath without worries. And Maiken had the brief thought that if this happened again, she might just let Arthur fuck her next to their victims. But she wasn’t that far gone. Yet.)

[lettersfromananbunin]

Lost a Bet (Part 2)

Part 1

AN: *throws fic into the sasuhina dumpster* I’m not dead, please don’t kill me, I really missed writing for this ship.

p.s. there is a small seen about some injuries that may seem out of place, but hopefully what Sasuke thinks later explains why it’s there. 

Lost a Bet

Sasuke was never one for early mornings, especially when he knew that he would have to deal with a lot of people during the day. He took his time getting ready, not caring that he would be late getting to the house to help the others finish it. As he finished getting ready he saw the bento box clean next to his sink and it clicked in his mind that that day was going to be especially annoying as he grabbed the box and slipped it into his bag and left his apartment building.

Sasuke did have to admit that at least it was more peaceful to walk around earlier in the morning, not as many glaring faces as he made his way to the section of the city that was still under reconstruction. After walking for about 10 minutes, he started to hear hammering, loud voices, and he smelled the dusty scent that still lingered as strongly as if the buildings had just been destroyed. He caught a few odd glances from some of the workers as he passed other projects and then came to the doorway of the house he would be working at. As he stepped through the doorway, he wished he had earplugs as he was greeted by Naruto’s boisterous voice. 

“Hey Teme, you’re late!”

“Hn, whatever.” Sasuke said as he walked over to the wall where everyone’s bags were and dropped his bag next to them.

“Hey he’s here Naruto, just leave it.” Sakura said as she came from the kitchen with some sawdust already on her shorts. Sasuke looked at her and saw Hinata and Hanabi enter the room behind her. Sasuke briefly caught Hinata’s eyes before he looked back to Sakura when she resumed speakking. 

“You’ll be working on the roof with Shino and Shikamaru, Sasuke. Tools are set up on a table outside by the ladder” Sakura said and gestured behind her to an opening in the wall that was going to be a traditional sliding door when the house was done.

‘At least they aren’t much for conversation’ Sasuke thought to himself. He nodded his head and moved to walk outside only to be called out to by Naruto.

“Hey, you have to tell me who helped you out with our little bet yesterday!” Naruto yelled then his face settled with a devilish grin and the rest of the rookie nine, plus team Gai, stopped their preparations to work or continued, but were really paying attention. Hinata didn’t move from behind Sakura.

“Shut up Dobe, it is too early to deal with your loud voice.” Sasuke replied

“You aren’t getting out of answering me.” Naruto stated. It was clear that the others were also interested with Sasuke seemingly trying to refuse to tell him. A few started to wonder if Sasuke was not giving a name because there was no one, while the others knew that he was too stubborn too have just left early if he hadn’t been able to prove Naruto wrong. Shikamaru actually spoke up seemingly from nowhere.

“Worry about it at lunch Naruto, I didn’t get dragged out of my bed by you and your girlfriend after you  this early to deal with this.”

“It won’t take long if he just tells me” Naruto countered.

“Naruto, all of us here know that it won’t end with his answer. You will go off on some adventure to find her or just waste time ragging on Sasuke. This childish bet can be discussed when we don’t have so much work to do.” Neji stated with a knowing look directed at Naruto as the others nodded in agreement. Naruto just glared at Neji then looked back to Sasuke.

“Fine, you got lucky, but you are telling me at lunch Teme.” he said as he grabbed a tool box and walked into an adjacent room to be followed by a few others to work on finishing the walls up. Everyone else started resuming their tasks or heading towards their work space. Sasuke followed after Shino and Shikamaru to head outside. On his way, he stopped to talk to Hinata before she could follow Sakura and her sister into the room next to the kitchen where they were insulating the walls before they could finish them. 

“You can just go somewhere else for lunch if you want, I don’t think he will try to track you down because he would know you would be back after lunch.”

“It’s fine, I can deal with Naruto” Hinata said as she picked up some tools to take with her. 

“Hn. I washed that bento box and brought it with me, I’ll give it back to you before the end of the day.”

“Okay.” Hinata said then went off into the next room. Sasuke watched for a brief few seconds as she seemed to be discussing something with Sakura and Hanabi then left and went outside. 

By the time lunch came around, everyone welcomed a break. In comparison to how relatively put together everyone was in the morning, all the guys had shed their shirts already or were down to tanktops and all the girls had on shorts and tank tops and every one of them had their hair up, but pieces of hair that had fallen from ponytails and buns were plastered to their necks and faces. Everyone grabbed their bags and gathered in the courtyard and collapsed onto the grass. Water bottles and sandwiches were passed around. A few people sent some questioning gazes towards Hinata when they thought she couldn’t tell as she was talking to Sakura. She was the only one other than Shino wearing full length pants and was the only one wearing long sleeves. A few people caught bits and pieces of the conversation, such as Hinata giving multiple reassurances to Sakura about her being fine. When Sakura held Hinata’s wrist and her hand glowed green briefly, everyone assumed that they were discussing the injury she got the day before.

“Are you okay Hinata? Is your wrist still hurt?” Ino asked in concern from across the other side of the circle they were all sitting in.

“Yes, my wrist is fine, she just wanted to double check.” Hinata said and shared a look with Sakura.

“Yeah, she did well.” Sakura said as she dropped Hinata’s wrist and returned her attention to her food. 

“That’s good.” Ino responded. Everyone returned their attention to their remaining food and didn’t catch a look that Hinata shared with Hanabi and Neji. Everyone’s attention was quickly redirected to Naruto when he spoke. 

“Okay Sasuke, we still have some time on our lunch so there is no work to save you now. Who kissed you?” Naruto asked and looked at Sasuke. Sasuke looked around the circle to ensure that no one noticed when he looked towards Hinata and she nodded slightly with an almost imperceptible blush on her face because her face was already flushed from the heat. When he finished glancing around, his eyes rested on Naruto with a glare. 

“Just calm down Dobe and don’t harass her.” 

“Stop stalling!” 

Sasuke glared a few more moments then sighed. “It was Hyuuga.” he said and looked at Hinata. Everyone could guess which Hyuuga he would be talking about given the context, but it did help solidify that he wasn’t joking when she looked at him briefly and didn’t deny it. It was silent for a moment before Naruto’s laugh broke the calm.

“Yeah right, she wouldn’t do that. You liar, she-” Naruto said to Sasuke.

“Naruto.” Hinata interrupted and settled him with a calm gaze and didn’t say a word. Sasuke could almost feel Neji’s glare and he caught Hanabi’s small playful smirk. He also caught a few surprised looks. 

“Hinata-sama?” Neji asked calmly, knowing that he shouldn’t overreact. She simply nodded in response.

“Did he ask you to just agree with him? I saw him talk to you earlier, are you just helping him?” Kiba asked in an irritated tone.

“No.” Hinata answered.  

“Then what was he talking to you about? This has to be a joke.” Naruto stated. Hinata shook her head again then looked at Naruto.

“I took him dinner last night because he was still standing at that corner for your bet.”

“So you took him food, that doesn’t prove anything.”

“You said you needed to be able to ask the girl, you asked, and she confirmed, now finish eating dobe.” Sasuke stated. Naruto just dumbly looked from Sasuke then to Hinata. She nodded again. 

“I am not a liar, nor is this a favor that I would just do for someone. Take my word Naruto.” Hinata stated simply, a hint of irritation lacing her voice. Naruto didn’t speak. Hinata huffed and stood up, a nearly imperceptible look of pain on her face and walked over to Sasuke, but continued to address Naruto. “Last night, we walked by him as a group around seven. After I ate dinner with my family and spent some time with Hanabi, I prepared a bento box and left around 8:15, right Hanabi?” She asked.

“Yes” Hanabi replied after taking a second to rethink the night before.

“I went to see if Sasuke was still there. I gave him the bento, which he didn’t eat right away. I asked him why and he said he would prefer to eat it when he got home because he had to wait at that corner until 9. When he talked to me earlier, it was about returning that bento box.” Hinata stated then looked at Sasuke then his bag. Sasuke took the bento box from his bag and handed it to Hinata. She then turned and showed it to Naruto. “See?”’ Naruto.

“I went to see him a few minutes before 9 and he was gone. So you had left just a little bit before I got there?” he asked.

“Yes. It was clear to me that he was going to stand there, and with what you just said, I correctly guessed that you would go bug him for not getting a girl to kiss him. It seemed as though him standing there all day wasn’t humiliating enough for you Naruto. I kissed him, he won your bet, and we went our separate ways.” She stated in a frustrated tone. She was irritated remembering how Naruto had acted the day before. She still admired Naruto, but he was aggravating sometimes. Naruto looked at her then away. She turned and walked back to her spot and heard footsteps behind her and then Naruto’s hand rested on her shoulder and she cringed slightly and Naruto stepped back a half step. Neji’s, Hanabi’s, and Sakura’s’ eyes narrowed slightly. 

“Naruto just let her sit down.” Sakura said and took the bento from Hinata’s hand as Hinata moved to continue to her spot to sit down, only to feel Naruto put his hands on her shoulders and turn her towards him. 

“I just want to apologize.” he said then as Hinata turned to him he went to look at her and tell her he was sorry when she pushed his hands off of her and stepped back with a pained expression on her face and Neji was up and about to forcefully push him away from her but she quickly did a half turn and got between Neji and Naruto and stopped Neji’s hand before it connected with Naruto and stopped Naruto’s hand as his was about to reflexively strike Neji in retaliation.

“Stop.”‘ She ordered and everyone was silent again. Her arms trembled slightly as she released her grip on them. She stepped towards her spot and Hanabi had barely stood up in time to stop her from falling. 

“Hinata?” Naruto asked as Sakura whispered quietly to Hinata and handed her a bottle of water. 

“She has been training with our father Naruto. She trains with him at night, trains by herself afterwards, then wakes up early to come here. She didn’t want anyone to worry about her, so she only told Sakura. That’s why she works with Sakura everyday, in case her injuries are too much.”

“What is your father thinking? He knows she helps out everyday. How could he-” Ten-Ten started to say but Neji cut her off.

“Hiashi sama temporarily stopped the training a week ago because of that. Hinata-sama didn’t want to take time to rest when she knew she could help out as much as she could to rebuild the village.” Neji stated.

“Before any of you say anything, I am okay, I am healing, Sakura is helping me and thank you all for being concerned, I can see it on your faces. “ Hinata said calmly after taking a sip of water. “We need to get back to work, I’ll rest a little okay?” She said and looked at Sakura, who gave a worried look, but nodded. 

“She’s right, besides half of you have some work injuries anyway or have had them” Sakura pointed out, understanding Hinata and understanding what it is like to be pitied from when she was pitied before. Everyone nodded and agreed, Ino, Ten Ten, and Shikamaru lightly touching their basic injuries that they would only take are of after the end of the day. Everyone went back to work and idle chatter resumed. Everyone understood that people would neglect resting to help someone else out and everyone knew that that of course applied to Hinata too. 

The next few hours were peaceful, as peaceful as a construction site could be anyway. As the sun started to sit, the work slowed down and people started to finish their last tasks. As Sasuke walked into the house having grabbed his bag from the courtyard, he saw Hinata placing multiple bags on a table then taking out cartons with the names of everyone on them, she had gone to get everyone dinner, Sakura had held her to her word and she didn’t do much heavy work for the rest of the day. Sasuke walked to her and set her bag next to her.

“I grabbed it, it was near mine.” he stated then wordlessly helped her place cartons on the table then grabbed the one with his name on it and walked towards the door. He wasn’t one for small talk nor having acknowledgement for helping her. He hadn’t known how else to slightly apologizing for inadvertently causing her to be put in a situation to be hurt. 

“It wasn’t your fault.” She stated and finished setting up the table and turned to him as others started to wander in to get their food and eat together or grab theirs and leave. 

“Yesterday you were up later to make a bento”

“Yesterday you should have eaten by then” 

“‘Hn.” he said so no one knew what they had talked about. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but what had happened earlier had surprised Sasuke a lot. Based on the past few days, Sasuke realized that he didn’t know a lot about Hinata, only to realized that what he now knew, he admired about her or appreciated it. Her quiet nature appealed to his unwillingness to fill the air with needless conversation. He admired her strength and while her stubbornness was irritating, he also found it endearing. She had managed to make all of friends go quiet by using a single word and stopping two gifted ninjas from even making contact with each other, all while badly injured. She had quite a resolve.He was broke from his revelations and musings by Naruto.

“Sorry Hinata, for all of it and you too Sasuke.” Naruto stated quickly when he wandered in. Sasuke just looked at him and Naruto knew he was accepting the apology and not caring about it anyway. Hinata turned to Naruto with a gentle smile.

“It’s okay, you didn’t know and you were just surprised, you just should have trusted our words.” she stated. Naruto scratched the back of his head nervously.

“Yeah I know. I just couldn’t believe it.”

“I don’t think anyone really could.” Kiba said. A few others nodded.

“You aren’t really known for being so bold Hinata.” Ten Ten said with a small playful smirk. 

“Hmph.” Hinata said then grabbed her bags as Hanabi handed them to her.

“Let’s go Onee-chan, we have to get home for dinner.” She said and headed past Sasuke and waited at the entrance for Hinata. Hinata walked towards her but stopped in front of Sasuke with a small mischievous look on her face

“I hope you have a pleasant evening.” she said and got on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek and then walked out the door, having to pull Hanabi from the doorway because she had frozen. Everyone else was frozen as well. Before anyone could react, Sasuke spoke. 

“It’s pleasant now.” He said loudly with a smirk, hearing Hinata’s light laugh fading away then he left the building and headed back to his apartment before an angry cousin, teammate, or friend of Hinata’s could catch up to him.