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strangersmunsons · 4 months

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bark at the moon

there's something suuuuper weird in your garage. your best friend Robin calls up her old pals, Steve and Eddie, to come and take a look.

Contains: Eddie x Fem!Reader. Mix of canon & Modern AU, w/ tweaks to established lore (faithfulness to the source material? I don’t know her). Plot of the show is more or less the same, but focus will be on minor threats escaping from the Upside Down, and no more. Everyone is aged up a bit, timeline of events is kept vague. Reader learns some secrets that are tough to wrap her head around, Eddie is an awkward sweetheart, and platonic!Stobin reigns supreme. Word Count: ~8.1k Warnings: Some brief descriptions of gore. Reader has a mild panic attack. Mentions of food & eating. Strong language. I've been tinkering away at this fic since the summer; it's a little different than the sweet & fluffy stuff I normally post, but I had a blast writing it! So I hope you guys enjoy! 🩷

“Call me when you get home, okay?”

“I will.” You smack a kiss to Robin’s cheek and push your stool back against the bar. “Try not to get into too much trouble tonight. It’s only Thursday.”

“No promises,” Vickie chimes in, grinning toothily at you, cheeks flushed from a mix of joy and booze.

“I mean it.” You jab a finger in her direction, only half-jokingly. “If you FaceTime me again at 3 AM so I can provide ‘emotional support’ while you’re puking your guts out in the bathroom, I’m hanging up.”

Vickie doesn’t even blink. “You won’t hang up,” she replies dismissively.

She’s totally right, but you don’t say so.

“Just try and keep your insides where they belong, please. They should be, y’know — on the inside. Alright? I love you both. Goodnight!” You blow another dramatic kiss in their direction as you saunter out of the bar, weaving between sticky tables over the even-stickier floor to the exit.

Lizzy’s is you, Robin, and Vickie’s favorite haunt, a nondescript dive bar located on the outskirts of town. It’s a squat, dingy little building tucked neatly away into a thicket of trees at the deadend of a backroad. There’s no neighbors or rival businesses in sight, just a small parking lot with a defunct telephone booth that probably hasn’t worked in several decades. The bar is usually only frequented by patrons belonging to one of two exclusive sects: members of the local biker gang, and this random lesbian couple and their one friend.

Truly a hidden gem.

Happy Hour at Lizzy’s has been a tradition for you and Robin (and Vickie, when she chooses to tag along) since you met at work retreat a year ago. When you caught sight of her funky patched-up blazer and choppy hairstyle, you immediately clocked her as the other youngest, coolest person in the room and forced your friendship upon her in the name of survival. Who else were you gonna hang out with for an entire weekend — Matt from HR who, ironically, was on probation for sending a coworker unsolicited dick pics? No way.

“Hey, can you hold the other side of my bag open for me? I’m gonna jam these cookies in there — quickly, while no one’s looking.”

Two peas in a pod, stealing extra goodies from the complimentary snack table and gossiping in the back row during presentations when you should’ve been listening. You’ve been attached at the hip ever since.

Full of mirth from the quality time spent with your best friend, you hum cheerfully to yourself as you push through the exit and step outside. The door whacks shut behind you, closing you off from the bar’s warm interior, and immediately, you take notice of two things.

First, you’re met with a surprising chill in the air. It’s been pretty temperate so far this week, and pleasantly warm earlier in the day, but it’s become startlingly cold in the mere hours you were inside the bar. You swear you can see a frozen puff of breath each time you exhale. You hug your arms around yourself, frowning slightly. Gravel crunches under your feet as you walk to your car.

The second thing you notice is that it’s obscenely dark out. A single orange streetlamp flickers in the parking lot, illuminating little more than the fluttering moths bashing themselves stupidly into the bulb. There’s no moon in the black-velvet sky; it’s just a blanket of darkness above. You glance at the watch on your wrist, but the time is indiscernible without proper lighting. I guess it’s later than I thought?

The hairs stand up on the back of your neck. There’s a gross, inexplicable feeling of nakedness as you cross the lot; the cold, unexpected dark and loss of time has you feeling disoriented and exposed. Naturally, your mind begins dredging up scenes from every horror movie you’ve ever watched, and you pick up the pace. Reaching the car, you wrench open the driver-side door, eager to be within the safe confines of the vehicle.

You slide in, and release a relieved breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. Slumping back against the seat, you think, Man, I gotta lay off the slasher flicks.

The moment doesn’t last long. Another bolt of paranoia suddenly shoots through you — you whip your head around, searching the backseat for a killer lurking in the shadows, waiting to slice your throat open, possibly with a machete, or maybe even a hook attached to a stumpy wrist.

Nothing there. Totally empty. Not even an extremely trim, flexible murderer contorting themselves out of view down on the cramped floor space.

“It’s fine,” you say aloud to no one in particular, turning forward again. You start the car and ease out of the lot, switching the radio to a pop station — your last line of defense. No one ever got brutally murdered while listening to Britney.

Thankfully, the ride is uneventful, and nobody pops up behind you with any instruments of violence. The further you get into town, with its familiar lights and gentle hum of nighttime traffic, the more at ease you feel. Your mind drifts, thinking of work, what you’ll make for dinner tomorrow, whether or not Vickie will be throwing up within the next hour. Any mundane topic that’ll help calm your nerves.

Eventually you reach home and pull into the garage. It’s a miracle you can even still park in there, it’s so full of junk — old furniture and hardware tools and odds and ends you haven’t had the energy to try and sort through.

A sigh escapes as you cross the threshold that separates the garage from the house. The sweet, homey kitchen is a welcome sight to enter. You put a kettle on for a cup of tea before bed, and decide to dial Robin while you wait for the water to boil.

She picks up after several rings.

“Hello my love.”

“Hi Rob. I’m alive.”

“Oh, good. That would’ve been awkward if it was someone else calling me.”

“Are you still at the bar?”

“Yeah, we’re leaving in a few. Vickie says she’s fine, but she’s got that look in her eye, so…”

There’s a faint “I am fine!” in the background and you snicker. “Good luck with that.”

Robin snorts. “Thanks. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

Robin bids you goodnight, and you feel a rush of affection for her. Your roommate recently moved out to go live with her boyfriend, leaving you as the sole tenant of the house. Although you reassured her endlessly that you had no issues living alone, Robin was insistent on constantly checking up on you lest you ‘get SVUed’ — her phrasing, not yours.

The kettle starts whistling, and you pour the steaming water into a mug with a bag of chamomile. You plop down on the soft cushion tied to the kitchen chair, letting the weariness of the day settle in your bones.

You scroll idly through your phone while sipping your tea, ignoring the slight burn it leaves on your lips and tongue. The old house settles and creaks while you relax, making those soft noises that you’ve become accustomed to over time. In fact, you’re so used to it by now that in your sleepy state, you don’t even register the odd sound in the garage, a sort of thunk, not unlike that of a confused bird flying into a picture window.

When the last drop of tea is gone, you place the mug in the dishwasher and head for your bedroom. You go through the steps of your night routine as though on autopilot before finally crashing into the plush bed. Within minutes, sleep takes you.

The sound of your alarm is innocuous enough — a small tinkle of bells or chimes or whatever cheerful twee instrument it is that Apple is using.

It’s incredible how something so innocent can sound so ungodly. Ugh.

Barely lifting your head up off the pillow, you drag the trilling device towards you with snatching fingers and turn it off. Maybe you’ll get up when the second alarm goes off, but let’s be honest — it probably won’t be until the third, and even then you might steal a few extra minutes under the covers.

Eventually you manage to pull yourself upright and, with a huge yawn, lurch out of bed. You shuffle down the hall, thinking of little more than the bagel you’re gonna demolish before jumping in the shower, and make your way back into the kitchen. Your bare feet pad softly across the linoleum floor, cold and sticking slightly to your heels. The sky outside the window is a dark, deep blue.

Then finally, in the stillness of the early morning, you hear a dull thud.

You pause halfway to the toaster.

Ten seconds go by. Silence.

Okay, that’s fine, it’s probably noth–

Thud.

Goddamn it.

There’s a stab of alarm as the sound repeats again, then twice more in rapid succession. You take a deep breath, willing yourself to remain calm, and grab the softball bat you keep propped up by the door. Safety first.

You tiptoe cautiously to the door separating the kitchen and the garage, thinking it’s probably a raccoon or something, he slipped inside when I drove in last night. Actually, there’s so much shit in there, he’s probably been living there for weeks. I really should call a Junk King –

You push the door open slowly, peering around the edge, prepared to fight. Your self-defense weapon is made of bright pink aluminum that catches the dim kitchen light emanating from behind you, glinting in your hands. You’re pretty sure it’s a little-league number so, clearly, it’ll be an even match for whatever it is that awaits you.

At first, nothing appears out of the ordinary. There’s no human silhouettes lurking in the dark. Everything is more or less the same as it was last night. The car is right where you left it, and the windows are intact. The spare furniture crammed against the perimeter is still there – nothing is missing or vandalized. But the room is still too dark for you to make out any less obvious differences, so you reach for the lightswitch on the left side of the doorframe.

And then, from the far corner of the room, up towards the ceiling, there’s an ear-splitting screech that nearly stops your heart.

Before you even have time to blink, a shadowy mass is suddenly flying straight at you. It’s still mostly obscured in the dark — whatever it is — a nebulous blur that swings in a low arc across the room. It’s moving so quickly that the air whistles as the creature cuts a path through it.

You let out a shriek of your own and spring backwards, slamming the door shut. It’s just barely closed when it collides into the wood with a frightening crash. You lock the door with numb fingers and slump back against it with your heart in your throat, and a hot, loose feeling in your lower stomach that, in the midst of your hysteria, you manage to acknowledge as a warning that you might shit your pants.

You lurch forward and spin around, now watching the door with wide eyes. The noise from before, which you now understand must have been that thing flinging itself against the walls, resumes with a fervor that makes you sick with fright. It slams into the door relentlessly, and you physically cringe with each hit.

With shaking hands, you pull one of the kitchen chairs out and prop it underneath the door handle. You really don’t think it could be strong enough to break through, but…

At least you don’t think —

“Robin, I’m about to die.”

“...at six-thirty in the morning? Can you put it off until this afternoon, at least?”

Robin’s voice is still thick with sleep and there’s no doubt that she’s irritated by your early phone call, but right now, you could care less.

“I think there’s some kind of cryptid in my garage.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the phone.

“Come again?”

“Like, I think the fucking Jersey Devil is in there, or something. When I got up this morning I kept hearing this weird noise, so I put my big girl panties on and went to investigate –”

“By yourself? Are you dumb? What if someone was in there?”

“Hey, I had protection, okay? Besides, I figured it was probably a racoon. If it had been a person planning on hurting me, they weren’t being very discreet about it –”

“Alright, alright. Continue.”

“So I open the door, and next thing I know, this thing screams and starts fucking flying directly at my head. I didn’t get a good look at it, Rob, it was too dark, but that thing is out for blood. It keeps flying into the door. Listen to this shit.”

You put your phone on speaker and hold it out, standing as close to the door as you’re willing to get.

“Um, I can’t hear anything.”

“...well…it was doing it earlier...”

“...right. So, what, a bird flew into your garage?”

“A bird? Maybe.” That sort of fit, right? Whatever it was, it had wings. It was kind of big. It made noise. You consider. “Could be a bat, I suppose.”

Across town, Robin suddenly sits bolt upright in bed. Vickie mumbles incoherently next to her, half-awake from hearing your too-early conversation.

“I’m coming over,” Robin says abruptly, and hangs up.

Flinging herself out of bed, Robin begins dressing frantically, scrambling to pull a pair of jeans up over her bare legs. Drawers and closet doors bang open and slam shut again. Vickie groans from beneath her pillow. “Could you keep it down, please?”

“No, sorry babe. Gotta go. I’ll explain later.”

“Are you kidding me?”

You rub your temples in irritation and throw yourself back down on the couch. You’ve taken refuge in the living room while you wait for Robin, and have spent the past fifteen minutes going back and forth with animal control. Trying to convince them to come get this thing out of your house? An exercise in futility.

A frantic knocking makes you jump, before you realize it’s coming from outside the house. You cautiously enter the kitchen again and when you see Robin’s face through the small pane of glass in the front door, your whole body sags with relief. You fling it open breathlessly and throw yourself at her. “Thank God!” The words are muffled, as your face is pressed into her shoulder.

“Hey, it’s okay!” She slings her arm around you in a hug and pats your back. “We’re gonna take care of this.”

You release her and start venting your frustration. “Yeah, we’ll have to. I tried calling animal control and apparently they can’t do anything since it’s not a dog or a cat, and they kept telling me I had to call a wildlife removal agency instead, and they just kept going on about how they have to send a professional who specializes in birds or bats or whatever the hell it is, and that it’s gonna cost me like at least two hundred bucks –”

Robin cuts off your rambling. “I don’t think you should call anyone.”

You huff. “I certainly don’t want to, if it’s gonna cost me that much. I thought this was what animal control did. What am I paying taxes for?”

Robin’s been here all of two minutes and you already feela little better. The run-in earlier had frightened you, certainly, but you’re no longer alone in the house with an eldritch horror.

Robin shakes her head. “No, I mean I already called someone.”

That stops you, and you squint at her in confusion. “Who? You know a guy who handles this kinda thing?”

“...actually, I know two.”

Eddie’s green-and-white van screams around the corner, practically making the turn on two wheels.

“Jesus, Munson, slow down!”

“Relax, Harrington. I’m a certified expert driver. My insurance company said so.”

A Megadeth song that Steve doesn’t know thumps out of the speakers at a deafening volume. Eddie drums his hands on the steering wheel in time with the music, headbanging as vigorously as he can manage without taking his eyes completely off the road.

Steve reaches for the stereo knob and turns it down. Eddie shoots him a disgruntled look from the driver’s seat. “Hey, man —”

“We got somewhere to be, alright? I told Robin we’d get there ASAP. The last thing we need is for you to wrap this thing around a telephone pole.”

“If she didn’t move so far away, we would already be there,” Eddie complains.

“Dude, she lives like an hour away now. Hour and a half, tops.”

“Well, that’s a long drive when it’s this early!”

Waiting for Robin’s reinforcements to arrive provides ample time for her to shatter your world. You sit together on opposite ends of the couch, staring at each other in intense silence. Your brow is deeply furrowed, eyes nearly shut from the force of the expression.

“Are you being for real, or is this an elaborate lie you’re making up that you’ll laugh at me for falling for later?”

Robin drags her finger across her chest, drawing an imaginary X. “Cross my heart and hope to die. Trust me, I know how crazy it sounds.”

You let out a high-pitched laugh that sounds more like a wheeze. “Yeah, it sounds fucking crazy!”

Robin’s expression turns resentful. “Hey, you’re the one who called me saying Mothman was in your garage this morning –”

“I said the Jersey Devil, actually, but c’mon! An interdimensional monster. Is that real? Can that really be real?”

“Listen, just think about what you saw. You were pretty freaked. Did it really seem like some rabied-up household pest?”

It didn’t. The odd, kite-like shape, the speed with which it flew, and the utter determination — there was no doubt in your mind that it had dived at you deliberately, with the malicious intent to bite and scratch and hurt. You remember the hot taste of fear in your mouth, like a bitter pill dissolved on the tongue.

“No, it didn’t,” you admit quietly. That thing, whatever it was, was weird. But that doesn’t make Robin’s story any easier to swallow.

When it came to the supernatural or…whatever this was considered, you were neither a believer nor a skeptic. You weren’t willing to fully corroborate the existence of such things until you had experienced something like it yourself, but you still took others’ reports in stride; if someone claimed that they felt cold spots in their grandmother’s bedroom after she died, or that their belongings often ended up in odd places despite no one moving them, then you rolled with it. Who were you to deny their experiences? You wouldn’t tell them they’re wrong.

But Robin’s Upside Down, well…it’s giving less childhood ghost story and more Stephen King novel. One of the weirder ones too, that he wrote when he was still snorting a ton of cocaine. She’s on some Tommyknockers shit.

“You’ll see,” Robin promises. “When we kill it, you can get a good look at it.”

“Right, about that. Steve is your himbo friend from home, right?”

Robin smiles proudly. “The one and only.”

“But he’s good at this? Getting rid of these things?”

She nods eagerly. “Oh, very. I know I say he’s a himbo, but I’m selling him short, really, he’s the best. Best guy I know, in fact.”

You hear the pointed lilt in her voice, the one that’s always there when Robin mentions Steve to you. You roll your eyes. “There’s a monster in my garage, and you’re worried about getting me a date?”

Robin throws her hands up in defiance. “I’m just sayin’! He and his girlfriend Nancy broke up.” Her face suddenly lights up as she remembers a bit of gossip. “She’s bisexual now, by the way! Shame she didn’t realize it when we were in high school together, I had a huuuuge crush on her.”

“I thought you had a huge crush on Vickie in high school?”

“I did,” she says, as though there’s nothing contradictory about that fact. “Listen, I’m a complex, multifaceted lesbian, with a lot of —“

She’s interrupted by the knocking at the front door, and both of your heads turn automatically towards the sound.

It’s your second house-call of the day. Robin jumps up, winking at you. “It’s gonna be fine,” she whispers, and takes your hand, giving it a squeeze.

You follow her back into the kitchen, where you’re promptly welcomed by the sight of two boy-faces smushed shamelessly against the glazing in the door.

Robin rolls her eyes and yanks it open.

Without the door in place to support him, one boy loses his balance and topples forward, crashing into the kitchen. The other boy, who pulled back in time, laughs openly at him.

“Hey, dinguses, this isn’t my house, remember? Don’t be weird.”

“There’s not a day in Munson’s life that he hasn’t been weird.”

The one pulling himself up off the floor grunts out, “I resent that.” When he’s fully upright, he gazes at you with wide eyes and a slight frown, not saying anything.

Robin steps in and they each take turns embracing her in greeting. One of them even ruffles her hair affectionately, and you watch the three of them with interest.

You’ve seen enough pictures of Steve Harrington by now that you could pick him out from a mile away. Of the two boys he’s taller, and more classically handsome, with his pretty features and artfully-sculpted hair. In his neat green pullover and pressed jeans, you can totally picture King Steve as he was in high school — athletic and rich and preppy, with his equally rich and preppy girlfriend.

While you recognize Steve immediately, this other boy you know less. He looks only vaguely familiar, perhaps a background figure in Robin’s photos. His dark hair is long, curly and disheveled, and his eyes are huge and starkly brown against his pale skin. Despite the early hour they must’ve left at, he's taken the time to deck himself out in black leather and loads of silver jewelry.

After he releases Robin, Steve introduces himself. He saunters forward confidently, one hand extended out towards you. “I’m Steve,” he says with a charming smile. He cocks his head slightly to the side, and there’s a brief pause for dramatic effect. “Steve Harrington.”

In your peripheral vision, you can see Robin holding a hand over her eyes in embarrassment. The other boy shoots him a dirty look.

You shake his hand politely, mildly amused. “Nice to meet you, Steve.”

When Steve releases your hand, the dark-haired one gives you an awkward wave. “I’m Eddie.”

The name rings a bell. You wave back and smile at him kindly. “Hi, Eddie.”

He shuffles his feet, Reeboks squeaking against the linoleum, not quite meeting your eyes.

“I’m really glad you both are here,” you add, glancing between the two boys. “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Our pleasure,” Steve replies. “Always happy to be of service —”

“So,” Eddie cuts in, “where did you find this little fucker, anyway?”

“The garage.” Your voice is soft with trepidation. “The door’s right there.”

Three sets of eyes, blue and hazel and brown, follow the line of your pointed index finger. The chair is still jammed underneath the knob in a feeble attempt to barricade the door.

“Alright, we just need to grab our stuff from the van,” Eddie tells you. “And we’ll take care of it. If there’s only one, it shouldn’t take us long at all.”

You nod, like this is all good and normal and not the weirdest morning of your life. “Okay.”

When they move to head outside again, Steve eyes your little pink aluminum softball bat, back in its place in the corner. He smiles. “Hey, I got one of those!“

Eddie jogs lightly to catch up with Steve as he strides to where the van is parked outside.

“Hey,” he hisses, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder to get his attention. “You didn’t tell me this was Robin’s hot friend.”

“Huh?” Steve squints at him, disgruntled. “Who else would it have been?”

“I don’t know, literally anyone?”

“If I’m talking about Robin’s friend, then I’m talking about her. I didn’t realize I had to clarify.” He yanks the trunk open, and his voice takes on a more taunting tone. “Why? You nervous that a girl is actually speaking to you for once?”

Eddie steps back, visibly stung. “Hey, fuck you, man.”

Steve and Eddie’s friendship is not as tenuous as it once was, but sometimes old habits die hard.

Steve softens immediately, face painted with regret. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that,” he mutters, swiping a hand through his hair. He sighs. “I bumped into Nancy at the store yesterday, I’m not in a good mood.”

Eddie nods awkwardly, not really sure how to answer. “I’m sorry that it didn’t work out, um…again.”

“Thank you…for that reminder,” Steve replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. He turns to Eddie with narrowed eyes. “That we dated twice, and then also broke up twice.”

Eddie just smiles and claps him on the back. “I’m here for you, brother.”

From the kitchen window, you can see Steve and Eddie trudging back towards the house fully armed. Steve is holding a wooden baseball bat hammered-through with nails, and Eddie has what appears to be a makeshift spear — really, it’s just a big stick with a knife jerry-rigged on the end.

Robin takes in your open-mouthed shock. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you reply, dumbfounded, staring. “This is fine.”

The boys reenter. Steve smiles brilliantly at you, face clearing of some previous sourness you don’t know the cause of, and gestures with his bat to yours. “We can upgrade that for you, if you want,” he jokes.

You chuckle uneasily, panic setting in as you stare at the lethal-looking spikes of the nails. “Heh…maybe later.”

Eddie watches you carefully, the way your fingers scrunch nervously into the fabric of your sleep shirt, and the occasional, rapid twist of your head that you can’t seem to control, like you’re desperately trying to clear your mind of something awful.

Robin glances down at her buzzing phone, Vickie’s name and face popping up on the homescreen for the hundredth time this morning — apparently, she’s now awake and frantic that her clumsy girlfriend may have yet again gotten herself involved in some wild, life-threatening shenanigan.

“Just give me a minute, she’s freaking out,” Robin mumbles, pushing past you and into the living room for privacy.

Steve turns his back to you as he goes to remove the chair from under the knob, and Eddie takes this small opportunity to move closer to you. He wonders if he’d be going too far if he took your trembling hand in his.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he murmurs. “We’re not gonna let that thing get at you.”

You manage a nod, overwhelmed. Eddie reaches out and pats your arm but pulls back quickly, like he’s afraid to touch you for too long.

Steve calls your name, and you turn to him, distracted.

The chair is back in its place at the table, and he gestures to the now-unprotected door. “Is it crowded in there?”

“Very,” you confirm. The untidy chaos in the garage would normally embarrass you, but given the circumstances, you’re a little beyond caring. “Sorry.”

“That’s fine,” he reassures you. “We’ll try and be really careful about your stuff.”

“But no promises,” Eddie adds, a smile touching his lips for the first time.

You try to smile back, still feeling bizarrely distraught. “Just try not to break my windshield, please.”

He laughs softly. “Sounds like a reasonable enough request.”

“Okay, Munson, you ready?”

“Yeah.” Eddie joins him by the door. There hasn’t been any more noise from the garage since you heard it this morning — you don’t know what that bodes for them.

They brace themselves, weapons raised and at the ready. With a flick of his wrist Steve opens the door, which slowly creaks open. Shoulders hunched, he crosses the threshold, and switches the light on. You watch with bated breath, anticipating the sharp cry to be uttered at any moment.

Nothing happens.

Both Steve and Eddie cautiously enter the garage, watching for any signs of life. Steve starts jabbing at the little nooks and crannies amongst your things, trying to poke it out of hiding.

Eddie crouches down on the ground and peers underneath your car.

“See anything?” you ask hesitantly.

“Not yet,” answers Eddie in a low voice.

Steve peels a dusty tarp off of an old end table, opens up a discarded cabinet. “Come on,” he mutters.

Three agonizing minutes go by as they pick their way through the room, searching under and over and behind every bit of junk, neither boy finding what they’re looking for.

“Maybe it got out,” Steve muses, standing upright, relaxing his grip on the bat, letting it rest casually against his shoulder.

You shift uncertainly, still hovering from your post at the half-open door. “Would that be good or bad?”

“Good for us. Bad for the neighbors,” says Eddie.

Suddenly a streak of dark gray erupts from behind Steve.

You barely have time to yell; Steve, feeling the ripple of wind on the back of his neck, whirls around.

The creature beats its leathery wings and it’s moving up and up until it reaches the ceiling, circling the room, no doubt gauging which angle it should dive at and towards who.

Instinct tells you to slam the door shut, like you did earlier, but then Eddie and Steve will be trapped. Instead you leave the door ajar, crouched in pathetic terror. The boys recover their stances quickly, muscles tensed, ready to swing and jab their respective weapons the moment it comes within in striking distance. Their faces are twin mirrors of fierce determination.

The creature goes for Steve first, swooping down on him; you’re horrified to see its open mouth is full of concentric rows of spiny teeth. You utter a sharp cry, almost unable to look, certain that he’s about to be mauled by this terrible thing.

And the creature is fast.

But Steve is faster.

There’s a horrible sound, a meaty thwack! as the baseball bat smashes into the monster, sending it careening over your parked car like a gnarly fastball. It hits the wall and slides to the floor.

Eddie wastes no time in slamming one heavy boot down on a tattered wing, pinning the dazed thing into place. With one sharp jab, the knife pierces deep into the creature’s belly. He gives the spear a swift jerk, dragging the knife down, and cleaves the body almost completely in two. Its oily flesh is taut, but fragile; the thin skin surrounding the wound peels back, and it splits open like an over-full garbage bag, glistening, red-black insides seeping out onto the hard concrete floor.

Eddie whistles. “Goodnight.”

Gobsmacked by what just unfolded, you tiptoe into the garage. “Is…is it dead?”

“Yup,” says Eddie, nudging the thing with his foot. “This is kind of a small one,” he calls over to Steve.

Steve’s puffing slightly, shoulders heaving with adrenaline. “I noticed that. Probably not doing too hot out here in the real world.”

You gape at them both, eyes flitting between the two boys. Small?

You creep closer to the pulpy mass, getting your first good look at your uninvited guest. If you were right about one thing earlier, it’s that this is certainly no common house bat; it’s gray and rubbery, made of slick naked flesh, with a long twisted tail like braided rope. Its wings are shot through with six spidery limbs, its small head little more than a gaping maw lined with razors. And despite Eddie and Steve’s comments, to you? This thing seems enormous.

Eddie smiles at you proudly. “And just think — we did it all without breaking your windshield.”

Steve grimaces. “Yeah, about that…”

There’s a dent in the passenger-side door of the car. You’re sure if you were to hold Steve’s bat at the right angle against the dinged metal, it would fit in the depression like a glove.

Robin appears seemingly out of nowhere, leaning casually against the doorframe, sliding her phone into the back pocket of her jeans.

“Hey. What’d I miss?”

The cleanup process is quick but dirty. Eddie scrapes up everything he can with a snow shovel of all things, and dumps the carcass unceremoniously into a Hefty bag — the real heavy-duty kind, with the red strings — as it was politely held open by Steve. Meanwhile, you scrub at the blood left behind, but it doesn’t do much. The ominous stain is likely etched into the garage floor forever.

Maybe you can throw a rug over it or something.

Robin yawns as she watches you work. “Can we go get breakfast? I’m starving.”

“I’m down,” says Steve, motioning for you to hand him the scrubber clutched in your hand.

You hand it over, but warn him, “I don’t think this is coming out.” He starts scrubbing anyway.

Eddie pipes up. “Are there any good diners around here?”

You wince. “We just threw an eviscerated monster in the trash. Don’t you need, like, a refractory period to deal with that level of gross?”

He thinks it over for a moment, then smiles and shrugs. “No.”

Laughter bubbles up and spills over your lips uncontrollably. It starts out normal, but then you can’t stop, and then it sort of feels like maybe you’re hyperventilating.

Robin, your soulmate, bless her, is always in tune with your emotions. She reacts quickly, kneeling down beside you on the cold floor, and wraps an arm around you. “Hey,” she says gently. “Relax, just breathe. I know everything you heard and saw today is literally insane, but it’s all okay.”

Robin’s hick hometown. Parallel dimensions. Little girl with superpowers. Monsters. Something about a gate...Monsters. Monsters from said-parallel dimension. Monsters from said-parallel dimension finding their way inside your home. Monsters in your home.

“Jesus,” you gasp in frustration, knuckling stupid tears at the corners of your eyes. “What is this?”

“It’s a lot to take in, is what it is,” says Steve sympathetically. “But that thing’s dead, and you’re safe now, and that’s what matters.”

“The big bad stuff is already finished,” Eddie adds. You didn’t notice, but he’s crouched down right next to you, mirroring Robin’s position on your other side. “Not to mention,” he nudges you playfully, “you’ve got two pretty damn good exterminators on speed dial now, huh?” He places a hand on your shoulder, and you can feel the warm metal of his rings through your shirt.

You manage a weak mile. “True. That was pretty impressive,” you sniffle. His fingers give a reassuring little squeeze, but — again — is quick to let go.

He glances at Robin and Steve. “You know,” he starts in an accusatory tone, “you guys were definitely not this nice to me when I had to find out about all this shit.”

“We were in a time crunch,” Robin says dismissively. “You had to get with the program.”

The hysteria starts to wane; your body slumps a little under the combined weight of Robin and Eddie’s arms. “I changed my mind.”

Robin’s brow furrows. “About what?”

“…I want breakfast now.”

The ride to the diner gives you a chance to mull over the bizarre nature of the morning’s events. You let your head fall back on the seat and close your eyes; a stranger thing has never happened to you.

Part of you wonders why Robin never told you all this but you immediately dismiss the thought. Why would she, unless it was absolutely necessary, like today? In addition to being pretty far-fetched, the whole thing also sounds pretty fucking traumatic.

“What do you guys call those things again?” you mumble, turning to Eddie, who’s sitting next to you in the backseat of Robin’s car.

Eddie’s face turns pink when he hears you address him, though you can’t fathom why. “Uh, demobats.”

“Demobats,” you repeat. “How’d you come up with that?”

Steve pipes up from the passenger seat. “The first monster we saw from the Upside-Down was called a demogorgon. Some nerds named it.”

“Oh,” you say faintly.

“We can talk about something else,” says Robin. She looks at you anxiously in the rearview mirror, suspicious that you’re going to fall apart again.

“I’m fine, Rob. I’ve made my peace with it.” You pause, and amend. “I’m making my peace with it.”

“Oo-kay.” She drags out the first syllable, letting it be known that she doesn’t really believe you.

“Are there very many of these things?”

Steve seems to hesitate before he answers. “We don’t think so. Only a dozen or so managed to slip through the gate before it shut, and we think we got most of ‘em when they were still flapping around Hawkins. We found one that nearly crossed over the border into Ohio — we were keeping an eye on the papers — but other than that, this is the furthest out of town we’ve heard of them going.”

You process this, not really sure what to say. There’s not really much you can say. Instead, you turn your head to the window and watch the world race by through the glass, letting it slide past your eyes in a blur of green and blue.

The diner’s parking lot is mostly empty. Work should have already started for most — only a handful of elderly patrons are inside, sipping coffee at the bar and reading the paper.

The matronly waitress wiping down a table lets you know that the four of you can sit anywhere you like. Robin immediately slides into a booth by the window, well away from the other customers.

Steve takes the seat across from her, hoping you’ll sit on the bench next to him, but you plop down tiredly next to Robin instead. Eddie takes the last open spot, opposite from you.

A hush falls over the group while you peruse the menu. The waitress comes and takes orders; waters all around, coffee, and juice, a blueberry short stack for Robin, French toast for yourself, a breakfast burrito for Steve, and fried eggs and sausage for Eddie, with a bottle of hot sauce, please and thank you.

Polite chatter resumes, and quickly devolves into familiar banter around mouthfuls of food, though you stay quieter than the rest, thoroughly worn out. Steve and Robin’s camaraderie takes up the bulk of the conversation, anyway, both of them firing back and forth at each other with ease. You decide that you like Steve — he’s clearly grown into a genuinely nice guy, different from the high school boy Robin told you he once was, but it seems he’s retained just the perfect amount of bitchiness. It’s easy to see why she’s so fond of him.

You’re content to watch and listen to them with mild amusement (though Steve periodically directs his comments towards you, subtly watching your reaction to what he says) and it seems that Eddie is, too. You can’t tell if he’s used to being their third wheel or if he’s just being shy because there’s a new person around.

Robin and Steve enter a fierce debate about something or other — the prospective music career of someone named Tammy that you vaguely recall being a former crush of Robin's. You face Eddie and ask in a hushed tone, “Are they always like this?”

He swallows a bite of gooey, Tabasco-smothered egg. “Pretty much.”

“I wouldn’t have the energy,” you marvel.

Eddie chuckles. He shifts in his seat, and his leg bumps into yours under the table. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, turning pink again.

“That’s okay.” You study his face, which is angled down towards his plate, decidedly away from your gaze. His eyes are big and dark and warm, like sticky-sweet molasses.

“You have very pretty eyes,” you tell him matter-of-factly, just as there’s a lull in Robin and Steve’s argument. In tandem, both of them turn their heads to stare at you.

Surprise flickers across Eddie’s face when he realizes you’re speaking to him. His face warms to an even deeper red, but he looks pleased; and you’re glad for it.

“Thank you?” It comes out like a question.

“You’re welcome.” You nod and give him a soft smile, which he returns, and for a moment you might as well be the only two people in the room.

Unbeknownst to you, Robin watches the exchange with her head cocked to the side, eyebrows raised in surprise. You return to eating your breakfast, and she casts Steve an apologetic look. Eddie tries to keep his expression neutral, hiding his glee.

You excuse yourself to the restroom. As soon as you’re gone, Robin says, “Sorry, Steve.”

He just sighs in defeat, slumping back against the booth’s cushion. “Whatever.”

Eddie stabs a fork in his direction. “You’re not even over Wheeler yet, anyway. Let me have this.”

Robin’s brow furrows. “You’re still hung up on Nancy? Steve, come on.”

Steve’s mouth drops open. “You’re the one who said we should get back together!” he cries.

Robin’s mouth pulls to the side in mild guilt. “Which was a mistake on my part, I will admit.”

“Just wasn’t meant to be,” Eddie chimes in.

Steve turns his incredulous look to Eddie. “And don’t even get me started on what you told me about her —”

“I’m the last person you should be taking relationship advice from,” he interrupts nonchalantly.

Steve gapes at his so-called friends. Robin plows on.

“I’m sorry, but if you’re not over Nance, I’m not letting you near my girl. She’s not gonna be your rebound; she deserves better than that.”

“Yeah,” concurs Eddie, the word garbled around a forkful of food, “like me.”

Steve drops his head onto the table.

“And stop trying to flirt with her, so I can.”

“Yeah, because you’re doing such a great job at that so far,” says Steve sarcastically, forehead still pressed against the formica.

“I’m gettin’ warmed up! Just give me a second, Christ.”

Steve, though snarky on the outside, is still soft on the inside, and so feels a pang of sympathy — he knows why Eddie’s nervous around girls. One drunken night he, Eddie, and Dustin had been shotgunning cans of shitty beer in the Hendersons’ backyard, and he’d spilled his guts about the abysmal reality of his love life. Not that Steve’s is going much better, obviously. But Eddie had deep-rooted fears that went beyond Steve’s understanding, insecurities that harkened back to his childhood and twisted into trickier and trickier knots the older he got.

Eddie has his reasons to be nervous.

“Alright,” says Steve, finally yanking his head back up off the table. “I give, she’s all yours. But I’m gonna remind you — and don’t take this the wrong way — that all she’s done so far is give you a single compliment. Don’t get carried away.”

“Too late,” Eddie replies dreamily. “I’m already planning my proposal.”

Robin starts laughing, just as you approach the table again.

“What’s so funny?”

“Boys,” she replies without hesitation. She takes another sip of coffee. “I’m so glad I’m gay.”

You finish the rest of your breakfast. When the waitress offers to bring the checks around, you’re quick to foot the bill.

“Please, it’s the least I can do,” you say among the chorus of protests. “I don’t know what I would have done if you guys hadn’t shown up.”

“Ended up in the Weekly World News,” Eddie teases.

“What a high honor that would have been.” You roll your eyes. “I think I’ll pass.”

Steve drives everyone back to the house, and a wave of sadness washes over you as you all pile into the kitchen once more. The prospect of the boys’ departure fills you with a strange kind of emptiness; it hits you that you really don’t want them to leave. You’re already feeling attached.

You suppose being rescued from a monster is just one of those things that brings people closer together, like a family barbecue, or making a blood oath.

And truth be told, you feel slightly…uneasy. Discombobulated. Though the events of the morning are still fresh in your mind, the steps of your daily routine are drifting hazily back to you through the fog of shock. Normally at this hour, you’d be plugging away at work. You have an explanatory email to write to your boss for missing today, and you imagine Robin will be submitting something similar. A nine-to-five job, running errands, going to happy hour — they all seem so trivial. How are you supposed to go back to all those things as though nothing out of the ordinary happened? Knowing that your best friend used the free time she had between finishing high school and working retail to help save the world from monsters and government conspiracies and God only knows what other crazy shit?

It’s all too surreal. You grip the edge of the kitchen table with one hand, steadying yourself. Easy girl.

You glance around, then choose to settle your gaze on Eddie, soothed by all his dark, warm colors.

Steve checks his watch, sighing. “We should probably head back. I got the afternoon shift today.”

Robin shakes her head in disbelief. “I cannot believe that Family Video is still fucking open.”

Steve ignores this and immediately turns to you instead. “To clarify, I have a real job, too — I was part-time at my company, and now I’m transitioning to full-time.” He’s needlessly defensive. “Managing the video store’s been a nice side gig, but I swear I’m retiring.”

You blink. “You don’t have to defend Family Video to me, Steve. It’s a very respectable establishment.”

“Yeah,” agrees Eddie, “Fuck the government, you’re the real backbone of our society.”

“Fuck off, Munson.”

“Well, this has been a grand old time,” Robin interrupts their bickering, yawning and stretching her arms dramatically. “But I think I need to go home. Smooth things over with the wife before she starts panicking again.” As though suddenly remembering your earlier distress, she turns to you, frowning. “Do you need me to stay with you?”

Not wanting to burden your friend who is being oh-so-chill about the science-fiction film that is literally her life, you immediately lie. “No, I’m okay.”

Her bright blue eyes narrow, not believing you. “I’ll stay,” she says decidedly.

“No, Rob, I think I’m just gonna go to sleep, honestly.” You are tired. Your bones feel weary; you want nothing more than to collapse back into bed and slip into unconsciousness again. “You go ahead and go home.”

You shift your attention towards Steve and Eddie, who are both hanging quietly by the door.

“Again, I can’t thank you guys enough. Really,” you tell them again, stepping forward with arms outstretched. It doesn’t matter that you just met; you need a proper goodbye from both of them. Right away Steve obliges, and wraps his arms around you, patting your back gently before stepping away again.

Eddie hesitates, looking bashful when you turn to him next, and you lower your arms in embarrassment. You don’t want to make him feel like he has to hug you if he doesn’t want to. But before you can feel too stung about it, he steps forward and embraces you tightly.

It’s oddly intimate — his arms are low, circled around your waist, and his cheek presses against your hair. He sighs, a soft exhale that you can’t see or hear but rather, you feel. The creeping sense of loss grows stronger when he releases you again.

“See you soon, I hope.” Steve gives you a final wave, when he’s halfway out of the house. “We should all get together sometime. Y’know, on non-monster related business,” he jokes.

“For sure,” you promise, fluttering your fingers back at him.

“And if you ever need anything,” Eddie’s low voice is suddenly close to your ear, “just let me — us — know. We’ll be here before you know it.”

You let out a small, shuddery breath. “Thank you,” you whisper gratefully, touched by his attentiveness. Eddie seems to be the only other person who understands the gravity of what you’ve seen. Robin and Steve have been in the game too long, perhaps, and although they’re understanding, the remarkability of their Upside Down has worn off.

Eddie, however, doesn’t appear to have achieved quite the same level of nonchalance that they have, and when he looks at you, his concern is tangible. It’s etched in the set of his frown, practically staring out at you from those big eyes of his. Those big, pretty eyes.

“See you around,” he says softly.

And with that, he’s gone.

thank you for reading!!! 🦇💙

taglist: @kores-mun-son-n-more

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson reader insert #eddie x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson series #god i hope this pacing is okay? this is the longest fic I’ve ever written #can’t tell if I’ve jammed too much in here or not enough 🤷🏻‍♀️

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bitterkarella · 8 months

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Midnight Pals: The Halloween Factory 3

Bradbury: you! ape! clown! cenobite! frankenstein! wolf man! italian! Bradbury: why do you wear those costumes? King: well, it's halloween, ray, you see- Bradbury: no YOU do not see Bradbury: do not see the magic, the mystery, the wonder Bradbury: of halloween!

Bradbury: the calendar has many days but only one halloween! Bradbury: can it be that you've forgotten? forgotten the magic? King: ray, what are you talking about Bradbury: he's forgotten! forgotten!

Bradbury: you! clown! do you know why you dress like that? King: ah well, see, for halloween i thought i would be my own original character and Bradbury: cenobite! do you know why you dress like that? Barker: cuz it's fucking hot

Bradbury: and you! italian! why do you wear those colors? Lovecraft: u-uh well the green represents pesto and the white is parmesan and the red Bradbury: none of you know! none of you know!

Poe: ray what are you talking about Bradbury: none of you know Bradbury the true meaning of halloween! Bradbury: but tonight Bradbury: oh my friends Bradbury: tonight you will learn Bradbury: for learning the true meaning of halloween Bradbury: is the only way to save your friend

Bradbury: for learning the true meaning of halloween Bradbury: is the only way to save your friend King: dean! what happened to dean? King: was it those bullies from clarion west? King: i swear, if they harm one hair on dean's head--!

Bradbury: no, clown, it is not clarion west behind it this time Bradbury: your dean was whisked away by Bradbury: by Bradbury: look the important thing is you're all gonna learn the haunted history of halloween tonight Lisa Morton: but i already know- Bradbury: NO YOU DON'T

Lisa Morton: see, halloween actually began as the pagan harvest festival of samhain- Bradbury: NO it began as a celebration of childhood whimsy and freckle-faced mischief! Bradbury: your history has no place here!

Bradbury: come! come with me! Bradbury: we'll return to the beginning! Bradbury: to the very first halloween! King: you can't mean- Bradbury: that's right! Bradbury: back 2000 years! Bradbury: to a little manger in bethlehem Bradbury: to witness the birth of dracula!

#midnight pals #the midnight society #midnight society #stephen king #clive barker #edgar allan poe #hp lovecraft #ray bradbury #lisa morton

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underground-secret · 5 months

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The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean

Winchester x f!reader

Description: Sam is haunted by a vision of a woman trapped in his childhood house

Warning: cannon violence, tension/ minor flirting, slight angst and comfort, mentions of death, mentions of a dead parent, the use of witchcraft that isn't exactly apart of Supernatural lore but does have ties to many folklore's interpretations of a witches capability from European Folklore to Appalachian Folk Magic and many more (i used a mix of different lore to create my own interpretation) this took so long to research, l also was testing things out in my apartment so i'd be able to write it properly- literally rearranging furniture for it

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld ,

@okayiamkassandra, @fablerose , @ada--44

Word Count: 12,947

Home

(Master list, Previous Ch., Next Ch.)

I stumble into the boys motel room, stifling a yawn from passing through my lips. Did I wake up two hours ago and refuse to get out of the stiff motel bed instead of coming to meet my lovely friends in their room?

Yes!

“Good morning my little stabby hunters” I greet cheerfully, closing and locking the door behind me. Sam mumbles some incoherent version of a greeting from where he sat on his bed while Dean looks up from Sam’s laptop, “Mornin’ sweetheart”

I walk up to each boy individually giving their hair a nice ruffle before shuffling my way to sit criss-cross applesauce on the unoccupied bed. “You had perfect timing ‘cause I think I found a few candidates for our next gig.”

“Oooh how fun” I half sarcastically say, “read ‘em out!”

“Alright we got a fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali” I nod pretending to know what a ‘trawler’ is, “ –-its crew vanished. And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” Dean lists out looking up every now and then for a reaction, “Hey. Sammy.” He calls out to his brother who’s sat drawing something on a little notepad.

Sam looks up, giving Dean an annoyed look waiting for what he has to say. Dean leans back in his chair, “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No. I’m listening. Keep going.” Sam declares, going right back to his drawing. He was in fact not paying attention.

“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.” He stops speaking again, waving his hand in the air intended to get his brother's attention, “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”

Sam suddenly sits up fully, “Wait. I’ve seen this.”

“Seen what?” I ask, Dean and I sharing a confused look. But Sam doesn't answer, he just crosses the room towards his duffel bag, searching for something. “What are you doing?” Dean asks. Again Sam doesn't answer, finally finding whatever he was looking for he pauses studying the two things in his hands, he swiftly turns around “I know where we have to go next.”

“Where?” Dean muses, asking the question were both thinking.

“Back home –- back to Kansas” Sam breathes, a hint of panic in his eyes.

“Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”

Sam shows the thing he took out of his bag, a photo, to his brother, I get up to view it too. “All right, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?” Sam asks, looking between the sort of family photo taken in front of their house and his brother.

“Yeah.” Dean answers plainly.

“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?” Sam asks further.

“Yeah it took ‘em a while to, I think it was mostly out of respect because no one ever moved in after you either, as far as I know.” I answer only knowing because I lived in town even after they moved away.

“Okay, well, someone lives there now…and, I, uh, look, this is gonna sound crazy but….the people who live in our old house –- I think they might be in danger.” Sam stammers

“Why would you think that?” Dean asks the obvious question. “Uh…it’s just, um….look, just trust me on this, okay?” He starts to walk away to the other side of the room, Dean following suit, “Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?”

The fighting begins, I think to myself as I chew on the inside of my cheek. I knew Dean would probably act harsher then he meant to, his mom—his old house being a very rough topic for him.

Now it’s Sam’s turn to answer simply, “Yeah.”

“Come on, man, that’s weak. You gotta give me a little bit more than that.” Dean raises his voice slightly.

“I can’t really explain it is all” Sam says looking around the room instead of making eye contact.

“Well, tough. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do” Dean crosses his arms waiting expectantly.

Sam sighs, “I have these nightmares.”

“I’ve noticed” Dean says while nodding and I want to step in and lecture him for coming off so mean, but I bite my tongue.

“And sometimes…” Sam pauses for a while before continuing, “…they come true.” This time I don’t bite my tongue, the word slipping out of my lips out of pure shock, “Sam” I gasp. “Come again?” Dean says almost at the same time as my gasp.

“Look….I dreamt about Jessica’s death –- for days before it happened.” Sam tries to explain further, nearly getting cut off by his brother, “Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” I know Dean doesn't want to believe it, I know he’s scared of what this could mean. But I can’t help but feel this is like the argument Dean had started on my twelfth birthday, all those years ago. It felt especially silly to feel this way now, not when I never held a grudge against him because of it. Maybe I should have but I could never find it within myself to do so.

Dean sits down on one of the beds and it’s clear he doesn't know what to do with himself. Sam begins to explain himself more, which I hate the fact he has to, “No, I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”

“I don’t know.” Dean huffs out. It’s clear he’s overwhelmed, which is a significantly better reaction than what I got to his whole realization of what I really was—a witch—despite the fact he already knew that. I want to respect their relationship and not speak when it’s not my right to, and yet if it comes down to it I know I will. I won’t let their relationship fall apart because of this, I won’t let a hatred form between them. Let alone like how Dean had hated me for months and I had hated myself too.

“I-it can mean something. There's a lot of cultures that believe that dreams are capable of showing the future as a guidance or even as a warning. Egyptians, Romans, and Greeks, they all believed in this; it's,um, called oneiromancy.” I pipe in quietly as if scared that saying it too loud would shatter the delicate atmosphere. Sam was looking at me with big eyes like he was hanging on to each word I spoke, nodding along.

“All right, just slow down, would ya?” Dean stands abruptly beginning to pace the carpeted floor, “I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when….”

“When what?” Sam asks carefully.

Dean sounds on the verge of tears, probably the most vulnerable he’s been in a long time, “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?” The air, the atmosphere itself, felt fragile then too as if something so palpable had to be careful of where it stood

Sam begins softly, his eyes scrunched in a mix of worry and sympathy, “Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.”

“I know we do.” Dean nods, his head hung low.

The Impala pulls up in front of the old Winchester house, the cute little two story green house standing there simply. I can’t help but wonder if in a hundred years these people who lived in Lawrence would know what happened here? The family that was lost here? Maybe not physically but you can trace everything back to this simple house, where these boys lost a piece of themselves no matter how young they were. You can still feel it in the air now, in this car with Dean's head hung low as he peers up at his old house, the only and last house he’s ever had.

“You gonna be all right, man?” Sam asks, trying to catch his brother's eyes. Dean swallow’s thickly, “Let me get back to you on that.” We exit the safety of the car and with each step forward the weight of this settles on our shoulders, the realness of this all. I know this isn’t about me, but if I let my mind stop focusing on the task at hand I know that it will wisp away to my old house. Just on the other side of town, to every moment I spent wandering the streets with no where particular in mind-

A sharp knocking on the front door snaps me out of my mind. A pretty blonde opens the door, her eyebrows scrunched in what seems like stress, “Yes?” she answers.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—“ Dean begins his lie getting cut off by his brother, “I’m Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Dean, and our friend Y/N. My brother and I, uh, we used to live here. You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”

“Winchester. Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night.” She laughs lightly. Dean's face drops a little, a mix of curiosity and longing on his face that if I hadn’t seen it before, hadn’t known him so well I wouldn’t have recognized it. “You did?” he asks, and I'd have to think it was a look of longing for his life back then, before he lost his mom, to a life that was so simple and child-like because that might have been the only time he really was a child.

She nods and steps aside, “Come on in.” The inside of the house wasn’t so much different from what I’ve been told about it, she shuts and locks the door behind us and we wait for her to lead us further in before moving. “I’m Jenny by the way” she says moving past us. She leads us into the big kitchen, a young girl doing homework at the table while an adorable jumpy toddler bounces in his little playpen, I can’t help the smile that creeps up on my face at the sight.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” The toddler chants, bouncing as he speaks.

“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie.” She introduces going over to the fridge, taking out a sippy cup and handing it to the bouncy baby. “He has good taste” I laugh, the kid being just so freaking adorable.

Jenny walks over to her daughter, “Sari, this is Sam and Dean, they used to live here. And that’s their friend Y/n.” I smile at the girl who greets us with a small “Hi.” Dean for some reason waved awkwardly at the child, as if he doesn't know how to act around kids when that’s so far from the truth.

“Hey, Sari.” Sam smiles before allowing her to get back to her homework.

“So, you just moved in?” Dean asks, jumping right to it. “Yeah, from Wichita.” Jenny answers, referring to a different part of Kansas.

“You got family here, or….?” Dean continues to ask, and honestly it’s kind of a creepy question. She answers a little hesitantly, “No. I just, uh….needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job –- I mean, as soon as I find one. New house.”

“Do you like it here?” I ask genuinely. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home” She starts looking at the boys as she speaks, “…I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here…but this place has its issues.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks almost a little too quickly.

Jenny sighs, “Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”

“I think that’s an easy fix” I try to remain hopeful, it’s not like we can just tell her ‘oh yeah that’s ‘cause your house is probably haunted by a demon or something.’ And under the assumption that it was just faulty wiring, I really wasn’t sure if it was an easy fix. I mean I am no electrician.

“Anything else?” Dean adds in.

“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement.” She lists off before pausing for a beat, looking between us nervously, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.” Dean looks a little taken back by this concern, because what was written on his face was far from offense, “No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?”

“It’s just the scratching, actually.” She answers.

“Mom?” Sari calls out lightly, Jenny kneels down to her daughter waiting for her to continue, “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”

“What, Sari?” Sam asks, confused.

“The thing in my closet.” She answers weakly, and I swear my heart broke a little at the way in which she said it.

“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets.” Jenny answers softly, reminding me of my mothers soft tone when she spoke to us. Jenny looks up at the boys, “Right?”

Sam stumbles over his words as he answers, “Right. No, no, of course not.”

“She had a nightmare the other night.” Jenny explains, a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

Sari shakes her head, “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom –- and it was on fire.”

Uh oh.

~~~~~~~~

“You hear that? A figure on fire.” Sam whisper-shouts, mainly to his brother who was walking a little too quickly then necessary to his car. The man in question turns around swiftly, “And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?”

“Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights, both signs of a malevolent spirit.” Sam bites back.

“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true.” Dean snaps.

Sam’s eyes were wide with panic, “Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”

“I don’t know!” Dean snaps.

Back and forth they fight like two dogs having a barking match from just over the fence. “Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?” Sam starts again.

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, Sam, we don’t know yet.”

“Well, those people are in danger, Dean. We have to get ‘em out of that house.”

“And we will.”

“No, I mean now.”

“And how you gonna do that, huh? You got a story that she’s gonna believe?”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Both of you, stop!” I nearly shout, both boys going quiet, “Look” I sigh. “I get this is scary and all but you two bickering isn’t going to get us anywhere! And if we want to help that nice family we have to think logically. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, maybe it’s something else or maybe we have to prepare ourselves for the fact that it is that monster.

Either way we can’t just run into this with assumptions or lead on feeling alone, okay? ‘Cause that’s how we mess up and wind up dead and I don’t know ‘bout you boys but i’m not quite craving the taste of death just yet.” I take a deep breath before continuing, “So, let’s pretend this is any ol’ case, any other hunt. What do we do first?”

“Research” Dean mumbles as if he was a kid who got caught doing something wrong, which arguably isn’t so far from the truth.

“Check our bases, dig into the history” Sam adds.

“Exactly” I smile, “Good job”

Dean opens the driver seat door, getting in as he speaks, “Except this time, we already know what happened.”

Sam and I followed suit, “Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you actually remember?” he asks. Dean looks around a little uncomfortable, “About that night, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Not much. I remember the fire…the heat.” He pauses, “And then I carried you out the front door.”

“You did?” Sam asks surprised.

Dean scuffs, starting the car and pulling out of the spot, “Yeah, what, you never knew that?”

Sam shakes his head, “No.”

Dean continues, “And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was….was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

“And he never had a theory about what did it?” Sam questions further, and up until now I didn’t realize how much he was kept in the dark about such a significant moment in his life.

Dean shrugs, “If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.” Sam starts again, “Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…we have to figure out what happened back then. And see if it’s the same thing.”

Dean again looks around uncomfortably, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel, “Yeah. We’ll talk to Dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

Sam notices this obvious movement like I did and pauses for a moment, you could see the gears turning in his head, “Does this feel like just another job to you?” Dean clears his throat, suddenly jerking the car off to the left side of the road right up to the curb, the car poorly parked, “I’ll be right back. I gotta go to the bathroom.” The second he finishes his sentence he’s out of the car and walking away into some local business that I couldn’t quite see the name of.

“I- I don’t understand him” Sam suddenly says as he watches his brother leave, turning in the passenger seat to talk to me properly, “It would be so much easier if he just…” He sighs, “talked to me.”

“I… don’t want to excuse his actions because you are right, but at the same time you know he was never taught how to be vulnerable.” I try to explain, carefully choosing my words knowing there were eggshells surrounding our feet. He then mumbles something incoherently about their childhood, he looks back up at me, “you know, you don’t really talk about your childhood either.”

“Maybe it’s just something about Kansas” I joke, he laughs lowly, “But I ,uh, I would like to tell you about it…someday…” I offer shyly, trying to offer him something in a moment where he has nothing

“I’d like that, at least I could get closer to one of you” Sam smiles, sadly.

“Hey and maybe it will open the door to encourage Dean to speak up” I say.

“Yeah you know that’s not gonna happen” He scuffs.

“Well, I was trying to be a little optimistic.”

When Dean came back to the car he was dead quiet, his eyes were glossy but he refused to talk. It wasn’t uncommon for him, not one bit.

Sitting in the back of the Impala, I watched the buildings and trees pass by. All blocks I was familiar with even if it was far from where I had actually lived, but when you're lonely you tend to find walking for an eternity isn’t so bad. Funnily enough, sitting in the back of this car felt eerily similar to when I was a child, my dad as quiet as an owl, a then changed man having lost his world. Only, he had forgotten my brother and I had lost her too, and that we were still around to begin with.

Dean stared at the road like my dad had all those years ago, so deeply as if they were to look away it would disappear right beneath them. Then Sam sat in the passenger seat looking between his brother and out the window not knowing what to say, like my brother always did. And I of course still played the same role because some things never change, some feelings never do fully leave.

Dean suddenly clears his throat, “Alright, up ahead is an old pal of dads.” Just as suddenly as he said it, he also hadn’t given us time to say anything before pulling over once more, this time in front of a mechanic's place. A sign reading “Guenther’s Auto Repair” in big red letters hung above a large garage unit. The smell of metal and grease breeze by my nose as I exit the car, following after the two taller men with what I thought was a forgotten sadness now back. I can’t imagine how they must feel, how Dean must feel.

They effortlessly found and began a discussion with the owner, easily lying about being cops which felt especially wrong today. It felt wrong to lie to anyone from the town I pretty much grew up in, even if I never knew any of them.

“So you and John Winchester, you used to own this garage together?” Dean asks the older man. I knew their father was a mechanic but hadn’t known he had his own garage and partner.

“Yeah, we used to, a long time ago. Matter of fact, it must be, uh…twenty years since John disappeared. So why the cops interested all of a sudden?” He says, whipping his dirty hands on a rag stained with car grease.

“Oh, we’re re-opening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of ‘em.” Dean answers smoothly, and I guess it isn’t technically a lie either. He accepts the answer with no further, visible, speculation, “Oh, well, what do you wanna know about John?”

“Well, whatever you remember, you know, whatever sticks out in your mind.” Dean suggests.

“Well…he was a stubborn bastard, I remember that.” He laughs. “And, uh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It’s that whole Marine thing. But, oh, he sure loved Mary. And he doted on those kids.” To that I have to stop myself from reacting, for some reason I can’t picture John being anything less of what he is now, in terms of strictness and toughness.

“But that was before the fire?” Sam points out.

He nods, “That’s right.”

“He ever talk about that night?” Sam adds. He seems to think for a moment, “No, not at first. I think he was in shock.”

“Right. But eventually? What did he say about it?” Sam clarifies.

“Oh, he wasn’t thinkin’ straight. He said somethin’ caused that fire and killed Mary.”

“He ever say what did it?” Dean asks this time.

“Nothin’ did it. It was an accident –- an electrical short in the ceiling or walls or somethin’. I begged him to get some help, but….” He explains.

“But what?”

“Oh, he just got worse and worse.” He answered, sympathy written all over his face.

“How?” Dean asks carefully.

“He started readin’ these strange ol’ books. He started goin’ to see this palm reader in town.” He says, suddenly catching my attention, an air of familiarity surrounding it.

“Palm reader? Uh, do you have a name?” Dean questions. I scrunch my eyebrows together trying to remember why this was familiar.

He responds at the same time it suddenly hits me, “No” he scuffs.

The name leaves my mouth in quiet thought, “Missouri Moseley.”

All three of them look at me strangely, before Dean grabs hold of my upper arm, throwing the man a smile and a “Excuse us.” He begins pulling me away from the garage and back to the car, his brother following after us after he had thanked the man.

“Where’d you get that name from?” Dean asks me sternly, looking down at me with sharp curious eyes, his grip on my arm never faulting.

I look up at him, his green eyes piercing mine, expectantly, but I find myself at a loss for words. Each syllable ready to be spoken but dying on my tongue, all in the fault of once more feeling like my younger self. Sam reaches for his brother's shoulder, almost pulling him away from me, “Ease up, Dean.” He shakes his brother off, but listens, releasing my arm and swallowing thickly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay” I cut him off quickly. I wasn’t scared of him at that moment, but of the past and I knew he was too. We all were.

“I remember your dad came over and mentioned that name, along with her being the real deal. I just don’t remember what the conversation was about, I mean it had to be years ago…” I feel my eyebrows scrunch together again as I try to recall more, glimpses of the memory popping up. Our dads sitting on the long vintage couches my mom had bought for the house while me and my brother ran outside to play, “It was at the original house, m-maybe a year before we moved to Kansas.”

“So three years after mom died” Sam nods.

“Yeah that seems about right, but I’m not sure if that encounter was like right after your dad met this Missouri or some time after.” I add

“It sounds familiar. '' Dean breathed out before rounding the car to the trunk, digging through it before pulling out the journal. “In Dad’s journal…here, look at this.” He flips it open, handing it off to his brother, “First page, first sentence, read that.”

Sam takes the book, reading the sentence out loud, “I went to Missouri and I learned the truth.”

“I always thought he meant the state.” Deans shrugs.

Missouri’s house was a cute little two story place. I admire the light brown wood paneling and stained glass windows, something I knew my mom would have loved. Dean and Sam sat squished together on a small couch, all of us waiting for her to be finished with her client. I choose to stand, not only to see them both quietly fight to sit on the couch but also to slightly look around the place without wandering around.

A round faced, warm brown skinned lady with big curly hair tied back in a ponytail escorts a man out of her house, “All right, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.” She tells him, her voice a natural soft and sweet tone, accompanied with a southern accent.

She closes the front door behind him, turning to face us, “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.” Her sweet voice does nothing to soften her blunt statement, my eyes go wide with the comment.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asks her,

“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news.” She answers simply, causing the room to fall quiet for a beat, “Well? Y/n, Sam and Dean, come on already, I ain’t got all day.” She leaves the room, I follow after her only pausing when I realize the boys weren’t following. I turn back towards them waving them over, they share a look before getting up and following.

“Well, lemme look at ya.” She laughs, “Oh, you boys grew up handsome.” She points a finger at Dean, “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.” A burst of laughter slips through my lips before I can control myself, his face falls and he glares at her.

Her gaze turns to me, my laughter dying out but a permanent smile left on my face, “Oh, you never lost your beauty” She smiles.

“You knew me when I was younger?” I ask, confused.

“Well of course, I knew your mother. Bless her soul” She answers, only leaving me more confused ‘cause my mom never mentioned her and I would sure remember such a sweet and funny woman.

“We helped each other out back then”, she explains, “She would always show me pictures of you and your brother. You were always a smiley girl, it’s good to see you didn’t lose that. Your mother would be glad too.” A warmth blossoms in my heart at that, my smile softens with me and it was like something I didn’t even know was within was fulfilled. It was hard to find new memories of my mom when I really didn’t know anyone who had known her, other than our family, to ask. Missouri hadn’t given me a full in depth memory and yet, it was enough. Enough to know someone else clearly adored my mom and had seen her in the same light I did. I don’t know why my mom never told us about her, but for some reason I didn’t feel the need to ask.

She gives me one last smile before giving her attention to Sam, she grabs his hand, her face falling, “Oh, honey…I’m sorry about your girlfriend.” A wave of shock clearly passes over the boys face, “And your father –- he’s missin’?” she continued.

“How’d you know all that?” Sam asks, clearly forgetting she is a psychic.

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.” She explains.

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean rapidly spews out.

She half shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?” He snaps back, far too hostile.

She gives him a weird look, “Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air.” A laugh passes through my lips before I could stop myself, I nudge Dean's shoulder who glares sharply at me before turning that look to Missouri, only furthering my spits of giggles that I try to bite back.

Her demeanor changes back to gentle, “Sit, please.” We listen to her, I took a seat beside Sam so that I wasn’t squished between both boys. Missouri suddenly snaps at Dean, “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Dean argues, his voice seemingly an octave higher- like a child.

“But you were thinkin’ about it.” She answers.

“Oh, I like you” I say through my laughter, it was quite the breath of fresh air to see someone put gruff ‘macho man’ Dean in his place.

Sam gets back on topic, whipping the smile that formed on his face, “Okay. So, our dad –- when did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say…I drew back the curtains for him.” She responds.

“What about the fire? Do you know about what killed our mom?” Dean asks.

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing” She explains.

“And could you?” Sam asks

She shakes her head, “I…”

“What was it?”

She answers softly, “I don’t know. Oh, but it was evil.”, She pauses for a beat, “So…you think somethin’ is back in that house?”

“Definitely” Sam breathes.

She shakes her head again, “I don’t understand.”

“What?” Sam asks.

“I haven’t been back inside, but I’ve been keepin’ an eye on the place, and it’s been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it actin’ up now?” She explains.

“I don’t know. But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house all happening at once –- it just feels like something’s starting.” Sam says, eyebrows scrunched in worry.

“That’s a comforting thought.” Dean mumbles.

~~~~~~~~~

The ride back to the Winchesters house was the light in this complex time. The entire ride Missouri lectured Dean on his driving saying he was just a little too reckless and was gonna get us all killed despite it being a generally short one. They bickered back and forth a while until Dean gave up grumbling something below his breath, causing another snap response from the woman herself.

When we finally arrived Dean quickly got out of the car before anyone else could even register being parked, I genuinely don’t think I've ever seen him happy to be out of Baby. He had very obviously, and purposefully, positioned himself so that he was standing next to me away from Missouri, in fact two people away as she stood on the other side of Sammy. I searched for Dean's hand, my fingers brushed against his larger rougher hand. I clasped it gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze to hopefully ease his tension, caused by the beef he had with the nice lady that was helping us to begin with, even though I most definitely found the whole thing hilarious. Just as Sam knocked on the door I released Dean's hand, bringing both my hands to clasp in front of me. A peak of nervousness rests in my gut as I feel his gaze on me, I ignore it, focusing my eyes forward while I rock on the balls of my feet.

Jenny answers the door, her blond hair messy and clear stress present in the crinkled corner of her eyes and worry etched into her pupils. She holds her baby, Ritchie, close to her chest, “Sam, Dean, Y/N. What are you doing here?”

Sam smiles at the blond, “Hey, Jenny. This is our friend, Missouri.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, we were hoping to show her the old house. You know, for old time’s sake” Dean chimes in.

She scrunches her nose, “You know, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of busy.”

“Listen, Jenny, it’s important.” Dean tries to explain before Missouri smacks him hard on the back of the head, far harder than I ever do, “Ow!” He yelps, turning around swiftly towards the shorter woman, “How did you-!” He nearly yells holding the back of his head. He looks at her with big wild eyes, his yelling coming from the fact she was able to quietly get behind Sam and I to hit him.

Missouri cuts him off, “Give the poor girl a break, can’t you see she’s upset?” She then turns to Jenny, “Forgive this boy, he means well, he’s just not the sharpest tool in the shed, but hear me out.” Dean looks further stunned.

“About what?” Jenny asks, adjusting her hold on her kid.

“About this house.” Missouri answers.

“What are you talking about?” Jenny looks between us all, nervously.

“I think you know what I’m talking about. You think there’s something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?” Missouri says.

“Who are you?” Jenny asks just above a whisper.

“We’re people who can help, who can stop this thing. But you’re gonna have to trust us, just a little.” Missouri smiles comfortingly but even so Jenny looks unsure.

She seems to go over it in her head before finally sighing, “Alright.”

The four of us stand in Sari’s bedroom, Jenny having given us room to do what we need to while she waits downstairs with her kids. Sari’s room was a dark blue, a contrast to her pink and white furniture and toys.

“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it.” Missouri states, looking around the room carefully from where she stood.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.” She answers, looking around the room. Dean pulls out his DIY EMF from the inside of his coat pocket, “That an EMF?” Missouri asks.

“Yeah.” Dean smiles smugly.

“Amateur.” Missouri says lowly, I don’t know why she was targeting Dean specifically but his reaction to her was too amusing to really ponder it.

The EMF beeps frantically, “I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom.” Missouri announces.

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam asks frantically, getting a confident nod, “How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s somethin’ different.” She answers, pausing for a beat before adding, “Can you feel it Y/N?”

My eyes widened in shock, “I’m sorry what?”

“You still got a lot to learn ‘bout your abilities'' She responds waving me over, “c’mere, you might be able to sense the energy.”

I hesitantly place my bag down before slowly walking over to her, she either senses my nervousness or reads my mind because she explains what she means, “Witches tend to have the best intuition and connection to the natural world, you should be able to sense energies especially spiritual ones with a second sight.”

She situates me in front of her with my back towards her, her hands clasp my arms tightly as they rest at my side. “Close your eyes, and just like meditation let everythin’ else fall away.”

I follow her instructions, my eyes fluttering shut reluctantly. I feel incredibly silly as I take a deep breath, the sage-y perfume of the woman behind me filling my nose. I breathe out slowly, forcing my mind to shut out the real world, which isn’t as hard as it should be with the quiet room and my nearly regular meditating. Complete darkness surrounds me as if the room itself had fallen away with all the people in it too, just me floating in an abyss.

I focused more closely on the house itself, extending my awareness far out to the block and then as if a dark fog hugged it I zeroed in on the house. Using my conscious self I pictured what it was like to walk through the house this time with a deep focus and new eyes.

With each step I ventured further into the house cautiously, a buzzing feeling rang through the house like when two strong magnets fight for equilibrium with a clatter. But despite the buzzing a physical warm glow emitted from the home's edges and like a hand reaching out it tried to conquer more of the house, yet it couldn’t. A force I couldn't quite tell held it back. The hair on the back of my neck stood tall, a cold chill running down my spine, I shrugged it off as I walked back up the stairs and down the hall to my physical self.

My foot only breached the doorway when a dreadful feeling filled the halls as if rooted beneath the wallpaper, a twinge of fear made its home in my stomach. I had never done this before, never went into my mind to feel the very things I hunt. I have no experience here, this is not my domain. They must know that as hushed murmurs fluttered around me with voices I couldn’t detect but knew they didn’t belong to anyone in the room. They wouldn’t be able to talk to me here so normally, maybe Missouri but certainly not Sam or Dean.

The murmurs became louder, each whisper jumbled over the next, talking over each other to the point of no recognition. My back hits the hard archway of the door's entrance, the sheer loudness of combined voices knocking me off balance. I braced myself against the door, nails biting into wood, my eyes shut tightly in effort to focus even further.

An unfamiliar cold hand brushes my forearm dragging its fingers up to my elbow as if standing beside me, I swiftly turn around backing up a few feet to see nothing near me. Another brush touches me, this time the back of my neck accompanied by a hot breath fanning by my ear. I don’t move away. this is not my domain, but it will be, and I will not show fear now. Latin spews from its mouth flowing right into my ear, a simple teasing statement, “Another toy.”

My eyes shoot open, pupils blown wide as my eyes adjust to the lighting as well as my mind being back in focus of the physical realm. My heart beats harshly against my chest, my lungs heaving with adrenaline.

A large hand clasps around my upper arm tightly, I nearly stumble back a step before my mind finally catches up with the present. “What is it?” Dean spews out quickly, his green eyes nearly crazed with worry.

I open my mouth to answer only to have Missouri answer for me instead, “You saw them.”

“F-felt more like” I stammer the feeling of its touch still lingering.

“What are they doing here?” Dean asks, looking between Missouri and I for answers, his hand still on my arm. Thing is I don’t have an answer, all that creepy spirit touching and I still don’t know everything.

But of course Missouri does, “They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected.”

“This house buzzes with energy, literally you can feel it attracting paranormal energy. There’s two here right now…ones in the room. My head turns towards the closet, “A poltergeist. I’m not sure if it sees it as a game or what but I think it wants Jenny and her kids dead.” I know I’m right when Missouri nods her head.

“You both said there was more than one spirit.”

“There is. I just can’t quite make out the second one.” Missouri answers before adding, “You pick up anythin’”

“Only that it felt…good, if that makes sense. It was very different from the other. It was like this warmth trying to consume the house or really rid the house of its evil.” I answer by trying to make sense of everything that I have experienced.

“You’re sure of this?” Dean asks me, gaining my attention again by squeezing my arm before finally letting go.

“Yes.” I breathe simply, failing to explain that my only other hunch was the fact that it hadn’t been bothering me or I suppose terrorizing me like the poltergeist had with its touching.

A hard determined look sharpens on Dean's face, “Well, one thing’s for damn sure –- nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again. So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”

“We’re gonna cleanse the house” Missouri answers simply, “Y/N, what you have in that bag of yours?”

A devilish smirk stretches itself on my face, “You wanna do purifying bags?” I ask back instead of answering. I walk back over to my discarded bag picking it up and swinging it over my shoulder, “Let’s do this downstairs, don’t want to make a mess in the kids room” Missouri says, answering my question without really answering it.

“Copy” I smile, taking the lead as we exit the room. With a sudden need for my specialty I found a new pep in my step as I quickly descended the stairs beelining for the nearest table. I carefully placed my bag down on the dining room table, pulling out my spell book marked and written in along with small corked glass bottles of different roots and herbs I carry. “When did you put all of this in your bag?” Sam asks, picking up a vial of crossroad dirt.

“Before I left with Dean to come get you, ‘cause you never know when you're gonna have to put together a spell or a potion of sorts” I answer, pulling out a couple empty small brown pouches.

“So you’ve been carrying this ‘round with you this whole time?” Dean asks this time.

“Mhm” I hum as I sit getting right to work.

With a little bag in front of me I put in each ‘ingredient’, for lack of a better word, not needing to look at my book for the right amount in each.

“Well don’t be lazy, help the girl!” Missouri lectures hitting Dean on the back of the head again. He grumbles no longer snapping back with something, he sits down next to me looking for direction.

With the feeling of his gaze on the side of my face I swirl my finger towards my spell book, a purple haze floating through the air turning the pages of my book to the right section for him to follow without me having to stop my work. He doesn't say anything as he takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, putting his forearms on display as he picks up bits of root, unfortunately catching my attention enough to pause my work and stare at him.

His eyes move from my book to the bag he was working on, his eyes sharp and focus as it passes across the words on the page. He moves his hand to the book using a finger to drag across the page underneath each word, the veins in his hand bulging as he does so. His eyebrows scrunch and his jaw ticks as he asks, “What is this stuff anyway?”

“That’s angelica root your holding” I mentioned first, referring to the fuzzy green plant in his hand. “And that’s van van oil, crossroad dirt, sage” I point to each bottle, naming off each ingredient we’re using.

He nods as I speak, his eyes still holding the same level of focus. From his listening to the gentle touch he used as he handled each bottle, all I could feel was pure endearment. The sudden quietness in the room made me painfully aware of the fact that we were the only ones left in said room and that Missouri along with Sam had left at some point, most likely to talk to Jenny.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Dean questioned, knocking his knee into mine to get my attention once more. A bashful smile breaks its way onto my face at his touch, “We put them inside the walls of each corner of each floor of the house, north, south, east, west.”

“We’ll be punchin’ holes in the dry wall. Jenny’s gonna love that.” Dean points out.

My lips formed a tight line, cringing, “Yeah…this is just how this goes but to be fair some holes in the walls are better than evil spirits.”

He huffed a laugh, “And this will destroy the spirits?”

“It should, it's supposed to purify the house completely, we’ll probably each take a floor but we do have to work quickly because when they catch on to what we’re doing, they get seriously pissed.” I answered

“Won’t they catch on with us doing it here?”

“You would think that but spirits don’t always know until it’s actually happening like when we make the holes then it’s a big deal.” I inform, tying off another bag.

“Huh” He replies as he continues to work.

Soon silence falls upon us while we work, our arms brushing against each other every now and then.

“Are holes in drywall a hard fix?” I ask, breaking the comfortable silence, worried that the spirits won’t be the only pissed ones.

A deep chuckle passes through his lips, “That depends, sweetheart, but it should be.” He went on to explain the logistics of it, and while it wasn’t something I really cared to know about I didn’t stop him from explaining.

By the time his explanation of spackles and walls was over our purifying bags were done too.

Missouri and Sam walk back into the room, the floor creaking slightly underneath them. “You guys almost done?” Sam asked

“Yup” I hummed, “The bags are all done just gotta finish cleaning up”

“Good. Jenny and her kids just left, they’ll be back in an hour or two” Sam explained, placing a bunch of heavy items on the table. “I brought these in from the car, take your pick.”

I look up at the heavy mass, a hammer, a small ax, and two crowbars lay on the table. Though it is an odd collection of weapons as long as it is capable of making a hole in the wall it doesn't really matter, Sam picks up the hammer testing the weight of it in his hand.

With every part of the plan settled I throw the rest of the vials and leftover bags in my bag worrying about organization later, gently tucking my thick spell book into my bag I turn swiftly around, “Let’s get it done.”

“I’ll take this floor” Dean says, picking up his four bags, “Sammy you take upstairs, and you two can take the basement.”

“And remember you need to put a bag in each corner, north, south, east, west.” I order as everyone has the right amount of bags and a weapon of choice.

A collective nod was all we needed to spring into action, with the cold heavy crowbar in my hand I took the lead down the basement Missouri following closely after me. Without any words needed, we split up her heading to the west side of the floor and me to the east.

A chill runs up my spine, an uncomfortable feeling floating in the air, I roll my shoulders trying to rid myself of the feeling. My knees hit the floor, the coldness seeping through my pants. I knock on the wall in an attempt to hear a hollow part, Dean having mentioned before that would be the easiest way to make a hole. My knuckles hit the wall in at least ten separate spots before it no longer sounds solid. I stand back up for better leverage before changing my hold on the crowbar to be horizontal, bashing the end of it into the wall repeatedly until it cracks.

A heavy sliding noise shuffles behind me, I snap my head to the sound of a large dark table moving across the floor right into Missouri. My mouth opens to scream her name in warning but just as the first syllable leaves my mouth a nail comes flying at my face. Out of reflex alone I send the nail flying to the left, the invisible force of my power altering its trajectory. My eyes follow where the nail came from, an open red tool box, more nails come flying my way and each time I knock them away. Knowing it wouldn’t stop I gripped the crowbar harder using only a glimpse back at the wall to know where I was aiming for. While I used one hand and half my focus on changing the direction of the nails I used my other to slam the crowbars end into the already cracked wall but only when it sounded like it broke through enough did I glimpse back again. With another look forward at the coming nails, only one more left, I waited until it got closer, the old nail zooming toward my eye. Just as it got but an inch away I dropped to the floor, turning my body as I went, throwing the purification bag in.

I got up quickly, dropping my crowbar, almost tripping over my other foot as I ran to Missouri, pushing the table away from her, throwing another bag into the hole she had already made before she got attacked. She breathes heavily, a hand on her chest. “You okay?” I ask, putting a hand on her shoulder and leading her away from the table. She nods her head, handing me her two bags, wordlessly telling me to finish the floor.

I grip the bags in one hand as I pick up my discarded crowbar, seeing the nails that flew at me sticking out of the walls. I head over to the undisturbed wall slamming the crowbar into the wall, not even attempting to do the knocking at this point. While I threw in the third bag, worry consumed me at the realization that the spirits must be attacking the boys too. Without wasting any more time I go to the last undisturbed wall, again slamming the crowbar into it. Call it paranoia or instinct that made me turn so that my shoulder was facing the wall instead of my face to see if another attack would be coming. Either way it was that alone that saved me from the poltergeist throwing a wooden chair at my head. I duck again just in time for the chair to smash into pieces above me, wood undoubtedly falling into my hair.

“Stop throwing stuff!” I yell at the air itself or really the incredibly annoying poltergeist. With a huff I throw in the last bag, all the activity silencing on this floor. I get up walking over to Missouri as I pick out chunks of wood from my hair, as soon as I get close enough she reaches up and takes a particularly large piece of chair out of my hair showing it to me with a laugh before tossing it somewhere on the floor.

“Y/N!” A voice yells with a strain, clearly coming from a distance away. Right away I recognize the voice, Deans, I go running climbing up the stairs two at a time. Forget about my hair, forget about leaving Missouri behind (no offense).

The ground floor is practically untouched other than the clear mess that is peeking out from the kitchen, I look around quickly and see no one, “Dean?!” I shout back evident fear in my voice, getting an immediate “Up here.” Slight relief hits me as I again sprint up the stairs, twirling around the banister the second I reach the second floor seeing the closest open door. Forgetting about precautions I immediately approach the door, my hand on the archway when I see Dean on the floor cradling a hurt-limp Sam.

“Wha-“ I begin saying only to lose my train of thought.

“Let’s get him up” Missouri suddenly says from behind me, very calmly. She nudges past me heading straight for the boys, but neither of them move. She leans down beside Sam pressing two fingers to the side of his neck, “He’s still alive, he’ll be just fine.”

He gives her a curt nod before leaning back on his feet and standing, dragging his brother up with him, just as he does so Sam comes to. His eyes fluttering open and close, “It’s okay Sammy, just gonna bring you downstairs” Dean tells him, putting his brother's arm around his shoulder.

Carefully he walks his brother downstairs, Sam grumbling something halfway through before going limp again. Finally they reach the living room, Dean carefully lays his brother on the couch then moves to sit on the coffee table right across from him.

“He’ll be alright” I say softly, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder.

“I know” he replies.

“Were you able to finish the floor?” I ask even though maybe it wasn’t the proper time to.

“No. I was hurled with knives the second I made the hole, then I heard something upstairs and ran to see if Sammy was okay…I don’t think he finished either” He explains, his eyebrows scrunched together.

“It’s okay, i’ll go finish it and you guys can stay here, watch over him” I say, giving his shoulder a little squeeze before moving my hand away.

“Are you crazy?! That’s dangerous. Did you not just see what happened to Sam?!” Dean shoots back, not quite yelling but his voice is definitely louder than needed.

I smiled at him sweetly knowing this was coming from a place of worry and not an incompetent sort of deal, “Don’t worry I can take care of myself just fine, I did so down stairs when we finished up. Got some nails thrown at me, a chair and a table, you know just the usual playing house with the ghost.”

“That’s not the point. I’m coming with you.” He stands up abruptly and I swear I saw his jaw tick.

“Okay. I’m not gonna argue with you” I respond with humor in my voice. “But. If you did want to stay behind to watch your brother I wouldn't fault you for it either.”

He looks at me strangely with those beautiful green eyes before diverting them just past me, “I’m coming with you.”

“Right.” I smile “‘You got the bags?”

He answers by shuffling through his jacket pockets and pulling out a bag from each, he holds them up in an almost teasing way. I take a half step forward, grabbing a bag right out of his hand, only then realizing how close my small step puts us, having to lean my head back far enough to look up at him comfortably. But I don’t move away as I ask him, “What about your axe?”

He tilts his head down slightly towards me, his breathe hot on my face, “Dropped it in the kitchen”

“Good.” I say, nearly and pathetically getting distracted by our closeness…and his eyes… and his lips. “ ‘Cause I have no idea where I left that crowbar”

He laughs and steps away, his shoulder brushing mine as he walks away to the kitchen. Before I can turn to follow him Missouri meets my eyes, giving me a pointed-knowing look about what just happened. ‘Shut up’ I playfully mouth.

Finally I turn around following after the man in question. He comes out of the kitchen holding the small axe but just behind him is a mess. The kitchen looks like a tornado went through it with draws and cabinets open, utensils on the floor, broken dishes scattered around, the table turned over with knives sticking out of it (a tornado could not do that but the point of the mess still stands.) I look back at Dean then behind him repeatedly, “Did you have fun?” I remark sarcastically.

“Oh, not as much fun as you had” He replies gruffly, reaching up to my hair, his fingers sinking in as he ruffles out small chips of wood. My cheeks feel warm at the small contact and even more so when he pulls away and gives me that smirk. Then he walks away towards the back of the house with a cocky look in his eye like he knew exactly what he had done. I take a short deep breath before following him.

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

A few hours later every purifying bag is put in place and Sammy is conscious and now we stand in the disaster that is the kitchen, broken cabinets and chair bits on the floor as well as a collection of utensils, all just to see the bunt of the fight.

“‘You sure this is over?” Sam questions, his voice a little rough.

“I’m sure. Why? Why do you ask?” Missouri answers.

“Never mind.” He sighs, “It’s nothin’, I guess.”

The front door opens followed by footsteps, “Hello? We’re home.” Jenny calls out before finding us in the kitchen pure shock written on her face, “What happened?”

“Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this.” Sam word vomits, the words spilling out quickly and anxiously. Both Dean and I’s heads snap towards him, I seriously want to ask him ‘with what money???’ But before anyone can fathom a word Missouri beat us to it, “Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess.” Again with her (maybe) uncalled targeting I have to bite back a smirk, meanwhile Dean stands unmoving his eyebrows scrunched looking at the shorter woman with a total bewildered expression.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.” She adds, and I don’t know how she has this much power but he listens and begins to walk away or really shuffle away, “And don’t cuss at me!” She lectures.

Laughter slips through my lips as he mutters under his breath, Sam joining in on the hilarious nature that is his brother being bossed around.

Wiping a tear out of the corner of my eye I touch Sam’s shoulder, “I’m gonna go get him and fix this up…” I twirl my finger slightly to signal I mean magically, “Bring Jenny inside somewhere.” He nods, “Okay but you should really let him suffer”

I laugh again, rolling my eyes as I move away.

I find Dean standing in front of a broom closet trying to balance several cleaning objects in his hands at once. I admire his effort but there’s just no way anyone could clean that kitchen when it’s quite literally just destroyed. I grabbed a broom from him that was seconds away from falling, “Not to ruin your fun but I figured it would be easier to use magic on the kitchen than a mop.”

“Thank god” He sighs, shoving everything back in the closet including the broom I held.

Back in the kitchen I try not to get stressed at just how bad it is. Taking a calming breath I walk over to the kitchen counters, closing my eyes, I feel my hair move around me slightly from a small drift in the room, my body stands completely still as I let my hands feel the cool counter below me and the steadiness of it all. As my body relaxes and my shoulders drop, relieving its tension I become a conduit for magic, a dance of ethereal threads weaving through me. The energy flowed from my core to my fingertips, the flow gracefully extending to every nook and cranny. As if tracing an intricate pattern, it embraced the room, coaxing broken shards and scattered pieces back into harmony. The air felt electric with the essence of restoration, and the kitchen hummed with the soothing melody of enchantment.

When I open my eyes again, I feel a gaze on me. I turn my whole body, so that I was standing sideways, to it and of course it’s Dean, he meets my eyes, his mouth just slightly agape and I can only imagine what the swirling of purple energy around the room fixing items must have looked like. His green eyes are slightly glossy with what is maybe curiousity or amazement, either way it was a weird look. Before I could question him I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a tall familiar figure. Sam stands by the kitchen archway waving his hand, signaling it was time to go.

Hours later darkness consumes the Impala. After dropping Missouri back home Sam insisted we came back to the house for a stakeout. It was hard to argue with someone who had a bad feeling over something that is quite literally life or death, so we stayed. We’d been in here so long in fact that I’d taken to lying down flat in the backseat, my legs propped up on the seats (shoes off so Dean wouldn’t complain but at least I got to showcase my cute dragonfly socks).

I stare up at the beige-ish interior roof, my hands laying across my chest. I breathe in and out evenly, but with the prospect of being bored, memories of my life here swarm my head and suddenly I miss my mom more than I've had in a long time. If I focus hard enough on the roof I can still hear the remnants of her laughter and I could see her smile, the one I inherited, on her soft face. That old longing, that old sadness that I thought I was over fills my heart, its hands creep up on it clasping it tightly. It’s been years. So many years since she’s been gone and yet still this feeling—this rawness in my chest, this endless longing is home in my body just as it was the first time around.

I miss my mom.

I want to cry and I want her back, tears threaten my eyes and that stupid tightness in my throat prevails almost like it’s choking me, a tightness that’s so painful I want to rip my throat out. I swallow forcefully, I hate this feeling and I hate death and I hate that I'm feeling this in the back of the car with my best friends just right up front. It’s too vulnerable, it’s too open, too close to home…I want to go home.

I want to go home.

I shut my eyes tightly trying to erase these feelings to move them back in the dusty box they had sat in. But it isn’t that easy and I know it isn’t so instead I breathe deeply and choose to listen to Dean and Sam talk, focusing on the up and down of their words and the softness of each syllable.

“All right, so, tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asks, impatience clear on his tongue.

“I don’t know. I just…” Sam sighs, “…still have a bad feeling.”

“Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.” Dean explains.

“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.” Sam answers.

“Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now.” Dean responds and I hear him slide down his seat, probably closing his eyes in the process, “Like Y/N back there” he adds, softer, and even with my eyes closed a smile produces itself on my face. The small warmth that spreads in my chest fends off the grief, at least enough for it not to be at the forefront of my mind.

The quiet peace that falls over the Impala is short lived, Sam suddenly yelling, “Guys. Look” My eyes shoot open, “Dean!” He hits his brother's shoulder.

I sit up quickly catching a glimpse of Jenny yelling by her window, with nothing more to be said- we jump out of the car. I shuffled to the car door, leaving my shoes behind, the second I’m out and the door is slammed shut I run after the boys who were only two paces ahead. “You two grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny.” Dean commands as Sam tries the door which of course is locked. Dean pushes him slightly to the side, he takes a step back lifting his leg and kicking in the door. Broken pieces of wood stick out from the side of it.

The dark wooden floors are cold beneath my sock-covered feet, each step up the staircase seems far too long even as we reach the top. At the top Dean stops at a door close to the stairs but I don’t use any more focus to take anything else as Sam and I run down the hall, “Get Sari! I’ll get the baby!” I yell after him. Stopping at the closest door I swing it open only to reveal a bathroom, I curse underneath my breath before spinning around to the door right across the hall. Once more I swing it open, this time revealing a baby room with a white crib in the middle of it. I rush over only slowing to not scare Richie as I approach, somehow he’s still asleep wrapped up in his little blanket.

Carefully I reach in the crib scooping him up from underneath his upper back, my other arm going for his legs. Once in my arms I rearrange him so my dominant hand rests on his lower back while the crook of my other arm cradles his little head, just like holding a baby doll except this one is way cuter and also very alive. Standing back at my full height I fix his blanket around him before exiting the room. I know Sam can handle himself so I head towards the stairs, the baby had to be the priority right now. I quickly descend the stairs, only half way down when I feel Sam close behind, a relief hitting me.

My feet only just hit the ground level when Sam calls my name, swiftly I turn towards him Sari in his arms.

“Y/N, you need to take the kids and go outside.” He orders, placing Sari on the floor.

“Okay, what about you aren’t you coming?” I rushed out, cradling Richie in one arm so I could take hold of Sari’s hand.

Panic is written all over his face and something else lies in his eyes, “Take them. Don’t look back” And before I can argue any further he’s nudging me forward, reluctantly I go only because I know I can’t help with two kids in my arms. I run towards the door at this point, pulling Sari along with me, just behind me I hear a slam to the floor and I know it’s Sam- relief gone. But even so I rush forward.

The chill breeze of the night hits me hard. Jenny and Dean stand on the edge of the grass line. Only a few paces from them Sari lets go of my hand and runs to her mom, Jenny leaning down to catch her and hold her tightly. “Sam’s inside you have to go now” I speak quickly, my words jumbling over itself. Dean's eyes widen and pure fear fills them, on top of being scared guilt fills me now too. He runs to the front door and I hear it slam loudly. I hand Richie back over to his mom who is very obviously relieved to have him again.

Dean runs back to the Impala pulling out a shotgun and an ax, going right back to the door. I know I could open the door for him, it would be easy and I wouldn’t even break a sweat. Yet, my feet remain planted to the grown, the chaos of it all—the guilt. My purifying bags didn’t work, it nearly got a whole family killed and Sam’s now in trouble too. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.

My feet won’t move, my body won’t react, I can't even redeem myself. I don’t want to lose anyone else, I don’t want to. I can’t.

Move.

Move. Please move, I beg myself— my very being to do something anything but be helpless. I hate being helpless and yet I’m here doing nothing, anxiety and fear encasing me to this spot. I hear Dean hacking away at the door, faint grunts leaving his mouth as he does so but still I can’t move. Sari begins to cry latching on to her moms legs only waking up Ritchie in the process who then begins to cry too. The loud crying rings in my ears, only making my heart beat faster.

Jenny, visibly overwhelmed, wrestles with the challenge of consoling both kids, her distress mirrored in her eyes. Without conscious thought, my arms extend, offering to hold Ritchie. To my surprise, she entrusts the baby to me, planting a tender kiss on his forehead before gathering Sari into her embrace. Sari's legs encircle her mother's waist, a protective hand cradling the back of her head.

Richie moving in my arms breaks me out of my panic, if only because someone in need was right there, someone who surely couldn’t help themselves. I begin to rock him, moving my weight from one foot to another but my stress and worry is still there and he must feel it too because it does barely anything to help. I look back up, Dean is still hacking away at the door, not enough progress has been made. I rearrange the baby, using my free arm I lift up a hand my palm facing towards the direction of the door, with barely any thought needed the door slams open. Dean looks back at me for only a second before running in.

Richie's cries persist as I rock him, murmuring reassurances, "It's okay, everything will be okay." I desperately rack my mind for any calming measures, when I suddenly recall my mother singing me lullabies. But still I struggle to remember any of them, the memory too distant to be anything more than a hymn, instead I decide to softly sing "A Lullaby" by Dear Nora – even though it came out way after my mothers passing it always reminded me of her. And I had always kept a small hope that one day if I were to have kids that I would sing it to them too.

As I move a strand of hair from Richie's face, he begins to settle. My voice trembles with fear, but it seems to have a soothing effect anyways. Richie stops crying, and I meet Jenny's gaze. She offers a sad smile while holding her daughter close.

Both boys came out of that house. Relief had hit me like a ton of bricks, my knees felt wobbly with it. At first they could barely speak, shocked at what they saw but then the police and firefighters came and it was all the usual.

It was hours later until everything was resolved, and it wasn’t until Missouri came over that they actually spilt what happened. Their mom was there, she was the good spirit that I had felt, the one that was fighting off the evil and she did exactly that when it had attacked Sam. Somehow, she was still at the house after all these years protecting it. She had used the last of her abilities to say…sorry.

It’s morning now, Missouri cleared the house for real this time no spirit was left in there. The kids were sleeping still, Jenny was giving the photos she found to Dean and Sam sat with Missouri on the steps talking.

I had nothing to say to anyone in particular so I sat in the Impala, my legs outside the car, digging through my bag, when I finally pulled out my spell book I turned to the purifying page, I looked it over again trying to see if we did something wrong and messed up the amounts. But no. We did it right, but for some reason it didn’t work—it didn’t work and people could have died. Holding the book on my lap I reach up to the top of it, my hand holding the single page ready to tear it out when it’s suddenly taken from my grasp “Hey, what are you doing?!” Dean yells, holding it out of reach.

“It didn’t work. It needs to go, please give it back.” I answered, my jaw clenched.

“This was your moms, you’d hate yourself if you ripped it up.” Dean lectures.

“No I wouldn't, give it back. I need to make sure this never happens again.” I shoot up from my seat reaching up to grab it back but his arm shoots down behind his back.

“Yeah, you would. Sorry to break it to you sweetheart but I know you pretty damn well.”

I don’t care if he’s right. I don’t. That page needs to go, I can’t make this mistake again. I won’t. I reach for it again behind his back but again he moves it, “Dean. I’m not joking around give it back.” I don’t often get angry, but I am.

He looks down at me, his eyes scrunched in confusion and concern, “What’s going on with you?”

I huff, frustrated, “What’s going on is I messed up. Badly. They could have died and don’t try to say I don’t know that for sure because I do. And I know you do too, so I don’t need any comforting lies”

"We screw up, sweetheart. It's part of the gig. But we fixed it. They're alive and kickin', okay?" His words carried that gruff reassurance he always had, even when he was being a bit of a hypocrite. Book at his side, guard lowered just a bit, it was my chance to snag it back. "Not this," I jabbed a finger at the book. "I'm good at this. I don't mess up on this."

"I don't care that you're all emotional right now. You're not trashing your spell book." Arms crossed in front of his chest, he held his ground.

My chest heaved, my eyes scrunched in frustration as I looked up at him, my free hand in a tight fist my nails digging into my palm. “But, it needs to—“ I say back, weakly, already my fight was crumbling, being replaced with something else. Suddenly his arms were around me and my face was buried in his chest. His arms held my upper back tightly, his hands going up to cup my head, his fingers entangled into my hair a little while his chin rested on top of my head. With each breath I took, inhaling his smell of something woody and some sort of spice mixed into one, any resolve I had left was gone.

I wanted to keep fighting, I wanted to tell him he was wrong but he held me so close and so gentle that I couldn’t. If that in itself had made me weak then so be it. I wrap my arms around his center, even with my book in my hand. It had to be seconds later when he must have felt the tension leaving my shoulders when he pulled away, his hands dropped down to the crook of my arm holding me a short distance away. His green eyes locked with mine in a silent agreement.

I pull away fully when Sam and Missouri approach, quickly whipping my eyes just in case and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. We each exchange hugs with her, even Dean who surprisingly gets no comment this time.

Missouri smiles, “Don’t you be strangers.”

“We won’t.” Dean nods as he rounds the car.

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theyhavetakenovermylife · 6 months

Text

Shadows Entwined: part 6

BatmanVsTmnt!Leonardo x sidekick!reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 / Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Bonus (18+)

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A/N: And one week later, the Gotham adventure continues💙

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You arrive at Arkham Asylum, finding the eerie building abandoned, with the expectations of a few mutants. One mutant especially, makes Leo realize a fear he did not know he had.

Warnings: Spelling, fear gas visions, imaginary death, angst, desperation.

The reader and the turtles are 19.

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“I win!”, Robin said proudly as he landed at the gates of Arkham Asylum. “And you owe me a pizza”, he said, gesturing towards you, seeming oblivious for a short time, as the rest of you took in the appearance of Arkham Asylum and its menacing atmosphere. From the gates to the front entrance, was a path marked with dead trees, all casting contorted shadows on the ground. Its gothic walls were dark, with a glow of green and red, giving it a sickening appearance. Windows were smashed and not a single window carried any light, making it feel similar to a haunted house in the worst horror movies.

“I’ve never liked this place”, you mumbled, causing Leo to turn his head slightly towards you. The look on your face, it wasn’t fear. Batman had probably learned you to not show fear, yet there was something in your eyes. Your pretty eyes. A determination yet a hesitance. Leo noticed how your shoulders had tensed a bit, and how your demeanor had changed so much since your small race on the rooftops.

Leonardo offered his elbow out to you ever so slightly, causing you to look at him in slight confusion. “Just hold on if you ever need to”, he said, feeling his heartbeat to raise ever so slightly when he saw a small smile on your lips.

“No sign of the Foot or the League”, Batman’s deep voice sounded, causing both of you to jump back to reality, back in front of Arkham’s threatening gate. “Stay sharp”.

With all of your weapons ready, you followed Batman up the path and through the main doors. None of you saw anyone. Not a single soul. All you could see was the dark corners of Arkham, and the haunting silence.

BANG.

You jumped slightly, placing a hand on Leonardo’s arm. If it wasn’t for the threatening atmosphere of Arkham, Leo would probably have enjoyed the feeling. Maybe he would even have turned to smile at you, if not for the sound of something being dragged along the ground.

“Well, would you look at that”, a voice sounded in the darkness. A dog-like being dressed in a jester costume and carrying a big mallet, jumped onto the railing at the top of the staircase. “The bat has made some new best friends! So, are you gonna introduce me to your new turtle pals or what?”

“Harley. What have they done to you?”, Batman asked, ever so stoic.

“The ooze”, Donnie spoke up. “They must have injected themselves”.

“Aha”, Harley said with a finger in the air before jumping back from the railing. “There’ll be plenty of time to talk once you find Mister J and our guests. He got a whole thing planned! I don’t wanna ruin it. You know how he gets!” And with those words she turned and left, leaving you and the rest in shivering unease. All expect Batman and Leonardo.

The said turtle stepped forward, ready to follow the mutant, but Batman stopped him. “Wait”, he said, causing Leo to look at him. “Presumably Shredder and Ra’s have mutated all of the inmates of Arkham”.

“Was this their plan?”, Batgirl asked in confusion. “Mutate the villains and unleash them on the city?”

“I have a feeling this is just one part of the puzzle”, Batman said. “Split up. Investigate each wing. (H/N), you and Leonardo come with me. Remember, this whole asylum is essentially a maze. There are hostages to rescue, and on top of that, even before they were mutated, these inmates were the deadliest criminals in all of Gotham”. That was the last the dark knight said before he turned, his cape flowing behind him.

“I was kind of expecting a pep talk”, Donatello said, looking to you, Batgirl and Robin for some sort of confirmation.

“That was the pep talk”, Robin grumbled, slightly irritated over the fact that Batman had chosen you to go with him, and not him.

“Go team”, Batgirl said, two thumbs in the air.

You and Leonardo did just as Batman had told you to, and followed him down the hall. Well, not before you shot Batgirl a smug grin, as she and Donatello decided to go together. But that smug grin soon disappeared as the three of you walked through the halls of Arkham in complete silence. You felt a slight frustration at the way Batman would position himself either between you and the blue clad turtle, or just behind you, never leaving any of you out of sight. You knew very well it was because of Batman’s protective mannerisms towards his family. It was his wish to protect that made him look out for any danger that could harm you. But to Leo it felt different. He couldn’t shake this itching feeling that Batman did not want him to be alone with you in Arkham. Was it because he did not trust that Leo could protect you, or did he not wish his daughter to be alone with the mutant turtle she was starting to show affection? Well, he couldn’t blame the bat. He still hardly knew Leonardo.

The three of you continued down Arkham’s many stairs, until you came to the boiler room. Walking into the middle of the room, Batman suddenly stopped behind you and Leo, his attention turned to the side of the room as he listened.

“What is it?”, Leo asked, noticing the sudden shift in attention.

“Someone’s here”, was all the bat said, making it shiver down your spine.

“Can you please stop saying it like that?”, you asked, rubbing your arms to calm the shiver. “Nothing good happens when you say it like that”.

That was when something flashed above your head, moving swiftly in the shadows. Black feathers fell from above, landing before your feet. Leo watched the movement before flicking his katana slightly out from its saya, using his thumb. That was when whatever that had moved in the shadows landed before you.

“Hello, Batman”, said the being covered in feathers. “I was afraid you wouldn’t show up. Though not as afraid as you’re going to be”.

“Dr. Jonathan Crane”, Batman told Leo.

“Calls himself Scarecrow”, you added.

Leo couldn’t help himself. He turned his head towards you, one brow raised. “Really?”

Scarecrow let out a cry, before flying towards you, causing all three of you to jump out of the way, just before Scarecrow’s claws could skim the floor, just where you had been standing. You stumbled on the ground, having a hard time finding your footing.

“Watch out”, Batman called out from the other side of the room, as he started to cover his face with his cape. ”He has a fear gas that can make you see things that aren’t real”.

Leo looked up, seeing Scarecrow hover before flying directly at your turned back. Batman saw the same thing, calling out your name as he launched forward, all stoic features gone from his face, and now replaced with fear.

“(Y/N), watch out!”

You started in shock at Batman. He never used your real name whenever you were in costume. It was an unspoken rule. When in costume, you were (H/N), just like Bruce was Batman. Just like Damian was Robin, and just like Barbara was Batgirl. You could not think, shocked that he used your name while Leo and the Scarecrow was around. Leonardo however, not thinking further about the name he had just heard, ran and pushed you out of the way, just as the Scarecrow threw a gas that made him choke on his own breath.

Leo fell down on all four, coughing as he tried to breath. He opened his eyes, watching in horror as the boiler room changed around him. He stood and turned, taking in the warping world around him. Until he saw his brothers. The Scarecrow looming over them. Leo yelled, his heart in his throat, telling them to get out of there. Then the Scarecrow opened his wings, sending furth an army of crows, swarming his brothers. Leo watched in fear as the crows poked at his brothers, tearing them apart. Leo could not hear their screams, but he could see it in their eyes. They were hurting. His brothers were hurting. His best friends. His one and everything. The reason he lived and fought to be a leader. They were hurting.

It happened so fast yet it felt like an eternity. The crows formed into a black mass surrounding his brothers. They disappeared, leaving behind three dried bodies. Raph, Donnie and Mikey. His brother dead before his very eyes.

Leo’s breath was erratic. He fell to his knees before clutching Mikey’s dried hands in his. His fear and horror only grew as wind picked up, turning all three of them into dust. Leo yelled, screaming at the top of his lungs before falling back to the ground.

“That’s right”, Scarecrow's voice sounded in his ear. “Everyone is gone, and it’s all your fault”.

“Leo?”

Leonardo’s heart almost stopped at the sound. So weak, fragile, scared.

“Or, almost everyone”, Scarecrow sounded yet again.

Shaking in fear, Leo turned to see you on the ground, shaking in fear. Your legs had given out, your arms working to get you moving as far away as possible.

“(H/N)?” Leo stood, walking towards you, only for you to scream and scrabble further away.

“Stay away!”, you yelled, tears pooling in your eyes, your voice cracking. Leo was confused, his heart breaking a bit as you right tried to get away from him.

“(H/N)?! What’s wrong?!” Leo was growing more and more desperate with each passing second. First his brothers and now you.

“Don’t look at me!”, you started screaming, covering your face trying to hide from him. “Don’t look at me!”

“Tell me what’s wrong, (Y/N)!” Leo was surprised to hear himself use the name Batman has just used.

“You’re eyes!” You were crying. Leo felt a pain in his chest at your words. You were scared of his eyes. You were scared of him. “Please don’t look at me! I beg you! Don’t look at me!”

Desperately he tried to reach for your hand, but you screamed, pushing back trying to get away from him. Leo wanted to cry, he wanted to yell and scream at you. To tell you were hurting him. You were crying and Leo didn’t know what to do. He was paralyzed, frantically trying to get you to look at him. So frantically, that he did not notice the Scarecrow came and pulled you away.

“No!”, Leo yelled, standing to run towards you, only to be surrounded by Scarecrows, taunting him. His brothers were dead because of him. You feared him. It was all his fault. It was all because of him.

“Leonardo”. Leo turned to see a lone Scarecrow with you hiding behind it. Leo’s blood boiled. “Listen to my voice”.

Batman ducked as Leonardo came after him with his katana in hands, fear and anger in his eyes. It was different from the eyes that had looked at you a moment ago. Fear and sadness. They were nothing like the blue eyes that you had found yourself spending so many thoughts on.

“You killed them! You took her!”, Leo yelled, slashing out his katanas at what he saw as the Scarecrow. But Batman continuously dodged the sharp blades, hearing all of your gasps as you watched on helplessly.

“I don’t know what you’re seeing”, Batman said. “But it’s not real”.

“You’ll pay for what you did!”, Leo yelled, slamming his blades against the pipes they passed.

“Your anger won’t help your brothers”, Batman said. “And it won’t save (Y/N)”. Batman jumped and rolled, before kicking Leo in the back, bringing him to the ground. You gasped, ready to jump in, but Batman signed at you to stay out of it. “You have to focus! Fight it!”

Leo sat on the ground, in a trance-like state. His normally beautiful eyes wide, as he held his katana extended out in front of him. Then suddenly he turned, swinging his katana through the air and hitting Scarecrow. The flying mutant fell groaning to the ground, as Leo braced himself against his katana, fighting to regain his breath.

Batman walked up to Leo, pulling a small pink liquid and needle from his utility belt. “The antidote to Crane’s gas”, he said as he injected Leonardo through the shoulder. “It should wear off quickly”. And so it did.

In the blink of an eye, the boiler room turned back to normal. The irrational fear left Leo’s mind, and he could finally breathe normally again. He saw as you came to his side, all though hesitant in your steps. It poked in Leo’s chest yet again. He had indeed scared you, just like the fear gas had made him believe. But now you looked him in the eyes, as if you never had been scared of them. Leo wondered if you ever actually had been scared of them. And with that thought he remembered his reaction. How he had reacted to the fear of you not wanting to see his eyes. He felt embarrassed, ashamed. He had had no control over his actions, with no regards for how it may have affected you. Yes, he had been affected by Crane’s gas, but to Leo, that was no excuse. He had to do better than that.

As if you had been able to read his mind, you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, your eyes never leaving his beautiful blue ones. The ones that you were just happy to see again. Leo placed a hand over yours, enjoying the feeling for a moment.

Batman watched the two of you for a second, before speaking up, once again ripping you out of whatever thought you had been having. Your hand falling off of Leo’s shoulder, causing him to feel what could only be described as disappointment.

“Let’s move”, Batman said, directing the two of you back towards the door and out of the boiler room.

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royoko-enthusiast · 2 days

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Rain code Spoilers below!

I made it guys, took me 2 weeks and 3 WIP posts but here it is, the final version!

Details are a bit blurred because tumblr pixelated the living hell out of this but I am so happy it's finally done!

Ramble down below about the whole piece, it's pretty long.

This piece was a journey, this started at a much smaller piece with just Makoto and Swap!Yuma (I have no idea how to refer to him) sick and just that, then my brain wanted to add caretakers, which then lead to the desk, shinigami and everything else.

About the actual process but I definitely will not do pieces like this any time soon. I sadly didn't plan ahead and had to make up the anatomy as I went, definitely should have gotten references, both would have made it easier to pinpoint the anatomy and I wouldn't have spent so long. The sketch phase was definitely stressful but I feel like it was worth it, Spending hours on getting the hair how I like and cleaning it up was definitely worth it, made coloring easier and more fun with the colors and cleaning the sketch eliminated the need I always feel for rendering.

Moving to what possessed me to add about 4 additional characters into this (if shinigami and amapal can be considered characters). Yuma and Makoto (the non sick pair) were the first two to be added, they were added pretty early when I still had my composition sketch and were easily to put in, what reason for them? Pure need for my brain, there is no other reason. Ama-pal and Shinigami were added just from a stray thought, not much to them. The desk is an amalgamation of all the knowledge I could gather and fit, the papers I decided to never add text to, the wet cloths, the stray tissues, the 2 thermometers, 2 cups/mugs, some medicine as well, and of course, the last resort paper towels when it's truly desperate. This was definitely a challenge, I don't usually draw props, so doing this was fun (I gave up mid way on truly doing details, they aren't the main focus so less detail). I also added temperature on the thermometers but it might be too blurred, pixelate, or something else.

Generally tried to give more casual outfits, Makoto and Swap!Yuma are just in a T-shirt, the colors being a darker and more de-saturated versions of the colors of their original colors. Yuma is just wearing a regular business? shirt and the shorts from his WDO uniform. The shirt on non-sick Makoto just felt like it fit, the vampire shirt will forever haunt me. Tried to make them look as sick as possible (I added extra red on the nose but idk if its visible), definitely fun experimenting with what color the flush should be and what opacity it should be, there is also the sweat (Hopefully it's still visible, there are also either details I won't mention).

This took me 12 hours in total and 30 layers of madness to fully finish this but hey, I had a good time in the end. I am going to add the "no dramatic lighting " version or the one before all the color adjustments and effects:

And last for the whumpcode CEO; @pixelatedraindrops

Thank you everyone of the patience and the support, I am going to doodle now! Byee!

(Officially my poster child, so proud of this one, gonna ramble about to my friends guys)

#mdarc #rain code #yuma kokohead #master detective archives: rain code #my art #art #makoto kagutsuchi #shinigami rain code #ama pal raincode #rain code spoilers #finally get to use this tag!#whumpcode #artists on tumblr #digital art #I had so much fun at the end #even if the sketch kind of stressed me out #using it as an equivalent for a coloring book definitely helped #I dont think I am burning down anytime soon unless something catastrophic happens #This piece is now my metaphorical poster child now

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blackstarchanx3new · 2 months

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FSR rambles 18 dreams about being gannon

Direct parallels to Gannon/OOT.

Sweet time to mention Shadow can play the piano haha. I have a plan for a comic on HOW he learned but that's a later date type thing.

HERO OF TIME HIIIIIII. 💖 Also Naavi.

He's here to murder shadow. Noice.

Seems like Shadow's just getting haunted by this guy considering his appearance earlier in the comic in page 290 -

Seems like Hero of Time just isn't a fan of him or smth. XDDD

Ouch. That looked like it hurt.

Also hi who are you.

Also considering I know who you are...Why are your eyes Blue buddy? :D

"Aw shit. I got sliced"

"Also I'm younger"

Ah dream logic.

Hi Perry-

I mean uhhh

Totally mysterious purple clad hero.

This is a character from the planned sequel of FSR. and I can't speak much about him. You'd know a decent amount about him if you've seen the FSRA posts.

Also his eyes changed...Again...

When I dream I have nothing but nightmares too shadow. Smh.

Oh Hi Link. Why are you wearing white and black. Basically the reverse of Dark Link's fit? Not weird at aaaaall considering that wasn't what he was wearing before he pulled the sword...

It's been around for awhile NOW but Shadow's hair changing to have a red streak...much like a certain gerudo man we know isn't odd at ALLLLLL.

Also nice Malice eyes Shadow.

Yeah I'm sure the magic demonic 8 ball will have the answers you seek Shadow.

Considering the Gannon flashbacks we just saw...Who's "him" Dark? Because Dark could just as easily be talking about Vaati here. But really it's up in the air on who he meant exactly.

Dark keeping his horns from his vaati convo and it appearing on his human ish form was a fun detail to add.

Random note to think about: Dark had to put himself back in Shadow's hat after sneaking off to vaati's house and that imagery is funny so I'm sharing it with you.

Dark's hair is still vaati colored as well and his behavior is reflecting him still.

Link talking about food and sleeping is just about the most link thing ever so Dark gives absolutely no shits about it.

Haha you should have chosen your words more wisely shadow...

It ALMOST sounds like you don't WANT Link here...which Dark can pick up on pal-

Oh shit. You repeated it you meant it.

Yeah don't shout Link could wake up.

Dark kinda SORTA seems to know what's happening...

But he's using "I think" and uncertain language. (You know he's not sure of smth if he's using phrasing like that hah. Since he's usually so self assured in his assumptions.)

Lol ignore how often my dumbass forgot to keep Shadow's hair right. Mistakes happen. 😅

Hey Shadow, abusing the nutcase isn't gonna get you very far.

Especially because he hates your guts.

Dark's kinda right here tho. Shadow's being selfish as hell rn.

The phrase "Does the word "HERO" just have no meaning to you? You disgust me" specifically gets a chuckle out of me considering who's mouth it's coming out of.

Dark continues to miss identify Shadow as Gannon when he said "you're as old as time" (More of a reference to demise depending on how you look at it but same diff)

Dark sweating visibly showing he's still very much scared of Shadow.

Shadow pulled his head out of his ass for a second and realized Dark's acting weird. (Like Vaati)

Dark's instant snap back is amusing but also sad. Like. Shadow doesn't "know him" not in any meaningful way. But he does yield and admit he was looking at memories for... YEARS in the head space.

Which is just a level of horror beyond comprehension.

Imagine spending YEARS looking at other people's memories just to get yanked out of it randomly by mr root of all evil himself bitching at you about smth you don't even know about, some guy you had a single conversation with YEARS AGO. But oh yeah. It's only been maybe 8 hours in the real world and all perception of time and reality was thrown off and you're being accused of being a different person after all that shit.

To say Dark Link isn't having a fun or good time would be an understatement.

I touched on it in a fic where Link and Dark bang of all places but Dark's existence is an existential nightmare.

Dark Link's EXISTANCE isn't fun for him. He's gonna mention it later too but he's MISSERABLE and vocal about his misery and pain just being alive.

Something weird to think about: Who's memories was he even looking at?

Really from his vague description it could be ANYONE.

I personally like to think it's vaati's considering he still has his hair shifted to be vaati's tone, is acting like vaati and mentions shadow being "Annoying"

though Link and vio are high possibilities too haha.

A mix of all of them aren't off base either.

Identity crisis how fun...Dark struggling to separate himself from the memories he's witnessed is concerning to say the least.

At least he's willing to be helpful with what he thinks is going on.

Really he could have just said "Fuck off figure it out yourself" but he offers to try and explain shit to Shadow from his perspective.

Dark's openness to cooperate despite everything is smth noteworthy.

He has literally no reason to do shit like this (Even if it fails) ESPECIALLY considering his distaste for Shadow. He just does shit that's helpful or nice cause he can.

Just little characterizations that Dark Link is more like Link than you'd first think considering his introduction.

Also OOT reference again with Ganon entering the sacred realm to steal the Triforce of power.

The second Shadow mentions them splitting is a relief, Dark cosplays Vio. XDDDD

Even Shadow thinks that was Vio like haha.

Dark's avoiding Link is the funniest part of this. "Oh shit he's waking up, gotta run. Don't wanna talk to him." XDDD

Don't do it Shadow.

It's a terrible idea.

Last time Link was here he was wanting to off himself so he might not be the most mentally sound individual!

Also who's happy to be woken up...

Dark Link being the voice of reason here about the pros and cons to waking Link up or even listening to him haha.

Considering what happens HAPPENS, that probs would have happened REGUARDLESS of if he was woken up or not. The change really is down to whether or not Shadow would A. Even be around for it. B. Be the one to wake Link up and have that burden on his mind or C. Just let shit happen.

Shadow is putting a ton of pressure on Dark to give answers or be helpful AND CORRECT but like...dude Dark doesn't know, he's guessing too lmfao.

Shadow makes what I consider a very foolish choice which was waking Link up.

Dark held back the explosion aspect but he is here to have fun first so uhhhh...Well he DID say it'd be funny to him and not Shadow.

Shadow defaults to blaming Dark Link "Damn demon" which...Shadow learn some accountability.

Panel by panel breakdown cause stuffs getting jucy:

1- Interesting outfit choice Link. It's the one he wore when he was a bit younger. So he's got a younger mindset when waking up. Which is just sad.

2- his outfit changes to half blue half green with a purple sleeve, his hands are all sorts of wrong and mish mashed with red and purple nails. His eyes also have the wrong color. His body is distorting all over the place...Interesting.

3- Shadow you shouldn't have said anything. The coward's hiding too lmfao he knows he fucked up.

4- Safe to say he's not very happy.

Link's distorting and glitching is based on video game glitches. Which is fun because: LOZ is a video game.

There's something distinctly haunting and uncanny about buggy/glitchy game assets and I wanted to capture it here.

Like the reality of four people being forced into one body is quite horrifying and the idea of them just bugging out unable to process how many thoughts there are is overwhelming. Literally like overloading a computer or gaming system.

There's also something to be said about how he fully breaks after seeing Shadow Link.

This is brought up later so I'll expand upon it later but the fact literally the only words Shadow Link spoke to LINK was "I'm the hero Link" or smth like that is hysterical.

For living together for 7 years: They truly don't know each other well on a personal level considering their ability to communicate was stunted by Shadow being...Well a Shadow. And I wanna explore that more as the series goes on.

1- Lol Green hi thanks for trying to stay calm.

2- Vio's here too. Something tells me calming down isn't working considering your face is cracking more and the tunic is flashing different colors.

3- Shadow I swear to god, shut your mouth-

4- Yeaaaaaah we saw that coming. Ouch looks painful. Good thing that body is magic hahaha.

Link's just not having a good time at all. XD

I think a few people caught this but Link breaking down here was based on the forced gem fusions in SU also the distorted static version of the cartoons from learning with pibby XD

It was good inspo for how horrific this scenario is.

Really all of them are just kinda, shoved in there. Unable to truly escape and they're NOT HAPPY about it.

Blue specifically is trying to get out as we'll know later and we get more context on his thoughts about this ordeal from the Darkblue chapter... But visually you can see Link's got two faces and it remains consistent that that's Blue.

Which, is terrifying.

There's also the underlying horror that the "Why" Link is back in one body isn't truly addressed but we'll get more into that later.

Shadow running for his damn life haha.

I'd be scared too if that mess was crawling at me.

The sad thing is that Link's reaching out for help and Shadow responds by screaming in terror lmfao.

Cause Link seems monstruous at the moment but the reality of the situation is he's very clearly conscious and scared. He's reaching out to the only person he can, which is Shadow.

I think this might be my favorite design of Link in this state. It's just horrific to look at. The eyes bleeding onto both his faces which are cracked like mirrors so you can't tell what he's looking at. He has Vio and Blue's legs sticking out of his back, and entire extra head forcing its way off his main one, it's hard to tell from these but his skin is glitching in both Red and Blue's separate skin tones (Blue's being a bit darker and Red's being lighter)

His tunic is pitch black which, black absorbs all wavelengths of light and reflects none...Literally keeping it trapped haha.

Yeah. WHY IS THIS HAPPENING.

Anyway, Link/Green, Vio and red are all reaching out to shadow but blue is suspiciously absent haha.

Them grabbing onto Shadow is smth Vio would do...

The four sword's lil gem thingy is glitched to shit too. Each colored piece being a different size. Green's is noticeably larger while Blue and Red's are about the same size. Vio's is the smallest.

Shadow's hat is doing that thing Dark does when he's upset where it clings to his body.

Yeah feeling like you can't do anything would be a feeling you fall into frequently being trapped as a shadow.

Take that agency back Shadow it's been robbed from you for too long.

Blue: GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!!!!

Jokes aside I love this moment. Link getting more stable as he keeps Shadow close to him is sweet.

Link just needed a hug. UwU

Or...Less cute option: Maybe...The triforce of power had something to do with it...

Link/Red crying immediately when Shadow says a single word lmfao.

Link's so pretty I love him. I'm glad he's back a bit.

"Shadow, stop talking." could apply to everything he says to link as of rn. XD

Link's still very much emotionally distressed and I'd be too after THAT SHIT SHOW.

I do think it's funny how Link is wearing black here and Shadow is wearing white. (It's just his usual underclothes without his tunic)

Yes shut up and please just hug him it's clearly what he needs rn Shadow. X'D

Perfect cut off point lmfao.

#fsr rambles #fsr #four swords adventures #four swords returns #four swords manga #four swords #four swords returns au #loz fsr au #loz #shadow link #dark link

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 10 months

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Tear Down My Reason [2]

Orderly!Blue Jones X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info

Summary: It's been five days since you fucked Blue in his office, and four days since you last saw him.

Part 1/Series Masterlist

A/N: Oh no, this was meant to be a one shot. What happened? (Can be read on it's own.)

So I've listed this as afab!reader, I am afab and gender fluid myself and I’m just exploring that a bit in my writing here. There is a part where Blue refers to the reader as a ‘girl’ and the reader asks him not to. (I'm writing this from the mindset that reader is non-binary & afab. Still tagging as f!reader because reader has that anatomy.)

Warnings: overuse of italics, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, there's some power dynamics in here, gonna say dubious concent because reader is a patient, Blue being fucking gross and wiping cum on his t-shirt, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 3354

________________________________

You knocked on the door, three quick raps of your knuckles.

Nausea festered in your throat, burned along your limbs. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, trying to hide the faint tremors that threatened to take over.

It had been five days. Five days since you’d broken into Blue’s office. Four since Lilly returned.

You’d done your very best to stay out of Blue’s way: shying away from any of his usual haunts, staying with the group so you weren’t on your own, anything you could think of to steer clear of him.

But it seemed like he was avoiding you too.

Other than the morning that Lilly came back, you hadn’t seen him. At first it was a weight lifted, but by the second day that weight had come crashing down with a force that pinned you to the earth.

You wanted to see him.

You needed to.

It didn’t make any sense.

You were about to knock again, sneaking one glance over your shoulder to make sure that there was no one else in the corridor to see you, when Blue answered.

“Come in.” His voice was stern, reserved and you swallowed before you opened the door, quickly stepping in and closing it behind you.

Your heart raced and you bit together your lips to try to calm your rapid breathing. This was stupid, foolish, you shouldn’t feel this way.

Blue was writing something, checking over some form at his desk. His reading glances balanced on the bridge of his nose. He didn’t look up.

“Yes?”

“I, erm,” you started.

Instantaneously Blue’s attention snapped to you, drawn away from the paperwork like a magnet, unable to deny himself.

“I wanted to see you, I mean,” you looked down, frustration bubbling below your skin, you’d gone over this, rehearsed this, “if you’re not busy, I…”

Blue stood quickly, throwing his glasses in a drawer before rushing towards you in six short strides. He took hold of your face, gently caressing your cheeks with his thumbs.

“Honey…” he whispered, searching your eyes for something. A small smile pulled at his lips, relief relaxing his tense muscles. He leaned forward and kissed you deeply, hungrily.

The sudden force of his actions took you by surprise as he pushed you back against the door. Using your little gasp of shock to his advantage and slipping his tongue into your mouth.

You kissed him back with equal intensity, sliding your hands up around his shoulders and to the back of his neck. Pulling him closer to your body and grinding against him.

“Blue,” you murmured as he kissed down your neck and yanked your t-shirt lower so that he could suck a bruise below the collar.

He hummed an answer back to you, savouring the taste of your skin.

You shifted slightly to stop the door handle from digging into your hip, pressing your back further against the cool frosted glass of his office door. Your thigh just brushed against his already half hard cock and he whined loudly. The sound making your heart swell.

“Been thinking about you everyday.” He muttered against your neck, one hand trailing down to your waist while the other pinched your right nipple.

He bit your jugular, all teeth, as you let out a little gasp, arching into his touch.

“Every night, just wanting you honey.” He kissed your jaw, your cheek as he pushed his left thigh between your legs that you quickly parted for him. A groan escaped his lips at your eagerness.

“Why didn’t you?” You breathe between sighs of pleasure.

“Why didn’t I what?” He kisses you again fervidly, licking into your mouth like he could dissolve into you.

“Why didn’t you come see me?” You manage to get out between kisses.

Blue smiles, keeping his forehead pressed against yours. “Why didn’t you come see me?”

You groan a little in frustration and pull him back to you by his shirt, forcing his lips to yours again. You can feel the smug smile on his face quickly melt away, overcome with need.

He pushes you further into the door, hoisting your right leg over his hip and grinding against you. Happy to swallow down every moan of pleasure that escapes you as he rubs his quickly hardening cock over your aching heat.

His grip is bruising, his teeth nip at your bottom lip, but that’s all overridden by the way he purposely teases your clit with his length. Listening to every gasp and sigh that escapes you to perfectly pin down the right pressure and tempo to have you so close to falling apart at the seams within minutes.

“Blue,” you gulp, whining in frustration as he pulls his hips back ever so slightly when you try to grind against him harder. “Please!”

“Need me so badly already, honey?”

You nod as he continues his movements, eagerly rocking against you. A large smile plastering itself all over his face as his heart flutters rapidly in his chest.

“Want to hear you say it.”

You obey without thinking, so desperate to chase your high. “Need you so badly Blue, I-”

He kisses you again, cutting off your words and rutting against you harder, delighted by the high pitched whine that escapes you.

You start to tense, your thighs squeezing his hips, your fingers digging into his skin. You’re so close you can taste it, millimetres from the edge and just needing a little more, just a fraction, so you can-

He steps back, moving away from you and you can’t stop the sob from falling out of your mouth. Desperately, you try to cling onto him, to force him back against you. But he refuses.

You look at him, frustration and need burning along your nerves in equal measure.

He touches your cheek lightly. “Don’t look so betrayed honey, I’ll take care of you.” He kisses you lightly, a soft caress of his lips. “I promise.” Before he drops to his knees and lightly bites at the slither of skin not covered by your top or trousers.

You breathe in sharply and he smiles up at you, watching your reaction eagerly as he slides his hands up your calves, your outer thighs, and then slowly dips his fingers under the waistband of your trousers.

Your blood thunders in your ears as he waits quietly, staring up at you with an almost devout energy.

“Blue,” you wiggled a little, needing something, anything, to ease the ache in your core. “Please.”

He grinned and nodded, slowly pulling down your trousers and underwear to your knees. He quickly slipped off your shoes, holding onto your calves to keep you stabilised, and then yanked your trousers and underwear the rest of the way down and off.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered, not waisting anymore time as he brushed his forefinger over your clit, circling it once before running it through your folds. The groan of pleasure that rumbled in his chest was obscene, almost enough to cover the sound of your wetness as he glided his finger against you.

Without warning he dove against you, slinging your left thigh over his shoulder and pressing his tongue into your heat.

You gasped, grabbing hold of his shoulder and short hair to steady yourself and moaning loudly as licked board, heavy stripes over your centre.

His groan of pleasure echoed yours, his eyes rolling back into his head as you lightly pulled on his hair. The sensation blending with the taste of you left him dizzily high, so painfully hard that he had to reach down with his free hand and squeeze his balls just to take the edge off.

“Blue,” you bit at your bottom lip, trying to muffle your sounds. What if someone walked by? What if-

He sucked your clit, flicking at the nub with the tip of his tongue and you nearly cracked the back of your head open with how hard you flung it against the glass.

“Please Blue, pleasepleasepleaseplease,” you gasped, bucking up into his mouth as pleasure raced along your veins like lightning. So close, so close.

He didn’t stop, didn’t falter in his movements, grabbing hold of your backside and pushing you closer to him, trying to suffocate himself between your thighs.

You cried out, holding onto him for dear life as you came loudly. Sobbing in pleasure as he continued to suck and lick at you, his sounds of delight harmonising with your own.

He kissed you softly as you came back to yourself, nuzzling into the soft muscle of your inner thigh.

His eyes were blown wide with lust when he looked up at you, a dreamy glaze over his face as he smiled happily.

Sweat started to cool on your skin, exhaustion sinking into your bones at how hard you’d cum.

Blue pulled up the collar of his top and wiped your release from his mouth and chin before he gently took your leg off his shoulder and put your foot back onto the floor.

You swayed a little under your own weight again and he quickly held onto your thighs to steady you as he stood up. His expression was syrupy, infatuated as he leaned in and kissed you deeply. His hard cock rubbing against you.

You poured yourself into the kiss, holding him close and breathing in deeply.

He dipped his fingers under the helm of your t-shirt, tracing his fingers along your sides and smiling as you shivered.

Without speaking he slowly took hold of your hands and guided you away from the door, further into the room.

You followed him, moving as if you were under a spell.

He stepped to the side and manoeuvred you so that the backs of your thighs pressed against the cool edge of his desk.

So slowly he moved forward, caging you in and lightly trailing his lips over your neck, savouring every sweet sound you made.

You lifted your arms when he tugged at your shirt, helping him to ease it over your head and throwing it to the side. Your bra following soon after.

He kissed along your collarbone, pressing light touches along your thighs with his fingers. You watched him, enraptured as goosebumps broke out along your skin.

Languidly, he kissed back up to your neck, brushing his lips against your ear. “Wait.”

He leaned forward even more, pressing against you as he shoved the piles of paperwork off his desk and to the floor before going back to sucking at your neck.

You whimpered his name, clutching onto him as he slowly laid you back down against his desk and situated himself between your legs.

He kissed lower, taking each nipple into his mouth and sucking softly. Flicking the tip of his tongue over your skin just like he had over your clit.

You squirmed underneath him, your breath hitching as he paused, kissed your sternum and then moved onto the other breast. Repeating the pattern over and over until tears began to build in the corners of your eyes.

“Blue,” you whined, trying to buck up against him but he would only allow you to rut against him for a second before he moved back and pushed your hips, forcing you back down flat against the desk once more.

“Yes honey?” He breathed between kisses, still sucking your breasts. “You need something?”

You cried out in frustration. “Please.”

“You know I love to hear you beg,” he sucked your hard nipple into his mouth again, releasing it with a hot, wet pop. “But you gotta help me out here, I don’t know what you want.” He teased, his voice light and unbelievably innocent.

Exasperation boils just below your skin. For one moment you think about getting up and pushing him away. But in the same instant Blue licks a flat, broad stripe over your right nipple, moaning happily as he does so. He repeats the action, this time rolling his body against yours and rubbing his cock against your pussy.

He groans, tracing his tongue over you again as he watches you screw up your eyes in pleasure. “You’re soaking into my work clothes honey.” He mutters, his eyes gleaming. “So fucking wet and needy for me, need to cum again, hmm? Need me to fuck you?” He teases, his voice low and desperate with his own desires.

You nod, swallowing down a moan as he continues to grind against your core.

“Need my dick so bad?” He slides his hand down to your folds, slipping the tips of his fingers into your heat. “Need it right here?”

“Fuck,” you grab hold of his forearm, trying to push him further inside and expecting him to pull away.

Instead he follows your movement, sinking in deeper and curling his fingers perfectly, brushing over your clit with his thumb.

You gasp, crying out softly and Blue breathes in, glee glittering in his eyes.

“Oh, there we go. That’s better isn’t it?” He slowly glides his thick fingers out and back in, groaning quietly at how your slick coats him and starts to run down his hand.

You nod, unable to form words and barely able to breathe as he keeps stretching you so perfectly.

“That’s much better.” He whispers to himself.

He watches you for a moment, the pleasure he’s pulling from you making you lightheaded, before he stands up straight, keeping his fingers deep within you and adding a third.

You whine, your back arching off the desk as he sinks further, sending sparks of bliss along your spine.

Blue pulls down his scrubs just enough to free his aching cock, finally taking himself in hand and pumping a few times as he gazes at you contort in pleasure.

He swallows, it’s almost too much. His balls tighten as he presses up and strokes that wonderfully devastating spot inside of you.

You cry out, so close again and gasping.

Blue pulls his hand away from you suddenly, wrapping his wet fingers around his dick and smearing your slick all over his length and groaning.

You barely have a moment to lament the loss before Blue’s grabbing hold of your ankles and placing them both on his right shoulder, forcing your legs together. He continues to circle your clit with his left thumb as he rubs the head of his cock through your sopping folds before pushing firmly in.

The stretch is different at this angle, more intense as he keeps your legs together and presses his chest against the back of calves.

You cry out, your back arching fully off the desk as he fills you.

“Okay honey?” He groans softly as you clench around him at the pet name.

“Good!” You manage to stammer out, revelling in the sensation. Letting it build up and wash over you in waves.

He turns his head and kisses your ankle as he bottoms out, breathing hard for a moment to compose himself, to not cum straight away.

He pulses within you, pushing up against you so tightly in this position you can practically feel the beat of his heart.

Slowly, he starts to move, easing in and out of you while watching your face with rapt attention.

It’s too good.

You choke back a sob, clawing at the table underneath you to find something to cling onto as he pushes in so deep.

It’s like you can see stars, your muscles tighten and shake. A string of expletives fall out of your mouth.

Blue groans, watching your breasts bounce as he rocks into you, barely pulling out before he pushes back in, wanting to hit that spot as many times as he can now that he’s found it.

Sweat beads on your forehead, the sound of your wetness echoes with every thrust. You grab onto the edge of the desk above your head so that you can arch up and meet his movements, his thumb is still circling your clit and driving you insane.

“Blue,” you sob, your face screwed up in pleasure, your toes curling as he keeps thrusting perfectly. “Please, please don’t stop."

“Not gonna stop honey,” he groans through gritted teeth, pulling your legs tighter against his chest and rocking up into you, rolling on the balls of his feet. “You’re my good girl, aren’t you? Gotta cum all over me.”

You flinch involuntarily at that word - girl. Screwing up your face in distain.

“Honey,” he slows instantly, “you okay? Did it hurt?”

“Please don’t stop, please, pleasepleaseplease,” you move against him trying to get the angle right, desperate for him to keep going.

“I won’t honey, I won’t” he kisses your ankle and picks up the pace again, once more hitting deliriously deep.

You gasp out, your eyes rolling back into your head. You’re so close. You can feel it building and building, the heat beginning to scratch along every nerve ending.

Blue thrusts forward, changing the pressure ever so slightly as he plants his left foot firmly on the floor and it’s like you’ve died and gone to heaven.

You scream silently, even muscle tensing as you cum, your walls squeezing him so tightly, milking him for everything he’s got.

“Fuck.” Blue gasps, barely managing another thrust before his own orgasm overtakes him as he pumps hot, thick cum deep inside you.

He slowly lets go of his vice grip around your legs as he recovers, his hips bucking shallowly of their own volition.

But he doesn’t pull out straight away, instead he carefully moves your legs down to either side of his hips so he can lean forward and kiss you softly.

He smiles when you kiss him back, gently brushing the tears from your cheeks with his fingers.

“You’re so pretty when you cum, you know that?” He muttered and you giggle.

He pauses for a moment, a small frown furrowing his brow. “Did I hurt you?”

You look up at him confused. “No?”

“Are you sure? Earlier I mean, you looked-”

“Oh,” you shake your head. “No, you didn’t hurt me.”

“What was it then?” He bites his lip, sincere in his actions.

You paused and swallow, looking away from him for a moment.

“Honey,” he strokes your cheek. “Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

You close your eyes but speak. “You, you said ‘good girl’.”

You feel him nod against your chest.

“I don’t, that’s not… I’m not… I…” you sigh.

“Boy?” He asks, no judgement in his voice.

You open your eyes, surprised at his seeming understanding, but shake your head.

“Non-binary?”

This time you nod and Blue gives you a small smile, taping his temple with his fingers.

“Non-binary.” He repeats. “It won’t happen again hone- wait, is honey okay?”

You giggle. “I like honey.”

He grins broadly and nods, stroking your cheek and sighing happily.

As he begins to soften he slowly pulls out, yanking his t-shirt off as he does so and uses it to clean the mess he made between your legs before he wipes himself down.

You sit up, watching him as he tucks himself back into his trousers. “You gonna wash that?” You motion to his shirt.

He gives you a wicked grin. “Oh, no, I’m gonna wear it for the rest of the day.”

You laugh and playfully swat at him, he catches your wrists with ease, moving close again and you don’t struggle.

He kisses you softly and lets go of you so you can run your hands over his chest and back.

“Do I have to wait another four days to see you again?” There’s a playful tone to his voice, but there’s something in his eyes. A pain he’s trying to cover up.

You shake your head. “You can see me whenever you like.” You whisper.

He kisses you again, slow and deep, just like how he fucked you. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What if I want to see you all the time?”

You nip at his bottom lip. “Then I guess you’ll see me all the time.”

Blue chuckles and buries his face into your neck, hugging you tight.

____________________________________

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