#and there's a moment of panicked paranoia - is this real? was i drugged? but it flits away more easily than it ever has

[vaultsixtynine]

not to zaripost before noon but thinking abt how she has never experienced Coziness and that moment is fast approaching her in some form or another and she will be So cozy that she doesn't even kick up a fuss about it.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

heeeey any insecure!john?

Hi Nonny!

Ahhhh, you know I’ve collected fics over the years but I’ve mixed them up with the Sherlock ones, so I think I’ll start anew and start fresh! I know I’ve missed a lot when I pulled them out of the old lists, so forgive me! Hope you enjoy what I’ve got here for you!

As always, Lovelies, please add your insecure John fics!!

INSECURE JOHN

See also:

BAMF! But Insecure John

Insecure / Awkward John or Sherlock (Jan 2019)

Concussions And Good Old Fashioned Awkwardness by Belldere (K+, 894 w. || Humour, Hospitals, Mild John Whump, Misunderstandings, Platonic Relationship, Concussions, Not-Gay John, Possessive Sherlock) – When John lands himself in hospital... again, all he wants is to just get out of there as soon as possible, too bad his doctor has other ideas about where John may be getting his injuries. Good thing concussions make everything strangely funnier.

I Was Wrong by AllesandraQuartermaine (K, 1,496 w., 1 Ch. || TGG AU, Friendship, Hospitalization / Injury, John’s Self Esteem, Sleepy Sherlock) – Sherlock and John have a conversation a few days after the pool face off with Moriarty. And John hears something quite surprising.

Hell or High water by bluefire301175 (E, 2,250 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Frottage, Alley Sex, First Person POV John, Case-ish Fic, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing) – John wants. Sherlock wants. Plain and simple.

Not My Proudest Moment by charlock221 (K, 2,695 w., 1 Ch. || Lunar New Year, Mild PTSD / Panic Attack, Coping Mechanisms, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort) – John tries his best not to get in the way of Sherlock's cases, but when the vivid noises of fireworks unnerve his senses and begin to bring back unwanted memories of Afghanistan, he cannot help but to hope Sherlock will notice and help him before things go too far.

Closeted by Sexxica (E, 2,762 w., 1 Ch. || Trapped in a Closet, Panicking Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Coming in Pants, Awkward Conversations, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending) – An improvised hiding spot and a bit of accidental voyeurism leave John and Sherlock in an awkward position.

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it's time to act.

Paranoia by Ewebie (M, 3,789 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Drinking Games, Scotland Yard Gang, Jealous / Possessive Sherlock, Inappropriate Questions, Embarrassed John, Matchmakers) – John and Sherlock join the gang of Scotland Yard for a night of drinking, and it gets a bit personal and revealing.

Coldness/Heat by agirlsname (E, 3,790 w., 1 Ch. || Cuddling & Snuggling, Body Heat, New Year’s Eve, PWP, Bedsharing, Frottage) – The inn is booked up on New Year's Eve. The train home is cancelled because of the snow. The only option is to sleep in the non-heated guest room of a client, and John and Sherlock are freezing. You know where this is going. Part 1 of New Year's Kiss

The Oolong Disaster by unicornpoe (T, 4,151 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Beard, Fluff, Humour, Frustrated Sherlock, John Takes Care of Sherlock, Case Fic-ish, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Possessive Sherlock) – John has a beard. Sherlock has a panic attack.

Afghanistan in Baskerville by Amaya Ramiel (K+, 4,357 w., 1 Ch. || THoB Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drugged John, PTSD / Panic Attack, Hallucinations, Worried Sherlock, John’s Past, Friendship) – What if John hadn't seen the hound when Sherlock trapped him in the lab? What if instead, his very real nightmares of the war had materialized all around him? Trapped and drugged, John can't tell what's real and what's not. How will Sherlock react?

Overture by Kate_Lear (M, 4,435 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Angry John, Introspection, Dev. Rel., Embarrassed / Insecure Sherlock, Morning After, Bed Sharing, Cuddles / Limpet Sherlock) – A short snippet on how John and Sherlock might have got together.

What You Are Worth by Lastew (T, 4,488 w., 1 Ch. || Observant but Insecure John, Friendship, Crime / Case Fic) – John helps Sherlock with a case, but he questions his real value to Sherlock.  

Let Down by Gandalf3213 (K+, 4,505 w., 2 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, John Whump, Insecure John) – John truly is sorry for letting Sherlock down. The only thing he wanted to do was finish the case, but bleeding out in a dark alley makes it harder for him to pursue that murderer running out of sight.

Sherlock and John Go Clubbing by wendymarlowe (E, 4,716 w., 3 Ch. || Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Dancing, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Bi John, For a Case, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Sherlock is Lost for Words, Sexy John, Mutual Pining, Possessive John, Floor Sex/Hand Job/Frottage) – John pinched the bridge of his nose - even for Sherlock, this was a new level of no bloody boundaries. “You want me to go with you to a gay club, wait around twiddling my thumbs while I let you get pawed by a criminal, then out-flirt him and talk you into coming home with me instead?” Part 32 of John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times

Pillow Talk by scullyseviltwin (M, 5,183 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Angsty Fluff, Pillow Talk, Bed Sharing, Worried John, First Time Morning After, Soft Sherlock, Sexuality Discussion, Love Confessions, Kisses and Cuddles) – John has been looking at Sherlock for ages, it feels like.

Welcome Home, John by slashscribe (G, 5,504 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Awkwardness, Stabbed Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Panic Attack (Sherlock), Self Esteem Issues, Love Confessions, First Kiss) – When John moves back to 221B, he thinks he’s the broken one, but after a while, it becomes clear that he might not be correct.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It's a perfectly normal thing to do.If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that's no one's business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

Inconvenient Timing by TheMadKatter13 (M, 7,072 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Omega John/Alpha Sherlock, Romance, Public Heat, Scared John, Protective / Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Post-TBB AU, Caring Sherlock, Pre-Slash, Happy Ending) – When John's heat failed to appear three times in a row after he was shot, he figured it was just another broken piece off the broken toy soldier. So he was rather surprised to feel it start out of the blue...and not at all pleased with it starting while he was on the tube.

Sometimes When We Touch by kedgeree (M, 7,755 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Kiss/Time, Inappropriate Giggling, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Virgin Sherlock, John Whump, Touching) – John might be touching Sherlock a little more often than is strictly necessary. Sherlock probably hasn't even noticed. Right...?

Victim, Bait, Hero, Friend by KimberlyTheOwl (T, 7,887 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG Epilogue, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Past Kidnapping / Torture / Implied Rape, Panic Attacks, Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Lestrade is a Good Friend) – Some insights into why John was perfectly willing to throw everything away for a chance to kill Moriarty at the pool. Trauma, ugliness, and finally healing. Some nice supporting work by Lestrade as well.

Every Night I Look for You by destinationtoast (E, 8,377 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Post-TRF, Angst, Mystery, Unsafe Sex, BAMF John) – Every night, John looks for familiar hints of Sherlock in the men he meets in bars, and he does with them all the things he wishes he’d done before. Eventually, he stumbles into a situation that Sherlock would know how to handle, and John must decide whether he can handle it without him.

Just Like That by sussexbound (E, 8,442 w., 1 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, French Kissing, Anal, Emotional Lovemaking, Enthusiastic Consent, Tenderness, Crying John, Bathing/Washing, Insecure John, Toplock) – John doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants. Oh dear god, how he wants. For the first time in what feels like years he WANTS.

Unwasted by patternofdefiance (E, 8,966 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3 / S3 Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Angelo’s, Fluff, First Time, Anal, Cum Play, Flashbacks to ASiB, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Bottomlock, Cuddles, Multiple Orgasms, BJ’s, Bed Sharing) – John finds it three months after he's moved back. He's on the hunt for something to make for dinner, is scrounging through the cupboards, when he happens upon the graveyard of pasta boxes Sherlock still seems to create when left to his own devices. Behind seven boxes of pasta, all almost completely empty, is a dark-glassed bottle, with a paler coat of dust. It's unopened. John's face falls slack when he sees it, instantly recognises it, and for a long moment he just stands and looks at it.

Ravish Me by amalnahurriyeh (E, 10,025 w., 1 Ch. || UST / RST, Makeup / Lipstick, Sympathetic Sally, Experiments, Pining John, First Kiss, Face Fucking / BJ’s, Cuddling) – Sherlock is experimenting with patterns of wear on lipstick in daily encounters. John is going to go insane.

A Is For Aftermath by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 10,567 w.,  1 Ch. || Injury / Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Pre-Slash/Bromance/Platonics, Hallucinations, Introspection, Insecure / Worried John, Big Brother Mycroft, Alternating POV, Anxious Sherlock, Self-Deprecating, Mildly Possessive Sherlock, 3G Moment) – John is still hallucinating, Sherlock cannot sleep, and Lestrade has a new case for them. But will life at 221B ever be able to return to normal? Epilogue to M is for Moriarty.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

A Silver Sixpence by _doodle (NC-17, 16,400 w., 2 Ch. || LJ Fic || For a Case / Case Fic, Fake Relationship, Humour, Romance, Marriage Proposal, Awkward Idiots, Cuddling, Touching, Kissing, Love Confessions, Bed Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fake Until It’s Not, Schmoop and Fluff, Bottomlock) – “John, we need to get married. It’s for a case, not any romantic notions on my part pertaining to our partnership,” Sherlock said, with brutal honesty, and without even looking up.

Between Friends by SilentAuror (E, 18,036 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Alternating POV, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Abduction, Awkward Situations / Miscommunications, Porn With Feels, Blowjobs, Pining, Unrequited, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock gets abducted. As John discovers him tied up naked in an empty storage facility and comes to rescue him, Sherlock's body has an unfortunate reaction which triggers a series of events. John is convinced that everything will be fine as long as they never discuss it. Sherlock isn't as sure...

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

A Life Well-Lived by Kate_Lear (E, 20,121 w., 1 Ch. || Original Male Character, Sherlock Woos John, Jealous Sherlock, Reluctant Bi-John, Past Abuse, Insecure John, Reassuring / Caring Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Understanding Sherlock) – John got scared off men by an abusive past relationship. Sherlock has to try and woo him while not scaring him off with protective possessive rage.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (E, 24,284 w., 6 Ch. || Alternating POV’s, Bisexuality, BAMF!John, Jealous Sherlock, Romance / Drama, Sort-of Case Fic, Peril & Angst, Love Confessions, Toplock, Soft Idiots in Love, Post S3) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they've made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, Sherlock Has a Boyfriend) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

Turn Left at the Park by Glenmore (NR (E), 37,409 w., 28 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting / ASiP Divergence, Case Fic, Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Loneliness, No Mary, Possessive Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, Nightmares/PTSD, Sherlock Saves John, Sherlock Whump-ish, Doctor John) – So what would have happened if John hadn't walked through the park and met Stamford? What if, instead, he walked around the park and just went home?

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w., 12 Ch. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

floating through a dark blue sky by Lediona (M, 58,966 w., 15 Ch. || Notting Hill AU || POV John, Celebrity Sherlock, First Date / Time / Kiss, Past Drug Addiction, Angst with a Happy Ending) – Of course, I’d seen his films and always thought he was, well, brilliant -- but, you know, a million miles from the world I live in. Or, when John is the owner of a travel book shop and the famous Sherlock Holmes stops in one day.

The Book of Silence by SilentAuror (E, 60,056 w., 2 Ch. || S4 Fix It / Post S4, Virgin Sherlock, Rosie / Parentlock, Domesticity, Fluff, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, First Person POV) – As spring blooms in London, John and Sherlock begin to take new cases and cautiously negotiate this new phase of life with John living at Baker Street again. Despite how well it's all going, John struggles to forgive himself for the way he treated Sherlock following Mary’s death as well as trying to figure out how to finally put his long-time feelings for Sherlock into words. Part 1 of The Book of Silence/Rosa Felicia

Scars by SilentAuror (E, 60,494 w., 5 Ch. || Rape / Non-Con / Abuse, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Dub Con Elements, Homophobia, Angst With Happy Ending, Mary is Not Nice) – S3 rewrite, showing Mary’s manipulation of John as he realizes his love for Sherlock. Mary is not having it.

The Bells of King's College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst with Happy Ending, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays, Virgin Sherlock, Wedding Proposals) – It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

Secrets and Revelations by Hisstah (E, 83,535 w., 9 Ch. || Sentinel / Guides Omegaverse AU || Adventure, Violence, Anal / Oral, Omega!John / Alpha!Sherlock, Case Fic, Politics, Mild DubCon) – Dr John Watson has some major secrets that he's kept from his flatmate, Alpha Sentinel Sherlock Holmes. Now the Sentinel Tower is after him. Can John stay out of their hands until he can reveal his secrets to Sherlock? Part 1 of Secrets and Revelations

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other, John’s Self Esteem Issues) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”  

The Cost of a Wish by slashscribe (E, 102,493 w., 12 Ch. || xxxHolic Fusion || Spirits / Ghosts and Magic, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Soul Mates / Fated Lovers, Adventure, Immortal Sherlock, Powerful John, POV John, Frottage, Wish Granting, Angst with Happy Ending, Nightmares) – John has been plagued by a secret his entire life that has made him feel hopeless until he meets a mysterious, seemingly omniscient man named Sherlock Holmes who owns a wish-granting shop. Their meeting sets off a series of inevitable events that will change the course of both of their lives forever.

Maintenance and Repair by patternofdefiance (E, 106,650 w., 71 Ch. || Future AU, Augmentation || Augmented John, Depression, Body Modification, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Sci-Fi, Self-Care, Body Dysmorphia) – John wants to explain the rush of sensation and data, which is just another form of sensation (or is it the other way around?). John wants to say: Augmentation circuits report temperature, pressure, various forms of quantitative input. Sudden changes are reported as pain, since sudden changes are dangerous, and pain is the quickest way to encourage reflexive extraction. But all John can manage is, “Nng.” Because this sudden touch is not reporting as pain. Part 2 of STATIC

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

Shatter the Darkness (Let the Light In) by MojoFlower (E, 109,683 w., 23 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Genie/Djinn AU || Magical Realism, Kidnapping, Genie Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Case Fic, H/C, Angst, Clubs, John Whump, Mild DubCon, Hand / Blow Jobs, Torture) – Fairy tales are for those who remember how to dream; not John Watson, broken and hiding from his bleak future in a beige bedsit. But then he discovers a lamp and finds himself in the dangerous riptide of an enigmatic man whose very existence is unbelievable, murder charges against his sister, and the growing pains of feeling alive once more.

The Burning Heart by May_Shepard (M, 119,150 w., 21 Ch. || Canon Divergence, Post-TRF, John’s Sexuality, S3 Rewrite, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV John Watson, John’s Gay) – When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

[lustbile-archive]

[12:18AM]

part 2 to this -> [1:35AM]

smut (requested)

If given the question, ‘what are your strengths?’ you would like to think you would be able to say that you jump at every opportunity no hesitation. A door of opportunity opens, and you would be the first one to run through. And maybe that would be the truth if you had never met Jaebeom.

He had always been quick to fall into a deep sleep after your high ramblings, and post orgasm, he was no different. Of course, he helped in cleaning up and making you comfortable, but as soon as that was done, he became the human equivalent of a brick. You, on the other hand, fell asleep slowly, naive ideas about the sleepy love making that you hoped to make in the morning circling overhead, mixing with the residual smoke that lingered in the air.

But dreamy, smoke induced thoughts were never good at translating into a sober brain.

You woke up before him, something not out of the ordinary, but something about what had happened only hours before, combined with the way his face was softened with sleep, placed a lump in the back of your throat. There was no way to explain the panic that settled in your chest, or the spark of anxiety that ran through you as you pulled on your underwear, not an explanation that you were willing to face at the moment at least.

You were dressed and out his door in less than twenty minutes, trying not to think of the next time you would have to be in the same room as him.

____________________________________________

The next gathering of your friends was sooner than you had anticipated for, and far sooner than you would think you would be ready to face Jaebeom after not only sneaking out the morning after your first real hook up with him, but also dodging the come over texts he sent after.

Though, after a couple hours of circling each other like hungry cats throughout the small space of your friend’s living room, he had yet to say anything to you directly.

Avoiding each other to some extent wasn’t out of the ordinary for you two, so your friends weren’t curious or concerned, but they also didn’t know about your one on one meetings and they especially couldn’t feel the heavy weight of his stare that ran every inch of your body through the wispy smoke that filled the room.

You were quick to notice that he uncharacteristically hadn’t touched the few joints that were being passed around, regardless of being the one who had provided them to the group, and the idea of him being sober the first time you had to face him again, made your equally as sober mind race. Being the only two sober people in a group was weird on its own but pairing it with tension that laid between you made you feel paranoid and naked under his intense glare.

You stood up on shaking legs, muttering to the few that lingered by your side that you were going to grab a phone charger from the back bedroom, trying your hardest to not let your eyes meet with his. You gave no concern for a response before you were stepping over bodies and scattered trash to reach the hallway.

The time you spent in the bedroom was much longer than necessary to find the charger that you had already taken on more than one occasion, using the time away from the group to even your breathing and calm your heart rate. Once you had relaxed as much as you could, it wasn’t difficult to decide that you should probably leave, the tension between you too much for you to even consider having a good time tonight.

You leave the charger where it laid, shuffling out of the room with your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you tried to think of a solid excuse to be the first one to leave, as it wouldn’t be surprising if the drugged out idiots that lay scattered across the floor found you leaving early as a reason to complain. You didn’t make it far with your slow walk though, when a strong hand shot from the hallway closet and grabbed the fabric of your shirt, the blaring music and low lights that flooded the house being a good cover for the screech you let out.

You don’t think before your arms begin flailing and smacking into the sturdy form that the hand had pressed you against, grunts being knocked into the air. The door slams shut, and your breath picks up to where it was before when your back is pressed into the wall and your hands are pressed by head.

“Are you avoiding me now?” to anyone else his tone would sound completely solid and neutral, but the underlying nervousness that shook his voice was all you could hear. The way his eyes were glossed over in confusion and caution was a stab to your heart when your eyes met.

“No?” your voice is quiet and shakes as you tilt your head back to avoid his stare, your fingers curling to dig your nails into your palms.

“Mhm,” he nods, pressing his body closer to your, “now you’re lying to me. That’s even better.”

Your back straightens as you look forward again, his accusatory tone twisting at your stomach in an uncomfortable way. Your only response to his bitter attitude being a hard glare.

“What?” his grip tightens while he lets out a dry laugh, “You ran out before I woke up, you never respond to my texts, and now you won’t say anything to me when we’re in the exact same room? What do you call that if it’s not you avoiding me?”

“I’m allowed to not want to hang out with you Jaebeom,” your defensive and cold as you continue to blatantly lie, your tone nothing like the one you had always wished you would use when you finally talked to him while sober, “and we never talked to each other at these gatherings anyways so what’s the problem now?”

“What’s the problem?” his eyebrows pull tight together, and you try desperately to ignore the hurt that laces his voice, “The problem is the person I’ve had a thing for as long as I’ve known them, is actively avoiding me right after we finally hook up. That’s my problem.”

You feel the weight of gravity pull on your worn body as you sulk, a look of shame locking onto your features, “I didn’t think you’d care so much.”

His warm breath hits your face as he huffs in defeat, his head gently shaking, “you didn’t think I’d care? Of course, I care. You think I just bring anyone over as often as I bring you? You think I’m letting anyone else in my apartment, smoking them up, and letting them sit on top of me for hours on end until they pass out? What, you think I’ve been doing that for my health?”

You only huff in response, your head rolling to the side to avoid the intensity that swims in his eyes, the blush warming your skin caused by his proximity and your shame.

“Of course, I don’t. It’s only you. It’s always only been you since the first time you came over. You know why?” he pauses until you slowly shake your head, the miniscule movement would have gone unnoticed if he wasn’t in your face, “Because I like you, you idiot.”

You can’t help the laughter that shakes your body and the grin that pulls at your lips, his own laughter rumbling his chest where it’s pressed against you.

“Oh my god, I’m so dumb,” you whine, your back arches from the wall as you squirm in his hold.

“Yeah oh my god,” his hands release your wrists, moving to cradle your face in his hands before he presses his mouth tightly against yours.

You hum in content when his tongue pries your mouth open, your hands taking over his previous position as they grip onto his wrists. Your jaw is slack, and your lips are quickly smeared in your combined saliva as his tongue rolls over yours and knocks against the back of your teeth.

“Wait,” he pulls back, only far enough for your eyes to meet, a look of concern heavy on his face, “you like me too right?”

You can’t help the way you pout in response, his scared boyish tone tugging at your heart, “yes Jaebeom. Of course, I like you.”

“Then why’d you run off?” he sounds bewildered and sad, the tone taking stabs at your heart.

“I panicked,” your thumbs start gently petting at the sensitive skin of his wrists making a shiver shake his form, “We never talked outside of us meeting at your place, and I wanted to talk about where we stood, but after what happened I got this idea in my head that you would only want me for someone to get high with and then fuck,” your eyes slide shut and you shake your head at the recounts of your own paranoia, “I should have just stayed and brought it up when you woke up, and we wouldn’t be here right now.”

He leans his face your press into your neck, his nose nuzzling against the sensitive skin protecting your jugular, one hand dropping to grab your thigh, and pulling it to hook over his hip, “as much as I would have preferred you had stayed, I don’t really mind the position we’re in right now,” he punctuates his words by digging his teeth into your skin, the smile that fills his face can be felt against you.

“Jaebeom,” you whine out, your head knocking against the wall behind you, a hum vibrates against you as his response, “I missed you.”

He pulls away to look at you again, “you missed me hm?” he taunts as he moves to kick at your foot that still stands on the floor, knocking your legs further apart, giving him more room to press against you, “how much did you miss me?”

You can’t control the way your hips jump as he grinds softly against you, a high-pitched plea falling from your lips.

His hand runs down your thigh, pushing under your skirt to grab at the waistband of your underwear, “I’m gonna give you what I wanted to that morning,” he all but growls, pulling at the flimsy fabric until you have to drop your leg back onto the floor. He puts no pause on bringing it back to its place on his hip once your underwear falls to the floor.

The hand on your face pets at your skin, his thumb pressing gently into your temple. The soft touch distracting you from his hand traveling to the space between your thighs, a sharp gasp breaking the air when his fingers press into where your arousal spills. If it weren’t for his hips pressing against you and your thigh locked tightly around him, you would have fallen to the floor.

His fingers pull up to dig into your clit as his teeth bite into his bottom lip. The roughness of his movements against you making your eyes roll back into your head. There’s a sudden shift in the air of the cramped closet. A feeling of sweet confessions warping into pants of desperation.

“Tell me you want it,” he demands, the hand on your face shifting to dig his fingers on each side of your jaw, locking your head in place, “I don’t think we have a lot of time in here, so tell me you want it baby.”

Your hips circle as you grind into his fingers, as you let out a pathetic whimper, “I want it Jaebeom. Please I want it.”

“That’s all I needed,” his hand falls away to pull at the waistband of his sweatpants, his lack of underwear making his hardened length press immediately into your thigh.

Jaebeom presses as flush against you as possible. The way his dampened head nudges against your clit when his hand wraps around your knee makes you keen. The desperate whine that you let out is the only encouragement he needs before he slowly presses into you.

Your hands fly to grip onto the back of his shirt when his thickness presses against every nerve inside you, the overwhelming feeling making your fingers tighten and your nails dig into the skin of his back. The pain that bites at his skin makes his hips stutter and thrust fully into you with a grunt. The grip on your jaw gets almost painfully tighter, making your jaw fall slack, the sting only matched by the way you stretch around him.

“Should have been fucking you like this this whole time,” his tone is almost angry as he begins to move inside you. His thrusts hard and deep, quiet whimpers spilling out of you with every single one, “dreamed about this pretty cunt every time I had you next to me.”

Smart comebacks swirled in your mind, but unable to leave your mouth from the way he held it open. Instead you just tightly clench around him as your hips move around sporadically and let out a groan.

“Fuck,” he curses through clenched teeth, his pace picking up as you silently sob, your stomach flexing and caving in in pleasure, “will you let me do whatever I want sweetheart?”

You nod to your best ability, tears collecting along your waterline as the feeling of him thick inside you teetering on overwhelming. He happily hums at your willingness as he closes his mouth and licks at his teeth.

His eyes squint, his eyebrows pulling together in thought before he leans his face closer to yours. The pleasure clouding your mind and the suddenness of his action gives you no time to think before he’s opening his mouth to harshly spit into yours. His open mouth quickly follows, laying an open-mouthed kiss on your lips. His tongue darting in, knocking against the back of your teeth, and dipping into the place on your tongue where his spit had collected.

He pulls away long enough to speak, “touch yourself for me. Let me feel you come,” the second his demand is in the air his mouth returns to yours.

Your hand falls from his back, squeezing between your heated bodies to press into your clit. A cry is muffled by his heated mouth at the first touch you place on your sensitive skin. Your shaking fingers are desperate as you recklessly move them back and forth. The promise of an orgasm creeping slowly up your spine and turning your brain to liquid.

You thrash as much as his weight that is pressed against you allows, your free leg bouncing against the floor as tears finally break to run down your face.

It feels like being shocked by electricity when your orgasm hits you suddenly. The leg around his hip tightening, his unrelenting thrusts making you scream into his mouth. Your sporadic motions break you away from his mouth and your head falls to the side, pressing into your shoulder. His fingers refuse to leave your jaw, keeping your mouth hanging open to let every noise fall freely from you. He has the audacity to laugh, an evil glint dancing in his eyes at the way you lose control.

His laughter is short lived when your thrashing and clenching begins to overwhelm him. His hand moves to grip at the flesh of your ass, pulling your hips away from the wall and tighter against his. He’s no longer pulling fully out of you, only gently pulsing as his own orgasm begins to flood his body. Grunts fill the small closet as he comes deeply inside of you, the warmth of his come filling you makes you shiver.

He quickly pulls you away from the wall when his orgasm reaches its end, wrapping his arms fully around you as he falls to the floor as gracefully as he can manage to avoid a more painful collapse that would have probably happened with the weakness that took over your limbs.

You wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, pressing your face into his shoulder. He pets the heated skin of your back through your damp shirt as it clings to you. The only sounds in the room your combined panting breaths as he softens still inside you.

“Tell me your mine,” his voice is gravely and unsure, the way he breaks the silence makes you tighten your body around his, “tell me I can have you now.”

“You have me,” your voice quiet when you refuse to pull away from his skin, “you’ve always had me. I’m yours”

[whump-town]

A Cumbersome And Heavy Body

Chapter One: Tired Of This Body

Summary: Stubborn until the very end, Aaron Hotchner isn't going to go down without a fight. It's just getting hard to tell the difference between fighting them and fighting the cancer.

Word count: 7,883

Author’s Note: ugh... well, here it is. Don’t be afraid to send me hate mail or leave a comment. I love it when I make you guys sad (in a loving way of course) :)) good luck you little shits and may the odds be ever in your favor (FYI, they’re not)

Warning: the subject of this fic is cancer and it’s treatment, cursing, maybe out of character (idk, man. hotch is weird)

I've grown tired of this body Cumbersome and heavy Tired of this body Fall apart without me

“I understand you’re here with concerns of a mass you found—”

He was shaving. The mirror fogged from his shower and the room heavy with steam. Leisurely, he’d wasted time getting ready. That particular morning, he’d gotten up before his alarm and he was happy for the distraction of the near-boiling water pouring over his back while the cold tile bites into his shoulder. An easy stress-reliever before the day fully starts.

Dragging a cool rag over his face he’d caught sight of a slightly swollen place on his chest. He’d dropped the rag in the sink and gently probed the area. He’d expected the sting of a bruise, not a knot of hard lumps.

It wasn’t a bruise.

“I regret to inform you—”

He hadn’t even known there were lymph nodes in the chest.

“Can you take your shirt off for me, sir?”

There’s a whole staff of people fluttering and dodging his eyes. A blur of motion as they work around him. Of them all, Hotch has already developed a soft spot for. Dr. Fitz and the glasses that are too big for his face despite his attempts to make them fit his face. There are rubber bands wrapped around the earpieces to push them tighter around his head and a piece of tape holding one of the lenses in. It’s strangely endearing.

No matter how many times Hotch tells Dr. Fitz that Aaron works just fine, he still nervously throws in the courtesy. He’s just like Reid and it’s that thought that makes him both comfortable and so unbearably alone.

With a nod, Hotch tugs his shirt out from where it’s tucked into his pants. The cold air hits his bare chest and he holds his breath for a moment, shivering slightly before he takes control once again. Foyet’s scars are on broad display for the whole room but, to their credit, none of them blink. They’re not here to dissect the scars covering his body or take stock of the weight he’s put on.

He just goes where he’s pulled. If he flinches when they touch him, no one comments. It’s for the better, mostly.

“The tattoo is going to guide the external beam radiation at your tumor,” Dr. Fitz explains once again. His hands tremble slightly as they hold the little needle in his hands. “It’s just three dots.”

Hotch nods, his mouth a little too dry. This whole process a little too much. He nods his understanding, fists clenched at his side to force himself to show no outward reaction. It doesn’t bother him as much as it should those dots are going to be with him forever. His first and last tattoo.

Forcing a steadying breath, he glues his eyes to the ceiling. It stings but it’s not unbearable. The needle digs into his chest, pushing the ink in. It’s the second and third dot that get him. His skin is getting hot, sore enough to make him gunt as the last one is placed.

“Not nearly as fun as a normal tattoo,” one of the other doctor’s observes. Hotch, blinking back tears, looks over at his other doctor. A woman whom he’d never have figured the “tattoo” type. His brain is a little preoccupied, worn down. He’ll get over not profiling her very well, he just might not forgive himself for the slip-up.

Hotch just… grunts. Not a real answer but the easiest.

He’s offered a hand up but he doesn’t take it. Shoulders sore and arms weak, he pushes himself up. Leaning to the side when his head starts to pound, his mouth really, really dry.

“Alright—” a cold gloved finds his shoulder. “You’re just panicking,” he’s reassured. “You need to breathe. In through your nose and out through your mouth.” The hand squeezes his shoulder but he keeps his eyes squeezed shut. It feels like he’s going to pass out. But… he doesn’t. He breathes as instructed and slowly, the room calms back down.

As he peels his eyes open, chest tight and hands trembling, he finds the room still every bit as busy as it was before his little fit. The world really doesn’t stop.

“Are you sure—,” Dr. Fitz twists and worries his hands. Obviously, he’s worked himself up too. Probably blaming himself for Hotch’s reaction. He should have let him take a break or warned him a little better. “Most people find it helpful to have someone here,” Dr. Fitz observes. “Do you— Do you want to call someone?”

His eyes drop to the floor, his mind-- Haley. She would be here. Cracking jokes and poking at his side. Things used to be so much easier with her around. There was this magic about her, a drug her presence doped him up. She would light the room up and hold his hand. She’s not here, though. She’s dead and he’s having a hard time convincing himself this isn’t some sort of penance.

Snuffing out a light like her, it was bound to have its consequences.

They’ve marked him and with his advanced stage, he’s got an aggressive treatment plan, and the radiation starts tomorrow. So, no. No, he doesn't want to call anyone. He just wants to serve his time. Besides, who would he call?

JJ? With two children of her own and a painfully busy schedule.

Reid? His mother occupies his mind as is.

Morgan? He’s grappling with a relationship with Savannah, attempting to salvage all of the complex things life has thrown at him.

Dave? Hasn’t he already lost a child? The last thing he needs is to sit here for any given amount of time and watch this.

And he’d never, never put Garcia through this.

“No,” he rasps, laying back down. “I’m okay.”

He closes his eyes and when a single hot tear runs down his cheek, he doesn’t wipe it away. I’m okay.

I’m okay.

There aren't immediate side effects and he’s not sure if that’s a relief or worse. He’s anxious, nearly sick with nerves. Would it not be simpler to just get sick already? To throw up or get sore or just— anything.

The machine hurts his ears. Fifteen minutes of lying perfectly still gets hard after about two minutes. The whole process exacerbated by the way the low hum of the machine makes his head feel like someone’s digging at his skull with an icepick through his ear.

He’s assured he shouldn’t start feeling any symptoms for a few days. Likely not until the second week of treatments.

It takes five days for a stitch in his side to take his breath for a moment, doubling over as he struggles to breathe for a moment. Chest tight and head fogged. They just add another pill bottle to the other whole collection he’s accumulated on his nightstand.

It feels like there’s an elephant sitting on his chest. A hand gripping a fist full of his hair and dunking his head back under the water. Ties binding his wrist to the bed. A knife buried in his side.

It feels like the ground he’s standing on is rumbling, shifting beneath his feet and at any given moment it’s going to pitch him forward. A free fall and he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to land on his feet.

He’s staring at the ceiling. Fists gripping the sheets as his stomach twists and churns. Swallowing around the uncomfortable burn in his throat, he turns his head to the side. Watching the movements just outside his bedroom window. Jack’s outside, kicking his soccer ball, and waiting for Daddy to come to join him. Hotch, will have to join him sooner rather than later. Even with the yard fenced in, anything could happen out there.

Funny. Just a few weeks ago, anything could have been blown under the rug with “at least it’s not cancer”. Now he’s plotting his will out in his head, making sure he covers every little thing. Who will lead the team? Where will Jack go? Can Jessica handle arrangements and should he start preparing the comfort letters now?

In the face of it all, he’d thought he could accept this. Life goes on. Things happen. He doesn’t want to die. All of those poems, the books, and the lies. “Do not stand at my grave and weep. I am not there. I do not sleep.” Well, that’s right shit, in his opinion. What comes next? Not light. Not hope. His body will succumb to cancer leaving behind the carnage of his actions.

Hodgkin's Lymphoma…

He’d known, in that morbid way his thoughts tend to twist, that he shouldn’t get his hopes up. That it would be silly for the doctor to smile, sympathetic to his plight, and advise him to talk to his therapist about this new progression of paranoia. For a pat on the back. Instead, he got the cold examination table under his back, and the nurse giving his trembling hand a squeeze as the needle had plunged into his chest.

It’s all been a haze since that phone call. Since the confirmation. Now he’s got more blood tests scheduled for Monday. That’s what his life is now. Radiation for fifteen minutes for four days a week. On the fifth day, he gets blood work drawn. They check for enzymes and cells. He doesn’t really care to understand.

He should. Don’t mistake the careless, numb ache thinking about all this gives him for complete inattention to detail. It’s just a little much for one person.

Hotch finds himself wondering what Reid would tell him about the whole process. Statics that would knock the wind from his lungs and odds that would make him feel just a little better. That he’s too old and too stressed out. That radiation aimed at his chest can harden his arteries and increase his already high chances of a heart attack. That he should have seen this coming-- his father died at 47. Lung cancer. A heart attack.

He should have seen it coming.

“Daddy?”

He has to lean into his nightstand as the ground warps beneath his feet. “I’m coming,” he manages, closing his eyes and blindly hoping that his door is shut and Jack can’t see him. He wishes he’d smoked more. Indulged in Dave’s cigars. Gone drinking with Derek. Danced like Penelope. Fuck, smiled more.

He didn’t even know there were lymph nodes in the chest. He’d gone to law school. Spent his early adulthood learning to read complex course material and how to cry softly in a room with another person less than five feet from him. Maybe he should have studied Biology… but then he’d just have to come to terms with the fact that this whole mess was bound to happen. Predisposed. Genetic and environmental.

His fault.

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

Six in the morning is not a typical time to be fielding calls from concerned police officials. “He—Hello?”  Which, now that phone is tucked under his chin, and the call answered, he realizes that he should have checked the caller ID. As stated, is it six in the morning and he doubts anyone too important is calling him at this hour.

Unless, of course, his luck has finally run out and yet another political disaster has occurred. Leaving him to clean the wreck.

The other end makes a strange noise before he’s greeted with, “--finally! I was almost worried you wouldn’t answer!”

Oh.

Emily.

“Morning,” he greets, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He’s a little too grumpy for this right now but she’s obviously called for a reason, her happiness seeping into tone, and he’s not going to purposely ruin that. How many hours ahead is London, again? Why is she awake?

“I was worried,” she admits. He can hear her working, the drag of her pen across paper, and the shift of the leather chair she’s sitting in. Even her keyboard clicking away as she multi-tasks. “Your last letter was nearly two weeks ago. Is everything good at home?”

Home. He smirks, she’s been overseas now for several years. Yet, she still refers to Virginia as home. The thought makes him shake his head. He’d never draw the conclusion out loud to her but he can imagine that little slip-up is one of the reasons that her on-again-off-again boyfriend Michael grows frustrated with her. It’s not her fault. It’s an understandable mistake but it certainly reflects a certain tone for her affections of London.

Her preferences.

“They’re fine,” he answers, evenly. “Jack’s doing well in school. Dave’s stopped hounding me about potential love suitors.” He pauses to splash water across his mouth, preparing to wash his face. “Garcia enjoyed last month’s tea flavor, what was it-- raspberry?”

He places his phone on speaker and sets it on the shelf above his sink. Ducking his head, he listens to her while he washes his face. Going about the habitual process of shaving. A comforting thing he’s always done. He’s got no preference when it comes to facial hair. A beard is just as easy as a clean face. It’s about shaving. It’s soothing. It’s one of the few things that’s remained constant in his life.

She’s talking-- he thinks about how the weather in London has hit a point in the season that she doesn’t particularly like. Raining and cold. That she wants to come home but she isn’t sure she should. Will she really be able to tear herself away from the Virginia weather? From them?

He’s half-way done shaving when his eyes drift to his shirtless chest.

He wonders how many times he shaved, how many mornings did he wake up before he realized-- before he saw the tumor or the lump or mass or whatever the hell the medical term is. He lowers his head, sighing in defeat but mostly anger. How’d he let it get to this?

“Anyways,” she sighs. Sounding every bit as tired as he feels. “How is home? How are you?”

He looks at himself in the mirror. His head is absent of reason. No logic or forethought.

“I have cancer.”

-------------------------------- Everything about Aaron Hotchner is traditional and simplistic. It’s not a bad thing. In the years that she's known him, she’s grown fond of that. It makes him predictable and reliable. Something that happens infrequently in people the older that she gets. A part of her does feel wrong for clinging to that, to him, but she cherishes his friendship. Through the ups and downs.

Their means of communication are letters. Once a week she can expect to find two to three pages of neatly written updates on her family across the pond. He’ll ramble about anything in those letters and that’s what she enjoys about them the most. There is no hesitation to tell her what he thinks. In those letters, she can find Aaron. Incredible soft, thoughtful Aaron.

It’s been two weeks since he’s sent a letter. Not to sound clingy but she’s kind of hurt. More so, she’s nervous to find out what’s taking up so much of his time. He’s routine with his responses. Almost every Thursday night she can curl up with his newest letter and a glass of wine and read about the BAUs newest adventure. It’s always a bonus when throws in his subtle little “I” statements. I miss you’s come rare but when they do happen it’s nice.

Sighing, she caves. It’s Friday, she hasn’t heard from him in two weeks, and she misses him. By the time she has his contact picture pulled up and the ring tone dialing-- his goofy picture from his badge grinning at her-- she realizes that her eleven am is his six am. Just as she’s starting to think he won’t answer it goes through.

“H--Hello?” he sounds like shit. Over the course of the last year, she’s managed to forget what he sounds like. His voice is startlingly deep which does surprise her just a little.

“Finally!” she mumbles. “I was worried you wouldn’t answer!”

He yawns and it makes her smile. “Morning,” he grumbles and she can hear him scratching tiredly at his face. She feels guilty for waking him up for only a moment. That is until she remembers he gets up at six. So it’s likely she called right after his alarm clock went off.

Tucking her phone between chin and shoulder, she turns her computer on. Settling in behind her desk and getting to work. “I was worried,” she tells him. Not sure if she’s meaning to sound mad at him for not sending his “everyone’s alive and well” letter or mad that she doesn’t know how he is. He’s thrown her off her routine. “Your last letter was nearly two weeks ago. Is everything good at home?”

Her worry bleeds into the statement but he’s too tired to feed it or make fun of it.

She can hear him huff softly, an almost laugh.

“They’re fine,” he answers softly. His voice is drowsy, “Jack’s doing well in school. Dave’s stopped hounding me about potential love suitors.” She hears the tap run, he pauses, and she can hear him splashing water on his face. “Garcia enjoyed last month’s tea flavor, what was it-- raspberry?”

She smirks, it was raspberry. Although, she doubts Garcia liked it as much as he says. She’s not a huge raspberry fan. Besides, Emily had sent that tea with one specific tea drinker in mind: him. The thing about Hotch is, he’s traditional, but he’s also complicated. That’s just Hotch for “I enjoyed the tea you sent”.

Really, she’d just wanted him to be introduced to more teas than his just his simple black tea. Be more creative. Have some fun.

“I’m glad Garcia liked the tea,” she says with a smirk. “She’s been texting me all week.” Pictures, texts, and a few Snapchat. Emily doesn’t entirely know how to use Snapchat yet but she’s getting the hang of it. “You guys being grounded is relaxing, I’m sure, but that woman’s got way too much time on her hands.” Emily shakes her head at the thought. Lovingly, of course.

“Anyways,” she runs a hand over her face and she lets out a sigh. “How is home? How are you?”

There’s a long pause on his end. All his busy movements coming to a halt. It makes her heart pick up its pace, her gut twisting. Suddenly, that knee-jerk thought, that stupid thought that something might be wrong feels true. She’s just about to say his name when his voice cuts through.

“I have cancer.”

Her first reaction is oh. At least she was right.

That is immediately followed by-- oh fuck.

“Are you…” she swallows thickly, work forgotten. “Have--” Where does she even begin?

He clears his throat, “Hodgkin's Lymphoma.” He answers without her actually having to ask. It feels to get it off his chest, literally. To tell someone. “I guess--” he makes a choked sound like the shock of this news is setting in again. “They have to put, uhm, ink to locate the right place. So, I… I have a tattoo of sorts now.”

She laughs a half-pained sound. “I’m sure Morgan doesn’t consider it to be a tattoo,” she manages around the tightness of her throat. She cringes at the thought, ink and a needle just digging into his flesh. Cancer invading his body.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment but when he does, she understands the silence.

“I haven’t told them.”

As much as she wants to be mad at him, she shouldn’t really expect anything different. He’s painfully shy and private. God knows if she hadn’t found him half-dead in the hospital after Foyet, he’d have gone as long as possible without telling them. He certainly wouldn’t have told them while still hospitalized.

It’s the same lack of forethought that goes through them, a moment of blindness. He’d felt the weight of restraints pulling his limbs down when the admissions had left his lips. She feels only conviction, “I’m coming home.”

It catches him entirely off guard.

She winces when he starts coughing. His first symptom since starting radiation. It’s a horrible sounding dry cough that makes her lungs ache just to hear.

The coughs fold him over, the force at which they leave his mouth is painful. What is it that makes coughing so painful? That’s never made much sense. It’s just air, right?

“Hotch?”

He rubs at his sternum, trying to externally soothe the muscles. “I’m okay,” he chokes. Shakily, his right-hand bears his weight as his left turns the faucet on. With his palm, he manages to sip a few mouthfuls of water. It just doesn’t stop the coughing. “I’m okay.”

She highly doubts that. There’s not a single thing about what she just heard that sounds “okay” by anyone standards-- certainly not his. “Are you going to work like this?” she asks. It’s hard to believe he’d allow himself to be seen in any state that isn’t tip-top shape. On that note, she also knows that way too good at putting on a show, and, for profilers, the team sucks at making that distinction.

The anger that evokes in him is undue. Admittedly, he overreacts. “I said I’m fine,” he barks. “I don’t need you checking in on me, Prentiss. I don’t need you here, too!” To watch. It’s bad enough, okay? That he’s going to have to tell his six-year-old son that he’s dying. Each morning a little more than the last and some days feel like he’s already half-lowered into the ground.

And the others. Reid and those sad eyes. The way Morgan won’t be able to look at him, just avert his gaze and storm out of the room. Dave’s crushing hug and JJ’s silent tears. Garcia… He can only imagine the raging in-betweens of what the news will do to her. Stress baking cookies he won’t be able to stomach. Knitting him hats, sweaters, and blankets with feverish vigor that he won’t be able to escape.

He could use one of Garcia’s love knitted blankets right about now.

Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he relaxes his tight grip on the sink. Knuckles paled and fingers aching.

“Sorry,” Emily finally manages after the long moments of silence.

Hotch hangs his head, biting his lip hard to stop the flow of emotions trying to work their way up. “No,” he rasps, thickly. He sniffles, scoffing when he rubs his eyes with the back of his wrist, finding tears. “That was… inexcusable. I’m so sorry,” he leans down, body in half as he rests his forehead against the cool porcelain of the sink.

This doesn’t even feel like his body anymore.

“Aaron?”

There are tears streaming down his face, he’s too tired to fight them off. “Hmm?”

“I’ll see you soon.”

He hums in agreeance, unable to trust his voice.

“Take it easy, okay? I love you.”

The line dies before he can hasten out a reply.

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

She’s been waiting on a reason to leave London for longer than she’s willing to admit.

Her dying friend proves to be reason enough.

Clyde has obvious mixed feelings but he can’t hold her back. He and Hotch had gotten set on the wrong foot. The rivalry between the two men is childish but endearing. Almost nothing has made her feel as loved as the proud smiles they both wear when she greets them. Clyde overwhelmingly pleased he’d won her back to London and Hotch smug she’ll travel hours to come to see him (she hadn’t done that for Clyde).

Almost nothing beats that.

“Emily!”

Her eyes are scanning the crowd before her, searching for her mismatched ragtag family. Sore thumbs, bobbing up and down in the crowd, they wave her to them. She notices he’s not there immediately.

“Princess,” Morgan sighs her name into her hair and she turns her face into his shoulder. Drawing in the strength she can feel wavering with a new wave of anxiety washing over her. It helps that they’re here. Derek’s arms wrapped around her after what feels like a lifetime away.

It’s only taken her three decades but she’s found her family and she’s not letting anything drag her away this time.

Garcia pushes at Morgan, causing a choked laugh out of them all. “Stop hogging all the Emily-lovings!”

Morgan smirks, trying to hide the relief swelling in his eyes like tears. He gets one more good look of her, eyes combing over her before parting with a sad smile. Relieved.

There’s a blur of motion. She’s pulled to each of them.

Garcia hugs like she’s trying to crush ribs and Emily lets her.

Hugging Dave brings tears to her eyes. Fuck, she’s missed them.

“Don’t make me chase you,” Emily threatens when she spots Reid near the edge. Pulling him close she rests her head against his shoulder, happy when he squeezes her back. “I’ve missed you, boy wonder.” Her genius. Just as scrawny as when she left him. She doesn’t want to do that again anytime soon.

Dave claps his hands together, grabbing one of the three bags she’d dropped. “Let’s get lunch, kiddos. We can talk about London.” He winks at Emily and she knows that this is going to spin into a conversation about potential love interests. She hasn’t had love on the brain in a while.

London… not everything she wishes it was. Cold and rainy. Relentlessly.

For the first month, she was over there, all she wanted was to come home. She just kept waiting for the rain to ease up. Then there should be that wet, hot humidity that clings to everything. She’d hated that before but now she’d just give anything to have it. For Reid to drag her out for coffee and the sun to bring out the chipper inflection in Garcia’s voice.

How the sun looked on Jack and Henry’s little head when she’d run around the park with them.

Fuck London, she’s just glad to be home.

“So,” she’s allowed them their fill of questions. Things about INTERPOL and if she’s still leaning heavily on take out food or if she’s managed even the faintest bit of finesse concerning cooking (she hasn’t). Leaning onto her elbows, she asks the question that’s been bugging her for hours. “Where’s Hotch?”

Dave leans back in his chair and JJ’s the first to crack. Of course, her poker face just isn’t that great. Her eyes move to Dave, concern written across her face. They might not know but it’s not that hard to figure out they know something isn’t right.

Reid shifts uncomfortably, averting his eyes, and focus.

“Your guess is as good as ours,” Dave informs her. He settles back in his chair, arms crossing on his chest. “He’s…” he sighs tiredly. For a moment he just shakes his head. Rubbing a hand over the coarse hair on his face and then rubbing at his eyes. “He’s Aaron,” Dave mumbles. “Complicated and… reserved.” He looks at her now, zeroed in on just her. Just them.

Her heart races at just the thought of them knowing.

JJ clears her throat. She distracts her worry with rubbing her nail at the glass. “He says he’s at meetings,” she tells Emily. “Says--” she shakes her head, flustered. Upset. Pulling in a breath, she shakes softly as it comes in. “Every day, he sends me an update email. Just a list of things he expects to get done for the day or places he might be.” JJ tucks a strand of her hair back from her face. “Our jobs circle around each other, a lot. It makes my life easier if I can find him without running all over the place.”

Morgan turns his head, away from the conversation. Wishing to be uninvolved but unable to escape.

“He’s lying,” JJ concludes. She worries her lip with her teeth. “His lists are…” her eyebrows furrow as she struggles to say exactly what she means. “Last week,” she says with a nod, having come up with her perfect example. “He said he’d be in a meeting. Didn’t tell me where, he always tells me where.” Her eyes scan over the table, looking for more. “Something’s wrong and he won’t tell us.”

Morgan huffs, shifted now so that his arms are wrapped tightly around himself. His legs crossed, even. Distant. “I don’t see why we don’t just let him be.” His tone betrays what he’s really feeling. That anger and the vulnerability. His words are reflexive. He’s always pushed away when things get tough.

Emily wants to rise to his defense or to say anything but she can’t.

“Reid went into his office yesterday--”

Reid flinches. The memory or the feeling, he draws himself in. Shielding himself from whatever is being said.

Garcia looks down at her lap.

“He was asleep at his desk,” Dave finishes, despite seeing just how uncomfortable Garcia and Reid look. “Out like a-- Asleep like he hadn’t rested in a while. It took-- I had to shake him awake. He was warm to the touch and shaking.” Dave looks down to the table. “Shaking. He was weak and I’d known,” he looks up, frowning sadly. “I’d known something was wrong before but whatever is, we’ve got to get to the bottom of it.”

The bottom of it… God, they’re going to be devastated.

Lunch brightens. It’s forced to when the conversation shifts to the children. To Henry starting fourth grade and Jack’s in middle school now. Since when did those babies grow up?

Sooner than maybe she’s ready for it, she has to leave them. She’s too tired, too jet-lagged.

And maybe… Maybe she’s ready to bother Hotch. To reacquaint herself with his grumpy, silent nature. Isn’t it silly to think she’d hated him once?

Now she knows where his house keys are hidden.

The key hits the lock and she realizes how this might not be as great of a plan as she had planned it to be. “Hotch,” she calls into the dark. She peaks around, hoping if he’s home he’s not on edge. She’s seen him hypervigilant, she knows this is an awful plan. Even calling ahead might not have been enough. So, it’s more than brave for her to just come barging in.

She puts her back near the coat rack, still hunched into herself in case he comes barreling around the corner. He doesn’t. “Aaron?” His car is out front, despite the darkness of the room suggesting the house is empty. The blinds are drawn shut, blocking all-natural light into the house. The air is cool. “Aaron if you’re here please, please don’t shoot me.”

Shutting the door behind her, she progresses into the living room. The creaking of floorboards draws her attention to the other side of the house and she spots him.

He comes around the corner of the hall, from the direction of his room. Tired eyes move up to find her, his lip quirks into half a smile. “Emily,” he greets under his breath. He’d heard the door open but the binds weighing his wrist and ankles to the bed had been too much for him to lift. Pained and slowed, he’d made his way to figure out who was home.

Certain it’s not Jack, he should have had a little more trepidation about coming out here to investigate.

She approaches him slowly, soaking in every line and angle of his body. The way he’s favoring his right side is a new thing but the crescent moons under his eyes are a comforting familiarity. Pulling in a breath, she drags her eyes all the way up to him. He’s lost some weight and it just makes his cheekbones that much more hauntingly sharp. It draws attention to the scars on his face, thin and aged.

With a smile, she shakes her head at him. “Just as ugly as when I left,” she informs him.

He smiles tiredly, sighing at her playful taunt. It makes the hug she pulls him into relieving. The aches and chills he’s felt all day lessen as she wraps her arms around him. Something about the way her hand cups the back of his neck while the other rubs his up along his spine.

She’s standing on the tips of her toes, stretching to get to him. He leans down into her, closing his eyes. She just holds him that much closer. Against her, she can feel the beating of his heart. The way his nerves had amped his heart rate up and now, as the beat slows, the way he calms under her touch.

“How are you?” she asks quietly. They pull apart and she feels the absence of his warmth immediately.

He pulls in a weak breath, one he lets out a strangled cough. Shakes his head and offers a shrug. “I’m okay,” he assures her.

She doesn’t fail to notice how his right hand shakily reaches out to steady him against the wall. They’ve never agreed on the definition of okay and, so, it’s not that surprising they wouldn’t now.

Burying a cough into the elbow of his arm, he starts to tremble. His breathing takes a heavy quality as he stands there. It takes only a moment for him to draw himself up to his full height,  swallowing down against the pain and forcing his body to bend to his will. If she didn’t know better, nothing would look wrong at all.

“Can I get you anything,” he asks, clenching his teeth to keep steady despite how exhausted he feels. “How long are you staying?” He knows she won’t actually answer that first question, so he steps by her and lets her follow him into the kitchen. Hyper-aware of the way he moves his body. Trying to look normal instead of stiff.

She follows him, watching for clues in the slips of his armor. One of the many benefits of having known him so long and knowing him well is that he can’t get much past her. “I’m staying for as long as I’m welcome,” she replies. It’s better than the truth, that she’s staying until he’s better.

He appreciates her choice of wording even if the truth is still there underneath it all. Leaving him the burden of the situation, which is considerably worse.

He sticks with a simple hum of understanding, knowing she’ll understand it as such. “Staying where,” he asks. Suspecting he already knows the answer. “Here?” He fills two glasses with water, desperate to soothe his dry mouth. Turning to her, he offers the first glass.

She accepts the glass without comment. “I didn’t think about where,” she lies, smirking over the glass rim at him. He shakes his head but doesn't comment. “Here would be good though.” She looks up at him and he shakes his head with a smile. “It would!” she defends. “I know you miss me and I could help around with Jack. If you won’t admit to it, I know he will.” Her smile twists mischievously, “besides, he’s my favorite Hotchner and I’ll make time to spend with him regardless of where I stay.”

He shakes his head but he’s already formulating how to move the guest room around to accommodate her. There’s not much in there. A bed with some regular looking sheets and two or three boxes of random things.

Putting her glass down on the counter she sighs. “We don’t need to worry about that right now.” Nodding her head back towards the hall she says, “you look miserable. Go to bed.”

He realizes that while she was talking he’s slowly started leaning more and more on the counter. Accumulating a lean to ease the aches wracking his body. She’s right. He looks miserable because he is. He’s exhausted.

“Do you need to take any medication?”

He shakes his head, not letting it bother him when she tucks herself against his side. Allowing him to lean into her. He doesn't but the warmth her body brings is pleasant enough to keep him going. 

He took everything he needed this morning. The medicine for the radiation rash he’s developed across his chest, the preventative pills for the fibrosis that might build in his lungs because of the radiation, and a whole other list of things he can’t really remember. He just has the bottles on his nightstand and knows that most require two dosages.

His bed is warm and soft, his eyes closing against his will. Logically, he knows he shouldn’t let her see him like this. This is his battle and he doesn’t want to burden anyone else with it. There’s a comfort in sharing, though. Rather it be the brush of her fingers on his forehead, pushing back his crazy or the kiss she presses to his temple before whispering “get some sleep, Hotch”.

And, honestly, he’s tired of being alone.

“Emily?”

She turns in the doorway.

“Thank you.”

Someone has to be here. She wants to be here. “You’d do the same for me.”

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

Legs crossed, hair pulled into a half-assed knot atop her head she watches him curiously. He’s up an hour later than she’d expected. No coffee to go along with the egg he has for breakfast. Between them, they have an entire morning spent without nearly a word. Just a simple, “do you want an egg?”

He gets ready but not for work.

“What’re you doing?”

She gets ready too. For what, she’s not sure, but she’s interested none-the-less. Even if she thinks she knows the answer. It’s very interesting, she thinks, to step into the living room and find him staring dumbly back at her. No, not interesting. It’s fun.

Stepping around him, she pulls her coat off the rack. “Isn’t it obvious,” she asks, slipping her feet into the boots. “I’m coming with you.”

Flannel and jeans aren’t his typical go to but it’s a relaxed look. One she finds she doesn't hate.

He crosses his arms on his chest, eyebrows furrowed and a stern frown in place. Startlingly in control for a man she watched choke down half an egg before calling it quits. He hadn’t even had coffee. Now he shifts his weight, left to right. “Emily this isn’t--” he just stands with his mouth open. After a moment he shakes his head. “You don’t want to come.”

So it is treatment.

She pulls her jacket tight around her shoulders and without comment pulls his down too, offering it to him.

He takes it with a sigh, shaking his head, but pulling the sleeves over his flannel. With a sigh, he grabs his keys off the counter. He points a finger at her, looking every bit the father scolding a troublemaking child. “You’re not coming inside the hospital. It’ll be an hour. You’ll drive someplace else. I’ll text you when it’s done.”

She smirks, pleased she’s won this round. Placing two fingers to her temple, she gives him a mocking salute. “Aye-aye captain!” Today, she won’t push. He’s come this far, weeks into his therapy. If he needs some time, then he needs time. Just so long as he knows she’s here now.

Leaving him is harder than she anticipated.

She takes his seat, half-listening as he stands at the door.

“There an outlet about five minutes North,” he says. He watches her move the seat around. Trying to drag the seat closer to the steering wheel so she can actually reach the pedals. “It’ll give you something to do. There’s a bookshop up there too. I-- I take Jack there.” He runs a hand over his hair. “A coffee shop and a smoothie stand and--”

She catches sight of the grey through his hair. Looking away, she clenches her jaw. Worry the edge of the steering wheel. “Aaron,” she finally stops him. “I can take care of myself for an hour. I’m a big girl.”

He shakes his head, ducking to so she can’t see the blush creep up his cheek. “Right,” he manages. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

She nods, “an hour.” She waits until she can’t see him. Those doors closing behind him. Swallowing him whole. It’s just an hour.

She was gone for an entire year. More than that really. Years. What are years to a single hour?

The coffee shop is quant. She can imagine him here. Tucked away within the stacks of books. Reid would like it here. The covers are old but, she thinks with a smile, he’d find something, not to date. Seeking a classic and turning away when it’s not in its original translation. That’s where Garcia has always been his balance. She’d pull him from a rant and sit him down with a cup of tea.

How had Emily ever left them?

Her hands tremble as she runs a finger over those old book backs. Mostly, she wonders what Hotch must be thinking. Heaven or hell. If all the work they’ve put into this job will account for anything at all in the end.

If it’ll hurt.

Her phone goes off. Done. Simple enough.

“I brought you a smoothie!” She’s got his sunglasses on when she pulls up. Not even offering to get out of the driver’s side.

He’s hurting more than he cares to admit. Tired and the rash on his chest burns. Seeing her pull up, he’s glad she doesn’t do more than hook her finger into the sunglasses and peer over their edge at him. Climbing into the car he takes one look at the smoothie and shakes his head. It’s dark green and even if he were hungry he’s sure that isn’t very good. “No thank you,” he mumbles, leaning back into the seat. He tilts his head against the rest.

She’s not really in the mood for arguments. More so, he’s just gotten out of treatment and all he’s had is an egg. “You’ll drink it,” she informs him, putting the car in drive. “Maybe not now but eventually.”

He grunts. Doubt that. If he’s going to manage to stomach anything, it’s not going to be that. Besides, he’d got plans: take a nap. That slowly goes down the drain.

Emily turns up the radio, humming along to a song he doesn’t recognize.

Turning his head, he watches her drive. He hasn’t told her yet but he’s very thankful she’s come back. Even if he’s slightly tainted the return with… She’s here taking over his life. Worming her way into his spare bedroom. Force-feeding him weird green smoothies. He doubts she’ll stop there.

“Hotch?” He doesn’t wake up when she shuts the car off. From there on, she’s gentle. Careful as she extracts herself from the car. “Aaron,” she rubs his shoulder.

He pulls in a small breath, turning slowly to her. Half-lidded eyes find her, confused.

When they left the house he’d looked better. Better than now. Not so exhausted.

“You fell asleep,” she informs him, backing up as he sits up. He has to use the seat to get there but he makes it happen. She waits back for him, letting him take his time getting out of the car. All while holding that damn smoothie she’s convinced she’s going to make him drink.

He’s rubbing the sleep from his eyes when his phone goes off in his pocket. She turns at the door, waiting. He motions her on with a wave, taking the call. “Agent Hotchner speaking.”

She stops for a moment to watch him pull in the whole persona. Not Aaron who just fell asleep in the car but Hotch the rock. It’s sad, really, how quickly the one consumes the other.

She’s reading on the couch when he comes in.

He doesn’t say anything as he slips past, going back towards his room. He comes right back out. The loosely buttoned flannel is forgotten, replaced by a suit across his thin shoulders. Once, those suits had pronounced the sharpness of his body. The way his shoulders sit strong and straight. Now, that jacket doesn’t even look like it belongs to him.

“Where are you going?”

He only glances at her, ducking his head back to the task at hand-- putting on shoes.

She gets up off the couch, flipping the book text down. “Aaron,” she comes around the side. “You can’t go out there.” To work. It’s not healthy to go out there. He had fallen asleep on the ride home, not even twenty minutes ago. He won’t manage out there.

He turns to her as she steps into the room, scowl in place and a look of indifference pulled between them. All the protection he can garner for himself. “It’s not up for debate,” he replies. As if this is out of his control. He just can’t help but think it would be easier this way. It would hurt less, dying out there. A coherent death. He’d feel it. Quick and overwhelming.

But coherent. He’d know.

Not in a hospital. More machine than man. Unable to speak or too weak to think.

It would be better to die a hero.

“Aaron,” she calls, he’s just walking away. “You’re being unreasonable.” She wants to scream. To shout at him or grab him the collar of that oversized dress shirt and shake him. Force him to realize that he’s being stupid. Does he think she’s stupid? They both know this is self-destruction. Skipping treatment. Going into the field. All for this stupid image that he’s convinced himself is necessary. For who? Huh?

It’s better to suffer around people you love than to have them bury you. The only burden is the weight of your casket across their shoulders.

He turns, teeth clenched. Jaw set. “Am I?” he asks. His face has darkened, his cheekbones drawing his cheeks in. “I’m going,” he informs her, “regardless of whatever it is you have to say.”

He won’t look at her. That’s how she knows that no matter how illogical he’s being, he knows exactly what he’s doing. Back turned to her, he stops for just a moment. He knows this isn’t what he should. That this is neither his best option nor the right choice. Still, he opens the door. Stepping out he turns his head, eyes cast to the side. “I--” he shakes his head, he doesn’t know.

Before he can shut the door she calls his name out, fear overriding the anger. “Aaron,” she clenches her fists at her side. “Please be safe.”

His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows thickly. Glancing at her, he nods his head. At least he has the decency not to lie to her. To pretend this is anything but foolish and a death wish. He shuts the door behind himself without another word.

Leaving her standing there.

Waiting.

She’ll still be waiting that night when Reid calls her. Incoherent.

“I-- I don’t know what’s wrong Emily! He won’t-- He’s bleeding and I--I… He said to call you.”

She shouldn’t have let him leave.

@laiba-the-person, @emily-hottie-prentiss, @unionjackpillow, @clockedstar, @baumarvel, @blakeprentiss, @qvid-pro-qvo, @aaron-hotchner187, @ssalavellan

[valwrite]

hopscotch; daveed diggs

masterlist.

summary: daveed diggs can’t keep his feet on the ground. (a sequel to leap frog, a prequel to hide & seek)

warnings: fluff, two nervous idiots, rafael casal almost getting murdered again.

fic type: drabble

word count: 2907

author’s note: i’ve decided to turn this into a mini-series. this is the second out of three parts. the last one will be released within the next few days. all feedback is appreciated! it’s 5:52 am and i’m too tired to check for any spelling errors again.

It was official. Daveed Diggs was going to murder Rafael Casal.

Sure, he had a lot to thank the man for because, truthfully, if he hadn't spilled the beans on Y/N's crush, Daveed never would have made his move. That was where Rafa's helpfulness ended, however, as he'd somehow managed to reduce Daveed into a panicking mess. He was pacing back and forth within the other man's apartment, every so often wiping his hands against his trouser clad thighs to get rid of his own nervous sweat.

He'd been completely calm and confident no less than five minutes ago, before he'd stepped into Rafa's home. But Rafael just had to open up his big, loud mouth and ruin that, didn't he?

“Did she even actually say yes to your date?”

No, no she had not. And, as much as he thought he'd been feeling prepared to take her out, was he really? What if the date shattered whatever image of him she'd created and she suddenly didn't feel the same way? Or, worse, what if it ruined their friendship? That was if she even agreed to their date.

“Daveed?”

“What?” His question had come off more harsh than he'd expected, the act of being pulled away from his own thoughts shaking him slightly.

“It's seven, dude.” From his spot on the sofa, where he'd sat and watched a pacing, panicking Daveed for just over ten minutes, Rafa flashed his phone screen where, sure enough, it read 19:00. “Go get your girl.”

One door slam, two deep breaths, three steps, four knocks later and Y/N was stood in front of him. The first thing he noticed were her eyes- they'd held him captive since the moment he'd first met her -, the second being her smile and, lastly, the shoes on her feet and the purse hanging from her shoulder. Surely, he figured, that must mean the date was happening.

Okay Diggs, now would be a good time to say something smooth, try charm her.

“My hands are really sweaty.” Are you kidding me?

“Are they, now?” Y/N- whether out of pity or discomfort, he couldn't quite tell - let out an airy laugh. She stepped out into the hallway, closing her door behind her. As she turned to lock it, he caught a scent of her perfume and felt the blood rush to his head, a lightheaded feeling taking control of him.

“I,” He paused, waiting for her to turn back around and, when she did, he found himself fixated by the way she was gazing up at him, amusement dancing on her lips and kindness lighting up her eyes. She truly was the most intoxicating drug he'd ever gotten addicted to. “did not mean to say that, shit. Sorry. What I meant to say was hello, you look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She very noticeably ran her eyes up and down his body, forcing Daveed to try straighten out his posture. He was already ruining this date and they hadn't even left for the destination of the evening.  “Eh, I've seen you look better. Bold of you to go with the whole hair-tied-back look.”

“Say the word and the hair tie will be dumped.” His hand shot up to grab at the small bun his curls had been forced into.

“I'm only messing with you, D! You look handsome, as always.” As she spoke, she readjusted the strap of her handbag. “For the record, my hands are sweaty too. Wanna mix sweat?”

It took him a moment to realize what she meant, to notice her hand was outstretched and just waiting to be captured by him. As his hand took hold of her's and fingers threaded together perfectly, even with the contrast between his larger hand and hers smaller one, Daveed felt the nerves evaporate from within him. He'd been drifting off into his own paranoia, so concerned that something would go awry, and she'd grabbed a hold of him, anchoring him back down in the reality where he remembered he didn't need to worry because this was Y/N. This was the girl he'd watched eat her weight in nachos; who he'd witnessed get chased by a bee; the girl who's hair he'd held out of her face as she emptied the contents of her stomach into a toilet bowl no less than a month ago.

This was Y/N and, no matter how much his brain tried to tell him otherwise, Daveed knew that things were just easy with her, life made a little more sense when she was around.

“Okay, let me get this straight.” Y/N sat on the wooden bench directly in front of him, one leg pulled up as she tightened the laces on her shoes. “You can't rollerskate, and neither can I, so you thought bringing us to a roller rink would be a good date plan? That somehow seemed like a good idea to you?”

“Listen,” With his right skate safely tightened and tied, Daveed began working at the left one. “learning a new skill together is a great bonding experience!”

“Mhm. Bet you say that to all the girls, don't you?”

“Yeah, I call it the Diggs Deluxe Package.” The two had now tied both their skates and, hands gripping on to anything in sight, they both rose from the benches. She wobbled and panic shot through Daveed only for it to subside once she was standing straight and cautiously moving over to his side. He caught a hold of one of her arms, gently tugging her over till she was safely gripping on to something. “Just be glad you weren't my last date, I took that one skydiving.”

“At least buy me dinner first before you start telling me about your package, D.” Laughing, Y/N bumped her shoulder against his own, only for them to both loose their balance momentarily and grab on to one another.

“Here, you hold me and I'll hold you, okay?”

“Won't that just lead to us both falling over?”

“Yes, but at least we'll fall together.”

“It's a good thing you're cute, Diggs, because your flirting game is pretty morbid.” 

Laughter on both their tongues, united they stepped into the roller rink and prepared to face whatever challenge lay ahead. Surrounding them were people of all ages- children, teens, adults  - and all levels of skill; some people were zooming around the rink at an unmatched speed, others were gliding effortlessly while others were gripping on to the barriers and very slowly making their way around the arena. A disco ball was spinning from the ceiling and, paired with the dimmed lights, the neon accents and the old disco tracks playing through the speakers, it created a nostalgic feeling for a time in history neither of the two had experienced.

Y/N was the first one to fall.

They'd done a few loops with the safety of the barrier at their side, having deep discussions about whether or not water had a flavor and if there was a chance aliens were on earth, but it was time for the two to venture out into the actual rink, no more safety net to keep them afloat. If anyone had been counting, they'd have noticed how her feet slipped from under her and she fell on her ass within a matter of four seconds after letting go of the wall.

“Help me up, Diggs, or I'll tell Rafa about the time you let me paint your toe nails.” Through fits of laughter, Daveed helped her back onto her feet and nearly fell back himself in the process. “Stop laughing, you big bully! That really hurt my ass.”

“Aww, need me to kiss it better for you?”

“In your dreams, D.”

From there onward, much to Daveed's own shame, Y/N had gotten a hell of a lot more steady and comfortable on her skates whilst he'd wound up returning back to the safety of the wall after falling a sixth time.

“Oh god, I wish someone had been filming that!” She said, clutching at her sides as she laughed. “You kept hopping from foot to foot like you were playing hopscotch. And then you just fell!”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, L/N.” Even if Daveed tried to act irritated with his eye roll and crossed arms, he couldn't bite back the smile tugging at his mouth. If it had to be at his own expense, he didn't care, he just liked to hear her laugh.

“Oh, I used to love this song!” She suddenly perked up, eyes widened in excitement as she looked over at him. She skated a little closer to him, stopping and taking a hold of both his hands. Giving up control, he watched as she turned her back to him and lay his hands to rest on her hips. “Hold on and I'll pull you along!”

With that, she glided back out into the mass of people and Daveed allowed himself to be dragged behind her. He was enjoying the feel of her hips in his hands, the smell of her shampoo, the soft humming along to the song leaving her. He probably looked like a mad man to any on lookers from the size of his grin.

At some point, they'd both lost count of how many songs they'd skated to like this. Daveed had managed to get a little more comfortable working the skates yet he made sure to keep one hand holding on to his anchor at all times. Whether it was his hands on her hips or a hand on her shoulder or their hands intertwined, it made no real difference to the fact he just wanted to hold her.  She gained more skill and had began even skating backwards, allowing Daveed the chance to watch how her face lit up in joy.

“There we go!” Y/N cheered him on gently. She'd convinced him to let go of her and test out skating by himself. She'd started out close enough for him to still grab on if needed but, after a few minutes of him safely moving, she'd skated a little further away from him. Her eyes had yet to leave him though, which pulled a blanket of comfort over him. “See? I told you you could do it!”

And as he continued moving his own feet, he was fixated by the way Y/N was gliding ahead of him, her back facing him. “Yeah,” He agreed, enjoying the praise she was giving. “I actually think I'm starting to-”

Crash!

“Daveed?” Confused, Y/N spun back around only to see Daveed hunched over on the floor, a group of younger kids moving around him and laughing at the fact he'd fallen over. She joined in on the laughter but not for long because Daveed was not attempting to stand up and, as she approached his side, she could hear the hisses of pain coming from him.

Sat with his legs spread out in front of him, Daveed was clutching his right arm to his chest and willing himself to get over the pain and just stand up. He was finally on a date with Y/N, goddammit, there was no way he was going to allow one pain in his wrist stop him from enjoying it.

That's at least what he thought, but he was wrong.

“Oh my god, D, I'm so sorry! I shouldn't have taken my eyes off you-”

“I do like it when my girl only has eyes for me.”

“This is not the time for your awful flirting, Diggs!” She scolded him but he saw right through her, amusement hidden in way her lips twitched slightly and her cheeks flushed a light shade of red.

When the two had tried, and failed, to stand him back on his feet, a helpful stranger had offered to assist Y/N with getting Daveed back up off the floor, one of his arms flung over each of their shoulders. The man only left after Y/N reassured him she could handle Daveed from there, which translated into her tightly holding on to his left hand and, with extreme caution, dragging him over to the exit of the rink and back to the locker area.

It was only once she'd removed her skates and gotten her trainers back on that she noticed Daveed was struggling to get even one skate off. There was already some purple bruising forming on his wrist and, each time he so much as moved it, a hiss flew out of him. After having to remove his skates for him, Y/N more or less informed him they'd be going to the hospital, whether he liked it or not. She had driven and he had sulked over the fact that the date was very much over at this point.

Hours later, Daveed found himself laying in a hospital bed, hooked up to an IV drip and with some outstanding pain killers coursing through his bloodstream. Meanwhile, sat just outside his room on the uncomfortable plastic chairs, were Y/N and Rafa. She'd called him mostly out of concern for Daveed but partly out of the boredom of waiting in the hall by herself, slowly getting high on the potent smell of fresh bleach.

“Excuse me.” The duo had bolted up straight in their respective seats at the sound of a woman's voice, no longer relaxing against each other as she dozed in and out of sleep and he scrolled through his phone. “Are you guys here for Mr. Diggs?”

“Yes.” Rafael answered as Y/N nodded her head, rubbing at her eyes and suppressing the yawn that was begging to be freed.

“He's ready for visitors.” At that, Y/N was suddenly wide awake and ready to stand up. “But, he just got out of surgery and might be feeling a bit lightheaded. I just thought I should warn you.”

Y/N had stood up and been well on her way to entering his room but stopped mid-step and turned back to Rafa. Verbal communication didn't seem necessary as Rafa signaled for her to go ahead without him. If she wasn't so desperate to see Daveed, she would have said thank you.

When she finally arrived at his room number, she found it with the door laying wide open and Daveed, sat up in his bed with the softest looking pillow against his back, a cast wrapped around his right arm and a pudding cup in his left hand. As he struggled to open it with his mouth, Y/N couldn't stop herself from giggling and made her presence known.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” His question was innocent, like the smile he wore.

“We never got to finish our date, I couldn't just leave.” Making her way over to his bedside, she gently stole the pudding from his hand and opened it in one go. When she spotted the plastic spoon left on his bed tray, she picked it up, dipped it into the pudding and brought it up to his mouth. “Open up, buttercup.”

“Nothing says date like a romantic, spoon fed dinner in a hospital.” Despite his verbal complaint, he still welcomed the pudding in happily and opened his mouth for more.

“So,” Y/N said, stealing a spoonful of pudding. “is it too soon to say I told you so?”

“Your lover is mortally wounded and that's all you can think of?”

“You're such a drama queen.” One more spoonful found it's way to his waiting mouth. “And since when are you my lover? You've yet to woo me on this date.”

“Don't need to woo you, you've been whipped for me since we met.” He was smug; and annoying; and arrogant; and, obviously, correct. “Don't forget, babe, Rafa filled me in on all your raging hormones and mushy feelings you've been hiding from me.”

“I do not have raging hormones for you!” She playfully shoved his good arm and he caught a hold of hers, pulling her closer to him. The angle wasn't the best, with her having to awkwardly hover over his hospital bed and him tilting his head up at her but neither of them attempted to move away.

“That's a shame, 'cause I have plenty for you.”

She wasn't given the chance to reply as Daveed had already closed the space between the two of them. She'd always imagined his lips to be soft, pillowy and, most of all, nice feeling against her own. All of that was an underestimation to reality. Shifting himself further up the bed, he wrapped his left arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him, nothing but her clothes and his hospital gown between them. When he was sure she wasn't going to pull away, or turn out to be some figment of his imagination, he deepened their kiss as she placed a hand on his cheek, her other resting on the bed behind him.

It was pure bliss, like a dehydrated man finally getting a glass of water or a tired woman at last getting some sleep. They'd both been needing, wanting, waiting so long for it to happen that, with the time now come, neither of them wanted to pull back and end the kiss. Luckily enough, neither she nor he would have to worry about doing that.

“That is for sure violating some kind of health code.”

Y/N could only laugh as Daveed through his pillow right at Rafael Casal.

[fidothefinch]

Paranoid

For Whumptober, Day 18: paranoia

Warnings: swearing, derogatory language, trapped in a room, Damian might be a little depressed but it’s not stated explicitly here

The rain pouring over the city lifted the smell of hot asphalt and stale urine to the roof Robin stood on, but it wasn’t bad enough for him to consider pulling his hood up again. Yet.

He needed his peripheral vision.

Damian scratched behind his ear. His neck was bothering him; a tickling feeling like hairs standing on end. He scanned the streets around him, he didn’t know for what, but found nothing to suggest anything was off.

Still. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched.

It was ridiculous; he was alone on patrol, alone in this sector of Gotham. Batman used to be more cautious of him being by himself, but lately. . .

He pressed the comm in his ear. Released it again, before the static caught up with the signal. He didn’t know who to contact. Father didn’t trust him. Timothy wished he were dead. Richard was. . . gone. And Alfred.

Alfred was gone gone. And it was Damian’s fault.

No. It only took one flash of the disappointment in his father’s eyes to harden his resolve. Robin would deal with this alone. He set his jaw, straightened his spine.

“I know you’re there,” he said. “Reveal yourself.”

The only sound that met him was the quiet hum of the rain. Damian swiveled his head, eyes narrowed, searching the shadows for any movement that would reveal the watchful figure. His hand clenched around the hilt of his sword.

“I know you’re out there,” he muttered. “And I’m going to find you.”

He took a running start and leapt off his roof, heading for a place he knew to be more secure. If anybody were following him, they would be forced to leave him alone, or else expose themselves.

When he sprint past an office high-rise, he thought he caught a glimpse of somebody following him in his reflection in the tinted windows. But when he turned, there were only the pigeons he had disturbed.

When he pivoted and grappled off a roof onto a fire escape, a shadow blocked out the light of the moon. But when he looked up, there was nothing there, the moon a dull yellow eye watching him from the low clouds.

He was being paranoid.

Once, when he had gotten several blocks away, he stopped long enough to catch his breath.

Somebody laughed.

He whipped around, unsheathing his sword in one smooth motion and bracing it in front of his body. “Show yourself!”

He waited, holding his breath for an answer. His hands tightened their grip rhythmically with his racing heart. He looked to the right and left, near and far.

The night air was still. Nobody was there.

Damian warily sheathed his sword. He was just being paranoid. The events of the last week had him on edge.

Even if his team didn’t trust him, Robin had been recruited for the last mission. A science experiment had gone wrong, in the Batcave, opening a portal. They hadn’t though anything of it at first, but after several minutes a figure had stepped through.

Batman had stepped through. Except it wasn’t Batman. It was a version of Damian’s Father with colder, calculating eyes. He wore sharp knives on his belt, and when he leapt to attack them, he aimed to kill. He had called himself Owlman.

It had taken them days to track him down and figure out how to send him back to his universe. Days spent questioning themselves. Questioning each other.

The memories left a sour taste in Damian’s mouth. Nobody had questioned when Timothy had offered to drug Owlman to keep him down while they figured out how to get the portal to open. But when Damian had tried to set a plan for the villain’s capture?

“No, Damian.”

“But—”

“I said NO.”

Damian wasn’t sure what had changed.

No. He did.

He reached his safe spot in record time, watching his back for every move. After his earlier outburst, his pursuer had given up on tracking him, it seemed. Still, it didn’t hurt to hang around and check things out.

No sooner had he found a comfortable place to settle than an arm wrapped around his neck from behind.

Damian let loose a squawk, more from surprise than hurt. He hadn’t heard a thing. He clawed at the hand around his neck, but after a moment of panicked fumbling, realized the arm was loosening.

And someone was laughing, behind him.

“Really got you good, huh?”

Damian froze.

That voice. . .

“Hey, Dami.”

He held his breath. It couldn’t be real.

The arms didn’t let go completely for another second, but when Damian was able to turn around he couldn’t find words.

It was Nightwing.

It was Richard.

Without a second thought, Damian leapt up and wrapped his arms around him. “It’s you.”

Richard laughed. It sounded slightly different, but Damian dismissed it. ‘Ric’ had smoked, right? Or something? That would change it.

Richard stepped back and gently peeled Damian off of him. Damian felt a twinge of hurt, but when he saw the smile on Richard’s face, it washed away.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Richard was beaming. Damian wished he would flip his lenses back so he could see his eyes. “Wow, I can’t believe you reacted like that.”

Damian stepped back at the words, ears heating in embarrassment. “I haven’t seen you in so long. I apologize for my behavior.”

Richard flipped a hand back. “It’s no problem.”

“You’re really back.” Damian looked up and down the Nightwing suit, his heart clenching at the lost familiarity of it, even if he couldn’t make out smaller details in the dim light of his hiding spot.

Richard held his arms out to the side, showing off the blue stripe running down his arms. “Yep.”

Damian cocked his head to the side. “Do the others know?”

Richard’s smile was lopsided. “Nope.” He popped the ‘p.’ “I wanted to tell you, first. You’re so special to me.”

Something in Damian’s chest loosened. Richard was back, and that meant at least one piece of his life was falling back into place. “I will notify Batman—”

“Wait.” A hand shot out and closed around Damian’s wrist, where it was poised over his comm unit. “I want it to be a surprise.”

Damian’s wrist flexed in Richard’s hold, but the fingers only squeezed harder, hard enough to pinch the small bones in his wrist together.

“Nightwing—”

Abruptly, the man let go. Damian tried to subtly shake his wrist out. Whatever he had been doing as ‘Ric’ must have made him stronger. He would never—

“Why don’t we head back to my place?”

Damian instantly forgot his worries. “In Blüdhaven?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Should we not head back to the cave? So you can see Batman?”

A hand landed on top of his head, a little too hard, and ruffled his sopping-wet hair. Damian pouted, reflexively lifting his hand to pat it back into place. Richard only smiled again, lifting his chin in an unfamiliar gesture he must have picked up as ‘Ric.’ His canines were sharp. “Sorry, Robin, I don’t really feel like seeing him right now. You get that, don’t you?”

“I suppose—”

“I just wanted to spend some time with you, before everyone else got involved.”

A warm feeling spread through Damian’s chest at the words. Richard wanted to spend time with him. It was a soothing balm against the burns of the last months’ torture. The ache caused by every barb from Ric and his family, the ache of lonely days sitting in the manor, was overshadowed by a few simple words.

Richard was back. And he wanted Damian.

Damian nodded. “I will come with you.” The words filled him with a giddiness he stamped down. No need for Robin to act irrationally. (Richard would see it, anyway, he was sure.)

Richard’s smile was wide. “Follow me.”

“I should tell—”

Richard rested a hand against Damian’s lips and hushed him. This close, Damian went cross-eyed noticing the differences in his hair and the light wrinkles around his eyes. He looked younger, like somebody who worried less. Maybe some time off really could help with healing.

“Don’t tell anybody,” Richard whispered. “It will be our secret.”

Something about the words sent a little warning bell off in the back of his mind. Damian leaned back, away from the hand. He and Richard had spent plenty of nights together before, sure, but the circumstances were different. “Batman will worry if I just disappear.”

Richard cocked his head to the side. His next two words fell like stones in Damian’s gut.

“Will he?”

Damian opened his mouth to reply, but stopped. The circumstances had changed. He wasn’t sure Batman—father—would even notice if he didn’t make it home.

He puffed up his chest. “Let’s go.”

  Ric’s apartment had been small, a mess of magazines and trash, clear of the clutter of pictures and sentimental knickknacks. An apartment clear of a lived life.

They took a motorcycle to a nicer part of town—Ric had insisted on living in the cheaper areas, despite Damian’s distaste—and they climbed a fire escape to the top floor and entered through a window.

This new apartment had all of the markings of Richard’s old life. The bookcase in the corner of the living room showed off frame after frame of pictures. One of Richard’s old sweaters, one that he had borrowed from Bruce and never returned, was slung over the back of his couch, obviously well-worn.

Something felt. . . off about the clutter. Everything looked freshly-dusted; the trash can was empty. Damian couldn’t put a finger on it. Richard had grown neater since his time as Ric, but maybe that was because he had cleaned up in preparation for Damian coming over.

The sound of a lock clicking shut made Damian jump. He turned around to see Richard pulling the window shut and reattaching an alarm wire from the inside. “I installed some new security here,” he explained. He flashed Damian that pointed smile again. “Nothing gets in or out of here without me knowing.”

Damian tracked the wire in the window along the wall. It, and the doors, and the other windows were all connected to several small alarms. “You have grown more cautious.”

Richard shrugged. “Getting shot in the head will do that to you, I guess.”

Damian flinched at the reminder. But, just like his hair had grown out long enough to completely hide his scar, Richard seemed unaffected by his own barb. “Great. I’m going to hit the showers.”

Damian turned around again. He was dripping onto the carpeting. “I need to change.”

“There’s a change of clothes that I think will fit you in the other room. I think Ric kept them around just in case.”

Damian stopped. “Really?”

Richard shrugged, not revealing whether he realized the impact his statement made. “Yeah.” He walked through his bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom. “You can put your uniform in my safe. Nobody will look for it there.”

Damian nodded as the door shut. The sound of running water filled the room a moment later.

He found the clothes sitting out on the bed already, simple black sweats and a faded GameFriend t-shirt. He changed swiftly, not wanting to waste too much time on his Robin gear when there were months of time to make up for. He threw it into the open safe—under the bed, which was rather obvious, but it was only for the night so he didn’t worry about it—and shut it, happy to hear the click of it closing.

The clothes were soft and warm, and he made himself comfortable on the couch when he noticed that there was a video game console hooked up beneath the television. A stack of games sat next to it.

Because there was nobody there to see it, Damian smiled. For the first time in months, he actually looked forward to the night ahead of him. It would be just like old times; he would wait for Richard to return, and they would bet against each other on their video games, and Damian would tolerate the bad music that Richard played in the background, and Richard would listen to Damian complain about the rest of their family and the new team and understand what he really meant.

Damian missed being understood.

He made himself comfortable on the couch, tucking his feet up so his knees were bent under his chin. There was a throw over the back of the couch, and after only a moment of hesitation Damian slid it down and wrapped himself in it. He left enough room for Richard, of course.

It was taking longer than usual for Richard to get out of the shower, so Damian went ahead and set up the video game console. He looked through the games, too, pleased to find several of his favorites had made it to the cut.

His comm dinged at some point, and Damian cursed. He must have forgotten to turn it off in his haste to change, which seemed silly, now that he had so much time to fill. His comm dinged again, and Damian tutted, sliding to the carpeted floor silently and padding back over to the bed and the safe beneath it. It would keep them up all night, otherwise.

He mechanically entered the numerical code Richard used for all of his vigilante gear, but was struck when the lock’s screen flashed red. Wrong code.

Frowning now, he entered it again, assuming he had mistyped. But the screen flashed red again, accompanied by a loud buzzing sound.

Damian sat back on his heels. Richard had always used the same code, before. This was probably another symptom of the brain damage.

His comm beeped again, a series of chirps that told him somebody was trying to call him directly.

He huffed at the noise and at the safe keeping him from stopping it. But when he looked closer, he recognized a small fingerprint scanner set into the side of the safe, a lock you wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it. A clever trick, to help hide his Nightwing gear in an obvious place.

Only Richard could open the safe. Damian would just have to wait.

He settled back on his heels, but suddenly realized the sounds of the shower had ceased. Now that he thought about it, it had been quiet for several minutes.

Richard never took that long to change, before.

The uneasy feeling he had had on the rooftops earlier returned full-force. Damian quietly rose to his feet and went around to each window, checking to make sure the locks were in place.

They were. He knew because he couldn’t open them from the inside.

He tried the front door of the apartment. The knob wouldn’t turn.

When he tracked the electronic locks to their beginning, he found the same fingerprint scanner as the one on the safe.

Richard was just being careful.

No.

Something was wrong.

Just as he had finished inspecting the lock, the bathroom door finally opened. Richard was silhouetted in the light, a black figure against the clean interior of the room.

Damian’s comm was still beeping. “Richard,” he called. “Open the safe so I can turn it off.”

Richard’s head tilted to the side. “I don’t think so.”

Damian froze. “What?”

Richard stalked forward slowly, at ease, and Damian took only one step backward before deciding to hold his ground. “Are you alright?”

“I am great.” But there was something implied in that sentence, a threat left hanging.

Damian stepped to the side, putting the couch between them. “I don’t understand.”

Richard laughed. “It was so easy to get you here, did you know that? Like offering crumbs to a dog.”

Damian’s hand flew to his hip, where his scabbard would be. But he had changed clothes, and in his trusting state he had locked all of his communication, all of his weapons away. “Richard. You’ve been compromised—”

“Oh, Damian,” and the word was drawn out in a sardonic way, “I guess you never had a chance, not with the way that bitch over at the League trained you.”

Damian flinched at the language. Richard had never—“Do not address my mother in that manner.”

“The Talia in my world was too soft to make a baby. When Owlman told me there was another one of us, I thought you would be a nice addition to his collection.” He sneered down. “But Talia’s goody-two-shoes rule-following was a mercy. She must have known what a pathetic mutt you would be.”

A sharp pain glanced through his chest. One of Damian’s hands rose to the spot, but there was nothing there. Just his heart, beating frantically under his fingers. He shifted backward, away from the looming threat, but his back met the couch.

Richard had him cornered.

“Willing to follow anybody home for a scrap of attention.”

“You don’t—” Damian cut himself off.

Because as Richard leaned down, his eyes, no longer covered by his mask, flashed gold.

“Hello, Damian.”

[vgckwb]

ML: Isolation Chapter 25: Truths at the Agreste Manor

When Marinette got home, she was greeted by her parents. “Hi sweetie,” her mom said.

“How was your day?” her father asked. Marinette looked up as she took her disguise off. She had a smile ear to ear. Her parents were surprised. “...Marinette…”

“Wh-What happened?” her mom asked.

Marinette started blushing. “Well...it’s, uh, sort of complicated…”

“Well, you can tell us,” Sabine said.

“Right, but, um, maybe we should do it upstairs,” Marinette said. Her parents looked at each other, nodded, and the three headed upstairs. They got seated on the couch, with Marinette in the middle. Marinette proceeded to explain the day’s events.

“So, um, yeah… I...I have a boyfriend now…” Before Marinette could awkwardly say anything else, her parents gave her a hug. It was tight, it was sudden, but most importantly, it was filled with love. Her parents stood by her in everything, but only now is she realizing how much that actually was to them. To see them so happy that she’s happier than she’s been in a long time, it made her feel even happier too. Marinette did the best she could to reciprocate the joint hug. “Thank you. For everything.”

Meanwhile, Adrien walked in the house. He was so excited. Despite all of the complications, Marinette was his girlfriend and he was over the moon. However, upon entering, he got a mysterious text from Nathalie. “Just go to your room. Go straight there. Don’t worry. I can handle it.”

He looked at his phone. “What?”

“Adrien!” his father called out. He, his mother, and Nathalie walked out to see him in the foyer. “Adrien,” his father continued. “You can settle this once and for all.”

Adrien was confused. “Settle what?”

“Adrien, don’t” Nathalie said.

“Oh come on,” Gabriel said. “He’s right here.”

“Well, it may be hard for him to say it,” Emilie explained. “You know how teenagers can be.”

“True,” Gabriel relented. “But you could see it too, right?”

“Of course sweetie,” Emilie agreed.

“See? I’m? What?” Adrien stammered.

“Please, just let it go,” Nathalie said, exacerbated. “All of you.’

“I don’t even know what’s going on,” Adrien said.

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Very well. Last night at the auction, your mother and I noticed that you had a certain affinity toward that young woman you were hanging out with.”

Adrien was confused. “You mean Lila?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said. “We think you might have a thing for her.”

“We’ve been trying to set something up for the two of you,” Emilie added, “but Nathalie kept insisting we don’t.”

Adrien took a moment to process what was just said before he laughed. “No. Just no.”

Gabriel and Emile were confused. “See? You heard it from him. Now just drop it” Nathalie insisted.

“Hold on Adrien,” Gabriel said. “That was an awfully curt response. Would you care to explain?”

“Um, no?” Adrien replied. “Just know that I would never, NEVER, go out with Lila.”

“But you looked so cute together,” Emile explained. “And also, you looked like you had a real thing for her.”

“Well, I don’t…” Adrien answered.

Gabriel and Emilie gave each other a confused look. “Please,” Nathalie insisted. “You heard what Adrien had to say on the matter, now let it go.”

“Hold on,” Gabriel said. “Do...you not know how to interact with girls any other way?”

Adrien rolled his eyes. “Yes. I have NO idea how to interact with girls apart from flirting with them. That’s why I haven’t been able to maintain a close friendship with Chloe all these years. Oh wait.”

Gabriel slammed his fist on the railing. “Don’t get sarcastic with me, young man.”

“Well, maybe you should just listen to Nathalie then!” Adrien shot back.

Tensions between the Agreste men were high. “We just want to know what’s going on,” Emilie said in hopes of cooling things down.

“Well, tough,” Adrien said, shocking the both of them. “I’m starting to live my own life now. With my own actions, and my own interests, and my own secrets. I don’t need to tell you everything, especially since until recently, you knew everything because you forced that onto me.”

Emile’s face went pale. Gabriel’s also did, before it turned red with rage. Emilie noticed this. “Sweetie.”

“Adrien!” Gabriel shouted.

“Don’t!” Emilie insisted.

Gabriel calmed down, but was no less displeased. “Adrien. We’re your parents. You can trust us with anything.”

Adrien looked at his parents. They seemed confused and distressed; a feeling he spent most of his life feeling. “OK. But I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Emile was now shocked at him. “Adrien!”

“Like I said, I have my own life now” Adrien reiterated.”And I can choose what to tell you.”

“Adrien,” his father said again, still keeping calm. “We don’t keep anything from you. So please, be open with us.”

Adrien’s heart stopped when he heard those words. He started laughing maniacally. “Is that a joke? Are you trying to be funny? Because if you are, that’s hilarious.”

His parents looked at each other confused. “Adrien, what is the meaning of this?” Emilie asked.

Adrin snapped. “WHY DID YOU KEEP ME HERE FOR SO LONG?!” he shouted. “WHY WAS I LOCKED AWAY WHEN ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS ROAM FREE?! Not even free free. I’d have gladly taken you guys tagging along everywhere compared to the NIGHTMARE I was living. I wouldn’t wish upon the most heinous forces on this EARTH the treatment my own parents gave to me!”

Adrien started to breathe heavily. This was supposed to be the happiest day of his life so far, but now he’s opening up to his parents about how he feels in, to put it mildly, not the healthiest way. “So, forgive me if I don’t want to open up to you about certain things.”

His parents were pale. They had just received a shocking talking to from their son. Both of them were shaking. Gabriel seemed very tense. Before he could yell though, Nathalie stepped in. “HE DOESN’T REMEMBER!” Everyone looked at her. “He was two, he was sleeping for most of it, he doesn’t remember.”

The weight of that fell on the Agreste parents’s shoulders, as they finally began to understand Adrien’s earlier outburst, and previous attempts to escape. “You...really don’t know, do you?” Gabriel asked. Adrien seemed confused again. “Very well. To the family room.”

Emilie was surprised. “Are you sure?”

Gabriel smiled. “Positive.” Gabriel walked over, with everyone else following. Once they entered, Gabriel instructed “Sit.” They both did. Emilie was trembling, which further confused Adrien.

Meanwhile, his father opened a cabinet and pulled out an old new paper. He sat down with them and shared the paper with Adrien. Adrien couldn’t believe his eyes. “‘Fashion Designer and Actress’s Son Kidnapped’?” Adrien was in complete disbelief when he saw a picture of himself when he was a toddler.

“Yes,” Gabriel explained. “One day, we were at the park. You were playing with some of the other children. When our eyes lost you, we couldn’t find you again.”

“It was scary,” Emilie continued. “I mean, our only child was missing. We’d only been parents for as long as you were alive, so we had no idea what to do.”

“We looked for you everywhere” Gabriel said “We spent the next two hours looking through the park for you. We searched everywhere, we asked everyone, we called the police, everything.”

“And then…” Emilie said, tightly gripping her dress, “...we got a call.”

Adrien was stunned. Gabriel continued. “A group of people had drugged you and taken you. They gave us 48 hours to give them 70 million Euros.”

“I was just about ready to empty my bank account” Emilie said, tears starting to stream down her face.

“We explained as much to the police” Gabriel said, also starting to cry. “I mean, our only son was just taken from us because of our wealth. How could anyone not?”

Emilie sniffed. “But before we were able, the police found you.” She smiled, but was still crying. “We were so relieved.”

“But while that nightmare was over, another nightmare began,” Gabriel explained.

“We were so scared of losing you again,” Emilie said. “We couldn’t think straight.”

“We panicked. We lashed out at others,” Gabriel said. “We were so paranoid that we could hardly sleep or focus on anything. Eventually, we decided to see a therapist.”

“Through our talks, we became more well-adjusted, but we were still afraid,” Emilie informed him. “That’s when we made the decision to shelter you.”

“Every so often, we discussed lifting such restrictions,” Gabriel added. “We knew you wanted to, but we were never ready until recently.”

“The thought of losing you was just…” Emilie said. She couldn’t finish the thought.

Adrien finally heard the answer to the biggest question of his life. His parents, to quell their demons, sheltered him. Adrien was breathing heavily. “I...I had no idea…”

“I thought you understood it, son,” Gabriel said.

“It was part of our daily life for years on end,” Emilie said. “I didn’t realize you lived unaware.”

Adrien was upset. At whom? It was complicated. He was upset at himself for resenting his parents while not understanding them, he was upset at his parents for pushing their demons onto him, and he was upset at the world for allowing this to happen in the first place. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For screaming at you.”

Gabriel smiled. “It’s fine. I get it.”

“Yeah” Emilie said, swooping in for a hug. “It’s OK now.”

Adrien smiled. “Thanks.” Gabriel joined the hug. At this moment, after years of panic and paranoia on Gabriel and Emilie’s part, and disappointment and resentment on Adrien’s, peace had finally been restored to the Agreste household.

Once the hug was over, Gabriel asked “So...now that that’s...been aired out...what IS the deal with you and that Lila girl…?”

Adrien was a bit embarrassed, but had a clear answer. “Well, to be honest, it’s not exactly my secret to tell. But if you hold on a second, I can see if I could be able to tell you.”

“Very well,” Gabriel said.

“We trust you, 100%” Emilie reassured. Adrien smiled, nodded, and went to his room.

He logged onto his computer and called you Marinette. “Hello?” she said.

“Hey” he said. There was a bit of silence. “Sorry, I was trying to think of a good pet name, but I’m a bit distracted.”

Marinette smiled. “It’s OK. I still love you. So, what’s up?”

“Well…” Adrien said. “Things got very intense.”

“Oh” Marinette said. “Did you tell them about us? Do they not approve? Oh goodness, of COURSE Gabriel would never approve.”

“No no,” Adrien interrupted. He did giggle at that notion though, as he needed a bit of levity like this after what just happened. He sighed. “So, during the Louvre mission, my parents were under the impression that I had a thing for Lila.”

Marinette was surprised. “Oh.”

“I didn’t want to say anything, because, well, I don’t know how much they would, you know, like me doing all of this” Adrien continued. “It spiraled out of control, and I ended up yelling at them about how I always felt like I was a prisoner in this place.”

“What happened?” Marinette asked.

“Before my father could say anything, Nathalie interrupted and informed him and my mother that I don’t know why they did such a thing” Adrien answered. “So they sat me down and opened up about how when I was two, I was kidnapped for ransom.”

“WHAT?!” Marinette said equally as shocked as he was.

“Yeah…” Adrien said. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think they should have, I just...understand it…”

Marinette looked down. “I’m...sorry..”

Adrien was puzzled. “You don’t need to apologize. I mean, I assume you were two as well, and you didn’t know my parents to ask them not to.”

Marinette chuckled slightly. “No, it’s not that. I’m just thinking. Your parents were at their wit’s end, and that pushed them to an extreme reaction. Well, that’s kind of what I did too. Lila pushed me so far that I felt like I had no choice but to never be seen again. So, I get it.”

Adrien smiled. “It’s OK. I don’t blame you for that either.”

Marinette laughed back. “Thanks.”

Adrien laughed as well. “So, now, I’m wondering, would it be OK to tell my parents about you, and I, and, well, us?”

Marinette blushed. “I think that’s fine. In fact...why don’t you give me a call, and we can do it together.”

Adrien smiled and blush. “I’d like that. See you soon then, I guess.”

“Oh right. We have to leave this” Marinette said. “Yeah.” They smiled for a few seconds longer and logged out at the same time.

Adrien took a deep breath, and walked out. As he was going to meet his parents, he gave Marinette a call. Once she popped up, he said “Missed you” which got a good chuckle out of Marinette. He then rejoined his parents in the family room. They looked at him intently. “Mother...father…” He held up the phone. “This is Marinette, my girlfriend.”

“Hi,” she said, embarrassed.

The Agreste parents looked at her intently, overcome with emotion. “Now, where to start…” Adrien wondered. His parents were confused.

“Well, maybe we should start with the fact that I’m Ladybug.”

“L-Ladybug?!” Gabriel said, worried. He covered his face.

“What are you doing honey?” Emilie asked.

“Well, it’s just,” Gabriel began, “one of the conditions for my deal with Ladybug is that we’d never meet.”

Marinette chuckled. “It’s fine Mr. Agreste. I’ll still work with you.”

Gabriel relaxed a little. “Oh. Thank you.” Emilie laughed a little too.

Adrien enjoyed the moment as well. “So, to explain how we got to this point…” Adrien and Marinette explained the entirety of the situation. Gabriel and Emilie listened as each detail came out, reacting to each piece with a disgust for Lila, a concern for Adrien, but mostly a happiness that they are working on this, and are doing well.

Once they wrapped up, Marinette said “I guess that was a lot.”

“Yeah,” Adrien said. “So, do you have any questions?”

Gabriel and Emilie tried thinking of some. “I...think I understand?” Gabriel said.

“I don’t know how I feel about some of this,” Emilie said, “but I get it. And even with that, I think it’s going well overall.”

“Of course it’s going well!” Gabriel said. “Our son has a girlfriend!”

“Oh, I’m absolutely ecstatic about that,” Emilie said.

Adrien and Marinette blushed. “So, you’re not mad?” Adrien asked.

“Of course not,” Gabriel said.

“While we would have liked you to have told us sooner, I...get why you wouldn’t…” Emilie explained.

Adrien smiled. “Thanks.”

“Marinette!” called Sabine from the other end. “Are you busy?”

“Moooom,” Marinette said.

“Oh, are you talking to Adrien?” Sabine asked. “Can I say hi?”

“Me too!” Tom said. “Just a second!”

“No!” marinette said. However, her denial was to no avail as within a few seconds, Sabine and Tom were looking in.

“Hi Adrie-” Sabine said. She stopped when she realized that she wasn’t in front of Adrien.

“Um, are you Marinette’s parents?” Gabriel asked.

“Um, yes…?” Tom answered.

“Oh, well we’re Adrien’s parents” Emilie said.

“Oh really?” Sabine said.

Emilie nodded. “Adrien and Marinette were just explaining everything to us.”

“Oh my” Sabine said.

“Rest assured, you have our support in all of this” Gabriel said. “I mean, anyone my son is going out with has to be a world class lady.”

“Oh, why thank you,” Tom said. “And likewise, anyone going out with Marinette must be a true gentleman.”

“Thank you,” Gabriel replied. Marinette and Adrien were thoroughly embarrassed.

“Oh, we really shouldn’t keep you,” Sabine said. “Why don’t we continue this another time?”

“I like that,” Emilie said. They exchanged information. “Talk to you later.”

“Bye!” Sabine said. Marinette’s parents left.

“Ugh…” Marinette groaned.

“Don't worry,” Gabriel said. “We really mean it. We’ll do whatever we can to help take down this Lila girl.”

Marinette was still embarrassed, but she told him “Thanks. Well, see you later, I guess.”

“Bye” Emilie gently cooed.

Adrien turned the phone to him. “See you later.” He hung up. Despite the surprise of Marinette’s parents, the conversation went considerably well.

However, that moment of peace was interrupted by Nathalie walking up to them. “So, do you have a good understanding of everything?” They all nodded. “Good. Then I am resigning as your secretary, effective immediately.”

“Nathalie?” Adrien said.

“What is the meaning of this?” Gabriel demanded.

“You can help Adrien now,” Nathalie said. Adrien noticed she was shaking. “My work here is over.” She walked toward the door but was stopped by the bodyguard. She looked up at him. “What?” He glared at her. “I know I promised, but…but…” The bodyguard opened his arms and Nathalie broke down. She collapsed into him, crying. “I’m sorry!”

The Agrestes were shocked by this display. The usually stoic Nathalie was a complete mess. “Is...everything alright?” Gabriel asked.

“NO!” Nathalie shouted. “I’m sorry!” The Agrestes were still puzzled. Once Nathalie got a hold of herself, she looked at the bodyguard and said “Thanks.” She then turned to the Agrestes, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve said as much,” Adrien said.

“Right…” Nathalie said. There was a brief silence. Nathalie sighed. “I have to come clean. My last name isn’t Sancouer. It’s Fontaine.”

“Nathalie...Fontaine?” Gabriel said. He turned to Emilie. “Hey, didn’t we go to school with a-”

“Yes,” Nathalie said. “We are one in the same.”

Gabriel and Emilie’s faces went pale. “Oh” Gabriel said.

Adrien was still confused. “What does that mean?”

“Well, uh, hoo” Emilie said. “See, back in high school-”

“I’ll explain,” Nathalie said. “Back in high school, I was essentially like Lila.” Adrien was stunned. “I would lie and manipulate others to get what I wanted. And it would work...most of the time. The only thing I couldn’t get...was your father.”

This was a lot for Adrien. “Oh…”

“I tried and tried,” Nathalie explained. “But the harder I tried, the more in love your parents became. Soon, it all came crashing down on me.”

“I see…” Adrien said, still processing everything.

“Still, I wasn’t one to give up” Nathalie went on. “After high school, I changed myself a bit so that they wouldn’t recognize me, and I positioned myself to become Gabriel’s personal assistant to one day swoop in and take him away. I changed my name to reflect what you called me when you exposed me for who I really was.”

Adrien was wondering what she meant. “Heartless,” Gabriel said. “Sans-coeur.”

“Yes,” Nathalie said. “At first, even though it marked my defeat in high school, I wore it as a badge of honor. I felt like I didn’t need a heart if I could get what I wanted. But now, it’s a scar, forever reminding me of the person I was.”

The Agrestes were surprised. “What changed you?” Emilie asked.

Nathalie smiled. “The kidnapping of Adrien.” Adrien was stunned again. “Once I saw you two worry, and panic, and Adrien go missing, and return, and everything coming apart at the seams, but you two still were together in all of it, the pettiness just...melted away. Suddenly, it all felt real.

It stopped feeling like a game of chess I was trying to win, and it felt like I was stuck and everyone was moving on. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I wanted to run away then, but I felt like I couldn’t. I needed to repay you for everything I’ve done. So I decided to stay until my debt was repaid.”

“And you feel like that’s now?” Gabriel asked.

Nathalie nodded. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Nathalie tried leaving again, but was again blocked by the bodyguard. “What now?”

“Nathalie,” Gabriel called out. Nathalie turned to him. “I reject your resignation.”

Nathalie was confused. “What?”

“You heard me,” Gabriel said.

“Did you hear me?” Nathalie said. “I was your high school monster. I only came to this job to steal you.”

Gabriel smiled. “You must be more stuck than you realize” he said, surprising Nathalie. “High school was a long time ago. Any monster from then is nothing but a dust mite now. You seemed to have learned your lesson too. Besides, you’ve been very helpful, and I can safely say we all enjoy your company now. This new Nathalie is good.” Emilie nodded. Adrien nodded as well.

Nathalie was stunned. She looked at this smiling family accepting her for who she is and forgiving her. “Heh. Heh heh” she started crying again and collapsed to the floor. “Thank you. Thank you.”

Once Nathalie had composed herself, it was getting late. Nathalie shook hands with Gabriel, affirming her not resigning, and after that she and the bodyguard left for the night, as the Agreste’s decided to retire to their rooms.

Adrien tried calling Marinette again, but she didn’t answer. “Hm. Must be asleep. Oh well.” He smiled, set his phone down, and got under the covers. He smiled and he started dozing off with Marinette on his mind. Despite everything, this was the day Marinette and him started dating, and for him, that made today good.

[tadpal]

tw: paranoia, delusions, derealization, depersonalisation, also mentions of god and religious trauma

does the knowledge that the scary stuff you think is real isn't real make it better or worse? bc for me it's making it worse?

does the fact i know on some level that im making it up mean that im actually tricking myself into this fear and faking it all?

thoughts appreciated and details under the cut

recently i have felt so unreal like (and this embarrasses me to say) but like im a character in a prologue of a video game or dolls game or something, like the world doesn't actually exist i just can't comprehend it not existing and so fill in all the nothingness for myself, and like none of my thoughts or actions are truly mine even though i think i have autonomy i actually don't, and like there is a group of something otherworldly (not aliens like extra dimensionally) watching me and controlling me and my environment and that i can communicate with them directly (as in they will hear me and know that i am talking to them but obviously don't talk back) by writing in journal? and that if i look into the mirror for too long at night i will see and everything will be even less real and it will always be less real bc i will be looking at something that is me but Isn't and it's so terrifying i can't describe.

but even in the moment part of me knows that what im thinking and feeling isn't right. and both my parents have a sibling with these kinds of mental health issues so it's likely just those genes in me acting up but for some reason that knowledge just makes it worse? like it's supposed to be comforting that the big indescribable terror that i believe in in these episodes (? is that the right term?) isn't real but i get so overwhelmingly afraid that im insane and that everyone's going to find out that im crazy and hate me and my therapist is going to think i made up all of the trauma im actually in therapy for and just pump me full of drugs (which i know that mental health medication is good for a lot of people but i worry about taking it due to the way it was talked about to me in the cult, like i feel intense guilt and fear at the thought of being medicated and i don't how how to get that to stop) and what if there is a God and hes watching me beg this random Unknown Unseen People who in my delusions (?don't know if that's what this is?) like that's idolatry and then god will hate me and ill go to hell but what if this already is my hell and im just cycling on repeat until i get it right and i DO always feel like i've done and been here before but then i don't even know if i believe in hell or god at all but i definitely don't want to!!!

and it makes me so panicked that it makes the original fears so much worse and more pervasive??

[one-leaf-grimoire]

“illusion” chapter 6

Link to the full work on Ao3

Warning: mention/use of alcohol and one particularly bad drug :(( 

Things aren't looking good. Only two days after my "date" with Lawrence, he sends me a letter, which is way sooner than he usually does. Shit! He must really be determined to marry me, now... I fold up the letter after I finish reading it at breakfast and shove it in my cloak out of sight. This could get tricky... I assumed his interest would slowly dwindle over time, leading to an amicable break up, but instead he seems to have had a sudden spike in interest. He's going to get more pushy... so I might have to end things myself.

The problem is, if I was the one to break it off, the fury of the Royal Family would come down on me and my parents. My father's inheritance and title depend on this marriage, so that fury could potentially ruin us. However, if I were to achieve the rank of Senior Magic Knight before that happened, then we would be safe with my salary. I'm pretty close now, I just have to keep working hard... it won't be long! Then I can tell Lawrence to leave me alone forever.

"Okay, there's plenty of work to do today! But-" Hervey points at us as we stand awkwardly around him in the mess hall. He has a couple missions for us, mostly just patrols and escorts typical of a highly-ranked squad like ourselves. "Everyone should be done by tonight, so if you want to go to town, all power to you."

A few of us cheer, excited for the fun night ahead. I'm not a big drinker, but it's still fun to go out with my friends and see them all get shit-faced. The townspeople love seeing us there, too, to hear our stories and take our money. Wren is probably going to try and hook up with some girls, and sadly will probably be successful. Those girls love a magic knight, that's for sure.

"...and... that's it for the main missions." Hervey finishes handing them out, leaving me and a few others without an assignment. "As for you junior knights, your performances have NOT been up to par lately. How are we going to beat the Crimson Lion Kings for the top squad if we have weak links like you?" The four junior knights mumble sorry and stare at the ground timidly. "Well, luckily for you, Julius is free today, so he'll be training you himself." Julius, who's standing right behind Hervey, gives us a smile and a wave.

"Really?" Cecilia's eyes light up while Martin and the other teen, Joren, both roll their eyes.

"I don't understand why I have to do this-" Nigel crosses his arms. "I'm 20! I shouldn't be slumming it with these kids-"

"Shut up, Nigel, you're still a Junior Magic Knight for a reason-" Hervey cuts him off.

"Er, but what about me?" I raise my hand awkwardly. "I'm an intermediate knight-"

"You're here to help me! I thought it would be fun." Julius answers before Hervey can, flashing me a smile of my own.

"Oh... okay!" I feel my heart flutter a little. He chose me? That's nice... It hasn't gone over my head, the fact that Julius has been choosing me to accompany him with things recently. I assume it just means that my efforts to befriend him are slowly but surely paying off. Maybe I can take advantage of this; after all, Julius has the ear of our captain, so my ascent to a higher rank could be easier than I thought. But even if not, I'm glad he's hanging around me more. If nothing else, I feel... safe, when he's around. There's been no suspicious activity from any of the others since the night of my attack, and I'm finally starting to relax.

Maybe everything will be alright, after all.

"Well, you heard the captain! I don't blame you guys, you're all young and new- er, most of you-" Julius shoots a subtle glance at Nigel after we move outside and he launches into his spiel. "But that just means you have plenty of room to grow! I haven't even seen some of your magic... so!" Julius suddenly balls up his hands excitedly and opens his eyes, which are violently sparkling. "Show me your magic!"

It's almost disturbing, seeing our vice captain get all twinkle-eyed about something, but that's how he's always been. I can even remember the first time I ever met him, several years ago, he ran up to me and asked the same thing. He was a little shorter and had longer hair, but still the same Julius. "Hey! Nice to meet you! Show me your magic!" It was pretty startling, to say the least, but he got more tempered over time as he took on more responsibility. But even now, he can't contain his excitement as Martin holds up his hand, shooting sharp shards of wood off into the bushes.

It's... kind of cute, honestly...

"Hey! Why don't you make some illusions for them to fight?"

I almost jump in surprise as Julius suddenly appears right next to me to jar me from my thoughts. "Huh? Oh, right-" I'm supposed to be helping him, not admiring him! I quickly open my Grimoire and conjure up four illusions for the junior knights to fight. "Hey! Can you give me one that's a little harder than the others?" Nigel asks, pointing at his.

"Sorry, I have to make them identical, especially since I'm making so many!"

"I'll spar with you, if you want!" Julius suggests.

Nigel goes pale and can't shake his head quick enough. "Never mind."

He raises his hands, letting a large bank of wispy smoke come out and engulf the "enemy" I made for him, which binds it in place. Of course, I could probably just move right through him, seeing as the only place the enemy actually exists is in his mind, but I'm doing my best to simulate a real person right now. "Smoke Magic: Tendril Binding!" Nigel smirks to himself as his spell seems to work.

"I'll break you out!" Cecilia suddenly opens her own Grimoire. "Refraction Magic!"

Cecilia's magic lets her create refraction planes in the air, which can redirect light, magic, and other materials. She uses it now to create a barrier around my illusion, sending Nigel's smoke away, right back at him. "Hey! Ah!" Nigel stumbles back, not expecting the move, and suddenly becomes engulfed in his own magic. Cecilia bursts out laughing at him. "That's why you're still a junior knight, Nigel, you need to expect the unexpected."

"Shut up! You're a junior knight, too!" Nigel desperately coughs and waves his arms to dispel the smoke.

Cecilia bites her lip, the shy girl becoming a bit more confident from her performance. "I'm 15, so I have an excuse. You don't!"

"Come on, guys, be nice!" I can't help but swallow my own chuckle. Cecilia... This is the most I've heard you talk since you got here! The girl used to be Alice's roommate, so I hung around her a lot, but she was always so quiet and reserved. I know her magic is powerful, so all she needs is the spine to back it up. I was kind of like that, wasn't I? I felt kind of out of place on the squad, it was such a new and scary experience... but I grew into it, not just because I have to. Because of all the people I met...

These people are my friends, right? And these kids, who's biggest problems are who's doing the dishes tonight and how to not embarrass yourself on the next mission. I have my quarrels with some of them, but in the end there's not an ounce of malice between any of us.

... maybe it was a bandit that night. Maybe I panicked and imagined something that didn't exist...

But, I don't think any of these people would hurt me.

"That was great! I knew you would make a good teacher." 

It takes me a moment to realize that Julius is talking to me again as we walk back towards the base. The Junior knights shuffle along in front of us, chatting and clowning on Nigel. "Oh, really?" I don't know why, but the comment makes me feel a little embarrassed, probably because it's coming from my vice captain. "Thank you... I'm not as good as you, though!"

"Hmm, I'm not so sure." Julius closes one eye in what I assume is a cheeky wink. "I wasn't really doing much, I let you take over."

"Is that so?" For some reason, my nervousness quickly fades. "Maybe I should be vice captain, then."

"Perhaps."

"Are you sure you want to go out tonight?"

"Of course!" I brush my hair a few more times in the mirror before turning around to look at the concerned Alice. "You'll be with me the whole time... and anyway..." I let myself smile a little, sinking into the soft feelings of ease that I've had inside me since my revelation earlier today. "What happened a few weeks ago... I doubt it's going to happen again."

Alice smiles along with me, but that worried look doesn't leave her golden eyes. "...It's true, there's been no suspicious activity at all... but didn't you say your attacker was wearing a Grey Deer robe?"

I shrug. "I said that... but now that I think of it, it's so unlikely... I may have mistaken something else for the robe. Like I said..." I give her a bright smile and a thumbs up to put her at ease as well. "These are my squad members... my friends. They would never hurt me, right? It might have just been a bandit or something."

My words seem to do the trick, and Alice smiles as she lets out a happy sigh. "Sheesh, so all that paranoia was for nothing? What a drama queen." She pokes me in the side playfully to make me giggle. "If you say so. We'll have to report it to the captain sometime, though, if a bandit made it in here!"

"Right, right!" I bat away her hand, before both of us get startled by a loud banging on the door. "HEY!! HURRY UP!"

"...shut up, Nigel!"

Nigel and Elia are waiting outside, Nigel tapping his foot loudly to show his already-obvious impatience. "Where's Giles?!"

"Right here!" We turn to see the bespectacled boy run up, looking kind of bedraggled. "I can't believe you're dragging me out tonight..."

"Then don't come!" Alice shoots back with a grin. "We'll take Cecilia instead."

"The 15 year old? No way." Elia turns up her nose. "Anyway, she said she wants to stay home and sleep early."

"Ah, fine. Well!" Alice balls up her fist to get us pumped up. "Let's go out on the town!"

"Yeah!!!"

It's already dark by the time we get there, travelling in our little pack. "Hmm, decisions decisions..." Nigel rubs his chin while looking around the street, then glares as I start to walk off on my own. "Hey, where are you going?"

"Here." I point at my favorite inn, the same one I took Lawrence to on our last date. "I'm going to this one, it's fine if you don't come, though."

"Sounds good!" Alice runs past with Giles and Elia right behind. "Grr! Fine!" Nigel runs after us, indignant that he didn't get to make the choice. 

The inn is just as warm and loud as all the other times I've been here, although it becomes considerably more crowded at night. "Why, if it isn't the young Grey Deer... you chose our little bar tonight?"

"It's the best one in town, of course!"

The bartender eyes each of our faces, letting out a sigh of... relief? "Well, I see it's just you five... in that case-"

"Heyyyy there, barkeep!"

The bartender's smile immediately falls from his face, and his brow furrows. "Great... he's here..."

He? The five of us turn just in time to see none other than Julius marching into the inn, a goofy smile on his face. "Good evening!" His friend Elger shuffles in behind him, looking embarrassed.

"Julius... what do you want?" The bartender eyes him suspiciously as he walks up and leans against the bar comically. I exchange a glance with the others, slapping my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. Elia stares pointedly at the surface of the bar, also looking like she's going to burst out laughing. "You better not be asking to-"

"Please, sir! I promise I won't ask for money! Not even tips! I just want to show off, I've been practicing my mixology skills-" Julius lets the words burst out as he clasps his hands in a mock prayer, literally begging this poor man to let him help.

The bartender just lets out a long groan before pointing towards the door. "no! You're too slow, Julius, try another bar!"

Julius pouts adorably and opens his mouth to object, but Elger cuts him off and tugs at his sleeve. "Come on, we can try one of the others..."

"Fine." Julius shoots one more indignant look at the bartender before turning to leave. However, he stops and does a double take when his gaze skims over us, his eyes widening a little with recognition. His mouth immediately splits into a wide smile, and I almost look away from how bright it is. Ahh! He noticed us- "Hey guys! Fancy seeing the youths here~"

"You're not that much older than us..." Nigel mutters quietly so he can't hear him, but both Alice and Elia giggle at his behavior.

"We're gonna go find another inn... maybe I can make you a drink?" Julius's eyes meet mine, the corners crinkling slightly from his smile. I feel my heart skip a beat. 

"Er... I think we're going to stay here." I return his smile, giving him a thumbs up. "This is my favorite spot... Maybe some other time, Julius!"

Julius lets out a sigh, letting his shoulders slump momentarily before bringing him back to his full height. "Alright, have it your way! See you guys later!" With one last wave (and an awkward one from Elger), the two older men disappear out the door and back into the chilly night.

I shake my head a little at his behavior, but my smile remains traced into my lips. Mixology? I didn't know that was a hobby of his... that's kind of cu-

"So, what was that about?"

I get snapped from my thoughts as both Alice and Elia descend on me from both sides. "Huh? What do you mean?"

Elia eyes me with narrowed lashes. "He asked you to come try his drink, didn't he?"

"Oh, he was asking everyone, though, not just me-"

"Nonsense! When he said you he didn't mean you guys... he meant you, you know?" I blink, confused at what Alice is trying to imply. My friend smirks and slings her arm around my shoulders, making me shrink slightly into my barstool. "You've been hanging around with him a lot lately, haven't you?"

"Alice!" I scold, squirming a bit in her grasp. "You know what that is, don't you?"

"I want to know what exactly is going on," Elia juts in, crossing her eyes and glaring. Uh oh. She's going through her "crush on Julius" phase right now, a phase that all squad members must go through at some point, and I'm sure I've accidentally made her jealous. "Like, aren't you engaged? It's not fair to him if you lead him on, you know!"

"Lead him on? No-" I shake my head. "You guys have it all wrong... it's not like that!" I laugh nervously in an attempt to dissolve the tension. "It's just... I've known Julius for years now, but we weren't close. I just thought it would be nice to make friends with him, that's all." I exchange a glance with Alice, who nods slowly. Of course, the real reason is that Julius was one of the only people I could truly trust, and being friends with him put me at ease. Not that it matters anymore. "I guess he thought the same thing... so now we're friends?"

"Hmph. Friends." Elia looks away. "First friends, then lovers, then you'll get married- EEEEk!" She covers her flushed face.

"Elia, calm down, I'm engaged to the Prince, remember?" I pat her on the shoulder lightly, and miraculously, my words seem to make her calm down. "Don't worry about it..."

Jeez... this is going to look bad when I break things off with Lawrence...

"I don't get what's so great about him anyway," Nigel suddenly jumps into our conversation uninvited. "I mean, he's cool and powerful... and handsome... BUT!" He starts to go red in the face. "I'm right here! And I'm a catch~"

Elia snorts out a laugh, and I giggle a little at his behavior. Sometimes he seems like he might have a crush on Elia, but that would be way too volatile of a couple for the squad to handle, as evidenced by her next words:

"Nigel... I'd rather catch the Flu than catch you."

"EH???"

"You guys talk to loud, here, start drinking and shut up!" The bartender suddenly appears next to us and unloads the drinks we ordered in front of us. "Oooh! Thank you, sir!"

"No problem. First round is on the house."

"Well, cheers guys," Giles smiles pensively and holds up his glass. "I don't really know what to celebrate..."

"We don't have to celebrate anything! Unless you want to go out with me, Elia-"

"No, Nigel."

"Fine!"

"Cheers!" Alice makes us all shut up as we clink our glasses together. I bring mine to my lips and gulp down the drink. Giles immediately splutters and slams his glass down. "Yuck!"

I wince and swallow thickly. "Yeah, is it supposed to be this bitter?"

"It's not bitter! It's spicy." Giles coughs, causing Nigel to laugh meanly at him. "Grow up Giles, we know you're a lightweight, but spicy?!"

"Nigel, you're one to talk," Elia teases. "This stuff is cinnamon whiskey, so it might taste a bit spicy."

"Hmmm..." I take another sip, forcing it down. It tastes a bit spicy, yeah, but more bitter than anything. In fact, it's almost salty.

"Well, whoever can finish theirs first gets their drink payed for!" Nigel announces with a grin. "Come on!"

I can't turn down that kind of competition. "Bring it!" Without any more hesitation, me and the others gulp down our drinks. With an excited yell, I slam my empty glass down on the table first, just before Alice does. "Yes!!! Eat that-" I suddenly feel my stomach turn, and I almost gag.

"Yikes, you okay?" Alice rubs my back as I choke down the drink. "You won, don't worry."

"Thanks, but I'm fine." I shake my head. "It just... tasted really bad."

Alice frowns, a little concerned. "Be careful, I don't want you throwing up on me or anything. Here, have some water."

"Who's the lightweight now?" Nigel snickers, earning him two smacks from Giles and Elia.

I sip at my water for a while, staring at the glazed wood of the bar as the others continue to drink and chat. For some reason, the warmth from the previous moments is completely gone, and I start to feel oddly... detached from it all. 

...why am I even here?

I feel coolness on my lips as I sip my water.

...wait... what's going on...?

I can't be out like this... not in the open.

"I need some help."

"What is it, Wren?"

Someone is talking, but the words blend into the ambient sound of the inn.

"It's Margery... she's puking all over the place outside."

"Ugh, fine. Come on, everyone."

Someone... someone's trying to kill me, right?

But, not one of my friends... they can't be-

I look up, and my friends are gone. 

...huh?

Everything seems fuzzy, and I almost fall out of the chair as the vertigo affect hits me, just from raising my head. I draw in a shaky gasp, barely audible, and stare at the empty seat where Alice was just sitting. At least, I think she was just sitting there... how many hours have gone by since I last saw her? Time is expanding and constricting at a rapid rate, almost like an accordion.

...what the hell... am I- 

I look back down at my hands, which are clutching my glass tightly. I can't even make them out, they don't look like two solid objects. They warp and spin, just like the rest of the world.

H-how did I manage to get drunk?! Where is everyone? I frantically start to look around the bar, but all I see are the faces of strangers, looking at me as if I've gone crazy. And maybe I have... because a moment later, they morph into the faces of my friends.

...no... I'm not drunk...

The one drink I had... it was bitter... salty... it was drugged!

It's something I've always heard of happening to girls, but now that it's happening to me, it seems more real. My heart is running a race in my chest as I suddenly stand up, causing the world to turn upside down again. Someone is yelling at me (I think I tipped over the barstool), but I don't stop, I can't. I feel someone grab my arm, and my panic spikes. NO! If they grab me like this- I instinctively lash out and push them away, and luckily they yield. I can move... I can still move... I need to find the others!

NO...

Not the others...

One of them drugged me, didn't they?

For what purpose, I can only imagine, but now I'm imagining the worst case scenario. I need to run, and hide, until this wears off! 

With that thought, I turn and run away, stumbling but staying upright. The warm light of the inn disappears, giving way to a chilly, cold night. It's not snowing, but the harsh wind nearly bowls me over. I open my mouth to yell Alice, but the words get caught in my throat. I keep walking, the lights in the corner of my vision starting to dull. I don't have long... I'm going to pass out... 

There's not a friendly face in sight.

I... I need to..

The wind subsides, and I realize that I've stumbled into an alley. With one last little whimper, I collapse to the ground, curling up into the fetal position as everything starts to fade away. If this isn't enough... then I'm dead. Or worse.

Please... let the right person find me...

My eyelids droop, and my body goes numb.

Alice... or...

I don't get to finish my thought as my brain basically turns to mush.

I don't know how long I lie there, but eventually, the cold starts to disappear. Feeling starts to seep back into my skin, and something warm envelopes me.

Maybe... this is death? It doesn't feel so bad...

I curl up into it, and a comforting sleep overtakes my soul.

Yeah so I have a vague idea of where I want to go with this but there's a lot of empty space in my mind. If you have any suggestions for scenes/moments/or just vibes, let me know in the comments!

Also I want to know if I'm doing well with this? I honestly don't know...

[brittle-bone-gabe]

The Forgotten: Chapter Nine - Trashmouth

Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three, Chapter Four, Chapter Five, Chapter Six, Chapter Seven, Chapter Eight, Chapter Ten, Chapter Eleven, Chapter Twelve, Chapter Thirteen, Chapter Fourteen, Chapter Fifteen, Chapter Sixteen, Chapter Seventeen, Chapter Eighteen, Chapter Nineteen, Chapter Twenty, Epilogue

Summary: Barry Berkman couldn’t remember much of his childhood; he knew he used to live in Derry, Maine, but that was about it, besides being taken by his “Uncle Fuches” at age 16 to move to Cleveland, Ohio. Eddie Kaspbrak moved from Derry, Maine to LA, becoming a police officer, surprisingly enough. Normally things were quiet for the most part, besides the occasional drug busts, but it’s when someone named Barry Block enters his line of sight as a possible suspect for the recent string of murders he has to push the feeling of remembrance to investigate.   Pairing: Adult Reddie  (Richie x Eddie) Or, technically, Barry x Eddie Read on Ao3: Here

Eddie waited in the lobby of the precinct until Richie drove away from his spot across the street before heading back inside. Almost like he needed that reassurance that Richie left without any issues, Eddie was hoping that he would make it home alright… Wherever home was for Richie…

There was so much on Eddie’s mind right now, after hearing what Richie had to say. Just… knowing that he was more or less forced into a life he didn’t want to be apart of was very saddening. While it was sad, Eddie had to tell himself that Richie could’ve tried a little more to get out of that life; he could’ve left without telling anyone since it was apparent that he was allowed to go wherever he wanted, especially since he attended an acting class. The situation was fucked up, but Richie still killed people, he was still a murderer… So why was Eddie having such a hard time coming to terms that he needed to arrest him?

Pulling himself out of his thoughts, Eddie turned around, limping his way through the precinct. A couple of phones started ringing in the office around him, for some reason the sounds were setting Eddie off, suddenly it felt like he was having sensory overload. The officers who were standing around talking and laughing at a normal, reasonable volume now felt like they were all screaming and it was setting Eddie on edge. He needed to get away from this.

Instead of heading back into his cubicle, Eddie took a quick turn, limping into the conference room where he used the whiteboards for the case he was working on. The pictures of those in the acting class were still pinned up, seeing them felt like a slap in the face. The answer was there the whole time and he was too blind to see it. What was he going to do now? The case was more or less solved… but did he honestly have the heart to arrest Richie? Yeah, he understood that if he didn’t he would be a hypocrite, and if anyone on the force found out he would get into some major trouble… but at the same time… Richie was his best friend that was put into an unfortunate situation.

As if on autopilot, Eddie began taking the pictures down, deciding that he needed to talk to Richie about all of this if he were going to keep this from coming out. He couldn’t willingly allow Richie to keep doing this job, but if he stopped, actually changed his life around like he wanted to then maybe it would be more bearable to let Richie walk free. Yeah, it felt wrong, it felt horribly wrong, but it was a difficult choice. Letting out a shaky sigh, Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose as he felt a headache coming on.

“Giving up on the case?” Detective Mae asked, leaning against the door frame of the conference room with her arms folded over her chest.

“What? Oh…” Eddie looked at the pictures he was holding onto. “I dunno…” he admitted, tossing them onto the long table in the center of the room. Everything is right there… you have the evidence… Eddie let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his head. “I can’t… really find anything else about this case. I think it’s time to put it back.”

“Uhhuh…” Mae said, acting as though she didn’t believe him which set Eddie further on edge, giving her a look. “What, uh… what was that in the car?”

At first Eddie had no idea what she was talking about, but then it hit him quickly.

“Were you watching me?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mae shrugged, walking over to the table, picking up the pictures to shuffle through them as if there was a secret message there. “Did it have to do with the case?” She asked, a small smile tugging at her lips but she refused to smile fully, dropping the pictures back down on the table.

“Yeah,” Eddie lied, “but, it’s not that. I don’t have anything else to go off of this case…” he repeated as if he said it enough times it would become true.

She couldn’t hide it anymore, Mae finally let her smile shine through. “I know what’s going on here.”

The sentence was so vague, there was so much shit that Eddie had going on, so much shit that Eddie was hiding that he felt like panicking. No, there was no way she knew about Barry. Eddie knitted his eyebrows together, trying to act like he was confused about what she was talking about… Well… he was confused. Eddie literally had no idea what she was going on about or what she could possibly know.

“Wh-what-what do you mean?” Eddie stuttered, resting his hand on his aching leg, which suddenly felt more painful than usual. He needed more pills.

“Don’t play dumb, Kaspbrak. You weren’t talking about the case with that guy.”

“Wh-”

“What’s his name?”

Eddie paused, trying to put two and two together to see where she was getting at, but he couldn’t be sure.

“ What?” Was she implying what Eddie thought she was implying? For fuck’s sake, what was Eddie getting himself into now?

“I’m not stupid, Eddie.”

Eddie opened his mouth to naturally say Barry, but that wasn’t his name. “...Richie,” he answered quickly.

“And how long has that been going on?”

Well, shit. Mae was implying… that. For almost a year, Janice and Mae had been encouraging Eddie to put himself back out there after he broke off his engagement with this woman he’s been seeing when he lived in New York for a short period of time. The relationship had become long distance when Eddie decided to move to LA for a better job opportunity, of course his fiancée didn’t like that, but she was suffocating him, so why not break it off? Eddie wasn’t happy with her, she wasn’t happy with the situation… It seemed like the best option.  

Eddie cleared his throat, his face now had a pink tint to it. “We’ve actually known each other for years, but we’ve just reconnected.”

                                                              -----

Barry slammed the door of his car a little too hard in the parking lot of the theater that it echoed. Out of pure paranoia, Barry glanced over his shoulder into the street to make sure that nobody had been following him. Well, the only person he had been paranoid about was Eddie, if he wasn’t paranoid before he was paranoid now, especially since he basically spilled everything to him in the car earlier. Now he had every right to come and arrest him, but if Eddie was going to keep his word like he had implied then Barry should be fine.

He moved towards the building, his mind and heart heavy as he had been thinking about something the entire drive here. He clutched the backpack strap that was over his shoulder, digging his fingernails into it instead of picking at his skin, Eddie told him to stop doing that so he was going to attempt to stop. From behind, Barry could hear a group of other students laughing and talking amongst themselves, something he lowkey wish he had; of course he was acquaintances with most of the people in his class, but not close. Sure, they invited him out sometimes, more so when Barry first joined the class, now it seemed like he would be invited once in a blue moon. While going out with friends once in a while would be fun and get him out of the hotel room, he wasn’t going to force himself into somewhere he wasn’t welcomed.

Letting out a sigh, Barry went inside, picking at the band-aids on his hands. The dim light shined over his face as he moved past the stage he had become accustomed to rather quickly so he could take his normal seat up in the front. Before sitting down he caught eyes with Sally, giving her a small smile, she returned it but it didn’t feel sincere. Yikes, this is why Barry didn’t interact too much with others.

There was a lot on Barry’s mind right now; his main issue was his identity. Who was he? Obviously his real name is Richie Tozier, he understood that now, but it was still hard to come to terms with. His childhood was a distant memory, his whole life was picked apart and pieced together with false information from the one man he thought he could’ve trusted, and now this whole thing with Eddie? Barry closed his eyes, letting out a breath to calm himself, to calm his thoughts and focus on the moment like Mr. Cousineau had taught him to do.

“...Barry? Barry.”

Barry jerked his head up at the stage where Gene Cousineau was standing, trying to get his attention. He felt the entire class looking at him, like their eyes were burning in the back of his head and he hated the feeling. Barry’s shoulders hunched up, embarrassed that he was zoning out in class again. Gene was more like a father figure to Barry than Fuches ever tried to be to him and Barry hated letting him down.

“Yeah?”

Gene motioned for him to come up on stage. Out of habit, Barry looked over his shoulder to make sure he was gesturing to him. He swallowed hard, shifting his backpack to the left side of his feet so he could get up from his seat.

With his heart pounding against his chest, Barry made it up on stage, standing next to Gene, who was holding a script out to him. He paused, looking at the small stack of papers in Mr. Cousineau’s hands.

“This is the monologue I want you to do for the next class, Barry,” Mr. Cousineau told him, shaking the script a little to encourage Barry to take it from him.

Knitting his eyebrows together, Barry took the script, the papers feeling rather heavy in his hands. His identity was a major part of anxieties as of late, he wanted to change himself again. Or… Not necessarily change himself, more like going back to the person he was born as.

“Hey, guys… um…” Barry had started his announcement to the class, instantly regretting it as he had no idea how he wanted to word this or if this was exactly what he wanted. Well, he started, he might as well finish it. “So I’ve decided something.” He had everyone’s attention, he could tell by their confused looks. “I’ve decided that…” He took a deep breath, looking at the script in his hands. Yes, he wanted this, he didn’t want to be Barry anymore… “I’m changing my name.”

There was some murmuring, which made Barry worried that he made the wrong choice to bring this up. Maybe he should’ve kept living his life as Barry while suffering with this identity.

“Changing it to what?” Mr. Cousineau asked him, rubbing his chin.

“Richie Tozier. Or, on stage, Richie Trashmouth.”

“What’s with the name change?” Sally had asked from her seat, from her tone it was obvious that she wasn’t impressed.

“I dunno… It feels… right. Better than Barry.”

Sally opened her mouth to say something else, but Mr. Cousineau cut her off before she could say anything.

“Alright, Richie Trashmouth,” Richie let out a sigh of relief, he liked how that sounded coming from Mr. Cousineau who always easily accepted him, “we do our monologues next class.”

The rest of class had ran rather smoothly, certainly a lot better than last time for Richie. He was certainly in the zone now, doing the exercises without his mind wandering and forcing himself into a panic attack. In fact, not once did he think about Fuches, or Eddie, or the hot water he could possibly be in. This is exactly what Richie needed, finally he was able to relax and chill out with a hobby he actually enjoyed.

Towards the end of the class, Gene was standing up on the stage, giving feedback as he checked the old fashioned watch on his wrist.

“Well, that’s all I have for you guys. I hope you all have a wonderful night.” Everyone started packing up their belongings and standing up from their seats, so Gene had to call from over them. “Richie? Can I speak to you for a moment?”

Richie stood up, throwing his backpack over his shoulder before meeting up with Gene who had stepped off the stage. They stepped to the side so the rest of the class could leave.

“I need to ask…” Gene started, gesturing towards Richie’s face, “what’s with the glasses, son?”

“Oh…” Richie instinctively reached up to touch the side of his glasses to make sure they were still on his face, as he had just gotten used to them so it was like they weren’t even there, “I usually wear contacts, but I don’t have anymore. I need them to see.”

“Listen,” Gene started as he grabbed Richie’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes, “I’m really proud of you. I know it wasn’t easy to stand up there on stage and tell everyone about your new identity.” Richie nodded, feeling his eyes burning from the tears that were threatening to fall because, for once, he felt like someone understood him and what he was going through. “But, I have to ask… Is there a reason for it?”

“It’s just… I caught up with a friend from my hometown and seeing him again made me remember a lot of things.”

“Cleveland?”

“Actually, no. Derry, Maine.”

“Never heard of it.”

Richie chuckled, rubbing his eye with the back of his hand. “That’s not a surprise.”

“Well, I can’t wait to see what Richie Trashmouth brings to us. Have a nice night, Mr. Tozier.” Gene patted his shoulder before heading back down the hall towards his office.

Richie’s heart and chest felt heavy, but not from anxiety or any negative feelings for once, no, instead it was more like a… overwhelming feeling of happiness. He had a huge smile on his face as he turned to leave the theater. Mr. Cousineau accepted his new identity and that’s all that really mattered to Richie, it felt like he was doing something right for once in his life and wanted to keep this going. Now that he was Richie Tozier that meant he wasn’t going to be doing anymore jobs for Fuches and that was final. As soon as Richie got back to the hotel he was going to take his half of the money, pack his shit up, and leave to find his own place away from Fuches and Hank. Fuck the job. Fuck Fuches. Fuck this.

The moment Richie stepped outside the building his smile dropped when he saw Sally standing out there, waiting for him with her arms folded over her chest like an upset mother. Richie stopped in his tracks, his hand clutching the backpack strap again, swallowing hard. He felt like he did something wrong, but wasn’t sure what it was. He opened his mouth to speak but Sally started speaking first.

“What the hell was that?” She asked him.

“W-what was what?”

“That… Richie thing.”

Richie glanced around for a moment before looking back to Sally, confused on what that was supposed to mean. “That’s… my name?”

“And the glasses?” She reached up, touching them which caused Richie to flinch and back up a little bit. “What the fuck’s going on with you?”

“I just feel like it’s more fitting,” Richie defended himself with a single arm shrug.

Honestly though? What was the big deal? He was wearing glasses and had a new name. How did that suddenly make it the end of the fucking world? Why was it okay for other people in Richie’s life to do things to make themselves happy but whenever he did something for himself to change his life, to make him happy it was suddenly wrong? It wasn’t fucking fair.

“I mean…” Sally started, dropping her arms to her side dramatically, “it’s one thing to have a stage name like Barry Block, but why do you need to change your entire name? And why Trashmouth?”

“Oh… that’s what my friends called me back in Maine.”

Sally rolled her eyes. “Get it together, Barry,” she said before walking away.

Richie took off his glasses, holding the lenses up so he could see through them before attempting to snap them in half, only managing to bend the frames. He was left there alone, confused, and in the middle of yet another identity crisis.

[monsters-demons-and-ai-oh-my]

What We Lost and What We Have

Chapter 8:   Selfies, subterfuge and the koolaid man

In which Cas needs a shower, Jack plays mind games with himself mostly, and the brothers question their choices.

TW’s for this chapter: Self-blame?

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

AU somewhat inspired by Episode 2x20 - What Is and What Should Never Be, and the season 14 storyline concerning Jack’s illness.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

First Chapter

Complete Tumblr Chapter List

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

April 23, 2017

-

“You wanna run that by me again?” Dean's voice was muffled over the phone, like he was talking at it on speaker from a few feet away.

The last few hours after Jack woke up had been a whirlwind.

It had taken two of those hours for Castiel to remember he promised to call Dean’s younger brother Sam and another hour yet for him to steel himself to call Dean.

Jack’s ever-present cough was still there, (his lungs showing their displeasure at being filled with something besides air) but besides that…

He seemed... okay.

Castiel held the word shakily at the back of his throat not letting himself even think it too loudly. He wouldn’t even say it except in the form of a question.

The boy still seemed fairly exhausted by the entire ordeal but there wasn’t the same scary distant look in his eyes that felt like he was slipping somewhere far away.

And wonders of all wonders he’d actually eaten most of the sandwich the nurse brought him at mealtime. Castiel could just see Jack picking at the last of the crust when he glanced over his shoulder.

“The doctor is planning to keep Jack at Lawrence Memorial for a while longer, I just thought you should know…”

“No no, the other bit… The part where you said, ‘Jack’s doing alright so they’re waiting to transfer him,’ what does that mean?”

Castiel bit back his defensive instinct.

-

“Do you even care?”

-

“It means he’s feeling a little better today, so Doctor Hannah felt safe waiting to transfer him.”

Dean made a nonplussed noise on the other end of the line, “I mean, it’s just…” he fell quiet for a moment, “last night you made it sound like he was dying or something…”

Castiel opened his mouth to protest and then closed it face heated, he’d been panicked but he hadn’t been that extreme, “Well I’m sorry for disrupting your sleep Dean,” Castiel said a little more terse than he intended.

“Seriously?” Dean sounded annoyed.

-

Perhaps that was a little too rude.

-

Castiel quickly continued before Dean could really get pissed. “Look… I really don’t know anything yet other than Jack hasn’t gotten any worse, and he’s eating today.”

“...And that’s good right?” Dean said slowly.

-

‘Possibly...’

‘Probably…”

-

“They’ll know more when more tests get back this afternoon…” Castiel said cagily.

Dean grunted, “Makes sense, did you need something else? I mean… what did you call to see…”

“I just thought you should know,” Castiel said quickly.

Dean gave a soft huff of a laugh, “yeah no that’s uh… that’s good…” he was quiet for a moment voice sounding a little unsure when he spoke again, “Just… let me know if the kid’s okay… I guess?”

Castiel hesitated trying to sort through his own haze of emotions. The wall of defensiveness and frustration that he had built up starting to crack. Some small unfair part of him a little disappointed not to have a righteous external threat to be irritated with and hide his anxiety (which had been mounting for days) behind.

He couldn’t read Dean, the man seemed to yoyo between aloof stranger, antagonistic asshole and concerned family member at least three times in any given conversation and Castiel was too tired to sort through his own thoughts much less Dean’s.

“Cas?” Jack’s voice was a welcome distraction away from the increasingly awkward conversation.

“I have to go now Dean…” Castiel said quickly.

“What?”

“I will let you know how things go, sorry for bothering you…” he quickly hung up.

Jack tilted his head watching sheepishly as his uncle swiftly tucked away his phone in his trench coat pocket.

“Y-you didn’t have to hang up…” Jack coughed into the back of his hand.

“We were done talking,” Castiel said simply quickly waving the conversation away and turning his attention back to Jack, “What do you need?”

Jack blinked at him for a moment looking unconvinced before asking slowly, “I just… Is there anymore water?”

'water, yes, he could get water…

Castiel fumbled to pick up the small hospital pitcher from the dresser beside Jack's bed and found it empty, "I'll just… find an orderly…"

Castiel smiled shakily at Jack and got a small concerned smile back.

"Was Dean being an as-” Jack trailed off the second “s” catching himself before swearing in front of his uncle, “-butt again? Do you want to tell me about it ?"

Castiel's mouth twitched a little into a more honest smile, it was the same phrase he'd repeated a hundred times, whenever Jack got upset.

-

'you should be asking him that… '

-

"I'm alright…" Castiel patted Jack’s hand a little awkwardly. "You just focus on feeling better…"

-

' whatever that meant… '

-

Castiel tapped the top of the water pitcher and headed for the door before the anxiety of the thought could melt the smile off his face.

"I am Cas…" Jack piped up, giving the most reassuring smile he could with his eyebrows still furrowed in concern.

"I am feeling much better than yesterday…"

The doctors were weaning Jack off the pain and nausea drugs as his symptoms seemed to mysteriously fade. But for every piece of good news Cas' uneasiness didn't waver. Perhaps it was his just his own paranoia but…

-

'they still didn't know what had happened… '

-

Castiel gave the best smile he could muster on short notice, “I know Jack… and I’m glad I just… want you to take things slow.”

Every time he looked at Jack’s face his eyes were drawn to the purple bruise decorating it from cheek to temple.

-

‘He saw Jack convulsing on the floor…’

-

Castiel blinked away the image, muttered, “I...I’ll be right back...water…” and ducked quickly out of the room.

He breathed a shaky sigh still so in his head he almost ran into the wall that was Sam Winchester.

Castiel jumped back glad the water picture was empty or else he would have dumped half of it over himself and the younger Winchester.

“Sorry,” Sam gave an awkward smile, taking in Cas’s shaken demeanor, “is… everything okay?” Sam paused and said carefully, “Is Jack okay?”

Castiel took a moment to answer running a hand over his face, “No… he’s… Jack’s fine… I’m fine… we’re all…”  Cas sighed, “fine…”

“Do you… need a moment? To take a break… grab some food?” Sam said hesitantly like he was trying to calm a small feral animal.

-

‘Food… it sounded good…”

-

Castiel had been living off vending machine coffee and little packets of peanut butter crackers for the last twenty-four hours…

“I just… I promised to bring Jack some more water so…”

Sam nodded looking pensive.

Castiel knew by now the man meant well but his track record for being present in times of trouble wasn’t exactly stellar, and the idea of continuing to rely on Sam, of owing him and letting him become a familiar presence in their life felt like taking advantage of temporary guilt.

-

‘And he didn’t want Jack to trust this man again only to be let down...again…’

-

“I could bring him the water and sit with him for a bit if you want?” Sam said carefully.

Castiel held the pitcher a little closer to his chest incredulous, but was hesitant to directly reject the offer.

“Look um... “ Sam dug around in his jeans pocket for his wallet and for one wild affronted moment Castiel thought he was planning on offering him money.

“What are you…?”

Sam held up his hands placatingly and revealed what he’d actually been searching for, a hotel keycard.

“Look… I heard you had to check out of your old hotel room yesterday and you’ve been here with Jack for the last two days… If you wanted to…I don’t know shower, change clothes…” Sam said carefully.

Castiel fell silent, the mild burn of shame rising in his face, he knew he probably looked like a mess with his rumpled clothes and slightly wild hair.

-

‘He’d promised himself a long time ago that he wasn’t ever going to ask the Winchester’s for help, that he was never going to seek out the company of people who for years couldn’t be bothered to so much as call. ’

-

“Samuel… I can’t possibly…”

Sam cut in, “Really it wouldn’t… it’s not any problem I brought my own stuff so the bathroom is still stocked with soap and those little shampoos and you said… you said Jack’s doing okay right now, maybe it’s a good time to…” Sam sighed fidgeting with the card in his hands and finally just holding it out looking just as unsure as Castiel.

Castiel didn’t want to leave Jack behind, he felt like if he looked away for a second the other shoe would drop and he would regret it. He also knew how ridiculous that was, knew he couldn’t just live out of Jack’s hospital room until some yet unknown release date.

-

‘His scalp was starting to itch. ’

-

And the look on Sam’s face… Owing the man, was the last thing he wanted, but he knew that look…

Sam looked desperate. Desperate to do something, to help in some way. Castiel didn’t know how much of that was out of real concern for Jack and how much of it was guilt.

-

‘Somehow he doubted even Sam himself could answer that question.’  

-

But he knew how it felt to not be able to do anything, part of him argued he’d be doing Sam the favor by giving him something helpful to do.

Jack said he felt okay, tried to reassure his uncle that things would be okay. Part of Cas was afraid that all his fear and anxious mollycoddling was what was hurting Jack the most in this moment...

-

‘Even without the probable pneumonia, Jack didn’t have a moment to breathe without worrying about or feeding off of his uncle’s emotions.’

-

Castiel let out a soft resigned sigh.

“Thank you… Sam.”

-

‘Please don’t hurt Jack again…’

-

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Cas stopped back by Jack’s room to drop off the promised water and let him know about a hundred times that he’d try to be back within the hour. He made Sam promise to call if anything went wrong.

And he did mean anything , by the end of his speech Jack felt like if he looked at Sam the wrong way Castiel would come running.

But eventually Castiel did leave, and Jack and Sam were left to sit awkwardly in the hospital room Jack slowly sipping at his water in a foam cup and eyeing Sam sheepishly.

Jack felt his face burn remembering practically breaking into tears when Castiel left the day before.

He felt… foolish.

When Jack woke up this… early afternoon, he'd still been bone-tired and congested in his chest like he had a bad cold. But unlike the day before his head was clear and didn't hurt and the horrible pain that had taken over his core was back to being dull and far away.

And he'd been hungry. He hadn't had an appetite for days...

Even the doctor had looked a little confused when he'd asked sheepishly if it was too late for breakfast.

He'd been relieved at first but now? Now he was just… embarrassed.

Had he overreacted the day before? Had all his crying and fear misled the doctors and Cas?

No that couldn't be it, he remembered the stabbing pain in his stomach remembered doctor Hannah waking him up in the middle of the night for more tests the terrifying grimness with which she delivered her news.

-

‘The fear in his uncle's eyes.’

-

But everything he felt the day before was blurred and hazy, like a bad nightmare. Like a hit and run where the only marks left behind were the bruises on his face and the worry lines on his uncle's.

'And the bone… no soul-deep tiredness…'

Jack didn’t want to think about it.

He wanted to distance himself as far as possible from the tears and terrifying feeling of the night before…

-

"You don't know what's wrong with me?"

-

Jack swallowed the lump in his throat.

-

‘Maybe it’s over now…’

-

He was nearly grown, he wasn't going to fall apart in front of Sam again. If he was going to be fine there was no reason for him to be childish, internally begging for his uncle and outwardly crying, not again.

He didn’t want Sam to think about him that way, like a little kid he felt sorry for.

-

‘In the end no one really wanted kids around.’

-

He had practically clung to Sam the day before when the doctor came for the LP.

It was so embarrassing just thinking about it made Jack want to cry again so he blinked hard and tried to find a course of action that wasn’t making a fool of himself.

Sitting in a hospital got boring very quickly when you weren’t in a drug and pain haze.

Jack cleared his throat sitting up as straight as he could in bed, “H-hey Sam?”

“Hmm?” Sam looked up pensive from his ever-present work laptop, "Do you need something? More water?"

Jack felt his determination to act as adult as possible waver as soon as the older man's attention was directed at him. He mouthed wordlessly for a moment before gathering the nerve to continue.

"No… thank you," he said sheepishly, "it's uh… I was just wondering if I could have my phone back?"

Sam blinked like a deer in the headlights, "Your...phone?"

Jack quickly cut in, "Yeah, I think it's still in one of Cas's jacket's pockets?"

-

'Cas had left the coat hanging over the back of his chair to stand vigil while he was gone. '

-

Sam glanced between the coat and Jack unsure.

"Aren't you grounded?"

Jack opened his mouth to speak paused to cough then cleared his throat and did his best to sound authoritative.

"I was, but only until Monday… this Monday… which it now is, so…"

Jack conveniently left out the fact he knew he'd probably be grounded for the next month for admitting to the whole… weed thing.

Sam still looked unconvinced.

"Please," Jack couldn't keep the desperation out of his voice, "I just… I’ve been here all weekend, and… and…"

-

'I hate it here, I want to go home…'

-

"... I haven't been at school, exams are coming up I… I need to talk to someone about notes and… and homework and stuff?"

Sam began to teeter.

-

'I just want to talk to someone, anyone not here, to know things are okay out there… to know I'll be okay…'

-

"Please S-sam," Jack's voice broke around a fit of coughing that was enough to make his eyes water.

"None of my friends now I'm here,” Jack choked breathily regaining his air, "I… they’re probably worried…"

-

'if they even care…'

-

"I just… want them to know I'm okay…" he finished lamely looking down and picking at the tape of his IV line.

He heard Sam sigh and the slight squeak of one of his chair being pulled across the floor.

"Alright… alright… but if you're ur uncle gets mad at me I'm telling him you tricked me…”

Jack looked up to see Sam had pulled the chair with the jacket within reach and was patting down the pockets for his phone.

He felt a wave of relief when he saw the familiar black and a yellow of his Star Wars phone case.

"Th-thank you…" Jack said quickly bashful taking the phone from Sam, praying it was still charged when he pressed the power button.

Thankfully it was still at seventy-five percent and Jack felt a second wave of relief seeing there were seven missed texts.

-

'way to be needy Jack…'

-

The first one was from Maggie, a simple…

M: 'Hey Jack you weren't at school today, is everything okay?'

The rest… were from Clarke.

C: 'Dude…'

C: 'Hey… d U d E'

C: 'where you @ Maggie is freaking out thinking you got suspended 'cause you weren't in first period.'

C: 'Wait did you get suspended for that BS in Mr. Shirley's class?'

C: 'Dude there was a sub in your dad-uncle's class during third? The hell is going on???'

C: 'did you get expelled? cause I'll fight mr. Shit-ly if you did…'

Jack rolled his eyes but his mouth twitched in a warm smile.

Clark was usually aloof and more interested in goofing off than actually accomplishing… literally anything. But he was always down to clown when someone actually needed something. Especially when it involved “sticking it to the man…”

“Your mom’s the Sheriff doesn’t that make her ‘the man’?” Jack pointed out one day.

“Shut up it’s not that deep…”

Jack bit his lip, not sure where to even start explaining the mess of the last few days.

J: ‘Hey.’ Jack texted sheepishly.

For a long moment, there was no response, then there were about five pings in rapid succession.

C: 'Wtf!'

C: 'Dude we thought you'd died or something?'

C: 'Is your uncle still bogarting your phone or something?'

C: 'did you really get expelled?"

C: 'wherr are you?'

Jack paused again.

J:'Kansas? What’s bogarting?'

Clark seemed even more confused.

C: 'Kansas?'

C: 'Oh right! The thing with your weird cousins or something right? You guys are still there? Did your car uncle’s car break down or something?'

Jack hesitated. There was the question.

J: 'Half brothers not cousins and no…’

J: ‘I'm in the hospital.'

There was a good five minutes where the 'Clark is typing' dots danced across the bottom of the screen.

C: 'Wtf not funny man…’

Jack sighed.

J: ‘I'm being serious.'

More furious typing ensued...

C: 'What the hell? Did you guys get in a wreck or something?’

J: ‘I just said the car’s fine I…’

Jack started typing trying to explain but his injured arm was beginning to ache. He looked around nervously and seeing Sam was sufficiently distracted by his laptop he lifted his phone up and (between deep purple bruise, dark circles and decorative nasal cannula) took probably one of the second or third worst selfies he'd ever taken.

C: 'Dude wtf, your face!'

Jack gingerly flexed the fingers on his injured side.

J: 'I know…'

C: 'You look like you tried to kool-aid man through a brick wall.'

Jack was mildly offended, he didn't think he looked as bad as all that...

J: 'I know…' he typed a little begrudgingly.

C: 'The hell? Did you get in a fight or something? Wait wait did one of your brothers do that?'

Jack quickly refuted that

J: 'No! I just… lost a fight with a sink…'

Clark replied with about a dozen question marks.

C: '????? Tf does that mean? What's with the twenty questions man, your freaking me out. Did something happen? Cause I know you’re like terminally clumsy sometimes but that’s a lot.'

Jack fiddled with his pulse-ox for a moment, considering, he didn't need any more pity, he wished people would realize it just freaked him out when they treated him like a dead man walking.

Then again that really wasn't Clark...

J: 'I passed out on Saturday night, and apparently had a seizure, and I was pretty sick, so… Now I'm stuck here.'

Clark replied almost immediately

C: 'Did you piss yourself?'

There was the Clark Jack knew.

J: '???'

Clark sent a shrugging emoji.

C: ‘What? My mom watches a lot of Grey’s Anatomy. I heard it can happen.’

Jack rolled his eyes,

J: 'I don't remember and I'm definitely not gonna ask.'

Jack blushed a little.

C: 'I got it sorry for asking'

C: 'what was wrong though? You okay?'

Jack felt his chest tighten and coughed, trying to clear the anxiousness built up there.

C: 'Dude? You still, there? You can’t suddenly stop talking after dropping that bombshell you're freaking my out man…'

Jack shook himself.

J: 'They're still doing tests, I've been poked like 16 times, they even stuck a needle in my back because they wanted to make sure I don't have meningitis… Which I don’t btw.'

Clark showed the utmost sympathy.

C: 'RIP Jack.'

C: 'You are okay though right?'

'I don't know, I don't know, I don't know.'

J: 'I'm feeling a lot better today at least...'

It was the truth, but every fiber of his body was calling him a liar, reminding him he knew nothing.

C: 'Any idea when they'll let you out?'

'Not a clue…'

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Hey guys sorry it's taken so long for me to get back it's been a crazy month and I've been having a rough time getting back into my old writing habit.

Also this is weird in-between chapter...

[killingmebtob]

Vindictive: When An Angel Falls [Part Three]

Collaboration between Chi and Sara

Author: @killingmebtob // Chi

Title: Vindictive: When An Angel Falls

Characters: BTOB and Reader A

Summary: Things are about to get more serious as secrets and theories unfold.

Author’s Note: Sorry, this one took a while-- a really loooong while. Please give us feedback about the story. We’d love to hear from you :)

Part One || Part Two || Part Three ---

"A bottle of your finest wine please," Sungjae handed the menu back to the waiter.

Truth is, he didn't even glance at it. He just said some really strange words, that I assumed were food, like he already knew what he was going to order. He did ask me what I wanted but I just let him decide for me.

"Wine in the middle of the day?" I asked, bewildered. I was not used to drinking during lunch time.

He shrugged. "Nothing wrong with a few sips. This place makes the best steak and the wine will go well with it."

Wow, he ordered steak!

I wondered how much that would cost. I mentally counted how money much I have left, hoping that it could cover what he just ordered. He asked me to treat him to lunch as payback for what I owed.

My mind was so absorbed in the Reaper's case that I forgot that I owed someone money. If I hadn't ran into him, I wouldn't have remembered.

Well, he kind of stalked me, I think. I didn't know how long he had been beside me, not until he asked, "Penny for your thoughts?" I looked to where the voice came from and there he was, slowly driving his red car near the sidewalk, matching my pace.

His ride wasn't that hard to miss if I wasn't too absorbed in my own thoughts.

My research about the Reaper was very fruitful. I gathered a lot of information regarding the drug that he used on all of his victims. The guy I met from the library, Changsub, was right. The book he recommended did help me understand a lot of things. Of course, he gave me a lot of help too. He asked me out for coffee and that was when I asked him some questions about the drug.

That's not all that we've talked about, of course. He was quite a warm person, talking to him seemed so natural and time just passed by.

I was feeling giddy when I travelled back to my apartment. Happy that my research was doing well and because I met a great guy. But, my good mood didn't last long when I found a note in my mailbox.

Four words were scrawled on a plain white paper:

Curiosity kills the cat.

That was it. Nothing else.

I didn't know whom it was from or why I received the note but I had a feeling that I was being watched.

Truth was, I had been feeling it for a few weeks already. I thought at first that it was just paranoia and that no one was following me but the note confirmed it.

I wanted to report it to the police but that might lead them to investigate me. I thought that they might find the data I have and that I was doing an investigation of my own about the Reaper.

"So, let's get to know each other," Sungjae’s voice snapped me back to the restaurant. His elbows were on the table as his fingers interlocked under his chin, cupping his face. His eyes were on me like he genuinely wanted to give me his full attention.

I felt my cheeks flush. I was being unfair to him. I owed him not only because he paid for my hospital bill but also because he took me to the hospital to have me treated and stayed with me. The least I could do for him was to treat him to lunch and to be physically and mentally present. But there I was, my mind was preoccupied.

Maybe he just wanted to be friends. I could use another friend here in the city for the days that my other friend is busy. Sometimes, I get lonely.

The food was great and Sungjae was a good company. He was like a good friend that I've known for some time. Of course, there were some things about him that tick me off but not entirely. Like how he really has some air of arrogance in him. He kept on bragging about how he frequented the restaurant we were in.

“You haven't figured out who I am, have you?” Sungjae asked in the middle of our conversation about me and my work. I didn't tell him the truth though. I just told him that I write short stories for a living and he thought that it was just for some magazine. "You didn't hesitate to come inside my car and join me for lunch without knowing who I truly am?"

“W-what?” I stuttered, taken aback by his sudden question. “What do you mean?” I was trying to read his face but I can’t find any hint that he was joking.

He clucked his tongue. "Never talk to strangers," he said as he sipped wine from his glass. His eyes regarded me.

Silence fell between us.

I felt my chest tighten as I tried to measure the situation.

Then, as sudden as his question was, he burst into laughter, shattering the awkward moment.

“I was just messing with you,” he teased in between laughs. “You should've seen your face.”

I felt dumbstruck with everything that had just happened in a matter of seconds.

"That's not funny," I said quietly, feeling uneasy.

He stopped laughing and looked at me. He must've realized my mood because he apologized over and over again. But nothing he said could calm me. He didn't know what was going on inside my head at that moment.

Without giving him so much as a glance, I excused myself and headed for the restroom.

I splashed cold water on my face as soon as I got inside. Luckily, it helped calm my nerves. If I had stayed for a few more seconds in our table, I might've collapsed.

I gave myself a few more minutes of steady breathing and thought about what had happened. I remembered how sincere Sungjae looked when he was apologizing to me.

The truth was, what he did was easily forgivable. Somehow, I felt like he thought I was acting childish; getting upset with a simple joke. But I couldn't tell him the real reason.

No one should know.

With everything that had been happening in the past few days, and also when I received that note, my senses have been heightened. I've been edging to pure paranoia. I kept on having nightmares at night. I thought it was long gone but they've recently returned.

There was just so much going on in my mind. The biggest one was about the body found in the pier. My gut told me that there was something off about the whole case. That Damien Dee's death wasn't as simple as it seemed.

I've been reading the Reaper's data over and over again, hoping that I could somehow stumble upon something that would make sense.

I have memorized his modus operandi. I've memorized everything: the people he killed, the drugs he used, the way he lured them to their deaths, and even how he marked his victims.

The Reaper's mark was a type of flower: the Pheasant's Eye. It was a flower with red petals and a very interesting myth.

According to an old Greek myth, the flower sprung from where the Goddess Aphrodite's lover, Adonis, bled to death. The story told how even the Goddess of love became madly in love with a mortal whom her husband, Ares, got jealous of which, eventually, led him to kill the man. It was the flower that bloomed in remembrance of the tragic love.

The flower meant remembrance.

Was that the message the Reaper meant to send when he shoved the petals of the flower down his victims' throats? If so, what does he want people to remember? Him? The victims' crimes?

With one final splash of cold water to my face, I headed back to our table after drying up. I have to apologize to Sungjae. I shouldn't have walked out on him like that.

I was three tables away from him when I was blocked by a man, a waiter, who came running from the other side of the room to my right.

It took me a while to realize what was happening.

The whole place that was filled with elegance and low chatter before I went to the restroom, was now filled with commotion, the sound of plates and silverware crashing to the floor, and a woman wailing.

There was one other sound that seemed to have caused the sudden chaos.

I had to stand on my toes to take a peak as a couple of people were blocking my view.

Then, horror struck me when I realized where the sound came from.

Horrible choking sounds came from a boy, must be around four years old, lying on his mother's lap as she sat on the floor.

His small body convulsed as his tiny hands clawed on his throat. His face turned a sickening shade of purple little by little with every move that he made as he tried hard to breathe.

A waiter ran to where the boy and the mother were. He quickly, yet carefully took the little one from its mother.

The crowd panicked. Even I was trembling at the sight of what was happening. In all the chaos, the waiter held the boy calmly. He worked as if he was sure what to do in a situation as such.

In one swift movement, he positioned the boy in an angle and patted places on the boy's back. I didn't see everything that he did but in a matter of seconds, I heard the little one violently cough and gasp for air.

The color immediately came back to his skin as tears flooded his eyes.

There was a collective sound of relief from the crowd the moment we all saw the boy breathe.

"Hey, are you okay?" I looked to my side and saw Sungjae standing with the crowd as he looked back to me.

"Yeah," I answered. I noticed the people walking back to their tables while they stole glances to the mother and child being escorted by the restaurant's staff to the ambulance waiting outside. The boy must still be checked for damages that might've been caused by whatever was in his throat.

"Did you see what happened?" I asked Sungjae as we both walked back to our table.

"Yeah. That was scary," he said. “That’s the first time I've witnessed something like that.”

Everyone around us went back to their own tables. Whispers and reactions about the incident filled the whole restaurant after the boy and his mother left. The staff resumed working in their own posts; business as usual.

“Imagine if that waiter didn’t know how to do what he did to the kid,” disbelief was in his voice.

I couldn’t fathom the thought of what would’ve happened. I’ve witnessed deaths and I have seen crime scenes on television before when I researched about my novels but I didn’t want to witness one that involved a toddler.

Sungjae continued talking animatedly. “Whatever was in that kid’s mouth was already being pushed down further every second he gasped for air. That thing would get stuck in his throat.”

I didn’t want to think about it but since he kept on talking about it, I couldn’t help but to see the image in my mind and—

Wait a minute.

I didn’t know how fast my mind worked that time but it felt like I entangled a web that had been bothering me for a long time in just a few seconds. It was like a switch turned on inside my brain and lit up that dark corner that I've wanted to see.

That’s it! I thought to myself. I had to get home and reread the files again.

Quickly, I gathered my bag and stood up.  “I’m sorry Sungjae, I have to go,” I apologized to him.

“What’s wrong? Where are you going?” he was startled.

I couldn’t tell him, but I have to go. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you,” I reached inside my bag to get my wallet. “I’ll pay for everything, don’t worry,”  I placed a couple of bills on the table.

Sungjae held my wrist before I could have a chance to turn away.

He looked at me as if trying to figure me out. He sighed in defeat, “Let me at least take you home.”

I felt bad for doing that to him. He really didn’t deserve the way I treated him. “It’s fine,” I reassured him.

He nodded and let go of my wrist.

I turned my back, ready to head for the door but as I did so, my head hit someone.

"Watch out!" I faintly heard Sungjae try to warn me before I crashed into one of the restaurant's waiters.

The soup that he was holding on a tray spilled on my blue blouse down to my skirt.

"Oh, shit," I gasped. I tried to lean forward, hoping that the liquid won't scald my skin.

"Are you okay?" Sungjae came to my side and asked.

I nodded to him. Of course, I am fine. I was not dying. My dress was just ruined.

"I-I'm really s-sorry, miss," the waiter stuttered as he apologized repeatedly.

I was going to tell him that it was fine when he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and nervously wiped the mess on top on my chest.

I froze in shock upon realizing where his hands were.

Sungjae quickly took action. He grabbed the waiter's wrist. "Hands off," he warned.

That was when I noticed how freaked out the waiter was when he realized what he had just done. I saw his face pale as he looked up at Sungjae. He looked really frail, as if he would break any minute.

"Sungjae, it's fine," I reassured him.

Fortunately, he let go of the waiter's wrist with one final look at him. The poor waiter continued to bow and apologize to me.

"This won't do," Sungjae muttered more to himself before turning to me. "I'll take you home. You can't say no."

He didn't wait for my answer. He quickly pulled me away from the scene.

A guy who I assume was the manager of the restaurant approached the waiter before I exited the place.

I hope he won't get any serious punishment. It was all my fault.

Sungjae made me wait on the sidewalk beside the restaurant while he went to get his car. He insisted that he would take me home because I couldn't commute looking like a total trash. I was going to tell him that driving his expensive car in my neighborhood wasn't a good thing but it looked like there was no reasoning when it came to him. I just hoped that it wouldn't get that much attention.

Luckily, there weren't a lot of people where I waited because it would be embarrassing if they that I was covered in what I assumed was tomato soup.

I was wiping my blouse when a loud banging noise disturbed the quiet street. It came from the alley two steps away from me.

"We shouldn't have left, Hyunsik!" A disembodied voice echoed through the street. "We should've just stayed inside!"

Curiosity took over me as I peeked at the alley and checked who the voice belonged to.

"Do you think they would still keep you after what happened?" This time, it was a different and a much deeper voice than the first one. “You kept on messing up. They’ll kick you out this time,”

From where I stood I saw two men standing outside of a steel door connected to the restaurant's side. That must be what created the noise a while ago.

I squinted my eyes and recognized the people who were arguing.

The one called Hyunsik was the waiter who helped the choking kid. He was talking to a skinny guy wearing a waiter's uniform like him.

I couldn't be wrong. It was the waiter who I bumped into before leaving.

"I’m not stupid. I can handle it. I-I can talk to them," the shorter guy argued. Despite trying to sound tough, the way he stammered showed that he was a nervous train wreck.

"You were all over the place, Ilhoon!" Hyunsik bellowed.

I was rattled by his voice and I can sense that the guy named Ilhoon was too. He paced back and forth, undecided on whether he will put his hands in his pockets, cross his arms on his chest, or wipe his face with his palms.

"Get your shit together," Hyunsik cautioned with a tone lower than before. He was trying to keep himself calm but I could sense that he too was panicking.

I couldn't help but to wonder what they were talking about because it was impossible that the restaurant incident was the reason why they were acting like they just killed somebody.

The writer in me thought that the whole situation was fascinating.  It had always been a habit of mine to find story prompts in everything that I see.

Subconsciously, I pictured what their story was and pondered if I should include it in my next novel.

"I-I'm trying," Ilhoon stuttered. I focused on listening to them. Somehow, he decided to wrap his arms around his body as if he was shielding himself from the cold. "B-but I can't!" He continued. "Everytime I close my eyes I can see him. I can see his dead body in my dreams,"

I held my breath.

Did I hear him right?

"It haunts me!" Ilhoon sobbed. "There were times when I close my eyes and I thought that if I open them he will be in front of me and he will kill me the way that he died."

Hyunsik was silent for a moment as he observed how his friend crumbled in front of him.

"He deserved it," he firmly said. “He deserved to die,” his jaw was clenched as if he was suppressing his anger.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Somewhere in the back of my mind, there was a thought screaming at me to get out of there as fast as I could–to forget what I just heard. But I couldn't move. I was frozen in place.

They were both talking about someone's murder. They killed someone and were trying to get away with it. And now, I just became a witness to their confession which meant that I would be in danger once they find out that I heard them.

I wanted to move.

I couldn't.

"Hey, let's go," Sungjae's voice pulled me back and woke up my muscles so that I could move once more.

I turned and saw him inside his car as he called out to me.

I composed myself and faced him, willing myself to forget what I've just witnessed.

//

It wasn't hard to remove that scene from my mind. I just had to convince myself that I was only overreacting.

That's right. My wild imagination was the one to blame.

It's not like those guys clearly said that they were the ones who killed whoever it was. They didn't state that. For all I know, they might be talking about something entirely different from a murder.

Yeah, right, my subconscious sneered at me.

It's not like there was anything that I could do. Even if I did go to the police, I wouldn’t be giving them much information. It's just my word against theirs.

The officers would only think that I am a lunatic. They already think that way because of the way I always annoy them.

After pacing inside my apartment and biting my nails for hours, I finally convinced myself that it was all nothing.

My head was too preoccupied with the conversation in that alley that I forgot the reason why I came back to my apartment.

Quickly, as if I wasn't just breaking my brain over a supposed murder confession, I took the Reaper's files from the small box in the farthest corner of my closet. With my notebook and ball pen in hand, I tried to create a chart about the whole murder case surrounding the death of Damien Dee.

//

You don't have any choice. Besides, you’re only just going to take a quick look around the area, I told myself as I quietly headed for the pier where the body was found.

It took me a whole day to come up with the plan and I knew it was crappy but I still have to do it. I wanted to do it.

I wanted to know where they found the body. The reports I have gave a lot of details and pictures but being in the actual place would satisfy my piqued curiosity.

Getting inside wasn't easy even if I did it at night. The whole place had guards set up in every entrance and some surveyed the surroundings from time to time.

You're being stupid.

I know I am but I couldn’t help it. I'd just deal with the consequences after.

After going around the area, I found the weakest point of the place: the wall on the far west of the pier near the woods. I could use the nearest tree with a low hanging branch to get on the other side.

Luckily, I wore my black tights and black hoodie which completed the stealthy look. I could move freely too.

Honestly, I haven't done this before.

I had connections back in Moonlight City. When I needed to get inside a restricted area, I just needed to use them. Sunshine City was still a stranger to me and the only person that I could count on was myself.

Besides, how hard could climbing a tree be?

Once I got closer, realization dawned on me. From a distance, the tree looked short compared to the ones beside it. Up close, it towered over me.

Go home now before it's too late.

I took a deep breath and jumped as high as I could to reach for the nearest branch. The tips of my fingers touched the branch but it was not enough for me to hold it.

I jumped again but this time, I crouched a little more. As my feet left the ground, I stretched my arms as far as I could until I grabbed the branch with both hands.

The rough bark of the tree dug on the skin of my palms as I my body dangled on the branch. My arms hurt as it supported my weight making me hold the branch tighter.

Give up. You can’t climb a tree.

I took a deep breath and pulled myself up with all my strength until both my biceps and forearms are on the branch. Without stopping to rest, I swung my left leg up and straddled the branch until I could pull my whole body up.

I rested my cheek on the branch as I rested for a bit. My heart beat loudly in my chest as I gasped for air. It was as if I’ve just ran a marathon.

I looked up and saw the wall that was directly in front of me. If I manage to get to the end of the branch, I could grasp the ledge and pull myself up again to jump over the wall then down to the pier’s grounds.

I knew that it would be more difficult than what I have just done but I also knew that it was too late to back out.

I had to do it.

After a few minutes and a lot of scratches, I managed to climb to the end of the branch and pull myself up on the ledge.

The moment I sat on top of the wall was when I started to panic.

The structure was one story high but as I was perched on it, it felt much higher than that. I started to get dizzy and my knees began to shake. There was no other way that I could go down. When I looked to my left and to my right, all I see was the wall stretching to the distance on both sides.

It didn’t help that I realized that the ground was covered with hard cement.

I looked up to the night sky and tried to calm myself. It was a clear night and the full moon hung low in the sky, lighting up the whole place. Only a few, thin clouds could be seen with it. The air was chilly. It's a good thing that my hoodie kept me warm.

I calculated the height of the fall in my mind as well as what will happen to me with just one wrong move.

I took another deep breath and conditioned my mind to think positively. At least now, when I write a scene about jumping down from a wall I could describe it vividly.

There was no turning back.

Using my arms, I shielded my skull. I didn't waste another heartbeat; I jumped from the wall and prayed that I land in a good position.

I knew somewhere in the middle of the air, my heart stopped and I almost blacked out. It was like all the air was sucked out from my lungs and I was nothing but a bag of meat that's about to crash to the ground.

It all happened too fast and it's as if my mind went on auto-pilot mode. As soon as my feet touched the floor, I knew I had to leap once more to roll. It was the perfect plan and it should’ve worked properly if not for the slight problem I encountered.

I felt my right ankle pop upon landing at an odd angle. I yelped but I bit my lip to stop myself from making any more noise. Instead of rolling like what I planned, I found myself lying on my side as I clutched my legs close to me as if trying to stop it from making any move that might further the damage.

It took me a while to recover from the pain. I willed myself to stand up and walk, flinching every time my right ankle supported a little of my weight.

I reached inside my jacket's pocket to retrieve the map of the pier that I printed.

The body of Damien Dee was found in the docks early morning by one of the workers.

I was on the west side of the pier and the docks was somewhere on the far northwest side of the place. If I was not mistaken, I was near the scene of the crime.

I limped to the direction of the docks while not letting my guard down. Once or twice I had to hide in the shadows because a surveying guard would pass by.

If I were them, security would be tighter in the area knowing that corpse was found inside. But they were all lax that they didn't even check every corner. Instead, they just literally walked by.

No wonder the killer got past them.

It took me longer to get to the place surrounded by the police yellow tape. If I was only a little better and not limping, I would've gotten there sooner.

Fortunately, the police who guarded the area that was standing by the entrance, was about to walk away for surveying duties.

I waited for him to turn his back and walk quite a distance away before I gingerly ducked under the yellow tape and into the area.

The wind was colder and stronger as I was in the place near the water.

Wooden crates that were stacked on top of each other surrounded the place. There was a wide opening in the middle where I supposed they drive their forklifts through.

As I got closer to the edge of the water, I could hear the gentle lapping of the waves against the concrete pillars that supported the place where I stood. The light from the nearest post already ended a couple of feet back and I found myself completely engulfed in the darkness.

The moon that I saw before now hid behind a thick cloud.

The moment I reached the end of the concrete floor, I leaned forward to check the dark water.

The body was found stuck in between the pillars under my feet. If my memory serves me right, I was on the exact spot where the corpse was seen.

There was something intriguing and terrifying knowing that, just a few days back, the mutilated and rotting corpse of a once wealthy man floated right under my feet.

The thrilled scared me and I loved it.

I was like a little kid who was given a chance to go around a magical place.

I felt excited.

My theory was getting deeper. If I was right, the case of Damien Dee would be the biggest controversy of the year.

"You..." I stiffened upon hearing a man's voice.

Was I caught?

Carefully, I turned around to face the man. My mind was quick at work as I tried to make alibis that could hopefully get me out of the situation. None of them could've prepared me for what I saw.

My eyes adjusted to the dark as it tried to see who the voice belonged to. Just then, the clouds moved and the light from the moon illuminated the place once more.

“You shouldn’t be here,”

His voice was a whisper yet I sensed how lethal it was—like a cold blade that ran from my nape down to the small of my back. Every inch of my skin shivered with his words.

Cold sweat dotted my forehead as I stood frozen in place. Half of my soul wanted to run as far away from him as possible but the other half stopped me.

“Y-You—,” I tried to make the words come out of my mouth but I couldn’t. It was like there’s this huge lump in my throat that hindered my breathing.

My mind couldn’t process what was happening.

It’s him. I knew it but I still couldn’t believe it.

Both of us were face to face in the dark, illuminated only by a glimpse of the silver moon behind the dark clouds. The little light helped make out the image I saw.

He stood in front of me, his hands at his sides. He held a shiny blade in his left palm tightly. He was clad in all black and the lower half of his face was covered up to below his eyes with what I could only assume was the same material as his clothes. The only color that stood out was his hair. Like the blade that he was holding, his silver hair that caught the moonlight made him look dangerous yet beautiful.

I couldn’t be mistaken, I knew who he was.

“Y-you are…” I forced the words out. “Are you the Reaper?” But it didn’t sound like a question.

I held my breath. Both of us stood in silence for what seemed like forever. I waited for him to say something.

“What if I am?”

Deep inside, I knew that I was right but I couldn't answer him.

For many months, I've been chasing him. I've done dozens of research about him and I've dreamt about the day that I would finally see him. I had so many questions in my mind that I wanted to ask him. But in that moment. my brain stopped functioning.

I stood on my place, my feet planted firmly on the ground.

The Reaper was the first to move.

He slowly circled me as if I was his prey. His eyes were fixated on me, watching my reaction every time his heels touched the ground.

My eyes darted to the blade he was holding. It glistened as if telling me that with just one move, its silver body could be covered in my crimson blood.

He didn't speak another word as he stood in front of me, as if waiting for me to utter the next words.

I swallowed, feeling that my throat was dry.

"I-I've been wanting to meet you," I stuttered. Those were the first words that came to my mind. "I... uhm... I don't think that you are a bad person like what the others say,"

He tilted his head to the side. I can't see his eyes under the shadow of his silver hair but I knew that he was looking at me.

He stayed like that for a few moments. Then he shook his head and turned his back to me. He started to walk away from me.

Was that it? Was he going to leave just like that?

"Wait!" I called to him. I wanted to go after him but I couldn’t. Aside from the fact that my ankle was once again hurting from standing for a long time, I still feared him. Despite my admiration for the Reaper, seeing him in front of me sent shivers down my spine.

I was somewhere in between awe and fear.

He stopped in his tracks but he didn't look back.

This was my chance.

"I have just one question," I stated. I waited for him to look my way but he didn't. "Did you kill Damien Dee?"

I held my breath as I waited for his answer. I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

Instead of answering my question, the Reaper held one hand up and gave me one wave as goodbye before walking straight to the shadows.

I stood there looking in the darkness where he disappeared. I didn't get an answer to my question and that would haunt me for a long time.

I just met the Reaper but I didn't know what I felt.

It was the cold wind that woke my senses up and told me that I had to get out of the place before I get caught.

Limping, I headed for the entrance.

"Who's there?!" Panic struck me when I heard the voice of another man.

Not far from where I stood, the police guarding the place was running towards me.

I was torn between running away and staying to give my alibi when a gloved hand held mine and pulled me to run towards the shadows.

It pained to run on a twisted ankle but my instincts told me that I couldn’t afford to stop and get caught.

Even if I was in the dark, I knew that it was the Reaper who was running in front of me while holding my hand.

We stopped and hid behind a large container van.

I caught my breath and assessed the situation of my ankle. I have forced it to work despite of the sprain that I got. I knew that it would bite me in the ass in the near future.

But the more pressing matter right now was that I almost got caught by the police.

Never in my life had I been on the wrong side of the law. Well, that’s if you don't count the times I have trespassed in crime scenes with the help of my friends and paid someone to get me confidential file. My point was, I've never been chased by cops in my whole life.

That was like the highest level of breaking the law. It's like the big red sign that tells you that you've been a really, really bad person.

What did I get myself into?

And there was this huge thing about the guy who sat beside me. The Reaper was beside me and we were both touching shoulders as we hid in this little space.

Footsteps echoed as it came closer to us.

I held my breath and I knew that the Reaper did too.

The cop's footsteps were slow, as if he was waiting for us to come out.

There was a beeping sound. "I need a backup here. I think we have an intruder," the cop radioed.

"Copy that," the other person responded through a static sound.

More are coming?!

I couldn’t believe this.

"Shit," the Reaper hissed.

"We have to get out of here," that was stupid thing for me to say. Of course, he was thinking about getting out too. I hoped that he would take me with him. I don't want to get caught and thrown into jail.

The Reaper didn't say anything more. It appeared to me that he was devising a plan. He looked around and sometimes took a peek where we heard the cop was.

I didn't hear anymore footsteps. He was either already far from us, or was just on the other side of the container van, waiting for us to go out.

The anxiety was killing me.

As sudden as earlier, the Reaper gripped my hand and motioned for me to follow him.

It was hard to keep up with his every move with my injury but I tried my best to not weigh him down.

We reached another container van and hid behind it.

With his hand, he pointed to the stacks of metal crates a couple of meters away from us. I knew even without him talking that we had to head that way.

Between us and the metal crates, there was a couple of meters of open area which was illuminated by a light post.

The risk of us being seen and getting caught was very high but we had to move fast.

The Reaper suddenly faced me.

We were only a few inches away from each other and I thought that I could see a glimpse of his eyes under his silver hair.

A thought crossed my mind for a millisecond, Those eyes look familiar.

He reached up to me and I flinched. My heart beat loudly inside my chest. In a fraction of a second, my mind pictured a thousand scenes but all of them were not because of fear. No, it was far more than that.

He reached up to both sides of my head and pulled my hood lower to cover my eyes.

He then turned his back to me, held my hand again, and motioned for me to run as fast as I could towards the crates.

I took a deep breath and followed his lead.

It was only when we were almost halfway through the open space that the pain in my ankle worsened. I had to crouch down because of the pain.

We both stopped.

"Police! Stay where you are or I'll shoot!" We heard someone shout.

I looked up and saw the silhouette of a man that I assumed was also a cop but was different from the first one. He was far from us but his voice echoed.

Even if I saw only his shadow, I knew that he was pointing a gun at us. One wrong move and he could shoot us or worse, kill us.

"You can't be caught," I told the Reaper, urging him to go.

He was the most wanted person in Sunshine City. If he gets caught, he'd be in deeper trouble. I, on the other hand...

I can handle myself.

He let go of my hand, but instead of running away, he held my waist and swung me up and over his shoulder.

"What are you–" I didn't get to finish. My world was upside down and I was facing his back.

I couldn't see anything but I felt him start to run once again.

Shots fired in all directions, almost deafening me. I heard him grunt in pain and I thought that one bullet might've found its way to him but I don't know where he was hit.

The last thing I remembered was a blow to the back of my head. Then, everything else was a blur until I lost consciousness.

//

"We can't retrieve it. Everything's destroyed," the landlord remarked as he shook his head.

He was sitting inside his office and the destroyed surveillance cameras were on his desk.

Everyone panicked when they heard that someone broke the CCTV cameras installed around the apartment building. The owner suspected that it was a bunch of kids who pretended that they were a gang of members. Besides, it wasn't’ the first time that something like this happened in our neighborhood.

I went to the landlord’s office and pretended that I was concerned about the accident that happened in the apartment building when in fact, I just wanted to know if he caught the Reaper in the surveillance cameras.

This morning I woke up inside my apartment. I was in tucked safely in my bed. My ankle was attended to and dressed and there was a bandage on the back of my head.

I couldn't remember anything after I lost consciousness last night but I knew that it was the Reaper who took me back to my place.

He was too careful that he even destroyed the cameras that lead to where my apartment was.

He didn't leave any trace of him.

If not for the painful remembrance that my ankle and my head got, I would've thought that he was only a dream.

I visited a doctor to have the bump on my head checked. I thought that it would have some serious complication but I was told that it was just a simple bump and wound.

Strangely, I was complimented because as per the nurse, I dressed my wound and my sprain well. She even asked if I was a nurse. I just told her that a friend did it for me. Of course, I couldn’t tell her who it really was.

Even if I was not confined, I was told to take a rest because my sprain was badly abused and it became worse than how sprains were supposed to be.

So, I spent my days inside my apartment, in bed.

I tried to write the draft for my novel about the Reaper but my mind kept on being bothered whenever I remembered what happened that night.

Before, he was only a name that I knew. The Reaper was just a figure that everyone talked about. Even then, he already had so much effect on me. Seeing him real and in the flesh was both fascinating and scary. It was like your childhood superhero coming to life. And there was the fact that he didn't leave me there like what I told him.  It made me want to know the person behind the Reaper not only for the sake of my research but also because I want to understand why he decided to be a vigilante.

There were so many things going on in my mind that I forgot that I was actually looking for my neighbor because I wanted to share what I have gathered with her.

She was the only friend that I have in Sunshine City and I knew that she would love to have the details that I have except, of course, about that bit where I actually came face to face with the Reaper.

I am not even sure if I would tell her about it.

Saturday afternoon, I woke up from a long nap because of a knock on my door.

I didn't expect that I would find my neighbor there, good thing that she dropped by.

I was so excited to tell her about my findings but I didn't want to overwhelm her so I just let her speak first as we sat down in my living room. I didn't know that I was the one who's going to be shocked by her revelations.

Apparently, she investigated about the Damien Dee case behind her boyfriend's back.

I was honestly impressed because she knew how to find ways that didn't require her to use her savings unlike someone I know.

She told me about how she interviewed Dee's ex-secretary, someone named Seo Eunkwang. Contrary to what everyone believed, a secretary is the best person to ask about their own bosses. They’re like flies on the wall. They witness things that their boss does that other people don't know. They know their boss like the back of their hands.

As expected, Damien Dee was really a scum of Sunshine City. Aside from harassing and terrorizing people who owed him, the guy was also involved in an alleged rape case.

The secretary didn't witness the rape but he knew what happened behind closed doors.

Damien Dee was a clear target for the Reaper. But still...

“There’s something about him that bothers me though,” she uttered, referring to Eunkwang.

The sun was almost fully set but it was getting dark so I had to turn on the lights.

We sat on opposite sides of my couch with a mug of coffee in our hands like we always do when we hung out.

"What do you mean?" I placed my mug on the coffee table, curious as to what she would answer. She's a smart person. If she noticed something, then I knew that it wasn't just a simple thing.

She was silent for a few seconds, she looked down at nothing in particular as if trying to remember the conversation he had with Eunkwang, Dee's secretary.

"When I first met him," she started, "he struck me as someone who's timid and who'd rather stay quiet and not get involved in any kind of conflict. I mean, I had a hard time getting him to talk to me about his previous boss. But, something about him changed when we he said that Damien deserved what he got."

Those words again. I was suddenly reminded of what I overheard in the alley of a restaurant.

I pushed it out of my mind.

"He was okay at the start of our conversation," she continued. "He was a bit shaky like he was nervous. But when as he said those words, his voice was cold. It's as if he wasn't telling me those words, it's as if he was convincing himself. It's like I was talking to a different person. I was honestly scared,"

I pictured everything that she just told me in my mind. A thought came to me, something that had been lingering in my mind but had been fueled by my friend's experience.

"This might sound weird," I started. "I just got a crazy theory while I was reading the Reaper's files the past week–"

"What files?"

Oh, damn! I was going to show her those.

"Wait here, I'll go and get it." I stood up and limped to my room.

"I forgot to ask," she called to me before I stepped inside my room. I stopped and looked back. "What happened to you?" She asked, gesturing to my ankle and the bandage on the back of my head.

I trespassed inside the scene of the crime, met the Reaper, and I broke myself.

I shrugged. "I fell of the stairs," just that and I turned back to head inside my room.

A couple of minutes passed and once she got over the shock of seeing the confidential files spread on my coffee table,  I told her about my theory.

I told her about the possibility that the killer might not be the Reaper. That it was possible that it was a copycat killer who staged the crime like it was one of his works.

What gave me that idea was the Pheasant's Eye's petals.

I've read in the autopsy reports of his previous victims that the petals were found down the throat, past the epiglottis.

There were notes from the coroner that said that the petals might have been shoved down the victims’ throats while they were still alive. As their throats were slit and they struggled for breath, the petals were inhaled down.

But that wasn't the case with Dee's death. Aside from the blow at the back of his head, which didn't occur in the Reaper's other victims, the petals were found just past the tongue. This could mean that he was already dead when the petals where shoved inside his mouth.

She didn't react at first when I told her about this and I thought that maybe she thought I was just being biased. Even I, myself, thought my mind was just clouded.

But instead of dismissing my thought, she considered my theory. More than that, she told me about her little adventure down the morgue.

She saw Damien Dee's corpse!

I would kill to have that opportunity. Figuratively.

"There were cuts that were sloppy," she remarked as if we are just talking about an ordinary afternoon topic and not the body of a victim. "At first glance, you would think that it was the same as the ones found on the other victims: precise and clean cuts. But Dee's cuts on his Achilles' Heels and armpits, as well as the one on his throat were so poorly done. It’s either the killer was in a hurry or he was nervous,"

"But why didn't the police notice this?" I wondered. "I don't see them changing their statement that there is a possibility that it wasn’t the Reaper. Everyone still thinks that it was him,"

I sounded like I was defending an innocent man, I just realized.

"Maybe they did notice it," she noted. "Maybe they’re still looking for solid evidence to prove that there is a copycat killer before releasing a public statement,"

I didn't say anything. She's right.

What she said solidified the thought in my mind. Someone else killed Damien Dee and there was a possibility that it could be one of the people he victimized.

But why was the Reaper in the scene of the crime that night? Was he also wondering who used his name to kill someone? Was he against the death of that scum?

We spent hours exchanging ideas and planning.

We both decided that we would conduct our own individual investigation. Our curiosity wouldn't let us sleep. Both of us needed to know the truth.

As the night grew, I said good night to my friend.

After closing the door behind me, I noticed that the window blinds were still open. I went to it and looked out at the bright moon in the sky.

It wasn't as bright and as full as that night but it still reminded me of him.

I only caught a glimpse of his eyes for a fraction of a second but the image was already etched in my mind.

It's like I could still feel him looking at me.

Before I closed the blinds, my eyes wandered down the street directly in front of my apartment building.

I thought it was just my imagination. Maybe it was.

If my eyes were a little better, maybe I could've seen him.

Maybe I wasn't just imagining a figure in a black hood hiding in the shadows as he looked up to my window. His silver hair stood out as it caught the moon's light.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello! I've been fumbling about them internetz and can't seem to find any good fics with a bit more lestrade, donovan and anderson(doesn't have to be positive at all). Have You per chance seen or read anything like this? Thank You!

Anonymous said to inevitably-johnlocked: Hey Steph! , I Want to ask if you got any good fic with BAMF Mycroft / OFC (Anthea , Molly , or an original character), something hot !!!!! thanks !!!!

Hi Lovelies!

Ah, in regards to the Nonny ask, I don’t really have any other Pairings of a secondary characters with OC’s, etc., but since both of these asks are very similar, I’m putting them together in hopes you’re going to enjoy what I have for @givemeyoursoulplease!

That said, I’ve not many secondary character fics; I hope you enjoy what I do have! Not all of them I’m sure (I’m still going through my bookmarks), but that’s what “part 2′s” are for LOL. Feel free, my friends, to suggest your faves and your own fics!

SECONDARY CHARACTERS & OTHER CHARACTER POVs

Defining John Watson by StillWaters1 (K+, 660 w. || Friendship) – “Not good?” Two words and Lestrade realized just who John Watson actually was.

Realisation by Susie.Donym (K+, 957 w. || Sally POV, Pre-Slash / Friendship, Humour) – It takes her a while but Sally finally makes a huge realisation.

Devil’s in the Details (Isn’t that what you always say?) by Rae Himura (K, 976 w. || Angst, Sarah POV) – It was the little things Sarah noticed. (Or, some things even the world’s only consulting detective can’t see.)

The Other Shoe by thewaitwasworthitlove - (NR, 1,053 w. || Pining Sherlock, Angst, URT, Post-TSo3) - Sherlock realizes how deep in love he has fallen for John. Only Sherlock Holmes would manage to be more shattered than crystal dropped on concrete.

Sherlock Is Not The One You Should Worry About by AllesandraQuartermaine (K, 1,077 w. || Sally POV, Character Reflection, Praising John) – Sally Donovan’s eyes are opened about a certain Doctor John Watson.

Secrets by 796116311389 (G, 1,084 w. || Drunk Sherlock, Drunk Confessions, Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, Pining Sherlock) – “He is the best person in the world and sometimes I get sad because I’m not. Not his best person.”

Wreckage and Rubble by grannysknitting (K+, 1,116 w. || Drama, H/C, Ambiguous Ending) – Lestrade’s point of view when he’s called to the wreckage of the pool. He doesn’t want to deal with the wreckage that would occur if London’s newest crime fighting duo are parted from each other.

The Simple Separation Will Not Come Between Us by The Circus (T, 1,278 w. || Hurt/Comfort, MCD, Violence, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Prose) – The choice is simple. Real, and No John. Or Not Real, and John. For a prompt that says ‘John dies and Sherlock loses himself in his Mind Palace’

Back in the Saddle by grannysknitting (M, 1,577 w. || Post TGG, Donovan POV, Observation / Introspection, Protective Sherlock, Injured John, Case-ish Fic) – Their first return to solving crime after the pool and the explosion.

With A Tilt Of The Head by StillWaters1 (K+, 1,636 w. || Anthea POV, ASiP, Character Study) – Anthea knew that she was witnessing the first of many meetings to come between John Watson and Mycroft Holmes. From the moment he had tilted his head, it was obvious that John wasn’t going anywhere: he was already more than “associated” with Sherlock – he was part of him.

In Which Lestrade Looks in on Sherlock and Observes by Aztecwarfareandcrumping (K+, 1,833 w. || Lestrade POV, Friendship, Hurt Comfort, John Whump) – John’s in hospital, which means Sherlock is, too. Lestrade takes it upon himself to look in on them.

A Sofa with a View by nondeducible (G, 1,855 w. || Domestic Fluff, Schmoop, Secret Relationship) – Lestrade loves football, John and Sherlock love each other.

Feed The Memory by Hekate1308 (T, 2,081 w. ||  Tragedy & Hurt/Comfort) – He could feed John Watson, at least. Angelo POV.

Only Human by BlackBandit111 (K+, 2,179 w. || Tragedy, Major Character Death, Sally POV) – Sally Donovan didn’t think she’d ever see Sherlock cry.

Coming Full Circle by KCS (K+, 2,358 w. || Alternate TGG, Friendship, Drama, Violence/Death References, Drugging/Poisoning, Kidnapping, BAMF John, Moriarty POV, Introspection) – Moriarty had John for almost six hours between his abduction and the showdown at the pool - more than enough time to implement a Plan B for his escape should Sherlock call his bluff with the fake bomb vest.

Rescue by missilemuse (T, 2,574 w. || Fake Relationship, Sherlock Whump, Irene Helps Sherlock) - If this was the way Sherlock Holmes loved, it was no wonder why he had avoided the damned emotion for over half of his life. Part 6 of Reichenbach To Return [[this isn’t really Johnlock, but it is… it’s non-ad10ck ad10ck. You have to read it to understand. It’s SO good and painful, trust me. Sherlock!Whump and pining]].

The Art Of Communication by StillWaters1 (T, 2,679 w. || Friendship, H/C) – Lestrade was used to getting odd, non sequitur texts from Sherlock. But when “John went out for milk” was followed by a terse “two hours ago,” Lestrade immediately understood three things: John was missing, Sherlock was quietly panicking, and this could all end very, very badly.

Waiting and Recovery by A Wandering Minstrel (K+, 3,173 w. || H/C, Friendship) – Lestrade waits for news of Sherlock and John at the hospital. Mrs. Hudson looks after her boys. Two companion pieces.

It Was All Right There In Front of Him (A Five Times Plus One Story) by bees_stories (T, 3,191 w. || 5+1, Protective Idiots, Grooming, Bed Sharing, Lestrade POV) – DI Greg Lestrade is a good detective. But sometimes he doesn’t trust the evidence in front of him, until there’s a compelling reason to do so.

First Night Out by verityburns (M, 3,251 w. || Romance, Christmas, Dev. Rel.) – As John recovers from the effects of a brutal kidnapping, he and Sherlock attend the Yarders’ Christmas Party. There are… developments on the dance floor…

The Bee Charmer by dreadpiratewatson (M, 3,314 w. || Est. Rel., Captain / Soldier John, Idiots in Love, Domestics, John in the Army) – Greg goes to 221B to check up on Sherlock after a strange phone call pulls him away from an important case, and is stunned to find himself in front of a gun brandishing soldier with a sleeping Sherlock on his chest. John Watson is a doctor, a war hero, a husband, and the only one in the world who can soften Sherlock’s heart.

Listening By Ear by StillWaters1 (T, 3,384 w. || Friendship, H/C, John Whump) –  Lestrade figured that anyone who thought John Watson wasn’t important, and that Sherlock hadn’t changed since meeting him, had to be completely, bloody deaf. Because it was all right there, in every sound Sherlock made. For anyone attentive enough to listen.

Paranoia by Ewebie (M, 3,789 w. || Humour, Drinking Games, Scotland Yard Gang, Jealous / Posessive Sherlock, Inappropriate Questions, Embarrassed John, Matchmakers) – John and Sherlock join the gang of Scotland Yard for a night of drinking, and it gets a bit personal and revealing.

Days Go By by Hummingbird1759 (T, 4,454 w. || Angst, Friendship, Post-TRF, Introspection) – The characters’ lives go on after the Fall… sort of.

Study in Mycroft by chappysmom (K+, 4,929 w. || Character Study, Canon-Compliant, Mycroft POV, Big Brother Mycroft) – A look at Mycroft’s thoughts and actions during a Study in Pink.

when Harry met Sally (and then Sherlock Holmes) by Etharei (T, 5,443 w. || POV Outsider, Kidnapped John) – Harry Watson hadn’t expected the Met, and possibly the British government, to be this keen on locating her missing brother. {{TO READ}}

The Refining Fire by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 5,451 w. || Post-TGG AU, Angst, Friendship, Alternating Character POV, Worried Sherlock, Hospital Recovery) – Fire can burn things to ashes, but it can also burn things together.

Maybe This Christmas by feverishsea (T, 6,021 w. || Matchmaker Anthea, Anthea POV, Slight Mystrade, Holmes Family) – Anthea has given up her life, her own desires, even her name in service of something greater than herself. But that doesn’t mean she can’t see when someone else wants something – even if she doesn’t happen to care overmuch for that person. And it doesn’t mean she isn’t willing to help.

Observational Failure, or: Seeing is Believing by SilentAuror (G, 8,733 w. || Lestrade POV, Romance) – Lestrade is almost sure that Sherlock and John are together now. All the evidence is pointing to it, yet he just can’t seem to wrap his brain around the concept.

Observational Failure, or: Seeing is Believing by SilentAuror (G, 8,733 w. || POV Third Person / Lestrade, Romance) – Lestrade is almost sure that Sherlock and John are together now. All the evidence is pointing to it, yet he just can’t seem to wrap his brain around the concept.

Our Sudden and Strange Return by Arwen Jade Kenobi (T, 10,314 w. || Post-TRF, Friendship) – One year, eight months, and an odd number of days after the alleged fatal fall Mycroft gets a message from Sherlock saying that he’s back.

Sunset’s Wake by StillWaters1 (T, 13,136 w. || Angst, Hurt /Comfort, Minor Character POV) – It wasn’t until that moment, when the dazed man in the practical black jacket came pushing through the crowd and into her arms, that she understood why she had been drawn outside St. Bart’s that day.

Sympathy for the Devil and Mycroft Holmes by scifigrl47 (T, 18,535 w. || Family, Canon-Compliant, Meddling Mycroft, Big Brother Mycroft) – Mycroft has always protected his younger brother, but there are some things he just can’t control. Sherlock’s relationship with John Watson is one of them. Set during the first two seasons of Sherlock.

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

And A Doctor by StillWaters1 (T, 27,393 w. || Friendship, Doctor John, Whump, Soldier / Doctor Dichotomy, Five and One) – It was only when people actually saw John working as a physician that they began to understand: that it wasn’t just about bullets and IEDs and trauma care under fire. That “doctor” actually covered a pretty wide field. And that John was bloody good at covering ground. 5 times Dr. Watson treated others and 1 time he treated himself.

Jack In The Box by Liketheriver (T, 30,785 w. || Romance, Case Fic, H/C, Lestrade First POV) – John’s been kidnapped, Mycroft has rules, and Lestrade has to do his best to keep up with Sherlock as they deal with a returning foe. Lestrade POV as he and Sherlock work to find John, even though that’s the last thing John seems to want. Part 2 of Bedtime Universe

The Wrong Wagon by DancingGrimm (E, 35,663 w. || Alternating POV, MollyxJohn [Molly pines for John], Public Sex, Casual Sex, Obliviousness, BAMF!John, Awkwardness, Angst & Humour, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) – Molly sees John in a new light and realises that she may have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon…or something like that. John pines for Sherlock and worries what he will think if he ever finds out. And Sherlock doesn’t know what Molly’s up to…but he knows he doesn’t like it.

The Green Blade by verityburns (T, 72,929 w. || Casefic, Bromance) – As a serial killer hits the headlines, the police are out of their depth and the next victim is out of time. With faith in Sherlock Holmes at an all time low, this is a case which will push loyalties to the limit… (POV switches between multiple characters throughout the fic)

The Blog of Eugenia Watson by Mad_Lori (G, 95,026 w. || OC POV, Parentlock, Teenagers, Diary / Blogging / Journal, Family, Humour) – I like to think of this not so much as a blog but as the first draft of my inevitably best-selling memoirs. My Life In an Unconventional Family. How unconventional? Well, I live with my divorced parents and my dad’s husband. How’s that for starters? Trust me, it gets weirder.My name is Eugenia Watson, but you can call me Genie. I’m sixteen. This is my life. Note: Work is marked complete for now and is on hiatus, having reached a convenient stopping point. Additional chapters may be added in the future. {{HAVE NOT READ}}

[cutewarmachine]

Burnt and Fucked Over

TW: Gore and Drug use

The dimly lit apartment had the lingering clouds of smoke had gone a little stale, the dimmed lights made the smoke look like it had swirls through it. The furniture was mostly fucked up, tossed around the room as if a massive struggle had happened. There were two individuals on the only remaining furniture, one was roughed up and bloody, the other was currently fishing weed out of a ziplock, a large hunting knife buried in the table in front of him, his dark green hair was messy and blood was on his cheek from the struggle.

Viri hadn’t touched weed in a long time, since college if he was honest. But there was something about filling the bowl of a bong and relaxing to the sounds of the dealer in front of him squirming in the bonds that currently seemed to be too tight but fuck him. “So, what this? OG Berry? Nice, haven’t had this in ages. Now, let me explain the rules.” he chirped, smiling far too much as he lifted the lighter and played with it, igniting it and watching the yellow flame before he let it stop, his green eyes on the man before him. “If the first hit sucks ass, then I’m going to carve open your insides and take your rib for my collection. If the first hit is good, and I feel nice after, I’ll think about letting you live~” He crooned. Viri lit the lighter again, the flame making his face illuminate in orange light before he turned the lighter and started his hit, the smoke filling his lungs before he held it in, his eyes drifting shut and in bliss he let the smoke billow out from his lips in a gush of an exhale.

The feeling was euphoric in a sense, the milk white smoke leaving his lips and the taste in his mouth, fuck. Weed always fucking got him in the mood for torture. It just made him so fucking calm. He opened his eyes after a moment, the drug dealer looking at him as he licked his lips and let out a giggle. “Fuck, I missed weed. But, shame, that might’ve been okay as an hit but I want one that leaves me out of it. Now, tell me, are you fond of your lungs? I think they’d look nice in a jar.” Viri said, not even coughing as he stood.

When he was in college he smoked like a chimney, he had needed to for the hell that was medical school and he always made sure the weed he got would help him get focused as hell or calm so he could do it. This though, this particular one was known paranoia and relaxing the user, both things that Viri didn’t mind. The fog that rolled over him as he took a few more hits was more than welcome to him. He hadn’t had a week worse than this one in such a long time, he really wished it had been better but once the world melted away he grabbed the knife to rip it out the table, part of him so tempted to bury it in his chest and feel the pain wash over him as he suffered in his own little world, but the man chained to the chair looked like so much more fun.

Viri walked over to him, his hips swinging and the high waisted shorts only seemed to make the swaying of his hips capture the man’s attention before he sat himself in his lap, tilting his head and making a show of it before he giggled, the sound jarring the man back to reality as the hunting knife was twirled in Viri’s hand, his lips being licked as he started to cut through the man’s clothes with the wickedly sharp blade, unable to give a fuck at the others screams while he thought about what to do, soon finding himself to start singing as he began to carve into the other man’s body.

“They say freak, When you're singled out, The red, Well it filters through.” he started, his knife pressing into the man as he started to carve into the left pectoral muscle and he seemed so focused on the red spilling over his fingers as he sang. The color was just so pretty, like Maze always talked about… which was what led him to lean down and lick some of it up with a small hum while he continued to carve down, only pulling back to sing and focus on making him all pretty.

“So lay down, The threat is real, When his sight, Goes red again.” he sang, the words falling out in a beautiful harmony, mingling with the man’s screams as he went to the right pectoral muscle and began to carve down once again as he had done on one side. He wasn’t paying mind to the screams at all, he just knew he needed to carve this person open and remove his rib cage as well as he could. He wanted to give Maze a pretty gift too.

The knife was moving and peeling the flesh away, the smoke in the air making Viri crave yet another hit, so that’s what he did summoning the bong to his hand and getting another hit, his eyes growing lidded as he exhaled and he wished someone was there he loved to share the moment with, someone to hear him sing as it mingled with the screams of the victim.

“Seeing red again, Seeing red again. This change, He won't contain, Slip away, To clear, your mind, When asked, Who made it show (who made it show), The truth, He gives into most.” Viri continued, his head falling back as he sang, rocking his head back and forth as the knife was buried right against the sternum, causing a fresh spray of blood to coat Viri as he sang and laughed, the smoke of his last hit hanging in the air above them. He was in a state of pure euphoric bliss, the blood, the taste of the drug on his tongue and the haze that had him wrapped up tight, it was all so beautiful.

“So lay down, The threat is real, When his sight, Goes red again. So lay down, The threat is real, When his sight, Goes red again. So lay down, The threat is real, When his sight, Goes red again. Seeing red again! Seeing red again! Seeing red again! Seeing red again! Seeing red again! Seeing red again! Seeing red again! Seeing red! They say freak, When you're singled out, The red, it filters through.” as the last of the song fell from his lips, the knife sliced through the man’s neck, painting the puppet master red as the notes of the song had an edge of hysteria to them almost panicked in the way he sang them on repeat, just like the end of the song, so focused on the way he was to murder them that he didn’t seem to realize that he was crying, all the frustrations had left him in that moment of being baptized in his blood… it was honestly too perfect.

Once he had calmed the heaving in his chest he went back to carving, singing the same song over and over again before he cleaned the bare ribage before him and grinned at the scent in the air.

“Perfect… it’s perfect… Maze will love it…” he mumbled, smiling in such a soft way that it could’ve been missed that he had the drugs in hand with the knife and ribcage as he left the scene, far too happy to go show his friend what he did, and far too high to give a single fuck about anything. Not even the police bursting into the room as he glitched out in a swirl of smoke and a demented laugh that left them with chills.

[mojo562j]

My Living Nightmare Caused by Liver Disease

My nightmare started overnight, sometime in the spring of 2013. After 4 straight days of binge drinking, I woke up and immediately noticed my stomach was swollen as an 8-month pregnant woman. I lifted my bed sheets and saw a mixture of blood and pus running down my thighs.

I immediately rushed to the restroom to clean up the mess. Then, I urinated. The color was rusty looking- a mixture of orange and dark brown. I looked in the mirror and noticed that the whites of my eyes and the color of my skin was yellow.

I panicked. I knew I had a major medical problem.

I immediately rushed to the ER. The nurse drew blood, then the technicians performed an MRI and an ultrasound. About an hour later, the doctor sat beside me and regretfully informed me that I had liver cirrhosis. I quickly said, “please doctor, tell me that I can still drink?” He replied “yes, but you won’t live longer than three months” I went into shock. I couldn’t imagine my life without alcohol. Next, he inserted a thin plastic tube into my abdomen and drained about 9 liters of fluid.

Liver cirrhosis is a relentless, nasty, barbaric painful disease with no mercy whatsoever! Compared to others with this disease, my case was more severe. When I arrived home from the ER, I had a massive sharp pain running down my lower back and upper thigh, similar to a sciatic nerve, except the pain was much more intense.

The decades of alcohol and drug abuse suddenly caught up with me.

The doctor that diagnosed me with liver cirrhosis told me that he strongly recommended that I take the next flight back to the US. He informed me that the Philippines is a developing country and doesn’t have medical technology as advanced as the US. He said if I stayed there, I’ll probably die.

So, I bought a ticket for the next flight to the US, then walked to the nearest bar. It was July 18th, 2013, my birthday. It would be the last time I ever drank. I sat alone. I needed to mourn. I was devoid of any emotion. I remember gazing at the people in the bar. Most of them were smiling and laughing. However, for some strange reason, I couldn’t hear them-they were on mute.

I knew this was going to be my last drink ever. I suddenly felt like I lost my closest loved one. I relived the first time I took a sip of beer, at the tender age of five-Budweiser in a can. I remembered all the times I got arrested as a teen (13 times), for alcohol related offenses. I  reminisced getting hooked on heavy drugs because of alcohol. I recalled my head getting bashed in the middle of the street by five Blood gang members from South-Central L.A. because of alcohol. I remember attempting suicide because of alcohol. I recalled the countless problems associated with alcohol. And now I am dying because of alcohol. It was at this moment, that I realized I hit rock bottom. The game was over.

So, I stared at the empty beer bottle. I had to say good-bye to something that I desperately clung onto for the past 35 years. I love the taste of alcohol. Until this day, I crave alcohol. I would much rather lock myself in my room and drink a 12 pack then go on a world cruise. You see, alcohol was my best friend, a substitute for a girlfriend, a father whom I’ve always wanted and most important, an escape from reality.

I am 53 years old, single and no kids.  

I knew once I stopped drinking, I would feel like I was on national television, naked for the world to see. I would be exposed. There would be nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. How would I adjust to living sober? What would I do every day?  

When I returned to the US, my condition worsened. For the next three years, I suffered the following:  nausea, vomiting, flu-like symptoms, anemia, insomnia, swollen feet, ankles and calves, Hepatitis C, type 2 diabetes, kidney failure, several infections, two hernias, gallstones, whole body itching, permanent loss of body hair, except scalp and facial hair, a constant metallic taste in my mouth, jaundice, sluggishness, bruises on my arms and legs, craters in my cheek bones and neck, nerve pain in my feet, excruciating abdominal pain, severe weight loss (went from 210 lbs. to 136 lbs.), swollen belly, diarrhea, anxiety, paranoia, massive hallucinations so intense that I fell into three comas, partial brain damage, muscle atrophy, severe leg cramps, extreme fatigue, shortness of breath, and sharp “stabbing-like” pains all over my body. I never imagined a dreadful disease with so many symptoms and so much pain!

Imagine having all of these symptoms for three years straight. Imagine having only one of these symptoms, such as the flu for 3 years straight. After a few months, I could no longer stand the pain. I wanted out. While in the hospital, three times I asked the doctors to put me under, permanently. They stared at me for a few seconds, turned around and walked away. There was nothing the doctors nor anyone else could do. If a liver is more than 75% damaged, it’s irreversible and irreparable. A liver transplant was my only option.

I recall never feeling warm. I was anemic. Even in the summer, I would wear a tee shirt, a long-sleeved shirt, 2 sweaters, and a jacket. No matter how many clothes I wore, I would still feel like my bones were in the freezer. The chill was relentless and wouldn’t go away.

There were many instances when I didn’t know my name, who I was, where I was, or what year it was. Every time I blacked out, the EMT always asked me what year it was and who is the current president of the US. I usually replied something like “1948. Bill Clinton.”

In late 2013, I had the scare of my life. My muscles were so weak, I couldn’t get out of bed for four days. I had no water during that time. I screamed for help, but to no avail. At the time, I was living alone in the Philippines. My parents hadn’t heard from me. They were worried and called the local Red Cross chapter in Long Beach, CA. A gentleman named Mike contacted the Manila, Philippine branch for assistance.

Suddenly, I heard my front door open. A doctor, nurse, a Red Cross volunteer and my landlord appeared at my bedside. I was briefly examined, then rushed to the ER. The doctor informed me that a human can go without water for about 6 days max. If it wasn’t for the Red Cross’s quick response in coordinating my rescue, I may not be alive today!

 During my two-year waiting period for a new liver, the doctors refused to give me morphine. They gave me two reasons why: one, my liver was so scarred, they were afraid I may die since opiates damage the liver. Two, I was an addict. No need for further explanation. I was prescribed only small doses of Tylenol, which did nothing to alleviate my pain.

In December 2013, my kidneys started to fail. I was on dialysis to clean my blood 3x a week for about 18 months. I couldn’t urinate for about 15 months straight. My kidneys failed to extract urine from my body. All the fluids I drank remained in my abdomen. This condition is known as ascites.

Every 5–6 days my stomach would start to balloon. As a result, my abdominal organs would suffocate from the weight of the fluid. I suffered a constant shortness of breath. I would keep my mouth wide open, gasping for air until my jaws ached. I felt like a fish out of water. Worse, I would experience massive abdominal pain. It felt like an elephant stepped on my stomach and wouldn’t get off.

My most painful experience was after my liver and kidney transplant. My surgery took about 17 hours. I ended up with massive amounts of blood clots settling at the tip of my penis. The nurses had to remove them. Every 2 hours around the clock, for the next 14 days they used a motorized pump with a plastic tube the diameter of a drinking straw, shoved it inside my penis and sucked out the blood clots. The pain was excruciating and barbaric.

You have no idea how sensitive the inside of a penis is. Extracting the blood clots felt like ripping off a finger nail and repeatedly stabbing the top of the skin with a sharp knife!

When I was in the hospital, prior to my transplant, my step- father collapsed right in front of the nursing station from a heart attack. I think it was from all the stress. What better place to have a heart attack?

I felt so helpless. My mother is old and there are just the three of us. Shortly after I was diagnosed with cirrhosis, my step-father quit his job and didn’t work for four years, so he could help my mother take care of me. I was a handful. It took around the clock supervision to take care of me. I would constantly scream in the middle of the night from either scorching pain or hallucinations. Since my mother is old, my father didn’t want her to be my sole caregiver.

The scariest events were the hallucinations. These were worse than nightmares. Unlike a nightmare, you’re awake during a hallucination. In your mind, it is real- it doesn’t just feel real.

I suffered what is known as hepatic encephalopathy. This condition occurs when the liver loses its capacity to eliminate toxins from the bloodstream. As a result, massive amounts of toxins flowed through my brain. This causes mass confusion and ultimately hallucinations. At higher toxicity levels, coma and even death may occur.

The feeling is very similar to a bad PCP trip. Every time my toxin level would skyrocket, I had a horrendously bad trip. One older ER doctor told my mother he never seen a patient with such high levels of ammonia. He said that normal ammonia levels are 15–45. My level was 503!

Once when I was at the hospital, I thought the walls were infested with snakes. I could hear the constant hissing sound. I knew I had to get rid of them. I didn’t want them to swarm me. So, I grabbed my walker and strolled down to the cafeteria. Next, I went to the kitchen, grabbed a butcher knife and began cutting out the hospital walls! Pieces of drywall were everywhere. People were staring at me as though I had lost my mind! Security rushed me, tackled me and I ended up in restraints- one of 17 times during a three-year period.

Another time, I believed my sitting nurse was an alien trying to kidnap me and take me to another planet. This guy was intimidating. He was about 6′3′’, 270 lbs. I saw a syringe filled with what I believed to be poison in his left hand. I could hear the drops of liquid splattering on the tile floor as he glared at me.

My “captive” had an identical twin brother standing about 5 feet to his left. His twin was also holding a poison-filled syringe. They somehow managed to communicate to each other not through words, but via thoughts! I was horrified. They both had a stern look on their face. They constantly glanced at each other, then glared back at me. I sensed they were discussing which one was going to put me under. It was so bizarre.

I screamed and kicked so violently, security and staff had to restrain me. Without fail, the next day I awoke, strapped down with a rubber ball in my mouth, not knowing what the hell happened.

There was, however, one comedic event while hallucinating. At home, I was in the restroom for a very long time. When I came out, my mother asked me who the heck I was talking to. I paused, then replied “Calvin.” She said “Calvin who?” I replied “Calvin Klein.”

When I was on the toilet, I was staring at my underwear, which were down to my ankles. The name Calvin Klein was embroidered at the top. Apparently, I thought my underwear was the famous designer in the flesh! So, I’m sitting there, having a one-way conversation with my underwear! Don’t ask me what “we” discussed. I have no idea.

Another time, I believed several of my male nurses were posing as DEA agents. They were trying to arrest me. The DEA suspected me of assisting the Columbians with developing strategic drug smuggling routes to the US. The nurses wouldn’t stop staring at me. So, I waited until one of them wasn’t looking, and snuck up behind him. I stripped off my hospital gown, wrapped it around his neck and proceeded to choke him. Someone called security. When they arrived, I threatened them that I would choke the “agent” to death if they approached me.

I felt like an absolute madman. I recall that my eyes widened, and my facial expression looked like Charles Manson when he was pissed off. I remember possessing this enormous amount of strength. I had no idea where it came from. I threw the nurse to the floor like a ragdoll. For some odd reason I remember being extremely angry and paranoid. My toxin levels were through the roof.

Security kept their distance. I recall the presence of doctors, nurses and hospital staff in the background. The doctors were calm, but a couple of the nurses were hysterical. Security was ranting on their walkie talkies. About 5–6 minutes later, a handful of cops stormed through the hospital doors and surrounded me with their weapons pointed at me.

I kept hearing a doctor telling the police not to shoot-that I was hallucinating. A few minutes later, a nurse that took care of me and whom I was closest to started talking to me in a very calm manner. She kept telling me to relax, that everything was going to be ok. She kept telling me that I was under an enormous amount of stress and that I’m just having a bad day.

She kept asking me to slowly loosen my grip and relax. She then told me that my doctors will take care of me-that everything will be ok. At first, I thought she was part of the conspiracy. I was suspicious. However, I kept recalling how she always cared for me. I recalled the numerous times when she went beyond her duties as a nurse and was always there for me in my time of duress. She felt like a second mother.

About 20 minutes later my hallucination started to wear off. Since I trusted my nurse, I loosened my grip on the nurse that I had a stranglehold on. Next, the cops told the nurse to slowly stand and walk away. After that, the police started barking instructions at me. They told me to drop to my knees with my back facing them. Next, they told me to keep my arms raised high in the air. I complied. After that, they slowly approached me and told me to put my hands behind my back. Then, they proceeded to handcuff me.

A nurse arrived with a gurney. A couple of nurses lifted me on the gurney. The police immediately handcuffed both my wrists to the side bars. They wheeled me to the ER. A moment later a nurse injected me with a sedative. I immediately felt very relaxed and drowsy. Once again, I woke up the next day strapped to my bed wondering what the hell happened.

My ammonia levels were so high that I fell into a coma three times. The longest period was 23 days. About the 20th day, my doctors advised my parents to “get things in order.” They didn’t think I would make it. They feared my toxin levels were so high that if I awoke from the coma, I would be a vegetable. So, the hospital called hospice and they spoke with my parents about my living arrangements for my final days.

My mother fumed and told both hospice and my doctors that no matter what, she was not giving up. A while back, I told my mother if I was ever in a situation where I couldn’t make a life or death decision on my own, I didn’t want the doctors to pull the plug-no matter how much pain I was in.

When I awoke from my 23-day coma, I had no idea where I was. I felt as though I was a million miles from earth. Everything was extremely peaceful. I asked my sitting nurse where I was. He informed me I was in the hospital. I had no idea what a hospital was.

After I awoke, I was immediately bumped up the transplant list from #247 to #2. My failed kidneys were a blessing in disguise. My doctor told me that since both organs were failing, I had a much higher chance of dying. As a result, I was moved up the list very fast.

A couple weeks later, I was elevated to #1 on the transplant list. My nurse informed me that any day I should be expecting new organs. Cool. I asked her “how are the organs  delivered?” She told me via helicopter. She said there’s a landing pad on the top of the hospital. I recall I would get excited every time I heard a loud noise outside.

Approximately 10 days later, my nurse rushed in my room and cheerfully informed me that the organs are on their way. She told me the doctor will call me soon to discuss the details. I found it odd that a physician would call me on the phone.

About 20 minutes later, the doctor called. He told me that he was at blah blah prison. He said a 41-year-old male just committed suicide by hanging himself in his cell. He informed me the prisoner was an organ donor. The doctor told me that the prison officials gave he and a couple of other physicians with him only 15 minutes to visually inspect the organs. The doctor told me the organs appeared to be fine. He asked me if I wanted them. Since I was very confused at the time, I replied “what would you do if you were in my shoes?” He paused and said, “I would take them.” So, I did.

Later, the doctors told me they had a difficult time deciding whom shall receive the organs. It was between me and the patient next door. They informed me they select the beneficiary that has the greatest probability of surviving the operation. I was told I had about a 50% chance of surviving the surgery. That was higher than the other patient. My doctor said the other patient was weaker than me, hence the reason they chose me.

Prior to my transplant, the strangest thing happened. Thoughts continuously flooded my mind, at least 500 times during a two-year period. They kept telling me to share my story at AA, NA and high schools. Never in my life had I experienced recurring thoughts with no apparent ending. What am I supposed to make of this?

I spent hundreds of hours thinking about this and the only conclusion I could make is that God put these thoughts in my head. What other logical reason could it be? So, I made a covenant with God. I begged Him if He let me live, I would spend the rest of my life helping other addicts get clean.

On August 5, 2015, at 11:00 am, I had a liver and kidney transplant. I must admit, aside from the hallucinations, it was the scariest event I’ve ever endured. I never felt so alone in my life. I never forgot what I was up against: heads I survive, tails I die. My destiny was completely out of my hands. At this point, there was nothing my family, the priest or the doctors could say or do to guarantee me that I would survive.

Well, the surgery was a success. It took 17 hours. I had no complications, except massive chronic back pain that shoots through my body whenever I move.

After the transplant, I often wondered how I lived. Why did I get so lucky? Was God looking over me all this time? Was it His plan? What did I ever do for Him to deserve this? For some strange reason, I feel that I am destined to live. Maybe He’s telling me that it’s just not my time to go. I don’t know. Even three years later, tears stream down my face for no apparent reason. Like now. I’m not quite sure if they are tears of happiness, sadness or the trauma I suffered. Perhaps, it’s a mixture of all three.

On July 18, 2018, I accomplished something I never ever imagined- I celebrated five years of sobriety from alcohol. It’s been an incredibly difficult journey. The old Joe always succumbed to temptation. But I’m not the same person anymore. I’ll be damned if I’ll go through another living nightmare again.

I’ve been in bed for the past eight years. It’s so frustrating because there is nothing I could do about it. My inactivity has caused my muscle atrophy to return. My legs are like jelly again. Also, my lower back scorches with pain whenever I move. As a result, I have to sleep sitting up. The pain is so severe, I’m in bed an average of  23 and a half hours a day. The only time I get out of bed is to visit the doctor. I tried walking a few times, but my knees buckled, and I fell each time.

I’ve seen three doctors so far. They did x-rays, MRI’s, and CAT scans but can’t find the source of my back pain. My insurance company won’t allow me to see a back-pain specialist or get physical therapy because I already seen three physicians. With your  help, I plan to see a specialist and get physical therapy soon. Also, not only will I be able to walk again, but you’ll indirectly save other drug addicts’ lives. I know by sharing my story with addicts and high school kids, some of them will be able to realize the extreme psychological and physical trauma that alcohol and drug can cause and turn their lives around.

I always wondered what’s the purpose of life. I spent many years trying to figure it out. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know what mine is.

My Living Nightmare with Liver Disease. Liver cirrhosis is a relentless, barbaric, non-stop, excruciating painful disease with no mercy whatsoever! Witness the real horror as it unfolds prior to my liver and kidney transplant. Please help me walk again by donating now-even if it’s only $5, it would help me tremendously! www.gofundme.com/dreaming-to-walk-again  

Please share my story with friends and family so that I may walk again. Thank you so much!

[java-induced-daymares]

I feel like you get a different perspective when you were the 'mistake'. The 'oh my God she's only fifteen', baby. My mom was the preacher's daughter, and very eighties. I'm the preacher's granddaughter, and extremely nineties. My mom is more like my sister-friend, while my five year junior sister tells everyone I practically raised her. I just feel responsible for everyone. For everything. I was the tester baby. The starter grandchild. Everything I did wrong, it was the worst, most unexpected thing. I paved the way for all the shrugs and acceptance every sibling and other grandkid had doled out practically for free. And got slammed with all the guilt and the shunning.

To be fair I was quite rebellious. I smoked, drank, experimented with drugs. Skipped class, and barely passed high school despite aceing every test and final they threw at me. Scored a solid 29 on the ACT, didn't even study. In fact, I left half the math portion blank. I hate math. I frustrated my parents to wits end. I had all the potential, none of the ambition. I wanted to smoke pot, write whatever popped in my head and just make enough money to get by. So in idealistic youth I flipped the bird to college tuition debt in favor of entering the work force.

Somehow along the line I ended up thirty years old as a entry level temp at a factory. The disappointing burnout my parents painted me to be. My mom once threatened to paint that word on my bedroom wall, to call me out so to speak. She wasn't impressed when I encouraged her to. Between mom and me, it's all emotions. I know her as well as best friends do. Like...all of it. Sex life. Financial strife. The works. It's sort of like you don't realize your mom discussing your dad's porn addiction with you when your thirteen is out of line until you grow up. And meet her meth head boyfriend at age twenty four.

He threatens to rape and kill you both but good old mom won't kick him out because she loves him. Not when he starts stealing everything in sight to sell for drugs. Not when he kidnaps her for a few days over Thanksgiving and meths out in a paranoid freakout keeping her in the hotel and not letting her leave. Or when he choked her until she was unconscious. Or raped her so loud you could hear her scream but she denied it and her screams are so frequent that you're learning to tune them out and that disturbs you on every level. Not even when he hits you, right in front of her, the first time and she yells at you for fighting back. Or when she chases your little sister into another state to live with a internet boyfriend who no one but she has met because Ducky fears living in that house more than living with strangers.

My sister was only nineteen. The week before she left my mom called her a selfish bitch for not supporting her relationship. I stood between them, outraged, explaining to my mother that she shouldn't call her child a bitch for being scared. When the meth head finally leaves, having drained a cool 20k from my mom's retirement fund in meth and tools and a Harley ect... my mom claims all these memories are a blur. In her world she is the ultimate victim, and she even blames me for standing by and letting it all happen. My brother, who showed up two months before I finally convinced my mother to get the eviction notice she needed to get the meth head out, gets all the credit for his absence.

He showed up, did meth and herione with the boyfriend and ignored my mom. She still ran to my room, daily, begging and pleading for me and my fiances protection. Some days we would wake up to her huddled by our bed, crying silently, because my fiance was the only thing this asshole feared. Because Heinzy certainly didn't stand by when she or I was threatened or hit. But he wasn't always there. And his probation kept him from throwing a first punch.

Still, my brother, who dodged all the previous months of abuse by disowning her for cheating on her husband with this guy. My brother was living in South Dakota, and calling her a bitch and a whore until he needed a bail out and suddenly he's Mama's little boy again. He gets the title of hero. Savior. Showing up last second and fucking everything up, and being loved for it. That's my brothers modis operandi. And he can't even spell those words.

People flinch when I call my mom a crazy bitch. Glad for them, in their Hallmark homes. Judging me. I still love the woman to death. Would kill for her. Suffered untold horrors just to keep her safe. Yet I can't help but feel this loyalty is a bit one sided. All things considered. And besides. Bitches be crazy.

My dad is her polar opposite. I get my cynical, mean sense of humor from him. I call him a passive aggressive teddy bear. And I feel two sides of my dad. First there's the guy that worked twenty two hours a day to support his family. No, that's not a exaggeration. And shit jobs too. Barely making it, piss on you, fast food, menial shit. It's hard not to respect that. Plus he's never touched or condoned so much as a cigarette or more than two beers that I've ever seen. Getting the shit beat out of you by a druggie alcoholic does that to you. Once, Grandpa "Buddy" even used a horse whip to beat him. Him and grandma talked about the two years they did speed at a Chili's dinner.

But they're rich as hell. Or they were. So it didn't matter. Still doesn't, as far as their putrid minds are concerned. Buy I'm off topic. His evil as fuck adoptive parents aside... My dad's not too bad. He taught me to write DOS code when I was six. How to write a household budget in Microsoft Excel when I was twelve. How to set up a wireless network for a entire office when I was sixteen. Basically he prepared me for the real world. And all it's shitty points. And probably saved me some pain for the effort.

For example, dad tip 101: Don't lend out money and expect or need it back. Only lend what you can afford and be surprised if it's ever repaid. Good tip. Seriously. When I flunked classes and needed summer school, he made me get a job and pay it back. I hated him for it. But after I worked off over a grand in summer school debt at a Chinese hole in the wall restaurant with no working AC, I understood what a dollar was worth. Hence no slavery bond. I mean, as you call them, student loans. Been there. Done that.

But then there's the other side of him. The side that never really wanted kids. The side that accused me of knowing my mom cheated when I actually didn't. My next door neighbor, a herione addict who tagged along on my mom's Easter visit to my brother did. He was there as she stopped, both on the way to and the way from, to fuck the meth head. He didn't tell me. I woke up to my sister alone in the living room crying. Because she had never seen my dad cry before. Neither have I. The only time in known history and I missed it. Poor Ducky, she saw it all.

Sometimes I wish I could erase it all. The Divorce. It happened when I was twenty four, and I thought my parents had fallen into the age old 'i hate you but I'll be with you forever trap'. The fact that they both remarried a year after divorce proves I was either naively hopeful or utterly delusional. Considering the fact that I knew they made each other utterly miserable I have to side with the latter. I just wanted to believe they loved each other in secret. Hell, thanks to my mom I knew they fucked three times a week. I thought that meant something.

Maybe that's why I think sex is pretty meaningless and too important all at once. First off. I won't fuck anyone unless I really want to. Second off. I've only fucked one guy. It wasn't intentional, the one guy thing, it's just the first guy who earned my trust was the first guy I let have me and I fell in love and ten years later he's still never betrayed me. Ever. And he makes me feel like a kid. And we fight. And I hate him sometimes but we never go to bed angry. And I have no kids. I won't be my mother. I don't want her mistakes. I'm creating my own whole new ones. It's both my privledge and my goal to defy everyone's expectations of me, even to my own detriment.

Everyone thinks I aimed low. He even says stupid stuff like how he thinks I'll leave him for someone else. Sometimes. And maybe my mom helped that paranoia along. You see, pre meth head boyfriend divorce, I was pretty found of telling people my mom and I were best friends and so alike. Post fallout, those words came back to haunt me in a big way. I supported her when EVERYONE turned away. Her father. My siblings. They all said she deserved the meth head. They didn't get it. If I left her alone he was going to kill her. Literally. And they turned on me for 'supporting her behavior'.

Go fuck yourselves. I couldn't speak to you all in the moment, and afterward everyone wanted to brush this shit under the rug. But damn it. It fucking scared me. Excuse the fuck out of me for panicking. I was twenty four, sure, a adult by all measures and standards. People don't pity adults. My dad taught me that. Figure shit out and handle it. So I did. And I took zero credit. Letting my mom crown my brother king of all the land, her savior. So in the end I was nothing.

And I didn't say shit. Let my extended family think what they liked. Not in that exact intention. In my head I was like, this.famiky situation is so fucked and so nasty I couldn't bear to tell them. And that left me awkwardly over formal in responses. I should have guessed no one else in my family was that shy. They told all...of their bullshit. And I know that sounds so one sided.

If I were you, I wouldn't trust my perspective on the matter either. After all, perception is defined by experience, and my experience is sure to lead me to be self serving and exploitative. I don't pretend otherwise. This is simply how it felt to me. As I received notices from my pastor grandfather telling me I was living in sin because I hadn't married or gone to church regularly. First off. YOUR only daughter had three kids out of wedlock by three different men. Totally beating the odds here. Thanks. Secondly, and yes I said this, bet your ass I did, I have only had sex with one guy and I promised God he was the one. Law is not religion. All a wedding is, technically, is a profession of exclusivity with your partner before God. I did that. Proved it for ten years. Living in sin? How so? By what biblical standard? Handfasting was a accepted marriage ceremony, Heinzy and I have declared devotion before each other and all else hands held before. It counts. So what is I don't have the legal document? Judge not least ye be judged and all that.

As for church. Ah the constructrial artifice of faith devoid of all passion. Going to church with my grandparents is different. There's something about my grandpa being a pastor, people instantly recognize it and respond to it. I have never, not once, stood in church with my grandpa and not had ten people know someone he knew from congregation or teaching job (he was a private school teacher and even principal too). He doesn't get what it's like, poor as fuck, to show up for service and be mocked by so called Christians. How I disdain their fake pandering. I love God. His houses are often beautiful, the scent of fresh wood and the art of stained glass. But the people inside are ugly and don't reflect Him at all. They just want to puff up their own self worth and indulgence and I hate them for it. But maybe that's just Illinois Lutherans for you.

They ruined church for me. Haven't been since I was in my twenties and I turned thirty two whole weeks ago.