#continuing on my mission to only draw Martha with her natural hair

[violetmessages]

hottest companion

[writerfangirlbooks]

The Spy

Castiel x Reader Prompt: Reader is a mortal who is being blackmailed into working for Crowley and goes to a dance where you meet the angel Castiel, who wants to help you. Y/h = your height.

Word Count: around 2270

Credit to gif owner!

You had made a mistake. You wanted to protect your kid sister and ran into someone who promised help. You were desperate and made a deal. Now your ten years are up, but Crowley didn't want you to die yet. He believed you two had grown as chums, so he kept you around. You were thirty by now, but only visited your sister a few times a year. Crowley had kept you away from the Winchester brothers; he didn't want you in the way of the cross-fire. Now you were at a very formal dance, undercover, to find information from the brothers.

"And remember, pet," Crowley said. "Find out the location, any allies, and times. Those are the main priorities. Do whatever it takes."

You nodded and got ready. A slim black dress, heels, and a small purse that held weapons, such as pepper spray and knives. You had never considered fighting Crowley. After all, he was the King of Hell. When you met, he was a crossroads demon in a bar. You knew his power, his strength. You wouldn't defy him. You didn't necessary like all the missions he would send you on, but there wasn't much you could do about it.

Crowley dropped you off at the entrance. You scanned the building before going inside. A butler took your purse and you noticed where he laid it, for future reference. Crowley had given you a brief description of the two brothers: "Moose is the younger one. Long hair. Squirrel is shorter. More rebellious." That was all you had to go off of, besides their names. What would two hunters be doing at a dance anyways? You wondered.

Immediately, you caught about the attention of a dozen men, along with a few ladies. You strolled through, feigning confidence, and waited in the corner and caught a man fumbling with coins in the bar to the right. You immediately went to help him. You bent on a knee and picked up the quarters and nickels. He let out a sigh of relief as you dropped the money into his hands. You stood and studied each other.

"Thank you," the man said with half of a smile. He had messy brown hair and the brightest blue eyes you had ever seen. He was in a suit and there was a trench coat draped over the chair he was seated in.

"You're welcome," you said quickly, shaking his hand. The man stared at you with curiosity and you hoped he couldn't tell that you were meant to be dead. He kept hold of your hand a moment too long, but you also didn't pull away immediately either. "My name is Y/N. It is nice to meet you..." You trailed off. He continued staring into your y/e/c eyes.

"I am Agent Robert Stark," he said. His voice appeared naturally low, but not necessarily deep. "I'm here for the case of Martha Jones, a woman who died a few nights ago. Would you happen to know anything about her?"

You shook your head, almost wishing you had lied and said you did, just so you could continue talking to him. You enjoyed his voice, but knew you had to continue on. "I can't say that I have, sorry."

Agent Stark nodded thoughtfully and pulled a business card out of his pocket, where you saw the flash of the FBI card, and handed it to you. "Would you let me know if you hear anything?"

You nodded numbly and mumbled an "of course". You had met with FBI when you were younger in a case when you were working with the government, before your sister got sick. That was definitely not one of those badges. You wandered over to your purse and stuck the card in there, planning on delivering it to Crowley later. The 'detective' was no doubt attractive, but that didn't mean you could trust him. You really loved life. You would always give it up for your sister, but that didn't mean you wanted to die.

Merging through the crowds of people, you found yourself on the dance floor alone. You swayed with a couple men, who didn't fit the description. You searched, but still didn't find anyone that even slightly resembled the Winchesters. Out of seemingly nowhere, Stark appeared in front of you, almost trying to block something.

"Um, would you dance with me?" He asked. You replied with a hesitant "sure". He took your right hand and intertwined it with his. The other hand was placed on your waist. You almost tripped over his feet at his touch. He seemed nervous, which definitely should have made you suspicious. There was not a reason a good looking agent like him should be nervous. Then again, he wasn't a real agent.

"I did not mean to urgently request this dance. I didn't want you to appear alone... It seemed to be that there is a man watching you. He in the middle of the northern area in a blue suit. I thought I should warn you," Robert Stark said. You peaked over his shoulder and saw Jonson, Crowley's right hand demon. You stiffened instantly. Whether Crowley had sent him to watch you or to inform you on something new, you weren't sure.

"Thank you," you flashed him a false smile. "That wasn't necessary, however. We work together."

The agent's face grew immediately into surprise. "Oh! I was unaware. Y/N, I apologize if it seems like I was-"

"It's not a problem, agent. Thank you for the dance. I will let you know if I hear anything about Martha." You dropped his hand reluctantly as the song came to a draw and walked away. He stayed for a moment longer, the touch of your soft hand lingering on his. You felt it too and swallowed as you walked towards Jonson. You crossed your arms and tried to appear displeased at his arrival, when he actually frightened you. The King of Hell didn't scare you as much as Jonson did. Crowley had never tried to actually hurt you before.

He raised his eyebrows and his lips formed a cocky smirk. There was a navy scarf wrapped around his pale neck, which was the only reason he stood out. His suit was stolen, but came from a very expensive store. He was handsome physically, which is why you had tried befriending him all those years ago. Jonson played along at first, then showed how demon's truly were: completely apathetic. Aside from Crowley, who had a sliver of emotions thanks to the Winchesters, who you still needed to find. Jonson didn't take lightly to the word 'no', which you were confident enough to say, even to a demon. That didn't stop the cruel things that he did to you. You saw him less and less, thankfully, after things were finally done between you two. That didn't stop him from being completely arrogant when he was around you. You had no idea if Crowley noticed the bruises you had tried to cover or not, but it didn't really matter. You were here on a job and he wasn't going to mess that up.

"What are you doing here?" You asked quietly, meeting his dark eyes after a moment. Jonson towered over you menacingly and you had to resist the urge to run.

"Crowley wanted me to let you know that you need to report back to him no later that midnight," Jonson answered, scanning the people around, presumably to see if there was anyone he could try to either persuade into a deal, kill for fun, or anyone whose time is almost up.

You couldn't help but retort. "Why, were you the last one available?" He narrowed his eyes, which meant yes. You knew not to do anything else, so you said, "If that's all... Thank you for letting me know. You can leave now," you told him. His smirk grew and he stretched, forcing you to step back. He responded, "I think I'll stay for a while. What have you found so far, talking with the angel?"

"Excuse me?" You questioned. Jonson tilted his head. His brow furrowed and he said, "The one you were dancing with. That cover wasn't too horrible, I must admit. Pretending to be nice and collect his money. He must be with the Winchesters, though I don't see them anywhere."

You realized you had been talking for a good five minutes and looked around, though the only eyes on you were Jonson's dead brown ones. You moved your right foot anxiously. Your scar rubbed against the back of your heel. You had Jonson to thank for that; he had been experimenting in new ways to torture and you had no way to escape. You were mortal, after all. But Agent Stark... not an agent, but an angel? That was the more difficult part to process. You wondered if he knew that you were working for Crowley and if it was a plot to get you and Jonson together.

"Hey," his voice hardened and Jonson reached out and grabbed your arm. "I was talking to you." You tried stepping away and moving your arm back, but the demon was a lot stronger than you. You mumbled towards him, telling him to let you go, which of course didn't happen. The angel was suddenly next to you and pushed Jonson away. The sudden impact made you fall backwards onto the fake agent. He caught and steadied your body, even on the heels.

"I believe she asked you to let her go," the angel said, his blue eyes glowing. You stepped back, out of his way. The angel had a grip on Jonson, whose face for the first time was filled with terror. You assured yourself you wouldn't get hurt. Crowley could break your extra time in less than a snap of his fingers, but at least Jonson wouldn't be able to hurt you anymore.

People began casting weird looks your way. You tugged on the angel's sleeve. "Leave him. People are staring," you whispered. He turned back to you and Jonson slouched against the wall. The blue-eyed angel took your hand and jogged you to the exit. You two stood outside. You took a minute to catch your breath as the angel continued his focus on where the demon was, as if threatening him to come over here.

"Thank you," you said after a moment. "Why did you do that?"

"Do you mean save you? I had to. Do you know what that person was? I shouldn't have even let you walk over there," said the angel. He made it sound like it was his duty to protect mortals against demons, unless he just saw Jonson, 6'7, gaining up on you, only y/h.

"Jonson is a demon. Tell me who you really are," you demanded, nearly in a whisper. You were shaking by now as you observed the angel. Time was ticking by. There was just less than an hour before you had to tell Crowley what you had found out, which at this point, was absolutely nothing. Jonson could be running to him right now, telling him any lies he could possibly dream up.

The angel saw you trembling. He took your hands in his. "My name is Castiel. The only reason I came was because my friends... Sam and Dean... had an emergency hunt. They said that I could find what they needed here. Please, tell me, why did you walk to him? Why engage in conversation?"

You didn't want to, but you let go of Castiel's hands. They were so warm and protective around yours. You couldn't lead him on like that, for multiple reasons. You knew he would be able to detect your lies, so you settled for the truth.

"You're right. I shouldn't have. But I wasn't wrong when I said we worked together. I also was here for information," you lowered your eyes, almost shamefully.

Castiel froze and you felt your whole body shake and tried swallowing down the pain. "You work for Crowley?" He paused and blinked. "What information could you have needed from here?"

"It was about the Winchesters. They were supposed to be here. He sent me here to find out where they were staying, who they were working with, and when. He sent the demon to tell me when to let him know when I found out, which is in forty minutes now. Look, I know you probably think how ridiculous I am. I wanted to keep my sister alive, so I made a deal. It's been three months past my due date. I'm just doing what I can, okay?" You sniffled. It was forty degrees outside and you were in a skin-tight dress with a thin strap. Castiel noticed and took off his trench coat, wrapping it around your shoulders. "Hell, I can't believe you're an angel."

Castiel frowned. He hesitantly put an arm around you for warmth. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"I'm supposed to be a spy and I couldn't figure that out." You let out a weak laugh and looked up at the angel. He bent down and kissed you. Your hair began to get messed up, the way he would hold you. You knew you didn't have much time. However, standing here in an angel's coat... kissing him. That felt right.

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[orphanbrigade]

All That Glitters

Orphan Brigade [High School Years]: Geoffs boys are growing up fast. They’re attending High School, meeting girls and participating in epic heists.

(I’ve posted this one in sections before, but here’s the whole thing)

(Warning: Contains guns and violence)

Ryan had no-one to blame but himself.

He never should have mentioned it.

But for their latest heist, they needed someone to go undercover at a glitzy, socialite fundraiser ball.

Jack instantly dismissed Ryan as being unsuitable for the role.

“It’s nothing personal Ryan. But it’s the same social circle as your family. Your parents might even be there themselves. There’s too much risk that you’ll be spotted.

“Ah, but you’re forgetting that it’s a themed event.” Ryan explained casually. “And this year it’s masquerade. Everyone will be wearing masks.”

“Still-”

“I’m the only one with the training to pull this off.” Ryan rolled his eyes. “I’m the only one who knows how these events work. I know the posture, the greetings, the dances-”

“Dances?” Jeremy interjected.

“…Well, it’s a ball. There’s always dancing.”

Jeremy struggled to contain his laughter at the mental image.

“You can dance Ry?” Gavin laughed, thoroughly amused.

“Yeah, I do it all the time with your girlfriend.” Ryan countered impassively.

The room erupted in laughter and jeering from the Lads (and Geoff) at Gavin’s expense.

“Okay, okay!” Jack managed to regain order. “Ryan, You’ll be our way in then. As long as you wear a mask the whole time.”

“And not the skull mask.” Michael added, still snickering.

“You got it.” Ryan nodded, a determined look on his face.

Ryan had his signature mask. The black skull which represented his darker side; the Vagabond.

But over the years he had accumulated a number of different masks from various themed heists (usually the ones orchestrated by the lads). He opened the drawer which housed them all and searched for something which would be appropriate for the masquerade.

He smirked to himself when he spotted the wolf mask. The theme of the ball was fairy-tales, so he would fit in perfectly as the Big Bad Wolf.

A knock on his bedroom door broke his train of thought, he dropped the mask into his bag before opening the door.

“You’re going?” Meg asked, without prelude.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Ryan responded coyly.

“Cut the crap Ry. Gavin already told me.” Meg walked into the room, dropping down to sit on Ryan’s bed.

“Okay, yes. I’m going. But I’ll wear my mask the whole time so no-one should notice me.”

“They’ll notice a big guy like you all alone. You’ll draw attention to yourself. You need some arm candy.” Meg flicked her hair over her shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ll go with you. Help you blend in more and draw the attention away from you.”

“I don’t know…”

“It’s not that dangerous, right? Gavin didn’t explain the whole plan to me, but it seems simple enough. And I’ll be there anyway, my families dragging me along. I might as well do something fun while I’m there.”

“It’s not a game Meg.” Ryan warned tensely.

“I know that. But it’s still exciting!”

Ryan weighed up the pros and cons. He figured that the mission had a very low risk factor. He couldn’t envision many ways for it to become a dangerous situation and even if it did, he was confident in his abilities to keep Meg safe.

“Fine. But I’m in charge.”

“You got it boss.” Meg winked and saluted before jumped up and leaving, eager to tell Gavin the news.

It wasn’t a comfortable environment for Ryan, but it was certainly a familiar one.

The large ball-room twinkled with warm light radiating from the chandeliers. A string quartet sat up on the stage, their music mixing with the sound of chattering party attendees. Everyone was dressed to impress, expensive tuxedos, dazzling ballgowns and, most importantly, their masquerade masks.

Meg fit in perfectly. She wore a tight fitting black dress, with a blood red cape draped over her shoulders. A red and black masquerade mask concealed her eyes.The Little Red Riding Hood to his Big Bad Wolf. “Come on.” She smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. “Let’s go dance.”

Ryan and Meg has always been each others dancing partners. Their parents had been close and had encouraged the two to spend time together, especially during formal events. They were well trained in dance and familiar with each others movements and timing. It was second nature at this point.

Ryan rested on hand on Megs waist and held her hand with the other. He laughed as Meg started to hum the theme song from Beauty and The Beast, “I’m not that kind of beast.” He pointed out as they swayed across the dance-floor, his voice somewhat muffled by his wolf mask.

“You’re not a beast at all.” Meg retorted. “Now be quiet and let me have my Disney moment.”

As the next song started to play, Meg tensed. “Your parents are here.”

Ryan didn’t look.

“Have you seen them? Since…. you know?” Meg asked, vaguely alluding to Ryan’s college graduation party, when a rival gang had burst into his family’s home looking for the Vagabond. Ryan had revealed his criminal identity, dealt with the attackers, then ran. He was surprised nothing had gotten out to the press. He assumed his parents had paid for everyone’s silence.

“No.” Ryan replied bluntly. “They haven’t tried to get in touch either. No calls, texts, emails. Nothing. I’m just giving them space.”

“If you want to talk to them…”

Ryan shook his head. “It’s fine Meg. Don’t worry about it. Worry about the job the hand.”

“Right.” Meg nodded. “Find the banker. Steal his key…. What banks still use keys?”

“The key isn’t to the bank. It’s to his home.”

“… I don’t think I want to know any more.”

“Probably not.” Ryan nodded in agreement. “Come on, let’s mingle.”

While Meg was distracted by an old friend, Ryan took the opportunity to find them something to drink. He soon found a bar and waited to be served. While he waited, Ryan took a moment to survey the party, looking as casual as he possibly could. He hadn’t seen his target yet, but it was only a matter of time.

“James?” A familiar voice jolted Ryan out of his quiet surveillance.

A quick glance to the side confirmed what Ryan had feared. His father, Thomas Haywood, was stood right next to him.

Luckily, Ryan’s face was totally disguised by his wolf mask. “…No.” He mumbled, doing his best to disguise his voice.

“Ryan.” Thomas continued, knowing that, for some reason, his son preferred to use his middle name.

“I think you have the wrong person.” Ryan stated, trying not to panic.

His father smiled fondly. “Ah, I’m sorry. It’s just you remind me of my son. He ran away from home recently and I see him everywhere.”

“…Oh?” Ryan prompted, morbidly curious.

“Yes. We’ve tried to give him his space, but it’s difficult, you know?” Thomas took a long swig of his drink. This surprised Ryan who had never really seen his father drink alcohol before. “You try to do the best you can but sometimes its just… not good enough.”

“What happened?” Ryan found himself asking. He knew that he should have left the second he spotted his parents, but he found himself rooted to the ground, desperate to hear more.

“He was a good kid.” Thomas expanded, ordering another drink. Ryan wondered how many he had consumed already. “Top of his class. Active in extra curriculum stuff. Not very sociable with kids his age. But kids are jerks. I don’t blame him.”

Ryan suppressed a chuckle.

“I don’t know what happened. Our good little kid started doing bad things… Now he’s a criminal. I don’t know what we did wrong.”

“It’s not your fault.” Ryan assured him.

“How can you be so sure?” Thomas challenged, swallowing his drink in one swift swig.

“Some people are just… like that.” Ryan tried to explain. “There’s no reasoning behind it. No tragic backstory which lead to a life of crime. It’s just… who they are. Nature over nurture I suppose.”

“I wish we could have done more…”

“… Try reaching out to him. Maybe if you talked, you’d understand more about him?”

“You-” Before Thomas could finish his thought, the firm hand of his wife pressed down on his shoulder. “Martha.”

“Come on Dear.” She responded firmly, clearly not impressed with his drinking. “We really should be leaving.”

“Have you met my new acquaintance here? Mr…?”

“Perrault.” Ryan responded quickly.

“Well, Mr Perrault.” Ryan’s mother flashed him an apologetic smile. “We really must be going.”

Everyone jumped as a barrage of gun fire could be heard at the main entrance. Ryan sighed when he spotted Craig, one of the heads of the Screw Attack Crew, with one arm around a hostage. He was using his free hand to wave a gun around menacingly. “Everyone listen up!” Craig demanded. “This is a robbery. I want every cent of your money or the girl here gets it.” He pressed the gun to the temple of the girls head. Ryan snarled when he realised that it was Meg that was being threatened.

“Someone has to do something.” Martha Haywood gasped quietly.

“I’m on it.” Ryan stated confidently, striding towards the hostage situation. He had no plan. But he knew that he wasn’t going to let anyone harm a single hair on Meg’s head.

Ryan confidently pushed his way through the fearful crowd until he was face to face with the gang leader, who now had two other members of his crew flanking him.

“Let her go.” Ryan warned them firmly.

“Oooh.” Craig smirked. “Look boys. It’s the big bad wolf.”

The crew snickered as menacingly as they could.

“Wonder who’s under the mask.” Chad, another member of the Screw Attack Crew, mused aloud. “Probably some spoiled, preppy little rich kid. If this your girlfriend, Wolf-boy?” He asked, gesturing towards the captive Meg.

“I’m not a Wolf-Boy.” Ryan pulled his mask off to reveal his painted face. He found that even the face paint was enough to install fear into people who knew about Los Santos criminals. Which is why he had decided to apply it, even under the masquerade mask. He let the mask drop to the floor. “I’m the mother-fucking Vagabond.”

There was a collection of gasps from the party goers. Even some shrieks from people who found the Vagabond to be far more of a threat than the crew currently holding them hostage.

Before Craig had a chance to speak, an explosion rocked the side of the building and chaos broke loose as the attendees of the party yelled,screamed and clambered to the exits.

“Son of a-” Ryan darted forward, breaking Craig’s nose with a quick jab and yanked Meg away from him. “Time to leave.” He pulled her through the panicked crowd, pausing only when he spotted his parents cowering behind the bar.After a moment of inner debate, Ryan raced over to them. “Get up.” He demanded.

“What..?” Ryan’s mother started to ask.

“If you stay here, the next explosion could kill you. Get up and follow me.”

Ryan led Meg, Thomas and Martha Haywood out of the ballroom and onto the streets of Los Santos.

“What about everyone else?” Ryan’s mother asked quietly.

“I’m not Batman. I can’t save everyone. We have to get out of here. That explosion could cause one hell of a chain reaction.”

The escaped into a relatively empty alleyway. The presence of the Vagabond scared away any would-be muggers.

“Ryan… sweet-heart. I think we need to have a little talk.” Martha started, somewhat nervously.

Ryan sighed before taking a wet wipe out of his pocket. In one swift motion, he removed most of his face paint. “Come on then, lets get coffee.”

“I’ll leave you guys to it.” Meg stated, prepared to walk away.

“No.” Ryan wanted the support, but was too stubborn to admit to it.”I’d rather keep an eye on you. You know, in case the crew comes after you again.”

Meg gave Ryan a small smile. “Sure thing. I know a great coffee place a few blocks from here.” She informed them in a cheery tone. “Follow me.”

Ryan exited the cafe and let out a heavy sigh of relief. He hadn’t realised that he had been holding his breath, but now his lungs felt like they were ready to collapse.

The time spent talking to his parents had been tense but comforting and Ryan left the cafe feeling a little less alone.

Realising that he hadn’t brought any means of transport with him, Ryan started the long walk back to the penthouse.

The silence of his walk was broken as his phone vibrated, letting him know that Gavin was calling him. “Y’ello.”

“Hey Ryan, um...” Gavin sounded nervous. Ryan couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was clear that Gavin wanted to ask him something. “Could you-..” Gavin stopped himself before finishing the sentence.

“Jesus Christ.” Ryan rolled his eyes. “Spit it out already.”

“Could you teach me how to dance?”

“.... Excuse me?”

“Well, Meg invited me to this big party her parents are throwing her for her birthday. And I want to impress her. And her parents. So I need to fit in. And I figured that would be easier if I could, you know, dance and stuff.”

Ryan smiled. “I can teach you. I’ll be home late tonight, but we can have a class in the morning if you want?”

“Sounds great! Thanks Rye.”

That morning Ryan awoke to find the whole family (plus Michael’s girlfriend Lindsay) waiting for him in the living room.

“....Is this some kind of intervention?” Ryan asked suspiciously. “Because I’d rather die than give up diet coke.”

Michael laughed. “No dumb-ass, it’s a dance lesson. Right?”

Ryan looked at Gavin, his eyes narrowing into a glare.

“It’s not my fault!” Gavin squeaked. “Michael found out and told Lindsay. Who told Jeremy. Who told Ray. Who told Geoff and Jack. And, well, here we are.”

“Ready to learn.” Jack added with a smile.

“... You all want to learn how to ballroom dance?” Ryan clarified. “After laughing at me for knowing how.”

“Pretty much.” Ray confirmed with a sly smirk. “We’re fickle like that.”

[starry-nightflyer]

Daggers

Inspired by this post made by @theonecalledthetasigma

It really inspired me to write something darker than what I usually do, so here’s my interpretation of ten. This will probably be a lot longer than I anticipated, but I’m excited to be writing something spooky for October!

There he was again. 

His tall frame seemed to float down the London streets, barely visible in the thick fog rolling between the buildings. His caramel colored coat swung like a banner at his every movement, his impossibly dark eyes searching for something he would never find. 

Rose Tyler trailed a block behind him, her jaw clenched tightly. She knew who he was, oh yes. She knew what he was. 

His hair bristled, a thousand needle-sharp points standing bolt upright atop his head. His hands were stuffed deep into his pockets, his breaths fogging up the air. He looked nearly normal, though the odd sway and bounce of his walk made him look just out of place enough to give off a weird vibe.

Not a single soul was in sight other than him. 

Rose tightened her death grip on her gun, feeling the cool metal against her fingers. She quickened her step. Cold sweat dripped down her back. She took a deep breath, the cold air biting into her uncovered skin. The hand that wasn’t holding anything shook profusely. 

She blamed the cold. 

She was feet away from him now, and he hadn’t yet turned around. She could see his shoulders rise and fall with his every breath. 

She wanted nothing more than to make it stop.

He froze suddenly, catching her off-guard, his head jerking upright. His hands flew to his sides in a defensive stance. She fought not to cry out as he turned to face her.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Inhumanly.

He looked almost like a little lost puppy, but a glint in his eyes told her that this wasn’t the case. Not this time. 

She cocked the gun and pressed it against her cheek, prompting a sigh from the creature. 

“Go ahead and shoot.” He growled, his teeth wickedly sharp. “Just end it already.” Fear rooted her to the spot, her finger toying with the trigger, but not pulling it. He blew out a breath from between his teeth. “Knew it." 

"You’re not in a position to be making demands, bastard.” She snapped. He raised his eyebrows. 

“Really?” He snarled. “I’ve got a gun pointed at my chest, and you’re telling me what I can and can’t do?” He took a step forward, drawing himself up to his full height. She staggered backward. He barked out a laugh, the sound chilling her to the bone. “You’re the same as all the others. You threaten me with paper defenses, but you’ll die all the same. You picked a bad night to try and do me in.” His voice was acidic in nature, oozing into her head and making her feel anger she had never experienced before.

“I bet you don’t even remember their names.” The creature took another lumbering step forward. She could see dried blood coating its fingers. 

“Don’t you accuse me of forgetting!” She watched him closely, not letting the gun fall from her hands. “I remember all that die at my hands.” Her heart pounded as he stepped forward once more, his steely eyes peering down at her in fury. She took a few shaky steps backward. His gaze stayed trained on her the whole time, as if daring her to make a move, silently mocking her cowardice. She wanted to bolt right then and there. This- This monster could have killed her at any point of their interaction, but it hadn’t yet. She gripped that thought like a lifeline. 

Remember why you took this case!

A tiny voice piped up in the back of her head.

A cool breeze blew through her hair and she loosened her grip on the trigger. “Tell me about Martha.” She ordered. He visibly shrank, his shoulders falling slack. His fierce gaze faltered. The only sound was the wind howling in the deserted street. “Tell me, damn it!” She bit, fighting not to let her voice crack. “Tell me about my best friend and what you did to her!" 

Anger flared in his eyes. 

"Martha Jones didn’t die!” He spat her name like it was poison in his mouth. “She was the only friend I had.” He continued creeping closer as he spoke, allowing her to see all the cuts and slashes in his rumpled pinstriped suit. All the dried stains of blood clinging to his sleeves. 

“Don’t you dare call her your friend!” She barked. 

“She was all that I had!” He pointed a finger at her. She inhaled sharply, knowing how deadly just one touch could be. He suddenly seemed to realize what he was doing. A growl of frustration tore from his lips. 

He jerked his hand back, forcing it back into his pocket. The sound of fabric tearing accompanied the action. “I didn’t want to hurt her.” He nearly whimpered. “She understood. I made it clear that I didn’t want her to touch me. So,” He swallowed hard. “So she never did." 

This wasn’t what she was expecting. She didn’t want to lower her guard, but he seemed- regretful. Scared even, but more than that- alone. She didn’t want to ask, but the words seemed to be coming by themselves.

"What happened?" 

"We were at a marketplace.” He laughed bitterly again. “Usually try and avoid that kind of thing. I learned that the hard way.” His eyes fell closed, another harsh breath hissing through his teeth. “It was going well. I was having a good time. She was too. I let my guard down." 

When his eyes opened again, they were soulless. "She forgot my warmings. She tried to hold my hand.” He visibly shuddered. “I-I,” His voice broke. “I tightened my grip as a reflex. Her hand seemed right. And then, there was blood everywhere." 

"And then you ran, didn’t you?” He nodded. “Her blood coated my hand. I could hear her screams over the noise of the crowd. I still do, sometimes." 

"We managed to get to her before she bled out.” His eyes flew open wide. Fear glinted in his brown irises. 

“Did she-” Rose shook her head.

“She’s still alive.” She confirmed. He let out a long sigh. “She told me about you. She said that you wanted to stop being alone, but you didn’t tell her what you were. You didn’t tell her that if she touched you, she would be torn apart- literally.” She locked eyes with the beast. “Now, what of Donna Noble?" 

He was upon her before she could even cry out. Blood dripped from where his hand connected with her arm, his breathing rough and ragged. His face was mere inches from hers, his hot breath ghosting against her cheek. He dug his hand deep into her shoulder, nearly connecting with bone. She could hear her muscles squelching as blood ran from her arm. 

She pushed the gun against his chest. 

"Off. Now.” She commanded. He stared down at it with a dull interest. 

“Never mention her name again, got that?” He rasped. He twisted her arm tightly, his needle-sharp grip ripping through her skin. She cried out in pain. He pulled her hair and drew her face close to his. “Don’t you EVER ask me about Donna Noble. Don’t you even breathe her name again. You don’t deserve to.” Spittle flew from his lips and struck her cheek. “HEAR ME?" 

She nodded, and he let go, shoving her to the cold concrete. Warm blood pooled around her. All she could see was his lanky frame stalking away down the alleyway, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets like before. "Wait.” She croaked, trying to rise to her feet. He scowled down at her. His teeth gleamed like daggers. Blood dripped from his needle-sharp claws. 

“Just close your eyes.” He advised. “It’ll be over sooner.” “Meet me tomorrow. Blue box chippy.” She wheezed, gripping her shoulder as she staggered upright. “Four o’ clock. Be there." 

"You can’t control me.” His foot connected with her ribcage. She yelped in pain. “You can’t even talk to me. YOU DON’T KNOW WHO I AM.” He was shouting again, his shape actually fluctuating in the fog, blurring around the edges and becoming impossibly large. His eyes seemed to glow yellow. “YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I’VE BEEN THROUGH." 

She fumbled for her walkie-talkie, jamming down the button, her fingers slick with her own blood.

"Badwolf reporting.” She clutched it to her ear, hoping against all hopes that someone would answer.

“This is the impossible girl, report, Badwolf.” Tears started to fall from her eyes.

“Mission partial failure. He was hostile. He attacked.” Her friend’s official tone instantly fell, and she could see her clutching the case file in her mind’s eye.

“Shit, Rose.” Clara’s voice wavered. “How bad is the injury?” Rose grunted in pain.

“He tackled me. Everything burns. Losing blood fast.” Her breathing was labored and loud. “He left." 

"We’re sending Martha. Hang tight.” Ugly yellow spots danced across her vision.

“Clara?”

“What?” Her eyes followed his thin form as he continued walking. 

“He wasn’t hostile until I mentioned Donna. He just snapped.” Clara didn’t respond outright. The words had to sink in.

“And then he attacked?”

“Yeah.” Her words came out as a wheeze. “Yeah, he kicked me a few times, too." 

"Jesus,” Clara mumbled. 

“But, I did get information from him.” He was nearly gone, his silhouette cloudy in the fog. “He didn’t mean to hurt Martha. And he-” She took a deep breath. “He might meet me tomorrow. Blue box chippy at four.”

“There’s no way you’re going to see him again, got that? Not alone." 

"Clara, he’ll attack again if I don’t try and stop him. He didn’t maul me outright. I’ve got a chance." 

"It’s too risky.” Rose managed to lean against one of the buildings stretching around her. She could hear the siren of the Torchwood van ringing through the street and sighed in relief. 

“She’s here.” She clicked off the walkie-talkie, silencing Clara’s protests. She began to limp in the direction of the noise, holding one hand over her eyes when the headlights appeared down the street. 

The van screeched to a halt in front of her, Martha leaping out before the vehicle had fully stopped. She practically collapsed into Martha’s arms, the other woman quickly becoming covered in her coppery blood. Rose, however, hardly noticed. Because she could still see him lurking in the shadows, his wild hair blowing in the breeze. His icy gaze stayed trained on her, his lips quirked upward into a sick smile. 

“C'mon. Let’s get you fixed up.” And then, he was gone.

He watched the van peal down the street, the bloodied human who had seemed to know so much about who he was disappearing around a corner. He could still hear her voice ringing in his ears, repeating the same phrase over and over again.

Be there.

He shook his head like an animal to try and banish the thought to a far corner of his mind, but it just got louder.  

Four o’ clock.

He looked down at his bloody hands and wiped them on his coat, leaving twin red smears down his sides. Why didn’t he end her? 

It wasn’t like her throat wasn’t exposed, one quick bite or touch would have done it, blood gurgling up from her throat and cascading down her chin. He growled in frustration, shoving one hand through his messy hair. 

Her brown eyes had connected with something in him, and even though he didn’t like it, he knew he’d end up at the chippy at four. 

To discuss what, he didn’t know. 

Probably the humans who had died because he didn’t tell them what he was until it was too late. 

Probably to discuss his best friend who had died in his arms. 

He slumped next to a rubbish bin and put his head in his hands, drawing his knees up to his chest. His converses skidded on the cracked concrete. 

Tomorrow.

He decided.

She dies tomorrow.