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holographic-chogi · 4 years

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Protector pt.17/?

Author: holographic-chogi

Pairing: fem!reader x skz

Warnings: heavy swearing, psychological abuse, heavy violence.

A/N: ok. So this one is VERY dark, but it’s it’s a little longer than usual? So bonus points? haha. Anyway, I hope everyone is still enjoying! I feel like my writing is still pretty consistent with how it was pre-hiatus, hopefully you guys feel the same :) As always, feedback is very welcome and appreciated!! If anyone wants to be tagged, pls let me know!

Summary: a virus has wiped out most of humanity, and society has collapsed. People survive in groups where they live in constant fear and a struggle to survive. Women were the primary victim of the virus, leaving few behind. You are one of the few, kept in secret since the beginning. However, you’ve just been caught.

Masterlist

Fear radiates through your body as he stands in your doorway. Next to Hyuk, he looks quite small, but that’s never stopped him from being dangerous before. Hell, maybe if you weren’t always hunched over in his presence, you’d be taller.

Taeil turns away from you, pulling out a pack of cigarettes before taking one out; putting it in his pocket before handing the rest of the pack to Hyuk, earning a look from the latter. “The deal was a whole pack, not a pack minus one.”

Taeil looked at him, his sickening grin still ever-present. “Cut me some slack, are you really doing me that big of a favor?”

Hyuk looked back at you, before shrugging. “Good point, I really don’t give a shit. Go to town.”

You began to tremble, realizing just how much danger you’re in. Surely Hyuk wouldn’t let Taeil do anything, right? Jiho wouldn’t allow it.

Doesn’t matter. Hyuk just left. You watched as he closed the door behind him, leaving you with Taeil. He fucking left you alone with this psychopath. You were no longer playing a part, this is Taeil.

“What do you want?” You surprised yourself with the venom in your voice, you had expected it to waver.

He pushed himself from his leaning position in the doorway, striding over to where you sat on the bed. You quickly turned to face him on high alert. “I said what the fuck do you want?”

His eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward. “We’ve been over this. That is not how you speak to me.” He reached out and rested his hands on your thighs, “You are property. Don’t you dare raise your voice at me, or I will end your miserable existence in a second. Do you understand?”

Instinctively, you try to move your thighs away, grimacing at his touch. But as soon as you do, his grip tightens. Painfully so. Everytime he opens his mouth, his voice is laced with more and more venom, “Going somewhere, your majesty?”

You narrow your eyes at him. Despite the strong exterior you’ve seemingly pulled out of your ass, you’re still mentally praying for him to let go. “You’ve had your fun. Now leave, before I scream.”

He snickered. “No one can hear you here. Give it a shot, I dare you.”

Your blood runs cold, eyes widening once you realize why he’s here. No one can hear you. He can’t kill you yet, so he’s here to hurt you.

You slowly creep backwards on the bed, successfully moving away from his hold, “T-Taeil...I-I…” you’re just blubbering at this point, coming short of any actual sentences.

And then he lunges.

He aims for your neck, but you’re ready. In an instant, his gut makes contact with your foot as you kick him as hard as he can, knocking him to the ground. You stumble off the bed, trying to steady yourself and shake off the shock as you make a dash for the door.

You’re so close, fingers grazing the doorknob, when you feel his hands roughly grab your ankle; yanking you to the ground. You land with a hard thud, knocking the air from your lungs. In a panic, you quickly roll onto your back ready to kick again.

But he’s ready for that. He holds your legs down as he crawls over you, blood dripping from his mouth. He must’ve hit his head when he fell. Hard.

“You little bitch.” Blood sprays onto your face as he snarls those words, causing you to recoil in disgust. Your eyes fly back open when you feel his hands around your throat.

It isn’t slow, the pressure is intense and instantaneous and his hands constrict your windpipe. He moves to sit on your chest, further restricting oxygen.

The pain is like nothing you’ve ever imagined. The pain of his fingers digging into your neck, even the pressure of his body on your chest doesn’t compare to the eruption of pain in your chest. It feels like you’ve been lit on fire from the inside as your lungs beg for air.

You can tell Taeil is speaking, but you can barely hear. Your vision begins to blur, and your limbs begin to weaken, your arms falling to your side as you no longer have the strength to fight back.

And then he lets go. You immediately begin coughing, violently. You take huge gulps of air, your hands on your neck, where Taeil’s just were. You aren’t sure where he went, as your way too focused on returning that precious oxygen to your lungs. And then you hear him directly in front of you, “Got carried away there, almost killed you early.”

Then you feel his hands grab your left wrist, and you’re harshly yanked forward, your whole body dragging behind. Everything is a blur, you can’t tell where you’re going, but you can feel the wooden floorboards pass beneath you.

You retch before you reach your destination, and you hear Taeil curse above you, before he let’s go. “Fucking disgusting!” He shrieks, and you can see him shake his leg from the corner of your eye. You experience a moment of relief as you roll onto your stomach, temporarily free. With barely any strength left, you try crawling forward, unsure of where forward will even lead you.

However, you don’t make it far, as his grip returns to your wrist, hauling you up against an unknown surface.

You feel a rough, gritty rope slide across your wrists as you're tied to whatever you’re up against. It takes effort, but you force your eyes open. You’re greeted with the sight of Taeil in front of you. Despite your current state, you take great satisfaction in the fact his grin is gone. Possibly delirious, a small smile creeps onto your tired face.

After you’re tied up tight enough to his liking, he sits back, catching his breath for a moment. You look down and notice vomit on his shoes and bottom of his pants. It isn’t equal retribution, but you still enjoy the sight. After all you’ve just been through, you can still feel your inner fire burning.

“You sick fuck.” You can barely speak, your voice coming out as a croak, barely audible, but he still hears you. Good.

He chuckles to himself, before leaning in again, his face inches from yours. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea. I’m saving the good stuff for the day I end you.”

You don’t respond, simply meeting his gaze with as much intensity as you can muster.

He stands up, reaching into his jacket pocket for the cigarette. He examines it, smiling, “Good thing this is still intact.” He looks down at you, and back at the cigarette he’s currently rolling around between his fingers. “I don’t know what I’d do with you if it wasn’t.”

You let your head fall back, resting on something soft behind it. You must be tied to one of the legs of the bed. You distantly hear the flick of a lighter, and a deep inhale as he takes a drag. You don’t care. You’re so tired, and the pain in your left shoulder is growing. You’d first noticed it when you were being dragged, and you now suspect that it may be dislocated.

What a night.

You lean your head forward again, trying to look at Taeil. It wavers a moment before stilling, as you’ve still yet to regain equilibrium. He’s back in your sight once he kneels back down to eye level. “We’re done tonight. I think you got the message.”

Perhaps you’re stupid. Perhaps you’re stubborn. Perhaps your inner fire is no longer something you can control. Regardless of the reason, you don’t take too much time considering your next actions.

You were still disoriented, so you knew this would hurt him much more than it hurt you. You reeled your head back, and before he could react, you crashed your head into his.

You were right, you barely felt it.

He, however, was on his ass, clutching his head as he hollered in pain. You smirked to yourself, spitting blood on his crumpled form. “Tied up and I can still kick your ass, pipsqueak.”

He removed his hands from his face, revealing his enraged expression. The cigarette was still dangling from his lips. Damn. You had wanted to knock that out of his mouth too.

He regained his balance, rubbing his forehead before sitting back up. “I think you’ve earned one more treat before I leave.”

You struggle against your restraints as moves towards you, removing the still-lit cigarette from his mouth and hovering it over your arm, “sit still, or you’re getting two.”

His voice sounds distant, as your entire body trembles in fear, the familiar, tell-tale signs of a panic attack on the horizon. He hovered the lit end over your arm, dangling it as if to taunt you. His smug look had returned, his power over you regained. His voice was calmer now, but you could hear the rage behind it, bubbling just beyond the surface. “You’re such a waste of space.”

He hums, circling a spot on your inner forearm with his pinky. Your eyes widen, knowing full well just how many nerves lie in that spot. This gonna hurt like hell.

He seemed to notice your reaction, continuing his monologue. “Ah, so you do know this spot!”

He opens his mouth again, as if to speak, but instead plunges the cigarette into your arm. You’ve experienced so much pain today, that your reaction to blistering, horrible burning sensation is a quiet, strained whimper.

At this, he stands back up, dropping the cigarette and stomping it out with his boot. As if you weren’t even there, he turns away and casually makes his way towards the exit. He stops at the door, turning one last time with narrowed eyes. “You better find a way out of those ropes by morning,” he turned back, opening the door and walking out, adding as he leaves, “Or I actually will kill you”

---

You sat there in silence for a long time, though you’re not sure exactly how long. You passively notice the sun finish setting out the window, as well as the heavier snowfall begin to build.

Your arms hung loosely from their binds, and your body is slumped below them. You were beginning to lose circulation, and the rope’s gritty texture was burning your wrists.

Maybe you should just stay like this, and let Taeil kill you in the morning. You doubt you’re in the condition to carry out Hyoseob’s plan anyway, and you were losing willpower by the second. The combination of pain, verbal abuse and lack of a plan was overwhelming.

“Well this isn’t very cash-money of you.”

Woojin’s voice? You look around feverishly, consciousness slightly regained. No one’s there. Great, you’re losing your mind.

Another voice. This time Minho’s.

“You expect me to deal with these boys alone? Get working on those restraints.”

You no longer question it, pulling at the ropes binding your hand. The tugging sensation only adds more pain to your endless supply. Then it’s Chan’s voice.

“You’re doing so well. You can do this Y/N.”

Tears build at your eyes, spilling over. You miss them so fucking much. If you don’t get out of this, you’ll never see them again.

“Hurry! You still need to read me treasure island!” Jeongin sounded so young, so optimistic.

But Jisung’s voice was desperate. “You’re so close! Keep going, keep going!”

You yank your good shoulder forward, loosening the bonds a little.

“You’re so strong. You’re going to get out of this.” Hyunjin’s voice was serene, calming, like the day that dog attacked you.

You take a deep breath, and you can hear Felix breathing with you, helping you time your inhales and exhales. Just like he did when you had your panic attacks.

The last voice stills you completely. “I can’t lose you too.”

Changbin.

You lurch forward, releasing a groan of effort. Your hands raw from the effort, but you’re coming free. “I love you, Y/N. It can’t end here.”

No. No it can’t.

With all of your remaining strength, you pull at both arms, good and bad, letting out a roar of pain.

You fall forward on the floor, and you hear the ropes fall to the ground behind you.

You’re free.

Taglist: @leetaemintrashnumber1 @peachescherryheart @lico-rice526 @claire4799

#skz #stray kids #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids reactions #protector #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #skz reactions #skz fanfic #dystopian au #stray kids apocalypse au

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imaginexmeintheuniverse · 5 years

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5 times you infuriated me and 1 time you made it okay

A/N: okay so the 5 times concept is something i enjoy writing very much, however i am aware that in this piece in particular, a lot of the ideas are underdeveloped and probably especially dont make sense with the ending when you look at the relationship, but please keep in mind that this ‘5 times’ theme i chose focuses on those kinds of incidents so there are a lot of other times in between (and i dont have the time or energy to turn this into a super long fic but perhaps one day.. ) so this is what happened!

Warnings: mentions of torture (like in the 7th when Bellatrix takes to Hermione)

Tags: @expellimarvelous and for some reason my hp taglist got lost so let me know if you’d like to be added!

↠↠↠↠↠↠

I. Bad Start to the Sixth Year

Your sixth year at Hogwarts seems to be off to a good start as you laugh and snack on sweets with two of your three your best friends on Hogwarts Express. Or at least it seemed like it was off to a good start until the train arrives at the station, and Harry is nowhere to be found.

Waving off Ron and Hermione with a promise to catch up, you insist on going to look for him by yourself. Your search leads you all the way to the other side of the strain where the blinds are conveniently drawn. You can hear a voice muffled through the closed door, and you become filled with dread when you identify who it belongs to.

Sliding the door open a crack, you see a familiar head of slicked-back platinum hair. You aren’t able to make out what he says, but you do see him bring down a foot to meet Harry’s nose.

“Malfoy, what the fuck?!” you burst out, causing the Slytherin boy to jump in surprise.

“Y-Y/N- I-I—”

“I don’t know what the bloody hell you think you’re getting away with, but you better get the fuck off this train before I curse you,” you snarl, shoving him aside to get to Harry. Seeing that he’s been petrified, you take your wand out of your jacket pocket and mutter, “finite,” to which your friend thankfully wakes up, blinking a few times. He doesn’t move much, as he tries to regain control of his muscles, and you insist he takes a moment to do so.

Throughout this, Draco has gone so quiet you think he might have actually left, but when you turn your head to meet his stormy eyes, you’re filled with rage, once again.

“What the fuck are you still doing here?! Get out!”

“But Y/N, I-I'm—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you say in a lower tone as you tend to your friend, not even sparing him another glance.

Why is it that just when you think there might be a redeemable quality buried deep in Draco Malfoy, he always does something that proves otherwise?

II. Welcome to the Slugclub

“Okay, okay! I was gate-crashing! Happy?” He admits, trying to shake off Filch’s grasp on his jacket.

His eyes that used to be sharp and bright, have recently become sullen. They lock with yours for a solid moment before he’s ushered out by Snape.

Your eyes linger on his figure as he’s led away from the party— probably longer than they should have, but you can’t help noticing how thin he’s become. You’ve barely seen him all year, despite having a few classes together. He was never that hefty to begin with, but it looks like he hasn’t eaten or slept in ages. Other than his usual perfectly tailored wardrobe, he now wears dark circles under his eyes, and it’s impossible not to notice how the contours of his face have become that much sharper and his already pale skin has adopted a sickly pigmentation.

You and Harry follow the pair out, but for different reasons. You know that Harry wouldn’t be happy about yours because of his suspicions, but Draco looks like he’s crumbling under stress.

Eavesdropping only proves Harry’s doubts about Malfoy, and he then decides to rejoin the party as to not get caught by Snape, but you hang back, telling him you need to go to the loo.

You wait in the shadows until you hear Snape’s steps scurry away before approaching Malfoy who stays behind, sitting on a ledge. A half-smirk appears on his face upon noticing you like he’s been gathering an arsenal of insults to shoot at you, but really, under the snide mask, he marvels at how lovely you look tonight.

“Straying from your date with Potter?” he spits out Harry’s name like it’s revolting to have on his tongue. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think Potter’s lady is ditching him in favour of a more refined pureblood—”

“He’s one of my best friends!” You roll your eyes and flail your hands up in exasperation. “And how is the nature of our relationship any of your business?!”

He snorts, leaning his back on the walk behind him and crosses his arms over his chest nonchalantly.

“You know, I came out here to check and make sure you were okay!” You shout at him hands coming up to furiously push your hair back. “I can’t believe that for a second I thought that— no- but you—”

“You thought what?” His voice has become softer, hard exterior starting to peel away in your presence. He stands from his seat, mild concern washing over his features.

You shake your head, looking anywhere but at him. “N-Nothing—”

“Tell me,” his hands place themselves on your biceps, long fingers curling around your arms gently.

You fall victim to his intense gaze, getting lost in the grey seas of his irises. His features aren’t as hard as they usually are and the grasp he has on you is delicate; like he’s afraid to hurt you and you almost feel like you can let your guard down. Almost.

“Is it true?” you ask him, diverging from the subject and he raises an eyebrow in response. “Did you hex Katie Bell?”

He opens his mouth, and then closes it without a word when he realizes he has nothing to answer to that and you’re the only person he can’t lie to. That’s enough of a confirmation for you. You let out a breath of disbelief and he starts to panic, because contrary to the backwards dynamic the two of you share, part of him does care what you think. “Y/N- p-please listen—”

All emotion leaves your voice as you tell him, “Just leave me alone, Malfoy.”

You shrug him off, and spin on your heel, breaking the eye contact. Walking down the hall, you leave him there to bask in the silence and his dark thoughts.

III. Hair Like You

You’re already teeming with rage as you scour the castle for Ron, who slipped you one of Fred and George’s prank snacks that ended up changing your hair color. Running into Draco Malfoy, of all people, really puts the cherry on top of the shit sundae.

To make things worse, it looks as though he’s going out of his way to get to you when he spots you from across the courtyard. At first he squints, not fully sure if it’s you with the new physical change, and then tails you down two hallways, not giving a single damn how creepy he may look.

“What do you want, Malfoy—”

“It seems like you’re more obsessed with me than I had originally thought,” he snickers, catching up with your quickened pace.

That’s when it hits you, and you instantly halt, causing him to smack into your back. Spinning around to face him, your eyes widen in horror as you take in the familiar platinum blonde hair— the same shade you saw in the mirror earlier.

“That’s just great!” You throw your hands up dramatically. “Now I look like you!”

“Please, don’t flatter yourself—”

“Oh, sod off, Malfoy!”

“You know, it really doesn’t look that bad. Maybe you’re starting to have better taste.”

Despite knowing full well that that was Malfoy speak for a compliment, you’re in no mood for it. “Oh, well I’m so glad that the Slytherin prince thinks me, a lowly commoner, 'doesn’t look that bad’ just fu—”

“No! No! No! Y/N! I didn’t mean—”

“—ck off! Because on top of looking like the most insufferable git in the entire school what I really wanted was to receive a backhanded compliment—” And just then, you spot the familiar redhead with bad influences for older brothers from across the hall who you’re even more pissed off at than Malfoy.

“I don’t have time for this,” is all you say as you bolt down the hall towards Ron, screaming, “YOU’RE DEAD, WEASLEY!”

IV. Held Hostage

Hermione’s screams are enough to make you feel like you’re being gutted, and when Bellatrix takes her knife to your arm, you’re absolutely terrified. At least this means your best friend has a break from her torture. In the meantime, you nearly bite through your cheek to hold in your own screams whilst the saddistic woman spells out the hateful term that’s been thrown at you your whole life, carving it into your flesh.

After what feels like hours, the death eater sits back up, admiring the her work with a sickening grin on her face, and you want nothing more than to smack it off. Or at least you would if you didn’t feel like you’ve been drained. What you do feel is defiled; like your own skin is no longer yours, and the blood that runs through your veins doesn’t belong to you.

And Draco Malfoy has been standing on the other end of the room this whole time whilst his barbaric aunt tries to get information out of you.

The rest of what happens is experienced through the blur of hopeless tears your eyes are clouded with, until Harry picks you up off the floor after Bellatrix had pushed you and Hermione to save herself from the falling chandelier. A certain fire surges through you as you regain full consciousness.

You see Harry and Draco fight over his wand, and instinct kicks in as you lunge forward, efficiently tackling the latter to the ground. Snatching the wand out of his hand, you throw it to Harry. The blonde boy’s struggles are weak under your weight, almost half-assed as you feel the tension start to leave his muscles.

“Why?!” you shout in his face, grabbing him by the collar to keep him down. Tears well your eyes, but your gaze pierces through him nonetheless. The feelings of helplessness and emptiness are long gone as angry tracks burn down your cheeks. “Why—”

“Y/N!” Harry scoops you off him in one swift motion, pulling you to where your allies have regrouped. “This isn’t the time- w-we have to get out of here!”

You don’t say another word, and your infuriated eyes target the conflict and fear that resides in Draco’s. He’s left with the image of your anguish and fury engrained in his mind long after you disapparate.

V. Crossing Over

The Dark Lord himself beckoned him, and for a second you thought he might resist, but then his mother called him, extending her hand for him to come to her, and you saw him break.

“No!” You cry out as he starts to take hesitant steps towards the death eaters. “Draco, don’t do this!” His already shaky demeanor falters for a moment at the sound of his first name falling from your lips. “You have a choice.”

Steeling his nerves, he doesn’t allow himself to look back, because he would surely crumble under the weight of your gaze and the pain etched into your features. He continues forward, into the arms of a proud tyrant, and you swear your heart drops out of your chest.

Then, the whole scene with Neville’s heroic spirit ensues and you feel the fire within you flare up again when Harry tumbles out of Hagrid’s arms. Death Eaters that have been backing Voldemort start to disappear, leaving an unevenly distributed cloud of darkness.

Everyone else starts to retreat to the castle to regroup and fight as one, but you chase after the fleeing Malfoy family. It’s as though you have no control as your legs move under you on autopilot and as fast as they can go.

You’ve almost caught up to the trio on the bridge and can no longer help yourself.

“Coward!” You yell, trying your best not to let your voice crack, with no avail. It’s all you can do to keep the tears from spilling freely. Draco meets your eyes with his own that portray a boy who is terrified out of his mind, but you’re relentless. The truth isn’t always easy. “You’re a bloody coward, Malfoy!”

Avoiding your fiery gaze, he turns into his mother’s comfort. Not once do his eyes meet yours again before he disappears in a whisp of black smoke.

What you feel is rage, but with that rage comes with an added indescribable pain and disappointment.

+ Midsummer Night’s Dream

The next time you see the infamous Draco Malfoy is just over a year since he disapparated in a whisp of black smoke. Little do you know, immediately after apparating, the boy fell to his knees in the arms of his mother. He broke that day, and hasn’t been able to put himself back together since, contrary to the proud Malfoy mask he wears out in public. He hides behind crisp suits and perfectly-coiffed platinum locks. It’s enough to have anyone who reads the Daily Prophet fooled about how the heir carries onto a successful path despite everything that has happened.

But not you. He never could fool you of anything, really. So when you and your friends spot him taking a seat alone at the Three Broomsticks you know something’s up, because a refined Malfoy doesn’t just hang out amongst mere commoners like that.

“What is he doing here?” Ron spits out, red fury already starting at the tips of his ears and seething from his narrowed eyes.

As if on cue, Draco’s eyes lift from his glass to meet yours.

Hermione sends you a sympathetic smile before mumbling calming words to her boyfriend. The Malfoys and Weasleys always did get each other riled up.

Harry, who sits beside you, gives you a gentle nudge with his shoulder to get your attention and you can immediately read his expression. He can read yours just as easily and can see that you’re starting to get anxious. “Y/N…”

“Harry, it’s okay,” you simper, standing slowly from your seat. “I’ve got this.”

He casts a glance towards the blond across the room before his eyes come back meet yours, sending you a look as though to ask if you’re sure. You give him a nod and he sends you off with a comforting squeeze of your hand.

As you make your way to the table for one, you’re so focused on slowing your heart rate that you’ve arrived at your destination before you know it, seeing the shiny black dress shoes in contrast to the uneven wood panels of the pub’s floor. When you lift your gaze, it’s then that you realize he’s been staring at you the whole time.

“Malfoy.”

“Y/N.”

The sound of your first name rolling off his tongue lights something inside you— and it’s not pretty.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice is steady, but with a strong undertone of something darker. Like the calm before a storm.

“Can’t a man enjoy a butterbeer on his own?” Despite him being absolutely terrified of you, he somehow manages to exude a certain lightness. You look at his untouched pint and raise an eyebrow and he knows you aren’t in the mood for small talk.

“Cut the shit, Malfoy.”

Recognizing the beginnings of anger in your tone, he stands as smoothly as he can manage and gestures towards the door. The last thing he wants is for you to snap because he knows very well what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your fury.

He follows closely behind as you lead him out into the dim lighting of Hogsmead. The summer air doesn’t feel as heavy as it has for the last week, and the sky proudly shows off the twinkling stars. It would be a perfect night if not for your circumstances.

You stop in your tracks and spin to face him so briskly, your forehead almost hits his chin. “You have one minute to talk before I hex you where you stand.”

“You always did excel in hexes and jinxes—”

“Fifty-five seconds, Malfoy.”

“Uh- erm- o-okay—”

You have about zero patience left. The anger thats been quietly bubbling for the last year has been on the brim of overflowing the second he walked in tonight, but so has all the pain and sadness you’ve kept locked up all this time. “You’re wasting my time.” You prepare to stalk off, but a firm hand pulls you back by your elbow, and for the the first time since the war, your face with Draco Malfoy. It’s the first time tonight that you can really see him. He looks worse than ever.

The silver pools that once resided in his irises look like shells of what they once were. And he sure felt that way, until he saw you. That’s when he realizes how empty he always is until he’s around you. My, how he took that for granted all these years.

Trying your very best, you fight against the urge to give into the part of you who still cares for him and wants to know the last time he had a good night’s sleep. You also try to fight against the water accumulation behind your eyelids, but it only makes it worse.

“What?! What do you want, Draco?!”

The use of his first name is the only sign he needs to be brave for once. Without further hesitation, he leans down to capture your lips in a kiss. Once over the initial shock, you give in for only a half second before you come to your senses and push him back, both hands planted firmly on his chest.

“What the bloody hell are you playing at?!”

“I-I- Y/N, I-I’m so—” Right then, is one of the few times you see what he’s really feeling on the inside be expressed on the outside. “I-I just-I thought—”

“You- you thought what?! We’d ride off into the sunset on the back of a unicorn and live happily ever after?!” You don’t care how frantic you look right now. You don’t care that the midsummer night wind is whipping your hair into complete and utter chaos. And you definitely don’t give a single fuck about how the drunk people stumbling by you giggle uncontrollably. You pause for a moment as you wait for them to be out of earshot, and once they are, you let out a frustrated breath and resume. “Did you honestly believe that you could kiss me, and then everything— all of the absolute shite of a mess would just go away?!”

His gaze drops to the ground that his shiny dress shoes stand on, with a few platinum strands that fall from their place. Those are the only visible signs of something amiss with the well-dressed man. But you see something else cloud his features: shame. The last time you saw that, which was also the last time you saw him, he left. He always left you while you were angry, enraged, and never stuck around to face the truth.

Draco Malfoy decides that this time is going to be different.

He has felt as empty as his eyes appeared for months, but when his gaze rolls back up to meet yours, you see the grey storms you saw when you first met him. Sure, they were masked by an outer shell that was brimming with entitlement, but they have now what they had then. Purpose.

“Y/N,” His hands twitch as he fights the urge to reach out for yours, deciding against it in favour of using two words you’ve been waiting to hear. “I’m sorry.” You soften, releasing the tension you didn’t realize you carried in your shoulders. The angry tears that stung the backs of your eyes melt to something peaceful as they escape their ducts. “I’m sorry for everything I put you through. I know I don’t deserve another chance, or any of the chances you’ve given me, but if you’ll give me one more I promise I’ll be better. Everything you’ve ever said about me is true; I am a coward, but I’m not leaving this time.”

“And what if I want you to leave?” You ask, testing the waters, more than anything else.

“If you tell me to leave— if that is what you truly want, then I will. Tell me to leave, and you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Okay, then leave.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Y-Yes—” You stammer out a complete lie. Every cell on your body knows it’s a lie, and apparently so does he.

“I don’t believe you.”

More than anything, you want to fling yourself into his arms but you feel like your feet have been colashoo-ed to the ground. A corner of his mouth quirks up into a soft lopsided smile as his hands raise to thread fingers through the top of your hairline, smoothing wild strands away from your face. His touch is so careful and delicate than you could have ever imagined. He leans down slowly and stops just as his lips have brushed over yours, asking for permission, “I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

Syllables get caught in your throat, and channel themselves through you body as you move to slate your mouth over his. The sensation is so delicately mind-blowing, and it leaves you absolutely breathless when you pull away to lean your forehead against his.

All you can manage to breathe out is, “stay”.

The way your breath fans over his lips is intoxicating, and he’s certain he’s never seen anything more beautiful, no work of art finer, than the way you’re looking at him.

“I’m not leaving this time. Never again.”

His grasp tightens as he pulls you back to his lips and your fingers curl around the light fabric of his shirt. Every emotion and feeling accumulated over lost time is poured into this kiss.

This time, what you feel for him is something stronger and far different than anger.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #5 times fic #hp #hp imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagine #hp fic #hp fanfic #draco malfoy fanfiction #potatowrites

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fandom-monium · 5 years

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Drip and Stream

Chapter 1: At First, There was One

"There were four of you. Then two. Then one.

You wonder how it ended up like this."

Due to unfortunate circumstances, you find yourself under the wing of the ex-pillar, Urokodaki Sakonji. Slowly, you grow and little by little you become stronger each day, but the trials of life are never over. You have to fight. To purge demons. To become a pillar.

If you want to make real change happen in a world of demons and swordsmen.

This is your road to becoming a demon slaying swordsman. And it starts with Urokodaki.

It is only Urokodaki and you in the beginning.

"What exactly are we doing here?" you ask, gazing around the throng of people shoving past each other through the narrow village streets. Or at least, it seemed narrow given the business of the day. Through the gaps between the crowd, you can make out the white banners of wooden stalls selling hot-off-the press street food. You nearly salivate at the intoxicating scent of Takoyaki permeating the air. Suddenly, you feel extremely small. You leech onto your teacher, sticking close behind his broad and reassuring back. "Are we going to see Ms. Doctor again?"

You hear the scowl behind his mask as Urokodaki answers, "That's 'sensei' to you, Brat, and why the doctor? Is your eye acting up again?"

Your hand grazes the dark eye patch as you purse your lips. "Well, no not really. If anything there's... nothing. I don't feel anything from it anymore."

"... I'm sorry."

You watch Urokodaki slightly angle his head towards you. It's evident in his tone, and while you haven't seen his face, in that moment you picture old, battle-worn features pinch with guilt.

You don't appreciate it, really.

Rolling your one good eye at him, you snort, "Whatever. It's not like it's your fault anyway, so stop feeling sorry for me. Instead, why don't you tell me why we're actually here?"

"For your information, I'm meeting with a colleague."

"Eh, you're just seeing a friend? But I still need to practice."

"... I wouldn't go as far as to call them a friend."

By his tone, you realize what he means and your nonchalant mood sobers. "They're still trying...?"

"Yes, unfortunately. Even though I'm retired," Urokodaki sighs, halting in front of the local tea shop. He turns to you. "(Your name), why don't you explore the town while we're here. I know you don't enjoy crowds, but we don't often come to a nice little village like this. Try to relax. You're always training. Do something for fun."

You stare down at your boots and pout, "Sword training may be grueling, but it's fun for me too."

Your teacher huffs, "I'm sure it is, but the human body needs time to rest. Your performance may decline if you continue to push yourself too far. Just two hours, have a bit of fun. I swear to the gods you won't regret it."

"... I suppose you're right," You give him a pointed look, "But once two hours are up, we're heading back to continue training."

"Of course."

You wave your farewells as you walk away from Urokodaki, from the tea shop, and from the high ranked Demon Slayer Corps official that rests at a booth in the far back.

+++++++++++

You don't have money and Urokodaki hadn't given you anything to spend, so hanging around the shopping district means nothing for you. You'll have to find something else to pass the time. You quickly breeze through the streets, between the uncomfortable hustle and bustle of people. You make an effort to avoid getting grazed by strangers as you grip your haori closer to your body with gloved hands. Your mind strays back to Urokodaki and you frown, finding yourself deep in thought.

You don't understand why your master, your sensei, did not want you to meet with an official of the elusive Demon Slayer Corps. Is that not what you've been training for? To be one of them? A live image of your goal is at your fingertips, yet Urokodaki turns you away for the sake of "rest" and "fun".

You huff as you stride through the streets. Wandering aimlessly, you hardly notice as dusk falls over the town. You grind your teeth together. Screw fun and rest. You're too pissed off. Not at your teacher but at the whole situation. You're sure Urokodaki has his reasons. He always does, old and wise and all that.

They better be good reasons though, otherwise you swear you'll kick his old ass to the curb and find a new teacher. Someone who doesn't withhold students from learning opportunities and such.

Thinking back, you knew he would insist on pushing you away, so you didn't put up a fight. You pause at the juncture of the main road and an alley, gazing over your shoulder at where you came from.

Perhaps you should act like a real "brat", as your teacher calls you, and go back? Try and meet with the official. You're not sure what purpose this would serve, but a part of you hopes that meeting an active Demon Slayer might bring you even closer to your goals. Get a better picture of who you want to become in the future.

Because you sure as hell don't like who you are right now.

You stand off to the far side of the street, debating the pros and cons of your idea for a short moment.

Then the ground trembles.

Your head snaps up to peer down the street. Most of the shops already closed and much of the people left upon the sun setting. Lanterns blazing, the few villagers outside chatter amongst themselves under the warm lights, but they lack any reaction to the reverberations.

Your brow furrows. But you're sure you felt...

You pull your gloves off, pressing your calloused palms against the dirt road without a second thought. Shutting your eyes in concentration, you block out the white noise and the common vibrations, quickly filing through them until-

"There it is!" You look up, eye snapping open.

A demon.

Maybe a few streets down or so, but it's there. No doubt about it.

And one - no - two, two pairs of human footsteps. Uneven and stumbling. Children. They're trying to... You swallow, heart thumping in your ears. Run.

You stare into the dark alley, in the direction of the commotion. Biting your lip, you wonder if you should go find your teacher. You wandered too far from Urokodaki, and you may or may not have lost track of yourself in your fury. There isn't time to find him. By the time you do, the demon will escape and the kids dead.

I'm an idiot. You grit your teeth and your hands twitch, the human steps faltering and all three signatures disappear. You curse.

Tugging on your gloves, you dash into the alley, weaving through the streets as you trace the movements. Left. Right. Dead end, damn it! The town becomes a maze. Your boots kick up dirt as you turn corners and leap over walls, steadily catching up to the three signatures' location. Panting, you skid to a halt before training a wide eye down the dimly lit road.

Two pairs of footsteps, running and stepping and hitting the ground. One signature lay still. Just at the other end of the path.

You sprint. It's a blur as you speed towards the group, your view on them growing bigger. Clearer. Figures become more defined. Wind howls in your ears as you grab the first thing you pass by. Two long, wooden stakes, each hooked on one end. Probably supposed to be used for construction or something. You don't think much of it. Your blood roars.

30 seconds.

You find the demon without trouble. He's small from where you are, and his back turns toward you as he focuses on his victim.

25 seconds.

You can't see her, but a girl's scream rattles your eardrums. You feel your body begin to tremble; you press forward anyway.

20 seconds.

Your lungs burn. Your legs ache. Hell, even your eyes throb. But you can't stop, not without losing your momentum and courage and energy all at once.

15 seconds. 10 seconds. 8 seconds.

You clutch the wooden stakes. Your hands shake.

The demon snaps his head towards you and glares, fangs and claws glinting against warm light. It's ugly and hateful. You snarl back as you take a running leap onto the nearby wall, dashing across it before pushing off. You dive for him.

6 seconds. 4 seconds.

Just an arms length of each other. The demon is a man, obviously larger than your small figure. He'll reach you first and you know it. You react instantly.

Grunting, you deflect his punch with the back of your forearm. At the same time, your other hand drives the stake into his face with all your strength. Blood sprays. Wood pierces skin. It hits its mark with a sickening squelch.

The demon roars. You twist, turning his eye to mush as you shove the stake to the hook before he backfists your cheek. The force sends you careening aside, rolling and tumbling across the pavement. Your vision swims.

You struggle to gain your bearings, gripping the last stake in your hand. Gasping for breath, you watch as the demon stumbles. It slams into the wall.

A demon newly turned. You notice it before, feeling his blood run through his arm when he tried to punch you, then as he hit your blindside. The flow, it's not the same. Not the way older, more experienced demon blood does. This guy, he lacks the confidence, power, or purpose. His blood rushes like it is still trying to get used to its new body, streaming through arteries and veins as if lost.

That doesn't make the situation any less difficult though.

You chance a glimpse at the rest of the party. A young girl sits on the ground, eyes wide like you're not real. Soft face stained with dirt and kimono tattered, you'd assume she hasn't changed clothes in weeks. For a split second your eyes meet before hers flicker to the side.

You follow her line of sight. A couple feet behind her, a boy rests propped up against the wall, but there's no blood. Thank gods. But his body is just out of the range of the lamps. It's too dark and your eye strains to make out the rest of him.

Legs almost buckle, but you run to the girl's side and help her stand. "Come on. Let's get out of here before he recovers."

She blinks up at you with what you think is disbelief. But stiffly she nods, following close behind as you go and crouch next to the boy. His eyes shut tight and brow furrows, glistening with sweat. The rest of his face is loosely bandaged, but the rise and fall of his chest is enough to assure you he's alive. No sign of other wounds. You sling one of his arms over your shoulder, and the girl does the same, then on three, you hoist him up. It jostles him, making the boy groan. You huff from the exertion. Kid is skinny but dead weight.

Together, the girl and you lug him down the street.

Sweat trickles down your temple as you struggle to speed away with the additional loads. Your legs burn, your chest aches. And why's it so hard to breath? You stifle a groan.

Bad (Your name) pops into your consciousness. It'd be easier to just leave them behind. Afterall, you have nothing to do with them...

You growl, slapping away Bad (Your name). You push through your exhaustion.

Eyeing your surroundings, you recognize the edge of the shopping district and the corner of your lips turn upward with hope. Now if you could get within Urokodaki's range... You quicken your pace. The three of you make it to the next street.

"Don't think I'm done with you!"

Damn it.

You hear his boots pounding the road as he catches up to you. In a few strides, he's right at your heels, and with all your weight, you shove the girl and boy to the ground. He trips, flying over your heads before he catches himself in a handspring. Twisting midair, he lands several feet ahead of you.

Towards the inner shopping district.

You want to scream in frustration, pull hair. Yours or the demons... It doesn't matter because HE IS MAKING THIS INCREASINGLY HARDER THAN IT HAS TO BE!

Taking a deep breath, you grimace, moving to shield the boy and girl.

Flexing his claws, the demon sneers, "That was a lucky shot, kid. Next time you won't be so lucky."

You opt not to answer, gripping the stake till your knuckles turn white. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of any visible fear of him.

"Playing hero, huh? That's honorable of you. But you understand this is a fight you can't win, right?"

"Maybe," Your eye narrows at him as you further push the kids behind you. "But your eye says otherwise."

About three minutes pass since you gouged out his eye, but the stake is tangled where his eye should be, distorting his sight. The demon regenerates so fast that he can't remove it in time before new muscle and skin take place.

He tears at his own flesh, unfazed.

Blood drips down his face as he growls, "Again, lucky shot. What, jealous I had two eyes instead of one?"

Only one of you. Just one has to stay behind. Keep the demon at bay while the other finds reinforcements. You don't bat an eye at your decision.

It's now or never.

"Girl, take your friend and run. Head for the center of the shopping district. You'll find a tea shop there. If you happen to meet an old man dressed in a cloud haori named Urokodaki, tell'em (Your name) sent you." You step towards the demon and smirk. "And if he doesn't make it over here, I'll haunt his ass for being late again."

You keep your focus on the demon as you hear clothes rustle at your back. The girl grunts at her companion's weight, the heavy thump of her footsteps against the dirt road growing distant.

You wish you feel relief, but the idea of being alone-left with a monster- overwhelms you. Drowns you until all you can see is the demon.

But it is enough of an answer, and you launch yourself forward.

++++++++++++

"(Your name)," Urokodaki calls out to you gently, as if words would break you. His steps are slow, echoing through the night. You don't seem to notice.

Behind his mask, his eyes roam over your small figure as you hunch over the twitching body. The metallic scent of blood overrides his senses the closer he gets; it's on his tongue, in his throat, and in all his years of being a swordsman, the scent of blood still made him want to vomit.

Especially demon blood.

Blegh. Something about the blood of demons always made him stop breathing.

He pushes down his disgust, calling you again."(Your name)?"

"Ur-Urokodaki?" You flinch, not tearing your gaze from the demon.

He hopes you don't notice how scared he is for you as he says, "I'm right here, (Your name)." Still, you refuse to turn to him, keeping your eyes trained on the lump of flesh and bone at your feet. He can't see your facial expression. A part of him doesn't want to.

His heart wrenches as he turns his gaze down to your bloodied hands, one bruised a dark purple, and the other knuckles white clenching a broken stake. It drips red.

Your heavy breaths reach his ears, and he reaches a hand out to touch your shoulder. There is no shaking as your muscles stretch taut, ready to spring at any moment. Finally, you look at him and he presses his lips together, heart aching as if you had driven that stake into his chest.

Your eye patch. It must've fallen in your struggle. And now he can clearly see all the panic and guilt that paints your face.

"I-I'm so sorry. I couldn't... " You stammer, your gaze flicking between the demon and him.

Deep breaths. Urokodaki nods in understanding, scanning the immediate vicinity until he finds what he's looking for. Quickly he goes and bends down to pick up the leather eye patch, walking back to you as he dusts it off.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. The demon, he just kept talking and talking and he wouldn't shut up. I know I said wouldn't-"

"(Your name), it's going to be okay." Whether he is telling you or himself that, he isn't sure.

"But-"

Using his sleeve, he wipes away most of the blood, dirt, and sweat from your face. He places the eye patch over your eye. "You did good."

"Really?" You stare at him wide eyed.

"Yes." He ties the string at the back of your head before his hands fall back to his sides.

Your clutch on the broken stake tightens and you turn back to the demon body. "Thank you, but-"

"(Your name)," Urokodaki reaches over to pat your head reassuringly. Then he takes your small fist in his hand but you don't look at him, glaring hard at the demon. As if daring him to get back up. Your fist shakes from the strength of your grip, splinters digging into your palm. Gently, he peels back one finger at a time.

"It couldn't have been helped." Your index finger. "You were pushed into a corner." Your middle finger. "You didn't have any other choice." Your ringer finger. The rest fall away with ease as you relax completely.

The stake hits the floor. He notices the way your shoulders finally slump. He nudges your back, leading you away from the scene towards where he came from. Towards home. "Come on. It's time to head back."

You swallow, "How are they? The other two? Did you..."

"They're fine. The girl did as you told her. You're lucky she had your scent on her. I may not have found you had we not found each other." He glances at you. "But you knew that, didn't you."

You give him a wry smile but that's it. You're too tired to talk. That's understandable.

You've had a long night.

Chapter 2 coming soon~

Hi, welcome to my new fixation!! I hope you enjoyed my new reader insert. Do let me know what you think!!!

Don’t worry, Soulmate AU isn’t over. I’m just prioritizing stuff, and my fanfics aren’t exactly the top 3. I started this to let out some imagination steam. Kimetsu no Yaiba has my creative juices flowing! I have so many ideas that I couldn’t hold it in...

Hope you enjoyed the beginning of your journey to becoming a demon slayer!

Mini Masterlist

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gilbirda · 4 years

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What if the wolves arrive a little too late? What If Laurent did bite her? Bella fulfils her dream of being a vampire, but it quickly turns into a nightmare as she finds herself alone, hungry and heartbroken; with no one by her side to help her and guide her. When there's nothing left for her in this world, would she make the same decisions as if she were surrounded by her loved ones?

[Read on AO3][Read on FF.net]

I perfectly remember that day as if it were yesterday. Obviously, with this new vampire mind, I was able to remember every drop of rain that hit my face since I regained consciousness after burning for an eternity, every smell that assailed my nose, and even the taste of the first breath in this new life.

I remember the pain that hit me when I tried to get back my recent memories, like a sword stuck in the middle of my chest. My emotions moved to the front of my mind, amplified by this new body full of new sensations. The pain of rejection, helplessness at seeing me so lonely and despair knowing that everything that I had lived, that fantastic dream of just few months, was gone and never coming back.

Or so I thought.

When Laurent appeared in the meadow I never thought it would come to this. I remember with vivid clarity the voice of Edward’s illusion yelling at me to distract him and tell any lie, but silly me I didn’t do it on time. He lunged at me with those eyes, dark crimson from hunger, and I could barely register the pain of his fangs as almost immediately a new agony spread throughout my body. I did not register either when someone pushed away the body of the vampire feasting on my blood, nor heard the roars and howls filled with fury.

And that’s how I discovered that my best friend is a werewolf. The same day I was exiled from Forks, the day I woke up after what they said were three days of infinite hell, Jacob held my cold hand between his burning ones and looked at my eyes with a mix of feelings in theirs. He said, "You know, Bells? I really loved you, but now ... now that’s not possible.”

And just like that, everything I knew crumbled down before my very eyes. I could not mourn, I could not scream. I could not even move when I was left with my own means on the edge of the small town of Forks. I watched them go back to the reservation, turned into these huge animals designed to kill my kind, realizing that I’ve been spared only because of Jacob, and that I would never see my friend and my Sun again.

***

Living in the streets was relatively easy when you're a vampire. Never getting hungry, never feeling cold or never having to sleep. Eventually I stopped caring about my clothes or being covered with dirt or wandering aimlessly through the streets or not having a place to return to. I had no money, but I did not need anything, I only needed blood.

At first I refused to move from my refuge in the depths of a forest for fear of finding a human, but the thirst was so strange to me that it instinctively made me move. Before I knew it in my arms was the empty body of a hiker who had adventured too deep into the woods and had to be too close to a newborn vampire.

I wanted to die. I spent even more time locked away from humanity, remembering again and again the family of vegetarians who I still loved despite everything, thinking that he did not want me to become a monster. I'm still proud to have resisted the temptation the weeks that I did until my body simply disconnected from my mind and began acting on its own. I had to eat, it was just that, and the blood of the hiker was just too delicious. I could not go back to animals.

But that did not make me a monster. I was the same person, if this empty shell could be called person, no matter whose blood I drank. I did not enjoy the suffering of my victims, or found any fun in their terror or seeked entertainment that gave life to my long existence. Nor it sickened me. Simply it was what it was. I needed to eat, they were there within my reach. They did not even know what was that had happened to them as they never saw me coming.

Still, perhaps in honor of my lost love, I carefully chose my victims among the worst of worst kind, those who would die anyway or should not have been born, and I had to limit my thirst and keep it under a tight control.

And so in a slow succession of week after week, year after year, I rolled with my empty existence to the point where I forgot the sound of my voice, how my parents were called or why it had come to become this.

And you may ask, after so many years, have I not met any of my species? It is true that there are not many in the world, but pure statistics say that some should have crossed my path.

The truth is that I often saw several vampires, and at close distance. That was how I discovered I had the uncanny ability to be completely invisible. Not physically, but even if I were close enough for them to detect my scent, they never managed to find me, even taking them in circles until desisting and letting go. If I did not move and I focused enough, they couldn’t even see me. As if the place where I was wasn’t at all interesting, and when it seemed that they were going to look at me they turned to look elsewhere.

And so I never had any problems with other vampires; and if I didn’t want to be seen by humans I simply had to think about it and I became completely "invisible" to their low quality senses.

***

It was precisely that quirk what saved me from certain death.

The Volturi. I had the opportunity to watch firsthand how deadly they could be and the speed with which they came searching for me. If I did not have this power surely I would have died many years ago.

You see, when I felt strong enough to control my thirst to be among humans, I made the mistake of returning to Forks. Nostalgia, perhaps? I don’t know, I just knew I wanted to come back and see everything once again, have that closure that I was denied; and, silly me, to see if I would finally stop thinking so much of the months I spent in the town and the family of vampires that I met there. Obviously it was bad decision.

My father was destroyed. When I went to see him before going to the town, I looked through the window and there I saw him, surrounded by empty pizza boxes and empty beer bottles. It was about two in the afternoon and he should be at the police station, but was instead on the living room couch with a bottle in his hand and looking the TV screen without really watching what was on. In his hand, a sign of "Have you seen this girl?" with a photograph of my human version. He was incredibly aged even though I had not been gone for more than a few months, and I just knew that the gray hairs that had populated his head were completely my fault.

I could not look anymore and went to the school I never thought I’d yearn to see. I watched from the woods that surrounded it how everyone was going from one class to another and moved around campus, books in their hands and their faces full of concern for a lot of issues that were so alien to me now. I looked face by face for a known one but didn’t recognize any. My old friends had to be here, they were approaching final exams and graduation and they shouldn’t be allowed to skip class. As the minutes passed and all students were leaving after the last class, I analyzed every face feeling butterflies in my stomach. Perhaps I had forgotten them all? Forgotten Angela?

And I saw the face that I less wanted to see and, as if I really were so jinxed, she realized that I was watching and turned to see me. I did not have to see those eyes or blond hair to know it was her because the cry she let no more than two seconds after would be able to make me feel sick to the stomach had I been alive.

Lauren.

“Look what we have here,” she said, getting those who did not turn by her shriek do so now. And I felt everyone's eyes on me, on my face, in my white skin, my clothes that I have not changed since Laurent attacked me. It could not escape. “Our beloved Isabella Swan! The prodigal daughter returns home, huh?” She started walking towards me and I could hear her slightly accelerated pulse calling me. Imperceptibly I swallowed the poison that was gathering in my mouth. “We’ve been very worried, Bella,” she spat my name in disgust, “Where have you been all this time?”

From the giggles of the girls who accompanied her I did not have to be a genius to realize that Lauren had been spreading all sorts of nasty rumors about me and my disappearance. A few more people turned to see what was happening and gradually saw the recognition shine on their faces, followed by a range of expressions from surprise to disgust, passing through amusement.

The situation was so like a high school soap opera I couldn’t even feel afraid of what this human was trying to do to me. Inside my body there was just bloodlust and she was already too close.

“Bella!” a new person approached. Angela. “Oh my God, you're alive! I can’t believe it!”

I moaned, scared. No no no. Please do not get near me, I chanted in my head. But she ran to me with the solid intention to hug me, pushing Lauren out of her way. She threw herself into my arms, remaining motionless when she felt my cold and hard as stone skin. If I had a pulse it would be at full speed by the anxiety I felt at that moment.

I shouldn’t have come here. Damn, I shouldn’t have.

I could feel all eyes on me, on my face and especially on my red eyes. I could almost hear their thoughts thinking that I was Bella, but at the same time I was not; that was really obvious by the way their expressions changed the following seconds.

I turned my eyes to Angela and swallowed once again the poison that had gathered in my mouth, feeling my will fade whenever her blood hit the same spot on the skin of her neck.

“Bella,” she whispered, raising a hand to touch my face, her eyes roaming my new perfect and dangerous features. “What happened to you?”

“That she underwent surgery to look like her Edward” Lauren answered for me, followed by a chuckle from the people around her. Other people just watched, some feeling obviously uncomfortable after realising that I was not human by now. “I can not believe you've fallen so low, Bella. I knew your obsession was not normal, but this...”

“Is that's true?”

“I do not think so…”

“God, and she seemed responsible.”

“Bells,” the girl in my arms caught back my attention, her pulse quickening, probably feeling a instinctual fear that she surely could not explain. And I knew I could not escape anymore.

Lauren approached us and roughly pushed away my human friend to look at me more closely. I returned her defiant gaze, feeling the poison flowing uncontrollably with every sweet human heartbeat from the girl that was trying to humiliate in public. But how little I cared about that now. There was nothing to humiliate me for anymore and saying things about the Cullen wouldn’t have any effect in me. They were gone and I had been left behind and I think the message was very clear. I had accepted that in my days of isolation.

The blonde huffed and turned to look at his followers, telling them something that I could not register because when she raised her hand to grab my hair, the concentrated scent of her blood through the thin skin of the wrist hit me right in the nose .

And my mind disconnected from my body, driven by a bloodlust that I always felt, leaping from body to body and emptying them quickly before they knew what had hit them. When I was finally full, my eyes focused back and I saw that in my bloody hands lay, lifeless although with a remnant warth, the body of maybe my only friend in my previous human life; her face frozen in a grimace of terror, perhaps a cry, and the ripped skin of her neck in a rather animalistic bite.

***

I still remember my frightened face in the videos that roamed the Internet the following days. Students who were far enough away to escape the massacre recorded everything with their phones (I guess they wanted record Bella's reaction to Lauren’s provocations), and obviously that went to the news.

Until suddenly everyone pretended that nothing had happened, the initial alarm replaced by weather news and everything was blamed on an occultist group making sacrifices to Satan. No one mentioned the word "vampire" and in a couple of months the situation was forgotten. And the Volturi were obviously behind.

I saw them track me with the perfection of a clock, one by one killing the witnesses who were not willing to let it go as another strange thing in the town of Forks. I saw them in person when they almost caught me outside Seattle, a day after the slaughter, as I wiped off the blood on my clothes.

They weren’t able to find me thanks to my power, but their breaths on my neck was a memory I did not want to keep the rest of my life. From what I could understand from their conversation, one was a tracker, as was James, and it was getting on his nerves not being able to accurately locate my position more than a general area. They never gave up, and although over the decades they stopped looking, I know they were in the shadows waiting to come out to get me, and probably destroy me.

***

I looked away from the lifeless eyes of the person who was my dinner while I wiped with my tongue the remnants of blood from my fangs, listening intently. Few people adventured so close to the outskirts of city at this time of the morning, at least not so silently, as would someone who was drunk or high.

I cocked my head and dropped some junkie’s empty body at my feet, a shudder running through me at the taste of his contaminated blood, to crouch in case that these new vampires were coming for me. But they did not approach the city and the people, they went to the forest and up to mountain. How strange, I thought, no vampire in hunting mode (because at that speed and perfection of movements they were not playing) would go to ...

Oh, well. Vegetarians.

An imaginary cold sweat made me squirm. I had never crossed paths with vegetarian vampires before and the chances of it being them were painfully high. I did not know if I wanted to see them though, mainly because of the suddenness and little time to prepare. Because I was sure that I have forgiven them. It was not their fault that Laurent was in the meadow at that time and it was just my own stupidity that had brought me into the wolf's den, pun intended. The Cullen had made the decision that best ensured the survival of the group and now I could see the logic in that. That’s why I had buried my feelings as deeply as possible and tried to rebuild my life all these years, as promised.

But, was I going to try to approach? With my power I wasn’t sure if they’d find me anyway and I would feel like a coward if I tried to hide and escape or wait for them to leave, especially when on my part there was no hostility.

I glanced at the dry body at my feet and sighed. While at this point I do not know if there was any hostility ... I did not hunt like them and it would cause some tension, I was sure. They would ask questions, try to change my way of life ... But I do not think they’d reaccept me, especially if they knew that I am the most wanted vampire by the Volturi despite nearly hundred years from incident in Forks, and they could attack the family if the kings thought they were associated with me.

I sighed again, looking at the forest.

***

A couple of hours later, when I had buried my victim and had changed my clothes to something more suitable to wear, I went to track down the vampires I detected before. First I could hear and then finally I could see them pounce on a group of deer that did not know who attacked them.

Completely clean clothes and not a single spot of blood or a single hair out of place, Emmet, Rosalie and Carlisle were cleaned any stain on the lips as they stood on the clearing without knowing that I was watching them. I sighed mentally, it was now or never.

I left my hideout making my steps sound heavier and deliberately raised my arms to make me less of a threat. I've waited for them to finish hunting for a reason.

“Who's there -!?” Yelled the blonde turning to face me, her body turning to stone when she recognized me.

“What-” Emmet now turned.

I set my eyes on Carlisle when he finally looked at me, trying to make as if the surprise and horror that crossed his eyes did not affect me; as if the small icy dagger dug into my heart did not exist when they went into a defensive stance; or as if I didn’t feel my stomach turn itself out when they did not relax even though recognition shone in their eyes.

“Bella,” Emmet whispered, his face full of confusion. He looked at Carlisle not really knowing what to do in this situation.

“Oh my God,” Rosalie brought her hands to her mouth, “Edward will have a stroke.”

“Carlisle, what do we do?”

“Hm ....” he said, deep in thought.

I remained impassive as they deliberated, my gaze hovering between the three figures and my body still as a stone, as I was used to be. This was going to happen sooner or later and I was somehow grateful that these three have been those who were hunting when I found them.

“Bella, are you coming home with us?” I came back to reality and looked at him with all the force of my red eyes. I tried not to register the face he made at them.

I nodded silently without bothering to smile.

***

I still had not opened my mouth when I saw the house that so painfully reminded me of the one I knew in Forks and I wondered for a moment how many houses had the family around the world.

“Oh ...It’s good that he’s not at home,” whispered Carlisle and I immediately knew who he meant.

At the door Esme was waiting with her hand on her chest and the most serious face I have ever seen in her. I glanced past her to see what was behind. Alice was waiting for us in Jasper’s arms, sitting on the couch and staring at the horizon with an empty face transforming her perfect features into those of a doll. I set my eyes on Jasper when he got up into a defensive pose.

I cocked my head going over his scars with my eyes, on his beautiful golden eyes, remembering the details of his difficulty adapting to the vegetarian lifestyle. Had he finally gotten the hang of it? I smiled cautiously wishing things with Jasper about our past were less strained.

“What happened? What is she doing here?” hissed the blond, one hand hovering near Alice.

“Jazz …” Esme put a hand on his shoulder and smiled at me apologetically.

“No offence taken,” I finally spoke with my little used but beautiful voice, “is a normal reaction.”

“Bella, how is it that you are ... alive” said Alice when she got out of the trance. She looked about to cry. And I knew that she wasn’t just asking about my life status.

“How long …?” Carlisle sat in the chair beside me.

“Oh, Bella. What happened to you?” Esme dropped on the armrest of the couch where her husband sat.

I looked around observing every little detail of the great room, recognizing a couple of objects and giving myself unnecessary nostalgia. I lowered my eyes to Carlisle and Esme, Emmett, Jasper and Rosalie, Alice's horrified eyes. I could almost see the thoughts going full speed on her head.

“Sometimes, although we think that a situation is over and done with, problems do come back,” I said finally letting myself go down my memories of that afternoon when Bella Swan died. “Even if James was more than dead, Victoria and Laurent were hovering too close to Forks, waiting.”

“Oh no,” Esme gasped, one hand on her mouth. I nodded and smiled softly.

“She wanted revenge and was trying to figure out the best plan to get to me. She recruited Laurent, who had given up your lifestyle, and was around Forks those days. I found him by chance and he was too hungry to wait for her.” My smile turned slightly downwards at the memory.

And then I explained what had happened to me since then, my power, my current diet, Forks’ incident and why I had decided to come and see them after so many years. Various stages of horror crossed their faces and eyes, and I really don’t know what part of my story had shocked them more. I no longer cared. The strong need for acceptance that I felt before when I was human had faded over the decades of a life where I had no one else beside me to impress, or a place to belong. I just got used to the fact that I had to be myself to survive.

It would hurt if they couldn’t accept this new “me”, but I wasn’t willing to change now to fit in the Cullens. Even if that was still an option.

When I finished my tale I stayed standing right there with a tiny smile, trying to ease the obvious tension in the air. I watched them pass a hand through their hair, sigh, look everywhere... except my red eyes.

I knew what they were thinking, of course I did. I didn’t need Edward hearing their thoughts to know what they were thinking. It only took looking into their golden eyes, the tension in the muscles under the skin of granite or slightly pursed lips in concentration to know the answers.

***

The cool evening breeze cradled my hair as I sat on a rock near the back door of the humble but enormous cabin-mansion that the Cullen had chosen as home in some well hidden place in the forest. I wondered vaguely if it was on purpose and if they did not want to make life in this city by being so far from humanity. Did the years change their modus operandi? Or it was just that this place was a temporary thing and they thought that having to leave early was enough reason to not be necessary to show a façade of normal human.

I sighed.

With my eyes closed I heard him before he reached the house, his steps being slightly lighter and faster than the others’, his sweet scent assailing my nose. I could recognize it anywhere even after all that happened, I thought sadly. I felt the slight tug on my chest where my dead heart was that had nothing to do with the pain that initially felt when I thought about him. I sighed, as this has brought me the opportunity to be sure that yes, I had forgiven everything that happened and that no, I didn’t want to give it another chance. Friendship, perhaps, but our “bond” broke so many years ago and over time the possibility of fixing it had faded into nothing.

I straightened up on my place, getting into a perfect Greek statue impersonation and waited for him to appear.

A slight breeze and the sound of his rapid breathing told me the time to open my red eyes, fixing them into his soft creamy golden ones, ignoring the grimace that he made for a second at the intensity of my ruby eyes, those of a freshly fed. His expression was a frightening mixture of horror, shock, disbelief and denial at what was happening, telling me everything I needed to know and confirm that for him things were different now. I vaguely wondered if he had met someone else or if he had somehow moved on; but knowing how things are as a vampire, as I do now, you never really "turn over a new leaf".

I got up with unnecessary slow, for our species, and smiled.

“Hello, Edward. It’s been a long time, isn’t it?”

***

“I don’t understand why he does this,” Alice mumbled while walking in circles in the corner, “I'm so sorry, Bella, I did not expect him to react that way.”

“Oh, honey …” Esme sobbed and collapsed in my arms. Carlisle was right behind her with pursed lips and lost in thought, one hand on his wife's waist, offering silent support.

I sighed for the thirty-fourth time that night.

I turned my eyes to Emmet and Rose sitting on the couch, her arms crossed and a frown on her face, him with an arm around the blonde's shoulder as if he were supporting her, but I knew better. He was holding her in place to stop her from killing someone. Jasper has followed Edward when he ran away.

I patted the weeping mother could that couldn’t cry and rested my head on hers, trying to reassure her that nothing was wrong and that I was okay.

“It’s okay, Esme. Somehow I am not surprised that he reacted that way. I remember that he was very much against my turning and that he was ... sickened of this lifestyle” everyone in the room knew that I was not referring only to being a vampire, but my chosen diet.

“But he you called monster” Esme said in my ear with a disbelieving voice. I closed my eyes tightening the embrace. I was not used to people worrying about me, much less in a motherly way, and I loved the detail. “He has no right to do so. When he gets home he will have to face a very angry Esme.”

Emmet looked at her with wide eyes and somehow I knew it would not be pretty. I smiled widely and pushed her gently out of the embrace to look at her eyes, giving her a slight squeeze on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Esme. For real. I'm fine.”

The other pursed her lips, upset by the situation but understanding what I meant, which I appreciated. After all that had happened I did not want to make this bigger than it was and if Edward wanted to behave so selfishly it was neither my right nor my responsibility to correct it. He was a big boy now.

I went to the couch to sit besides Emmet and slightly leaned on his shoulder, feeling his heavy breathing like a large animal, going through my thoughts about the brief but intense argument with the vampire that as soon as he saw my red eyes shouted that I "was not Bella". Or, at least, was not the same Bella who he had left in Forks.

He said that instead I had become ... something. A monster, I know he wanted to say, and I told him so. He did not deny it.

Still I do not know what hurt more, the expression on Edward’s face or the cowardice he proved to have when he turned around and run the other way. The worst part is that in my mind I was not able to match the image of the Edward I fell in love with back in Forks’ high school, so ethereal and perfect, and that always knew what to what to do; with this Edward, ironically more humane and unable to confront the ghosts of his past. And that had preferred to flee rather than accept that he was wrong those years ago, that I had changed to be someone else.

***

A few hours later and after many farewells, promises to meet again more often, having gotten a satellite cell phone and exchanged numbers with all of the Cullen, I was standing on the porch of their home saying goodbye with my hand and a big smile on the face. The weight that was on my chest had disappeared almost completely, a small thorn with the name of a certain vampire with coppery hair uncomfortably digging in my side.

I hadn’t taken two steps when I felt him coming towards me at full speed. I turned to see what he wanted from me, trying to make my face as emotionless as possible so it did not show how upset I was with him for calling me "monster".

“Bella…” he whispered, frowning. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. I remembered that gesture, how weird. “I'm sorry. That wasn’t an exemplary behavior.”

“Not much,” I simply answered. My honesty seemed to throw him back for a moment.

“I’ve really had a hard time accepting that ... Well, what you are.”

“A vampire. Yeah,” I said looking into the woods behind me. “Edward, I'll be frank with you. It’s been almost a hundred years and I have forgiven what happened. I've moved on, or what we call in this long existence ‘move on’,” he nodded in understanding, a sad glint in his gaze, “but those times are never coming back.”

I could see in his eyes that he knew where I wanted to go with those words and any speech he had prepared crumbled into dust leaving only bare emotions. He was confused, sad, and with the expression of a helpless child and for a second I felt like hugging him. He had spent at least fifty years of his life thinking that I was dead, I had to concede him that. And I would be just as confused if suddenly someone appeared at my house, a vampire whom I believed had died of old age as a human.

“I understand,” he took my hand gently, but there was nothing romantic about it then. “I regret even more deeply for having made this reunion so awkward. Please come back home more often. We've really missed you…”

“Will do,” I smiled and walked over to give him that hug we both needed.

And I could see the rays of a possible friendship starting from scratch. A less lonely life, without carrying my sorrow by myself or not having anywhere to go. At least there was a family of vegetarian vampires who would come to help without thinking twice, no matter what happened. And I would obviously do the same for them.

***

I blinked feeling that the lenses that Alice had given me were clouding my vision more and more. Argh! It was so uncomfortable.

But the need to blend in better with humans was greater since my red eyes did not go as unnoticed as the golden ones of the vegetarians and I could not focus on my power long enough to not rely on extra help to avoid being discovered.

Right now I was trying to buy new clothes without going crazy in the process and I haven’t been even fifteen minutes into the mall when the phone that the Cullen had given me this year rang. The other one worked perfectly fine, but their excuse was that it had to be up to date with the new technologies. I was not one to deny them anything when Esme looked at me with such intensity.

“How dare you go shopping without calling me!” said the high-pitched voice of the pixie from the other side of the line. I sighed.

“Alice, I'm not even "shopping". I just needed some new clothes-” but, of course, I was interrupted.

“I'll be there in ten minutes. Don’t you dare to move!”

I blocked the phone with a small smile. My life had changed since I decided to contact the Cullen family, and it had been for the better. They treated me like one of them but not pressured the issue of Edward, and I appreciated it. I wanted to be myself, and eventually they had accepted my human diet so it was no longer any problem between us. They had also stopped trying to convince me to switch to vegetarianism, although occasionally they brought it up jokingly.

My smile broadened as I raised my eyes to the dark sky with gray clouds. This was not the life as vampire I had wanted so many years ago, but it was the life where I had done the best I could with the cards that were given to me. And knowing this made me feel more complete than ever.

#twilight fanfiction #twilight #bella swan #edward cullen #new moon #new moon au #alternate universe #fanfic #fanfiction #writeblr #canon divergence #gil writes

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my-whumpy-little-heart · 4 years

Text

The Zodiac Whumper - Gemini Part 1

So you may have already noticed that this is part one. So um. Yeah. This is already really long so I had to split it into two parts. The second one should be up within the week. Continued from here. If you’re new, start here!

Tag list (ask to be added or removed): @whumpallday, @stxck-fxck, @thatsthewhump, @unsung-sympathy, @terriblethrillssss, @insanitywishes, @woodenhoneybee, @whale-whumps

Content warnings: lady whump (there will be guy whump too if that’s not your speed, more next part though), descriptions of a near panic attack, burning with candlewax

Last of the notes: a huge shoutout to @shameless-whumper who requested the premise I used for this piece and the next, and @card-games-and-pain for this post which I used a slightly modified version of in these pieces. Big creds to you guys for providing my creativity some sustenance.

She woke up slowly, blinking the sleep from her eyes and wincing at a voice above her, gradually floating into her ears.

“...can’t just skip you; up and at ‘em now, Gemma!”

“Who th’hell’s Gemma? ‘m I lost? I‘ve never known anyone with th’name Gemma…” she slurs, sleep laden tongue stumbling over the words. Her hands pushed her to sit up, forcing her to look at the person staring into the cage at her.

“There you go, nice and awake. And you’re Gemma, obviously.” Zoran tilted their head in a coy smile as if it had been her name all along.

“Gemma, that’s not even right… aren’t I supposed to be Gemini? I mean, you used the full Zodiac names for everyone else and I think you called me Gemini so I just assumed...” Gemma hung her head slightly. Saying this kind of thing was exactly what would get her on their bad side, but it would be easier to make the best of it later if she knew what they wanted.

“Oh, but I couldn’t very well call you both Gemini, could I?”

The words took a few seconds to settle in. And then her heart plummeted.

“Wh-what do you mean both?!” There were a million scenarios and theories to panic about in her head, filling it up and drowning her consciousness as her body shut down. Her gut instinct was yelling and trying to warn her, but she couldn’t hear it over the roaring waves.

“Yeah! I split it instead: you’re Gemma and he’s Nye!” They gesture at nothing, face falling for a second, “ ...oh that’s right, I almost forgot I didn’t reintroduce the two of you. Nye, get in here! Take her out for me, could you?” Short hair and dark skin came walking in, expression blank as he bent down with a ring of keys in his hands and Gemma gasped in a horrible, shaking sob.

“Brice! Oh god, Brice did they… why?! What did you- what are you doing to him?!” Gemma’s heart pounded at the sight of her twin brother--oh fuck they took her brother too what the hell what the helI--and he didn’t even look up to see the tears rolling down Gemma’s face and the hand clamped over her mouth to quiet her pathetic sobs.

“It’s wonderful how a Gemini breaks, isn’t it?” Zoran comments, not caring to address her distress. “That inherent need to learn and improve put to good use, huh? What a pity it would be to see you go the same way.”

“Don’t-” and sobbed silently, horrified that her first thought was ‘don’t do to me whatever you already did to him,’ “Please, just please let us go…”

“Leaving so soon?” they gasped dramatically, and Nye finally got the cage open. He dragged his sister out with a firm grip on her arm and held her still, facing Zoran. “I had to work so hard to find the perfect pair of Gemini twins! You have to stay for the rest of the party at least, watch everyone else’s turns, and, well, I haven’t even decided what to do with you lot after that!” They laughed like it was funny.

“Brice,” Gemma gave up on them, turning back to her brother with teary eyes, “why are you doing this? Please, let me go; whatever they offered or did to you isn’t worth it. I promise.” Nye twitched at that and she swore she saw just a hint of conflict in his expression. Not all was lost.

“Your brother Nye and I have an arrangement and, contrary to your belief, it is very much worth his while to comply with me. It’d be a shame if I had to-”

“No,” It was a husky, haunted whisper that first escaped Nye’s lips. “Please, don’t…”

“Oh, well if you insist,” Zoran sighed, “Nye, fetch the table I had you bring down. I trust you know well enough not to run by this point, Gemma. You’re not as thick skulled as a few other people here.” Pointedly, they glanced over at Taurus whose eyes glimmered dully with hurt at the comment.

Gemma stood complacently with hands held behind her back, eyes following her brother as he left the room. Nye came back just seconds later, locking the door behind himself, and wheeling in a long metal table that nearly had her passing out at the sight of it. Torture implements of all types and sizes were laid out in neat rows just begging to inflict pain on an unlucky victim. Amidst the knives, bottles, and syringes she recognized were countless mechanisms she didn’t even want to place, as well as everyday household objects strewn about.

She couldn’t even comprehend why or how all of this would be used on her and she was trembling uncontrollably and unseeingly when a hand clamped on her shoulder, pulling a flinch and coaxing her head up. Zoran stared, a fond smile spread over his lips, and wordlessly pulled her forward towards the table.

Gemma suppressed the urge to swat the hand away, or run, or crawl back in that awful, degrading cage to get away. She walked at the guidance of Zoran’s hand, and knelt when it pushed her down, holding hands still when a length of rope pulled them behind her back, and then her ankles just a minute later.

When a length of cloth came around her head as a blindfold, she leaned ever so slightly into it. Then the room was silent until she heard something akin to… the shuffling of cards?

“Nye, you and I are going to play a game,” they started, no room in the statement for refusal, “and Gemma is going to be a good pawn for us. The rules are simple, so pay attention because I’m not repeating them.

“We will draw cards one at a time. Whoever pulls the card must first read it aloud and then perform the listed action on Gemma or, because I’m merciful, you may forfeit and I’ll turn the card’s command on you instead. That card will then not count towards your full six cards. When both of us hit that card total of six, the game is over. Clear?”

“C-crystal,” Nye’s voice cracked around the word.

“And one more thing. To be sure this is as fair as possible, I’ve elected to include a mediator. Take Libra from his cage, Nye, and tie him down over there. Just the hands should work fine.”

At the mention of his sign, Libra went stock still. Some other captives were arguing, trying to protect him, but he couldn’t hear as he felt every muscle in his body locking up and panic coming on quicker than he could quell its effects. Nye’s tall, lean silhouette loomed over him and he squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn’t prepared for this. He would never have been prepared for this. He knew it was coming, but he thought he had a few days to collect himself--

“Libra, hey, can you look at me?” A hand holding his chin gently and a soft voice talking to him parted the impenetrable fog just for a second. “Where are you right now?”

He tried to think, but around wheezing breaths and shaky limbs it was impossible. Libra muttered something that got another response out of the voice.

“Listen to me, try to breathe. You’re, ah, you’re locked up in the basement where you’ve been for a few days. You know, the grey stone and cage, dim lights, all that. Smells a bit like mildew. Don’t worry, you’re not going to be hurt right now. This won’t be hard if you follow their instructions.”

The descriptions helped a bit, and he drew himself back to reality with them, pushing the fog and panic away to the back of his mind in favor of paying attention and following instructions right now.

“I- yeah, I ca-can, I can breathe I’m oh-okay,” he muttered, short of breath. Inhaling slowly, he counted out measured gasps as Nye pulled him out. Shaking legs carried him unsteadily to the loop in the floor where Libra was tied tightly, hands in front between his knees, so he couldn’t escape.

“Libra.” Zoran’s voice was sharp enough to cut, and he snapped his gaze up, wobbling with the lasting effects of his near panic attack. “You will be our mediator for obvious reasons. I trust you to have the values of fairness on your side as your sign should, because you know you’ll pay dearly for any deviance or bias. I’ll ask your opinion if I want it, and otherwise you’re to stay as a silent, close observer. Yes?”

“Y-yes.”

“Alright! The boring shit’s out of the way, so let’s get this show on the road!” Zoran’s expression split into a blinding grin, faux professionalism of earlier all driven away by the immediate promise of pure, unadulterated fun. “I’ll take the first turn.”

The room held its breath as they took the first card from the deck, reading it slowly over in their head before revealing it to everyone else.

“Drip hot wax on them.” They enunciated each word with pure ecstasy, “Starting things off with a bang, I see.”

At their feet as they lit a candle furnace, Gemma bit her lip in anticipation. Surely melted wax couldn’t hurt all too badly, she rationalized. She’d burnt herself on a candle before and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. She could handle this.

Above, Nye watched on as Zoran melted what looked to be pieces of a candle. It melded into liquid in a basin above the flame, turning translucent and nearly sparkling as it stirred under the lights. It was tantalizing and sickening at the same time to know it would be poured over his sister’s skin, burning and burning until… he didn’t even know what would happen.

Zoran slipped a glove on one hand to protect him from the heat and flicked out a knife to slice open the back of her shirt, thankfully leaving her underclothing intact, and reached back for the melted wax. Gemma trembled under their hand that pulled the t-shirt apart, pushing hard on a shoulder to make her bend further over her knees.

When the wax hit, it felt cold for a few lovely seconds before the nerves buzzing under her skin caught on fire. In a blink, it was searing and pulling at her as it dripped and spread further like a parasite. It was melting her skin, starting at her shoulders, the liquid left of it dripping further and further down her stripped bones and muscles and hardening again, bonding like a shell that protected her from the relief she so desperately craved.

Her teeth were clenched with such force that she feared she would break them as she whimpered and moaned at sluggish agony that felt no better even minutes after most of the wax had dried.

The hand on her shoulder pulled her to sit back up, and at the movement Gemma felt the wax adjusting and cracking, reforming itself and shifting across its own burns. The blindfold was already soaked with tears but that didn’t keep her from crying all over again.

“Your turn, Nye,” Zoran turned to him and gestured to the stack of cards. Hand shaking, he drew one and flipped it over, breath already caught in his throat.

“Shut… shut them up,” he read, brow furrowing, “and it has a question mark on it.”

“That means you have a choice. You either find some way to ‘shut her up’ using whatever you can find on the table,” they gestured to Gemma, whose harsh breaths were still echoing through the room, “or I find a way to silence you. Your choice.”

“I-I can do it to her,” Nye muttered, walking closer to the table he’d brought in. He could do this painlessly, some way or another. His hand ghosted over a few things on the table, shivering and flinching away from others that he hoped he’d never see used. Or worse, he contemplated breathlessly, have to use himself.

Slowly, carefully, he settled on something. He felt bile rise in his throat at the thought of strapping it on his own sister, but it could be useful to her long term. Something to bite down on for the pain… something to help block screams so it was less humiliating…

Grimacing, Nye picked up the muzzle, all leather facepiece and straps with a metal bit, and carried it carefully over to where his sister was kneeling.

“Wow, didn’t take you for that kind, Nye,” Zoran commented with a giggle, “just don’t forget our deal about talking to her.” The man in question fixed them with a fragile glare before turning back to Gemma, putting a gentle hand on her jaw. Slowly, he coaxed it open and met her lips with the metal bit, sliding it in to the back of her mouth.

It pressed down on her tongue and Gemma nearly gagged on it with how far back it reached. She held still as her brother figured out how to fasten and tighten the straps, pulling them only tight enough to keep the muzzle snugly on her face. She wasn’t upset with him, she reassured herself. He had no choice in what he was doing and there were a million worse avenues that prompt could have taken them down.

When he stood and walked back away from her, she tested the give on the muzzle, working her jaw and finding she could hardly open it. But the metal gave her something other than her own teeth to bite down on. She just prayed it wouldn’t come that far even though she knew, deep down, that it already had.

Next part

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randomkposts · 4 years

Text

Hello

I figured I should start with wall of quotes. Cause whynot

Quotes “It's hard to hate my prep team. They're such total idiots." - Katniss.”

“Here's some advice. Stay alive.” “The cat that Prim got hates me, I think partly because I tried to drown it.” “District 12: Where you can starve to death in safety.”“No. Now, shut up and eat your pears."

” It's lovely. If only you could frost someone to death." "Don't be so superior. You can never tell what you will find in the arena. Say it's a gigantic cake-”“Yes, frosting. The final defense of the dying.”

“Technically, I am unarmed. But no one should ever underestimate the harm that fingernails can do. Especially if the target is unprepared.”

"Well, leprechauns. You know they're not real, don't you?""Let us proceed under the assumption that the fairy folk do exist and that I am not a gibbering moron."

"I majored in Ancient History. You have your own page in the 'Criminally Insane' section."

"Really, Butler, I must begin choosing my business associates more carefully. Hardly a day goes by when we aren't the victims of some plot.""The punching is not helping my concentration, by the way.""Oh, brilliant. I must write that one down in my witty retorts book."

"The pixie is crazy! Give me your gun, Holly. I'm going to shoot him.""Excuse me, Captain. Are you two going to weep salty tears of admiration over a helmet all night, or do we have matters to discuss?"

"This is a well. You might think that there is something to it... But in fact it is just an ordinary well."

Woman in Ur : Hey, where are you four brats off to now? What...? You're going to go save the world...? Did you get hit on the head or something!?

Gilgamesh : Enough expository banter. It's time we fight like men. And ladies. And ladies who dress like men. For Gilgamesh...IT IS MORPHING TIME! Galuf : Bartz! Stop that! Bartz : But it's fun! poke, poke, poke... Bartz : Jumping Christmas!

Edgar : "That's Shadow! He'd slit his mama's throat for a nickel!" Kefka : "This is sickening! You sound like chapters from a self-help booklet! Prepare yourselves!" Locke : "Hey! Call me a TREASURE HUNTER, or I'll rip your lungs out!" Edgar : "If something were to happen to me, all the world's women would grieve!" Setzer : "My life is a chip in your pile. Ante up."

Yuffie : So! I saved the great Vincent Valentine! Do I get any thanks?

Squall : Right and wrong are not what separate us and our enemies. It's our different standpoints, our perspectives that separate us. Both sides blame one another. There's no good or bad side. Just two sides holding different views. Squall : I dreamt I was a moron...

Seifer : Great, I have one chicken-wuss and one kid who just entered puberty in my team! Squall : ...Whatever.

Auron: The red carpet has teeth. Auron: Outside the dream world, life can be harsh, even cruel, but it is life.

Rikku: Memories are nice, but that's all they are.

Kimahri: Pick spot. Shut up. Wait.

Rikku: Do you think we need a password? Paine: How about 'Kick..it's..ass' Paine : The hardest person to know is one's self.

Raogrimm: People are capable of kindness beyond angels, yet we also commit sins that would put a demon to shame... Lonely Chocobo: Warkkkkk!!! Gweh!!!! Warkkkk

Naja Salaheem : (After Abquhbah faints when he realizes that he's speaking to the empress) Nothing to be concerned about, Your Magnificence. Mercenaries are trained to sleep anywhere, anytime if the opportunity presents itself.

Lightning: Worst birthday ever. Lightning: It's not a question of can or can't. There are some things in life you just do. Lightning: We live to make the impossible possible! That is our focus!

White Mage: Hi. I was just wondering if you knew how much we've suffered because of you. Good day. [after finding the Falcon Rydia : It's not yours. Edge : That's okay, it would be happy to be used by us!

...That's General Leo.. He could be my friend if he weren't my enemy.

You think a minor thing like the end of the world was gonna do me in?

"What a cute doggy!' "Leave us. The dog eats strangers...'

This should be fun. When do we leave?

Read my lips - mercy is for wimps! There's a reason "oppose" rhymes with "dispose"...If they get in your way, kill them!I don't care for the appearance of this pitiful little hamlet... So burn it!!

Figaro Guard : Kefka's "One shy of a six pack!" Imperial soldier : I oppose peace! Narshe resident : Narshe is a neutral city.! We want no war here, but that %#$@& Empire won't listen! South Figaro Resident : We may be thieves, but at least we have goals in life!

Cyan: This is the Phantom Train. It carries the departed to the other side. Sabin : Wait! I don't want to go THERE!

Strago: Go to your room! Relm : I will not! What a fussy old man! Strago : Relm! Is that you, my dear? You're alive! Relm : Idiot! Of course I'm alive! Strago : Oh, I'm so happy..." Relm : Did you think I was gonna check out before you, old man? Strago : You're as foul mouthed as ever, bless your heart!

Shadow: I know what friendship is... and family...

"It's not my problem."

"Don't fight here! You'll ruin the flowers!" "I think they believe I have what it takes to be in SOLDIER!" "Mine is special. It's good for absolutely nothing!"

Don't need no appointment... This is a 'mergency! Anyone who don't wanna get their face bashed in better git outta the way!! "I've got the wrong person."

W-wait a second. I won't run or hide. Yes, I was a spy. I was hired by the Shinra. I couldn't help it. How 'bout if we continue like nothing ever happened?

Shut up! Sit your ass down in that chair and DRINK YOUR GODDAMN TEA!

This's gonna be a big splash. Hold on to your drawers, an' don't piss in 'em!!

Maybe God'd forgive an ugly shit like you, but I won't!

I don't know what the hell it is, but it's falling from the sky. Hmpf! It's not even an omen.

Hey, do you know who I am? I'm Cid—that's who the hell I am! Now just let me handle it!

I don't want to regret not having done something later.

I always thought this planet was so huge. But lookin' at it from space, I realized it's so small. We're just floatin' in the dark. ...kinda makes you feel powerless. On top of that it's got Sephiroth festerin' inside it like a sickness. That's why I say this planet's still a kid. A little kid sick and trembling in the middle of this huge universe. Someone's gotta protect it. Ya follow me? That someone is us.

We're busy runnin' back and forth! Even my bikini goddess would be pantin' about now!

Oh, GAWD! If I knew this was gonna happen, I would've taken rope escape lessons more seriously!!

Escape from a world of illusions... Hmph... I wonder which is better.

I know you want my help because I'm so good!

Cloud, put me in your party, so I can get off this ship. Cloud...sign this. It's a contract that says when the war is over, all the materia will belong to me.

The stars shine so bright, like glowing materia... reach up and grab one. GROSSNESS! Don't mess with me old man! You don't even have any Materia!

Citizens, unite! Come to the light, Mako energy. Power is truth. Shinra is the future. Real happiness can be found in obedience to the company People are ignorant. They'll feel better as long as someone is punished.

Godo : Go! Survive till the end! And return! With the Materia! Doctor in Mideel : You can see for yourself what things look like, but at least no one was seriously hurt. We're just very unhappy now. Junon soldier : I'm learning to be a delinquent soldier!! I just can't seem to get the hang of it! Reeve Tuesti : What may be a few to you was everything to those who died...

Barret : She ain't gonna show up. 'Least this time she didn't steal our materia. Guess we gotta be thankful for that. Yuffie : How could you say that!? I came all the way here after being seasick as a dog! I didn't go through all that just to have you guys have the best parts all to yourselves!

...A speech? Forget it. Cut the mic!

You're-going-to-like-me! You're-going-to-like-me! Did it work?

D-Do you have any...hot dogs left?

...The HELL! Man...Now this is what I call boring. This ain't right, man!

YOOOO!!! The HELL you doin'!!!?

I'm a pretty lucky guy. Hand in hand with two beautiful girls.

That is sooo vague!

Super-Duper-Mega-Bummer!!

Well, Zell was riding his T-Board in the hallways of Garden. He made a sharp turn and went straight into the woman's res...

Sharpshooters are loners by nature... We hone our instincts, pour our whole being in a single bullet. The pressure of the moment... An instant of tension... That's what... I have to face alone...

Well, fine then! We WILL have a good time!

Thanks for the support, but I never miss my target.

Well, we could skin this little guy and wear him as a disguise...

I say things that get a rise out of some people. Just don't let it bother you and we'll get along fine.

Ooh neato! A hole in the middle of no-where!

You've all heard this before. How life has infinite possibilities. I don't believe that one bit. There weren't many paths for me to choose. Sometimes, there would only be one. From the limited possibilities I faced, the choices I made have brought me this far. That's why I value the path I chose... I want to hold true to the path that HAD to be taken.

Let's just fire like crazy and make a big hole, BOOM!

...Speeding. Let's go arrest that student for violation of academy regulations. Listen up! Teamwork means staying out of my way. It's a Squad B rule.

This is the scene where you swear your undying hatred for me!

And so, Laguna runs for dear life. She got upset and put fruit jam in your shoes. You were almost in tears!

Fujin: DISTURBING.RAGE!SHOCK!GOOD. CONVENIENT.PERSUASION, USELESS. SEIZE!IGNORE.RUN!ELLONE? NOT HERE.FATIGUE POSSE... We are. We always will be. Because we're a posse, we want to help you. Whatever it takes to fulfill your dream, we're willing to do. But... You're being manipulated, Seifer. You've lost yourself and your dream. You're just eating out of someone's hand. We want the old you back! Since we can't get through to you, all we have now to rely on is Squall! It's sad... Sad that we only have Squall to rely on... Seifer! Are you still gonna keep goin'?

Big Sister: I can't wait until I meet a guy that I can scream at and exchange blows with!

Quistis : You're the squad leader. Good luck to you. Seifer : ...Instructor. I hate it when people wish me luck. Save those words for a bad student who needs them, eh? Quistis : Alright, then. Good luck, Seifer. Seifer : [to Fujin and Raijin] Add Instructor Trepe to the list. Zone : Our plan is to...Selphie : ...Blow it to smithereens with a rocket launcher!? Zone : [taken aback] ...Ahh...not quite... Rinoa : Oh, shut up! I made it like that on purpose. It represents my hatred towards Deling. Zell : Hatred, eh? Yeah...right. Selphie : It's one of the...ugliest things that I've ever seen in my life. You must really hate him.

You don't need a reason to help people.No cloud, nor squall shall hinder us!Piece of cake. I'm an escape artist.

In the end, it boils down to two simple choices. Either you do or you don't. You'd think with all the problems in this world, there'd be more answers. It's not fair... but that's the way things are. The choice is yours.

SON OF A SHOOPUFF!

Al Bhed is Al Bhed. Rikku is Rikku. Rikku swore to protect Yuna. And Rikku is not a liar. Kimahri can tell. So, she is a friend.

Why are you still here, sir? (pause as Auron looks at him) I beg your pardon. We Guado are keen to the scent of the Farplane.

Rikku : Did you...hit your head or something? Tidus : Um, you guys hit me. Rikku : Oh, right...do you remember anything before that?

Sometimes, when I got a lot on my mind, it just helps to go, "AAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"Once Lady Yuna fixes her hair, we leave." "Guard your emotions first, then guard your summoner." "Ha! Legendary guardian? I was just a boy. A boy about your age actually. I wanted to change the world too, but I changed nothing. That is my story." "Don't look to others for knowledge. This is your story."

Don't think it's just a game. Your life's on the line. "You. It's what's for dinner." You. Are. Hired."

Barkeep : Mish Yoona, what can I do for yoo?

Yuna : Duck Soup! Paine : Duck what?

Rikku : I'm gonna kick you in the spleen! Paine : Spleen?

Lightning : (to soldier).Nice gun. Noctis : Goodbye, whoever you are.

You sure are a keen observer of the obvious, kupo!

And I know some "little girls" who can kick your butt!

"You hit the Lord of the Titans in the eye with a blue plastic hairbrush."

Rachel: They asked me a lot of questions about you. I played dumb. Annabeth: Was it hard?"

"Love conquers all," Aphrodite promised. "Look at Helen and Paris. Did they let anything come between them?""Didn't they start the Trojan War and get thousands of people killed?" "Pfft. That's not the point. Follow your heart."'

“Ever had a flying burrito hit you? Well, it's a deadly projectile, right up there with cannonballs and grenades." "The ADHD part of me wondered, off-task, whether the rest of his clothes were made the same way. What horrible things would you have to do in your life to get woven into Hades' underwear?"

Rachel: You're a half-blood, too? Annabeth: Shhh! Just announce it to the world, how about? Rachel: Okay. Hey, everybody! These two aren't human! They're half Greek god! . . . They don't seem to care."-

"What I did next was so impulsive and dangerous I should’ve been named ADHD poster child of the year."

“You're a stalker with hooves." "I am not! I followed her to the Big House and hid in a bush and watched the whole thing.”

Well, we kind of tried to kill each other in a duel to the death." "I see. You tried the diplomatic approach.”

"Well, Percy, what have we learned today?""That three-headed dogs prefer red rubber balls over sticks?""No," "We've learned that your plans really, really bite!”

"Dude!" said a party pony as he unloaded his gear. Did you see that bear guy? He was all like: 'Whoa, I have an arrow in my mouth!”

“Boys are usually forbidden to have any contact with the Hunters. The last one to see this camp…” She looked at Zoe. “Which one was it?”"That boy in Colorado,” Zoe said. “You turned him into a jackalope.”Ah, yes.” Artemis nodded, satisfied. “I enjoy making jackalopes…”

“Christmas in the Underworld was NOT my idea. If I'd known what was coming, I would've called in sick. I could've avoided an army of demons, a fight with a Titan, and a trick that almost got my friends and me cast into eternal darkness. But no, I had to take my stupid English exam.”

“Meat!" he said scornfully. "I'm a vegetarian." "You eat cheese enchiladas and aluminum cans," I reminded him."Those are vegetables.”

"How about this: stealing is not always bad?""I don't think my mom would like that moral."

I thought about the lines Rachel had spoken in that creepy voice: about storm and fire and the Doors of Death. "Maybe," I said, "but it didn't sound so good.""No," said Apollo cheerfully. "It certainly didn't. She's going to make a wonderful Oracle!”

"My son here convinced me that perhaps I should prioritize my list of enemies." He glanced at me with distaste. "As much as I dislike certain upstart demigods, it would not do for Olympus to fall. I would miss bickering with my siblings. And if there is one thing we agree on - it is that you were a TERRIBLE father.”

Running with a drowsy child of Hades was more like doing a 3 -legged race with a life size rag doll.”

“Yay!' he said. 'Now we can eat peanut butter sandwiches and ride fish ponies! We can fight monsters and see Annabeth and make things go BOOM!”

“You know how teachers tell you the magic word is 'please'? That's not true. The magic word is 'puke'. It will get you out of class faster than anything else.”

" He tossed me a jar of thick green liquid—Greek fire, one of the most dangerous magical substances in the world. Then he threw me another essential tool of demigod heroes—duct tape”

“Juniper: Are you guys busy? Percy: Well, we’re in the middle of this game against a bunch of monsters and we’re trying not to die. Annabeth: We’re not busy. ”

Though "peanut butter" is a strange battle cry. It shall be as you say. But my son, pray this works."I am praying. I'm talking to you, right?"Oh . . . yes. Good point.”

“Let us find the dam snack bar," Zoe said. "We should eat while we can."Grover cracked a smile. "The dam snack bar?"Zoe blinked. "Yes. What is funny?""Nothing," Grover said, trying to keep a straight face. "I could use some dam french fries."Even Thalia smiled at that. "And I need to use the dam restroom." "I do not understand.""I want to use the dam water fountain," Grover said."And…" Thalia tried to catch her breath. "I want to buy a dam T-shirt."

"with great power... comes great need to take a nap"

“Oh no." I said panic rising in my chest. "No, no, no, Somebody get a can opener. I've got a god in my head!!”“Well," I said. "If you need me, I'll be outside, playing with sharp objects.”

“Fairness means everyone gets what they need. And the only way to get what you need is to make it happen yourself.”

“I guessed his name was Face of Horror. I wondered how long it had taken his mom to think of that. Bob? No. Sam? No. How about Face of Horror?”

“Now the tattoos," Zia announced."Brilliant!" I said."On your tongue," she added."Excuse me?”

“I just love family meetings. Very cozy, with the Christmas garlands round the fireplace and a nice pot of tea and a detective from Scotland Yard ready to arrest you.”

“Carter Kane, 14, died tragically in Paris when he was eaten by his sister’s cat Muffin.”

“There will be guards,” Bast said. “And traps. And alarms. You can bet the house is heavily charmed to keep out gods.” “Magicians can do that?” I asked. I imagined a big can of pesticide labeled God-Away.”

“I believe you, Sadie.""Oh really. I'm holding the bloody feather of truth, and you believe me. Well, thanks.”

I guess it started in London, the night our dad blew up the British museum.”

“The baboon is driving,” I noted. “Should I be worried?”

“Thank Ra!” She exclaimed. “Yeah, I’m alive.” “No, I almost jumped in after you. I hate the water!”

“Why did adults have to be so thick? They always say “tell the truth,” and when you do, they don’t believe you. What’s the point?”

“I must admit I’m impressed, Sadie. You controlled your magic and controlled Isis. And you, Carter, did well turning into a lizard.”

“That’s Narmer with the spoon,” I guessed. “Angry because the other bloke stole his breakfast cereal?”

“Most of Set’s forces were running towards our boat, screaming and throwing rocks (which tended to fall down and hit them, but no one says demons are bright).

"Great another mystery. I was about to suggest we ram Amos’s head against it and see if that worked.”

The stuff was so thick and rough, it made me wonder if the poor Egyptians had had to use toilet papyrus. If so, no wonder they walked sideways.”

“I looked back, but Bast and Sadie seemed fine. They were still staring at the water as if it were some amazing Internet video.”

. Why would someone display a rock? Aren't there enough of those in the world?”

“Dejardins was so stunned, he momentarily forgot how to speak English. "Ce n'est pas possible. On ne pourrait pas-”

#Random K #Hello #Former profile #So many quotes #I

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eveningstarcatcher · 4 years

Text

Possession

Inspired by @whiteleyfoster‘s amazing art Also on Ao3 Warning: Angst, Torture

If my people hear I rescued an angel, I’ll be the one in trouble. And my lot do not send rude notes!

The words echoed in Crowley’s head, pounding and rattling around, all else gone, emptied, driven away.

Only those words.

Those words and pain.

His vision swam, outlined by the long red hair hanging down around his pale face. He squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath, shuddering through his aching body.

He pulled weakly against the restraints that bit into his wrists, blood dripping down his hands. The chair he was in was rough, splintering and stabbing through his clothes, pressing into his skin with every movement he made.

He didn’t know how long he had been there. He was in the dark, no light except for the small fire across the room, flickering and glistening off of a tray of metal tools that he had already become very familiar with.

He could feel each bruise, scratch, and laceration as if acid was pouring over them. His shirt and coat had been cut, ripped away from the skin of his left shoulder and chest to provide a blank page, ready and waiting to be tortured. And the artist had taken full advantage - spattering his canvas with shades of red, brown, and purple, streaking, swirling, and smudged across his neck, shoulder, and chest.

“I’ll ask you again, Crawly,” a voice sneered. “What were you doing with the angel?”

“Nothing!” Crowley’s voice came out rough, uneven, raw from screaming. “I didn’t know he was there. I was just there for the executions.”

Hastur stepped forward. “I don’t believe you.”

“Why would I lie?”

“We’re demons, it’s what we do.” Hastur reminded him, dragging his filthy fingers over a cut, reopening it, crimson blood spilling over blue and purple skin. He circled his victim slowly, admiring his work.

“I’m not lying,” Crowley hissed in pain.

“Can’t be sure of that, now can we?” Hastur purred into Crowley’s ear, leaning close and pressing his weight against his restrained hands, pulling another yelp from his ruined throat.

“You can,” Crowley whispered as loudly as he could manage. “I don’t have any reason to lie to you. Besides, I heard the boss was rather pleased with what I’ve done in France. Do they know that I’m here?”

“They don’t need to know. Not yet. Once I get the truth I’m sure I’ll be getting a promotion.” Hastur crossed back to the fire on the opposite side of the small room and retrieved something from it.

He turned back to Crowley, a sickening grin across his sallow face, illuminated by the red-hot glow of a branding iron held aloft in one spotted hand. The brand was made of two parallel lines, the bottom one longer than the top, set above an oval curled in on itself, all speared by a vertical prong.

Hastur cackled and stepped towards Crowley, the red heat from the iron reflected in his dark, hateful eyes.

“You sure?” Crowley’s heart was racing, his brain fighting to find words. “They might not be so happy to hear that you’ve kidnapped and tortured one of hell’s best agents.”

“One of hell’s best agents? Is that what you think?” Hastur barked out a short laugh.

“I’ve got the commendations to prove it.” Crowley was desperate, staring wide-eyed at the brand, his pupils slitted.

“Maybe so, but I still don’t trust you.” Hastur’s black eyes narrowed, grimacing down at him.

“F’course not. We’re demons. We don’t trussssst anyone,” Crowley hissed between clenched teeth as he felt the heat from the iron closing in on him, prickling at the skin of his exposed shoulder.

“If you were there for the execution, why were you eating with the angel?” Hastur leaned over him, grabbing a fistful of Crowley’s hair and wrenching his head back, revealing his neck, leaving him even more vulnerable, unable to twist away from the hellfire-heated metal. “Choose your words carefully.

“T-temptation!” Crowley choked on the word, disgusted with himself for even saying it.

“Tempting an angel?” Hastur cackled, pressing a finger into a bruise on Crowley’s neck, the branding iron brushing his skin, pulling a cry from him.

“Ye-yes. Thought it might be f-fun.” Crowley tried to pull away from Hastur’s hold, but was held firm, his finger still pressing into the bruise, shifting slowly from side to side, prolonging the pain. Crowley bit his lip to hold back a whimper.

“And did you? Did you, the great Crawly, tempt the angel?” Hastur leaned down, nose-to-nose, staring into yellow eyes.

"Not yet. Soon,” he croaked out, setting his jaw in a look of defiance.

“It would be a rather big accomplishment,” Hastur released his hold and stepped away, letting the brand fall and sizzle against the floor. “Perhaps I should give it a try.”

“Sure, go find yourself an angel. You’ll see how hard it is to tempt them.” Crowley sighed and slumped down into the chair, grateful for the reprieve.

“Oh no. I didn’t mean that. I meant that I’m going to try to tempt your angel.”

“NO!” Crowley cried, straightening up, his hair flying back, his jaw clenched.

“Why not?” Hastur crossed back to the fire, placing the brand into it once again. He glanced over his shoulder. “Protecting him?”

“No, no.” Crowley steadied himself, grimacing. “He’s mine, Hastur. If you want to tempt an angel, find your own. I’ve already started on this one. S’really the only way to be sure who’s better at the job.” He fell back on the old trick of competition. Most demons were powerless to say no to a challenge.

“Hmm,” Hastur plucked the branding iron from the fire, scattering sparks along the cold floor, face calm and thoughtful. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should find my own angel. But,” his expression darkened with a sickening glee, “I don’t think anyone in Hell would object to giving you a small reminder of where you come from.” He crossed the room in four strides, iron held out like a sword ready for battle. “We are the fallen, Crawly, never forget that.”

“It’s Crowley,” he wheezed.

In response, Hastur thrust the brand against Crowley’s skin.

He screamed.

Hastur held it in place until it turned cool, pulled it away sharply, then walked across the room. He unceremoniously tossed the brand into the fire and moved to the door.

“You’re free to go.”

The door closed behind him and the restraints fell from Crowley’s wrists. He fell forward, onto the cold floor and shivered, taking a series of long, deep breaths. He focused on the feel of the cool, solid stone beneath his hands, rough and sturdy, pushing the throbbing pain to the background of his thoughts.

He pulled himself up, forcing himself to his feet, and tested his feet. They worked well enough, albeit slowly. He pulled the door open and began the slow ascent to earth.

He stumbled out of Hell, bleeding and broken. He needed to sleep. He needed to sleep for a hundred years. And after that, he’d make a plan. He wouldn’t let himself fall prey to Hell again. He needed insurance.

By the time Crowley woke from his nap the raw skin of the brand had faded and his bruises and cuts had healed. There were no scars on his wrists or anywhere except the symbol on his shoulder, a constant reminder of the worst parts of himself.

He covered it, snapping himself into the appropriate clothes for the year, and willed himself to forget.

“How did this happen?” Aziraphale traced his fingers over the raised skin of the brand, featherlight, a small frown on his lips.

“Hell. After the Bastille.” Crowley stated, eyes glazing over. No use in hiding it and he was never good at lying to his angel. Better just to get it over with.

They were sitting in the garden behind their cottage. It was a beautiful summer day, blue sky, warm sun, and gentle breeze. Crowley had been working in the garden and had stripped down to a tank top and shorts. They were sitting on the patio, enjoying lemonade and pastries.

Crowley shifted his shirt, covering the mark, but it was too late. It had already caught Aziraphale’s attention.

“After - but we had crepes!” Aziraphale pulled his fingers away.

“Yeah. After that.”

“How?” Aziraphale’s voice was so soft, tender, giving Crowley every chance to say no, to avoid this sudden change in conversation.

“Hastur found me. Had seen us together. Dragged me down to Hell and tortured me. Wanted to remind me who I was working for.” His voice was small, distant. “Threatened to go after you.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale breathed, eyebrows pulling together in regret and concern. “But he didn’t.”

“I made sure of that.” Crowley looked down.

“You let him torture you so he wouldn’t come after me?” The angel was breathless.

“I wasn’t going to let him touch you with that hellfire brand. I knew I’d survive, knew you wouldn’t, so….” He trailed off, hands in fists against his knees.

Aziraphale reached over, placing a hand over one of Crowley’s. The demon released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“That’s why you wanted the Holy Water.” It was a statement and a question all in one. Aziraphale’s blue eyes were stormy, full of regret.

Crowley nodded.

“I wish you’d told me.” He slipped his hand underneath Crowley’s and gently forced his hand open, then entwined their fingers.

“Doesn’t matter now,” Crowley shrugged.

“Oh, but, darling, I was so cruel to you.” His eyes were wide, pleading for forgiveness that had been given long ago.

“You were being careful, safe.” Crowley attempted a smile, but the angel frowned.

“That’s no excuse,” Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped, his eyes closing, pressing back the sharp burn of tears that threatened to spill.

“Hey, it’s okay, angel.” Crowley cupped his cheek and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “It’s in the past. It’s over. We made it.”

“We did,” Aziraphale sighed into Crowley’s touch, a relieved smile spreading over his face. “But, there’s something I’d like to do, if you’ll allow me.”

He shifted back, sitting up straight. He met Crowley’s gaze, waiting for consent, which was granted with a small nod.

“This may hurt,” he smiled apologetically, shifted Crowley’s shirt, and pressed the palm of his hand against the hell brand. A sharp pain burned against his skin for a brief moment, followed by a soothing, prickling sensation. Aziraphale leaned forward, removed his hand, and pressed a kiss to Crowley’s skin. “What do you think?”

Where the brand had been was something new. Replacing the distinct welts of Hell’s claim over him were soft strokes of ink, outlining and winding into something beautiful.

An apple, the shape closely resembling a heart, surrounded by the soft petals of apple blossom flowers. Black standing against his light skin in delicate curves, claiming him in love.

“The symbolism of the apple should be quite apparent,” Aziraphale chuckled. “Our first meeting. And the blooms are meant to represent hope. A hope for humanity, for us, for our side.”

“Angel,” Crowley was lost for words, overflowing with love. He ran his long fingers over the lines reverently as Aziraphale watched him. The awful, painful memories of that time in Hell, his nap, their fight about Holy Water, melted away as he met the angel’s eyes.

He surged forward and kissed Aziraphale, fisting his hands in the angel’s collar, melting against his soft lips, capturing a soft gasp with a gentle nip at his bottom lip.

“It’s incredible,” he said, pulling Aziraphale closer to him, settling the head of soft, pale curls against his new tattoo. “I love you, you know.”

“Oh, darling, I do.”

#my writing #writing #good omens #crowley #hastur #aziraphale #torture #angst #ineffable husbands #whiteley foster #go fic #gofic

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ice-magician · 5 years

Text

Journal of a Madman

Lawrence, Kansas, 1983

The flames burned hot on Dean's back. Even as a young kid he understood the gravity of the situation- Daddy was in trouble.

John shoved Sam into young Dean's arms screaming, "Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Dean, GO!"

Dean grabbed Sam and ran downstairs, feeling the heat of the flames singe his hair. He bolted out the door, but his feet slipped on the dew-covered lawn. Sammy went tumbling out of Dean's arms, wailing and crying. Worry for his baby brother spurred Dean to his feet. He got to his feet, but froze.

Out of nowhere a figure appeared, standing between Dean and his brother.

Though the man's back was turned Dean could feel a smile creep into his voice. "On second thought, you're too precious to leave behind. Aren't you, Sammy?"

The figure turned to face Dean, making the young boy's blood run cold. His eyes were a sickening pale yellow. The evil churning within their depths was enough to make any stomach flip and grown men run away, but not Dean. Dean wasn't leaving Sam.

The young boy heaved himself up with scraped palms, "You leave my brother alone!" he shouted.

The yellow eyed being chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down Dean's spine.

"Oh," he sized Dean up, "why didn't I choose you instead? You've got spunk, kid." The man leaned over, gleaming yellow eyes staring into crystal green ones, "but I will take your brother, and you can't stop me."

The man swiveled around, scooped up crying Sam, and looked down upon the mortified brother.

"Don't worry, kid," he said." I'll take nice care of your brother, better than your daddy ever could." The demon spat the distasteful word.

He smiled down at Sam's tear-streaked face. "Yeah, we'll have lots of fun. Won't we, Sammy?"

Dean lurched forward and pounded his tiny fists on the man's leg.

He shouted at the top of his lungs, hoping beyond hope that his father could hear him. "LET MY BROTHER GO!!! LET MY BROTHER GO!!!"

"Oh, quite a temper on you. You'll see lil Sammy again, someday." He grinned at the boy. "See ya later, Dean-o."

The man snapped his fingers, and was gone. The only trace that he was ever there was the smell of sulfur, and a pair of boot prints fading quickly in the grass.

Dean sobbed. His tiny form fell onto the dew-soaked grass. "BRING MY BROTHER BACK!!! BRING MY BROTHER BAAAAACCCKKK!!!"

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for so many reasons. I’m sorry I could never be the son you deserved. I’m sorry that I couldn’t be the brother he needed. Most of all, I’m sorry that I didn’t know you. I fought, but not enough. I ran, but not fast enough. I resisted, but only when it was too late. I’m so sorry for who I became. You deserve to hear what led to this.

Madness was more of a side effect than the original disease. Madness that tears at the brain and tries to whisper the soul into the blissful dark.

For seven years I ran. For seven years I was going more and more insane. Slowly but surely. It got worse every day. I was plagued with nightmares in the darkness. I could never sleep. I hallucinated when I was awake, so consciousness was a living hell.

In the beginning, I constantly wondered if it was all worth it. The nightmares, the hallucinations, cacophony of resounding voices. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t die. I knew death was worse than living on the run.

There was no Heaven waiting for me. As I would take my last breath, I would spiral downwards. Their groping claws would pull my soul in every direction. Every demon across every plane of existence would have known I had met my end, and he would have come for me. Even in death, he would find a way to use what I was.

So, I never gave in. I somehow always stopped myself. Now, I know it was the Winchester in me.

I would run. I would run until I couldn’t run anymore. And when my time ran out? When I inevitably would see him again? I took comfort in knowing that my death hadn’t been from my own hand.

Living in my own hell was better than making others’ lives miserable. He had twisted my being into something, something indistinguishable. I had been used. I had been a weapon. I swore on my life that I would never crawl back to that, no matter how broken my sanity would become.

I was Sam. I was a boy with no name, no family, friends, no one. I had been raised by a demon who had taken everything, but I would not be a puppet any longer.

The white washed rooms stared back at me. White sheets, white table, everything was so sterile and clean. Unlike me. I felt as if I didn't belong in a place such as this.

Yes, I belonged in an asylum, but my room's atmosphere of purity made my stomach ache with guilt. I wasn't pure, and I certainly was no hero. I was dark. I was a black, endless void of horror. I was the monster children fear lurking in the cold blackness. I was every lost and lingering shadow. Nowhere to go and nowhere to belong. I was everything he had molded me to be.

No family, friends or even a random cousin that no one really knows but they always show up at family reunions. No, I had none of those things. The only constant in my life was this- solitude. The icy chill of being alone for too long almost overwhelmed me sometimes. But that was okay, I'd convinced myself. I was away from people, and they were away from me. More importantly, I was away from him. Three asylums in four months, and I had no intention of letting him catch my trail. I wasn't going back. Not now, not ever.

My door opened, snapping me out of my trance. It was the nurse, Collie, coming by with the med cart. Collie was cute with her curly brown hair, and knowing green eyes. She was one of the few nurses that would actually have casual conversations with the patients; we were real people, not abnormalities set aside in a desolate facility.

She smiled at me and I managed a weak imitation of a grin back. I liked Collie, but I was never one for social interaction. Still, Collie persisted.

Collie brought over the cup with half a dozen pills inside, "Here you go," she passed the cup to me with some water to wash it down.

I always took them, just to humor the staff. I didn’t need medication. Doctor’s could do nothing to fix a broken soul.

After making sure the medicine was gone, she did a routine check of vitals. I found this excessive, but the institution insisted on making sure their patients were well taken care for.

Collie slid her stethoscope down her neck after checking my heartbeat, "So, Sam," she said, "how have you been feeling?"

I said nothing, knowing actions spoke louder than words. Nothing is more deafening than utter silence.

She bit her lip in concern, "May I?" Collie asked, gesturing to the spot on the bed beside me.

I nodded, "Sure."

Collie slid down to sit. A sad, concerned look criss crossed her face. "Have you been keeping a journal like I asked?"

I gave a sad chuckle. “Yeah, not like there’s much to write about, though.”

"No improvement at all? Not even a lighter mood to the dreams?"

I sighed. "Still monsters... It's always the same, Collie, and I can't stop it... I don't think it will ever stop. I’m sorry. I know you care, and I appreciate that, but there’s nothing you can do to save me."

I studied the linoleum floor, surveying its blocked pattern as I waited for Collie's optimistic response. She had always tried to make things better, to make things seem not half as bad as they were. Unfortunately, it had never worked.

Just as Collie opened her mouth the speakers turned on, announcing it was nap time. Saved by the asylum intercom. She stood and piled her stethoscope atop the cart.

She glanced back at me. "Sam, if you ever need anyone to talk to, about anything, I'm here. I hope you know that. Okay?"

She sounded worried, as if my yes or no would make would break her entire world. I tried a half smile again. "Yeah, sure, Collie."

Collie smiled, pivoted, and pushed her cart out the door, brunette hair flipping behind her. I was alone again with my thoughts.

My eyes grew heavy. I didn't want to sleep, but exhaustion doesn't care what I think. Involuntarily, I laid back and slid into another nightmare.

I ran hard, fast. I hadn't run that fast in a long time. I was in a forest. Tall oaks and spruces loomed above my head to form a canopy, blotting out the sun. It was hard to see anything. My breathing was heavy and I was sweating buckets. I had been running for so long that my brain couldn’t recall when exactly the chase had started.

The smell of blood stopped me dead in my tracks. I licked my lips and a salty, sickeningly familiar taste oozed down my throat. Not today. Not ever again. I'd been clean for too long to cave in now....

"Sam!"

A man's voice echoed across the dark woods. He sounded familiar somehow, but not from my nightmares. It wasn't the voice of my victims, my colleagues, or my tormentor.

This voice wasn't threatening. There was genuine concern. My heart ached. Whoever this mystery man was I seemed to know him. No, not just know him, I missed him.

A figure jumped through the foliage of a bush in front of me. He was covered in sweat and blood, but I didn't focus on that. The figure before me, someone I had never met in my life, I knew. I knew him in the indescribable way your gut tells you the truth, whether or not you have experienced or seen it.

He stared back, eyes wide. He seemed surprised to find me, maybe even a little relieved.

My heart ached again. I'd never seen this man in my life but I felt the compelling urge to bear hug him.

His eyes grew misty. "Sammy." He almost whispered my name.

I gulped a deep breath of air and uttered a name I'd never said but felt all too familiar on my lips, "Dean?"

Dean, Dean Winchester. His name was Dean, and he smiled back as wide as a cavern. He acted as if he had found the greatest treasure in the world. He took a step towards me.

Suddenly, the air whistled with the sound of an arrow being shot. Dean gasped and clutched the projectile now lodged in his chest. He staggered to the forest floor.

"Dean!" I screamed, lunging forward to catch his fall.

He coughed up blood and spit onto the leafy ground.

Dean smiled a sad, painful smile. "Too slow on my feet, huh?"

He hacked up more blood. I held his head and tried to keep him awake, but his eyes fluttered shut.

"Dean? No! Dean!"

Sorrow choked my voice. I hugged his body closer, the wound still dripping blood. Suddenly, Dean went rigid. He pulled away and looked at me. My stomach did a somersault. No longer were Dean's eyes green with life. No, now they're an all too familiar yellow.

Wearing Dean’s face, Yellow Eyes smiled. "I'm coming, Sam. Don't you worry, we'll be a family again soon."

Everything went black as a demon's eyes.

I jumped in my bed, cold sweat soaked the mattress and clung to my shirt. I bent over to switch on the lamp on my side table, and winced with the effort. Urgently, I turned on the light. It's soft beam made the room glow a strange tint of yellow.

I looked at my hands- they were bleeding. My fingernails were jagged and bloody. I gingerly ripped a piece of cloth from my bed sheet. Biting one end, I wrapped the four crescent- shaped cuts in my hand as best I could. The mattress' springs bounced pitifully under me as I repositioned for my injured hand. He was coming. I had to leave. I had to go... but where?

Sighing, I closed my eyes. It was too late (or too early?) to think about running for my life, or from my life. My mind slid into a state of semi-consciousness- not awake, but not asleep either.

The air was cool in the corridor. Everyone else was in the commons room, but I always enjoyed the view of the yard. Large windows looked out to the world beyond- the world of the sane free, the world of the sane… more or less. I stared at the perfectly polished glass and stroked its smooth surface, my hurt hands shouting in protest. That morning I'd caved and asked the nearest nurse for help. Luckily, she was one that didn't care. She applied the antibacterial, wrapped it in gauze, and happily wiped me from her mind. I smiled. It's the small things.

I looked back outside. When people think “asylum” what probably springs to mind is straight jackets and concrete exterior. While some assumptions were true, the same could not be said for the building’s grounds. Patients weren’t allowed at the building’s entrance, but there was a beautiful backyard. Wooden benches hugged a concrete path lined with planted flowers. An old tree stood proud in the middle of the grounds, the walkway curving around it, and ending at the fence which cut patients off from the outside world.

Behind the fence laid a dense forest of ancient planted giants. I recalled my dream, and shivered. That man, Dean, I could still feel his blood on my hands. The horrors of the nightmare reemerged. A man, a friend? Looming trees, and darkness that consumed all noise. A well aimed arrow, and a crooked smile.

Through the night I had desperately tried to remember him. I drew his face on my notebook so I wouldn’t forget. Dean, whoever he was, was trying desperately to find me, and, for what felt like the first time, I wanted to be found.

I wanted more than help. I wanted more than just a life of sadly limping along lonely hallways, constantly glancing over my shoulder. For the first time in a long time, I wanted to live. I wanted it so badly. I needed it. I needed to know the man from my dream. I needed to know what he wanted.

My sad reflection glared at me from the window. I really was a sorry excuse for a man, wasn’t I? Frustration boiled inside me. A deep part of me, the part I tried so hard to contain, contemplated smashing the glass. This wasn't the only time I'd entertained the thought. The cursed vision swelled in my mind's eye- glass would litter the floor, alarms would buzz wildly overhead. My vision would go red. My heartbeat would pound in my ear. I would be able to feel the very blood rushing through the frantic bodies around me. I would bend down to scoop up the largest shard I could find and then... and then.

I took my hand off the slick surface, leaving behind a sweaty film. My breathing had become deep and frantic. I rubbed my eye so hard it hurt. When would the visions stop? The waking nightmares fueled the monster lurking beneath the surface. No, I was not that man anymore. I had escaped, and I’d be damned if he ever dragged me back.

The thought stopped my racing mind. I was damned, I had been my entire life. There was Heaven, sure, but not for me. Hell, well, a more or less welcome home party surely waited. Purgatory, but that was for monsters. If there was no life outside of the poison that set my destiny, then I just wanted to fade into oblivion. No eternal happiness or damnation, just, nothing. I was ok with nothing.

I turned to continue walking towards my cell, for that's what it was- a cell. Then a voice caught my attention.

"There is no rest for you, Sammy."

Ice-cold tendrils weaved their way in between my vertebrae and tightened with a vice grip. I knew that voice. I hated that voice. I tried to avoid it as often as I could. I hardly opened my mouth because of that voice.

My reflection spoke again, "You're a monster, Sam. For what you've done to people, for what you've done to anything you touch, you're going to burn."

I whipped my head around to face the monster. He had sickening pale skin and eyes sunk so far into his skull that he looked like a dead man. His lips were chapped and bleeding. Along his face, cuts oozed liquid as white as himself. My monster, myself.

He smiled again, with his jagged, shark-like teeth.

Rage boiled inside me. "I've already burned," I told him, "I've endured every form of punishment that I deserve."

He waggled a thin, blood soaked finger at me, making a “tisk-tisk” sound.

"Oh, Sammy, but you haven't. He will come. Soon. He will come. He will take you home."

I gulped so hard my Adam's Apple hurt. "No. I'll never go back. Not on my life."

He snickered. "What life? Your life was over the moment you were born..."

"Shut up," I whispered.

"... But the worst is fearing the unknown, right?" My reflection snickered and sang in a sick lullaby tone, "Poor little Sammy, sitting in a tree, waiting for Azazel to rescue me. Again I swing, again I play, 'til I'm thrown back in the dark, old cage."

"I SAID SHUT UP!!!!"

I hit the glass hard. Jagged lines spread across my monster's face. He continued to smile. He smiled until the entire window came crashing down. Blood and glass spilled over the once pristine floor. My labored breaths returned. What had I done? I had used its strength. A part of me had buckled.

Alarms screeched throughout the building. Overwhelming screams of insanity and fear cascaded over me. I clamped my hands over my ears to lessen the noise. It did nothing to silence the monster’s laughter that resonated in my skull.

Boots pounded against the white linoleum floor. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by guards. They cuffed me, and dragged me to my room. Through it all, I didn’t resist. My mind was reeling with what I had just done. I couldn’t remember the last time I had used its strength. Was I becoming weak? Had the arrival of hope shaved down the calloused resolve I had built up over the years? I had just wanted him to stop. To stop telling me everything I already knew, but hoped to avoid.

I wasn’t aware of my surroundings until I was strapped onto my bed. The workers buckled arm, and ankle restraints tightly. Sweat dripped down my forehead; my hair clung to my face. I couldn’t breath. The world was breaking around me.

Something sharp pierced my skin. Liquid sleep flowed in my veins. Within moments, everything started to relax. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t rest. I needed answers. I needed to find Dean…

A part of myself drifted into oblivion, but not without hearing demon's voice whisper in my ears. "You're going to burn, Sam."

The backwoods road lay covered in fallen Autumn leaves. Fall. How could it be Fall already? Dean took a swig of beer and set it back in its holder. From the trunk came sounds of banging and scratching. Someone was getting restless.

"HEY!" Dean threw an empty beer can in the backseat, a weak attempt at getting the creature's attention.

"Shut your cake hole or I'll rip you a new one!"

It didn't help.

The monster continued to claw and screech in its makeshift prison.

Dean sighed. Why couldn't the badies just accept their fate and shut the hell up?

"Twenty more miles," he whispered to himself, "just twenty more miles."

Twenty Miles Later

"AHHHHHHHH!!!!" the demon howled in agony.

Holy water dripped down his face. The creature, going by the name of Sahar, struggled against his bonds. His screams echoed down the empty halls of the rotting office building. The chair rocked back and forth with the power of his quakes. Of course, raw strength would get him nowhere, and the Devil’s Trap at his feet nulled any supernatural power that could save his life.

"It's no use, Sahar." Dean said,. He crouched to look the demon in the eyes. Sahar’s long hair was caked with sweat and holy water. His black eyes boiled with rage as steam rose from his burned face.

"Look around you. You're not going anywhere." Dean smirked.

Sahar spat out a laugh. "Maybe, but neither are you, Winchester. You're looking for your brother, I presume, but you won't find him. Whatever you do to me, it won't even touch what Yellow Eyes would if I say a word."

Dean spun the knife in his hands. The blade was a beautiful thing- forged with metal from the deepest pit of Hell. Dean had snagged it off a demon in Tennessee a few years back. Since then, it had been his go-to weapon with the black-eyes sons of bitches.

Moonlight reflected across Dean's features, but the rage in his eyes shone brighter. For a moment, the demon wondered if Dean actually could do worse than Yellow Eyes. A strong willed man with a vengeance was nearly impossible to stop, especially if he was a Winchester.

"Listen, Sahar," Dean casually sat across from the demon on a lone office chair. "I'm going to give you three chances. Chance one-" Dean counted them off on his fingers as he went, "you tell the truth and I'll give you a quick death. Chance two- lying equals demon blade plus holy water rain storm. And Chance three," Dean smiled, "well, I guess I'll just get creative."

Sahar spat through bloody teeth. "Maybe you should listen to your old man- give up, daddy's boy!"

Dean bolted from his chair. He ran at Sahar and gripped him by his dreadlocks. The demon gasped in surprise. He gulped for air as the hunter pulled his neck back further and further.

Dean glared at the filthy, scum of the earth creature. He felt no pity for the man trapped inside his own body. For all he knew, that man was dead and gone. All Dean saw was a hunk of meat in a fancy suit with a slithering, Hell infested demon inside. He truly didn't care what would happen next.

"You're gonna regret that, buddy. Now tell me-where is Sam Winchester?"

Sahar gargled a sick laugh. "Your brother is gone, Dean. He was gone a long time ago. Lost to all."

Dean gripped Sahar's dreadlocks harder, causing the demon to spit up more blood. This interrogation was nearing its end.

Dean held the knife the Sahar's throat. "I don't believe you."

"Believe me,” Sahar gurgled between sentences, “don't believe me. What does it matter? I'm dead, and your life's work is useless. Sam. Is. Dead."

Those were Sahar's last words. With one clean slice, Dean cut the demon's throat. Sparks of orange ran through his body, illuminating the skeleton, and burning his corrupted soul. The sound of Dean’s panting and demon blood hitting dusty floor were the only sounds for miles. Sahar could lie no more.

Dean packed up his things. He burned the body, readied the Impala, all with one sentence racing through his mind- Demons lie. Demons lie. Demons. LIE.

He slammed the trunk closed. Dean hated asking for help, but years of searching and coming up empty handed had left him desperate. That demon had been his last chance. The only lead he had gotten ahold of in months was reduced to ashes.

Dean leaned back and grunted. The demon had known about John. How had he known? It felt like a lifetime ago, but the argument still rang in Dean’s ears.

“Stay away from Sam, Dean. I know you don’t like it, believe me, I don’t either, but you need to stay out of this.”

“Why? We’ve been spending all this time searching for Yellow Eyes to avenge Mom and Sam, so why stop now?”

“I’m not stopping. You are.”

“What?!”

“Dean, your brother is beyond saving. I’ve seen what the demon’s done to him; there’s no coming back from the carnage he leaves in his wake... Just, please, stay out of it.”

“Like Hell I will.”

That was the last time he had seen his father. Five years, five years with no contact from the man he had once admired. Dean assumed it was a good thing and a bad thing. On one hand, his father hadn’t found Sam, on another, they still weren’t on speaking terms. Whatever, the problems of his father were his alone. On the road with no companion but the various mix tapes in his dashboard, Dean had learned how to take care of himself. He didn’t need his father; he needed Sam, and by God that’s what he was going to do.

Swallowing his pride, Dean dialed an old friend. “Pamela, it’s Dean. Yeah, yeah it has been a while. Listen, could you meet me at Bobby’s place? I… I need your help.”

Bobby's place was an old, run-down mechanic shop with a home attached. Nothing to look twice at, but only at first glance. Take a step beyond the "Get Out" signs, rusting machinery, and the barking rottweiler, and you'd start noticing some oddities.

Strange crystals hung hidden in trees. The place had a subtle smell of salt to it. And, behind every other rusted iron rod, there would be a toolbox full of polished knives, and other assorted weaponry. Dean knew that some trucks were stashed with extra rounds of ammunition, and salt. He had to admit- he’d missed the old place.

It’s, well, it’s really good to see you, boy.”

Bobby held Dean in a tight hug. If it was anyone else, Dean would have let go immediately, but Bobby was, well, Bobby. He had watched over Dean when he was too young to hunt. He had helped Dean fix his first car engine when he was twelve. More recently, he had jerked Dean out of his pity party after the big fight with John. He had aided Dean more than Dean cared to admit. In more ways than one, Bobby was Dean’s father.

Dean released Bobby from the hug. “You too, Bobby.”

It had been years since the two had had a real, face-to-face conversation. Between hunting, and searching for Sam, there was no time for chit chats. Neither could admit that it wasn’t great to see the other after such a long time.

“Alright, don’t hog the boy, Singer.”

A woman in a tank top with dark hair smiled at Dean. “He’s got to save one for me.”

Dean smirked. “I could never forget you, Pamela.”

The psychic raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure if that was a pickup line, or a compliment, but it doesn’t matter. Come here.”

Pamela embraced Dean. “We missed ya, kid.” Pamela said into Dean’s ear.

Dean pulled back. “Yeah, I, I’ve just been busy.”

Bobby snorted. “‘Busy’ my ass. ‘Busy’ is working one case. What you call ‘busy’ is what other people call ‘obsessing’.” Bobby sighed. “But, I guess it runs in the family.”

Dean froze. “I suppose it does.”

A dark silence fell over the group. The air suddenly felt like was pounding on Dean’s chest, trying to break him.

Pamela smacked Bobby’s arm, and gave him a stern glare. “Anyway, we aren’t here for you boys to sulk around. We’ve got work to do.”

Pamela strode into Bobby’s house, leaving Dean and Bobby in her dust.

“I’m sorry, boy.” Bobby said, “It’s just. I worry about you.”

A moment passed, then Dean gave Bobby a sly smile. “I’ll make sure to hold those feelings close to my heart, old man.”

“Shut up and get inside… idjit.”

Pamela was waiting at Bobby’s kitchen table. “Glad you boys decided to join me.”

“Bobby was just too overwhelmed with emotion at seeing me. Personally, I think he might need help.” Dean pretended to whisper the last part as he sat down next to Pamela.

“Blab all you want, boy, but I’ve still got pictures of you during-.” “Ha ha, you’re right, Bobby. Let’s. Just. Move. On.” Dean said through gritted teeth.

The old man victoriously took the final seat at the table. Bobby’s kitchen wasn’t a ‘kitchen’ in the sense of home cooked meals, sit down with family area. His had more of a “this is a week old, but it’s probably still good” charm to it. Old and new beer bottles sat on the countertop. The trash can was already filled with old beer cans, discarded numbers, and dirty napkins. One wall proudly held an array of landlines with labels such as “FBI”, “CDC”, etc. Some might call it a fixer upper, but Bobby’s house represented every American hunter, and he was damn well proud of it.

At the table’s center sat a silver blade, a bowl, and a strange necklace. A simple piece, with a leather strap, and one gold pendant. No one knew the piece’s exact origin, only that it was highly valued among people who collected supernatural artifacts. Bobby had acquired it some years ago, and it had never seen the light of day until Pamela found it.

“And you’re sure about this?” Dean asked.

“About 75% sure.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, making Pamela raise her hands in surrender.

“Hey, if this thing was buried so deep that even Bobby isn’t sure, you can’t have a 100% guarantee.”

“She’s right, you know.” Bobby pointed to the strange necklace. “What little lore I could find on this thing points to it being able to sense something. A few sources say the old man upstairs, but a few reference it as a tracker.”

For last ditch efforts. Dean thought.

“But,” Bobby picked up a blade. He extended the handle to Dean. “here’s to hoping it’ll work in our favor.”

Dean nodded, and took the knife. In one swift motion, he slit the palm of his left hand. Searing pinpricks of pain jolted through his appendage. Dean bit his lip in concentration, pouring every fiber of him, every thought, every molecule, into one single thought- Sam.

His blood dribbled into the old ceramic bowl. Bobby took the necklace, and sank its head into the growing pool of red liquid. Dean could almost feel Bobby’s energy mixing with his, both shouting Sam’s name. Bobby left the ancient pendant to soak in Dean’s blood. The brother leaned back, his mind racing, yet focused. All he could do was replay that night. The night he lost not only his mother, his brother, but his father as well. The necklace would work. All evidence pointed to the mysterious piece holding great power. It had to work.

Pamela held out her hands to Dean and Bobby. Her eyes were set, no doubt deep in concentration. Everyone needed to be prepared for whatever came next, be it disappointment, or relief.

Dean grasped her hand, letting his blood flow into her palm. “Let’s do this.”

I dreamt of a two lane road. I turned left, then right; there was no one. Trees clung to pavement's edge, itching to crawl into the forbidden territory of craggily cement.

I could see the moon overhead. The moon, the stars, they all hung blissfully in a sea of black night sky. When had I ever had a dream so quiet? So… uneventful? Something wasn't right. Quiet wasn't right, not for me.

I took another step forward, but almost fell on my face. I felt the ground swell beneath my feet. Cracking cement heaved up, then down, like a breathing chest. I was sent careening into a nearby tree. My back hit the rough bark with a “thud!”. I fell onto moist grass, surely bruising both my knees.

The world began to merge together. Stars slid into trees like two watercolors converging. The bright moon twisted into a blurry spiral; becoming one with the darkness of the night. I held my own spinning head, my eyes squeezed painfully shut. It was all too much. Too many swaying, spiralling images. I was in a sick LSD trip with no way out.

“Been down since I began to crawl…”

What the Hell?

Somewhere beyond me, music was playing. Mournful lyrics with an upbeat tune, I could almost feel it growing closer to me.

“... Been down since I began to crawl

If it wasn't for bad luck, you know I wouldn't have no luck at all

Hard luck and trouble is my only friend

I been on my own ever since I was ten…”

Slowly, I felt the world begin to cease its warped escapade. My body’s molecules stopped feeling like they were being drawn and quartered. Beneath my hands, the grass calmly receded. In its place, a rough ground grew. Gaining my courage, I finally dared to open my eyes. The first thing I saw was tattered carpet. I gingerly rubbed the fabric, where grass had been moments before. Still disoriented from my roadside experience, I gave myself a moment to lift my head.

A house, an old, musty house, with books scattered everywhere. I was in some sort of den-turned-office room, with an old wooden desk at my back. Everything would have appeared relatively normal, if not for the three people holding hands in front of me. An old man, a woman, and another man, whose back was turned to me. Their eyes were all closed in deep focus, a mysterious bowl sat on the table between them.

I could tell immediately that they weren’t demons. There was no smell of sulfur in the air, only booze and old books. It didn’t seem likely that Azazel would recruit humans to do his work, even for small cases. If it wasn’t demons, then where was I?

I tried to stand up, but all the blood had drained from my legs. Instead, I ended up falling backwards onto the old writing desk. Papers and books went tumbling from their respective places, and, in sync, the three figures opened their eyes and turned towards me.

My world stood still. Everyone was at attention, almost in fighting stances. The old man’s eyes grew incredibly wide, his face completely drained of color; the woman looked almost equally as stunned. Normally, I would be as far away from the old house as possible, leaving it and its secrets in my wake. One thing stopped me- the final figure. Bright green eyes stared at me, the same eyes I had watched the light drain from. It was him- the man from my dream.

“Dean?”

“Sam?”

We both stopped, shocked at our synchronized responses. Dean took a small step towards me. The woman looked like she wanted to protest, but thought better of it. The man in the trucker’s cap had tears in his eyes.

“Is,” Dean held back a choking sob. “Is it really you?”

“I, um….” I nervously shuffled my feet. I might have known Dean from my dream, but I still didn’t really know anything about him. All I had was a gut feeling that we had met before.

The man with the trucker’s cap held Dean’s shoulder. “This is all a lot to take in, I know, but for right now we need to focus on finding him.”

Finding me? The only people who wanted to find me were demons. Had I been wrong? Were they playing me? I tried to inch backwards, but the desk was still in my way. I could have bolted to the right, to the open door, but something told me the three would have pinned me down in seconds. I didn’t want them to do something we would both regret.

My stomach suddenly tangled into a knot. My knees buckled beneath me from the spontaneous pain.

“Pamela?” Dean shouted. “What the hell is happening?!”

Sweat cascaded down my forehead. I couldn’t breath; it felt like the room’s air had condensed to form a solid mass pressing hard against my chest. Dean tried to take another step forward, but the woman, Pamela, grabbed his arm.

“Dean, this is still a vision. Something is obviously wrong on Sam’s end. Break what little connection we have and we’ll lose him forever.” She cast me a sorrowful look, then turned back to Dean. “Hurry.”

Dean nodded curtly. “Okay, okay.”

He squatted down to my level. I must have looked like a mess. Matted brown hair stuck to my face like glue on paper. My breathing reflected that of an asthma attack. I was drowning. Drowning in a sea of pain, of fear. Some… something was wrong. My soul was being ripped from my body. Dean’s body was practically trembling. He had tears in his eyes, like he was the one in pain.

“Sam? Sam… where are you right now?”

Where was I? Images flashed through my mind. Previously polished hallways were bathed in red. Once lively patients sat limp on blood- stained seats. My safe place, my windows, were as they had been when I left them- bashed in, but someone stood on the broken glass. Her brown hair was caked in blood, her white nurse’s gown torn to shreds. Collie turned to me, and my breath caught in my throat. Her eyes were completely bloodshot, liquid of life running down her cheeks.

“Help… help us… Sam.” Collie began to cough up blood. She fell in a heap on the floor, completely motionless.

“Sam? Sam!”

I was back in the old house. All three party members had high levels of worried looks on their faces, none more so than Dean. He was so close that he was nearly touching me, almost throwing Pamela’s advice completely out the window.

I sucked in deep breaths of air. “Brycon Family Psychiatric Hospital, Nebraska. Hurry.”

The room spiralled into a dark void, until Dean’s worried look was the last thing I saw.

Black eyes. I awoke to two sets of black eyes standing over me, both dressed in nurses’ bodies. I didn’t recognize either, but their sickening sneers were the signature stamp of every demon. I readied my body to bolt for the door, only to find I couldn't move. My hands were restrained in cuffs at my side, and my ankles were locked to the bed frame.

The female demon patted my head. “Aw, does baby want to play tag?”

“Go to Hell!” I spat at her.

Both demons howled with repulsive laughter. Their voices bounced off the walls as bone- chilling wails. The male demon’s eyes twinkled with mischief. A part of me wanted to ask what had happened to everyone, but the other part didn’t want to know.

“Oh,” he said. “That insult never gets old.” The demon grabbed my face. He squeezed so hard I could feel bruises begin to form. My squirming only fueled his excitement.

“Alright, alright. Calm down, everyone.” Someone’s voice called from the doorframe. A demon in a tight black dress and bouncing black hair relaxed her shoulder against the metal frame. Under normal circumstances, she would have appeared like nothing more than a woman going for a fancy night out. But, as the demon stood under the flickering bulb in my room, dark stains became more and more apparent on her dress. Black stilettos flaunted a nauseating color of red.

I should have felt revolted, utterly repulsed by the amount of blood that stained her face and hands, but I wasn’t. Innocent people’s blood that decorated her outfit wasn’t what made my stomach hit the floor- it was that I saw myself in her place. Young me stood in that doorway, drenched in demon and human blood alike, and I was smiling.

She grinned blood- soaked teeth at me. “We wouldn’t want to damage the merchandise.”

With a painful shove, the male demon released my face. Black Dress sauntered towards me, a signal for the other two to leave. She sat down on my bed, hardly making the mattress move.

She idlely made circles on my kneecap. “You know, Sam, we’ve all really missed you. It will be so great to have you back home.”

I jerked my leg away, as far as my restraints would allow me. The mere thought of her touching me made my blood boil. No, I was not going back. Dean would find me. Wherever he was, he would find me. All I had to do is stall.

“I am not going with you. Whatever it takes, I will beat you. I will beat him.”

Black dress gave an exasperated sigh. “Sammy boy, you don’t really believe that, do you?” The demon studied my face for an answer. Hard, stone- cold eyes stared back at her.

“Yes, yes I do believe that. I will shred my soul. I will fade into oblivion. I will do anything I have to. So, all you black- eyed sons of bitches can go screw yourselves.”

The snark faded from the demon’s face. Her eyes narrowed, anger at my stubborn resolve obviously building inside her. She knew I wasn’t bluffing. With a huff, she stood from my bed.

“You want to play hard ball? Fine. Guys!”

The two demons returned to the room, this time both holding a squirming hostage. My breath caught. I knew it had happened, but a part of me had prayed it wasn’t true. The female nurse restrained a gagged and bloody Collie. One eye was bruised so much that it was swollen shut, but the other was wild, darting around the room at every demon, until finally landing on me. Through her gag, she called my name.

All the blood in my body had turned to ice. I needed her to run. I needed everyone to escape with their lives. The demons were my responsibility. I had brought them down on the unsuspecting heads of people who had given me sanctuary.

Black Dress gazed back at the two innocent captives. “Pathetic, isn’t it? Human lives, so easily snuffed out. Their bodies, so easily damaged.”

With a swift flick of her wrist, she backhanded Collie across the face. The nurse who had shown such kindness to me, who was beaten because of me, let out a muffled scream. The demon struck again, and again, and again.

“Stop!” I shouted. I struggled harder against my bindings. I had to help Collie. She didn’t deserve what was happening; none of them did.

“Stop!” I screamed again.

Black Dress turned back to me, the devilish smile had returned to her face. She had known I would give in. She had known that I couldn’t let innocent people get hurt because of me.

“Ah, Sam.” The demon returned to my side, rubbing her bruising knuckles. “I expected more out of you. Seven years alone has made you soft. Then again, you were never truly be Azazel’s pet, were you? Escaping with your sanity, part of your humanity in tact. The sad fact is, no matter how much demon blood, no matter how much training you go through, a part of you always sees the good, doesn’t it?” She sighed, and flicked the caked on blood off her nails. “I suppose it’s just the Winchester in you, huh? You bastards never seem to learn your place...”

Winchester? Did she say Winchester?

Black Dress was still rambling, but I had stopped paying attention.

Winchester? Winchester like, like Dean? Are we related?

Puzzle pieces began to fall into their rightful places. That was why he had been so emotional, so obviously desperate to find me. He was family. Dean was family, but a nagging sensation told me he was more than that. Dean was family, and, and…

The hospital faded away. I was in an old car, singing along to rock songs made long before I was born. Dean sat on the driver’s side, passionately belting out lyrics. We were happy. We were together, and we were happy.

The scene changed. Dean and I stood outside of a once busy office building. We were in fancy two piece suits. A grisly scene sat before us. A good seven feet of ground was tapped off, several patches of it covered with white sheets. We flashed fake badges at a skeptical police officer.

“Agents Zeppelin, and Elliot.” Dean lied. “We’re here to take a look at the bodies.”

The officer scoffed. “Good luck. They’re in about half a dozen spots.”

I didn’t doubt him. The area certainly smelled like something had died. I turned to Dean, who looked like he might throw up. A small smile crept up my lips.

My vision changed one last time. Deep, cracking pain shot through my right shoulder. Somehow, I already knew it was broken. I felt like utter crap. The world was dark and cold. My shoes dragged across muddy earth. A voice called somewhere in the darkness. Dean and the man in the trucker hat rounded a corner on the road in front of me. They were both carrying shotguns, like they were prepared for a fight.

That’s because they were. A voice rose in my mind.

Dean’s expression loosened into one of utter relief. “Sam?”

I smiled a little. “Dean.”

His joy didn’t last long. As quickly as it had arrived, relief was thrown out and replaced with sheer horror. “Sam, look out!”

I didn’t even have time to respond. A white hot pain, unlike anything I had ever felt before, sliced through my back. I fell to my knees, unable to carry my own weight. Dean ran towards me at full force.

“Nooooo!”

He slid to the ground in front of me. He was talking, but I could barely hear him. The pain in my back dulled into a deep throb. Dean was holding up my head, trying desperately to keep me awake. I knew it was no use. I could feel my soul begin to fade; my consciousness ascend from my body. I… I was dying

One last remark from Dean made it through. “... That’s my job, right? Take care of my pain- in- the- ass little brother....” Brother. Dean was my brother.

My mind fell back into the hospital room. The demon was still talking, Collie and a patient were still being held hostage. It was like nothing had changed, but for me, the world had been flipped on its head. I had a family. I had people who missed me, who cared about me. I had people who had been looking for me my entire life, the life of a twisted demon boy. The other life, the one from my visions, that had been taken from me. My family had been taken from me. Azazel had stolen everything. A life had been stolen, but by God I would not let the one I lived be destroyed as well.

My body began to quake with anger; the world around was taking on a new light. I could almost feel the sweat from my body evaporate off, as if my rage was turning me into a human furnace. A newfound strength swelled inside my soul. All the demons must have recognized it as well. Collie stared at me with a mixture of curiosity and fear.

Black Dress leaned inches away from my face. “Are you even listening to me, boy? Don’t you care that-?” She cut herself off. Her eyes widened, whether from shock of fear I wasn’t sure.

“You know what? No. No, I don’t care. I am not that guy anymore, and nothing you, Azazel, or the Devil himself can change that. You know why?”

Without hesitation, I headbutted her in the face, sending her reeling backwards. She twisted her ankle wrong, and her stilettos sent her falling to the ground. The demon hit her head with a sickening “Thud!” on the hard surface.

“Because I’m Sam Fucking Winchester.”

The remaining two demons, sensing a turn in the tide, released Collie and the other patient. Their hosts’ bodies shook in convulsions, before flying out the door in twin plumes of smoke. Adrenaline was rushing through my body. There was more of them, I knew it. If Azazel was on his way, then there were more to come as well.

The patient had fled the room, which left only Collie and I. She was half facing the door, where the demons had taken their swift leave. I could see her mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“Collie? Collie!”

The nurse slowly turned back to me. Her face was completely white, the only color coming from the bruises inflicted upon her. A thousand questions flew across her eyes in a single second. There was so much she needed to know, but apparently couldn’t find the words. Instead, she stared down at the unconscious demon on the floor. I was worried she might pass out, or have a nervous breakdown.

“Collie, look, I know this doesn’t make sense right now, but things are about to get ten times worse. I need you to uncuff me so we can get out of here.”

She didn’t move.

“Collie?”

“D-demons. Those... those were demons.”

I nodded slowly. “Yes, they were.”

She nervously gulped. “And… and you?”

“I… I’m a friend, which is why we need to go.”

Outside my room, something crashed. I could hear the tell tale sound of demons flying through the air. They knew something was up.

“Collie! Now! I need you now!”

Collie shook her head, trying to force herself out of her daze. She rushed to my side, and unlocked every restraint. I tested my ankles on the floor. They were a little weak, but I could manage. I twisted my wrists, trying to get the blood flowing again.

I turned to Collie. “Okay, where’s the speaker station?”

She blinked in surprise. “Ah, um, it’s at the front desk. We had a private room, but it’s shut down for maintenance.”

“Okay. Good, good, that’s good. Listen to me- go and wait outside. If you see an old black car, flag them down, alright?”

“But, what about you?” Collie furrowed her eyebrows. “Don’t think I’ll play ‘damsel in distress’ while you fight like a lone wolf!”

Her determination, her grit, that was the Collie that had watched over me during my time at Brycon’s. I admired that about her, but her willingness to fight wasn’t what we needed. Collie wasn’t equipped with the knowledge I had about demons, and we didn’t exactly have an arsenal of supernatural firepower at the ready.

“I’m sorry, Collie, but that’s what I need from you right now. Just trust me.”

She looked directly into my eyes. I felt my very soul being scrutinized. Collie didn’t know whether or not to trust me, and, given the circumstances, I didn’t blame her.

Finally, she nodded. “Okay. Take this hallway, then a direct right. Got it?” I nodded, and Collie started to head out the door, but she stopped short. The nurse turned back and pointed at me. “But if I die, know that it’s on your ass, Sam.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I gave her a quick smile before she bolted from the room. There was a door leading outside, only accessible by a worker’s keycard. Collie would get out fine, but it was my turn to get to the front desk. I leaned down, and riffled through the pockets of the male nurse. A jolt of exhilaration rushed through me when I came back with his keycard.

I followed Collie’s instructions to the locked door. Swiping the dead man’s key card, I opened the door to the lobby, and to a horror scene. Bodies lay strewn across the floor. They were all in various intact states, depending on what demon attacked who. Nearly every inch of the carpet was soaked in blood. I held my mouth to resist the urge to vomit.

Another crash sounded behind me. Through the glass doors, I saw a growing cloud of smoke barreling down the hallway.

Ah, Hell...

I rushed behind the front desk, shoving aside the dead worker. “I’m so sorry.” I said sincerely.

All the destruction, the heartbreak, it was all my fault. Some would say that there was no way I could have prevented the destruction brought upon Brycon’s, and they would be right, but I could have kept myself on the run. If I hadn’t stopped for so long. If I hadn’t gotten so, so comfortable… It didn’t matter. What was done was done. My job was to avenge those who had lost their lives. It was on my shoulders to make things right.

On the desk before me sat various letters, a family photo, a stress ball, and a microphone. I glanced at the photo, of the smiling man, who lay dead on the floor. I said a quiet prayer for his family to forgive what I had done. I leaned into the mic.

“Deus, et pater Domini nostri Jesu Christi, invoco nomen sanctum tuum, et omnem immundum spiritum, qui vexat hoc plasma tuum…”

“So, what? You exorcised an entire asylum?”

Dean and I were rolling down the backroads of Nebraska. It was one o’ clock in the morning, but I had no intention of sleeping. We had been driving down dirt roads, taking every shortcut and loop possible, in hopes that the police wouldn’t catch wind of our location. Personally, I had no problem with it; any moment I got to spend with Dean, with my brother, was a moment I would treasure. Of course, when he wasn’t making me sound like some kind of hero to his surogat dad.

I nervously rubbed the back of my neck. Dean was making it out to be far more of a big deal than it needed to be. “I mean, you just say the words.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief. “‘You just say the words.’ Can you believe this, Bobby?” He shouted into the phone.

Over speakerphone, I could hear the snicker in Bobby’s voice. “Sounds like your brother could teach you a thing or too.”

“Hey! Say the word- I’ll kill any monster. Shifter, demon, chupacabra. I’m there.”

Bobby sighed. “Unfortunately, I know that’s true.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but held back another snarky remark. A sense of joy I had never experienced before rose in me. For so long I had been running scared. Running from my past, even from my future. But with Dean, with Bobby? I wasn’t scared anymore.

“Hey, uh, Bobby.” I said into the phone. “Did you… did you get what I asked for.”

A moment of silence passed. “Yeah, yeah I got it. Collie’s fine too, in case you were wonderin’.”

“I never had a doubt that she would be fine… but, you’ll still meet us at your house, right?”

“... If it’s what you want. Honestly, Sam, I don’t know if this will accomplish anything.”

I felt a rock tie itself to my gut, and begin to pull me down. I knew it was probably a fruitless endeavor; Dean and Bobby had both said so, but I had to at least try.

“I know, Bobby, but if I don’t… If I just sit here, I don’t think I could ever forgive myself.”

“I get it, boy. You hard headed Winchesters just never give up.” “If we weren’t hard headed then we wouldn’t be Winchesters, would we?” Dean smiled to himself.

“No, no, I suppose not. I’ll see you boys in a few.”

I returned the burner phone to my pocket. Dean had insisted that I get one, and I was happy to oblige.

“He’s right, you know? About being not sure if it’ll work?”

“... I know… But I have to try.”

I leaned my head against the cool glass window. The moonlit roads of a peaceful night rolled past. Trees, bushes, the occasional wild animal, all flew by in a flash. Everything was so calm, so normal, that I could almost believe I was as well. I could almost believe that I wasn’t infected with demon blood, that there wasn’t a crazed demon out to get me, or that my family evidently hunted the monsters I had grown up around. I could almost believe it, almost. However, a part of me didn’t want to, just like a part of me didn’t want to send my journal. But, we all have to overcome our demons, even if it takes us a little while.

So, John, if you’re reading this, I hope you understand my side of events. Dean filled in a few blanks, but wanted to keep it third person. He insisted that it was my story to tell, not his. It was kind of nice of him, then again, it was his fourth beer, so he was feeling a little generous.

Please know that I don’t resent you. Everything you did you did because you wanted to protect the people you love. Being scared of who I had become, uncertain if I was still “Sam”, makes sense. But, if you would ever be willing, I’d love to meet you. Dean has told me loads of crazy stories. Honestly, it sounds like our lives could be some kind of movie, or something like that.

Dean and I will be in Jasper, Alabama hunting a coven on the 27th. If you want, we could meet somewhere? Dean insists that there’s a great breakfast place nearby. Anyway, I’m not… I’m not anything to be scared of. I’m just… just me. I’m just Sam, Sam Winchester, and I hope that I can prove it to you soon.

- Sam Winchester

Good Lord, this took longer than it should have. Huge thanks to @cross-roads-blues for the art and @spneldritchbang for the event! Hope you enjoyed, and have a Happy Spooktober! ; )

#time to go watch the new ep now #Sam Winchester #dean winchester #bobby singer #pamela barnes #spn fanfiction

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bellatlas · 5 years

Text

Trauma, Drama, Hormones, and Sick Days- Ch. 1

Fix it fic for both Infinity War and Endgame. Also on ff here.

"Mr. Stark?"

Tony is frozen, feet cemented to the ground as he stares at the disintegrating form of Mantis. Stares as one by one, everyone around him begins to crumple. It's too horrifying to watch and too horrifying to tear his eyes from all at once. What in God's name is going on? He wants to scream. He knows, though. He knows what's happening. Even as he shakes his head and his brain races trying to find another explanation- any other explanation, it's too obvious to keep denying. They've lost. They've screwed up worse than any of them will ever be able to comprehend. And now everyone around him is dying. Disintegrating into nothingness.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter's voice squeaks with urgency and Tony finally manages to pull himself out of his daze and spin on his heel. Peter is hunched over and staring at nothing in particular, breathing so hard that Tony thinks he's dry heaving for a moment.

"I don't feel so good."

No is all Tony can think. Anyone but the kid. Hell, he'd rather it be him. He lets his mind get ahead of himself for a moment and imagines the kid's face cracking like dirt in the sun before blowing away and nearly retches. No. It can't happen. Won't happen. Won't happen, won't happen, won't happen. He chants the words in his head like a mantra, as if it would make them any more true.

Peter stumbles forward and Tony grabs him by the shoulders, so hard that it would probably leave bruises if it weren't for Peter's suit. He feels Peter sway on his feet and pulls him closer, willing the kid to stay put. Normally anything but the touchy-feely type, the thought that he should be embarrassed doesn't even cross his mind, not when he's trying to keep Peter from fading away, gripping the kid's shoulders desperately despite knowing fully that holding Peter to his chest won't actually do anything if he's one of Thanos's unlucky victims. Of course it won't. But… what else can he do? He has to do something.

"I don't want to go."

Tony opens his mouth to respond, but can't manage to form any words. His throat is all but closed shut.

"It hurts," Peter whimpers. Finally, his knees buckle and Tony llowers him to the ground. It's only then that he sees Peter's hands pressed in to a split in his suit, a mixture of blood and clear fluid spilling out from between his fingers.

Tony freezes for a fraction of a second, trying to make sense of the scene in front of him before jumping into a flurry of action. He was expecting to see ash, not blood, and though he never thought he'd be happy to see any of his teammates hunched over, but he's so utterly relieved that it's almost tangible. He'll take blood over fading into ash anyday. He fumbles over Peter, trying to put pressure and stem the source of the bleeding, but he can't find the wound. It seems like it's just… everywhere, and his relief evaporates just as quickly as it appeared.

Tony looks around at the others desperately, eyes pleading for help. All whose left is the blue metal alien- Gamora's sister, and Strange. Surely Gamora's sister has something she can contribute, with her advanced alien technology. Just look at her! But, she just shakes her head ever so slightly, and Tony thinks he can see a slight look of sympathy in her black eyes.

Peter begins coughing, which gives way into a sickening gurgling, and blood bubbles at the corners of his mouth.

Tony looks to Stephen. He's magic, right? Like, actual magic? He can heal Peter, right? But, right as their eyes meet, Stephen's legs start crumbling beneath him.

Tony curses loudly and slams his fist into the ground in frustration, the rocks cutting into his hand be damned. Why? Why does it have to happen like this?

"I'm sorry." Stephen shakes his head. "It was the only way."

How? How could 'the only way' possibly involve Peter's death? Tony opens his mouth to retort, but before he can, Stephen's face loses all color and and his flesh crackles and flakes away, maintaining just the vague form of a person. And, with his last breath, Stephen waves a hand, whole chunks of ash streaming out from behind it, and orange sparks begin hissing and jumping in front of Tony and Peter.

A portal. It pops and the hazy form of New York City flickers in front of him as Stephen, almost completely gone now, struggles to keep the portal open.

Tony acts on instinct and heaves Peter up from under the arms. Peter manages nothing more a choked gasp, but it's now or never. Tony leaps, pulling Peter with him.

For a terrifying moment, he thinks they won't make it. He can feel the portal closing around him, biting into his skin even through the remaining pieces of his armor. It squeezes all the breath out of him, squeezes until he thinks it must have just broken his ribs, but thank God, it spits them out onto the Manhattan sidewalk.

And New York is in chaos. There are cars everywhere: between store windows and through the windshields of other cars. The pavement has so much glass scattered across it that for a wild second, Tony thinks it's all glitter. Cries of pain and grief ring out everywhere, echoing around the glass towers of the city in a stomach churning wail.

Tony couldn't care less. He just needs to get Peter to a hospital. Stat. He knows where the hospital is, of course, and while it's not far: only a mere two blocks away, he finds himself cursing Stephen for even dropping them off that far away. Cursing a dead man for his help, he realizes.

It's only two blocks away, but it may as well be another world. They may as well have stayed back on Titan for all the good it's doing him. With every step, Peter coughs up more blood and Tony can actually hear the liquid sloshing in his lungs. He looks down at him. He's still awake, but his eyes are unfocused and hazy.

"Stay with me, kid." Tony props Peter's head on the crook of his elbow, eliciting a groan from him. "Almost there."

The hospital is finally in sight when Tony loses his footing on a particularly large splay of shattered glass bits that slip out beneath his boot and he crashes to the ground, Peter in tow, glass cutting into whatever exposed skin it comes in contact with and knocking the wind out of him.

"Peter!"

Peter's eyes roll back as he hits the ground, just the bottom edge of his irises visible, and he stops coughing.

"Kid?"

Tony doesn't dare blink until he sees the kid breathe again. His breathing is shallow and strained, but it's there nonetheless. That's all he needs. He doesn't waste another second and lifts the kid back up, more careful with his footing now. His arms burn. Peter is a lot heavier than he looks- all muscle, but Tony powers through until they go numb and breathes a sigh of relief as he crashes through the hospital doors.

His relief only lasts for a second, though. If he thought the streets of New York were in chaos, the hospital ER is madness. The wails of loved ones fill the waiting room. Dried blood is splattered across the white tile floor without so much as a caution sign, sticky as Tony trudges across it. People lie on the floor waiting for care and not getting any.

Anger flares in Tony's chest. How could the hospital not be prepared for this? But how could anyone be prepared for this? Tony wasn't prepared for it. The hospital is overrun. It may have lost half its patients, but it also lost half its nurses. Half its doctors. All while ten times more patients flood in from all of the accidents.

A nurse is crouched in the waiting room, eyes wide and fingers threaded together behind her head in what Tony recognizes as a panic attack. Tony pushes past her, stumbling up to the front desk.

"Please," he pants to the lady behind the desk. "He's not going to make it much longer."

The woman scrunches her nose and opens her mouth pointedly, probably to snap that there are plenty of people there who 'aren't going to make it much longer,' but freezes when she sees who it is. Normally Tony would feel guilty for using his fame to his advantage, especially to cut in front of dying civilians. But, not now. Now, hell, he'll bribe this lady if he has to, and begins pulling out his wallet.

The lady sees and her eyes widen. "Right this way," she mumbles, motioning for Tony to follow.

Sellout, Tony thinks, but he's glad.

She pushes through a set a double of double doors where a string of gurneys lie lined up, all empty. All ready and waiting for the flood of patients outside, but with no nurses to operate them. Tony places Peter on the nearest one as gently as he can in his panicked state. The receptionist turns a corner and a moment later returns with a string of nurses, pulled from other patients, no doubt. Tony doesn't feel guilty. Next thing he knows, the nurses are on top of him, obscuring Peter from view as they cut away his suit and work up his body with gloved hands. And then Peter is off- being pushed down the hall while Tony is instructed to wait back out in the hellhole of a waiting area, with nothing to do but ignore the vitriol filled glares of the civilians he cut in front and pray that this whole mess can somehow be remedied.

Peter wakes to a bright light flooding his vision. This, he thinks, in his drug-addled state, must be heaven. He's strangely apathetic to that. Disappointed, perhaps, since he had such big plans for the future, but okay with it if it means he gets to see his parents and Ben again.

The light makes his head pound. It buzzes and beeps like a rattle in his skull as he's left waiting for whatever's next. Wondering why heaven buzzes like a fluorescent light. It seems rather shabby and annoying for a place where the streets are supposed to be paved in pure gold. Maybe, he thinks, it's just because of his enhanced senses. He would have hoped that his senses would be less sensitive in heaven. It could be rather irksome at times. His mind grapples, still sluggish, trying to match what Peter is seeing to any semblance of reality.

He squints and makes out the vague form of Mr. Stark in an armchair through the blinding light, blinking to adjust his eyes. The beeping, a heart monitor, he realizes. Oh.

The events of earlier come flooding back to him and he can feel his heart start pounding, the monitor next to him blaring it to the whole world. He bolts up with a near tearing pain in his chest.

"Easy, kid."

"Mr. Stark!"

"Yeah, it's me. Seriously, Peter, lie back down."

Peter ignores Tony's protests and pushes himself up. Something pulls his head to his left- a nasal cannula, he realizes, its hose tangled around a medical pole.

"What happened?" he asks, eyes wide. "Did we pull through? Did we fix everything?"

Tony stares at the floor and doesn't answer. It's all the answer Peter need's, though.

"Mr. Stark?"

"A piece of rib pierced your lung. We're in a hospital in New York. Strange portaled us back."

Peter's eyes flick around the room as he processes everything.

"They're gone, then? Like… really, really gone?" He shakes his head, so slightly that he wouldn't even be able to tell if it weren't for the slight tugging of his cannula.

Tony looks away from him, towards the wall. "Yeah. They're gone."

Peter stays like that, in stunned silence, for what feels like ages but is probably only a few minutes.

"How long has it been?" he finally asks.

Tony doesn't answer at first and still refuses to look up. "Long enough."

Peter squints at him. "Long enough? What does that mean?"

He's met by silence and begins to wonder if he's done something to upset Mr. Stark. Maybe he's mad again that he almost got killed.

"Mr. Stark? What's wrong?"

Finally, Tony moves, covering his face with his palms and taking a big breath in. At first Peter thinks that he's crying and freezes, eyes wide. Tony's not crying, but he's not very far off, either.

"Sorry," Tony finally says. "I …" He takes a deep breath. "Nobody has been able to find Pepper. It's… not looking good."

"Oh my God." Peter just stares, unsure what to say. "Maybe… maybe she's actually…"

Tony shakes his head. "Don't get my hopes up, kid."

Still sluggish from the medicine in his IV, it takes Peter another moment for the most horrifying thought yet to sink in. He feels the adrenaline hit him, ready to fight a threat that's not actually there.

"What about Aunt May?"

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose with a long exhale.

"Mr. Stark? She's fine, right?"

Tony doesn't respond.

" Say she's fine."

"I'm sorry, Peter-"

"Nononono," Peter mumbles, tucking his head in between his knees, struggling to breathe through the sheet on top of them. He feels a sharp pain in his chest and new beeping to his left by the medical pole.

"I sent someone over there to the apartment… there was no answer."

Peter doesn't even hear him, a ringing in his ears drowning everything around him out. The beeping to his left becomes a near constant drone and Tony's voice fades into the background. He sees spots in his vision.

"Kid, you need to breathe normally. That lung of yours isn't healed all the way yet." Tony puts a rough hand on his shoulder and tries to push him out of the position he's curled up into, but Peter is unrelenting.

"Seriously, Pete, you need to try to calm down. Your lung can't take this right now."

The words don't even register. They go in one ear and right out the other. Peter doesn't care. He doesn't. He just wants Aunt May back.

"I'm going to go get the doctor."

Peter is only semi aware of the click of the hospital room door and footsteps around him, a nurse fumbling with the IV bag next to him, a mention of sedating him.

"Stop!" he yells at them. They don't listen and he slips his IV out from under a wad of gauze and tape around his wrist with a hiss of pain. He won't be sedated.

He has to get out. He has to see her with he own eyes and make sure, and unloops the cannula from around his head. The lack of oxygen stuns him at first, and he feels like gasping for breath. He's Spiderman, though. He can do this. He's probably half healed by now anyway.

She has to still be alive. They just haven't looked hard enough. He'll find her. He will.

The doctor picks the cannula up off the floor and starts towards Peter, but Tony waves both the doctor and the nurse back. "I've got it."

Peter throws the sheets out from on top of of him and stands, dressed just in a pair of white shorts.

"Where are my web shooters?" Peter asks Tony. "I need to see if she's still here or not. Mr. Stark, you don't understand."

"Pete." Tony approaches him like a scared doe. "I do understand. You're a smart kid. We'll go as soon as you're released. Just lie down. You need to heal. I won't have you dying on me on for real if you re-tear that lung."

Peter doesn't miss Tony's glance at his pile of belongings, though, Peter's web shooters sticking out and catching the fluorescent light. Tony notices his error as soon as Peter does.

"I have to."

Peter makes his move and lunges with Tony on his tail. Everything hurts and his whole abdomen feels as if its been filled with jet fuel. He didn't know it was possible to be in quite this much pain and still function. Even with his superhero agility, though, his wounds still slow him down enough for Tony to grab his arm.

They each freeze, Peter, web shooters in hand, starting for the window, and Tony with an iron grip around Peter's arm. For a solid couple of seconds, nobody moves. Not Peter. Not Tony. Not the doctors or nurses silently watching the whole scene play out. Finally, when it looks as though Peter is able to reason again, Tony drops his arm and steps back.

"Don't do this, Peter. Just get back into bed and we'll talk about it. We'll figure something out. I'll send Happy over to check. We can... " Tony swallows. "We can have him record… the scene… if that's what you need."

"Happy is still alive?"

"I-" Tony's face falls. "I don't know."

Peter shakes his head at the floor and chuckles, but there's no humor in it. "Is anyone left?"

Tony's mouth opens and closes a few times before he manages to speak. "I mean… you are. And if you don't mind, I'd really rather that remain the case."

Peter almost turns around, almost climbs back into bed to accept the IV. Almost resigns himself to sitting in that godforsaken bed for a week, wondering what became of May. He can't, though. There's no way. "But if she's gone… then what's the point?"

The truth of his own words hits him square in the chest and it's all resolve he needs. He closes the distance between himself and the window before anybody else in the room even has the chance to react, careening down the side of the building with his web shooters clutched to his chest.

"Peter!" he hears Tony yell from the windowsill behind him. And he feels bad, truly. All Peter has ever wanted is to please Tony. But, Aunt May comes before Tony. Always has. Always will. He needs Aunt May. Now more than ever. He needs to know what became of her for sure, beyond the mere speculation of knocking on the apartment door and not getting a response. .

He used to love swinging from building to building and feeling the wind whip through his hair. He used to never be able to keep a stupid grin off his face, but he just feels hollow now, a pit of dread in his stomach even as he clings to hope.

The city below him is not the city he once knew. He doesn't know how long its been since Thanos's purge, but it hasn't been long enough to clean up his mess. Cars still lie abandoned in the street with their alarms going off, and car alarms ring out from every direction.

Still, the city is somehow quieter than usual, and not in a good way. Even with all the evidence of the initial chaos of the purge, the streets are nearly empty, something Peter never expected to see here. There's no endless chatter, no laughing of drunks heading home from bars, no tourists snapping photos of every other building along their paths. Its… dead.

Peter shakes his head. As long as Aunt May isn't. She can't be. He's already lost so much. Surely the world wouldn't dare take her from him as well.

He goes into their apartment through the window, the same way that May had scolded him for so many times before. His room is just as he left it: bed unmade, a pile of half constructed legos in the corner- something May also told him not to leave on the floor. God, how long ago was it that he'd gotten out of bed expecting nothing more than a fun class field trip.

"May?" he calls. His voice dies in his throat and comes out as a strangled croak. Suddenly he's finding it hard to breathe again, the throbbing in his lung returning with a vengance.

"Aunt May?" he manages, louder this time.

He tentatively turns the doorknob to the hallway, hand shaking violently. The door to May's room is open, and he peers inside, eyes scanning the room more slowly than he thought possible. Nothing. It's as spick and span as ever.

"May?" he feels the tears start to fall now, the words coming out in gasp. "Please, Aunt May," He darts into the living room, suddenly hyper aware of every croak in the floorboards, every molecule of dust in the air. And, that's when he sees it: dark powder dusted across the couch.

Having not been disturbed, he can still make out her form: hunched over in the way she always was when she was struggling or worrying, so that half of the ash spills onto the floor in front of the couch, the rest collecting in the divet where she had been sitting.

Peter freezes, barely managing to breathe shaky breaths, and reaches out a hand towards the remains of Aunt May, unable to bring himself to actually touch them.

No.

He drops to his knees in front of the pile of ash, willing it not to be true, to be someone else.

No, no, no, no, no!

He doesn't even realize that he's crying until he sees tears drip onto the ashes of May, making them clump. He always thought it was a myth- that you start crying before you even know. That it was just something thrown into books to make things more poetic and verbose. After all, how could you not realize that you're crying. But, while his mind is still in denial, still refusing to process the scene in front of him with an eerie sort of numbness, his body already knows. The tears keep falling, and falling, until Peter is full on sobbing and he feels like throwing up and pain blossoms in chest with new fervor, his lung unable to cope with the sudden assault.

He feels like he's breaking apart and doesn't know what he can do but sit there on the floor, shaking.

How could this happen? May didn't deserve this! She deserved so, so much more than this. She deserved the world and more. And Peter couldn't save her.

"Spidey?"

Peter jumps, for one wild second convincing himself that Mr. Stark's voice is perhaps May and she's really alive.

Peter isn't sure how Mr. Stark got into his house without a key or his suit, or how he got there so quickly, but he finds Peter easily. It's hard not to with his wailing. Peter braces himself for another onslaught of remarks on his responsibility what with running away from the hospital and not focusing on his health, but instead Tony just crouches down next to him and puts a tentative hand on his back.

"I'm sorry," Peter sniffs, trying to control the sobs that just keep bursting forth no matter how much he tries to stop them.

"Don't be."

"She was all I had. She's all that I had left. Everyone else is gone... and now her, too-" Peter blubbers. "I don't know what to do now. What do I do?"

Tony's grip on his shoulder tightens. "Hey, like I said- you've always got a place at the Avengers Facility, okay? We're not gonna let you go hungry."

Peter nods, though his breakdown hasn't lessened in severity at all. "And then what?"

"And then?" Tony shrugs and shakes his head. "I don't know. God, kid. I just don't know."

#peter parker #iron dad #iron man #spiderman

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siobhanwolff-blog · 6 years

Text

Through The Dark

The biggest of thank you’s to @superpupdanvers for being an angel and beta reading this. I love her so much!

TW: graphic violence, mentions of sexual assault and abuse. Proceed with caution.

May 9th, 3am — Las Vegas, Nevada.

Being a superhero is nothing like how they depict in the movies. But sometimes, it is like in the movies— having to fight off super villains in order to protect the city you love so much.

Phoenix was quite possibly the most dangerous supervillain Shade had ever encountered. She also happened to be one of the first he’d fought. She got her jollies on creating chaos and making Shade feel helpless.

An apartment building was on fire and Shade’s intangibility was next to useless against the heat of the flames. He can walk through solid objects with ease but he isn’t immune to temperature and the flames licking at his intangible skin still hurt like hell. He had gone in and out countless times, his head dizzy and lungs burning from inhaling so much smoke. In the building for what could be the eight or twentieth time, Shade grabbed up a small boy in his arms whose pulse was dangerously slow.

And that’s when the backdraft hit, sending Shade flying through the explosion and debris. So many people died when the apartment complex went down, so many people he should have been able to save.

But usually, on ordinary days, it’s nothing like that.

Most nights being a superhero just means rescuing a guy from a potentially deadly mugging, or walking a crying girl who was just beaten by her boyfriend to a women’s shelter. Most nights it is just sitting in a garbage-scented alleyway and comforting someone before walking them home. Shade spent most of his nights just walking people home and being a shoulder to cry on. Because wasn’t a guy in a mask who offered his time a patience better than no one at all?

She looked barely eighteen, stumbling down the alley, being backed up by a large brute of a man. The girl was clearly a prostitute, wearing a tight dark grey dress that left little to the imagination and more makeup than was healthy for her skin.

“I told you to leave me alone,” she had said, on the verge of hysterics as he pushed her against a wall. The guy was massive, tall and easily twice Shade’s weight in muscle alone. He would had have to take him down quickly and quietly.

Shade skimmed down the side on the building he’d been sitting on the roof of. Keeping himself cloaked in the shadows, he silently approached. The guys hand was sliding up under the hem of girls dress now, muttering filth into her ear as she shook. Shade had to lean up on his tiptoes to be able to press his hands over the brutes eyes, whispering a soft “go to sleep”. The man screamed and crumpled as the darkness, cold and unforgiving, pulled him into unconsciousness.

Her name was Isabelle and Shade sat with her in the disgusting alley for an hour, rubbing her back and handing her tissues that he kept in one of his utility belt pockets. When she’d finally calmed down, he offered to walk her home.

And then there were nights that are purely sickening. Nights that left Shade drained and crying himself to sleep. Those were the nights he would much rather be risking his neck fighting other supers. Because those are the nights he’s cleaning a dead man’s blood from his spandex suit, or finding the body of a child tossed to the side like nothing, holding the hand of a dying rape victim he was to late to save, or watching someone commit suicide by jumping from several floors up. He saves lives, but those are the nights he feels like he has failed his city.

Shade didn’t know how a drug bust had turned into this. He had already called the cops, which was definitely his mistake. He was young, hadn’t figured out that he needed to call after he’d knocked out the thugs. But as soon as the cops showed up, all hell broke lose. Two of the cronies took off, but the guy that appeared to be in charge started shooting. Instinct kicked in and Shade let the bullets buzz through him harmlessly. And turn a cop into swiss cheese instead. He was close enough for Shade to grab before he hit the ground. He held the officer in his lap, pressing uselessly at the wounds to slow the gush of bright red blood. He died within seconds. His labored breath stopping and body going slack in Shades arms.

Those are the nights he wishes he could erase from his memory. But the spackle of a hostages brains isn’t something easily forgotten. The world is so, so fucking cruel. And Shade is just trying to help— trying to protect innocent people from what he sees every goddamn night. And that would be a hell of a lot easier if the police weren’t always trying to put him behind bars.

Which is exactly why Shade was running down unfamiliar streets. His breath huffing out of his lungs in harsh pants, heart beating like it was trying to break its way out through his ribs, and boot-clad feet pounding against the pavement. Even on awful nights, this was the worst part of what he did. Running from the cops for hours when he could instead be helping people. When they could be helping people. Instead they were just wasting time, time that could mean the difference if someone lives or dies. But the police weren’t saving anyone— they are chasing Shade. Even if they ever got close enough to him to actually cuff him, he would simply slip away. He was a shadow, and that’s what shadows did. Just disappeared in the buzzing nightlife of Las Vegas.

Bullets whizzed harmlessly through him— into his back and out of his chest, straight through his head to lodge uselessly into brick walls. It was as if he really was made of shadows, completely untouchable.

He rounded a corner that was more tall buildings than flashing excitement. He faded into the dark. Melted back against a wall, becoming apart of the shadowy darkness. He couldn’t do this in the center of the city buzz. Everything moved so quickly in Vegas, and people would notice if a shadow against a wall stopped moving. Shade had made this mistake when he was younger, first figuring out how to be a vigilante of such a busy city. He had taken a bullet to the shoulder for his ignorance. Shade was smarter know.

He watched silently as five police officers and a German Shepard rounded the corner in search of him. He held his breath fearing the smallest puff of air would give him away.

But they went right past Shade, couldn’t see him cloaked in the shadows. Two people stumbled out of the bar directly across the street from him. A man and a woman who were drunk, and leaning into each other, and laughing. They looked so happy and that wasn’t something Shade saw often. Usually when he saw people stumbling out of bars it was accompanied with angry yelling.

The cheap watch around Shade’s left wrist vibrated, it was three in the morning— it was time to go home.

An hour later, Shade costume hidden underneath the broken floorboard in his bedroom, Ronan Kingsley laid in bed unable to sleep despite his exhaustion. Always being tired was something that simply came with being a Las Vegas superhero— it was in the job description. And he knew when seven rolled around and he had to get up and actually function, Ronan would hate himself for not falling asleep until four-thirty. And one of his roommates, it was always Sara, would make a snarky comment about him sleeping around and his other roommate, it was always Kira, would silently hand him the coffee he needed oh-so-badly. And neither of them knew.

They couldn’t know. That was just another one of those things that was in the job description. If they wanted to assume he was sleeping around or involved with a sketchy gang, that was fine. He didn’t care what they thought he was doing when they found him gone in the middle of the night, as long as they didn’t think he was running around Las Vegas in a superhero costume. It was safer for them to not know.

And then Ronan would shower, get dressed, and go to work. Because that’s what twenty-six year-olds did in Vegas on Mondays.

“Kingsley!” Kathy shouted at him when he walked into The Beat, looking irritated. He knew he was five minutes late but traffic was a bitch, due to an awful car accident, but she had never gotten irritable with him before. In fact, ever since she hired him after her son moved to New York to go to law school she had treated him like a son. Most of the time she was more of a mother than his own ever had been.

“I’m so sorry I was late, there was an accident and—”

“I don’t care about that,” his fiery redheaded boss said, simply waving him off. “Did you not get my texts last night?”

“Uh,” no, Ronan thought, because I turn off my regular cell and leave it at home to fight crime on the streets of Vegas and only carry disposable crappy cells incase of an absolute emergency. But he couldn’t say that, because Ronan was not a crime-fighting hero in tights. He was just a guy that worked at a coffee house and he was clumsy, and nothing interesting ever happens in his life. Just boring ol’ Ronan.

“Never mind, doesn’t matter. This is Oliver,” Kathy put her hands on the shoulders of the curly haired guy with her, who was smiling all too brightly. Ronan had not even noticed the guy, with observation skills like that it was truly a miracle he hadn’t gotten himself killed yet. But when Ronan met Oliver’s shining green eyes he swore that his breath got stuck in his throat for a moment. There was no way to deny that he was beautiful. His red hair was messy and his eyes were bright even though they were hidden behind wide, round glasses. He was younger than Ronan, shorter, and his shoulders weren’t as broad. But When Ronan shook his hand he could tell that Oliver was strong.

And Ronan swore that he would not allow this boy to be his downfall. He stayed aloof and kept even the people he loved the most at arm's length. He was not about to forget what he was— who he was— just because some pretty boy made his chest feel like a thunderstorm.

“He is the new weekend barista but since Angie is on maternity leave I will need you to come in for the next couple weekends and train him. I can’t just put a newbie behind the counter without supervision, my customers expect nothing but perfection from us and—“

“Wait,” Ronan cut her off, icily. “Sundays are my only days off, I have things to do.” He had yoga class in the morning and always got a couple extra hours of patrolling in at night. He didn’t want to give that up to work a seven day week. Kathy and The Beat were important to him, but so was his Sunday routine.

His fiery boss rolled her eyes. “Fine, take Monday off,” she waved it off before launching into the story how she built the place from the ground up. Literally and metaphorically. While it captivated Oliver, Ronan had heard it a million times and tuned her out to help the other barista prepare to open shop. Emilia was technically the pastry chef but since they were short-handed she had been helping out.

She said his name softly to get his attention and Ronan arched an eyebrow at her. “I can train him today if you’d like.” She offered with a gentle smile. It was a tempting offer, Ronan wanted very little to do with the beautiful man, but he shook his head.

“It’s my responsibility, besides you do more than enough as it is.” She looked like she wanted to argue, but before she could Ronan walked to the front to unlock the doors and flip on the neon Open sign. Regulars quickly filled up the shop and they were both too busy to make any conversation.

By noon Ronan wanted to strangle him. He was a hard worker, charming, and the customers adored him. Logically, Ronan knew he was a great guy and there was absolutely nothing wrong with him. He was a great addition to the team and would fit right in with the ‘family’ Kathy insisted that they were. But he was touchy and Ronan’s muscles ached from being continuously tensed. Oliver was flirty and Ronan tried not to take it personally when he winked at him but he was so unaccustomed to being hit on that he didn’t know how to handle it and stared at Oliver until they were both uncomfortable.

After the lunch rush dwindled down, Ronan leaned against the counter next to Emilia. “Can you hold up the fort if Oliver and I take a lunch break?”

She smiled sweetly and nodded. “‘Course I can. Are you going to D’Latte?”

“Always do,” Ronan answered. He was already untying his apron and hanging it on one of the hooks behind the wall. “Want me to bring you back turrón?”

“Please.” She said and he nodded. Ronan may scoff at his bosses claims that they were a family, but he did have a soft spot for his co-workers. Kathy, Angie, and Emilia were good people and The Beat was his second home. He would never admit it, and he would always keep his kindnesses to a minimum, but he did care for them.

Ronan showed Oliver to the break room and asked Kathy if she wanted anything from D’latte before heading out. The small coffee place across the street was more than just a coffee shop. They offered a revolving variety of Spanish baked goods and sandwiches and had the comfiest chairs. And Ronan, no matter what mask he wore, always received free coffee. Which was more than a little disconcerting, but he chose not to think on it too long.

“Ah, Ronan my friend!” Mr. Soto greeted in his gruff Hispanic accent when Ronan entered. But he could not even muster out a hello in reply, his eyes glued to the television mounted high on the wall behind the coffee shop counter. The sound was off, but turned to a news channel.

Bank Robbery Leaves Seven Dead the text at the bottom read. “Can you turn the sound on please, Mr. Soto?” Ronan asked as he walked closer, eyes not leaving the screen. He heard the coffee shop owner sigh but did as requested and turned on the sound on the TV.

It happened at eight that morning, when Ronan was complaining to Kathy about not having a day off.

The robbers started shooting when police showed up, used a child as a hostage to get away. Ten men or women in masks taking a child. They were interviewing the missing child’s father, a man in his early thirties, eyes red and wet with held back tears, and begging to have his daughter back. Begging for Shade, Vegas’ vigilante to bring his unharmed daughter back to him. And Ronan felt sick.

Mr. Soto clicked off the television completely.

“I think that’s enough of that,” he grumbled, pressing a large paper coffee cup into Ronan’s shaking hand. He felt like he was going to be sick.

A child hostage. It had been hours. Unless they wanted to use her for something else, she was probably already dead and Ronan could have stopped it.

Ronan was wrong, being chased by incompetent police wasn’t the worst part of what he did. It was this. Feeling so much not like a superhero, because he could have saved her but he didn’t.

#writing #writeblr #amwriting #fiction #superhero fiction #writers on tumblr #story #creative writing #prose #original writing #lgbt+ characters #story: ttd #my writing

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