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quokkacore · 3 years

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phenomena | s.jn

summary: the majority of your adult life you’ve been practically married to logic and science. until your superiors at the FBI assign you to work with special agent johnny suh on the so-called x-files project—cases that were never solved due to unexplained phenomena. as time goes by, and you chase case after case, you find yourself drifting further from logic… and closer to johnny. (part of the 90s love collab)

pairing: conspiracytheorist!johnny x doctor!reader

genre: x-files!au (with johnny as fox mulder and reader as dana scully), fbiagents!au, coworkers-to-lovers, slow burn, sci-fi, angst, fluff, comedy, crack-ish at times, fakmarriage!au at the end

warnings: language, murder, eating, blood, general violence, police presence (txf is fbi level copaganda but oh well), johnny is a low key dick initially, sexual references, general american ignorance, implied sexual harrassment in the workplace, mental hospitals, reader witnesses a distressing panic attack, guns, body image, referenced child/animal abuse, repressed memories, mentions of anti-semitism & nazism, christian allusions, occultism, mild gore, slight body horror, some 90s pop culture references, i am not !!! an fbi agent so there may be some inconsistencies, suggestive content but no actual smut, Karens being thirsty for johnny, johnny is a Single Man and is Kind of Gross, both reader and johnny get knocked unconscious Several Times

song recs: gorillaz - dirty harry // john mellencamp - martha say // elton john - whitewash county // arctic monkeys - all my own stunts // kesha - spaceship // the cranberries - dreams // exo - oasis // the cure - friday, i'm in love // billy joel - we didn't start the fire // david bowie - starman // phoebe bridgers - chinese satellite // tom petty - wildflowers // selena - bidi bidi bom bom // soda stereo - persiana americana // bruce springsteen - dancing in the dark // the cranberries - linger // bruce springsteen - human touch // r.e.m - it's the end of the world as we know it (and i feel fine) // david bowie - heroes (or just listen to the playlist i made instead)

word count: 34.3k (YOWZA u should prob read this on a browser)

a/n: a fic this long......never again

X-FILE 62-J: THE PINEWOOD PATTERN

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—08:00 hours, Monday, March 16th, 1992

The morning you met Johnny Suh, his glasses were crooked. It was two years after you'd started working for the FBI, and you were 28 years old.

You'd spoken to your Division Chief—an older, balding man named Carson Brooks—the afternoon prior, just before you left home. He, along with two other men had asked you about the man in question.

"Agent L/N, tell me. What do you know about an agent named John Suh?”

You had furrowed your eyebrow, staring up at him. “John Suh? He had quite the reputation at the academy. Let's see… Oxford educated psychologist. He wrote a monograph on serial killers and the occult… helped the FBI catch Ezekiel Braun in 1988. He’s generally considered to be the best analyst of the violent crimes division. I’ve never met him personally. There’s a nickname for him around the division, though. They called him that in the academy, too." You had to hold back a chuckle, "Spooky Suh."

One of the men next to him nodded—a senior officer whose name you couldn't quite remember—before leaning forward. “It has come to our attention that he’s devoted himself to a project outside of the bureau mainstream. Agent L/N, are you familiar with the so-called X-Files project?”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, trying to recall where you’d heard the name. “From what I understand,” You said, looking up at the man, “They’re cases that are related to unexplained phenomena.”

Your division chief straightened his glasses. “Agent L/N, we’d like for you to assist Suh on these files. You are to write field reports and assess the validity of his work.”

You blinked, not letting your face crack. “...Am I to understand you want me to debunk the X-Files project, sir?”

Your eyes scanned the room. So far, the third man, the one smoking the cigarette had been the only one to not speak.

“Agent L/N,” Your division chief replied with a pursed smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes, “We expect you to make the proper scientific analyses required for these cases. We trust you won’t disappoint us and will be looking forward to seeing your reports. You are to meet with Agent Suh tomorrow morning.”

That had been the day before. Now, here you were, on your way down to the basement, which was apparently John Suh's natural habitat within the Bureau headquarters. The lighting was relatively low in the hallways, shelves upon shelves of cardboard archive boxes seemingly closing you in. When you finally reached the office door at the end of the hall, you rapped your knuckles against the wood twice.

“Sorry, no one down here except for the FBI’s most unwanted!” A deep, sardonic toned voice lamented. You made an amused face to yourself, before quickly composing yourself.

Professionalism above all else, Y/N. First impressions matter.

So you took a deep breath before opening the door slowly. Your eyes scanned the room, widening slightly despite your mantras of professionalism. The man had his back to you, so he didn’t catch it, thankfully. He was too busy studying photographic slides on a lightbox on his desk, hunched over in concentration.

But amongst those metal filing cabinets that were all that same atrocious shade of gray, the entire room was pretty much a mess—papers scattered across the desk and pictures tacked to the walls haphazardly to the point where it was hard to tell what color the wall he was sitting in front of was. Among other things, you caught newspaper clippings, pictures of bright beams of light igniting the night sky, a diagram of the human skeleton, and in the middle, a large poster. On it, a large UFO was hovering above a pine forest skyline, the words “I WANT TO BELIEVE” printed in bold, white letters across the bottom.

The man in question turned in his swivel chair to face you. You took note of the crooked glasses propped up onto his round nose, wide eyes studying you up and down. The sleeves of his white button up were rolled up to his elbows, and his tie, just like his glasses, was crooked. Still, you mustered a curt smile, urging yourself to remain professional in spite of how handsome he was.

"Agent Suh," You declared, holding out your hand, "I’m Y/N L/N. I've been assigned to work with you."

John shook your hand, eyeing you somewhat skeptically. "Agent L/N. I've heard a lot of things. So, who did you piss off to get stuck with this old nut?"

"Actually, I’m looking forward to working with you. Division chief Brooks has asked me to do an evaluation of your work ethic and the overall project, I’m hoping we can work well together."

He pursed his lips, obviously trying to hold back a laugh. Finally, he broke into a grin. "So, they want you to babysit."

You bit back a huff as he turned to look back at his slides. Well, yes, he was right in a way, but you weren't going to admit it. Not with the slightly condescending tone he'd taken with you. Running your tongue against your front teeth in annoyance, you did your best to remain cordial. You plastered your polite smile back onto your face and crossed your arms.

"If you have any doubt about my credentials—”

“You’re a medical doctor,” He said, pulling out a folder with a clear plastic front, “You teach at the academy, did your undergraduate degree in physics…”

He looked at the blue folder in his hands. “Einstein’s Twin Paradox: A new interpretation. Y/N L/N’s senior thesis, now there’s a credential: rewriting Einstein.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you bother to read it?” Your tone had a dangerous roll to it. Already you were starting to doubt how much you would enjoy this.

“I did!” He stood up from the swivel chair, revealing to you just how tall he was. As he walked to one of the gray filing cabinets on the other side of the room, he turned his head and flashed you a crooked smile. “I really liked it, actually. It’s just in my line of work, the laws of physics don’t seem to apply.”

John walked back over to his desk, picking up some of the slides on the lightbox and popping them into a slide projector a few feet away. You stepped out of his way as he made his way to the light switch next to the door, engulfing the room in darkness except for the lightbox, which gave the room a dim, industrial white glow. Turning back to the projector, he pressed the on button, before he looked back at you. His face had turned serious, wide eyes peering at you in the dark.

“Maybe I can get your medical opinion on this.”

Turning your head to the first slide, your eyes settled on the body of a young woman lying amongst old leaves. She was in a white nightgown smudged in dirt, and her arms were spread out as if she were waiting for someone to embrace her.

“Oregon female,” John said, “Aged 21. No known cause of death. Autopsy tells us jack.”

He changed slides, and the image projected on the wall changed to a close up of skin, two small red dots puckered up about a few centimeters away from each other. “However, these were found on her lower back. Doctor L/N, can you ID these marks?”

Walking closer to the projection on the wall, you sighed softly in thought. “Needle punctures, maybe?” You asked, “An animal bite? Electrocution?”

“The coroner wasn’t able to ID them either.” He pressed a button on the projector, and it whirred as it changed slides. This time, it was a figure of a chemical composition. You furrowed your eyebrow.

“This was found in the surrounding tissue. How’s your chemistry?” He asked, sounding amused. You glanced at him in dislike, then at the composition, racking your head at the sight of so many cyclohexanes.

“It’s organic… Is it some kind of synthetic protein?”

He didn’t answer, and your mouth fell open in confusion, shaking your head. “I… don’t know, what is it?”

John laughed. “Beats me! I’ve never seen it either. But it’s also been found in Amaranth, South Dakota…” He clicked the button on the projector. It changed to an image of a middle aged man laying face down in a ditch. He did it again, and a younger man appeared strewn in the middle of the desert, eyes glazed open. “...And again, in Verona, Nevada.”

“Do you have any theories?” You asked, squinting as to avoid looking at the glare of the projector, and instead stare at him. He made his way closer to you. The light of the projection caused the image to warp and distort, projected onto the right side of his face.

“Oh, I have plenty of theories. What I want to know is why it’s bureau policy to claim these as unexplained phenomena when there’s clearly a pattern here.”

He sighed, before stepping closer to you. He wasn’t necessarily invading your personal space. But from this proximity, caught in the light of the projector you could make out the soft flecks of amber in his brown eyes, the soft curve of his lips. “So, doc,” He murmured, voice low and raspy, “Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

Oh boy, you thought, here we go.

“Logically, I would have to say no. The energy capabilities required to travel through space, as well as the technology you're implying would exceed a spacecraft's—”

"Conventional wisdom," He said, raising his eyebrows. He crossed his arms, pointing at the projection. "Do you know that this girl in Oregon is the fourth person in her graduating class to pass away under suspicious circumstances?"

He shifted his weight to lean on one leg. “When there’s no logic, and there’s no convention, is it such a crime to turn to the fantastic for explanations?”

You frowned. “She had to have died from something. Whether it was natural, then it’s possible the medical examiner missed something. If she was murdered, then maybe it was a cover-up, or a sloppy investigation.”

Leaning your head forward towards him, you put your hands on your hips. “What I find fantastic is the idea that you would be willing to look anywhere except the realm of science for answers. The answers are there, you just have to be willing to look for them.”

“And that’s why they put the I in FBI,” He quipped, sounding quite amused at his joke. He turned on the overhead lights, then made his way to sit down at his swivel chair. He leaned back against the black cushion. “So, L/N. You, me, a flight to Pinewood, Oregon, bright and early tomorrow at eight AM. How’s that sound?”

You bit back a smile. John Suh was… quite the character, that was for sure. Smug. Intelligent. Maybe just a tiny bit off his rocker.

But you didn't really have much of a choice, and you were growing curious as well.

"Alright,” You conceded, “I’ll bite.”

John grinned. “Awesome.”

You set your purse down next to the projector, before turning it off. “I’ll be right back,” You told him, “I need to go to the bathroom.”

He nodded, turning back to the files next to the lightbox.

“And John?” You leaned against the doorway, watching as he straightened his posture to look up at you, expectant of your words. His eyes, from behind those crooked, round rimmed glasses, were poised on your frame.

“Yes?”

“Your glasses are crooked.” You turned to exit, smiling to yourself when you heard him move, and softly mumble, “Oh, shit.”

PINEWOOD, OREGON—11:32 hours, Tuesday, March 17th, 1992

The plane touched down with only the slightest bit of turbulence. John Suh was sitting right next to you, snoring softly as you pored over the four different medical reports. The reports of the first three victims—Kaya Tate, Jisung Park, and Alex Gallagher—were basically the same word for word, other than specific physical details of the victims, like hair color, height and weight. All of them were found in the woods and were estimated to have died somewhere between one and four in the morning. Possible causes of death included exposure and cardiac arrest, but there wasn’t enough evidence to list anything. The oddest part was that of the three of them, all of their pupils were shrunken. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

When a person dies, what occurs next is called primary flaccidity. In this state, all of the muscles relax—their head might fall back as the neck loses strength, the jaw falls open, fingers loosen their grip. And the pupils should dilate. But here, they weren’t. Not in the slightest.

You frowned, looking over the first three reports again. There was no sign of red marks anywhere. At the end of all three medical reports, the same signature was seen: Aaron Choi, MD.

Flicking through the medical report of the fourth victim—Kaya Tate—you looked over the similarities of the other autopsies, and the one unavoidable difference: those damned red markings John had shown you yesterday. With a sigh, you skimmed over the report one last time, before one final difference caught your eye at the very end. This report wasn’t signed by one Aaron Choi, MD. No, it was signed by Hank Rodrigo, MD.

You didn’t have time to think over it much as the pilot made the announcement that the plane would be landing soon. John jumped awake at the sound of his voice. His eyes cracked open, and he frowned as if he were upset at being woken up.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” You greeted when he gave you a sideways glance.

“And here I was, hoping for a kiss to break the spell.” He laughed sleepily, but you frowned as you pulled the reports off of the tray. You didn’t answer as you put them away and put the tray back up in preparation for the landing.

John stretched his back, inhaling deeply before staring at you awkwardly. “...Sorry. I’m being inappropriate.”

You shook your head, but then smiled. “Thank you for apologizing. Some guys at the bureau can be real creeps.”

He frowned. “...You’re trained in self defense at the academy for a reason, y’know.”

Rolling your eyes, you zipped up your bag. Still, you couldn’t let go of the smile on your face. Still, you put some sarcasm into your tone when you next spoke. “Of course I am.”

When the plane landed, you picked up the rental car the bureau had provided, and put your suitcases in the trunk before getting in. John drove, popping in a cassette of his that played some rock song you didn’t know the name of.

Martha say she don't need no stinking man making no decisions for her

She don't need his money, she don't need him between the sheets

She ain't gonna sleep on the edge of the bed for no stinking man...

“Kaya Tate’s medical report was signed by a different examiner,” You pointed out, even though you knew that he’d already realized that.

“And there it is,” He said, not taking his eyes off of the road. “Those marks are pretty hard to miss. If they all had similar circumstances in the autopsy, who’s to say the first three kids didn’t have the same markings? And why would Doctor Choi avoid putting that in the reports?”

For a moment, he looked at you, and raised an eyebrow. You mirrored his expression at his implication. “So, you think the medical examiner has something to do with the murders.”

“Maybe?” He glanced briefly in the rearview mirror. “He’s a person of interest. Not necessarily a suspect. I’ve arranged to exhume Alex Gallagher’s body. Maybe we can come to some conclusion of our own—”

He was interrupted by the sound of the song from his cassette distorting, static blaring in between the music and the sound of the vocalist’s voice.

At first, you thought it was something to do with the cassette… until the windows started rolling up and down of their own accord, and the lights on the dashboard started to flicker. You felt the car even swerve slightly, despite John’s firm hands on the wheel.

Within a matter of seconds he managed to pull over and put the car in park. As soon as it had started, it was over, but as John turned the motor off, he met your eyes. He looked just as perplexed as you did.

“What just happened?”

He didn't answer, unbuckling his seat belt. As he got out of the car, you did the same thing, wondering what kind of failure could cause a car to go haywire like that.

Wordlessly, you watched as John took a good, long look at his watch, before walking over to the trunk and popping it up. From his suitcase, he pulled out a can of spray paint. He pulled the cap off of it and leaned over, aiming at the asphalt. You raised your eyebrows.

"What are you—"

The sound of the paint can interrupted your words. You watched as he sprayed a big X on the street, right in front of where he was standing. Your mouth remained slightly open, unsure of what to say. When he stood up straight, he placed the can back in his suitcase, and looked up at you. Slamming the trunk shut, the both of you exchanged stares: his blank as if vandalizing forest streets were a part of his day to day life, and yours somewhat perplexed.

When the two of you got back into the car, it turned on with no issue. John's cassette started up again on the same song. Again, you exchanged a wordless stare, the both of you now equally unsure.

“Welcome to the Twilight Zone,” John muttered, putting the car in drive. You didn’t reply.

Hi-de-hi-de-hi, brother,

Hi-de-hi-de-hey now, Martha...

Ten minutes later the two of you rolled into the cemetery. It was an uphill slope, a small field atop it, connecting to the woods. John drove until a small, yellow bulldozer caught your eye and you pointed it out. He parked as close as the road permitted, and the two of you exited the car, ready to head up the hill.

As the two of you pulled out your FBI badges, an officer came running up to you. He darted between tombstones and stopped in front of you, pursing his lips awkwardly. You both help up your badges. "Special agents Y/N L/N and John Suh," You said.

The officer nodded sheepishly. He seemed young and rather inexperienced. "Officer Mitch Swenson. The chief couldn't be here right now, ma'am."

"Oh?" John continued walking towards the grave, which was fully undug. A crew was in the process of using a pulley to lift the coffin out of the ground. "Couldn't, or didn't want to? He didn't seem very happy when I contacted him on the phone. Didn't even tell me his name."

Officer Swenson looked down. "I'm sorry to say that he's opposed to this intervention, sir."

"Unfortunately," You told him, "After so many unexplained deaths, we're obligated to involve ourselves. If he has an issue with our jurisdiction then he can take it up with—"

A loud snapping noise stopped you in your tracks, and your head turned just in time to see the ropes on the pulley snap, dropping the coffin. It quickly began tumbling downhill, towards you. You barely had time to step back. Before you could be trampled by a goddamn coffin on what was quickly becoming one of the strangest days of your life, you felt a strong hand grip your forearm and yank you back harshly.

The coffin barrelled right into the back of a tombstone, cracking open ever so slightly. Your back collided with John's chest. Neck craning back to look at him, you realized both your chests were heaving in shock. He was staring at the small opening in the coffin.

You pulled away from him, charging towards the coffin. John and Officer Swenson did the same, as well as some from the lifting crew.

As soon as you got within five feet of the coffin, a putrid odor hit your nose and seemed to hit everyone else's. John's hand went to cover his nose. Officer Swenson turned green. You held back a gag.

Still, despite the heinous stench, you leaned forward, trying to get a good look inside. Fully expecting to see a decaying corpse, you squinted, trying to make out the shape of the face.

"Holy shit," You heard the young officer say off to your left. Your eyes widened, just as you made out some features of the cadaver.

"Make sure no one else sees this," John ordered someone, as you made out a snout and very thin arms. As your eyes widened, John turned to you. You turned your head to him, and he flashed you an awkward grin.

"...I'm guessing he was no student athlete," He joked, scratching the back of his head. You shook your head in disbelief, face frozen in shock.

"I… is that a—?"

CORONER'S OFFICE, PINEWOOD, OREGON — 14:48 hours, Tuesday, March 17th, 1992

"A chimpanzee."

You didn't give John's unsatisfied tone much of a second thought, continuing to ensure you had everything ready for your analysis.

"You think it's a chimpanzee," John said again a few seconds later, snapping a picture of the body, which was spread out on a metal table.

"Or an orangutan," You replied, not looking up from your tools. Pulling out your tape recorder, you finally met his eyes. "I was thinking it might even be a bonobo, but it's too big. Mammalian, that's for sure."

"Y/N, we're in Oregon! Where would someone get a monkey—why would someone put a monkey in some dead kid's coffin?"

You shook your head. "John, you can't possibly think this is anything other than a sick joke, can you?"

He huffed, too engrossed in taking pictures of the body. He looked like he had just discovered sliced bread.

"This is amazing. It—it's unprecedented… I want a full report," He demanded, "Toxicology, x-rays, tissue samples, genetic testing, the works. We can get those tissue samples and x-rays done now, everything else we take back to DC."

You laid a measuring tape next to the subject's body, before putting your hands on your hips.

"You’re kidding," You said, glaring at him from the other side of the table, "Try telling Alex Gallagher's family that his body was replaced with an alien. You'd probably lose a few teeth doing it!"

John lowered his camera, taking a deep breath. He thought for a few seconds before answering. "I'm not crazy, Y/N," He insisted, "I have the same doubts you do."

Flexing your fingers to see if the surgical gloves fit adequately, you sighed.

"Please leave for a moment," You mumbled, "I need to record my observations and I can't do that properly if you're flashing that camera in my face and talking about little green men."

He frowned, not meeting your eyes. He looked like he wanted to protest, but he shook his head to himself as he turned around. Soon, he was out the door.

During your analysis, you made several observations: the subject was 157 centimeters in length, and weighed 56 pounds. Long limbs and fingers, and large ocular caverns that suggested it belonged to the ape family, as you'd told John minutes ago. It was in an advanced state of decay and desiccation.

When you turned the subject over, you couldn't help but look at the lower back. Lo and behold, there and ready to give you a headache, were two bumps. They were no longer red, tinged gray, same as the rest of the body, but they were there.

Only when the x-rays finally developed two hours later did you discover the cherry on top: a small metallic implant in the subject's nasal cavity, embedded in the skin, which was extracted and placed in a small glass vial. The vial was placed in your blazer pocket, which you'd removed to put on the PPE gown.

When you were finally finished with the report, you put your blazer back on and discarded the PPE and surgical gloves. All you'd managed to do was give yourself a migraine at all of the oddities piling up in this case. When you got back to DC? A bubble bath was in order. With a very, very large glass of wine.

As you approached the door to the lobby, the voices of two men arguing got louder and louder. Rolling your eyes, you sighed at the feeling of your head pounding. One sounded angrier, the other significantly calmer. When your hand was on the knob, you realized who the calmer voice belonged to.

"Shit," You whispered to yourself, flinging open the door. A middle aged man yelling at John—who looked very blasé about the whole situation—was waving his finger in his face. Behind him stood Officer Swenson, another officer, and a young girl dressed in an oversized windbreaker and jeans, who looked like she wanted to evaporate into thin air.

"You people think you can march in here and do whatever you want," The man growled, "I don't see why—"

"What's going on here?" You asked, stepping between the man and John. The man scoffed at you, eyeing you up and down.

“Who are you?”

You pulled out your badge and flashed it to him. His scowl deepened. “Special Agent Y/N L/N, FBI. I’m Agent Suh's partner for this investigation. Now, what is going on? And who are you?”

The man’s face twisted in disdain at your authoritative tone. “I’m Doctor Aaron Choi, the county medical examiner. Now, the audacity of you and your partner—”

“Dad, please,” The girl exclaimed, sounding embarrassed, “Let’s just go home!”

The man waved a hand in her direction, tone dismissive and angry. “Lia, be quiet. I’m talking. The audacity you two have to come here and interrupt our procedures—”

“Doctor Choi, this is the fourth unexplained death of a student from the Pinewood High class of ‘89,” John pointed out, “After the county was unable to come up with any conclusive evidence, the FBI was forced to become involved. I take it you weren’t informed of the exhumation and the analysis of Alex Gallagher’s body?”

Doctor Choi shook his head. “I’ve been away with my family. We just got back.”

That explains the different medical examiner on the latest autopsy, you realized.

“Doctor Choi, I’m sorry you feel that way,” You said, “But it’s our obligation to come and investigate. Now, I’m sorry, but it’s getting late, and we have to get going. I can give you my cell phone number if it were to make you more comfortable, but—”

“No. That’s quite enough,” He snapped. He turned to the young girl, nodding his head at the door. “Lia, let’s go.”

The girl sighed, and met your eyes before she turned to follow after him. She looked desperate; you assumed it was because of the scene her father had caused. The two officers followed after them.

As the two of you watched them leave, you turned to John. He simply shrugged, looking done with the whole situation. “Talk about a warm welcome,” He grumbled. You glared at him.

“Let’s just go,” You huffed, rubbing at a spot above your eyebrow, “I still need to get started on this report.”

The two of you exited the building, and John explained that tomorrow, he’d arranged a visit to a mental institution in the town over. That there were two more students of the class of ‘89 were staying. Both of them were reportedly a part of Alex Gallagher’s circle of friends.

In your pocket, the vial holding the metal implant seemed heavier than it had been when you first extracted it.

ALOYSIUS GRANT MENTAL INSTITUTION, CRESTHILL, OREGON—10:47 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

The wing where Chenle Zhong and Nancy Goldstein were staying was relatively quiet. As the nurse explained their circumstances, Nancy remained glued to a book in her wheelchair. Next to her in his bed, Chenle lay perfectly still, lips parted slightly, eyes wide and unmoving.

You were informed that Nancy had developed delusions and become extremely paranoid as a result of post-traumatic stress. Chenle was living through something called a living coma. He never moved, never spoke. The only indication you saw that he was still alive was the constant rise and fall of his chest. Both of them had been in an automotive crash in the autumn of 1989, and had been like this ever since.

“Nancy,” The nurse said softly, “You have guests, can they speak with you?”

Nancy lifted her head, “I can’t,” She answered, shaking her head. “I’m reading to Lele right now.”

“Does… does he like it when you read to him?” John asked, and she nodded.

“It calms him down,” She said, “It distracts him from everything.”

You looked down, thinking about her words and what she must have gone through—Chenle as well. At the feet of Chenle’s bed, you noticed odd specks of… ash? It was sprinkled sparsely in front of the bed, on what was a seemingly pristine floor.

You wanted to pick it up, but didn’t want the nurse looking at you strangely. So you turned your attention back to the conversation between John and the nurse. He lowered his voice and leaned in towards her, as if he didn’t want Nancy to hear. “Would it be possible for us to run some medical tests on Ms. Goldstein?”

The thing was that Nancy did hear, and at the mention of medical tests, her large eyes nearly popped out of her head, and she started to tremble in the wheelchair. “N-no tests,” She pleaded, before throwing her book to the side and raising her voice, "No tests! You can't take me there again!"

She began to thrash in the wheelchair, hyperventilating and begging in between breaths to not go anywhere. She threw herself out of the wheelchair but was unable to stand, and instead remained on the floor, crying.

"Nancy, sweetie, you're going to be fine," The nurse said gently, leaning down to placate the poor girl who was shaking her head. She looked up at the both of you. "Can you help me please?"

John leaned down to gently assist the nurse in helping Nancy up, and you picked up the wheelchair, which had fallen onto its side. You gripped one of the back handles of the chair to steady it. Your other hand smudged along the ground to try and pick up some of the powder. As the pair helped her sit down, your eyes caught something.

Nancy's shirt had ridden up during the ordeal, and there, along the small of her back, you saw them. The same marks that Kaya Tate, Jisung Park, and Alex Gallagher had.

When Nancy refused to calm down, wailing and begging not to be taken back to wherever she thought you and John wanted to take her, the nurse ushered you out.

"I'm sorry," She told you, "But you're upsetting my patients. If you absolutely need to come back, then do it some other day when she's calmed down."

The two of you set off towards the exit down the stairs, your heels click-clacking quickly along the floor as you walked in front of John.

He held open the exit door for you, and as soon as you were out the door and headed toward the parking lot, you whirled on him.

"How did you know she would have those marks?" You asked, almost angry at him. John shrugged.

"A hunch," Was all he answered.

"Dammit, Suh, cut the crap. What the hell is going on here?"

"What, so you can go off and write it in your little reports?" He fired back, raising his voice at you for the first time. Your head snapped back at the sudden disdain in his voice.

"I'm here to solve this case just the same as you are," You growled, "Now tell me the truth. I think I'm entitled to it."

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat, scowling at you. He leaned closer to you and lowered his voice. "You want my honest opinion? Fine. I think those kids have been abducted by an alien force. I think that they run tests on those kids, which is why Nancy Goldstein freaked out, and why Alex's body and hers have those markings. That's what I think."

You tapped your heel along the sidewalk in frustration and thought. "John, do you realize how insane that sounds? I—Why, there's nothing to substantiate—"

"Nothing scientific to substantiate," He corrected.

"Science is all there is, John!" You shook your head. He sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. The both of you knew that this conversation would lead nowhere. Looking down, you remembered the ash smudged onto the palm of your hand.

"Look," You said, quieter now. "This was on the floor around Chenle Zhong's bed."

"'S that… ash?"

You nodded. "I know what you think, John. Let me tell you what I think. I think those kids might be involved in some sort of sacrifice of some sort. Think about it, they're always called into the woods. The medical examiner doesn't want us looking at the bodies. And now, ash."

John's eyes darted back and forth, considering the options. He walked over to the car, unlocking it so the both of you could enter.

"We can head into the woods tonight," He offered finally. "That way, we can both look into our own hypotheses."

"Sounds good to me," You answered, "Tonight."

THE WOODS, PINEWOOD, OREGON—20:26 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

A few hours after sundown, the two of you drove to the edge of the woods, armed with flashlights and your handguns. You'd tied your hair back and changed into a dark blue windbreaker, along with sweatpants and running shoes. It was a bit windy, and you could see storm clouds rolling in.

"Stay close by," You'd told John. "And be quiet."

"Yes, mom," He sighed. You rolled your eyes, resisting the urge to punch him in the arm.

Once the two of you were out of the car, you split up, trying to stay within earshot of his footsteps. You spent about ten minutes wandering around, flashing your light around, taking slow steps as you scrounged for any hints.

Above you, thunder rumbled, the occasional strike of lightning lighting up the sky for milliseconds. Leaning your head forward, you squinted in the dark. No way.

The whole ground around you was covered in ash. If not the exact same ash as what was in front of Chenle's bed, it was very similar—sprinkled on top of the leaves and dirt. As you kneeled down to pick some up, your eyes widened at the same texture and pigment as the one of today.

"What the fuck," You muttered under your breath, mind racing a mile a minute. These woods were creepy enough without the implication of a ritualistic cult, or close encounters of the third kind, or whatever John believed was happening. But now you had the possibility of a connection between these woods and two seriously disturbed kids.

A sudden mechanical rumbling made you snap your head up. You squinted, lifting your other hand to shield your eyes from the sudden brightness that lit up the trees.

"John?" You asked when you heard footsteps. Your heart rate began to speed up, hand reaching for the gun tucked into your waistband.

When you realized that the sound was coming from the direction of the light, you called his name out again. "John?"

A tall figure emerged from the light, and you soon realized what was pointed at you—a shotgun. Definitely not John Suh.

Not hesitating, you pulled out your gun. "Special agent Y/N L/N, FBI! Identify yourself!"

The figure only stopped until it was about ten feet away. You squinted, making out some familiar features. Surprisingly, you realized it was the officer who had been at the coroner's office with Doctor Choi.

John came stumbling up to you, chest heaving. "Chief!" He sounded strangely enthusiastic. "What brings you to this neck of the woods?"

"You're trespassing on private property," He announced, seemingly unamused by John's tone.

"We are conducting an investigation," You countered, lowering your gun.

"You are trespassing," He said adamantly, "Now get out, before I have you both arrested."

John glanced at you momentarily. You frowned as he shrugged, obviously wanting you to stand down. The staredown continued for a solid ten seconds before you groaned softly. Tucking your gun back into your waistband, you followed the chief out of the woods, right back to your car, which was right next to his.

As John drove away, you watched as the flashing police lights faded into the distance. "What's he doing out here when he's got a whole town to take care of?"

John shook his head, furrowing his eyebrows. "I don't know," He hummed in that deep voice of his, "But I don't like him one bit."

The two of you drove in relative silence after that. The storm finally came down, drops of rain cascading angrily onto the windshield. Thunder rolled overhead, and the lightning grew bright.

In the dim light, your eyes turned to watch John, hoping he wouldn't take notice. You watched him alternate his eyes between the road ahead and the rearview mirror every few seconds. Your eyes raked over his features—a strong brow bone, a round nose, lips that seemed to curve upwards in a natural smirk.

You looked back up at his eyes, and his own gaze glanced at the watch on his wrist before returning to the road.

"You're staring," He said, sounding like he’d caught you with a hand in the cookie jar. You felt the scoff leave your lips before you could catch it, your cheeks heating up.

"I am not—"

A flash of lightning lit up the sky, far brighter than any of the other strikes. Then, an odd sensation filled your body: for the briefest of moments you felt absolutely weightless, unable to feel the carseat beneath you. Then a moment later when the light faded, and the feeling disappeared.

The car rolled to a stop, the engine’s rumble dying. You frowned even though you were glad that you’d have a chance to change the subject. “What happened?”

Johnny looked at the lights on the dashboard, and pressed on the accelerator tentatively a few times. He raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “Uh… we lost power.”

He seemed calm enough. Until he glanced at his watch again. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he let out a single, excited laugh. “No fucking way,” He murmured, rushing to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“Uh, John, where are you g—”

He was out of the car before you could finish your sentence, heading into the downpour. You groaned, unbuckling hastily and following him. Already, he was drenched, and within seconds you were too. He was walking towards something on the road, a few feet in front of the car. When he turned to look back at you, he looked like a preschooler who had just discovered Sesame Street. His fists pumped into the air, his eyes squeezed shut and he began to jump up and down.

“Fuckin’—I—WOO! WOO HOO!”

“For the love of god,” You grumbled, standing right next to him despite his loud cheering, you tried your hardest to make out what had gotten him so excited. When the next flash of lightning lit up the street, plus the lights of the car helping illuminate the road, you saw it: a big, bright, neon X. Almost the exact same place the car had started acting strange yesterday.

“We lost time!” He yelled over the sound of the downpour. "I looked at my watch before the flash! It was 9:02 then, now it’s 9:13! That’s eleven minutes—GONE!”

You shook your head, stepping away. You threw up your hands in confusion. “What—John, that’s not possible! You’re saying time disappeared, time can’t—it can’t just disappear! That’s not just crazy, it’s—i-it’s a universal invariant! It’s impossible!”

John shook his head at you, eyes wide in wonder. Right before he started walking back to the car, he let out one last gleeful laugh. “Not in this zip code!”

Much to your displeasure, your headache returned soon after. You were more than content to let John ramble on while you zoned out, rubbing your forehead. What little you picked up was that people who claimed to be abductees always mentioned a bright flash of light and losing time, anywhere from five minutes to several hours.

You weren’t sure what to think at this point. You had half a mind to drive John to the Aloysius Grant Mental Institution and leave him there with Chenle and Nancy.

When you got back to the hotel, you ran straight to your room. When you tried flickering on the light, you found that it wouldn’t turn on. With a sigh, you realized the storm had to have blown the power out. Peeling off your wet clothes before you did anything else, you stripped to your underwear before pulling on your bathrobe. Shivering, you scrounged in the darkness of the room for anything, a flashlight, some candles.

Surprisingly, they did have a candle, a holder and some matches. As you lit it, and went over your bedtime routine (yes, you were a grown woman going to bed at 9:30 PM, you were tired), you couldn’t shake the eerie feeling settling in your stomach. Everything felt so off here, and there were so many things you couldn’t explain.

As much as John wanted to convince you, he couldn’t explain them either. The whole situation felt bizarre in a dreadful way. As you marched into the bathroom for a quick shower, you tried to reassure yourself everything would connect eventually.

When you took off the bathrobe, your hand went to rub at your lower back. The stiff mattress wasn’t doing you any favors. You let your eyes flutter shut, fingers rubbing at the muscle below your skin.

Until your fingers brushed over something that you knew hadn’t been there before. Your eyes snapped open, and you turned your back to the mirror, craning your neck to see. Your fingers ached to touch the spot again, but in your sudden alarm, your fingers began to shake.

There. At the small of your back, just above the waistband of your underwear, there they were. Two bumps. Just like Nancy’s. Just like Alex’s. Just like Kaya’s.

You didn’t know what overtook you. All of a sudden, you were putting your bathrobe back on and strutting stiffly out of your room. Before you knew it, you were knocking insistently on John’s door.

You didn’t stop until a very confused looking John opened up, holding a candle. “I—”

“I need to show you something,” You said shakily. His demeanor changed instantly when he saw your frantic state. He nodded wordlessly, widening the door and stepping to the side. Once the door was closed, you faced him, before untying the robe. His eyes widened slightly despite your shaking hands, and the tips of his ears turned red.

“Woah, at least take me out to dinner first—”

“Johnny, shut up!”

He froze at your tone, your slip up—calling him Johnny instead of John. You were too distressed to care, tossing the robe to the floor before turning, trying to poke at the marks on your back.

“What are they?” You asked, and John reached out a hand as if to placate you.

“Hey, hey,” He murmured, “Deep breaths. Can I get a closer look?”

Nodding, and trying to do what he said, you let him step closer, before kneeling. Tentatively, he ghosted a hand over the marks. You tried to ignore the goosebumps, shivering from what you assumed was the cold.

“What are they?” You repeated. “John—”

He spun you around, putting a gentle hand on your hip. You peered down at him, panting softly. “It’s okay,” He said softly, “They’re just mosquito bites.”

Your eyes fluttered shut in relief, putting a hand on his shoulder to steady your wobbling knees. “You’re sure?” You asked, looking down at him.

He nodded, amber eyes staring up at you. You were suddenly hyper aware of his hand on your hip, unable to break his gaze. He cleared his throat, standing up but not stepping away from you. “Yeah, I got some out there too. I’m positive.”

You put the bathrobe back on, then crossed your arms. “I need to sit down,” You mumbled. He gestured to his bed, sitting on the chair next to it. You raised an eyebrow, not wanting to impose. He shook his head, setting down the candle on the table.

“You’re shaking,” He said, “Go ahead.”

Inhaling deeply, you tried to compose yourself. Your hand rubbed at the back of your neck, suddenly feeling tense. You chewed on your lip, wondering if you should ask the question itching to come out.

“John?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. He nodded, eyes earnest.

“Yeah?”

“How did you… Why are you so interested in this stuff?”

His eyes lowered, rubbing his palms together slowly. He took a deep breath, resting his elbows on his thighs. Finally, he sighed.

“I was twelve when it happened,” He whispered. His gaze turned solemn, almost angry. “My little sister, Maggie, went missing in the middle of the night. Just… disappeared, like she vanished into thin air. No note, no phone calls, no discernible trail or evidence at all. Gone, just like that. How does an eight year old girl disappear without a trace?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, not answering. Outside, the rain had stopped, but John’s eyes were a storm of their own, several emotions swimming around in pools of golden brown.

“It tore my family apart. My parents got divorced, everyone else refused to talk about it. There weren’t any facts to confront, nothing to give anyone closure, and the search just stopped.”

“What did you do?” You asked softly. He shrugged, pursing his lips.

“Eventually, I ran away to England. Came back, got recruited by the bureau.” He offered a sardonic smile, no joy behind it. “Apparently, I have a natural aptitude for applying behavioral models to criminal cases. My success allowed me a certain amount of freedom to pursue my own interests. That’s when I found the x-files.”

“On accident?” You leaned to lay down on your side, propping your head up with one hand. He nodded.

“At first, it looked like a dump for UFO sightings, cryptids, alien abductions. Real Hollywood kind of stuff. But… I was fascinated by it all, I read all the cases I could get my hands on. Hundreds of them, Y/N. All the paranormal phenomena, the occult, and then…” He sighed, lowering his head.

“What?” You leaned toward him, trying to read his face in the dark.

“There’s… classified government information I’ve been trying to get my hands on. Someone keeps blocking my access.” He looked to the side, palms still rubbing together. “The only reason I’ve been allowed to continue my work is because I've made connections in congress.”

You shook your head, “I don’t understand, are they afraid you’ll leak this information?”

When he met your gaze, the anger had returned, now far less subdued. “You’re a part of that agenda,” He murmured, “You would know.”

Your mouth dropped open slightly, and you shook your head before scooching closer to him. “I’m not a part of any agenda,” You answered. “You need to trust me.”

He sighed, before standing up to move onto your bed, leaning very close to you. The usually playful glow in his eyes was nowhere to be seen. “I’m telling you this, Y/N, because you need to know. In my... research, I’ve worked very closely with a man named Hans Kruger. He’s taken me through deep regression hypnosis, and through my repressed memories I’ve been able to return to that night my sister disappeared. I remember a very bright light outside and a presence in the room, and the sensation of being paralyzed, unable to answer her cries for help. Listen to me, Y/N, this thing exists.”

“But how do you know—”

“The government knows! And I gotta know what they’re protecting.” He leaned even closer to you, face inches away from yours. “Nothing else matters to me, and this is as close as I’ve ever—”

The ringing of the telephone made the both of you jump away from each other, and John stood to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

He made a face as the person on the other side answered. “What? Who is this? Who is—”

Pulling the phone away from his ear, he looked at you. He seemed confused, alarmed. “That was a woman,” He said, putting the phone back on the housing, “Who told me that Nancy Goldstein is dead.”

You frowned. “The girl in the wheelchair?”

HIGHWAY 227, PINEWOOD, OREGON—23:11 hours, Wednesday, March 18th, 1992

Quickly, the two of you dressed. The crash wasn’t hard to find in such a small town. Surrounded by witnesses and two police cars, a large semi truck was stopped in the middle of the road. Once there you produced your badges to get past the police cars. John went off to ask one of the cops questions about the accident, and you walked over to the body, which was draped over with a white cloth.

Right next to it, a man, who you assumed was the driver, was being questioned. Showing the officer next to the body your badge, you crouched down to peel back the cloth covering the body.

Poor Nancy Goldstein, wet with rain and blood, lay strewn in the road. A dribble of drying blood was running down her mouth. Her once white and purple polka dotted hospital gown was tinged with red, brown and gray. You sighed in sympathy. But your eyes travelled down at the watch she had on, and the sympathy made way into confusion. The hands had stopped, right at 9:02.

You took a deep breath when you recognized the coincidence. That's all it had to be, right? A coincidence?

"You said she just ran out in front of you?" The officer speaking to the man asked.

"Yes, officer," He answered, "Just came charging out from the trees and right into the truck."

Nancy Goldstein, running. Not even walking, no, full on running. You stared at the body, eyes travelling to her legs. Somehow, they were specked with flecks of dirt, mud and small wood chips. It was consistent with someone moving through a wet, muddy area while barefoot. You swallowed anxiously, trying to figure out what was going on in this town.

When you got into the car with John, you raised an eyebrow at him, getting ready to speak. Before you could, however, his cell phone rang. He pulled out the device and answered the call with a tired, "Suh. Who am I speaking to?"

You watched as his face turned confused. "What?"

You couldn't hear what he was told, but when his face twisted into disbelief, and then anger, you knew it couldn't be anything good. "Of course. We'll be there as soon as possible," He said, tight-lipped.

When he hung up, he immediately started the car. He didn't meet your eyes. "Fuck!" He growled, causing you to jump.

"What?" Your eyes widened at his sudden outburst, barely having time to buckle your seatbelt before he sped away. "John, what happened—"

"Fuck if I know!" He snapped at you, before shaking his head and sighing.

"There was a fire at the hotel." His tone was softer now. Your stomach sank. "Our rooms were the ones that were most affected."

"You've gotta be kidding," You sighed. He didn't answer, simply kept his eyes on the road.Only when the two of you got there did you realize just how bad the situation was. The fire department was there, hosing down the inside of your room. A crowd had come to watch the firemen work.

"There goes my computer!" You groaned. John kicked the car door.

"Fuck! The x-rays and pictures!" He seemed just about ready to explode.

Your eyes drifted back to the blinding, orange glow of the fire, crossing your arms in frustration, exhaustion.

Suddenly, a tap on your shoulder caused you to turn. You were met face to face with a familiar looking young girl in a bright blue denim jacket. She looked just about on the verge of tears.

"John," You called, not looking away from her. When he saw the girl, he came up to the two of you.

He raised a finger at her. "You're Do—"

"My name is Lia Choi," She declared, voice wobbly, "You have to protect me."

You quickly ushered Lia into the back of the car. When you closed the door, John raised an eyebrow at you. "She might know something," He murmured.

"I know," You answered. "She seems terrified."

He nodded. "You hungry?"

"Um… yeah, why?"

"I'm starving," He admitted, gnawing on his lips. "Let's get something to eat and question her there."

"How the hell are you thinking about food at a time like this?"

He raised an eyebrow, making a face. "What, and you aren't?"

You rolled your eyes, but didn't disagree.

The car ride took about ten minutes, and you pulled into the small diner with little to no issue. By then, it was a little past midnight, so it was starting to empty out. It had started raining again. You sat next to Lia, as she seemed somewhat more intimidated by John. He paid for some burgers and fries for the three of you, and then Lia finally spoke.

"I… There's something in the woods."

You exchanged glances with John, who rested his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers. "What do you mean, something in the woods, Miss Choi?"

The young girl shook her head, looking sheepish. "Please, just call me Lia," She said.

Taking a deep breath, you flashed him a look that said let me try. "Lia, do you know that there's something in the woods, or is it just a feeling?"

She stared at the table, looking for words. "I've never actually… seen anything. Not really. But I… I have these dreams. They're not like normal dreams, I-I have no idea how to explain it, but they just feel so… wrong. It's like my body's vibrating the entire time, a-and when I wake up, I'm there. In the woods. Every time. They—they've started happening more and more, and I don't know what to do, I-I'm just so—"

"Woah, slow down there, kid," John said, holding up his hands. She'd started rambling, and it didn't take a genius to say that she was on the verge of tears. His dark eyes looked gentle, sympathetic. "Deep breath, Lia."

She let her eyes close, breathing slowly. "I'm sorry," She mumbled. "I just don't know what to do anymore."

Looking at John again, you spoke up. "We understand," You answered softly, "Can we ask you some more questions?"

As she nodded, the one waitress working the place, who looked one strong gust of wind from falling over, set down your three plates. Sticking a fry into your mouth once the waitress left, you met eyes with the young girl.

"You said, 'I've never seen anything, not really.' What do you mean by that?"

Lia poked at her fries, not seeming that interested in the food. She pursed her lips, before sighing. "I… We saw something, once. I think. My friends were all out there—celebrating graduation. It was… maybe 11:30? I-I can't really remember. But we saw a bright light, and then this huge thing flew over us. When it was gone… Kaya checked her watch. It couldn't have been more than ten seconds after, but her watch said it was almost 2 AM, and then Chenle checked his watch, and so did Jisung, and… they all said the same thing.

"I didn't think much of it. I tried not to. I thought we just missed the time going by, somehow. But then Nancy and Chenle got into the crash, and then Kaya turned up dead in the woods… Then Jisung, and now Alex…" She shook her head, blinking back tears. "It can't all be a coincidence."

"How old were you when that happened, Lia?"

"I was 17. I'm turning 21 in June."

John stared at her for a long time. "...And why did you decide to call me when you heard about Nancy's death?"

Oh?

You raised an eyebrow to look at Lia, who looked down. "They called my dad about it, and I know that Nancy's death has to do with whatever's in the woods. M-my dad, he… He keeps telling me he can keep me safe. But I don't think he can."

"So you called us?"

She nodded, not looking up at either of you. John and you exchanged a glance.

"Lia," You asked lowly, "Do you think your father—"

Your words died when blood began to spew from the girl's nose, your eyes widening and John's expression growing alarmed. He reached for the napkins, handing them to you to hand her quickly. Her eyes shut and her brow furrowed, obviously distressed. John pursed his lips.

"Does this normally h—"

"Lia Choi."

The three of you turned your heads to see Aaron Choi and the police chief standing next to each other, glaring at you and John.

Dr. Choi walked over to Lia, handing her another napkin. "Sweetheart, come on, let's go home."

John narrowed his eyes. "I don't think she wants to leave."

"I don't give a shit about what you think," The man snapped. He turned back to Lia, "Let's go home. You'll be safe there. Remember, I said that Chief Zhong and I would keep you safe—"

You exchanged a glance with John. You could see the gears turning in his head. Skywalker moment. "You’re Chenle Zhong's father?"

The chief scowled at him. "You stay away from my boy. He has no business in any of this."

Dr. Choi managed to pull away, with minimal protest from Lia. She managed to give the two of you one last apologetic glance before being pushed out the front door by your father.

"You gotta love this place," John grumbled, reaching for Lia's plate, "Every day's like Halloween."

"They know." You were sure of it. "Choi's been hiding evidence from those medical reports, and Zhong might just have enough authority around here to get access to our rooms to set them on fire."

"Why would they want to destroy evidence?" John asked, but it wasn't really a question. It sounded more like a parent trying to get their child to figure out something obvious on a math problem. "What could they possibly want with that corpse?"

You looked down at the table, heart pounding suddenly. When you met his eyes again, they were burning with curiosity and determination.

"Makes you wonder what's in those other two graves, huh?"

PINEWOOD MEMORIAL CEMETERY, PINEWOOD, OREGON—01:26 hours, Thursday, March 19th, 1992

Getting into the cemetery was easy. Finding the graves, with only your flashlights in the pouring rain, was a lot harder. You pored over different headstones for almost forty minutes, until John called your name.

"Did you find them?" You asked, turning to him. He was scowling down at the headstones. You didn't understand why… until you looked down to see the dirt piled up, and the two holes in the ground.

"Empty," He groaned.

"What is going on here?" You cried. John stared at the hole in the ground, before a look of epiphany dawned on his face. He turned to you, slowly.

"I think I know who did it."

You looked to the sides in thought. "Who? The chief?"

John shook his head, mouth tipping open. You leaned forward, hoping to hear his words better over the rain.

He chewed nervously on his bottom lip. "The chief's son."

When the words registered, you leaned away. All the fight in you seemed to deflate, and your face twisted into a confused mess.

"What?"

He nodded, and you raised your eyebrows. "Chenle Zhong? The boy in the hospital. The boy who's been in a goddamn coma since 1989. That Chenle Zhong? He somehow got here, dug up these graves, and is somehow responsible for the murders of four different kids?"

John's eyes fell shut, and he took a deep breath. "Nancy Goldstein was wheelchair bound but ran in front of a car, it's not entirely impossible. All of this fits a profile of alien abduction. She was killed around 9—the same time we lost time in the car."

"A profile." You crossed your arms, trying to stop the shivering racking your body. March showers in the Pacific Northwest—you wouldn’t be surprised if all of this was just a delusion induced by hypothermia.

"Look, something happened during those 10 minutes," He insisted, "Time, as we know it, stopped, and it has something to do with the forest."

You shook your head in disbelief, unable to hold back your shocked sigh. All you could do was stare, watching as John's expression hardened.

"You think I'm crazy," He murmured defeatedly, "Just like everyone else does."

He turned on his heel, starting to walk away, when a soft scoff caused him to turn back. "What?"

You wore a smile of disbelief. "The hands of Nancy Goldstein's watch stopped at 9:02," You admitted, looking up at the sky before meeting his gaze. "I made a mental note of it because of how insane the coincidence was. But…"

"The forest is controlling the kids," John said with a nod. He sounded more hopeful now, as he took a step closer. "It summons them here!"

"A-and the marks are…"

"The remainders of some sort of experiment. They put that weird chemical into the bodies—"

"Which leads to genetic mutations, like the one we saw in Alex Gallagher’s body!"

John nodded, a hopeful grin spreading across his features, the rain causing his hair to fall into his eyes. "And the woods summoned Nancy Goldstein here tonight, but the one who brought her was—"

"Chenle Zhong," You gasped. Meeting eyes with John, the two of you exchanged surprised, awed, slack jawed smiles, before promptly bursting into giggles at how silly it all sounded, the sheer absurdity of it all. Like the plot of some crappy Fox TV show.

"This—Johnny, this is insane!"

"That’s just how all the x-files work!" He exclaimed between laughter, "This isn't even half of it!"

That did it for you. The idea that there had to be something even stranger, something that paled in comparison to this. You had to reach out for his shoulder to stop yourself from falling, bending over and clutching your stomach to the point of tears. John’s laughter never let up either, not until the two of you were panting, out of breath from cackling so hard.

"I can't believe any of this," You sighed, shaking your head once more.

"It doesn't matter. As long as we're on the same page," John said with a shrug, "It'll make things a whole lot easier. Now, let's get back to the car—"

A high pitched scream filled the air, and the two of you locked eyes before darting in its direction.

Right into the forest.

Mud squelched beneath your shoes as the two of you ran. It was damn near impossible to see anything with the rain and the darkness of night, the way your flashlights swung back and forth with your running.

Your light reflected onto a piece of black metal, causing the two of you to slow down. John flashed his own light side to side, before landing on the white door of the car, the crest emblazoned on it: PINEWOOD POLICE DEPARTMENT. You sighed at the revelation, turning slightly.

"Shit," He muttered, "Do you think—?"

"John." You took a step to the side, focusing your light onto something on the ground. "Look."

When he turned his head to look at what you were seeing, you heard him inhale sharply.

Dr. Choi's body lay strewn on the muddy ground, blood streaking down his temple. You couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

Another scream pierced the air, the sound distinctly female. You exchanged a brief glance with John, before nodding in the direction the noise came from. "You go! I'll check his vitals."

"Be careful," He warned before darting off. You knelt on the ground, reaching out to feel for a pulse over the carotid artery. You let your eyes fall shut in relief when you found one a few seconds later. All you needed to do now was assess his injury.

But they snapped open when the mud squelched behind you, and when you turned your head, you saw a flash of black and beige. A loud thwack! cracked against the side of your head, and you fell to the ground, vision turning dark.

When you came to, you weren't sure how much time had passed, but it couldn't have been too long. It was still dark, and while the rain had calmed, it wasn't over yet. Sluggishly, you reached for the flashlight, and struggled to stand.

Stumbling, you tried to surmise where the noise was coming from, but the world felt like it was spinning. You were confused, disoriented, that the sudden brightness knocked you on your ass, quite literally.

Brightness?

White, seemingly industrial light lit up the forest so suddenly that you reeled back in surprise, falling into the mud. You blinked dazedly. If this were a Loony Tunes short, there would be little Tweety birds flying around your head right about now.

Still, you knew you needed to get up. So you did, still stumbling as if someone had spun you around to hit a piñata, and carried forward. The shouting had stopped now.

In the distance, where the light was the brightest, you could hear the shouting. One of the voices was distinctly John's, but as you got closer, it stopped.

And by the time you got into the clearing? The light disappeared, and so did the rain. Gone at the same time.

There were three men standing in the clearing, seemingly in a triangle. John's back was turned to you. In front of him? Someone was lying on the floor (had you not been so dizzy, you would have recognized her as Lia), and…

"Chenle?" The police chief asked, voice shaking. Your eyes turned to the young man, whose dark eyes were wide in confusion and fear. He was barefoot, clad only in a pair of gray sweatpants.

"...Dad?" He asked as Chief Zhong walked to him, before crushing the young man in a hug.

"J-John?" Your voice was small. The man in question turned to you, eyes widening at your state. He stepped towards you, face full of concern. When you buckled, he gripped you by your forearms.

"Y/N, are you alright?"

"Th-there was a light," You murmured, "It was so…"

He nodded, smiling sympathetically. "I know," He said, "But I think you have a concussion."

"Uh…" You stared at him blearily. "...You're really strong."

He held back a snicker. "Am I now?"

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—10:04 hours, Wednesday, March 25th, 1992

After a stop to the emergency room, a minor concussion diagnosis, a flight home, a few days of bed rest and finally that bubble bath (sans the wine, unfortunately), you were finally allowed to present your findings to your superiors, in the report you'd written in the past few days (you were advised to rest over the weekend, and you did just that and wrote the report all Tuesday).

You marched into that office, John already sitting in one of the two seats in front of the desk. He didn't speak while you presented your findings. Again, Chief Brooks was accompanied by the same two men.

"And what of the boy?" Division Chief Brooks asked, "Chenle… Zhang, you said?"

"Zhong," You and John corrected in unison, exchanging a sheepish glance when you both realized what happened.

"He's in custody. So are his father and Doctor Aaron Choi. He claims to not have remembered anything."

"I understand you and Chief Zhong had an exchange in the woods?" The older man asked, staring at John.

He nodded. "Yes, sir. I asked him what the need was to take the Chois to the woods, he seemed desperate—said that if it got his son back, then he'd do it."

"So, what, are we to believe all of this—the abductions and the mutations and the mind control without any concrete evidence?" The second officer asked.

"There was an x-ray of Chenle’s that revealed a small piece of metal lodged in his nose, just like Agent L/N's report mentioned with—"

"The Gallagher boy's implant, yes. But that could be anything, Agent Suh. It hasn't been surgically removed so we can't verify what it is."

John clenched his jaw. "But—"

"Agent Suh, with no evidence of the implant existing we simply cannot continue to waste bureau resources," The chief explained, "The fact of the matter is the original implant, as well as your other evidence, was destroyed in that fire and—"

"What if it wasn't, though?" You asked.

It was as if all of the air had been sucked out of the room. All four men's eyes snapped up to look at you. John’s eyes were wide in shock.

You met eyes with him briefly as you reached into your blazer pocket, placing the small vial holding the implant onto the table.

"None of the tests I ran on the implant were able to reveal what kind of metal it is," You sighed, "It all came back as inconclusive."

"I—" For the first time, the third agent spoke for the first time. "How did you manage to salvage it?"

Tilting your head back and forth, you tried to sound professional. "I kept it… on my person at all times after I extracted it. I felt it was too important to lose."

The three men exchanged a silent conversation with their eyes. You looked at John, whose expression towards you had shifted from shock to awe. You offered him a sly smile.

"Well, then." Division Chief Brooks sounded frustrated—like a father allowing his children ice cream after being worn down by them. "Considering this… new piece of evidence, I—I suppose I could authorize the continuation of the project."

You breathed a sigh of relief. John’s shoulders sagged.

"However, Agent L/N, I will expect your reports on every single one of these cases within three days of them being closed, unless medically justified. Failure to do so will result in the termination of the project."

"Understood, sir," You said.

The third man lit a cigarette, before pointing to the vial on the table. "That implant will be kept with us, it's evidence now. Any and all evidence will be handed over to us," He ordered, taking a drag.

You nodded, but something told you John wouldn't approve. He didn't say anything, but you knew he'd have something to say sooner or later.

"You're both dismissed," Division Chief Brooks told you both.

Once you were out of the office and out of earshot, John stopped in the middle of the hallway. He put his hands on his hips and stared at you.

"I—That was… Wow. Y/N, how did you even do that?"

"Honestly?" You bit back a grin before lowering your voice. "...I hid it in my sports bra."

He broke out into a shocked smile. "In your—amazing. Y/N, you’re a genius."

"Am I now?" You asked, raising your eyebrows. You started down the hallway again, and he followed. "Thank you," He mumbled.

With a wave of your hand, you shook your head. "I'm just doing my job, y’know? Plus, I enjoyed working with you, John. I think we make a... decent team."

He looked down at his feet, sticking his hands in his pockets. "Well," He said, "If we are going to keep working together, can I ask you to do something?"

"Sure," You replied. By now, you were headed down the basement steps.

"Just… call me Johnny. John feels too… formal."

"Johnny," You sounded the name out, before smiling. "Yeah, it suits you better."

X-FILE 144-A: THE BELDAM'S GLENN BLOOD RITUALS

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE EVERETT TURNPIKE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—07:32 hours, Thursday, February 11th, 1993

"Brief me again on this case?" Johnny sighed as he drove ahead, "I was too tired when you explained on the flight here."

You nodded, rubbing your eyes and putting on your glasses. Outside, rain hit the roof of the car, and the sky was that bluish gray tinge of an early morning drizzle. That, paired with the soft guitar from the radio along with Robert Smith's voice made for gentle ambience.

I don't care if Monday's blue

Tuesday's gray and Wednesday too

Thursday, I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love...

Pulling out the folder from your bag. Truth be told, you were tired too—you'd been called just before 3 in the morning by someone at the bureau telling you you'd been assigned to work a murder case in Beldam's Glenn, New Hampshire. A fairly small town, less than 10,000 people.

You'd had an hour to pack some clothes, then take a taxi to the bureau to grab some things from the office and pick up the file briefing the incident. Then, just before four you arrived at Reagan International, where you met a seemingly bedraggled Johnny. His suit was a bit wrinkly and there were dark circles rimming his eyes.

By now, you'd been working with Johnny for almost a year. You'd learned in that time that he did not enjoy waking up before 5 AM.

"Good morning," You'd greeted, and he shook his head.

"It's not morning yet, and it certainly isn't gonna be a good one," He'd grumbled in response.

"Okay, Oscar the Grouch."

Now, in the car, flicking through the folder, you read out loud the information. A fifteen year old boy identified as Mark Lee had been found dead in the woods, near an area rumored to be where satanic cults practiced blood magic. His eyes and heart missing, torn clean out.

"...Ouch," Johnny muttered, stifling a yawn.

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Ouch."

"Any witnesses or anything?"

"No," You mumbled, reading over more details. One in particular caught in your eye. "Huh… Additionally, animal tracks in the form of hooves, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, were found leading to Lee’s body."

Johnny tilted his head. "Hooves?"

You hummed in confirmation.

He raised his eyebrows, facing you for a second before turning his attention back to the road. His eyes were wide. Somehow, you already knew what he was going to say. "Do you think there's a small possibility—"

"No."

Johnny huffed. "Oh, come on! Y/N, humans are innately spiritual beings. Is it so crazy to think that just maybe a creature akin to a demon could exist?"

"I don't know, Johnny. Maybe there is. But I think now that the middle ages are over and we have more logical explanations for things like this, we shouldn't immediately jump to conclusions."

For a long time, he didn’t speak. Another thing you learned during your time with Johnny was that while it was relatively easy to smother his wild conclusions during calmer discussions, it was damn near impossible to get him to let go of them completely. You knew he'd mention it again later, but for now, you were content to just drive like this with him. You were… comfortable with Johnny.

He had a sort of dry wit that, paired with his suave persona, made him incredibly charismatic. Once you got to know him better, it surprised you that no one around your department of the bureau really liked him.

Dressed up to the eyes

It's a wonderful surprise

To see your shoes and your spirits rise...

He shrugged. "Maybe you're right. Look, there are the cop cars."

Johnny pulled over on the side of the road, one man holding an umbrella seemingly waiting for you both. You looked at the man in the driver's seat, and he nodded toward the back seat. "There's an umbrella in the back."

"Thanks," You said, grabbing the thing. You both stepped out of the car, tugging the vinyl umbrella open. You did a once over of the officer—sheriff, actually, once you saw the badge on his chest. Johnny stood behind you and grabbed the small umbrella from you, so that he could fit under it.

"You're the FBI guys?" The sheriff asked. The two of you pulled out your badges, presenting yourselves. He offered a smile, but it was obvious the middle-aged man was shaken up.

"My name is Bill McNamara," He said, beginning to walk towards the trees. The two of you followed. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

He led you to a spot crowded by a few more officers scattered across the space, a white sheet hiding the body, a few feet away from a large, mossy cracked tree stump, so wide it was probably older than 100 years when it fell.

"Is this Mark Lee?" Johnny asked, and Sheriff McNamara nodded. Another officer peeled the sheet back. The poor boy was, in fact, missing his eyes, and there was a large hole in his chest. Even after several years as an MD and an FBI agent, corpses still filled you with dread.

Johnny, in his proximity from behind, nudged you slightly and pointed to the ground next to the boy.

"So," You said, turning your attention back to the officer once you noticed the hoof tracks, "Have there been any reports of missing animals in the area? Cows, sheep?"

"...Goats?" Johnny added. You nodded stiffly. Sheriff McNamara shook his head. When he spoke, he seemed resolute.

"They say this area is popular for blood rituals, witch's magic. Now, these rumors have been around for years—since I was a kid, actually."

"Any basis to those rumors?" You asked. The Sheriff gave you a look.

"Agent L/N, just look at the body!"

"Lots of homicides involve victim desecration," You pointed out, "Is there anything else that might point to that?"

The sheriff put his free hand on his hip. "I know he and his friends listen to that disgusting devil's music."

"I didn't like Madonna's latest album either, but I don’t think it's bad enough to call it that," Johnny mumbled sarcastically. You gave him a subtle elbow in the ribs, flashing him a dirty look. The sheriff didn't seem to notice his banter.

"No, I'm talking about that heavy metal stuff. It takes root in our children, poisoning their minds."

He led you over towards the tree stump. Johnny took a more serious approach. "Have Mark Lee or any of his friends ever been spotted at any of these supposed rituals?"

"More rumors," You muttered. The sheriff shook his head, stopping in front of the stump.

"Not that I know of," He said, before gesturing at the stump, "This is allegedly their altar. What do you think?"

Johnny's seriousness seemed to only last in short bursts, because he fired back with, "Honestly? With a few rounds of sandpaper and some cans of shellac, it'd make a pretty nice coffee table."

The sheriff replied, "Oh… Uh… Well, from the looks of this wax on it, it was probably being used when he died."

You rolled your eyes, turning your head to the side in embarrassment. But then a flash of white, and translucent pale yellow on the ground caught your eyes.

"Do you know if Lee was out here with anyone?" Johnny asked, not saying anything as you stepped out from under the umbrella. You heard the sheriff say, "We presume he was alone."

"You sure?" You asked, picking up the library card, and the piece of wet paper. "This Franklin Pierce High library card belongs to… Haechan Lee. And the paper here is torn at the stamp so that it doesn't say which library it's from, but it's safe to say that it's from there. The title at the top is torn, too, but it says '...In America'."

You stepped back under the umbrella, raising an eyebrow as you handed them to him. "I'm surprised your people missed this."

The sheriff balked, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I'm sorry, Agent L/N," He murmured, "I'll admit, we're all a bit… shaken up here. This isn't something that we've ever dealt with, which is why I called the FBI. I'll have my men escort you to Franklin Pierce. That kid, Donghyuck Lee… He's Mark’s best friend. He's most likely there."

The sheriff stalked off, and you raised an eyebrow at Johnny before lowering your voice. "Better hide your Metallica albums… I could barely take him seriously."

He shrugged. "Well, the body's clearly displayed in a ceremonial manner. Plus, those goat tracks are highly unusual, Y/N."

"I was under the impression he made you skeptical once he started speaking," You hummed, crossing your arms. He shook his head.

"I didn't wanna feed his imagination. Poor guy's clearly overwhelmed."

"I think he fed your imagination, Johnny. This is nothing but some murderer taking advantage of local folklore. I mean, there's nothing that odd about—"

The sound of slapping and bouncing against the vinyl of the umbrella caused you to jump back, crashing into Johnny's chest. Your shoulders tensed up as Johnny dropped the umbrella and let out a startled, "What the—"

You caught the umbrella as it fell from his hands, but it was too late for him. Something large, wet and brownish green hit him in the forehead before landing on the ground and flopping away.

Your mouth dropped open and you met Johnny's equally shocked expression as you both registered the multitude of toads raining down on you.

A few seconds later and it stopped, but now the ground was covered in toads, now jumping away in different directions. Neither you nor Johnny spoke for a good fifteen seconds, until he wiped his forehead free of… mucus. Your shoulders dropped slowly when he finally spoke.

"So… wanna get coffee before we head over to the school?"

Your face dropped from confusion to disbelief. "Johnny, toads just fell from the sky."

"Yeah, but I still want coffee."

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—09:04 hours, Thursday February 11th, 1993

Coffee on the table, you sat at a desk situated in the school office. Your laptop, the case file and a copy of today's newspaper were laying on top of it. A few feet away from you, the school psychologist and the secretary you'd borrowed the desk from were speaking to each other. You paid them no mind, looking over the file as you typed up your preliminary report.

You continued typing until the door opened, Johnny stomping in tugging a scrawny looking teenage boy—who was most likely Haechan Lee—by the upper arm. Two girls followed meekly behind, as well as a middle-aged woman, who you assumed was a teacher. All three of the kids seemed to be on the verge of tears. You raised an eyebrow at the sight. Johnny looked pissed off, and he asked the psychologist in a clipped tone, "Hey, Doyoung, could Agent L/N and I use your office to talk to the kids?"

Doyoung looked at the boy in Johnny's grip, then at the secretary, then you, before he nodded. Johnny opened the door and made a motion for the kids to go inside. "Sit down at that table. Don't speak unless spoken to," He ordered, tone stern. You gnawed on the inside of your cheek at his voice as you stood. What had gotten into him?

You pulled him away from the doorway, lowering your voice. "You good?"

Johnny sent the boy a glare before sighing. "Kid tried jumping out the window in front of the entire class to escape. I'll calm down. Just pisses me off that he thought something that stupid would work."

You bit back a smile, patting him on the shoulder. "Pull it together, Suh. He can't get away like this."

Johnny nodded, looking down at you warmly. "Ooh, last name. I'm in trouble."

"Shut up," You huffed, only half-joking. You were about to turn when you remembered something you'd read from the cover of the newspaper.

"By the way," You murmured, "National Weather Service reported tornadoes in northern Massachusetts early this morning. The toads probably got picked up from the winds."

Johnny sighed, before walking into the psychologist's office.

He turned to the woman. "Mrs. Walker, we'll take it from here, go on back to the other kids in your class."

"Are you sure?" She asked, pushing a black, stray hair back into her tight bun. Johnny nodded.

"The one day I'm called in to sub and all of this happens," She muttered to herself.

You spared a glance at the middle-aged woman, giving her a polite smile. She did the same, and you followed behind Johnny, pulling out your tape recorder from your pocket and closing the door behind you.

Johnny crossed his arms and leaned against the door, you standing in front of the table and setting the tape recorder on the table.

"This is going to be recorded," You told them. None of them protested, so you hit the record button.

"So, let's get this out of the way," Johnny began, "None of you are under arrest. We just want to ask you some questions. First, I want you to state your names for the record. Understood?"

They all nodded, and they introduced themselves: the dark haired, tan boy was in fact Donghyuck Lee, the shorter curly haired girl was named Amy Espinoza, and the taller redheaded girl was named Phoebe Howard.

The questions were basic and thus, so were the answers. Donghyuck and Mark were childhood best friends, but not related. Mark introduced Amy to him with Phoebe's help. Donghyuck took the book Witch Hunt: A History of The Occult in America out because he and Mark wanted to make the whole thing seem legit. When asked why they really wanted to go out there, Donghyuck looked down. He held his hands together between his thighs.

"We wanted to… you know."

"We really don't," You said, raising an eyebrow. He looked like he wanted to sink into the earth then and there.

"Mark and I had a bet that whoever got past second base with the girlsfirst would do the other's biology homework for the rest of the year."

Amy nudged Phoebe. "Told you," She grumbled quietly. Phoebe glared at her.

You continued the interrogation. The incantation taken from the book was apparently one meant to summon Azazel. They'd gone out there just before midnight because the book said that was the best time.

Donghyuck insisted they didn't kill him. "I'll let you search my car and everything, that's how we got there."

"Did you see what happened?"

Phoebe took a shaky breath, before burying her face in her hands. Amy nodded. "...We did. We ran but it had already… gotten to Martin."

You and Johnny exchanged a glance. "It?" You asked.

Donghyuck nodded. "Lady, you're gonna think we're bullshitting you—"

"Language," You and Johnny scolded in unison. Donghyuck at least had the audacity to look embarrassed.

"We got out there," Amy continued, "Martin lit a candle on the stump and did the incantation. The wind… changed. It suddenly got a lot colder and we started hearing… I don't even know."

"It sounded like, I guess what you would call speaking in tongues," Donghyuck said. "And then suddenly, there was this thing a few feet away from us. Maybe over six feet tall, and at first I thought it was a goat, but… it wasn't."

"What did it look like?"

Phoebe cried even harder, and the other two exchanged a weary glance. "It had… glowing orange eyes, and long dark hair." Amy shuddered. "It looked like it had goat legs, but a human torso. It was like…"

"It had a… a woman’s chest," Donghyuck mumbled. Your eyes landed on Phoebe, who seemed to be extremely upset. You exchanged a glance with Johnny. He seemed to understand what you were saying, and nodded wordlessly.

"Phoebe, are you alright?" You asked, feeling that something was up. She was shaking like a leaf. With a sigh, you turned the recorder off, and pointed at Amy and Donghyuck. "Both of you, wait outside on that chair. Don't move."

The two of them left, and you nodded at Johnny to sit next to you.

"Phoebe," Johnny said softly, "Is there something going on that the other two don't know?"

She wiped her eyes, lip wobbling. You put a hand on his shoulder, taking over. "No, there isn't," She mumbled, "I'm just… this whole thing's freaked me out."

Johnny raised an eyebrow, and you sighed. She didn't sound very convincing. Something wasn't right here. Still, you knew it would be hard to get anything out of her when she was so upset.

"Alright. You—you're free to go." You took a deep breath, hesitating before you spoke again.

"...But if you do want to tell us anything, you can come to us and we can—we'll speak off the record, if it makes you feel better."

Johnny frowned. "I think maybe—"

You flashed him a strong glare, cutting him off, before turning back to Phoebe. She sniffled, eyes darting between the two of you. When she settled on you, she allowed herself to relax a little bit more than when she'd been looking at Johnny. She nodded wordlessly, fiddling with a silver charm bracelet on her left wrist, and you gestured towards the door. "Go wash your face, drink some water. Tell your friends they're free to go. 'Kay?"

She gave a small smile at your gentler tone. Once she was gone, Johnny was on you. "We could have pressed her further. Why did you even offer to go off the record if we haven't ruled her off as a suspect, that's breaking bureau protocol—"

"We'll talk about this later," You answered as you stood. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched the three teenagers leave.

He lowered his voice as you opened the door. "Y/N, I can't believe—"

"You're letting them go?" The secretary—Beatrice, you believed was her name—asked, glaring at you. Her coiffed blonde bob bounced as she shook her head disapprovingly. Immediately, Johnny straightened.

"There's not enough evidence to keep them here," He said, "Besides, they're minors. It's always tricky with them."

"It's so obvious that they did it." Doyoung crossed his arms, "They've clearly been influenced by all that stuff on MTV."

You sighed. "The FBI recently concluded a years long study researching any correlation between homicides and media consumption and found that it only occurs in 0.01% of cases. If there were any it would mean thousands of people murdering tens of thousands of other people. It'd be the biggest conspiracy in human history."

Doyoung scoffed, giving you a mocking glance. "Yeah, and J. Edgar Hoover never admitted the existence of the mafia. Really trustworthy source, the FBI."

Johnny barely contained his scoff. He glowered at Doyoung as he gently pushed your upper back towards the door.

"Our investigation is ongoing."

ROSE GARDEN HOTEL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—19:57 hours, Thursday, February 11th, 1993

Johnny's door opened to a sight of you, no makeup, in sweatpants and hair tied up. You took in his appearance. He had on a similar pair of sweatpants, and a white t-shirt. His hair was pushed back, and he was wearing his reading glasses.

"What's up?" He asked, letting you in.

"I found something," You murmured, holding up your laptop as he closed the door. You sat at the foot of the bed, and he sat next to you. You opened the laptop, green text flashing onto the screen. His shoulder brushed yours due to the proximity.

"'The grisly discovery of a young boy's mutilated body in the woods in the early morning has local law enforcement worried about the organization of conspiratorial dark forces.'"

He nodded. "Okay, is that from this morning's newspaper?"

You didn't answer, but rather read another quote from the article. "'The Jew is known to sacrifice teenagers and remove their organs during their religious rituals.' This is from a Nazi newspaper, from 1934. I found another similar case from 1967, where they pinned it on LSD users. The details are always the same, they just fill in the blanks with whoever was being persecuted at the time."

Johnny met your eyes. "And this time, it's occultists."

"Maybe this is some hidden organization, but I'm not sure. But something's just… not right. I have a bad feeling."

"Something to do with that girl?"

You nodded. "Is there anything you picked up? Something I might not have noticed?"

He chewed on his lip. "Now that you mention it, I did notice something a few minutes ago, but it doesn't have to do with her. Come on."

He stood, and you set the laptop down on the bed before following him to the bathroom door, where he flicked the light on.

"So, we're in the northern hemisphere." He marched to the sink, leaning over it.

You leaned against the doorframe. "Last time I checked, yes."

He pressed the plug into the sink drain, before turning on the faucet. "The Coriolis Effect dictates that due to the Earth's rotation, water should swirl clockwise, right?"

You nodded, having an idea of where this is going. He motioned for you to come closer. He turned off the faucet. By now, some water had filled the sink just enough. He removed the plug, and you watched as the water went down, whirlpool swirling counterclockwise.

"Johnny—"

"Something is here, Y/N. It's strong enough to affect this, then who knows—"

"Johnny, the Coriolis Effect works on storms and large bodies of water. Sinks and bathtubs usually don't fall under—"

He groaned, tipping his head back. "Of course," He grumbled, "It's been like this since day one."

You squeezed your eyes shut in frustration. Yes, in your time working with Johnny, you'd seen some truly unexplainable things. A pyromaniac that could light things on fire with his mind, a prehistoric parasite that turned its host violent, a serial killer that entered houses by squeezing his body through impossibly small spaces like an octopus.

But still, you always had your doubts. "Johnny, once cases are over and we have our explanations, and I've seen things for myself, have I ever not believed you—"

"You don't trust me during these cases, Y/N, that's what matters! It's always been like this, I'm always right, but you never believe me, you go off and write your little notes about me like I'm some field experiment—"

You frowned and crossed your arms. "Johnny—"

"Have I ever gotten anything wrong? 90% of the time, my conclusions are the correct ones—"

"We come to those conclusions together! Don't start taking credit for them now."

"Oh, so you believe it only when your name is also on the report, huh?"

"Don't twist my words, Johnny. You know what I mean. I believe my conclusions first, and then I listen to yours and based on circumstantial evidence and once I discard all logical scientific explanations, then I turn to the extraordinary. I don't jump to conclusions like you do!"

"Why can't you be a good friend for once and fucking listen to me—"

"Because I'm not your friend, Johnny! I'm your fucking coworker!"

The silence that filled the room once you were done was deafening. It was only then that you realized how loud you'd gotten. The shocked disappointment in Johnny's eyes seemed to be even louder, though.

Immediately, you realized your mistake. Yes, you'd grown close to him, but that was necessary for working well on these assignments. Keeping your work life and your personal life separate was paramount for you. Evidently, Johnny didn't feel the same, and as a result, you'd hurt him.

For a long time, no one said anything. Simply staring at each other, small space ripe with tension. Your eyes softened when he looked away from you, leaning his back against the counter. You took a step closer, until he was right in front of you.

"Johnny, I—"

"Can you get out, please?"

You stared at him for a few moments, trying to think of something to say.

Ultimately, you didn't. You took a deep sigh, and grabbed your laptop on the way out.

Being an FBI meant you had little to no personal time, working pretty much 7 days a week and being on call for anything at any time, in any part of the country. You knew that when you started your training.

You'd entered with a statement and left with a question. Could you really call Johnny a friend? You really only saw him during work. You didn’t meet outside of it—but considering how much you worked, always on call and spending nights holed up with him in hotel rooms or in your office going over evidence of different cases, at what point did you start spending more time at work than at your day to day life?

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—10:11 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

You were looking between the notes you’d scribbled down on a small notepad using a pen you’d stolen from Johnny the day before. It was while you were transferring them to the report on your computer that you jumped in your seat when the office door burst open. Mrs. Walker guided a sniffling Phoebe Howard into the room. Johnny, who had been speaking to Doyoung to ask him about other students, turned his head.

Doyoung held up a hand, to which Johnny nodded, and the shorter man walked over to the two of them. "Phoebe, are you alright?"

She shook her head, breaking into tears again, unable to speak. Doyoung turned to Mrs. Walker, who simply patted her head. "Lab project," She murmured, "They had to dissect pig embryos. She just… broke down. I've seen it happen before. Some kids are just more sensitive than others."

"No, no, it's not that," Phoebe blubbered, "Can I…"

Despite everything that had happened last night, when you looked at Johnny, you saw he'd done the same. A tense, knowing stare was shared between the two of you, and then Phoebe spoke.

"Can I speak to Agent L/N please?"

Your head snapped to her when she said your name. You stood, and nodded.

You lead her out the door while ignoring Doyoung’s frown and Mrs. Walker's confused look. Johnny followed behind at a distance.

The three of you went out the door, to the outdoor lunch tables. You had Phoebe sit down, Johnny and you remained standing.

"What is it you wanted to talk about, Phoebe?" You said gently.

She took a shaky breath, rubbing her hands together. "So… Do you know who my stepdad is?"

Thinking back to when you'd made a basic profile on the three kids yesterday afternoon, you nodded. "He's the gym coach here, right? Grant Howard?"

She nodded. "So… he married my mom when I was 6. And he adopted me when I was 8. One year after that my mom got a new job, a-and she started travelling a lot, y'know? So I was alone with him a lot more. I-I don't know when it started, but…"

The sinking feeling in your chest grew as she started to cry again.

"S-sometimes when she wasn't here, h-he would invite people over. They'd come i-in with these red cloaks and they—would bring small animals. Kittens a-and puppies, birds sometimes… They would take me down to the basement, to a room where the walls are painted red and there's this dirt floor, and they would—they would stand in a circle and sing and they would give m-me knives, o-or screwdrivers and…"

You sat down next to her, rubbing her shoulder as she let out a gut-wrenching cry. Looking at Johnny, the hand that wasn't in his trench coat pocket was balled into a fist. He was looking down, eyebrows furrowed.

"I didn't want to!" She wailed, "They would hurt me if I didn't, they said they would hurt my mom if I said anything! I had to be the one to kill the animals and then they w-would drink the blood—I don't know how I blocked it out or why I never remembered it until Mrs. Walker put the—the pig on the table, and I… I… I just…"

"It's okay, honey," You murmured, nodding. She buried her head into your shoulder, sobbing freely, and you rubbed her back to soothe her.

Again, you looked at Johnny, who didn't look at you. You realized just how difficult it would be to keep this off the record—this was something that involved a child being abused, you couldn’t let her go home to a dangerous situation.

This just got a whole lot more complicated.

HOWARD RESIDENCE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—15:49 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

Phoebe was to remain at school. Donghyuck and Amy would pick her up, and she would spend the night with Amy. She wouldn't be going home until the situation was thoroughly investigated. She'd been left with Doyoung, who would speak to her as a mandated reporter, and would later go back to attempt to finish the project. You left her your number in case she needed to speak to you again.

You'd spoken to Mrs. Walker as her final class was out, just before you and Johnny left. The lab was spacious. A large python lay sleeping in a glass case in the corner of the room. The space was ripe with the smell of blood, which didn't surprise you, given the amount of pig embryos she was having her students dissect all day long.

The woman had a soft voice, and seemed very sympathetic to Phoebe's struggle. "I absolutely understand, I might have her do something else for her grade, but I'm afraid I might not be able to find any other activity on such short notice."

You nodded, sighing. "Of course. Thank you for considering, regardless."

Your eyes fell to her desk, where a small basket of random items glinted with a small charm bracelet, the same bracelet you'd seen on—

"Ah, the students usually ask me to hold onto their things when we get messy like this," She said with a smile when she noticed where you were looking. "You said you're a doctor, so you understand, right?"

"Oh, yes. I can't really wear anything at all," You said with a soft chuckle.

"Not even a ring? Oh, your husband must be disappointed."

You felt your face heat up, scratching your neck awkwardly. "I'm not married."

She smiled. “Oh, good for you then. It’s literal hell. And, you get to ogle your partner all day.”

You choked on your spit, coughing awkwardly. “I-I’m sorry, what?”

She laughed, waving her hands, “Oh, Agent L/N, don’t be so modest. You can’t deny that Agent Suh is an absolute dish. Why, if I were 25 years younger… oh my, the things I would—”

“I really must be going, Mrs. Walker,” You insisted quickly. “I’ll contact you should I have any other questions for you."

“Could I have your phone number, in case anything comes up? I-I’ll admit, this whole situation has frightened me a bit.”

You nodded sympathetically, ignoring how uncomfortable you’d felt a moment ago. Pulling out Johnny's pen and your notepad, and you jotted down your number there.

“Y/N?” A knock sounded, and Johnny popped his head in the door. “We need to go.”

“Yeah, I know,” You replied, tucking the notepad back into your pocket. You bid Mrs. Walker goodbye, and off you went, kitten heels clacking as you went.

As for your time with Johnny? The entire ride there was tense.

“Were you expecting that?” He asked a few minutes into the ride. You raised an eyebrow.

“The secret cult that forced a nine year old girl to murder puppies and kittens?” You answered in a clipped tone, “No, John. I can’t say I was.”

He hummed. "Okay… no tape recorder today?"

"I forgot it. Left it at the hotel."

He nodded, and that was that.

Her mother and adoptive stepfather were, to say the least, shocked at their daughter's confession. You spoke to the girl's mother in the living room, Johnny spoke to her father. Mrs. Howard, whom Phoebe had insisted had never said anything was beside herself, crying as she spoke to you.

“Mrs. Howard, you’re absolutely sure you’ve never witnessed any violent behavior from your husband?”

She nodded, sniffling. “He’s always treated me and Phoebe very kindly. In front of me, at least.”

You hummed, looking down at the carpeted floor. “You said this is your husband's house, and he’s lived here longer than you have? Have you been in all parts of the house? Is there maybe an area a guest might not know about?”

She looked up at the ceiling in thought. “After hearing what Phoebe told you both, it made me realize that I’d never been in the basement. Grant’s always said that was his woodworking space, and he didn’t want anyone in there.”

With a nod, you looked at her. “Could my partner and I maybe take a look at--”

A commotion from the kitchen cut you off.

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING OF THE SORT! I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE ACCUSING ME OF, SUH!”

You shot up, and so did Mrs. Howard, just in time to see Grant Howard push Johnny into the cabinet. Your training kicked in, and you stepped between the two, holding up your hands to placate the man.

“Calm down, now,” You growled, dangerously low, “Or I will place you under arrest for assault of an officer.”

“Grant,” Mrs. Howard called, “Breathe.”

“Leave, both of you! If you want to see my basement, get a damn warrant and you’ll see there’s nothing down there!”

You tugged Johnny away by the wrist, leaving out the front door. “What happened?”

Johnny shook his head in aggravation. “I asked to see the basement, said that it would clear my suspicions of him. He said he didn’t hurt Phoebe, and I said I didn’t believe him. Then he snapped, grabbed me by the collar and shook me.”

He unlocked the car. “Should we try and get that warrant?”

You got into the passenger seat, shrugging. “I can do it.”

Johnny nodded. “Hopefully we’ll find—”

A ringing from Johnny’s phone caught him off guard. He fished the phone out from his pocket, answering, “Suh.”

“Sheriff, what’s going on?”

You could hear him through the speaker, and you didn't like what you heard.

"We'll be there right away," Johnny said, face turning serious.

ROOM 471, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—17:37 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

"You're saying she just… had a seizure?"

"I was sitting at the desk, and she was about halfway through the dissection when she just… collapsed on the floor," Mrs. Walker said, voice trembling, "She was shaking and her eyes were rolled up into her head… Agent L/N, it was terrifying."

You sighed and looked at Johnny, who was speaking with the sheriff. When you looked back at Mrs. Walker, she was shaking her head. "I feel a dark force is among us, Agent L/N," She murmured, putting a hand on her chest, "So many horrible things in such a short span of time."

"Agent Suh and I are working hard to solve the case, Mrs. Walker. I promise we're doing our best."

"Y/N," Johnny called, "We gotta go."

You bid the older woman goodbye, and she gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. Once you were out the door with Johnny, your voice lowered. "What do you got?"

"Not a lot. The Howards have been notified, but Grant Howard isn't being allowed into her hospital room."

"Who called the police?"

"Clinton."

"Clinton?"

He shook his head, grimacing to himself. "Shit, sorry. Beatrice Pratt. The secretary."

You stared at him. "Pratt and Clinton don't sound alike at all."

"Well, yeah, but…" He scratched his head and lowered his voice. "The pantsuit and the bob remind me of the first lady."

You frowned. "I wear pantsuits all the time."

"Yeah, but you don't look like Hillary Clinton."

You sighed. You didn’t have time for this, especially when he was still mad at you. "Okay. Sure, whatever. I talked to Walker. I… I'm not so sure about her."

Johnny tilted his head. "Why not?"

"I don't know. I don't have a lot to go off of, but it seems just a little bit odd that she shows up the morning of Mark Lee's death, replacing a man who apparently hasn't missed a day in a fifteen year career."

"Maybe he had an emergency. Happens to everyone."

"Johnny, he contracted flesh eating bacteria. Does that sound like something that happens to everyone?"

He didn't answer. Obviously, he hadn’t been expecting that. "Ohhh-kay, then. Let's do this. The sheriff said that the warrant should be ready within a few hours. Howard would probably beat my ass if he sees me again, so you check out that basement, and I can do the background check on Walker. Sound good?"

"Actually, I don't think you'll need a warrant."

The two of you turned, stunned, to see Grant Howard standing in front of you both. His eyes were rimmed red and he was clearly restless, shifting his weight onto his legs constantly.

"Agent L/N, I'll show you the basement."

HOWARD RESIDENCE, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—18:09 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

"My entire life," The man said, sounding tired, "I was taught that humans are no better, no worse than animals. Do what thou willst, rather than do unto others."

He pulled open the basement door, gesturing for you to go first. Immediately, you were on edge. If you had your back turned he could easily push you down the stairs or hit you in the head.

"You go down first," You ordered. He nodded understandingly. "You were saying?""My family has kept this religion for seven generations. My great, great, great, great grandfather was born in 1777, Agent L/N, and he was the one who brought us into it. We've been keeping it alive since, with two other families. It kept us in good health, we had no money problems."

When the two of you got to the bottom of the stairs, he turned the light on and you realized Mrs. Howard had been right, it did look like a normal woodworking space. Until Mr. Howard pulled a rug up from the ground to reveal a hatch, which he pulled up to reveal another set of stairs.

"I was raised to believe that Christianity was synonymous with hypocrisy. And for years, I believed that." He led you down this pair of stairs again, where he lit his flashlight. The room was a bit smaller than the basement but still large enough to keep a large group of people like Phoebe had said. Also identical to her story were the red walls and the dirt floor.

"Believed?"

"Believed," He confirmed. "I believed until I saw it in my own religion as well, not even an hour ago. When I got to the school to gather my things and was met by the heads of the other 2 families, asking me to pin the murder of Mark Lee on my own daughter. That if she were permanently affected by what just happened, we could get away with all of it. That was when I knew that I was better than an animal. I need to keep Phoebe and Linda safe."

"So one of you did murder Lee," You murmured, trying to get a solid confession. However, he shook his head. "I didn't. The others insist they didn't either."

"Who did, then?"

He sighed. "Agent L/N, you have to understand, I'm trained in these arts so I know when there’s a difference somewhere. Something is here. Something bad."

You frowned. "Alright. Did you or did you not abuse your daughter?"

"I never laid a hand on her. The others, however… they wanted to make sure she would stay quiet through fear, and they wouldn't listen to me. We have a ritual that blocks out memories, every time we would perform that ritual when we were done. The plan was to reveal the memories when she turned 18, and then allow her to join or reject the religion. It's a rite of passage."

"Why even use Phoebe in the first place?"

He shook his head. "The magic of an innocent soul is a powerful thing. It's one of the most powerful things we could ever use in our magic. That's also why we used those sacrifices. She was the youngest of all of our children. The others were all past 11 at that age."

With a sigh, you led him up back to the main basement. "Would you be willing to give me a written statement of who the heads of these families are?"

He nodded. "Of course. I just want my daughter and my wife to be safe. They believe that whatever's here wants a sacrifice. That it took Mark Lee as a warning to us, and unless it gets a sacrifice from us…"

"It'll strike again," You finished."And it won't stop." He sounded desperate. You found your notepad, but the pen was nowhere to be found. "Do you have a—"

Your cellphone ringing interrupted you. You groaned quietly, scooping it from your pocket. "Hello?"

"Y/N?" You heard Johnny's voice say. His tone was urgent. There was a faint crackle of static, but as you listened it began to get louder. "I'm at the school. You need to hurry, Y/N, there's something—!"

The static overpowered the sound of his voice, and then the call dropped. "Johnny? Johnny! Hello?"

Your heart dropped, and you tucked the phone and the notepad into your pocket. "I need to go. My partner's in trouble."

"I'll go with you," He offered.

You shook your head. "No. You're under arrest."

"What? But—"

"You just admitted to animal abuse, your complicity in child abuse and conspiracy. If I take you to the school, how do I know you won't take the other two and bolt?" You snapped. "Against that beam, there.

Pulling out some handcuffs, you forced him against the side of the stairs, where you handcuffed him to the railing. "I'll come back for you later," You growled, "Don't move."

Rushing up the stairs, and out the door, into the rain, you ran towards the car. Johnny needed you.

Your friend needed you.

FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—18:30 hours, February 12th, 1993

You burst into the school, trying to keep calm despite the horrid feeling in your gut. You eyed the office, which was right next to the main entrance. The lights were on, you could see your laptop was on. But the seat was empty, and so was the rest of the office, or so it seemed to be from where you were standing. Taking a deep breath, you pulled out your gun, and entered the office slowly.

"Hello?" You called, looking into the window of Doyoung’s office. Empty. The principal's office? Empty. Your mouth felt dry.

Where was Johnny?

"Y/N?"

In a moment your professors at the academy would've been ashamed to see, you shrieked, and turned the gun in the direction the voice came from. But when you realized it was Johnny with a styrofoam coffee cup, whose eyes had gone wide at the sight of the gun pointed at him, you lowered it.

"Don't fucking scare me like that," You muttered as you tucked the gun into its holster. A second later, you raced forward, engulfing him in a hug as you realized that he was okay.

"Y/N? What's… going on?"

You pulled away once it registered what you'd done. "Sorry," You mumbled. "What happened? Where did the thing go?"

"Y/N, what are you talking about?"

You shook your head in confusion. "You called me. You said you were in danger. My heart fell out of my ass, Johnny, what happened?"

Johnny's face contorted at your statement. "Huh? Y/N, I never even touched my phone. I was running the background check on Walker—who, by the way, is pretty much clear in the system. But… I don't know."

Staring at him, you put your hands on your hips. "Johnny, I heard your… never mind. We have to go. Howard confessed."

His eyebrows shot up. "He did it?"

"No, but he admitted to conspiracy and has names. Come on, we have to go."

For the millionth time today, you made your way from the school to the Howard residence, where you found the door was still open. As you opened the door to the basement, you looked at him.

"He's down here."Johnny turned on his flashlight, and you followed him down the steps. The room was eerily quiet, and when Johnny flashed the light at where you said he was, it was empty.You huffed at the sight of the empty handcuffs. How had he slipped out of them?

"Y/N," Johnny said, flashing the light a few feet away, "Look."

You turned to see what he was pointing at. Your eyes widened at the sight of bones, tinged pink with the small chunks of meat still attached to it.

"Do you think it might be some kind of acid?" You asked, and Johnny shook his head.

"There's no sign of a reaction on the floor," He answered, flashing the light around the basement floor. He stopped a few feet away. You felt yourself grow even more confused.

"Is that—?

""Snakeskin," Johnny whispered, "...There's a python in Walker's class."

"B-but, that's not possible," You muttered, "It would take a snake hours to consume a grown man, and weeks to digest it!"

Johnny grabbed your wrist, shaking his head at your rambling. "C'mon, Einstein," He told you, "We gotta go pay Walker a visit."

ROOM 471, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—19:01 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

The school was a lot darker than when it had been when you had been there previously. Seeing the halls, which you'd grown used to being full and lit up, suddenly so dark and empty made you uneasy.

It was raining a lot harder now. The sound of the rain pelting the roof made it harder to listen for anything. When you got to Walker's room, it was also dark. She said she'd be here until eight grading papers, but the room was empty. There were some broken beakers on one of the lab tables, and when you really strained your ears to listen, the sound of soft yet strained breathing could be heard behind the desk.

"Mrs. Walker?" You called, slowly walking towards the desk. Johnny tried the light, but to no avail. The rain must have knocked it out.

The woman was on the floor, nose bleeding and leg bent at an angle at which legs weren't meant to bend at all. She seemed to have been hit in the head, a sizable lump protruding from her temple.

"Th-the snake—" She mumbled, "They took the snake—He hit me,"

"Who, Mrs. Walker, who?"

"Kim," She spat out, "Pratt. I think they—think they killed that boy."

Doyoung and Beatrice. You and Johnny exchanged glances, and you remembered what Grant had said.

"Did you see where they went, Mrs. Walker?" Johnny asked. She blinked hazily.

"Said something about the conference room," She muttered.

"We'll call paramedics for you, okay?" You stood, trying to reassure her gently. "You'll be fine."

Johnny had already picked up the phone. Thunder crackled overhead as he dialed the number, but you could hear the busy tone all the way from where you were standing

."Damn storm is jamming the signal," He said, "Y/N, we gotta go, now."

"Johnny, what about—"

"Y/N," He growled, "Now."

Something about his tone set you off, and you did as he said. He immediately shut the door, and sped up his steps down the hall.

"What was that about?" You asked, turning on your flashlight and trying to keep up with his pace.

"Y/N, do you have that pen you borrowed from me yesterday?" He asked, not slowing down. Thunder rumbled overhead.

"What?" He had a point, probably. He always did when he got like this. "No, I dropped it I think."

"The pen was on Walker's desk. Next to the phone. Next to Phoebe's bracelet. It was my pen."

You inhaled sharply as Johnny tugged the door to the conference room open. "What are you implying?"

"Walker was clear in the system. But when I was talking to the principal yesterday, she couldn't even remember hiring her. What are the odds that a woman pops up out of nowhere the same day a murder happens?"

You pulled a filing cabinet open, looking through random folders. "Okay, yes, we agree. But what if—"

"Y/N, did you not see how tall she was?"

You shook your head, turning to pull out some papers from a file. "Sure, she's a bit taller than average, but she's shorter than you—"

"She's slouching to look smaller. Trust me, I did that when I was younger. If she stood up straight, she would be taller than me. Donghyuck said the thing that grabbed Mark was tall, had female breasts, and had dark hair. She fits the profile."

You sighed. "I mean, maybe you—"

A thud! and a groan from Johnny had you turning your head. Your flashlight landed on Johnny, on the ground, unconscious. Your body turned cold.

"Johnny—?"

But then you felt something hit you in the back of the head, and everything went dark.

Your eyes cracked open at the sensation of being dragged, and as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you realized two things.

One, you arms and legs were bound, and there was a gag placed in your mouth. You craned your head, and Johnny was in the same situation as you, only he was still unconscious.

And two, you were being dragged by Hillary Clinton.

Shit, no. Maybe you'd hit your head harder than expected. Your vision cleared up further, and you realized it wasn't, in fact, Hillary Clinton, but rather Beatrice Pratt. Doyoung was dragging Johnny, and then you realized what was going on.

These were the others that Grant Howard had been referring to. They seemingly hadn't realized you were awake yet. You were in the school gymnasium, headed towards a doorway in the corner. The room was dark, occasionally lit by flashes of lightning.

"—The showers, right?" Doyoung asked, sounding out of breath. Beatrice huffed.

"Yes. The blood will get washed away there."

You couldn’t move your hands, no matter how much you squirmed. Your eyes looked at Johnny, who was beginning to stir. His brows furrowed, mouth trying to form words.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Doyoung hummed, disdain dripping from his voice, “Lovely.”

Johnny’s eyes cracked open, immediately glaring at Doyoung, who chuckled. “Please. I’m terrified.”

“Doyoung, shut up,” Beatrice snapped. “Open the door.”

Doyoung let Johnny’s legs fall onto the floor. Johnny groaned in discomfort as Doyoung opened the door, propping it open with something.

He approached Johnny again, but before he picked him up to drag him further, he landed a swift kick to Johnny’s gut. Johnny let out a muffled moan in pain, and you thrashed against your restraints.

“You just had to come and ruin everything, huh? This is a once in a century opportunity, and you--” He proceeded to kick Johnny again, over and over, “Just--won’t--quit.”

“Doyoung!” Beatrice snapped. “We don’t have time for this. Don’t you sense it getting angrier? If we don’t sacrifice them now, it’ll take us like it took Grant.”

Doyoung turned to her, breathing heavily through his nose. “Fine,” He bit out.

They dragged you into the bathrooms, leading you to the showers, where they dumped you both next to each other. You rolled onto your side to look at Johnny, whose eyes were screwed shut in pain. His breathing was labored.

You squirmed again, trying to free yourself as the shower roared to life. Curling in on yourself as cold water soaked your body, you tried to think of a way to save both Johnny and yourself. Doyoung and Beatrice pulled out large daggers from their coat pockets, and raised their arms to the sky. They began chanting in latin, but the roar of water, the shock of the cold temperature, and the panic beginning to set in caused the words to blur together.

This was it. You and Johnny were going to die.

Until the two of them crumpled on top of you. You jumped as Doyoung’s weight toppled onto you, eyes squeezing shut in pain. His elbow had landed on your stomach. For a moment, as you lay there reeling in pain, and you wondered if this was a part of the ritual. But then…

"Agent L/N?" Your eyes shot open, and you met eyes with Amy Espinoza. She managed an awkward attempt at a polite smile, fiddling with what she was holding in her hands. Your eyes widened when you registered the shotgun. A flashlight was duct-taped haphazardly to the barrel, probably so that she could see wherever she was aiming.

"Mmh-hffpnffh?" You couldn't stop yourself from trying to speak, unable to contain your surprise.

A second set of hands turned off the shower, and you craned your neck to see Donghyuck Lee, holding an old baseball bat underneath his armpit. He pulled Beatrice off of Johnny, making a disgusted face. "I always knew there was something up with her," He grumbled, "She never laughed at my jokes."

"Yeah, 'cause you're annoying as shit," Amy countered, pushing Doyoung to the side. "Can you guys sit up?"

She untied your hands, and you got to work on untying your feet before pulling the gag off of your mouth.

"What are you two doing here?" Johnny asked, voice raspy and out of breath.

You stood up, wiping water off of your face. "Where did you get that gun?"

"Oh." Amy suddenly sounded embarrassed. "I, uh… Stole it from my dad?

"Donghyuck helped Johnny stand. "We went to visit Phoebe in the hospital, Mr. Suh—"

"Agent Suh," Johnny corrected, bringing a hand to his stomach. "Whatever. Anyway, we went to visit and once she woke up she told us something… not good."

"Mrs. Walker is the thing," Amy said. "Phoebe said she was dissecting the pig and she saw her grab the bracelet she'd given her—"

"And she did something and her eyes turned orange, like the thing we saw in the woods!" Amy continued. "The officer that was there didn't believe her, but we did."

"So we decided to take matters into our own hands," Donghyuck said. "She killed our best friend, so we thought—"

"That coming to your school with a shotgun and a wooden baseball bat, to kill a demon was the best course of action?" You didn't sound amused, and the two of them exchanged a look.

Amy looked down. "Well… when you put it like that…"

"It doesn't matter," Johnny said. "You kids need to go home now. It's not safe for either of you."

"Like hell we're going anywhere! We were able to save you guys, so—"

“You kids got lucky this one time," You pointed out, sounding stern, "Agent Suh and I are trained for dangerous situations like this. You two aren't, and we certainly aren't about to expose you kids to one. Go home."

You searched your pockets, not finding your gun. You crouched to look through Doyoung and Beatrice's pockets, handing Johnny's gun to him and putting your gun back into your holster.

"But—"

A large crack of thunder startled you all, and the ground seemed to rumble as it did. Johnny looked past you and the kids, at the end of the shower hallway, and inhaled sharply.

"Oh, that's so much worse than Hillary Clinton," He mumbled. You didn't even see what he meant, but in that split second something in you took over. You pulled Donghyuck behind you, Johnny grabbing Amy and doing the same.

At the same time, Amy aimed the gun to where Johnny had been looking, the light landing on...

Donghyuck gasped. "Holy shit."

It was like exactly what Donghyuck had said, except worse. Glowing, orange eyes, goat legs, stringy black hair. Johnny was right—standing like this, she was much taller than him. Her jaw was unhinged, open impossibly wide. She was panting heavily, hobbling slowly towards you.

You and Johnny pulled out your guns, shooting instantly. One hit her in the shoulder, the other in the stomach. Her jaw opened even further, and a blood curdling screech echoed throughout the tiled room.

Then she broke out into a run.

You forced yourself to stand still, shooting another round before she jumped over you. Out of the corner of your eye, Donghyuck swung the bat, hitting her in the leg, causing her to fall face first to the ground.

Taking that advantage, Johnny fired another round into her back. She shrieked again, and you and Johnny took the opportunity to run out the door, pushing the kids with you.

"Go! Both of you, now," You ordered once you were in the gym again. They shook their heads. Donghyuck held up his bat.

"We're not leaving without—"

"Donghyuck, this isn't a movie," Johnny insisted, "Now go!"

Amy grabbed his arm. "Hyuck, they're right, we have to—LOOK OUT!"

You turned to see what had once been Mrs. Walker stick its head out of the doorway. Amy was able to fire one last shot into it, with her shotgun. You didn’t see where it hit—the door shut and you heard one final wail.

A few moments later, the lights flickered on. You stood there, clothes dripping onto the hardwood floor for a good minute or so, until you looked at Johnny, who wore a pained grimace. "I can check," You told him. "Stay here with the kids."

"You sure?" He asked. You nodded, holding out your gun and slowly making your way towards the door. You spared the odd trio one final glance.

Johnny—soaking wet hair falling into his eyes—was standing in front of them, aiming his gun at the door. Donghyuck was holding his bat up, Amy's MacGyver-esque flashlight gun making you squint.

Then, you opened the door. You could feel your heart hammering a mile a minute. Very slowly, you scanned the room. You stopped when you glanced at the showerhead Beatrice and Doyoung had placed you under—the same one they should have been under, knocked unconscious. You swallowed a lump in your throat.

Because they weren’t there, and neither was Mrs. Walker. What you did see, however, were two large streak of blood dragged up the wall and to a window, staining the green tiles.

PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE, FRANKLIN PIERCE HIGH SCHOOL, BELDAM'S GLENN, NEW HAMPSHIRE—20:47 hours, Friday, February 12th, 1993

The four of you made your way back to the main building on high alert. The rain seemed to have stopped once the thing was gone. Amazingly, there wasn't even a cloud in the sky. Even the air felt different—cleaner.

Shockingly, this time when Johnny tried the phone again, it worked. In order, he called the sheriff, who had no issue believing the ordeal you had gone through. Then the principal, who was incredibly confused as to how four of her teachers could vanish in one night.

And then, you turned to the kids and gestured to the phone. "Alright, your turn now. Call your parents, both of you."

If they were more afraid of the murderous hellspawn they'd just helped you fight off, it didn't show. "Please just let us go now, Agent L/N," Donghyuck pleaded, "My mom will never let me leave my house again after this."

Amy shook her head. "My dad's gonna kill me if he finds out I stole the gun again."

Johnny made a face. "Again?"

She turned even paler when she realized her screw up. "I'm not going to omit witnesses from a report because you'll get grounded," You told them. "You're good kids, with good intentions. You just lost someone and had another friend go through something traumatic, we get that. But what you did tonight was incredibly dangerous, reckless, and—and—"

"Stupid?" Johnny offered.

"Johnny!" You snapped, lowering your voice. He shrugged.

You sighed, trying to get them to understand. "Alright, listen. There's a Yellow Pages over on that desk. If you don't call them, I will, or the sheriff will. Which would scare your parents less, huh? Getting a call from their kids, from the sheriff's department, or from the goddamn federal bureau of investigation?"

If they didn't get it before, they definitely understood now. Amy took the fall first, telling her dad she'd brought her car to the school, had gotten into trouble, and needed him to come by to talk to the police. She left out the gun, much to your amusement.

While Donghyuck did the same, you pulled Johnny into the hallway to speak to him.

"Are you okay?" You asked, "Doyoung seemed to kick you pretty hard."

"I'll take a few days off once we get back to DC, I'll be fine," He murmured. He leaned against the wall and winced.

You nodded, but weren't sure how to respond. Finally, you spoke again.

"Look, about last night," You said softly, and he looked up in thought.

"What about it?" He didn't seem to want to meet your eyes.

You took a step forward. "Johnny, other than when we first met, have I ever treated you like you were crazy?"

Your voice was quieter now, gentler in its approach. He looked to the side, crossing his arms. "...No."

You shrugged, before sighing. "It's not that I don't trust you. I have my scientific conclusions. You have yours. Every time I see something I can't explain I try to explain it with what I do know. Tonight was… insane, and you were right. But honestly? It just reinforced my wanting to go the scientific route every time we have a case."

He frowned. "Why? You saw Walker."

"Exactly." You crossed your arms. "If I went into every single case, expecting to see that or something even worse? God. I… I don't know how you do it, John."

He smiled, but still didn't meet your eyes. "I didn't mean what I said last night either. Y'know… that. Or at least, I didn't realize I didn't mean it until today. I… I care about you, Johnny. I really do. You're smart, and you're really funny, and you give me perspectives I wouldn't consider otherwise."

He looked at you, and you put a hand on his upper arm. "I'm glad I have a friend like you to work with," You admitted, "And I'm glad you're okay."

His smile grew, and he let out a chuckle. "There's no one else in the bureau I would rather be murdered by Hillary Clinton with," He said, with the most endearing tone possible. You burst into laughter, Johnny joining you. He stepped closer, pulling you into a hug as you continued to laugh. Your eyes shut, and despite Johnny's cold, damp clothes pressing against your cold, damp clothes, it still warmed your chest. The two of you stood together for a while, enjoying each other's embrace. His chin rested on your head, and you sighed happily. Johnny gave good hugs.

"Uhh, Agent Suh?"

Johnny and you broke away immediately. Johnny cleared his throat."Uhh, yes, Donghyuck?"Amy and Donghyuck exchanged a glance from the office doorway. "Uh, my mom said she'll be here soon. A-and I saw some police lights across the street, so…"

"Oh." Johnny straightened his tie. "Thank you."

A few seconds later, the sound of sirens came into proximity. You took a look at these two kids, and despite the stress they'd caused you, you felt an odd fondness in your heart.

“Come on, you two," Johnny murmured, "Time to go."

X-FILE 229-B: THE SAN CEFERINO SHIFTER

FBI HEADQUARTERS, WASHINGTON, D.C—07:08 hours, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

On this particular summer morning, you were enjoying the air conditioner for as long as you could wait. You'd be flying to San Ceferino, California, twenty minutes outside of San Francisco.

The assignment was at a gated community where three women had been found dead within the span of three weeks. You and Johnny would be sent in to investigate due to a strange, unidentifiable residue being found on the bodies. A local detective had contacted the bureau for help.

The kicker? For some reason, due to some sensitivities of having their community "invaded" the head of the community had requested you be placed undercover.

So what was the bureau's idea? "Moving" you and Johnny into the community, posing as a newlywed couple.

Yikes.

This seemed like a bad idea to you, but you didn't say anything. Because if you spoke up to your superiors, they'd ask why, and you'd be forced to explain.

"I got the flight tickets and our fake profiles!" Johnny entered your shared office, causing you to look up from the case file.

"Oh, nice. Who are we?"

He curled his lip, making a face. "Whoever makes up these names should be demoted, I swear to god. My name is Fox. Fox Kang. Who the hell names their kid Fox—"

You stifled a laugh as you grabbed the file from him, flipping to yours. Dana Baker. A bit ordinary, but the more inconspicuous, the better, you figured.

"God, I kind of don't want to go," You hummed, "It's hot enough as it is here in Washington. I don't wanna imagine the California heat."

"Well, suck it up," He said, but he didn't sound dismissive. "We're leaving in three hours. We still have to pick up our undercover wardrobe and get to the airport, y'know?"

Frowning at the profile, you nodded half-heartedly. It stated that your backstory was that of college sweethearts at Cornell in the 80s. He was class of 1984, you of 1986. You were moving to California two months after getting married, because "Fox" got a job offer just outside of San Francisco.

"You're staring at that paper like you're Nancy Kerrigan and it just broke your knee," Johnny pointed out, "You okay?"

"Huh?" You looked at him, swallowing. "Oh… yeah. I'm fine. I'm just a bit… unsure about the whole marriage thing."

Johnny shrugged, offering an amused smile. "Really, Y/N. We've been working together for two years and you still find me that unbearable?"

You laughed, standing and circling your desk to stand in front of him. "No, not at all. I'm just not the best when it comes to undercover work."

Johnny leaned against the desk, smiling sympathetically. "Well, I'm no Tom Hanks either. But if you think about it, we spend all our time together anyway. It's not that big of a stretch to say we might as well be."

"We definitely argue like one," You fired back. You both laughed, simply staring at each other in silence once it quieted down. Johnny's eyes studied you up and down, dark eyes warm. He was wearing his glasses today.

You wondered if he was judging your outfit, because he did that sometimes with other people. Apparently, before he became interested in criminal psychology he'd wanted to become a fashion designer, or so he told you. Six months later after he'd told you that and you still weren't sure if he was joking or not.

"What are you looking at?" You asked. He shook his head.

"...Nothing. Let's get going?"

The two of you picked up your faux suitcases—the bureau had a department full of fake clothes for agents going undercover needing to fit a certain persona. The two of you were nothing close to the white picket fence suburban life, so you were better off picking up some fake clothes.

You laughed when you saw the first outfit Johnny had been given. A pastel yellow LaCoste polo shirt, and grayish blue dress shorts. He glowered at you when he saw your face.

"Oh, yeah, very funny."

Your outfit wasn't much better. High rise, light wash jeans and another polo, this one bright red, a pair of dark red casual loafers to match. Johnny didn't laugh, but it was clear he was trying not to.

You decided to sleep on the plane. There wasn't a lot to look over, as you'd received the file the night before. By now, you knew the drill.

You dreamt you were back in that hotel room in Oregon. Johnny was kneeling beneath you, but you still hadn't taken your robe off. He was saying something, but you couldn't understand what. His eyes were full of a warm emotion that you couldn't quite place.

Until he raised his arms to try and remove the robe. This time, when he spoke, you could hear him clearly. "This is what you wanted me to do, right?"

Your hands grabbed his. "What? Johnny, I… Well…"

He stood, face impossibly close to yours. There was an odd smile on his face. "Don't worry," He murmured. "I want to, too."

Slowly, your hands let go of his and he began to pull off the robe. You didn’t protest. When you were bare, his hands slid to the skin of your waist, and he pulled you against him. His forehead pressed against yours.

"Johnny, are you sure?"

"Y/N," He said with a smile, "We are beginning our descent into LAX. Please put on your seatbelts and put up your trays."

You jumped awake in your seat, eyes impossibly wide. A laugh from beside you caused you to turn your head. Johnny was giggling into his palm.

"What?" You asked, voice raspy from sleeping.

"Oh my god, that was beautiful," He declared, "You were sleeping so peacefully and then, oh my god, that was hilarious."

"Ha, ha, ha." Your tone was devoid of any emotion. You rubbed your eyes, yawning slightly. "What time is it, here?"

"Three hour time difference. It's one PM."

You nodded. And you still had a six hour car ride. Lovely.

SOMEWHERE ALONG THE I-5, CALIFORNIA—15:22, Wednesday, July 6th, 1994

"Couldn't they have just flown us to San Francisco and have us drive from there?" Johnny complained after being cut off by yet another car.

You sighed. "Budget cuts, I guess. We're not infiltrating the mafia, or taking down human trafficking rings."

"Yeah, we just fight the boogeyman and the little green men," He agreed. You laughed.

"Do you ever wonder what it would be like if we hadn't gotten assigned together?" He sounded wistful, not taking his eyes off of the road.

"I don't know." You picked at a loose thread on your jeans. "I would probably still be teaching at the academy. I think Brooks was considering placing you with Jung if I wasn't up for it."

"Jaehyun Jung?" He turned his head, making a face. "Really? He hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," You insisted, "He just thinks like me, science before all, except… less nice about it."

"You sure?" He asked, fiddling with the radio, "Every time we're in a room together, I catch him staring at me like he's trying to shoot lasers into my head, the prick."

You shrugged. "He's nice to me."

"That's just 'cause he's trying to get into your pants."

You hummed. Jaehyun was pretty handsome. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

He coughed, shrugging. "Well, it's your love life. You do you."

The air turned awkward. Johnny fiddled with the radio, but in this particular stretch of the interstate, all that came up was a Latin beats radio. Trumpets, and soft snare drums filled the car. You immediately recognized Selena's Bidi Bidi Bom Bom, a song about a girl realizing her heart went crazy whenever her lover passed by—while you didn’t listen to a lot of Latin music, you had a friend who did and always played this song when you met up.

Me tiemblan hasta las piernas

Y el corazon igual

Se emociona, ya no razona

No lo puedo controlar

"Oh, I hate this song," Johnny mumbled, reaching to turn the radio off.

"No, wait! I like it." You pushed his hand away. He groaned, but didn't turn it off.

Y me canta así, me canta así…

Bidi bidi bom bom, bidi bidi bom bom

Bidi bidi bidi bidi bidi bom bom

So, the two of you continued on listening to Selena, Johnny silently pouting.

"So, what were you dreaming about on the plane?"

"Huh?" You cleared your throat.

"Yeah, you said my name in your sleep."

You shifted in your seat. "Oh… Um. I can't even remember."

He hummed, but didn't say anything. The drive continued on, both of you alternating between discussing mundane things and the case. All of them had been found in their homes, with no sign of a struggle—which suggested they knew their assailant. They'd all been strangled to death. No odd fingerprints could be recovered from the crime scenes.

The first victim lived alone. The other two's husbands had solid alibis that were confirmed by the police.

Which meant that it had to be someone in the neighborhood. There was reportedly a strong sense of community there, which was part of why the bureau had you going undercover.

Around six, the two of you rolled into San Francisco, for a brief stop to talk to the detective who had contacted the bureau, a woman named Wendy Son.

The two of you rolled into the precinct, and upon showing your badges, were prompted to the woman’s office. She had her light brown hair tied up in a ponytail, wearing a black pantsuit similar to what you would wear, had you not been dressed like a soccer mom.

"Oh, thank you for coming," She said once you sat down. "I have some extra material here that I wasn't able to fax you."

She pulled out a folder, setting it in front of you on the desk. Johnny opened it to reveal more images you hadn't initially seen.

"We sent the sample to Los Angeles because their laboratory has a higher capacity," She told you both, "They still weren't able to identify it, but apparently it apparently has an a mild tranquilizing enzyme. That might also be why there wasn't much of a struggle."

Johnny hummed. "There aren't any cameras in San Ceferino, are there?"

Detective Son shook her head. "Only around the perimeter and the gates."

"Maybe there's something there," You said, "Could we have access to those tapes?"

She looked back down at the pictures. "I could certainly get it to you by tomorrow afternoon, though. Come in past two and I should have it by then."

Johnny nodded and smiled at her. "That would be great, thank you."

She smiled, and you'd have to be blind to not notice the blush on her face. She handed him the keys to the house that the heads of the community had arranged to have semi-furnished ahead of your arrival. The rest would be arriving tomorrow in the morning, during which time you would go through the motions of being a newlywed couple moving into their “forever home”.

Johnny apparently was blind, though. He didn't say anything about it once you were both back in the car. You couldn't really blame her.

Johnny was… well, he was Johnny. He was incredibly handsome, and funny. Any reasonable person interested in men would find him attractive.

"Detective Son likes you," You told him as you were getting onto the road that led to San Ceferino.

"Does she?" He answered, smiling smugly. "She's pretty."

You don't know why that ignited something in you. "You think so?"

He nodded. "She seems nice. But I'm not interested."

The odd sensation in your chest simmered down. "No?"

"Not really. I'm not interested in something long distance. Plus, I work too much to have a relationship."

You nodded. "Yeah. I understand."

You arrived as the sun was setting, around seven. The two of you pulled into the gate to the place, where you introduced yourselves with your fake names to the guard. He checked his roster of approved people and let you both in.

San Ceferino consisted of four different cul de sacs, each house practically identical. The house you would be staying in was towards the end of the second one. The house was a pale pastel yellow, orange rays of the sunset making it seem a deeper color. Your car rolled into “your” driveway, and with a sigh of relief, Johnny turned the car off.

“I’m so tired,” He groaned, “Should we try and introduce ourselves today or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow,” You said, letting your head fall back against the headrest, “These people are probably all having dinner or something, it’d be weird for us to do that now.”

He nodded, and got out of the car to open the trunk. You got out to grab your suitcase, and as you were getting out you realized that just maybe the universe disagreed with your decision to wait to meet others around the neighborhood.

A woman was crossing the street. She seemed a bit older than you both but was still dressed almost identically. You walked over to Johnny, who had his back turned, and tapped him on the shoulder. “Fox,” You mumbled, “We’ve got company.”

He turned, and upon spotting the woman flashed a comically fake smile. You offered the friendliest smile you could muster, but the way her eyes lit up when doing a once over of Johnny and then drooping in disappointment once she spotted you. If she thought she was subtle, she was dead wrong.

“Hi,” She said, impossibly enthusiastic, “I’m Anne Morrison. I’m the head of the Homeowners Association.”

You nodded in greeting. “It’s nice to meet you,” You said, holding out your hand, “I’m Dana. This is… my husband, Fox.”

“Fox,” She repeated, turning to look at Johnny, “That’s a lovely name. So, what brings you two to San Ceferino?”

“Oh, I got a job offer in San Francisco a few months ago,” Johnny answered. He was good, you decided. “We looked at some houses in the city, but it’s so busy there, you know? We were living in Maryland, so the transition between small town and big city… it’s not for us.”

She nodded, eyes wide. “I absolutely understand. My ex-husband wanted to move to the city now that our kids are in college. I don’t enjoy any of the hustle and bustle, really.” She chuckled, “So guess who got the house in the divorce!”

You and Johnny exchanged a glance, then laughed as if it was the funniest thing you’d ever heard. “Oh, my goodness,” You wheezed, clutching your hand in your chest, “I can imagine!”

“So, what do you two do?”

“I’m an architect,” Johnny said.

“I’m a publicist.” You scratched at your cheek when you felt a mosquito try to land. Her eyes zeroed in on your hand.

“You two are married, right?” She asked, “How come you’re not wearing your rings?”

You froze. Did the bureau even have fake jewelry? Why didn’t either of you think of that detail?

“Oh,” Johnny shrugged, coming to the rescue. “It’s so stressful having to take everything on and off at the airport, so we decided not to wear them today. Right, honey?”

He wrapped his hand around your waist, and you nodded. “I never wear jewelry when I’m on a plane. Too much hassle.”

She nodded, mouth slightly agape. “Oh, I see.”

Johny cleared his throat. “What do you work as?”

She grinned. “I’m a chemist.”

“I hated chemistry in high school,” Johnny groaned jokingly. Anne apparently thought this was hilarious, swatting his arm. He laughed again, but it was empty, awkward. You leaned your head against his shoulder in hopes that she'd get the message.

“Well, Anne, it was lovely meeting you,” You declared, “But we’ve been awake since five in the morning travelling. We’re exhausted, we really should be getting inside.”

Anne sighed, eyes turning away from studying Johnny’s face to you. “Oh, go ahead. You two must be so tired.”

Johnny nodded, pursing his lips. “We’ll speak soon?”

She smiled. “There’s an HOA meeting on Friday night at another member's house. You should come and see what we’re all about, consider joining.”

"Swing by tomorrow!" You grinned, "You can tell us the details then."

"Of course, of course. Well, I'll leave you two to it. It was nice meeting you, Dana." She raked her eyes over Johnny one more time, "...Fox."

When she was out of earshot, Johnny pulled the suitcases out of the trunk and scrunched up his nose. "That was... awkward."

Your hand pulled up the extendable handle of the suitcase, looking back at her to see her close the door to her house, which was at the very end of the cul de sac.

You looked back at him. "So, a chemist. And she's involved with the community, everyone probably knows who she is."

He shrugged before closing the trunk. "Let's keep an eye on her. She gives me the creeps."

The two of you made sure the car was locked before making your way towards the front door. He fiddled with the keys

"She might even have a motive," He said, as you stepped inside. "Ah, c'mon, aren't you gonna let me carry you over the threshold?"

"Not the time," You said, picking up your suitcase to carry it to the bedroom. "We were talking about a motive. Evidently, she likes looking at… married men. If it's her, she might be doing it out of jealousy."

"Exactly," He agreed, following you up the stairs. "Maybe there's something else at play—jealousy or something. how old were the other victims?"

"Between 25 and 35. She didn't say how old she was, did she?" You rolled into the bedroom, sitting on the bed and immediately flopping down onto it. Johnny rolled past your room, looking for the separate bed the bureau had said would be there as well.

"Finally," You sighed with a smile. Your eyes fluttered shut, and you stifled a yawn. For a second, you considered falling asleep just like this, uncomfortable jeans be damned.

"Y/N?"

You cracked your eyes open, frowning at Johnny who was standing in the doorway. "What?"

"There's only one bed."

You almost stopped breathing for a moment. "Huh?"

He shuffled on his feet. "There's only one bed," He said, speaking slower.

"What do you mean there's only one bed?" You sat up.

Johnny sighed. "I mean there's only one bed."

"But the bureau said—"

"Well, the bureau lied," He interrupted, "Because there's no other bed."

You crossed your arms. "I could take the couch."

"That's supposed to get here tomorrow."

"Oh," You frowned. What were you going to do?

"I mean, I could sleep on the floor," You said, "So that way we don't have to sleep, you know…"

"Together?" He offered.

"In the same bed," You corrected, turning your face. It felt hot all of a sudden.

"No, I couldn't do that to you." He set his suitcase next to yours, then sat next to you. "The bed seems big enough. I'm sure we'll be fine."

You were too tired to argue further. "Sure…" You didn't sound too convinced.

"Great," He sighed, "I just gotta tell you. I snore a bit."

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—08:43 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

That night, surprisingly, you slept like a baby. You initially thought you'd overthink it all with Johnny lying right next to you but… it was comforting, knowing he was there. You hadn't slept next to anyone since you were 26.

Life as an FBI agent was demanding. Because of this, you'd given up on the idea of having a meaningful relationship ages ago. And due to the nature of your work, it was easy to throw yourself into it to drown out the desire to have someone to come home to. The fact that whenever you did get free time, if you spent too much of it alone…

But now, lying awake in the morning, seeing Johnny's sleeping face curled up into his pillow… You remembered.

He looked peaceful. Even at 33, like this he barely looked a day past 27. You could make out the details on his face, old acne scars and the occasional mole. The smile lines along his cheeks and the corners of his eyes… maybe in another lifetime, another universe, you could have gotten used to—

No. You shot up, heading towards the en suite to go to the bathroom. You were still sleepy, that was all. The time difference between Washington and California was having second effects.

You pulled down your pants, blinking sleepily, and promptly had a heart attack when you sat down. Your knees barely missed your nose, your stomach dropped, and a shriek tumbled out of your lips before you could even register what was happening.

Standing, now wide awake, you had half a mind to pull up your pants as Johnny tumbled into the bathroom, eyes wide in alarm.

"What happened?" He asked, voice raspy from disuse. You didn’t answer, but instead stared at the offending lifted toilet seat until he got the message.

"Oh…" His face turned awkward, lips tilting from side to side. "I got up a few hours ago. I must have forgotten to put it back down, sorry."

You didn't answer, yawning instead. He shrugged. "I've never… lived with another woman before, so…"

"Never?"

His eyes looked down. "...Never."

"Not even with that ex-girlfriend from Oxford you told me about?"

"Mary? No."

You held back an amused grin. "Johnny, when was the last time you even went on a date?"

He pursed his lips. "I… am starving. Do you want me to go to the supermarket to pick something up for breakfast?"

You blinked, putting your hands on your hips.

"...Breakfast sounds great."

Johnny promptly changed and left while you got into the shower. Once you were out, you brushed your teeth, did your general morning routine and waited for the car to roll back into the driveway, doing a quick background check on Anne in the meantime.

No criminal record whatsoever, but that didn't automatically discard her from your list. Mostly because she was the only one on it, so far.

Johnny rolled back into the driveway just before 9:20. You helped him take the bags into the kitchen, when he said, "Think fast!" and tossed you a small box.

"What's this?" You asked, opening the box. You sputtered at the sight: two simple gold bands. He looked at you like you were a moron.

"Wedding rings," He said, plucking one of the rings out from the box, "Hopefully so Anne lays off."

"You didn't have to go out and buy actual—"

"It's fake gold." He waved his hand dismissively, sitting down at the island and slathering an ungodly amount of cream cheese across a bagel.

You settled on some coffee after hesitating to put on the ring. As you were finishing up, a knock at the door caught your attention. You looked at him, and he shrugged. "Moving van won't be here till 10:30."

So, you sighed, but still headed to the door. Johnny followed behind, second bagel in hand. When you swung the door open, you were met with Anne and a man you hadn't met yet. A wide Cheshire grin was plastered onto her face.

"Dana, hi!" She greeted. Her eyes landed on Johnny. "Good morning, Fox."

"Morning, Anne," You said with a nod, catching her attention again. You turned your eyes onto the man and held out your hand. "Hi, I'm Dana."

He shook your hand with a friendly smile. "My name's Scott Hernandez. I'm on the HOA board."

Johnny walked up to the door, putting a hand on your shoulder. "I'm Fox," He said, face speckled with crumbs and mouth full of food. You wanted to crawl into a hole.

"Hey, man," Scott said, eyeing Johnny, "Uh… Welcome to the neighborhood!"

"So," Anne asked, eyes raking over Johnny's chest, "How was the first night?"

Johnny swallowed his bagel before speaking. "It was lovely. We just snuggled up together and slept like little baby cats." He turned to you, eyes warm. "Isn't that right, honey bunch?"

Your neck snapped to look at him, holding back a look of disgust. "That's right…" You racked your brain for something sweet to call him and a moment later came up with, "...Poopy head."

Poopy head? Nice one, L/N.

Johnny’s smile faltered for a second, but neither Scott nor Anne seemed to notice. You flashed them both a bright grin. "So! Would you like to come in?"

Scott and Anne nodded. "That'd be great, thanks," He said. You led them into the dining room, where Johnny managed an awkward laugh. "Sorry it's such a mess, we just got up about an hour ago and I immediately went to the supermarket."

"Oh, don't worry, Fox," Scott hummed, sitting at the island, "Moving is so stressful. Especially with…"

Anne flashed him a dirty look. You raised an eyebrow at the interaction. "With what?" You asked, tilting your head as you feigned innocence. Anne sighed, shaking her head.

"Three women have been… murdered over the past few weeks." Scott looked down. "Police haven't been able to catch who's responsible."

"That's horrible," Johnny murmured, standing next to you. "Did you know them?"

"We know everyone because of our HOA responsibilities," Scott answered, "I wasn't that close to any of them, but they were all very nice women. It's awful, what happened to them. You knew Yolanda, didn't you, Anne?"

She nodded, eyes glassy. "Her son and mine used to play together. She was such a nice woman. Lovely family, too. It just breaks my heart."

"I'm sorry for your loss," You told her. She offered a sad smile.

"But what, is it someone from the community or what?"

Anne shrugged, eyes full of concern. "The police don't really know, but it would make sense if they were from the community—"

"It couldn't possibly be someone living here," Scott huffed, "Everyone knows everyone, why would someone want to—"

"Scott is just in denial," Anne said, waving her hand. "Did you two really not know?"

"Not at all," Johnny replied, eyes wide with fake worry, "These past few weeks have been so hectic we barely had time to sit down. Right, honey?"

You groaned, partially putting up an act and partially in disgust at the name. "It's been a nightmare!"

You made up some problems, like a crappy travel agency, yard sales, things going missing, stuff like that. Johnny occasionally chimed in, embellishing your stories. Occasionally, Anne or Scott would ask a question, and Johnny would answer with something he pulled out of his ass.

"So that's why Fox isn't allowed coffee, anymore," You said a few minutes later, rolling your eyes. Scott was cackling, Anne giggling into her palm. Johnny glared at you, but there was no malice behind it.

"But anyway, I'm guessing you two didn't come here to hear about how anxious I get with caffeine." Johnny turned to the pair. "What brings you to the... Kang-Baker residence?"

"Oh, we came to talk to you about joining the Homeowner's Association," Anne explained, "Not everyone in the neighborhood is a part of it, but it's very convenient to join."

They laid down the basics, and as they talked, you realized just how much you appreciated living in an apartment rather than a house. Yes, it was a bit small at times, definitely not as idyllic, but 300 dollars as an initiation fee, and monthly payments of 150 dollars? You had half a mind to call the bureau and tell them that the real crime was the extortion from the Homeowner's Association.

You didn't really see any advantages—probably because you didn't even own this house and wouldn't have to worry about selling it later. It just sounded like a nightmare. What did they mean you could only paint your doors pastel colors if you joined?

When they finally left, you looked at Johnny. "Maybe I'm not cut out for the American dream after all. That HOA stuff sounds even worse than the time we got attacked by the flesh eating virus."

He held back a laugh. "That bad, huh?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, this is much more irritating. The moving van will be here any second, come on, let's go."

127TH PRECINCT, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—14:29 hours, Thursday, July 7th, 1994

After unloading the furniture boxes (empty boxes with nothing really in them), you and Johnny settled on lunch—some crappy junk food—and drove all the way to the police station where Detective Son worked.

"What did you think about that Scott guy?" You asked Johnny, who shrugged.

"Seemed nice enough. We'd have to look into him too, since he's also involved in the community."

You nodded. "I'll run a background check once we get h—back to the house."

He glanced at you, but said nothing. "...What are you doing once this is over?"

You furrowed your eyebrows. "What, once we get back to DC?"

He nodded. "Well, yeah."

You stared ahead at the car in front of you. "Oh, well… I'm not sure. Probably finish writing that stupid report for Brooks and then curl up on my couch, watch some movies, drink some wine. I don't know."

He snickered. "What, and watch Pretty Woman for the 700th time?"

Smacking him in the shoulder lightly, you huffed. "Which is no better than watching Full Metal Jacket 700 times, and you know it, Johnny Suh."

He shrugged. "Well, if sex on a piano is what does it for you then who am I to judge?"

"Shut up." You rolled down the window, the heat too much to handle.

When you finally got to see Detective Son again, she handed you the cassette and made her way towards the door. When she spoke, she looked only at you. "I'm actually headed out to check out another call we got just now," She explained, "But feel free to use the VCR in my office to look it all over."

She left, not even looking Johnny in the eye. You turned to Johnny, who was wide-eyed.

"And you said she likes me."

In her office, you went over several days' worth of sped up hours of footage of six different camera angles. By the third hour of watching sped up, grainy footage, Johnny huffed. "I don't think we'll get anything," He said, "Especially considering the killer didn't even need to break their way in—"

"Hold on, hold on." You shook your head, eyes zeroing in on a dark shape in one of the cameras. You walked up to the VCR machine and hit the rewind button.

"Watch camera six."

He narrowed his eyes, fixing his glasses as he watched the dark shape run out from the treeline and up the wall, then out of the camera's view—presumably inside the community. You rewinded one last time, pausing just as it leaped onto the wall.

"There."

"That's too big to be a cat," He murmured, standing to get a closer look at the grainy black and white still image, "Right?"

"Could be a big cat—bobcat or a lynx, maybe, but…"

"It's movements are too… jerky for it to be a cat."

You hesitated, before nodding.

"Could this be the thing we're looking for?" Johnny asked, and you crossed your arms, giving the dark blob a skeptical look.

"Looks like we have some digging to do."

One more hour of poring over the footage, plus another hour of looking at the archives of the police department turned up nothing on big cats in the area. There'd been no calls to 911 to report big cats in the neighborhood, and looking over the tape again showed nothing else, not even the thing leaving.

Which made Johnny’s theory that it was still there weigh even more.

By 7:30PM or so, Detective Son had returned. "I brought coffee," She said, entering the small space, "Find anything?"

You shrugged. Johnny looked at her. "We saw a weird blob go inside. It never came out and we couldn't figure out what it was."

She frowned. "There haven't been any reports of wild animals there in years. Not since that huge military base opened up."

Johnny's eyebrows knit together. "Army base?"

She nodded. "Fort Talbot. It's about fifteen minutes west of San Ceferino. There aren't a lot of roads that lead to it, they're pretty private."

You locked eyes with Johnny, who was probably thinking the same thing as you. Military base? That was new.

“I don’t suppose you could take us to see it?”

She shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, we could try, but there’s a fence around the perimeter about a mile or two away from the actual base. They’re not gonna let you in.”

“No, we’re not military,” You sighed. “But thank you for telling us about that.”

SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—20:44 hours, Thursday, February 12th, 1993

When the car rolled into the driveway, the two of you had found that Anne was at your front door. You shot each other a quizzical look when she turned at the sight of your headlights. “What’s the cougar doing here?” He sighed, and you elbowed him.

“Hush. Be nice.”

She reached the car once you’d both stepped out. “Oh, I was wondering where you two were! I wanted to invite you over to have dinner. The spinach quiche I made was a bit too big for just me!”

At the mention of the meal, your stomach panged in hunger. All you’d had since you left the house was that coffee Wendy had given you. Plus…

Johnny seemed to read your mind. “We’re starving. Quiche sounds great, thanks so much, Anne.”

She beamed at his praise. “Oh, come on! Wouldn’t want it to get cold.”

Anne took the both of you into her house, leading you to the dinner table where she’d already set up spots for the both of you. “It’s not too much, is it? I’m sorry if I’m being overbearing. I really do want you to ease into the neighborhood, and plus, living in this big old empty house gets… lonely.”

As you sat down, you frowned in sympathy. You watched as she began to slice the quiche for you both. “Don’t worry, Anne. I understand where you’re coming from. It’s so lonely in my��or, it was so lonely in my apartment before Fox and I met. Sure, you can distract yourself during the day with all of the stuff you have to do, but at the end of the day you come home to… nothing.”

She handed Johnny a plate, and he took it. “There you go, Fox.”

He smiled, handing the plate to you. “Thank you.”

Her eyes followed his hand, and blinked when she spotted the ring on his hand. “Oh, I see you have your rings now.”

Johnny’s smile grew into a grin, as he held out his hand, flashing the band around his ring finger. You did the same. “No more pesky metal detectors,” He declared, “So why not?”

Anne nodded, eyes lowered. She handed him another plate, then served herself. And then, finally, you all started eating. It occurred to you as you took your first bite that if she was she easily could have laced the food with whatever was in those women’s systems when they died. But that would be too different from the killer’s modus operandi. They only went for women and they killed them in their home. Autopsies didn’t find anything recent in their stomachs at the time of death, so you concluded to take a bite.

Besides, it smelled good. If you were going to die, then it would be nice to die by the hands of some good quiche.

“So,” You began, “You said your kids were off at college?”

She nodded, digging around her food with a fork. “My oldest is in grad school at USC. He’s currently in South America doing research on bats, or something, I really can’t remember. My second is off backpacking for the summer, she’s graduating from UCLA next year, and my youngest left for college two years ago. He managed to get a full scholarship to Duke, can you believe it?”

You smiled, nodding. “Wow, that’s impressive.”

She sounded proud, but there was a sadness behind her gaze. “It’s hard, it really is. Especially trying not to worry. They rarely call and only come home during the holidays. Drives me up the wall not knowing what my kids are up to!”

Johnny laughed. “My mom was the same when I went to college. My freshman year she called me once every day. My roommates always made fun of me for it.”

She chuckled. “Oh, that’s how all moms are,” She turned to you, “I imagine it’ll be the same when you two have kids.”

You almost choked on the food in your mouth at her words. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Johnny go white. Somehow, you managed to hold it back, hitting your chest lightly as the food made its way down. “Oh, well… it’s a bit early for that, I think.”

“We only got married six months ago…” Johnny murmured awkwardly.

“Oh, I totally get it,” She said, “But, y´know, accidents happen. Especially when you’re still in the honeymoon phase after the wedding. I had my first less than a year after we were married, we weren’t even trying!”

You chewed on your lip. “Well, if something happens…” You met eyes with Johnny, whose gaze was unreadable, “Something happens.”

Not looking away, Johnny licked his lips subtly, before picking up a napkin. Anne didn’t notice, surprisingly, and seemed satisfied with your answer.

You ate a little bit more, when Anne asked, “So, tell me, how did you two meet?”

Remembering the file, Johnny perked up. “We met at a party in college. I was in my junior year, I think? Right, honey?”

You shook your head. “Your senior year,” You corrected, “Because I was in my sophomore year. I remember it like it was yesterday. He came up to me and was wearing this horrible button up shirt—”

“You ended up stealing it from me!” He joked, and you held up your index finger.

“I use it to sleep. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that in public. Much less to attract a mate.”

Anne cackled, and the two of you laughed too. Again, you managed to make up a story: he was drunk and accidentally spilled some punch on your pants. He’d tried to help you by washing it in the bathroom but only made it worse.

“When I got back to my dorm, it was around three in the morning, my leg was sticky and I was miserable, but we ran into each other a few days later and he was very apologetic about the whole thing.”

“I was mortified,” He said, “I mean, here’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life and I managed to screw it up by ruining her pants. I was so sure I’d screwed up.”

Anne raised her eyebrows. “So, you knew from the start that you liked her?”

Johnny’s eyes landed on you again, turning wistful. He leaned over and grabbed your free hand. “The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.”

You tried to smile, but suddenly your chest felt like it was caving in on yourself. You let your hand rest in his for a moment, before pulling away. “Oh, Fox. Don’t get all sentimental on me now.”

Clearing your throat, you didn’t miss the way Johnny’s eyes fell slightly. “If you’ll excuse me, where’s your bathroom?”

She pointed up. “Upstairs to the right.”

This was your chance to get some dirt on her, and put some space between you and Johnny. As you walked away, you touched a hand to your cheek and it came away burning.

“Get it together,” You muttered to yourself.

The quick search yielded nothing. She had nothing in her drawers, all of the papers on her desk were related to her work at a hair care company. You always could have missed something though. You couldn’t take more than a few minutes, you certainly couldn’t risk her coming up to check on you and finding you sifting through her work documents.

Before you came down, you did your best to leave everything as you found it before heading back downstairs.

When you sat back down at the table, things were a bit more tense. You sensed it immediately. “Everything alright?”

“...Yeah,” Johnny mumbled.

“Fox and I were just talking about how… difficult marriage can be.”

You nodded, wondering if that was all that had happened. “Oh, it’s no walk in the park, that’s for sure.”

The rest of the dinner was not as lively. There were more awkward silences, more lulls in the conversation, less laughs. When you finally left, his elbow intertwined in yours, you looked at him. “What happened while I was gone?”

He shook his head as you both crossed the street. “I don’t like her,” He told you in a hushed voice, “She started talking about how it won’t be like this forever and it’s only fun now because we just got married or whatever.”

“What, was she trying to open something up between you and her?”

“I don’t know. She hasn’t exactly been subtle, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she was.”

The two of you marched up into your house, and while Johnny was showering you did a background check on Scott Hernandez. Nothing also. A perfectly ordinary citizen, no criminal record at all.

Then, it was your turn to shower. As you did, you couldn’t help but think back to Anne’s words. The whole situation, feigning domesticity was proving to be bad for you: you couldn’t help but imagine a small child with his wide eyes and your nose, his lanky limbs and your hands.

The amount of time you put into your work made you fully aware that it would make having children difficult. Truth be told, you hadn’t really put much thought into settling down. The right person had never been there.

But what if he had? What if he’d been by your side for the past three years?

He had to be putting on an act when he’d said it.

The moment I first laid my eyes on her, I knew. She was the one.

Thinking back to the moment you’d first met him, and he’d come across as slightly patronizing and dismissive of your conclusions. But thinking about when he’d first turned to look at you, that particular morning in 1992…

You turned off the shower. Alone time wasn’t doing you any good, either.

When you emerged from the shower, you sighed as your eyes landed on the toilet seat, which was lifted. You set it back down with a huff before getting dressed.

Once you stepped out of the bathroom in your pajamas, toweling your hair, your eyes fell to the pile of dirty clothes on the bed. “Please don’t put your sweaty clothes, where I have to sleep,” You told him, tossing the clothes into his face. He let out a soft groan, picking them up.

“Oh, come on,” He grumbled, “They don’t even smell that bad.”

After he set them off somewhere (you didn’t see where as you were shutting your laptop off), he sat back down on the bed, leaving a space open for you. "So, what if we looked into Scott tomorrow?"

“That sounds like a good idea. Tomorrow night there’s that HOA thing we need to go to. We might be able to pick up some more stuff there.”

He nodded, and as you stood in front of the bed he waggled his eyebrows and patted the spot next to you. “Come on, Dana,” He murmured sarcastically, “We’re married now.”

You didn’t smile. He took that as a sign to continue.

“Plus, if something happens, something happens.”

You grabbed a pillow and flung it into his face. “You’re the worst,” You grumbled. He laughed, but it was muffled from the pillow.

Slowly but surely, you realized with the sound of his laughter, this feeling was soon going to become something you couldn’t ignore.

HERNANDEZ RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—09:02 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the door opened, Scott Hernandez had a welcoming smile on his face. “Dana,” He said, “Good morning. Did you need anything?”

“Oh, I just wanted to ask if there was an official guidebook or anything for the HOA? Fox and I are still considering joining, but we’d need to go over everything.” You scratched at the cardigan you were wearing. Why did the bureau have to give you something so thick and scratchy when they knew you were coming to California in the middle of July?

“Come in! I’m sure I have a rulebook. Plus, if you have any other questions you could always just come over.”

He led you up the stairs. “I keep all of my stuff in the office,” He explained, “That way my kids don’t mess it all up.”

You offered a soft laugh. “Oh, you have kids?”

“Yep.” His voice was warm. “Two kids, a nine year old and a six year old. They’re not here right now, though. My wife took them up to Washington to see their grandparents.”

“Ah, that’s sweet.” As he led you into the office, your eyes studied the room. A picture frame behind him of a professional family portrait, a houseplant in the corner a big clunky computer on top of the desk, and a cabinet pushed to the side of the room.

Your eyes fell onto the things placed on top of the cabinet, a stapler and some other office supplies. But when your eyes caught a different type of metal that wasn’t the standard gray color, you focused on it. A small medallion, decorated with a ribbon. When you recognized the logo, your eyes widened slightly.

“You’re military?”

His eyes turned to you, eyebrows raised. Then he looked to the side. “Oh… no. My brother was. He passed away in the Gulf War.”

You looked down, but something about his tone didn’t sound quite authentic. “I’m sorry for your loss,” You answered anyway.

The silence hung overhead for a few moments, before he pulled out a small booklet. “Here’s a copy of the rulebook.” He held it up, waving it back and forth, “This has pretty much everything.”

“Oh, really?” You straightened your posture, feigning a smile. When he handed it to you, your smile grew bigger as you looked down at the small book. “I’ll be sure to show Fox when he gets home. I really appreciate it, Scott.”

He waved his hand. “Don’t mention it. If you need anything else, just come on over. I work from home, so I’m here pretty much all day.”

Scott studied your face, and a second later you looked away. “So, I should get going,” You murmured. “I’ll see you tonight? I don’t think nor you nor Anne said where it would be.”

He scratched the back of his head. “Here, actually! Tonight, at 7.”

“Great,” You answered, “I’ll see you tonight.”

When you got back to the house, you walked to the office, where Johnny was waiting. “Hernandez has military links.”

His head shot up. “He does?”

“There was a military medallion on his cabinet in his office. He looked like he was gonna piss himself when I asked about it.”

“And what did he say?”

“Said his brother was a Gulf War veteran. I didn’t believe him for a second.”

“So could he be our guy?”

You took a deep breath. “Honestly? I don’t know. I could try to look through his office tonight at the HOA thing.”

“You?” He shook his head vehemently. “You fit his profile. All of his victims were around your age. You’re not going somewhere you could be alone with him.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then what?”

He looked at you as if you were dumb. “I’ll go.”

“But—”

“No.” His gaze turned stern, before walking all the way up to you. He put his hands up on your shoulders. “Y/N, he could kill you.”

“Has that ever stopped me before?” You asked, tilting your head. “Johnny, it’s in the job description to deal with people who could kill me. What’s so different now?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. His eyes were wide, urgent, and his face was inches away. You shook your head, trying to prompt him to speak. “What?”

Johnny pursed his lips, studying your face. And then, finally he shook his head. “Nothing.”

He stepped away, and left the office, leaving you speechless. You leaned against the desk thinking about what just happened.

For the rest of the day, he was relatively distant. During lunch—you went out to buy some sandwiches—and he barely said thank you, before you ate in tense silence. You could only wait until 7 o’clock rolled around. In the meantime, you placed a call to Detective Son, telling her to look into Scott Hernandez and his family. You typed up the rest of your preliminary report, and then all you could do was wait.

When five thirty rolled around, you started to get ready. You took only about five minutes, before stepping out, fully dressed. When you stepped out of the bathroom, Johnny had his back turned to you. It was almost as if he hadn’t noticed you were right behind him, because he was humming softly to himself, tapping his foot to a non audible melody. You could hear him humming it though, and after a few seconds of listening. you were able to recognize the song.

He froze when he heard your giggling. “What?” He asked, turning his head.

“Is… is that Bidi Bidi Bom Bom?” You asked, leaning against the wall. He straightened his posture before shuffling on his feet.

“...No.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Sure, it isn’t.”

He raised his eyebrow, but it wasn’t as serious as he had been before. And when you spoke again, his mouth grew into a crooked smile.

“You like Selena,” You sing-songed.

“Alright, enough. We’ve got a job to do.” He was biting back a laugh. You knew him too much to believe the opposite.

When the two of you finally walked the few houses towards Scott’s house, he held out his arm for you to hold onto. Taking a deep breath, your hand hesitated before it grabbed onto him. Approaching the house, you could tell that it was alive with a lot of people on the inside. You wouldn’t necessarily say it was overflowing, but you could tell it was definitely close to filling up.

“Let’s go?” He asked, and you nodded. He led you to the front door, where he rang the doorbell before the two of you waited.

A minute or so later, Scott opened the door with a grin.

“Hey, you two! You’re just in time.”

You put on your best smiles. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Johnny sighed. You didn’t miss the tense undertone in his words.

The two of you made your way into the room. Across the room you heard someone call for you both. You held back a groan. You really didn’t need this right now.

“Hey, over here!” Anne called, beckoning you over. Johnny heaved the sigh of a man ready to end it all, and then you both made your way to her and her group. All of them seemed to be the same age as her.

“Ladies, these are our new neighbors I was telling you about.” She pointed at the both of you .”This is Dana Baker, and this is Fox… the architect.”

Oh boy.

And the talking began. You and Johnny having to rehash the same details over and over again. It felt like having to navigate a minefield. You had to recall all of the lies you’d told Anne and Scott, this time in front of an audience of women very clearly ogling the man who they fully believed was your husband.

You made idle chit-chat after that, but eventually, about twenty minutes had passed until they sat everyone down. The living room was full of grown ups, including a few young children. The thought of everyone being in such close proximity to someone, something that could hurt them all the way it had hurt those other women.

It was easy to tune them all out. It was then that you realized that suburban life would never really be for you. This was all so dull and monotone. You were sure that if you had decided to actually go into the medical field and settled down… you would probably lose your mind.

They went over some things you didn’t pay attention to: lawns and whatnot. It was so tiring you had to stifle a yawn on more than one occasion. Anne was going on about some infraction that didn’t even sound that bad to you, when it occurred to you to slip away, Johnny be damned.

You patted Scott on the shoulder as Anne went on. “Where’s the bathroom?”

He nodded back once, “Upstairs. Green door. We’re almost done, though, are you sure you can’t wait a little longer?”

“I had the genius idea to drink two whole bottles of water before we left,” You murmured so as to not make too much of a scene, “I really don’t think I can.”

He sighed, before nodding. “Go ahead.”

Gotcha. You slipped up, sparing Johnny a glance. He was glaring at you. If looks could kill, you didn’t even want to know where you’d end up going. You made your way up the stairs, remembering the way to the office from this morning. You slipped into the office, making your way to the cabinet. The medallion was gone, which made you wonder why he had done so.

As you shuffled through the drawers of the cabinet and came up with nothing, you had to remind yourself to keep count of how long you’d been up here. You moved on to the desk, shuffling through the papers on the desk and then the ones on the drawer. In the first drawer, you found an ID: Alma Hernandez, Lazarus Programming.

In the second drawer, nothing.

In the third and bottom drawer, you found something: a pair of dogtags. Neither of them said Hernandez. Instead, they read Simon Walsh.

Simon Walsh? That was new. You stashed them back into the drawer, suddenly remembering how long you’d been up here. Probably a bit over five minutes. As you made your way back down to the living room, you ran into Johnny.

“Hey,” He said, “I was just coming to look for you.”

He looked disappointed, bordering on anger. In the small space, you could feel his proximity. You couldn’t help but shake your head.

“I had to take the chance. I wasn’t sure if there would be a chance after this.”

He sighed. “I can’t believe you. Come on, they’re serving pizza.”

You laughed, letting him grab your hand as he led you back into the living room, where you two ate a few slices of pizza. Enough to feel satisfied, but not enough to feel too full. In theory, if you had to make a detainment or worse, have a confrontation then it’d be a bad idea to have stomach cramps.

You two kept to yourselves, occasionally speaking to other couples who introduced themselves to you. Once you’d finished gorging yourselves on the food, he kept his hand around your waist the entire time. It was a gentle touch, but comforting. You couldn’t help but feel tense.

“After we get home, I’ll tell you all the details I saw.” You looked up to see his face, watching you tentatively.

“Alright,” He murmured, leaning closer to your face, “But I wanna talk about something together first.”

Raising an eyebrow, you leaned away from him. “What, are you okay?”

Johnny nodded, smile reassuringly. “Yeah. I just realized something earlier today.”

KANG-BAKER RESIDENCE, SAN CEFERINO, CALIFORNIA—21:17 hours, Friday, July 13th, 1994

When the two of you left, Anne had bid you both goodbye. She’d said Scott had gone to bed with a headache, which made you feel a bit uneasy. The entire way home, Johnny kept himself relatively close. The entire way home, he was silent. It wasn’t until the both of you were inside of the house that he leaned against the front door. As he led you to the couch )which had finally arrived), you tried to remember all of the details you’d seen as you looked through Scott’s office.

When he sat you down, you placed both hands in your lap. He scratched at his shoulder, before meeting your eyes.

“Simon Walsh.”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widened at the same time his had. “What?” You asked, shaking your head. You were suddenly aware of everything going on. You were in an ongoing murder investigation. It was quite possibly linked to a very secretive military base. Three women had been murdered. A fourth would be soon if you didn’t hurry.

“Johnny, I don’t think…”

“No, please. Just a few minutes, okay? I’ve been dealing with this for years. I need to get this out of my system and then we can talk about this back in DC. Please, Y/N.”

Your gut felt heavy at the same time your heart felt incredibly light. It was by far one of the strangest sensations you’d ever felt. Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded.

“Alright, John. Five minutes. Then we talk about what I found.”

He nodded with a small smile. Gently, Johnny grabbed your hands, rubbing the knuckles with his thumbs. He was silent for a while, tilting his head back and forth as he tried to figure out what to say.

“What I said last night at Anne’s. I meant it. That first time I saw you, I… I knew. I knew we didn’t get along initially, but I just had this feeling in my chest. You were so smart, and eventually we realized how much we clicked…”

He looked up, leaning closer. You swallowed softly as his eyes met yours again. He managed a soft chuckle. “Y/N, I tried to hold it away. But it got stronger every single day. You understand me. Even though we push back against each other, you don’t think I’m crazy. You take them into consideration and don’t brush them off. I really appreciate that. I look at you and… I’m home.”

Looking to the side, you sighed. “Johnny, I really don’t think this is appropriate. Especially not right now—”

"Y/N, I know what your dream on the plane was about."

You inhaled sharply, alarmed gaze meeting his own. His eyes had turned soft, warm. You knew you had to push him away. The name Simon Walsh was on loop in your head, but you couldn’t find it in you to push him away.

“What?”

“I heard you moan my name,” He sighed, “Trust me, Y/N, I know what I heard.”

He leaned even closer, cupping your face. You could feel his breath puffing softly onto your skin. His eyes were knowing as his voice dropped to a whisper.

“You want me too, don’t you?”

When his lips met yours, you couldn’t find it in you to pull away. He pulled you closer, and your arms found their way to wrap themselves around your neck. His lips were soft, but demanding. You could tell he’d been waiting for this a long, long time.

You don’t know when he laid you down onto the couch, but honestly… you didn’t really mind. Johnny was warm, comfortable. And yes, July in California was hot, humid, but… up until Johnny put his hands on you, you’d never realized how cold you’d been, even before your arrival here.

He deepened the kiss, hands sliding down to your waist. They toyed with the hem of your blouse, humming against your lips. You gasped against him, hands sliding into his gelled hair.

Your eyes snapped open. Johnny never used this much gel in his hair.

Two things happened in the next two seconds. You pushed Johnny off. Johnny would never prioritize his feelings like this over a case. You hadn’t seen Scott as you left. All of this pretending, playing house had gotten to you. You were in real danger now.

The other thing that happened? Johnny burst through the door, wearing clothes he hadn’t been wearing when you first left. He was panting heavily. There was a bruise on his cheek and his wrists were red.

You backed away from Not Johnny, who turned to you, gaze now furious. A wave of nausea passed over you, breathing heavily. Whatever Not Johnny had in his system, he had passed onto you with his spit, and you could feel it settling into your system. You looked up at Johnny, before pulling out your gun. Taking a deep breath, you looked at your work partner, closest confidante, love of your life.

“I had a feeling,” You mumbled, realizing how the sinking feeling in your stomach was actually dread.

Stumbling, you heard Not Johnny let out a ghastly screech. You fired your gun at him before passing out.

SAN FRANCISCO METROPOLITAN, SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA—10:39 hours, Saturday, July 14th, 1994

The room smelled sterile. You knew this smell. You’d lived it for several years before in medical school rotations. This had to be a hospital, you realized. Slowly, you let your eyes open. You let out a soft groan at the discomfort of having been stuck in one position for so long.

“You awake?” A deep, familiar voice asked. Your vision was blurry, but you could still recognize it was Johnny. His eyes were rimmed red from exhaustion, but he looked relieved.

“No. I died, actually.” Your voice was raspy. Johnny scoffed, shaking his head.

“You’re impossible,” He mumbled, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“What even happened after I passed out?”

Johnny took a second to gather his thoughts before speaking. “You hit him in the face. It wasn’t pretty. He freaked out a bit, and then he took off. I couldn't catch him. Called Son, she came in with the precinct and they looked through Hernandez's house."

His gaze turned somber as you sat up with a soft huff. Your muscles were stiff.

"They found the real Scott Hernandez, his two kids and his wife, in their basement. Autopsies are being performed today, but it looks like they've been dead a few weeks."

Your eyes shut. Two kids, a man, and another woman. Seven victims total.

"And that thing is still out there," You mumbled, "If only I hadn't been so stupid—"

Johnny put his hand on yours. "Don't say that. Even if you hadn't gotten knocked out, he would still be way too much for just the two of us to handle. Y/N, you shot him in the face and it barely stopped him. He wasn't human anymore."

You shook your head, burying your head in your hands. "Still… I know you, Johnny. I should have seen the signs, but he was so—somehow he knew everything—"

"It's something to do with touch," He said with a nod, "He knocked me to the ground and locked me in a closet before he found you. I was a bit out of it, but I remember he touched my wrist for a few seconds and then he turned into me. My head still hurts, too. Maybe he can also copy some memories from the people he touches long enough."

When you didn't answer, he grabbed your face. He looked desperate. "Y/N, you're only human. I would have fallen for it too."

"I fell for it because he told me exactly what I wanted to hear," You whispered, feeling tears spring to your eyes, seemingly out of nowhere, "He played me like a fucking fiddle and I fell for it."

His thumb brushed away a tear. "Don't think about the what-ifs, Y/N. It's already happened, and now we need to focus on what's gonna happen next. We need to find a way into Fort Talbot. Somehow. Turn your report into the bureau and we can figure it out from there. There’s something going on there. Human experimentation on soldiers, or something."

"We're never gonna get clearance to search a military base, Johnny. It's impossible."

He shook his head. "Y/N, if you were able to convince Brooks to let me, Spooky Suh, FBI's most unwanted? keep running around hunting ghosts and aliens and Bigfoot all over the country, you can figure out a way to get access in there. I know you can."

You were shaking now. "We won't be safe if we do. You think the military won't retaliate? We'd be dead, Johnny," Your words were garbled and your voice wouldn't stop cracking, "There has to be another way."

He shook you gently, shaking his head. "Dammit, Y/N, I can't do this without you."

"They placed me with you for a reason, Johnny," You snapped, "To debunk your work, to reign you in and shut you down—"

"But you saved me," He insisted, "You did exactly the opposite. And as a result we kept working together, and you kept me honest. You… you've made me a whole person."

He rubbed his face with his hand, pushing a strand of dark hair out of his eye. "Y/N, as frustrating as it's been sometimes working with you, your stupud science and rationalism have saved me a thousand times over. I owe you everything. Y/N, you owe me nothing."

His forehead brushed yours, and his eyes fluttered shut. "I can't do this without you," He murmured. And despite the fact that you knew that this was your Johnny, you shook your head. The deja vu was making your head spin.

"Tell me something the real Johnny would know," You whispered, putting a hand on your chest.

He thought for a second, before sighing. "I had three moments when I realized I was in love with you. When you first walked into my office that morning, I had a feeling," He said, voice full of conviction, "It grew into something concrete when you told me my glasses were crooked. And the moment I knew—I mean, I already knew from that first moment but this was when it truly hit me—was when you told me you'd kept that stupid fucking nasal implant in your sports bra so that you wouldn't lose it."

He laughed warmly, obviously thinking back to the moment. "No one else has ever believed me the way you do. And I doubt anyone else ever will. You're my one in…" He looked to the side, trying to remember the number, "Five billion."

Your hand came up to caress his face. He seemed to melt against your touch.

This time, when your lips met, everything felt right, despite the feeling that the world was crumbling around you. His hands squeezed your face gently, as if you were about to disappear. When your hands slid into his hair, it felt slightly sweaty still, but it wasn't tacky with gel.

This was your Johnny. You knew it with your entire being.

Yes, Johnny was sarcastic, stubborn, eccentric and had low impulse control. But he was also highly intelligent, empathetic, hilarious and yes, you could now admit that he was the most beautiful human you'd ever seen in your 30 years on this planet.

If it had to be him and you against the world, so be it. The truth was out there. You and Johnny would just have to be the ones chasing it.

taglist: @doderyscoffee @always-wishing-for-rain

#kwritersworldnet #johnny seo x reader #johnny suh x reader #nct scenarios #nct x reader #johnny angst #johnny fluff #kpop angst #kpop scenarios #kpop au #nct au #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 scenarios #IM FINALLY DONE THIS IS SO OVERDUE #god im so happy sdhskdjsh

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theweasleysredhair · 4 years

Text

Baby Love [F.W.]

Character: Fred Weasley

Word Count: 1693

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: Looking after Teddy Lupin makes Fred decide he wants a baby of his own with you.

Tags: @gracemayhateyou @criminalyetminimal @firewhisky-kisses @obsessedwithrandomthings @angelinathebook @iprobablyshipit91 @potterverseimagine @slytherineheir @kpopgirlbtssvt @rexorangecouny @mytreec @hemmoporro @thisismysketchbook @acciotwinz @shadowsinger11 @aaannabbanana @lestersglitterglue @anyasthoughts @lxncelot @harrypotter289 @wand3ringr0s3 @ickle-ronniekins @sehunasbitch @cryingforcrystalpepsi @kashishwrites @girl-next-door-writes @susceptible-but-siriusexual @crissdanvers @whizbangs-78 @heart-of-tempered-steel @oh-for-merlins-sake | message or send an ask to be added/removed!

Disclaimer: Gif isn't mine, credit to whoever made it

A/n: just a reminder that this is a queued post! i’m currently taking a small break from tumblr (should be back by the end of the week though!) as i am not in a good place at the moment. feel free to continue sending in asks and messages whilst i’m away - i’ll answer as soon as i’m back online! i shall also catch up on things that i’ve been tagged in and fics i’ve missed then as well! ❤️❤️ to the requester - i hope you enjoy my love! 💕

~*~

PLEASE DO NOT REPOST MY WORK! REBLOGS ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE! <3

+ + + + +

“Never seen him so content,” you hummed to Hermione, a smile playing at your lips as you nodded over to Fred, who was sitting on a nearby couch in the living room of the Burrow, where everyone had gathered for Christmas - the second one since the Battle of Hogwarts - holding a tiny toddler, who was giggling at Fred’s attempts to make him laugh, hair turning a bright blue as he threw his arms into the air.

Hermione laughed, “He’s always loved Teddy.” “He reminds him of Lupin I reckon,” you replied, not having to mention the reason why, considering the small boy looked just like him. Fred, you knew, felt indebted to Lupin, since he was the one to bring George back to the Burrow when he lost his ear - kept him safe after the incident, travelling back quickly to save him. You knew that was one of the reasons Fred offered to look after Teddy so often - that and the fact that the baby adored him.

“Are you not thinking about children yet?” Hermione asked you, breaking you from your thoughts, “I’d have thought with the way he can never keep his hands off you that you’d be pregnant by now.”

You let out a laugh, knowing she wasn’t exactly wrong - Fred always had at least an arm around you or a hand on your waist, always pulling you into his lap and kissing you when he got the chance. And he’d only gotten worse since you were married a few months ago, thoroughly enjoying the new house you’d moved into after the wedding and all the privacy it gave you both - George had learnt to knock on the door when he arrived rather than apparating in immediately, after finding you both in a rather compromising position on the kitchen counter one time.

“Well, I mean obviously we’d love to have a baby... it’s just, well we both got hurt pretty badly in the battle and each had to deal with nearly dying,” you spoke, earning a sympathetic look as thoughts of the battle crossed both your minds.

Fred had nearly been hit by a wall falling in an explosion - he had been knocked unconscious and the moment you saw him laying on the floor of the Great Hall, you’d assumed the worst, until Molly had assured you with a watery nod that he was okay. Then when the battle recommenced, you’d had your leg crushed by falling debris, not being able to dodge spells fast enough, meaning you were nearly hit with the killing curse, had George not have pulled you out of the way in time.

The battle overall took its toll on you both, causing flashbacks and nightmares for the first year or so, only just beginning to ease when you and Fred decided to get married a couple of months back, wanting to make things official after years of dating.

“We just haven’t had the time to plan for a baby. Plus, we’re still really young,” you continued, shrugging your shoulders a little before turning your gaze to Fred, who was preoccupied by baby Teddy, pulling faces at him and playing peek-a-boo, not being able to help the smile that graced your lips, “But maybe having a baby would be a good thing.”

“He’d be a great dad,” Hermione grinned, seeing the way your eyes lit up as you watched your husband cradling the toddler in his arms, even as Teddy decided to grab a hold of Fred’s ginger locks, pulling at them happily.

“The best,” you nodded with a content smile. You excused yourself from Hermione as you saw Teddy reaching out in your direction, stuttering out what you assumed was his attempt at saying your name, clambering over Fred’s lap to get to you.

“I’m here baba, I’m right here,” you cooed, scooping the now-sandy haired toddler up into your arms and giving him a hug, his little chubby arms wrapping around you as best they could. You marvelled at how much he resembled Remus, the same tiny smile on his face.

“Be careful, he likes hair now apparently,” Fred grumbled, rubbing a patch on his head that you assumed Teddy had yanked. You laughed as you sat beside him, nudging his side a little with a wink, “I thought you liked having your hair pulled.”

“I do, but only when it’s you that does it, not when a baby does it with the intention of making me bald,” Fred replied, but despite himself he was smiling at Teddy, who had curled up in your lap and was babbling nonsense to you both.

You glanced up, noticing a presence watching you, finding Molly stood in the doorway to the kitchen, holding a spatula and practically cooing at the sight of her son and his wife looking after a baby.

“Oh you remind me of me and Arthur when we had our Bill,” she gushed, waving the spatula in your direction. You smiled at her warmly and shifted the toddler a little, Fred holding his tiny hand in his much larger one.

“I’m assuming Bill was a lot calmer than the rest of them, eh Molly,” you laughed, watching as she nodded immediately, nearly sighing as she thought back to her other children.

“Indeed. Charlie was a nightmare, always finding creatures from the garden and claiming them as his pets - once found a Doxy in his room that he’d been keeping from me, if you can believe it! An absolute pest, had to get rid of it as soon as I could. Percy was a good child, very smart. Almost as good as Bill. And then came you two,” she pointed the spatula at Fred who mocked innocence and pointed to himself in shock, “Who were nightmares. Then there was Ron and Ginny, but they were almost easy compared to the twins.”

Fred grinned smugly, “We enjoy keeping you on your toes, mother dearest, what can we say.”

Molly hummed disapprovingly at him, “I can’t wait until you both have a baby - for your sake, Y/n, dear, I hope they’re like Bill. For your sake, Fred, I hope they’re like you were, an absolute terror.”

Fred’s jaw dropped comically, absent-mindedly taking Teddy from you as he crawled on his lap, jogging him up and down on his knee, “Terror? Me? As if. I’m the light of your life. Besides, it’s awfully forward of you to think we’re having a child, Mum.”

“Oh look at you both with him,” Molly gestured pointedly at the toddler, who was happily playing with Fred’s jumper, “You’re parents already, you just need a baby of your own.”

With that, she turned to head back into the kitchen, as Fred turned to you, wiggling his eyebrows, “What d’ya reckon, eh love? Want a baby with me?”

“Already picked the names,” you joked, taking Teddy back from him and lifting him up in the air, making him squeal in delight, waving his little fists around.

Fred grinned, then found himself watching the way you were holding Teddy, the way you were cradling him so gently, making him smile and laugh. He bit his lip, imagining what it would be like with his own baby - one with his ginger hair, his nose, and your eyes and lips. One that was half him and half you.

All through the rest of the gathering, all through playing games with his family, talking about how Bill and Fleur were expecting their baby in April, and how Hermione was doing working in the Ministry, all he was thinking about was starting a family with you, watching as you cared for Teddy, to give Harry and Ginny and few hours alone before they took him back for the evening.

And as he sat, arm slung around your shoulder, Teddy now asleep across both of your laps, he decided he wanted his own baby with you.

Later that night, after you’d returned Teddy to his godfather, you and Fred retreated back to the room you were staying in in the Burrow. You lay on the bed, watching your husband move around the room, seemingly deep in his own mind as you watched him bump into the corner of the cabinet twice, and nearly trip over the rug, before you spoke, “What’s on your mind, Freddie?”

He paused in place, having removed his trousers and instead stood in a shirt and his boxers, “Just thinking about Teddy... and you... and how good you are with him.”

“You’re pretty good with him too, you know, he loves you. Kept asking for his ‘Unca Fwed’ when I gave him back to Harry,” you laughed a little, shaking your head.

Fred grinned, “He’s pretty cute, huh? Been wondering what it’d be like to have him around all the time. Except not him, but a different baby. Our baby, to be precise.”

“You want a baby?”

Fred nodded, almost shyly as he pulled his shirt off and threw it over to you, you swapping the shirt you were wearing for his, happily breathing in the smell of him clinging to the fabric.

You smiled at him, holding your arms out to him as he crawled up the bed until his body hovered above yours, leaning on his forearms on either side of your head.

Wrapping arms around neck, you leaned up to brush your lips against his, “I’d love to have a baby with you, Freddie.”

He nudged his nose against yours, humming contently, “Yeah?” “Yeah,” you confirmed with a soft smile, kissing him gently, “Imagine, we could have one by next Christmas, or one on the way.”

“Maybe babies. Multiples run in the family, you know,” he murmured, moving to place kisses along your jawline and you felt him grin against your skin.

“I’m not having twins,” you deadpanned, shaking your head at him fondly as you scoffed out a laugh. Fred pulled back a little, still grinning back at you cheekily as he gently rocked his hips against yours, making your head fall back against the pillow,

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that, love.”

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #hp #harry potter #all queue have to do is follow the spiders

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ladyofasoiaf · 4 years

Text

Sansa & Beauty - Quotes

RADIANT:

Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

A Game of Thrones - Jon I

*-*

COMELY:

"Saffron is very beautiful, I'll have you know. Tall and slim, with big brown eyes and hair like honey."Alayne raised her head. "More beautiful than me?"

Ser Harrold studied her face. "You are comely enough, I grant you. When Lady Anya first told me of this match, I was afraid that you might look like your father."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

EXQUISITE:

"You do look quite exquisite, child," Lady Olenna Tyrell told Sansa when she tottered up to them in a cloth-of-gold gown that must have weighed more than she did. "The wind has been at your hair, though."

A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

*-*

FAIR:

I must ask after Sansa. How else will I find her? She cleared her throat. "Goodwife," she said to the woman on the turnip cart, "perhaps you saw my sister on the road? A young maid, three-and-ten and fair of face, with blue eyes and auburn hair. She may be riding with a drunken knight."

A Feast for Crows - Brienne II

*-*

BEAUTY:

The girl was too young and too plain to be Sansa Stark, but she was of the right age to be the younger sister, and even Lady Catelyn had said that Arya lacked her sister's beauty.

A Feast for Crows - Brienne VII

*-*

Lord Littlefinger kissed her cheek. "With my wits and Cat's beauty, the world will be yours, sweetling. Now off to bed."

A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

*-*

"Had we known such beauty awaited us at the Gates, we would have flown," Ser Roland said. Though his words were addressed to Myranda Royce, he smiled at Alayne as he said them.

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

LOVELY:

Sansa Stark looked especially lovely this morning, though her face was as pale as milk.

A Clash of Kings - Tyrion VI

*-*

Sansa closed the shutters and turned sharply away from the window. "You look very lovely today, my lady," Ser Arys said.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

*-*

"Leave the colors to me, my lady. You will be pleased, I know you will. You shall have smallclothes and hose as well, kirtles and mantles and cloaks, and all else befitting a . . . a lovely young lady of noble birth."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

*-*

When the moonstones hung from Sansa's ears and about her neck, the queen nodded. "Yes. The gods have been kind to you, Sansa. You are a lovely girl. It seems almost obscene to squander such sweet innocence on that gargoyle."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

"My lady," Tyrion said, "you are lovely, make no mistake, but . . . I cannot do this. My father be damned. We will wait. The turn of a moon, a year, a season, however long it takes. Until you have come to know me better, and perhaps to trust me a little." His smile might have been meant to be reassuring, but without a nose it only made him look more grotesque and sinister.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

Her maids were dressing her when Tyrion appeared, Podrick Payne in tow. "You look lovely, Sansa." He turned to his squire. "Pod, be so good as to pour me a cup of wine."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

*-*

And false. Sansa, Shae, all my women … Tysha was the only one who ever loved me. Where do whores go? "A lovely girl," said Tyrion, "and we were joined beneath the eyes of gods and men. It may be that she is lost to me, but until I know that for a certainty I must be true to her."

A Dance with Dragons - Tyrion IX

*-*

"The Lord Protector's daughter," the bald knight announced, all hearty gallantry. He rose ponderously. "And full as lovely as the tales told of her, I see."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

PRETTY:

She frowned down at them with dismay and glanced over to where her sister Sansa sat among the other girls. Sansa's needlework was exquisite. Everyone said so. "Sansa's work is as pretty as she is," Septa Mordane told their lady mother once. "She has such fine, delicate hands."

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

*-*

"He's going to marry her," little Beth said dreamily, hugging herself. "Then Sansa will be queen of all the realm."

Sansa had the grace to blush. She blushed prettily. She did everything prettily, Arya thought with dull resentment.

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

*-*

"Lady," he said, tasting the name. He had never paid much attention to the names the children had picked, but looking at her now, he knew that Sansa had chosen well. She was the smallest of the litter, the prettiest, the most gentle and trusting. She looked at him with bright golden eyes, and he ruffled her thick grey fur.

A Game of Thrones - Eddard III

*-*

A pity Ned Stark had taken his daughters south; elsewise Theon could have tightened his grip on Winterfell by marrying one of them. Sansa was a pretty little thing too, and by now likely even ripe for bedding. But she was a thousand leagues away, in the clutches of the Lannisters. A shame.

A Clash of Kings - Theon IV

*-*

"I will sing it for you gladly."

Sandor Clegane snorted. "Pretty thing, and such a bad liar. A dog can smell a lie, you know. Look around you, and take a good whiff. They're all liars here . . . and every one better than you."

A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

*-*

I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he's always liked me in this gown, this color.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

*-*

"Leave her face," Joffrey commanded. "I like her pretty."

A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

*-*

"Didn't you ever have a brother you wanted to kill?" He laughed again. "Or maybe a sister?" He must have seen something in her face then, for he leaned closer. "Sansa. That's it, isn't it? The wolf bitch wants to kill the pretty bird."

A Storm of Swords - Arya IX

*-*

Jaime found himself wondering if Brienne might have passed this way before him. If she thought that Sansa Stark had made for Riverrun . . . Had they encountered other travelers, he might have stopped to ask if any of them had chance to see a pretty maid with auburn hair, or a big ugly one with a face that would curdle milk. But there was no one on the roads but wolves, and their howling held no answers.

A Feast for Crows - Jaime III

*-*

Petyr put a finger under her chin. "That Royce glimpsed this pretty face I do not doubt, but it was one face in a thousand. A man fighting in a tourney has more to concern him than some child in the crowd. And at Winterfell, Sansa was a little girl with auburn hair. My daughter is a maiden tall and fair, and her hair is chestnut. Men see what they expect to see, Alayne."

A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

*-*

Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket.

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

She studied Alayne's face and chest. "You are prettier than me, but my breasts are larger.

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

Sansa was the pretty one. He remembered a time when he had thought that Lord Eddard Stark might marry him to Sansa and claim him for a son, but that had only been a child's fancy.

A Dance with Dragons - Reek I

*-*

Petyr put his arm around her. "So he is, but he is Robert's heir as well. Bringing Harry here was the first step in our plan, but now we need to keep him, and only you can do that. He has a weakness for a pretty face, and whose face is prettier than yours? Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

*-*

BEAUTIFUL:

"Joffrey likes your sister," Jeyne whispered, proud as if she had something to do with it. She was the daughter of Winterfell's steward and Sansa's dearest friend. "He told her she was very beautiful."

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

*-*

Worse, she was beautiful. Sansa had gotten their mother's fine high cheekbones and the thick auburn hair of the Tullys.

A Game of Thrones - Arya I

*-*

When the white horse stopped in front of her, she thought her heart would burst.To the other maidens he had given white roses, but the one he plucked for her was red. "Sweet lady," he said, "no victory is half so beautiful as you." Sansa took the flower timidly, struck dumb by his gallantry.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

*-*

"Sweet Sansa," Queen Cersei said, laying a soft hand on her wrist. "Such a beautiful child. I do hope you know how much Joffrey and I love you."

A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

*-*

She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

*-*

His smile emboldened her, made her feel beautiful and strong. He does love me, he does.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa V

*-*

"I will need hot water for my bath, please," she told them, "and perfume, and some powder to hide this bruise." The right side of her face was swollen and beginning to ache, but she knew Joffrey would want her to be beautiful.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

*-*

His brow was damp with sweat. "I saw Sansa at the court, the day Tyrion told me his terms. She looked most beautiful, my lady. Perhaps a, a bit wan. Drawn, as it were."

A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VI

*-*

"Sansa was a lady at three, always so courteous and eager to please. She loved nothing so well as tales of knightly valor. Men would say she had my look, but she will grow into a woman far more beautiful than I ever was, you can see that. I often sent away her maid so I could brush her hair myself. She had auburn hair, lighter than mine, and so thick and soft... the red in it would catch the light of the torches and shine like copper..."

A Clash of Kings - Catelyn VII

*-*

As they lurched into motion, Tyrion reclined on an elbow while Sansa sat staring at her hands. She is just as comely as the Tyrell girl. Her hair was a rich autumn auburn, her eyes a deep Tully blue. Grief had given her a haunted, vulnerable look; if anything, it had only made her more beautiful. He wanted to reach her, to break through the armor of her courtesy.

A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

*-*

Tyrion had never seen her look more lovely, yet she wore sorrow on those long satin sleeves. "Lady Sansa," he told her, "you shall be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight."

A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

*-*

"Ser Loras," she finally managed, "you.. you look so lovely."

He gave her a puzzled smile. "My lady is too kind. And beautiful besides. My sister awaits you eagerly."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

*-*

"At the Hand's tourney, don't you remember? You rode a white courser, and your armor was a hundred different kinds of flowers. You gave me a rose. A red rose. You threw white roses to the other girls that day." It made her flush to speak of it. "You said no victory was half as beautiful as me."

Ser Loras gave her a modest smile. "I spoke only a simple truth, that any man with eyes could see."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa I

*-*

She wanted to look beautiful for Willas Tyrell. Even if Dontos was right, and it is Winterfell he wants and not me, he still may come to love me for myself.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

*-*

"You are very beautiful, my lady," the seamstress said when she was dressed.

"I am, aren't I?" Sansa giggled, and spun, her skirts swirling around her. "Oh, I am." She could not wait for Willas to see her like this. He will love me, he will, he must... he will forget Winterfell when he sees me, I'll see that he does.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

Tyrion wore a doublet of black velvet covered with golden scrollwork, thigh-high boots that added three inches to his height, a chain of rubies and lions' heads. But the gash across his face was raw and red, and his nose was a hideous scab. "You are very beautiful, Sansa," he told her.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

Ser Kevan told her she was beautiful, Jalabhar Xho said something she did not understand in the Summer Tongue, and Lord Redwyne wished her many fat children and long years of joy. And then the dance brought her face-to-face with Joffrey.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

*-*

Littlefinger pointed out a cedar chest under the porthole. "You'll find fresh garb within. Dresses, smallclothes, warm stockings, a cloak. Wool and linen only, I fear. Unworthy of a maid so beautiful, but they'll serve to keep you dry and clean until we can find you something finer."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

*-*

"Marillion?" she said, uncertain. "You are... kind to think of me, but.. pray forgive me. I am very tired."

"And very beautiful.

All night I have been making songs for you in my head. A lay for your eyes, a ballad for your lips, a duet to your breasts. I will not sing them, though. They were poor things, unworthy of such beauty." He sat on her bed and put his hand on her leg. "Let me sing to you with my body instead."

She caught a whiff of his breath. "You're drunk."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VI

*-*

"I wish you could see yourself, my lady. You are so beautiful. You're crusted over with snow like some little bear cub, but your face is flushed and you can scarcely breathe. How long have you been out here? You must be very cold. Let me warm you, Sansa. Take off those gloves, give me your hands."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

*-*

"But you're not, are you? You are Eddard Stark's daughter, and Cat's. But I think you might be even more beautiful than your mother was, when she was your age."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

*-*

"Do you require guarding?" Marillion said lightly. "I am composing a new song, you should know. A song so sweet and sad it will melt even your frozen heart. 'The Roadside Rose,' I mean to call it. About a baseborn girl so beautiful she bewitched every man who laid eyes upon her."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

*-*

"Have you no honor?" her aunt said sharply. "Or do you take me for a fool? You do, don't you? You take me for a fool. Yes, I see that now. I am not a fool. You think you can have any man you want because you're young and beautiful. Don't think I haven't seen the looks you give Marillion.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

*-*

"And you must be the Lord Protector's daughter," she added, as the bucket went rattling back up to the Eyrie. "I had heard that you were beautiful. I see that it is true."

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

"So you're brave as well as beautiful," Myranda said to her.

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

"Dutiful and beautiful," said an elegant young knight whose thick blond mane cascaded down well past his shoulders.

"Aye," said the second knight, a burly fellow with a thick salt-and-pepper beard, a red nose bulbous with broken veins, and gnarled hands as large as hams. "You left out that part, m'lord."

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

*-*

"I was never beautiful like Sansa, but they all said I was pretty. Does Lord Ramsay think I am pretty?"

A Dance with Dragons - The Prince of Winterfell

*-*

"It was sweet," lied Tyrion, "but I am married. She was with me at the feast, you may remember her. Lady Sansa."

"Was she your wife? She … she was very beautiful …"

A Dance with Dragons - Tyrion IX

*-*

Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, "Ser Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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"You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age. I cannot seat you on the dais, but you'll have a place of honor above the salt and underneath a wall sconce. The fire will be shining in your hair, so everyone will see how fair of face you are. Keep a good long spoon on hand to beat the squires off, sweetling. You will not want green boys underfoot when the knights come round to beg you for your favor."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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"A beautiful bastard, and the Lord Protector's daughter." Petyr drew her close and kissed her on both cheeks. "The night belongs to you, sweetling, Remember that, always."

The Winds of Winter - Alayne I

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#sansa stark #asoiaf #A Song of Ice and Fire #quotes #sansa & beauty #ymbq #agot #acok #asos #affc #adwd #twow #alayne stone #let me know if there is more #mine

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gentlemen-of-lies · 3 years

Text

Gentlemen of Lies, chapter 4

Who needs to follow the Law(son)?

————

(Beginning)

(Next chapter)

(Previous chapter)

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“So how did it go?” Asked Owen, the following morning. Curt was sitting with him in a sandwich shop near the hostel. Terrible place, with terrible sandwiches. But the coffee was decent, and it was weirdly full most of the time, which made for a good spot to swap notes.

“I found out which café he goes to after work, so following him will be a piece of cake. We’re already on friendly terms.” Curt took a bite out of a ham and cheese sandwich, a combination so simple he couldn’t believe anyone could screw it up, yet somehow the shop had. And this was their profession. He didn’t take another bite.

“Not bad. Any information?”

“On the first meeting? All I found out was where he worked, and I already knew that.”

“That’s it? How long did you stay with him?” Curt didn’t know how to tell Owen that he’d only stuck around for about ten minutes before rushing off to trail Lawson, so he didn’t.

“Nearly two hours, but the guy’s not a talker, and he was starting to get pissed at me. What did you want me to do, make him suspicious?” Owen scoffed, a usual occurrence when he was around Curt, even when nothing seemed to call for it. He hadn’t ordered anything either, which inexplicably made Curt even more infuriated at him.

“So what’s the plan for the day?” Prompted Curt. Owen leant back in his seat, and pondered for a moment.

“That’s up to you,” he concluded.

“Huh?”

“We’re supposed to be partners. Not teacher and student. You figure it out. If you screw it up, it’s your problem. I’m heading into the agency today for more files on the suspects. You can do whatever you think is best.”

“Oh well... okay then.” This was perfect! Curt now had the free rain to investigate Lawson. He’d been thinking about it all last night, in between sips of stale whiskey. He needed to find away to make proper contact with Lawson, and he couldn’t count on the guy being as talkative as Hayes, because what were the odds of that? So sitting down in front of him in a café may not be his best option. He needed a guaranteed plan to strike up a conversation- maybe even some semblance of a friendship with Lawson.

But for that, he needed more information. So for now, tailing him was all he had.

Lawson had already left for work by the time Curt arrived at his apartment building, which meant he had a good few hours to investigate, and perhaps he could find a way to talk to one of the neighbours, find out any information from them. Either they knew something useful, or they knew nothing- which would add even more suspicion to his growing case.

Curt didn’t want to hang around outside making a plan, in case any residents spotted him, so he ducked into the alleyway to try and figure out how to make contact with the neighbours. He supposed he could pretend to be a police officer, asking around for a case, trying to find witnesses. He didn’t look like a police officer, nor did he have a badge. But if he found someone gullible enough, and told them he was undercover, or off-duty, he might be able to find something out at least. He just had to be careful. No loitering, or messing around. If none of the neighbours accepted his claims of being an officer, he’d have to just walk away without a fuss. If he blew this case while investigating someone he wasn’t supposed to, he’d never hear the end of it.

He neatened himself up, and exited the alleyway, making his way up the front steps of the apartment building. He looked at the little metal plaques on the side of the building, trying to work out from name which neighbour might help him. On the first floor lived a couple, the plaque simply said “The Davidsons”. Couples were usually helpful. Even if one wasn’t, the other tended to be. Better if they had a child; if they thought a crime had been committed they’d be eager to help for their own safety. Curt rang the doorbell next to their name, and waited for a few moments. The front door of the building soon clicked open, and a young woman appeared, a baby sitting sitting on her lap, looking up at Curt curiously.

“Hello?” She said.

“Morning. Sorry to bother you,” began Curt, reverting to his British accent. “I’m from the police force, investigating a crime, and I just wanted to ask around the area for any witnesses or evidence. Standard procedure, nothing to worry about ma’am.” By this point, Curt was winging it with his dialogue. But he wasn’t bad at bluffing his way through acts.

“You don’t look like a police officer,” observed the woman, rather predictably.

“No, I’m technically off-duty. But the sooner this case gets solved the better.”

“What’s the case?”

“Just a burglary, up the street from here. I wanted to know if you’ve seen anyone or anything suspicious.”

“No, nothing. I haven’t heard of any burglary...” Shit. Maybe burglary wasn’t a good option. People talked, neighbours talked. Of course this lady would know about a burglary in the area.

“Well, oddly enough nothing was taken. Just a broken window. It may not even have been a burglary. I expect the owners didn’t feel the need to say anything. They’re in the building four doors down from the alleyway. Flat 1?”

“Oh, right. Mr Harris. He’s old. Reclusive. No wonder he didn’t say anything.” Curt silently breathed a sigh of relief, disbelieving of his own luck.

“Yes, exactly. And you definitely didn’t see anything?”

“Not that I remember. When was the incident?”

“Late evening last Tuesday. Around nine thirty?”

“No, my husband and I were out at a show, we left the kids with a babysitter. I can always call her if you want, she might have seen something.” Ah jeez... it’d be weird for him to say no, but Curt was starting to dig himself into a hole.

“Of course, why don’t you write down her contact details, I can reach her later.”

“I’ll go and grab a pen, if you give me five minutes-”

“Actually, before you do that,” interjected Curt, really not wanting to stand outside for five minutes with no more information than he had started with. “Would any of your other neighbours know anything do you think?”

“I mean, you can certainly ask, but I know Gerald was away on Tuesday, he lives in flat 2A just upstairs.” Flat 2A? Well this was perfect. Not only did he have the name of Lawson’s direct neighbour, but he also had an opportunity to bring up Lawson in the first place.

“What about flat 2B? I noticed it wasn’t listed on the building?”

“Oh, no one really knows the man who lives there. His name’s John I think. Forgot his surname. Lives alone. He doesn’t talk to us much, smiles on his way out to work though, so I suppose he’s a nice bloke.”

“Was he out on Tuesday?”

“Lord knows, probably. He’s out a lot. He’s out right now actually, but then so is most people, come back later and you can talk to him.” Curt didn’t want Lawson seeing him, at least not yet. It was too risky. But he’d definitely be back, perhaps to talk with Gerald, whoever that was. But he still had to deal with his duty of tailing Hayes, and hopefully shaking off Owen for long enough as well.

Curt waited out the rest of the hours in the café that Hayes went to after work, since it was fairly near to Lawson’s building. And the sandwiches here were much better, with bread that didn’t taste like a sponge, and ham and cheese that didn’t share a concerning likeness to plastic.

The sun grew higher in the sky, and Curt wondered what Owen was doing right now. The man didn’t seem to be very involved in the case, leaving everything up to him. Perhaps he’d been instructed to stay out of it as much as possible, so Curt could gain “experience”. But whether the explanation was a mark on his competence or not, Curt didn’t care, since he was certain the case would go much quicker without Owen telling him what he could and couldn’t do.

The bell near the door tinkled and Curt looked up absent-mindedly. Hayes had just walked in, which was a surprise. Curt glanced at his watch. It was already going on five...? He’d barely noticed.

He waved Hayes over.

“Howdy,” he greeted. Howdy? Going too far, Curt, you’re not a cowboy.

“Hello. I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.” Hayes sat down opposite, depositing his briefcase on the floor.

“Well, I was just passing, thought I’d stop in for a coffee.” Curt was already itching to go back to Lawson’s building. If he made an excuse now, he could easily leave. Say he had a deadline to meet, writing stuff. Really musn’t stay.

“This is great, you can tell me all about America. You know I really am interested, i’ve only ever been around Europe, never to the States, at least not yet. So I don’t know much-” jeez this guy really was a talker. He actually wanted to know about America? That was just something Curt had said to be polite, to say when he had nothing else to say. He wasn’t a teacher and this wasn’t a lesson.

But Hayes was still a suspect. Which meant Curt couldn’t blow him off, leave him disappointed and risk him not opening up again. Besides, he suddenly thought. This guy worked in the same building as Lawson. Perhaps the two knew each other. Of course, Curt couldn’t bring Lawson up; he was supposed to be a travel writer from America. How would he know Lawson? But it was still in his best interest to keep Hayes on good terms.

So Curt ended up sitting in that damn café, getting through two cups of coffees and a bagel, talking all about his life in America, to a guy who simply would not lose any sign of his curiosity.

He supposed it was nice in a way, almost like a break from work and just talking about life before he became a spy. But Lawson was on the back of his mind the entire time, so he couldn’t help but feel very restless, and by the end of the conversation, he was almost exhausted from talking. Along with being chatty, Hayes also asked question after question. It was like dealing with a toddler. A balding toddler with a suit and briefcase.

By the time the clock reached six, Curt decided that he simply couldn’t stick around. He’d said enough. Excusing himself would no longer be impolite.

“This has been great, but I really have to get back to my hostel. It has a curfew you see.” Technically the curfew was at ten, which still gave Curt plenty of time, but Hayes didn’t need to know that.

“Oh of course! I’m sorry if I’ve been so persistent.” Curt brushed his apology off with a wave of his hand.

“Not at all, it was nice.”

“It was! I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me.” Hayes was a sweet guy. If he did turn out to be the mole, Curt would genuinely be disappointed. But then maybe that was a red flag. Perhaps he was too nice.

“Sure thing. I’ll be seeing you.” Curt stood up, placed a handful of coins on the table for the waiter, and finally left the shop, the sun already starting to set.

Now for Lawson. If Owen wasn’t so stubborn, surely Curt should be praised for his dedication. Two suspects in one day. Not bad.

#spies are forever #spies are forever prequel #spies are forever fanfiction #curt mega x owen carvour #tin can bros #gentlemen of lies #agent curt mega #owen carvour #starkid

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pvandermeer409 · 3 years

Quote

He was pulled into a suffocating whirlpool of colour and sound. The young wizard had yanked him forcefully and suddenly into it. The bald man tried to pull away, but the young man’s grip was too strong for him to break. When they finally landed, the taste of sand and salty earth had filled his mouth. He got up slowly, taking in his surroundings with squinted eyes. It was blindingly bright and very hot. The snake-faced man was surrounded by towering red sandstone buttes, yellow sands, and tall cacti which sprouted from the ground over great distances. He was not in Massachusetts anymore. ‘Do you like it here?’ asked the young wizard, ‘I figured we should relocate our little duel to a safer location, so I apparated us to Arizona.’ He scoffed at his opponent. It mattered not where he had chosen to die. ‘So noble of you to make sure I do not harm innocent bystanders or any of your little MACUSA friends,’ uttered Mortedigne. ‘Oh, do not assume I am overconcerned for the safety of my peers, Guillaume,’ said the wizard, ‘I merely brought us here so I could duel you with no interruption. You see, Guillaume, I am going to kill you today.’ As he said these words, he sounded calm and polite, yet his eyes were burning with fury. And, for the first time that day, Mortedigne felt nervous and angry. It was not only for the cheek of using his common forename but for the fact that this insultingly young wizard had held his own against him. He, Mortedigne, the greatest wizard since Voldemort himself. The man who had walked the path of the Dark Lord so closely, only to have his Horcruxes destroyed by those meddling Aurors and this young man, this boy. Of course, he had not dared set foot in Britain. Potter and his cronies were always on alert when it came to dark wizards. His native France had been the base of his operations. His ever-growing army of supporters, some of them fresh out of Beauxbatons, had all flocked to him as the man who would finally rid this world of mudbloods, traitors, and muggles. But those British Aurors were constantly at his heels. It seemed Potter was on the lookout for any signs of a would-be-Voldemort, even beyond his home country. He was forced to flee to America, where he first encountered this boy; another Briton, those did seem to take the most offence to his brand of magic. Yet this one was different, he appeared to be unbothered, and even bored at times, by the crimes Mortedigne had committed. He and his merry band of youngsters had stripped him of his final two Horcruxes with an alarming ease. He would not have it. This boy, barely four years out of Hogwarts, had humiliated him for the last time. ‘You would stoop so low, for me?’ asked Mortedigne, ‘Only because I killed your little friend?’. ‘Precisely,’ said the wizard. And with one quick flick of his wand, he sent a pillar of flames raging toward Mortedigne, who quickly turned the pillar into water and aimed it back at its original conjurer. The wizard sent it back as an enormous black snake and Mortedigne had to quickly dive out of its way. He sent a Killing Curse at the wizard but, as he did before, he blocked it with relative ease. A bright screen of light red and gold was conjured from between his hand and his wand and, as the Killing Curse hit it, it shattered, and the wizard stumbled backwards slightly. Mortedigne laughed his cold high laugh. ‘This is amazing! I have never seen anything like it! You block the Killing Curse as if it were nothing at all!’ he said. ‘A charm of my own invention. Inspired by the curious case of Harry Potter,’ said the young man as he aimed another curse at his opponent. Mortedigne blocked it and proceeded to scream ‘Crucio!’. The wizard jumped aside and aimed another stream of fire at Mortedigne, who apparated out of the way and behind the wizard. The wizard caught on quickly and turned around to face him again as Mortedigne sent another Killing Curse at him. ‘Blocked again! You’ll need to start getting more creative if you want to have a chance at defeating me you cheap, snivelling, off-brand Voldemort imitation!’ he yelled. Mortedigne let out a scream of anger as he sent a jet of rubble and sand at the wizard, who turned it to a swarm of bees which sped back at Mortedigne. He sprang out a wall of fire to block the coming horde. The wizard appeared out of the flames and yelled ‘Diffindo!’. Mortedigne blocked it as the young man advanced on him slashing his wand furiously and with amazing speed. They duelled fiercely as the sun sank to their west. Neither could overcome the other, their wands slashing the hot air with such speed that they were barely visible. The two wizards bellowed curses at each other which lit the desert air like wildfire. The boy kept taunting him as they battled. He was getting angry at this arrogant fool; it was time to end this. ‘Let’s see if you can block that shall we?!’ he called and screamed the incantation. A huge jet of intensely hot flames shot out of his wand. Fiendfyre was encircling the wizard, taking the shapes of giant dragons, snakes, and manticores. The wizard smiled and apparated from within the flames, just as they were about to engulf him. A flood of excitement washed over Mortedigne. He fell for it. Mortedigne turned around immediately and screamed ‘Confringo!’. He had caught the wizard by surprise. The young man had barely the time to conjure a rock to block the blasting curse. He was shot many feet into the air and backwards into the side of a butte which shattered as his body rammed through it with force. Mortedigne laughed again. ‘I know you are still alive boy! You will not fool me into false confidence! Show yourself at once and face your death with courage!’ he yelled. Nothing happened. Could it be? After all this amazing display of talent, that a simple blasting curse did away with this magnificent opponent? No, there was some trick here. Something was not right; his obnoxious opponent did not go silent for no reason... ‘It seems…’ called a voice from behind the massive rock, ‘that we’ve almost reached the conclusion of our battle.’ The wizard turned from behind the butte. His left arm was shattered, bloody, and badly burned. He had bruises, cuts, and burns all over his body. His right arm, though still holding his wand, was trembling violently. ‘Ah, you’ve finally come to face death like a man, I see. Come here now, boy, I will make it quick,’ said Mortedigne. ‘You’ve been an admirable opponent, the best I’ve had so far if I’m honest. Shame it must end like this. And yet, you killed Alex,’ said the wizard. ‘What are you talking about?!’ demanded Mortedigne. This final bit of insolence took him by surprise. ‘Well, I didn’t want to do that you see, it is a dreadful bit of magic after-all,’ said the young man calmly. Mortedigne opened his mouth to speak again, yet whatever he had to say in retort was completely banished by the shocking sight ahead. As the young wizard raised his wand with what seemed like horribly painful effort, a gigantic ball of bright blue energy had appeared from behind the rock to his right. It looked as if he had imprisoned a lightning bolt inside a clear cage which stirred and shifted ferociously. It could barely be contained. As he was staring at this monstrous sight, Mortedigne felt a strong, scalding hot tag at the bottoms of his feet. His own Fiendfyre was holding him tightly in place. He could not move, he could not apparate without severing his own limbs. Panicking, he summoned all the energy, courage, and rage he had within him and screamed ‘AVADA KEDAVRA!’. However, even before the curse could travel a few feet, the gigantic ball of light was upon him. And then, a fleeting sensation of horrible, searing pain, and he was nothing at all.

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13823288/1/Harry-Potter-and-The-Lost-Child

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30081021/chapters/74086224

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halothenthehorns · 4 years

Text

DOBBY’S REWARD

DOBBY'S REWARD

They had a very late dinner then. All just needing to take a break from what was hands down the worst chapter yet. After a nice relaxing meal, Harry even offered they could quit for the night, since nothing this awful could happen the rest of the year. They disagreed though, stating that they may as well finish, there couldn't really be any surprises left, right?

Before he began, Sirius noted the length of the book and told them, "I think this is the last chapter."

"I bloody well hope so," James groaned, massaging his stomach and still not looking one hundred percent. He had eaten a very light dinner, something Lily had noted and was genuinely concerned about, "because I honestly can't take much more from this one."

Harry gave them all sympathetic looks, but really couldn't think of anything to say as Sirius read.

Harry only briefly glanced around the room before someone started screaming. It was Mrs. Weasley, yelling her daughter's name.

They all nodded, none of them really too surprised Ginny's parents were up at the school, and more than pleased they were some of the firsts to find out she was alive.

Both she and Arthur were corralled around their daughter in a second,

There were finally smiles back in the room, all of them genuinely happy in that one small moment that this family was still whole.

and Harry sidestepped them to let them have their moment and instead walked over to Dumbledore who was next to the fireplace.

'Well I was right' Sirius mentally sighed, 'one more bad thing and Dumbledore's back.' He hated that the 'bad' thing was that poor Ginny had supposedly died though, so he didn't bring it up.

He laid the hat and sword down on McGonagall's desk, who was still clutching her chest in shock at their arrival. Fawkes flew past Harry and landed on Dumbledore's shoulder, but before Harry got a chance to speak, Mrs. Weasley had pulled him and Ron into a bone crushing hug, praising her thanks, and then asking how they'd pulled it off.

"You're not going to like it," Harry offered weakly, thinking that if these people's reactions were anything close to his family's he'd be lucky if someone in that room didn't faint as well.

Harry went into as much detail as possible explaining what all had been going on this year,

"Everything?" James couldn't help but ask.

Harry nodded, not having left anything out of the story that time. He'd been too worried Ginny was going to be blamed, so he added as much ridiculous detail as he could manage, while leaving her out of this as long as possible. Not remotely concerned for his own place at the school at that point so long as she wasn't punished.

telling of all he'd learned, and it all culminating to his trip to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.

"Putting it like that doesn't sound nearly as dramatic as reading it all through," Remus chuckled weakly.

"Sorry I couldn't just summarize it," Harry admitted.

"Nah, the fun, good parts almost make up for the horrible, you could've died parts," Sirius chuckled.

Surprisingly, the others did agree. It was horrible, heart wrenching, and many other synonyms that they had to hear about their little Harry having to go through all of this, but they were also getting something in return. A true record of their boy's life, things he might not even have told them if they had survived. What twelve-year-old would tell them about the singing valentine? It was the little things like this that made the story worthwhile.

McGonagall was the first to speak, first pointing out that they had broken nearly every school rule in the process of all this,

"Oh it wasn't quite every one," Lily murmured, "I could actually go back and count, but I might go bald in the process if I tried."

but then asking how Harry had survived his stay in the Chamber? Harry kept talking then, describing in detail his battle with the basilisk, but having so far left out Ginny's part in the story. He was to worried that she might be blamed in all of this, and how could he prove otherwise when the diary no longer worked?

All five of them were now tense and upset again, knowing they really couldn't stand it if she was blamed for this mess...

Sirius read with fervour, hoping desperately some miracle would help the girl.

He turned his attention to Dumbledore pleadingly, and Dumbledore almost smiled as he commented he found it astounding that Voldemort had managed to take hold of Ginny when his last rumour had been the Dark Lord was somewhere in Albania.

That sentence created a whole stirring of emotions in the room, the least of which was relief that Ginny wasn't going to be blamed.

"So, did Dumbledore know what was going on this whole time?" Lily asked hesitantly. His crimes against Harry had been bad enough last year, but if he had stood by with even having an

inkling that something bad was going on with Ginny...

"Did he say Voldemort really was alive?" James demanded, hating that he couldn't go one bloody chapter without wanting to snatch up his son and go into hiding for the rest of his life.

"How did Dumbledore know it was Voldemort enchanting Ginny?" Remus grumbled, not exactly sorry, but stunned all the same.

The three of them had asked their questions almost exactly at the same time, so it took a moment to sort out and decide if any of them even had an answer to any of the above.

They didn't.

After a few circular arguments where nothing was remotely resolved, Sirius kept reading, knowing that Dumbledore really hadn't explained much last year, but hoping he might this time.

Arthur was shocked, stuttering out how this could have happened to his daughter?

"Poor guy," James said in sympathy. Ginny wasn't even his daughter and he'd felt wretched at the idea, he could only guess at how Arthur was really feeling right then.

Harry was quick to explain all the diary had told him about her possession, and Dumbledore seemed almost intrigued by the book, explaining that Riddle had been one the brightest students Hogwarts had ever known.

"And yet, I still hate him," Sirius told no one in particular.

He went on to explain that after he'd left Hogwarts he'd disappeared from the public eye, and gone through so many horrific transformations to gain himself power, that by the time he'd come back as Voldemort, no one could connect the two.

"Barely recognizable?" Remus demanded. "I've never seen him, but I've heard he doesn't look the least bit human."

"Some people say he isn't," Lily agreed, "though now I guess we know that isn't true."

Mr. Weasley was still stuck on how his daughter was involved in all of this, asking her how she hadn't realized how dangerous this had been? He'd always told his children never to trust something where you couldn't see where it kept its brain.

"That's pretty sound advice," James nodded, happy someone had said this with Harry around. Hopefully nothing like this would come again.

He asked his daughter why she hadn't shown it to him, or her mother, since it was clearly a dark object.

Lily grimaced, all for the fact that her parents were educating Ginny on this, but now didn't seem the time to reprimand. Yes her parents were scared, but couldn't they have held off telling her this... then she remembered all the times she spun on her own son in fear of what she had just discovered he'd done, and recognized she had scolded first. Guess it was just a parent thing that you snap in fear, even if it is at the child themselves.

Ginny was still half crying that she hadn't known better, she'd found it in one of her textbooks, and thought someone had left it around for her.

"She found it in one of her books?" Sirius demanded, looking flabbergasted. "Was that thing being sold at Flourish and Blotts or something?"

"Not possible," James shot down, "I can't imagine this thing in a shop like that."

"Well surely Ginny isn't lying," Remus frowned, "so what else could it be?"

They were rather annoyed they truly did seem at a dead end this time, and all the more upset it didn't seem possible they could easily prevent this thing from falling into someone else's hands.

Dumbledore cut her off with a gentle command that she should go up to the hospital wing. She would not be punished in any way for this.

Though they had all been praying for this, they still couldn't help but release a breath of relief at this confirmation.

He even told that Madam Pomfrey would be up already, because she was busy awakening the other petrified students. Ron was overjoyed to hear Hermione was waking up, and Dumbledore agreed that there was no permanent damage done. Arthur and Molly escorted their daughter out, still looking deeply disturbed by the whole thing.

"As I'm sure they will be for some time," James agreed sadly. He had only just found out his son really should have died in that Chamber as well, and he still didn't look any kind of okay about it.

Then Dumbledore turned his attention on McGonagall and told her to go and wake all of the houses, a feast was in order. She agreed, stating that she would leave the headmaster to deal with the boys as she left.

"Deal with us?" Harry asked curiously. "We aren't really going to be punished are we? There's not actually a school rule saying we can't go into the Chamber is there?"

"Well no," Sirius said, unable to suppress a grin at the outraged look on Harry's face, "but you did admit to several other rule breakings. Going into the forest comes to mind."

Then Harry turned sheepish and uncertain, now hoping he really wouldn't get into trouble himself now that it was clear Ginny was in the clear.

Harry and Ron exchanged very concerned looks as their head of house left and they were now stuck with Dumbledore, who began by reminding them that he had threatened to expel them if they got up to any more rule breakings this year.

Lily then said something very unladylike, not looking the least bit abashed as she continued, "-he's not really going to expel you is he? You did save her life! All those things you admitted to doing wouldn't warrant expulsion!"

Harry couldn't help but grin at his mother, glad to see she would have been just as outraged as anyone else if Dumbledore did kick them out.

Sirius didn't feel like waiting around for an answer, but blasted on to see if their old Headmaster really would do something like that.

Harry didn't have time to feel the weight of that before Dumbledore kept talking about how this showed even the best man was left to eat his words.

They released yet another breathe of relief, happy Dumbledore was indeed 'eating his words.' Harry and Ron getting punished on top of everything else that had happened tonight would have

been a bit too much injustice.

He decided that they would both get Special Awards from the school for their act, and gave them two hundred points each for Gryffindor.

They all beamed with pride at that. Unlike last year, they felt these two boys fully deserved that praise for the remarkable job of everything they'd done this year.

"Well, ah-" Remus began before breaking out into laughter.

"That should put a twist in Voldemort's knickers," James cackled, "my son taking away his stupid trophy, and proving Hagrid's innocence."

"So, would this mean Hagrid could go back to school and learn more magic?" Lily asked eagerly.

Harry suddenly cocked his head to the side in puzzlement as he responded slowly, "err, well yes, it should. I know for a fact Dumbledore says he doesn't have a record anymore, but for some

reason Hagrid never actually goes 'back to school'. He still lives there as gamekeeper though." He finished this with a sense that he had left something out, though he had no idea what? Did Hagrid hold another title at school perhaps?

"I wonder why?" Sirius asked in puzzlement. "Did he at least get his wand fixed?"

Harry just shrugged, saying, "Can't tell you that. Doubt I ever asked him anyways, even if I could remember. It seems a bit personal."

"Fair enough," they all agreed, deciding to move past this for now.

Then Dumbledore turned to the last person in the room, Lockhart, who had been standing in the corner being quieter than he probably ever had in his life. Harry had forgotten he was even there as Dumbledore asked why he had been so silent this whole time.

"I still haven't," Remus couldn't help but snicker all over again, "and I'm going to enjoy this one for a long time. Though I do wonder what kind of idiot they're going to get next year, you've somehow got a worse track record than us!"

Harry gave him a puzzled look, he had been wondering that himself, but still had no honest way to answer that.

Lockhart just gave a vacant smile as answer, and Ron added in the part that there had been a mishap in the Chamber involving the Professor. Lockhart cut them off by demanding was that really his job?

"No," all five of them muttered at once, bitter hatred for his lies still lingering tenfold, especially what he had tried to do to Harry.

Then he asked if he was as bad at the job as he thought.

Remus smacked Sirius for that, then Sirius let out a surprised yelp of pain and demanded, "What was that for? I thought you'd appreciate that one?"

"Don't joke like that Sirius," Remus scoffed.

With a wicked grin, Sirius flipped the book so Remus could see for himself, which made Remus smile like he'd just gotten his Christmas and Birthday all at once. "I still don't believe it! This is wonderful!"

The others were too busy laughing at the whole exchange to get in a real comment.

Ron explained that he'd been hit with a memory charm he'd been trying to use on them, and Dumbledore made the comment that Lockhart had been hit with his own sword.

"Say what?" Lily demanded, laughter dried up at once. "Is that saying Dumbledore knew what he had done?"

"Maybe he couldn't prove it?" James murmured, "I mean, no one else in the entire wizarding community seemed to have noticed anything either."

Lily sighed as she backed down, and also admitted she couldn't start blaming Dumbledore for every little thing that ever went wrong around that school. He was a powerful wizard, but even he

couldn't fix everything.

Lockhart didn't seem to get it, asking about a sword dumbly.

"Truest words yet," Remus muttered, still rather enjoying this.

Then he gestured that Harry had a sword. Dumbledore turned to Ron and asked him to take Lockhart up to the hospital wing as well.

Harry looked genuinely puzzled by Lockhart's predicament. He seemed to be in the same boat as Harry had been when he'd awoken, but he had advanced some by then. He understood jokes and metaphors like Dumbledore had just made so had something else happened to him other than a memory charm being placed on him? He struggled to remember, but the moment his head began

pounding all over again he let it go. He had gone so long without that concussive pain returning, he didn't want to break now when they were so close to being done.

Ron agreed, and then it was just Harry and Dumbledore. The Headmaster began the conversation by saying he thanked Harry for his actions, as only the truest of loyalties could have called his pet down to Harry in the Chamber.

Harry nodded to himself, that had been something else he was wondering. How had Fawkes known to come to him? He had meant to ask, but in all the hubbub down there, he'd never found his chance. He supposed it was just the magical quality of the bird that, when showing its master loyalty, a phoenix knew to come?

Then he asked how Harry felt about meeting Tom Riddle.

"That's putting it mildly," James hissed, frowning anew at what he knew would give him nightmares tonight of that green hewed cavern.

Harry couldn't keep it in any longer, blurting out that Riddle had pointed out some of their similarities, how he could see they were alike.

"That hasn't been bothering you now, has it?" Lily demanded at once, feeling repulsed her son could think something of himself as to be compared to Voldemort.

"At first," Harry admitted, "but then I saw the way you guys reacted, and how you brushed all that stuff off, so I didn't really think on it after that."

All four of them beamed with pride, happy beyond words Harry really was relying on them in this way.

Dumbledore seemed interested, asking what Harry thought of it. Harry burst out a little too loudly that he didn't think that at all.

"Which means you were really afraid you were," James groaned.

"Yes," Harry admitted, "but not now," he finished with a reminder, making his dad smile once more.

He tried to say that he was in Gryffindor, but he stuttered off as he reminded himself that the hat had wanted him to be in Slytherin,

"Please," Sirius scoffed, "while I'm not saying you should have been in there, even if you had been you'd have been expelled the next day. Don't tell me Snape wouldn't have found some way

to kick you out because you got snarky with him in class."

James and Remus nodded in agreement, while Lily just rolled her eyes at all of them.

how he could also speak Parseltongue. Dumbledore decided to explain that his was a rare gift, that Voldemort had possessed through his own bloodline.

All five of them were frowning all over again, as Remus asked, "so? Why would Voldemort being able to do something mean anything to Harry?"

Harry could feel a bead of sweat beginning to trickle down the back of his neck. Before he realized it, he was almost panting with the effort to keep a sudden memory from emerging, blasting his skull into fire and- "Harry," James finally broke into his concentration, "relax son."

Harry nodded miserably as he opened his mouth, but- "I'm sorry," Remus blurted out before Harry could, mischievous and giving him a smirk, "I should have known better by now then to direct a question like that at you."

"What are you apologizing for, you can't help it," Harry blustered, rubbing at his temple all over again.

"Exactly," Sirius grinned, "you can't help but try to draw up the memories and answer. So stop trying to apologize for it."

He nodded in understanding, but began slowly and hesitantly, "I think, I'm fixing to find something out. Something Dumbledore tells me, you guys aren't going to like it."

They exchanged heavy looks at that, very worried at Harry's reaction, but already assuring him that they didn't care one jot what Dumbledore could ever say, they all still loved him.

Sirius went back to his reading, deciding he hated this chapter damn near as much as the last one because of the way it was making Harry feel.

He postulated that the night Harry had received his scar, Voldemort may have somehow inadvertently given Harry some of those powers.

Sirius' voice was already spiking in confusion and fear at the implications this implied, but he didn't have to guess that Harry must question Dumbledore about this, so he kept going loudly in hopes for a better explanation.

Harry spluttered in shock that some of Voldemort was in him, and Dumbledore agreed it looked that way.

"That's all we get?" Lily whimpered when it seemed Sirius had frozen up, meaning there wasn't anything else. "I really don't like the sound of that. What does that even mean? How could he-"

she broke off when she realized she had scooped up Harry's hand again, and was wringing it instead of her own. She smiled sheepishly at him, but he didn't pull away.

They all sat there for a long time, alternately soothing Harry that what they said was still true, they didn't care one teensy little bit...but they still really didn't like what this was implying.

The fact that they had no idea, not even an inkling to guess at what this could mean for Harry, scared them more than anything. Harry seemed fine now though, so deciding the boy had been

worried enough for one day, they firmly pushed this topic aside for later.

Harry then said this meant he should have been put in Slytherin,

"Still no," Sirius said at once, "the houses have absolutely nothing to do with that kind of stuff."

Harry finally gave a real smile then, unable to put into words how much he appreciated them still backing him up after all of this.

but Dumbledore corrected him by saying that Harry may have many of the traits Slytherin valued, like his determination, and a blind eye when it came to rules,

"Something that all five of us tend to have," Lily reminded Harry, beaming down at him

Harry chuckled at her then, having noted quite a few times where his mum wasn't really as against his nosing around as he would have expected from a mother. She clearly had just as much of a

curious streak as anyone else in the room.

but the sorting hat still put him in with the Gryffindors. Harry butted in that was only because he'd asked for this.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," James scoffed.

"Personally, I have a theory," Remus told them all. "We all have the basis for the other three houses, but it's our bravery that we asked for a house that may tip the scales to set us into

Gryffindor."

"I asked to go into Slytherin though," Lily objected, noting the stunned look, and shrugging without remorse. "What, after we had talked on the train, we decided we wanted to be in that house."

"Well I'm still partially right," Remus shrugged, "you asked to go into a house specifically, you just didn't get the house you asked for."

"I didn't ask for a house," Harry corrected, "I just said the house I didn't want."

"Which is the same basic principle," Sirius backed up Remus' theory, "you still asked, you just asked for what you didn't want."

They all nodded, rather curious, but determined they really couldn't ever know. No one really knew how the sorting hat worked.

Then Dumbledore told Harry there really wasn't a mistake, if he looked closer at the sword. Harry looked at the hilt, and etched into it were the words Godric Gryffindor.

"No way," James breathed, his eyes going wide as saucers, and a sudden burst of pride for his son making his chest nearly swell right out of him as he realized his very own boy had produced this legendary object.

"Not the fabled sword of myth," Sirius murmured.

"What are you guys talking about?" Harry asked curiously when it seemed they were all going to sit in stunned silence.

Lily explained eagerly, "The four founders of Hogwarts all created objects of great power. They were said to go to those in their house at a time of need, but no one's been able to summon them since they got lost back in the medieval times after the Founders passed."

"Gryffindor had a sword," Remus continued elaborating, "they say it was Goblin-made, indestructible, and had been enchanted to go to those of great potential. There are rumours that this was King Arthur's sword."

"Why would a wizard need a sword?" Harry probed curiously.

James was nearly bouncing in his seat as he explained, "back when Magic was a common thing among Muggles, Muggles had the right to challenge Wizards like anyone else. It was considered

immoral for Warlocks to use magic on Muggles even then, unfair to be honest, so it was just as common for our kind to be practiced in sword skills, as well as magic."

"Also how Wizard's duels came into existence," Sirius added on happily.

Harry looked so intrigued on the matter, he knew he could have sat there for hours questioning all of this further. What did the other founders have, what kind of magical properties, but he

recognized that it was getting very late, and his family dearly wanted to go to bed soon, so he held his tongue and thanked them for the History lesson.

Dumbledore explained that only a real Gryffindor could have convinced the hat to give up this sword.

"Sweet," Sirius whispered, all the more jealous of his pup. He would have been downright envious, if the set of circumstances Harry had gotten it didn't involve him nearly dying.

Then Dumbledore finally changed the subject by saying Harry should head down to the feast, and Dumbledore would be joining him soon, but he had to send a letter first. It was high time this school got its gamekeeper back.

"Thank Merlin," they all agreed fervently.

Then he also added to himself he'd have to put out another ad for a new DADA teacher, and how fast they seemed to go through those.

None of them could even muster up a smile, all too afraid of this run of inept teachers Harry seemed to get stuck with. Sirius was already creating a new list of insults he could implore on the next sucker of this job.

Harry turned to leave when the door burst open by Lucius Malfoy.

"Argh," Sirius snarled, "just when things were supposed to be getting good!"

"He can't do anything but complain," James huffed, "he's just bitter he couldn't keep Dumbledore out of school."

Hiding behind his legs was Dobby.

"Dobby!" They all repeated in shock.

"Malfoy owned Dobby!" Sirius repeated like he'd just been clubbed over the head.

"I've been wondering about him," Remus nodded, "and I kind of want to smack that little elf all over again." Harry was frowning at him, so he explained, "one of the very first things you asked him was if this had anything to do with Voldemort, how much more involved could he be with a bit of Voldemort's soul hanging around the school! That's not even getting started on how the bloody hell that elf even knew that was what was going on this year!"

He hadn't really run out of steam, but Harry was still giving both he and Sirius beseeching looks.

Somehow, Harry was still dearly defending this odd little elf, and their verbally berating him was making him uncomfortable. Sirius had been about to join in, in fact his older vow that he still wished this stupid elf harm still stood ten times over now that he knew who exactly his masters were, but they would rather cut off their right hand then make Harry upset like this, so they both bit back their tongues on the matter, for now.

Malfoy was livid as he glared at Dumbledore snarling that he was back despite the governor's having suspended him.

"They suspended him from his position," Lily spat, "there's no law saying he can't come back up to the school any time for a visit."

James suddenly frowned, not having realized that as he asked, "so, ah, are you saying Dumbledore isn't back as headmaster?"

Lily shrugged, saying, "I've no idea honestly. It hasn't said one way or another yet, and everyone their respects him enough they'd do what he said without the title. I'm just saying, Malfoy shouldn't be so upset...yet."

Dumbledore was as calm as ever as he explained that once Arthur Weasley's daughter had been reportedly killed, the other eleven members had flocked to his door begging him to come back.

"There you go then," Lily shrugged, "he's back. Are you all happy now?

"Yes," the four boys said at once. Remus added on, "how did Malfoy know though? Ginny was taken at sundown, and it's still the dead of night."

James pointed out, "He probably heard from some source he has in the ministry that Dumbledore was back, and he went up to the school in a temper."

Dumbledore found it odd that most of them had been under the impression that if Dumbledore hadn't been taken away in the first place, they all would have found their families under harm.

"Ha," Sirius muttered under his breath, though he was altogether sad that he had been right this time. The idea of Malfoy sinking so low as to threaten people just to get what he wanted was more

than depressing to squash Sirius' little victory.

Malfoy didn't deign that with a response, demanding to know if who'd done this had been caught. Dumbledore agreed that they had.

"We?" Lily demanded under her breath, "Harry and Ron did everything."

James heard that, and gave her a pointed look as he mouthed, "Fawkes," at her.

Lily rolled her eyes, thinking that Dumbledore's bird hardly counted as Dumbledore himself helping them. Then again, if Dumbledore never had Fawkes, then Harry might not have survived

that, so she was just a bit grateful this time.

When Dumbledore didn't supply the answer, Malfoy prompted it out of him, and Dumbledore explained it had been Voldemort himself through the use of his old diary, while watching Malfoy with interest.

"Trying to see how he'd react to his old master's name I guess?" Remus murmured to himself.

Harry wasn't watching any of that, but instead eyeing Dobby.

Sirius opened, then closed his mouth, biting back a comment about 'who on earth watches the house-elves?' There was just no sense in picking on Harry for something like that. It was slightly interesting why Malfoy brought Dobby at all, as it was uncommon to bring your elf out of the house at all.

Dobby was behaving more strangely than normal, as he went in a cycle of gesturing at his master, to the black book, then hitting himself over the head for it.

And then Sirius' mouth really did flop open in horror. Glancing up, he saw the others were as well.

"It, he-" Lily began unable to form that thought, it was just too awful to imagine.

"It was Malfoy," Harry howled in outrage, "he gave that diary to Ginny! That day at Flourish and Blotts when he gave Ginny back her Transfiguration book, he slipped it in there! I knew it, I knew something foul had just happened, but I couldn't remember." He ran out of steam, but was still simmering below shouting levels as he glared vehemently at the book, mostly hating on himself right now. Last year he hadn't remembered that Quirrell was the one doing all of this, this year it was his fault his family had been sitting in the dark when he had remembered such crucial information like this...

"Hey," Lily said pointedly, tapping Harry on the temple gently until he turned her eyes back on her, "we just talked about this love. You cannot go blaming yourself every time you forget these

things. What Malfoy did is the worst, the most awful thing I can ever imagine-" she paused for a moment, and turned away so Harry wouldn't see the downright murderous look on her face. Harry

was stunned silent himself when he realized the last time he'd seen all of them look like this was because of the way the Dursley's treated him, but then Lily kept going, "but we're going to handle it. I promise, we'll never let this type of thing happen to Ginny, or anyone else, now that we know

how to fix it."

Harry nodded, feeling the tension roll right out of him once again. He seemed to have a hard time staying angry in this room.

Sirius went on again, hoping dearly Dumbledore would pick up on this, and send Malfoy to Azkaban for the rest of his no good life.

Malfoy was unimpressed as Dumbledore admitted it had been a good plan, and that if Harry hadn't solved it poor Ginny might well have been locked away for her deeds.

They all continued to mutter more foul things in that moment then many of them had said in their life. For someone to put this type of thing on a child, it was the worst thing any person could even think of doing! The act itself was seriously putting a strain on their 'wait until this is over' to go and kill Malfoy now, because he wasn't even a child. He was a full grown man right now, probably taking orders from Voldemort about doing other unspeakable things to people.

The only thing really stopping them was Harry, who despite how peeved he looked right along with them, was also giving the door covert looks, like if one single person made for it he'd spring

up and tell them all over again to wait it out. None of them still understood why, but they trusted him enough to believe him.

Dumbledore also went on to speculate that this could be even worse off for her father, and his Muggle Protection Act. Imagine if his own daughter had been caught doing these things do Muggle-borns.

The book really did slip from Sirius' grasp then, a look of the utmost outrage crossing his features as he said quietly, "Is he implying, that Malfoy went and pulled this stunt, just to get rid of that?!"

He looked so deranged in that moment, Harry had a very disquieting feeling that at one point, Sirius really did scare him. That was ridiculous though...right?

"Of all the-" Sirius made to keep going, but James cut him off gently by saying, "we know Sirius. He's a horrible waste of a human being, but we still can't do anything about it, not yet anyways," he finished prominently. Sirius was still scowling and grumbling as he picked the book back up and made to continue, only Remus and Lily having noticed Harry watching him curiously.

It was good luck indeed that Riddle's memory no longer existed, or something far worse could have come of it.

"I'm sure he was just imagining them all bloody year," Sirius couldn't help but growl, but this time he managed to restrain himself so that he could keep going.

Malfoy chose his words very carefully as he agreed with Dumbledore in a tone that implied otherwise. Dobby was still doing his rotation, and Harry suddenly understood with a nod. His task done, the elf slunked into the nearest corner and began twisting his ear as hard as he could in more self-punishment.

"That poor thing," Lily moaned, "I want to be able to do something for him."

Sirius opened, then closed his mouth swiftly. Now that he knew this thing belonged to the Malfoys, something very odd was happening to him, he pitied it. While Dobby had done a lot of

awful things to Harry this year, he had also gone out of his way, against his Master's views of the world even, to try and help Harry in his own twisted little way. Sirius had always thought House-elves were just the slaves of families, and the creatures would always just be the same horrible type that the family that owned them was. Yet here was Dobby, a creature owned by the worst type of Wizard, who had tried to save Harry's life? It had officially skewed his whole opinion on the matter, but he also noted he had been silent too long in thinking about this.

Since he didn't fully know where he stood on the matter anymore, he ignored the others' inquires and read loudly.

Harry spoke up then, asking if Malfoy would like to know how Ginny had got a hold of such a thing? Malfoy shot back he had no interest in this, but Harry now said that he knew Malfoy had given it to her that day they met in the bookstore. He'd slipped it into her cauldron. Malfoy's hand twitched, his eyes flashing as he told Harry to prove it. Dumbledore stepped in by pointing out no one could.

Then they all groaned in hate. "So does this mean Malfoy's not even going to be punished for this?" James demanded of nothing.

"I thought I hated the Government before this," Sirius grumbled, "and my opinion of it just keeps going down."

This time, no one could think of anything to say to the contrary. For someone to get away with attempted mass murder like this was repugnant to the extreme, not to mention the other injustices done this year against Hagrid.

The ministry was clearly just as skewed then as it was now, except then they couldn't blame Voldemort for the way they were acting. The people in power clearly didn't need to be there.

Dumbledore did add on though that it would be prudent for this type of thing not to happen again, or Arthur for one would lead the charge to make sure Malfoy was brought to justice.

"Anymore," Lily muttered, "how about we try punishing him for this crime now!"

"I have the utmost faith you sure will," Remus tried to pacify her, which didn't really work that well since technically, Malfoy hadn't really committed the crime yet.

"What I want to know is how he got that," James growled. "I still don't understand how this thing even works, how did he make it?"

Harry opened, then closed his mouth, he seemed to be having some odd feelings about those questions, but by now he knew better then to answer. It was something very important though,

something about how Malfoy wasn't the one who'd made this... it was gone and he had nothing as always.

Malfoy glowered at them all, and Harry once again saw his right hand twitch with a longing look.

"Try it," Sirius snapped, "just try and curse Dumbledore, and I will die of happy laughter when he curses you into oblivion."

James gave his best friend a haughty look for his choice of words, but Sirius didn't seem to notice.

He decided against it, and turned on the spot telling his elf to leave, then kicking him out the door, literally.

All five of them genuinely winced in sympathy that time, wishing that Dobby would get some kind of reward for his efforts, bad as some of the results were.

Harry felt horrid just standing there watching, when his eyes flickered around the room, and he got an idea.

"Oh this should be fun," James said weakly as he saw the bright eyed look across Harry's face.

"What did you think of?" Lily asked eagerly.

Harry however, pursed his lips and still wasn't able to hid his grin as he said, "No, I want you guys to see this one play out."

"Aw come on," Sirius whined, "we've been doing that all year, please!"

Harry hesitated, before finally admitting the idea he had. Causing everyone in the room to burst into righteous laughter. Praying that it would work, Sirius read eagerly.

Harry asked Dumbledore if he could have that diary back, and Dumbledore saw no harm in it. Harry quickly snatched it up, tore off his shoe and one soiled sock off his foot before replacing his shoe and stuffing the diary into said sock, and racing after Malfoy, calling out to him. When he stopped, Harry thrust the diary into his hand. He pulled the diary out and tossed the sock to the side.

All five of them were leaning forward, more than eager to hear if this worked, and a little uneasy it hadn't outright said what Harry had been hoping would happen...

Malfoy gave Harry the cruellest of looks as he told Harry he'd wind up like his parents someday soon.

Sirius cut himself off with a look of pure disgust at what he had just read, but ignored the comment for now. The lovely vision of all the curses he could send at Malfoy soothing him

enough to keep reading and find out what was going to happen to Dobby.

Calling them meddlesome and foolish.

"Meddlesome?" Lily repeated curiously, "I don't really see how it's a bad thing to be concerned with other people."

"I doubt that's the way he meant it love," James grinned, "and I don't care." Nothing a Death Eater could say about him could really sting too much, considering how little he of thought of their kind anyways.

He turned to leave again, calling for his elf to follow, but Dobby didn't respond. He was frozen up in shock, holding Harry's discarded sock.

"Yes!" They all cried happily.

Lily gave Sirius a look of genuine surprise as she asked, "I'm surprised Sirius, I thought you'd be outraged by Harry's trick."

"Oh please," he snorted, "I can't blame Harry for what he did. Dobby clearly isn't anything like my old elf, and the little guy deserved to be away from those Malfoy's. I wouldn't wish that on any elf."

Harry was beaming, looking genuinely happy Sirius had come around to this way of thinking, while the others gave him approving looks, happy to see he could put that kind of thing behind him.

Dobby was clearly in shock as he spoke of how his master had given him a sock, and Dobby was free.

Remus couldn't help but furrow his brow in worry, thinking that technically Malfoy hadn't given Dobby that sock. He had cast it off to the side, and Dobby had caught it. If it was so easy, why on earth hadn't Dobby ever just waltzed down to the laundry room and grabbed hold of any of the Malfoys' clothes and said 'hey, they tossed these down here and now Dobby's free?' *He had

always thought that you had to give the elf clothes with the express intent of freeing the elf, so did this count? Were they celebrating too early? Then again, he had heard of the idea that wizards magically do something to clothes so that elf's can't just pick up any random bit of clothing and state 'I'm free.'** Dobby had already just disobeyed a direct order from Malfoy, and hadn't come to him. He dearly wanted to pry into this subject further, but admitted now wasn't the time or place and he and Lily could sit around and have a real discussion about it later.

Malfoy got over his shock quickly and lunged at Harry.

"He did what?" The three without the book screeched in outrage.

"As if I didn't want him dead before," Sirius growled, "now he's actually moving to attack you?!"

Harry however, was suddenly grinning like a fool as he said, "this is it! Dobby protects me, I'm sure of it. This is why I forgave him for all that stuff he did!" As sure as he was though, he still begged Sirius to keep going so that he could know he was right, and get the details of this.

As outraged as they still were, they were all just as curious to hear about this.

Yelling that Harry had lost him his servant! Dobby stepped in between, shouting that Harry Potter was not to be harmed. Then there was a loud bang, and Malfoy got thrown back.

"Ha!" They all cheered, finding this small repentance for what he truly deserved.

He tumbled down the stairs and landed on the floor below.

"Hope it hurt," James grumbled.

He got to his feet with murder clear in his face, but Dobby still had his hand raised, telling him to leave now, Harry Potter was not to be harmed.

Lily was almost doing a little happy dance in place, giggling like a toddler herself at the mental image of a 'high and mighty' wizard being taken down by the little elf he had been abusing! Oh that was sweet justice if she ever heard it.

Outmatched, Malfoy turned to leave with one more incendiary look at the pair of them.

"Tail between his legs," Remus said in a sing song voice, indulging in that mental image happily.

"This almost makes up for the fact he didn't go to Azkaban for that stunt," James cackled, "because this is just priceless."

Dobby then turned to Harry, thanking him for all he'd done. Harry said it wasn't a problem, and asked Dobby for only one promise in return. To never try and save his life again.

"A fair trade honestly," Sirius grinned, then they all caught sight of Harry frowning curiously. Why though, what could cause Harry to vaguely remember something about this promise? None

of them had any more idea than Harry himself, so they didn't ask him about it when he didn't volunteer the question.

Then Harry asked what Dobby had meant back during the summer, when Dobby had insisted this didn't have anything to do with You-Know-Who.

"I was wondering that to," Remus nodded, "and it was really bothering me."

"Glad I asked then," Harry chuckled.

Dobby said that he had been trying at a clue, by phrasing it this way before the Dark Lord could really be named.

"That..." James began before trailing off in disbelief.

"-is the most inept clue ever," Sirius finished, looking torn between laughing or getting angry. He decided on laughter, not wanting to be mad at the elf just then since he was still so giddy for his actions just now.

Remus and Lily were both shaking their heads indulgently, wondering how on earth anyone was supposed to understand that, but letting it go realizing it hardly mattered now.

Dobby gave one last goodbye to Harry, before he vanished with a crack.

"Good luck," James said happily, rather curious about Dobby and what happened to him. He very much hoped Harry would find out.

The feast that night was one of the randomest and best Harry ever had in his life. For one thing, everyone was in their pj's.

"Now there's some originality," Remus chuckled happily.

Plus Hermione came running in shouting with glee that they had figured it all out, and then Justin had come running over, shaking Harry's hand and endlessly apologizing for thinking Harry had done it.

"Good of him to admit it," Lily nodded with approval.

Then Hagrid had arrived, while the best part of all came up when Dumbledore announced that exams were to be cancelled. Only Hermione's whispered no could even vaguely be heard through the cheering.

"She would be upset," James grinned.

"What about OWL's and NEWT's?" Lily frowned. "You can't just cancel those, you need honest grades."

"They still had to take those," Harry shrugged, "but, you know, they were delayed and I think given a bit of slack because of this year."

"Must be nice," Sirius laughed.

Also Dumbledore stated the early retirement of Lockhart,

"I'm sure the whole of Hogwarts was just heartbroken," Remus snickered.

and Harry noticed the majority of teachers clapping along with that statement.

All five of them burst into renewed laughter at this, unable to blame those teachers one bit.

Ron was the only one in the whole hall who said this was a bit of a sad thing, as he and Lockhart had really been starting to get along.

Sirius agreed, saying, "yeah, it might really have been fun to shove him in a classroom and see how he did teaching with no sense, oh wait he was already doing that."

School ended on a high note, with the extra free period that their cancelled DADA classes added, then Ron pointed out they'd had more than enough use of that class this year.

"Hope you get someone even semi decent next year," James sighed miserably, wishing this stupid taboo would leave the post already.

Lucius Malfoy had also been fired from his position as a school governor.

"Best news ever!" Sirius cried happily.

"I'll agree with you on that one," the others all nodded.

Instead of flaunting himself around the school now, Draco was more commonly seen sulking in the corners.

"And I hope he stays that way, annoying little twat," James muttered, his good mood not even slightly dampened.

Ginny on the other hand was in good spirits again.

"Just glad there's no lasting effects on her," Lily agreed happily.

Before they knew it, their trunks were packed, and they were all loaded up into the Hogwart's Express, all the Weasley's (except for Percy), Harry and Ron getting a compartment where they played Exploding Snap. They almost made it to the station,

The longer Sirius read, the more upset he was getting again. He had been thoroughly enjoying the end of Harry's year, but now he was going back to those dreaded Dursley's again, and none of

them had any reason to think they'd be any happier seeing Harry this time around. Couldn't Harry just move in with Ron already!? Knowing this wasn't going to happen, he just decided to get it

over with.

when Harry asked one final question of Ginny, what had she caught Percy doing?

"Sweet," James grinned, "so we do at least get to find this out!"

Ginny gave a giggle of remembrance as she spoiled her brother's secret, that he had a girlfriend. Fred dropped some books on George's head in shock.

Remus released a snort of mirth that went unheard in the following laughing fit.

"Oh don't," Lily frowned at all of the boys who were laughing like idiots, "it's not that funny."

"No, it's not," Sirius agreed, wiping a tear away, "but as it's Percy the pompous jerk, it's hilarious."

Lily rolled her eyes at these boys, and snapped at Sirius that he needed to get over this and keep going. Sirius didn't look very eager, he had more than appreciated this little distraction from Harry having to go back, but read on anyways.

They all yelped their shock, and Ginny explained it was the Ravenclaw prefect Penelope Clearwater.

"Aw," Remus grinned, "so I was right. He did know her personally, which is why he was particularly upset by her petrification."

"That really is adorable," James agreed without any malice, clearly this girl could put up with Percy's attitude which made her a pretty tolerable girl even without knowing her personally.

Ginny had walked in on them making out in an empty class, then she asked if her brothers were going to tease him for it?

"If they're any kind of good brother's they most certainly will," James disagreed full heartedly.

"Makes me almost happy you don't have siblings," Lily snorted at him.

"I resent that," Sirius pouted, "since James basically adopted me at some point."

"I'll back that up," James agreed.

Remus and Lily exchanged amused looks, but didn't argue the point.

Fred exclaimed he wouldn't dare, his tone implying the exact opposite. George agreed it had never even crossed his mind, while not even trying to hide his glee.

"There's the proper reaction," Sirius told Lily as if he was educating on a very important matter, to which Lily ignored him further.

The train did pull into the station then, and Harry pulled his two friends aside for one last conversation, writing some numbers down on a bit of paper and giving one to each of them, telling them it was his home number.

"Now there's a good idea," Remus brightened at once.

While they all looked rather happy at Harry's trying to keep in contact with his friends over the summer, it made a whole new kind of sadness come on all over again. They were all dreading

having to hear any more horrid things about what those putrid Muggles were going to do to Harry, and a phone call just wasn't going to cut it if they started trying to imprison Harry all over again. Then they consoled themselves that, at least if they did, Ron would show up and rescue him all over again. He'd just need to use something other than a flying car this time.

Harry had walked Mr. Weasley on how to use a phone over the summer, and Harry was going to need someone other than Dudley to talk to over his vacation.

They still smiled sadly at this, glad Harry was still trying his hardest to keep in contact with his friends.

Hermione asked if Harry's aunt and uncle would be proud of what Harry had done this year?

Sirius released a bark like laughter that held no real amusement that time.

Harry scoffed in disbelief, stating that of all the times he could have been killed this year and gotten away with it? No, they would be furious to learn otherwise.

"And he's not even kidding," Remus huffed in disgust.

Then the three of them left their platform, reentering the Muggle world.

"That's it," Sirius huffed, tossing the book away, not at all pleased it had ended with him going back to those muggles, but admitting it could have been worse.

They all stretched as they made to get up, but then Harry suddenly asked, "what did Riddle mean by werewolf cubs?"

"Oh that," Sirius gave an actual chuckle, albite still too dark to be his normal tone, though this could be put to his hatred of werewolf ignorance. "Just a bigot joke I suppose. It's not possible for that to be a real thing. Werewolves aren't born, they're created. A werewolf has to bite another person for the contagion to occur."

"Besides," Remus butted in, trying his very hardest to keep the self-hatred out of his voice, "my kind don't breed, so the term itself is kind of null and void."

"I hate it when you say it like that," James told him with a straight face. "'My kind'. You're not a 'kind' Remus, you are a person."

Remus rolled his eyes good naturedly, but didn't correct him. He phrased it that way to generalize, he had long since given up the argument that he was no longer 'technically' one hundred percent human. James, Sirius, and Peter always gave him hell if he said anything to the contrary.

"What about Nick?" Lily asked Harry curiously. "Ever find out who fixed him?"

"The Grey Lady," Harry answered. "I heard Flitwick explaining that to another student. Yeah, apparently she went in there and did something to the potion, making it able for Nick to drink it. Some ghostly secret. Why it worked on a potion, and wouldn't work on food or anything I've no idea."

"The same reason we know nothing about the other weird things about ghosts," Sirius shrugged, "they don't like sharing."

James nodded, glad his son seemed able to find out all of these small little details that would have driven him crazy if he hadn't had a way to find out, and then he asked curiously, knowing by now his son had a habit of storing up questions, "anything else you want to know before we get to bed?"

"Yes," he answered quickly, catching Sirius' eye, "did something happen between you and the ministry?" He was recalling that odd moment when Hagrid was arrested, and his father's and Remus' comments.

Sirius rolled his eyes in disgust as he explained, "about a month ago, some Auror's came over to my place and tried to arrest me, on the grounds that some Muggles had been attacked in my area. That was it, they went by my name being in the area of Muggles and decided I was guilty enough they could just arrest me for it. Bloody wankers," he trailed off muttering a few more words he'd spoken at the time.

"I showed up while this was happening," Remus butted in, at least cutting off his cursing, "and managed to be his alibi, as if he even needed one. Guess I'm just lucky they accepted it at all, and didn't arrest me just for being there."

James was frowning at both of them, Sirius for the injustice done to him, and Remus for his snide comment which could have been all too real. This injustice against both of his friends was one of the main reasons he was training to be an Auror, he was sick of the prejudices and injustice committed by people in power, and was hoping he could help make some kind of difference.

"And what about those messages on the wall?" Lily asked curiously. "Did they ever come down?"

"Nope," Harry responded for sure this time, "as far as I'm aware they never could find a way to get them down."

"That's awful," Lily groaned, "for that kind of reminder to be stuck there forever."

"Why wouldn't they go away?" Harry asked.

"It depends on what was even used to put it up there," Sirius said, "some things are cursed so that they just can't be removed, some types of blood for instance."

Remus asked this time, "so who explained about Ron's broken wand blowing up then?"

"Oh yeah," Harry said in remembrance now. "It was Dumbledore, he asked me and Ron for more details later on what happened to Lockhart. Then he explained something about how that much

magic, being used through a broken wand, made the core explode or something. The improper use of the wand over such an extended period of time, we were lucky it hadn't happened sooner."

"Well, I still don't regret who it did happen to," James chuckled.

They all mulled around for a bit longer, just talking and enjoying each other's company. It was only as Harry nearly cracked his jaw on the next yawn that they all decided it was high time they go to bed. As Remus began climbing the stairs, he made some vague comment to Sirius about how next year, Harry just had to have a nice, peaceful year. This year might have ended on a semi happy note, but they still felt like the books were watching them, laughing at their delusion that Harry might get one year of peace.

#fanfiction #The Life that Never LIved #bookhater #Harry Potter #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter

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hillnerd · 5 years

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fic: Ron and the Snatchers

Well, a while back I was speculating about the snatchers, and how Ron was gone for 12 hours or so after he left Harry and Hermione. According to Ron he wanted to get back to them immediately. He describes the confrontation with the Snatchers as no big deal- but if so, where was he for all that missing time? What would keep Ron ‘stand on a broken leg’ Weasley missing for all that time?

I asked because I was writing him telling Hermione what happened in that Romione Australia fic I keep meaning to edit and post- but then I just sat down and wrote it all. This is dark. Very dark.

Input always valued, good or bad.

An account of Ron’s solo run-in with the Snatchers in Deathly Hallows. Whump. Very dark fic.

A03 FF.NET

Rated R/NC-17 --- BIG thank you to @diva-gonzo for being the best beta ever!

trigger warnings: self loathing, painful physical assault, torture, whipping, assault, unwanted sexual touching, graphic threats of r***

“Ron! Ron!” Hermione called after him, rain pounding around them.

‘I need to think! I need to be by myself for just a moment!’ Ron thought as he apparated.

The seething hot anger that had roiled inside him faded within seconds.

For the first time in his life he apparated without leaving any bits of him behind. Well, physically. He realized in horror he’d left his heart and soul behind. He’d left Harry. He’d left Hermione screaming his name as she chased him through the rain. He swore he could almost hear her, still.

“Oh fuck, what have I done?” he moaned to himself, and his wheezes from running turned into a scattering of sobs. His skin prickled and his very insides began to feel cold.

It took a moment to orient himself in the mist and stifle his sobs, but he was in Ottery St Catchpole. He was next to a familiar old stump he’d used as his secret sanctuary so many times. There was a little bunch of reeds next to the big hollowed stump he had hidden in as a child, long before he had his own room. He’d run away to this hiding spot in the village quite a few times.

The cold began to tear at his lungs and the voice he’d heard with the Locket cam back loud in his ears.

You’re worthless.

The sensation of choking to death closed in on him. The helplessness of never breathing again he’d felt when he’d been poisoned cloyed at him. Brain’s tentacles choked him. He hadn’t thought of that in ages, but the hopelessness was filling him up, almost as unnaturally as the cold around him. Wait, unnatural cold?

Ron snapped his eyes up and two eyeless dementors were not meters away from him, their scabbed hands reaching towards him as their tattered robes whipped about.

He thought of Hermione and cast the charm “Expecto Patronum!” and his Jack Russell Terrier burst forth, tenaciously chasing them away into the distance. Any relief he might have felt was immediately quashed by the sound of a shout.

“Oi! Who’s there?” cried out a small portly man down an alley. “Look! Look, ‘e looks school age!”

He wasn’t alone, and they all began to smile with excited glee at the sight of Ron. They didn’t wait to find out his age before immediately bombarding him with spells. Ron threw himself to the muddy ground, and rolled behind the stump as jets of light flew from their wands.

Ron hurled a few spells, even disarming one of the several figures, but was finding it difficult to hit a target without exposing himself. He blindly cast an ‘Expulso!’ around the edge of the stump, and a corresponding explosion and horrible scream let Ron know he’d met his mark. He tried again to blindly cast a spell, but a flash of orange slammed into his hand.

A horrible scream ripped out of him as his arm broiled and scalded like it had been thrown upon a bed of coals. His wand slipped from his fingers as they twitched in blistering pain. He felt for his wand with his left hand, and saw his right was free of any signs of injury, even though he felt it burn so thoroughly he expected his skin should be charred and falling off. He tried to move his right hand to grip his wand, but hissed in pain at the slighted twitch it gave. It was now useless to him.

He had to use his other hand. Ever since his left shoulder had been splinched he’d had trouble using that arm. He couldn’t move it smoothly, or grip things as certainly as he had before, but he grit his teeth and hissed through the pain as he angled his wand around the stump again. He heard the corresponding thump of a body hitting the ground. If he could just get one more, maybe he could run for it and apparate away! Each curse he shakily cast was slower and more poorly done, and the angle was making his shoulder sting with pain.

There was a pop of Apparition behind him, but he was unable to turn his wand in time to stop the forceful blow to the back of his head.

He woke up slowly, his head pounding and even though he wasn’t moving, the whole world seemed to tilt on him. Nausea and dizziness made his brain feel like it was swimming about his skull and hitting the sides. Rough ropes bit into his wrists, and uncomfortably tied them to his sides. He was on his side, and felt the cool earth on his cheek. He attempted moving a bit and realized there were ropes tying his legs together as well. He could hear his captors talking and didn’t want them to know he was awake. Through his lashes he could just make out their forms. A motley crew of five men stood around the body of a sixth man on the ground. The prostrate man’s face was so bloody and swollen he looked like a spoilt pumpkin.

“‘Can do a Patronus, so ‘e’s probably not a mudblood,” said the short fat one. He held Ron’s wand in his hand. “Them mudbloods couldn’t do a spell like that if they ‘ad to.”

“Fucker nearly took my bleedin’ head off!” the burly bearded one complained and there was a chorus of grunts and sighs.

“You’re all better off than my brother!” rumbled the largest one, pointing to the bloodied man on the ground.

Ron felt along the ground for something to possibly cut into his ropes, but nothing was there. All he had on him was the deluminator in his pocket, digging into his hip.

None of the men were wearing Death Eater robes, but he didn’t know any good guys who would attack someone so fiercely just for casting a Patronus and looking school age.

“You can Apparate your brother to St Mungo’s later, Crowthers,” said a thin one with a snide reedy voice. His tone showed little concern. “We’ll need to see what Galleons we can get for the ginger first.”

“Not worth whatever galleons are on his head, Smythe,” muttered the bearded man, mopping at a bloody wound on his head.

The gaunt bald one spat, and it landed just next to Ron’s head. Ron closed his eyes all the way, but it was too late. He’d been spotted.

“Oh! Look who’s waking up!” Smythe gleefully sneered at Ron, his reedy voice somehow making his delivery more grating.

Ron gave up his ruse and opened his eyes to look at them. Opening his eyes all the way made the pain behind his eyes blast forth and he struggled to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head. The five of them were staring at him, all looking a bit roughed up, a few of them bleeding.

“What are you doing out here tonight?” the big one asked. He was hulking like a gorilla, and had a sloping brow to match.

“I was out on a walk,” Ron said, struggling against his restraints. “I can get back to that if you let me go.”

“And ‘ave you curse us all bloody again?” the short one snorted.

“You cursed first.”

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” the bearded one asked. They all examined him curiously.

“Graduated,” Ron grunted, looking between them all. They were not two miles from his home. If they found out he was Ron Weasley, his parents would immediately be in danger.

“How’d you cast a Patronus?” the reedy voiced man asked. More bloody questions… His head was pounding and he had little patience to hear more of them. “Where’d you learn that?”

“At school.”

“What school?”

“A school for wizards.”

“You better answer our questions better than that!”

“What do you want, an essay?” Ron bit out, head hurting. He regretted his sarcasm the moment he saw the looks on their faces.

“Think you’re funny, do you?” the big one growled. “Let’s show him what we do to funny ones!”

Sadistic smiles formed on their faces as they approached Ron. He struggled against his bonds for a moment before a hard boot was kicked into his stomach. He let out a deep gasp. He was bound in such a way he couldn’t double over much, and it was a struggle to replace the air he’d just had kicked out of him. All the air left his lungs as more and more boots and fists began to rain down upon him.

They pummeled him, crashing into his head, chest, stomach, back, legs and bound arms. One of them gave a punch to the back of Ron’s still tender head and he saw stars in front of his eyes. He couldn’t catch breath to scream. Tears burned his eyes from the pain. Hardly any noise left him at all. He had no idea how many times they had struck him, or how long it had been since he could breath when one of them called out:

“Ok, that’s enough.” It was Crowthers, the big one whose brother still lay forgotten on the ground. The other four shuffled back and Ron took the opportunity to gasp for breath, every bit of him aching and hurting. Crowthers stooped down and grabbed Ron by the hair, forcing his face up at an odd angle.

“Think you’re real clever, huh?”

Ron groaned in response. The man smelled in every way, body odor rolling off him like the troll Ron had faced in first year. Crowthers continued to wrench Ron’s head back so far, he felt his neck might snap. His wand poked into Ron’s cheek and clacked against his teeth.

“Nothing to say, ginger?”

Ron closed his eyes and tried to exhale to keep the horrible smells of the man at bay.

“Oh, we’ll soon have you screaming or apologizing before long,” he growled, suddenly dragging Ron to the stump. He threw Ron onto it chest first, his bound legs scrambling for balance, his throbbing head so dizzy that the task was made doubly hard. Crowthers painfully lodged a hobnailed boot onto Ron’s back, crushing the air out of him. Ron struggled for breath, and his ribs ached, feeling like they might splinter as the weight of Crowthers increased.

“Apologize for cursing us.”

Ron was scared out of his mind, but he wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t give them the satisfaction. Ron determinedly looked ahead.

“Fine, screams it is,” the man growled, conjuring some more ropes to tie Ron in place to the stump. “Smythe, make him scream.”

Ron couldn’t move, except for his pulsing head. He stiffly turned his neck and saw Smythe, the thin reedy voiced man, step forward. A horrible satisfied grin cutting across his thin face.

“Verbero!” he cried out, and with a flourish of his wand a sharp skin splitting pain lashed across Ron’s back. The spell had hit him like a bullwhip, even through his clothes, and a bloody gash was flogged across his skin. Smyth whipped his wand through the air again and again. With every slash of the wand came another stinging pain through Ron’s back. The pain was becoming unbearable, his whole back aflame. Ron grit his teeth and dug his cheek into the splinters of the stump, putting every fiber of concentration into not making a sound. Then it finally stopped. Ron was in so much pain he couldn’t even sigh in relief. All he could do was bite his lip and shake.

“You should do that Calefacio again!” The short one gleefully shouted. “I think you got ‘im with that when we were dueling ‘im.”

“Calefacio!” Smythe intoned. The agonizing sensation of fire ripped through his nerves, wrenching a throat tearing scream from him. The very skin was being flayed from his legs by a raging inferno. His bones were being burnt to ash. Or at least it felt that way. It was the same spell from earlier. It didn’t do any physical damage this time either, but the sensation his limbs were being burned off continued to painfully flare, even as the spell slowly faded in intensity. He was awash in torment.

His legs gave out on him completely, and were it not for the ropes holding his body to the stump Ron would have collapsed to the ground. The stump had once been a safe haven for him. It was now a dais of torture.

The men laughed in triumph, and Ron fought to keep his whimpers quiet as the spell continued to burn down his legs.

Crowthers stepped out from the group, and hulked over to Ron. He sat himself on the wide stump, and a large hand patted Ron on his injured back. Ron gave a hiss in pain.

“Aw, shhh, poor little boy on a holiday from school,” he said, rubbing Ron’s shirt into his covered injuries with painful accuracy.

“M’not f-from school!” Ron blurrily insisted through gritted teeth.

“You know what?” Crowthers whispered so low no one but Ron could hear. “Maybe I ought to give you a good rutting in the arse, see if we can fuck the truth out of you?”

Cold dread froze Ron’s throat. He could barely think to move. Crowther’s hot breath was pungent and metallic, making Ron want to gag.

“Got you to scream good and loud for me, didn’t I? Bet I can do that to you without a wand, pretty boy,” Crowthers breathed into Ron’s ear, his hand rubbing lower on Ron’s back than it had before, travelling just centimeters below the waistband of his jeans. Ron shut his eyes tight and he started to shake. Fear clenched at him as it had never before.

“Alright, we need to find out who he is,” Smyth said, still trying to suppress his giggles.

“Tell me your name, pretty,” Crowthers practically crooned at Ron. Ron searched his mind for a name, any name. His mind was horribly blank of thoughts, frozen in pain and fear. If only he could get out of there. He didn’t care how. He’d even take the Knight Bus if he had to! If only the Knight bus could be hailed without a wand… The Knight Bus!

“Stan!” Ron exclaimed, surprised at his own clarity. “I’m Stan Shunpike!”

“And what’s your blood status?”

“Pureblood!”

“Check the list,” Crowthers said before muttering a severing charm on Ron’s belt, making his jeans begin to sag. “I’m going to tear that arse up so you can’t sit down for weeks.”

Ron trembled, and willed himself not to start crying.

“Shunpike’s not on the list,” said the short one.

“And he could do a Patronus charm. What if he’s pureblood like he says?” the bearded man said, suddenly looking afraid.

“Doesn’t matter, he’s probably a truant,” said Smythe.

“He’s definitely young,” Crowthers said as he pulled Ron’s jeans a bit further down, but the ropes tying him to the dais kept them from going much lower on his hips. “I like raw meat like you, ginger.”

“But what if he’s not a truant?” The bearded man began to protest. “I don’t want no trouble for attacking someone who wasn’t on the list.”

“Then what should we do?” Smythe said, looking between them. No one was really in charge, and they all seemed equally clueless.

“I know what I want to do,” Crowthers said, fingers pressing into Ron’s hips as he lined himself up and did a few thrusts at Ron’s clothed ass. A few of the men laughed, and Ron shuddered as the man’s hardness pushed against him.

“Yeah, we all know you want to bugger him,” the bearded one growled out. “That don’t work out well for us if he’s not on the list.”

“We can always kill him,” the bald gaunt one said, speaking for the first time.

“And not get a bloody galleon after all this trouble?” Smythe scoffed.

“Still might not get a galleon either way.”

“He’s not on the list. It’s not worth it,” the bearded man said, untying Ron from the stump.

“No, we take him to the Ministry. See if he’s who he says he is,” Smythe said, grabbing hold of Ron’s wrists to pull him to his feet from behind. Ron had trouble standing, but he was finally free of the ropes. If they got him to the Ministry, it was all over for Ron and his family. He needed to finish this. He had to get out of there. It didn’t matter if he was alive or not at the end of this, as long as they couldn’t find his body and identify him as Ron Weasley. He had to think fast.

The bearded man went for Ron to free him, but Crowthers gave him a push.

“We’re not letting him go either way!”

“You want to keep him so you can bugger him like some pouf!”

“I ain’t a bloody pouf!” snarled Crowthers, his giant hand swinging at the bearded man. The two of them began to blindly punch at one another. The gaunt bald man lurched out of their way as the two of them nearly barged into him, and the short one was laughing at the sight. This was Ron’s chance.

Luck was on his side that the best dueler was currently holding Ron with little physical force. Ron braced himself, for he knew it was going to hurt like hell, but he took his left elbow and jabbed back into Smythe’s stomach as hard as he could. His back and shoulders screamed in agony from the sudden twist, but Smyth let out a breathless grunt and doubled over, giving Ron just enough slack to break free. He grabbed the wand from Smythe’s hand, pointed it at the short one, growled “Expelliarmus!” and caught his own wand.

The four all turned, gobsmacked. For a moment they and Ron all stared at one another, all equally surprised at what he had done. Crowthers was the first to move to attack him, but it was too late; Ron turned and apparated away on the spot, not caring where he went as long as he was as far away from them as possible, and could be with Hermione and Harry again.

His body twisted and turned through space and with a thud he landed on his back, the pain so great that he immediately passed out.

Ron slowly woke up, the steady burning pain stinging him to consciousness. His head still felt as foggy as his surroundings. The sun hadn’t quite risen, so there was still a tinge of dingy blue to the misty woods surrounding him. He was damp and chilled with early morning dew, and every inch of him hurt. He needed to move, but he knew the second it did it would be excruciating.

With teeth gritted he let out an agonized moan as he turned over, and put his right hand to the ground to balance himself. He gave a hiss as his fingers pressed into the ground and saw his hand was covered in blood. He didn’t remember his hand being all that injured, since it had been bound in ropes as they beat him and whipped him. He held it up and saw, to his chagrin, the same telltale missing flesh of a splinching. His middle and index finger stung, and the tops of his fingers, where fingernails has one grown, were gone, leaving nothing but raw open flesh behind. He awkwardly severed the hem of his t-shirt and wrapped it around the tips of the bloody digits, hissing as it made contact with the freshly peeled nerves

Ron tried to picture the exact place they’d camped so he could apparate to them, but the moment his eyes closed he began to lose his balance and lurch to the side. He couldn’t apparate yet, he was too dizzy and disoriented to do it. He might splinch his head off, then what use would he be to them? His eyes began to tear, and he forced himself to gulp down a few breathes. He didn’t have time to cry. He needed to get back to Hermione and Harry.

He’d been in so much pain he hadn’t thought to take stock of just where he was located. He was in the woods, and they looked awfully similar to the ones he’d been staying in just yesterday. If he could get to the top of the hill he was on he could orient himself and know for certain. At their campsite there had been a low mountain in the far distance with a funny looking spot on its peak. The spot had sort of looked like a deflated fish. If he could see that, he could find their camp spot. He gathered the two wands, placing the extra in his sock, and began his trek.

The climb up the hill was excruciating. Every step was painful, and he had to will himself not to begin shaking and crying again as he panted and limped up the hill. The top of the hill had less and less trees, but the fog made visibility remain low. He’d have to wait for either his head to stop feeling so disoriented so he could apparate, or for the fog in his surroundings to get burned off by sunrise.

He wanted to pace, to do something, but his body wouldn’t let him. All he could do was woodenly stand, shiver, and wait.

The sun traveled higher and higher, and Ron’s head still swam.

He stared ahead at the distance, willing the outlines of the landscape to come into focus.

Finally, not so far away, he could see the mountain ahead of him in detail. It was the same mountain he’d seen as they camped!

He got out his wand and excitedly cast the “point me” spell. The mountain had been almost perfectly south of their location, making it all too easy to head north.

‘Just hold on a little bit longer!’ Ron silently plead, willing himself to hold on until he got to Harry and Hermione.

It amazed Ron how quickly the hike was sapping him of his sense and abilities. Little rocks and brambles left each step unsure, and a few times he caught himself before falling and getting a mechanical injury. The wind was cold and harsh as he pushed north. He could barely move his hands and arms, and his back and legs burned in pain as he doggedly pushed on. He could barely think or concentrate on anything other than the pain, and the thought of reaching Harry and Hermione.

Hours passed. The north wind numbed his hands and face, his head pounded with every step, but the sight of a river made his sore face split into a mad grin. His pace quickened as followed along the river, just barely avoiding roots as he excitedly forged ahead. He kept looking back to the mountain, which was looking more and more like it had the day before.

Finally he reached a bit of riverbed that had to be the same one they’d been at. The sight of Ted Tonks and Dean’s campfire, complete with fish guts from their meal prep, confirmed it.

“Harry? Hermione?” He said, cautiously wanting to avoid being loud as he walked to where the tent had been the night before.

There wasn’t a sound.

“Harry! Hermione!” He asked a bit more insistently.

He went to the patch of dirt where the tent should be, and was able to walk across it easily.

Panic coursed through his veins. They couldn’t be gone, could they? That meant he’d never be able to find them again! Where could he even hope to be able to find them? They had no plan in place for their next site.

The tears he’d held for hours began to openly flow down his face. He kicked up the dirt where the tent had been. It wasn’t there.

A horrible thought struck him. What if they were there, and they didn’t want him back at all? Were hiding from him.

“Please!” Ron cried, not caring who heard him as sobs began to rack his body. “Please, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I shouldn’t have left for even a moment! I’m a worthless wanker, I know. Please let me come back!”

All was still. The only sign of time moving at all was the river’s steady movement, and the tree branches creaking in the wind.

“Please…” Ron croaked out, collapsing into the mud. Tears steadily fell down his long nose as he rocked back and forth. He’d done it. He’d abandoned the two most important people in the world. He’d left them. They were well and truly gone. He was all alone, and every bit as worthless and stupid as the locket had said.

Hours passed, and Ron continued to sit in the mud, unable to move. Ron’s hands were beginning to go as numb as his soul. He was shaking from cold, from grief, and from the pain he felt in every part of him.

Despite all this, his mind was beginning to clear enough to plan and think again. As soon as his brain was clear enough, he was going to Apparate to Bill’s. He’d start there for any sign of anything that might lead to Harry and Hermione’s whereabouts. He’d find his way back to them, even if they didn’t want them. He had to help them somehow, even if it was just to stand in front of a killing curse for them.

The world didn’t need a Ron Weasley. He was just a piece on the board you’d use to sacrifice for the more important pieces. He’d known that since he was kid in his first year, on a giant chess board. He had sacrificed himself for his friends, and from then on he knew that was his only real worth. He’d stand between them and any threat. The world needed heroes like Harry. It needed intelligent world-changers like Hermione. And he needed to protect them, if not for themselves and the love he had for them, then for everyone else. The world needed them.

The world didn’t need a worthless git like himself.

Mind finally focused, he stood.

With every brain cell he focused on the three D’s of Apparition.

Destination: Bill and Fleur’s home of Shell Cottage outside of Tinworth. He clearly pictured the beach home he’d been to once. The dunes. The blue door. The sea weathered wood panels. The smells and sounds. He could see it.

Determination: He had to get there. He would. It was the only way to get to Harry and Hermione. He would do it.

Deliberation: He centered his mind, and slowed his thoughts. He carefully considered it, steadied his nerves, and stood with certainly.

An exhaled breath. The wood of his wand pressing into his fist. The turn. And with a small ‘pop!’ he was gone.

The river’s rippling waters were replaced by ocean’s waves turning over.

He opened his eyes, and sure as he stood, there was Shell cottage. He was one step closer to finding Harry and Hermione, and nothing would stop him until he did.

If you have thoughts on this piece, leave a comment please.

#ron weasleyfan fictionsnatchershillnerdfanfichillnerd writingharry pottertrigger warning #ron weasley #fan fiction #snatchers #hillnerdfanfic #hillnerd writing #fanfic #harry potter

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nilim · 6 years

Note

First kiss! Scanlan or Nott idk, whichever one you wanna do more, though i might be too late to send prompts.

So, the concept of Scanlan’s first kiss was a premise that immediately intrigued me because I never really thought about it before. Because, well… he’s Scanlan. Sometimes it feels like he materialized into Exandria fully sexualized. But he didn’t, of course. So it was fun exploring that more innocent part of his history. A character study and coming of age story, if you will.

Also, this story was inspired by Sam’s throw-away line that ‘kissing a half-elf man’ was ‘teenage years, baby.’

Warning: This thing is LONG. 11k.

Enjoy.

—

A passing cart splashed through a large puddle, sloshing water across Scanlan’s boots as he ducked out of its way. The lasts remnants of a passing rainstorm were giving way to blue skies and the city’s streets were gleaming; mist steaming off the cobblestones as they warmed up in the sunlight. Scanlan ignored the new stains to his boots, his focus entirely on the balding, well-dressed gentleman walking on the opposite sidewalk.

Making his way through the crowds, the man seemed somewhat harried trying to hurry his wife along. Decked out in a long, green coat, the plump woman was entirely too wrapped up in her own little world to notice her husband’s frustration. She wore a soft, kind smile and had ooh-ed and ah-ed at every window display, market-stall and stray cat the couple had come across for at least half a block. Scanlan knew this, because they were the reason he was crossing the street in the first place.

As man and gnome approached each other, Scanlan ducked low and removed his frayed, purple beret with a practiced flourish.

“Spare a coin, mister?” He asked, his voice pitched slightly higher to help create the impression of youthful naivety. The man gave him a quick a look - an expression Scanlan was sure he only spared for things he normally found underneath his boots - and angrily pushed past him.

“Out of my way, boy.”

Scanlan quickly stepped aside, ducking even lower while clutching his beret to his chest. “Sorry, sir!”

His voice apologetic, he adopted a mournful expression. Like that of a kicked puppy. He waited a beat and then - right on cue - looked up, locking eyes with the woman trailing behind her husband. Scanlan could feel actual tears brimming in the corners of his eyes.

He was pretty proud of himself.

“Oh, Harold. He looks hungry. Can we not spare a few coins?” The woman said, turning towards her husband with a worried look. The man looked back, flustered.

“Agnes…”

Scanlan could see they were about to get into an argument, so he interjected;

“That’s okay, miss! It’s entirely my fault, I can see you are in quite the hurry and I should never have b-bothered such nice people.” He wiped at the corners of his eyes with the long, dirty sleeve of his tunic. “I’m sure I don’t know what I was thinking…”

He made as if to leave, but before stepping off the pavement he turned back towards the woman.

“Please don’t worry about me, miss. I’m quite sure I will be able to find some leftover bread behind the bakery tomorrow. The baker sometimes throws away perfectly good loaves, you see, only partially moulded!”

A subtle expression of horror flickered across the woman’s face and she cast a look at her husband, who was staring daggers at Scanlan. The gnome’s expression of solemn sincerity didn’t waver under this scrutiny.

“Agnes, please-” The husband began, trying to get his wife moving again. The large woman could not be budged, letting go of her husband’s hand as she started digging for her purse.

“No. That’s it, Harold. I will not have this… child eat rotten foods and starve in a gutter somewhere!” She produced her purse and started counting out coins, her husband’s eyes boggling at the amount. A vein popped in his forehead.

Fidgeting with his beret, Scanlan stared down at his feet, afraid any look he might give the man might infuriate him further. Such things could tip the precarious situation into an entirely different direction.

“Here you go.” The woman said, her voice soft and caring as she held out her hand. Scanlan held up his beret, still avoiding eye-contact.

“You’re too kind, miss. Thank you very much-” As he felt the coins being deposited, he caught the flash of a golden sun on one of the woman’s rings. Without missing a beat, he added; “-Pelor’s blessing be upon you both!”

The man made a soft, disgusted noise. Maybe that last comment had been a bit much, Scanlan admitted. But he wasn’t going to stick around to find out.

Bowing, he stepped off the pavement and spun around to hurry back across the street. Clutching his beret to his chest, he weaved through the crowd of people on the other sidewalk. He walked past a couple of blacksmiths before ducking into a shaded alleyway. As the sounds of the city fell away, he found a hiding spot behind a couple of stacked beer barrels. Finally feeling secure, he opened his hands and looked at his prize.

There was gold in there. More than one coin.

Scanlan’s heart hammered inside his chest. There was enough here to pay for at least a week worth of lodging at the Silver Heron. It was a lot more than he had expected.

Eyeing his spoils in wonderment, his reverie was interrupted by a long, low whistle behind him. He froze.

“That’s a nice sum you got.” A girl’s voice whispered in his ear. Recognizing the voice, Scanlan felt relief wash over him. He quickly pocketed the money before turning around with a forced smile.

“I do my best.” He replied, eyeing the girl leaning over his shoulder. A human child, she was a couple of years younger than him, probably around 13-14 years old. She was crouching low on one of the barrels, wearing a ragged grey dress and green stockings. She had in all likelihood dropped down from one of the roofs above and snuck up on him, quiet as a mouse. Which was why it was her nickname.

“You know Aron is going to beat the shit out of you if he finds out you’ve been scamming on his turf.” She pointed out, dangling her legs off the large oak barrel, using a dirty fingernail to pick out something between her teeth.

“True…,” Scanlan eyed her briefly, then rummaged in his pockets and flipped her a silvered coin. Eyes sharp as a hawk, the girl snatched the coin from the air before it had got a chance to complete its arc. “Which is why… he’s not going to find out now, is he?”

“Hm.” She pocketed the coin and silently watched him as he fixed his beret. Scanlan wiped some dirt from his tunic and looked down at his feet. Not much to be done about his boots, for now.

“You off to that silly tavern of yours, then?” She asked as he started moving towards the street. He deemed the question not worthy of an answer, until she called after him; “I don’t know why you like that place so much.”

Scanlan stopped and let out a heavy sigh. “I like it, because there’s music.”

“Lots of places got music.”

Scanlan grit his teeth. “No… Many places have an idiot with a flute making some noise.”

He thought about the Silver Heron. The tall, leaded windows. The pipe-smoke filled hallways lit up with silver sconces. The shining, oak bannisters of the second-floor balcony, which looked out onto the crowded barroom below. The diverse cast of patrons - drinking, laughing - all listening to the single minstrell, alone up on the narrow crescent-shaped stage. He turned towards the girl, smiling:

“This place has got music, Mouse.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

—

The small barroom was rowdy, every inch of the tavern packed with people enjoying an evening of drinks and entertainment. Dodging between individuals thrice his size, Scanlan had to do his best not to get squashed or trampled by throngs of people trying to get another beer at the bar. His head was spinning with sounds and songs and, music.

Earlier in the evening he had found a tiny spot up on the balcony, his small frame making it easy to watch through the carved wooden posts supporting the balustrade. He had spent the better part of three hours watching assorted musicians take center stage down below. A beautiful black-haired woman had sang a mournful song of tragedy and lost love in the Dunrock Mountains while Scanlan observed young men weep; a young Half-elf man had played a long ballad of an old sailor lost on the Ozmit sea, weaving words so playfully Scanlan had felt like he was there among the waves; and three dwarven brothers had played joyful, traditional dwarven tunes which had gotten half the patrons up and dancing.

Thirsty, Scanlan had left his spot to acquire some drinks while down below a young lady with a fiddle had started up a cheerful melody. Halfway down the stairs he spotted his chance when a large tray carried by a sturdy barmaid bounced past him just within arm’s reach. Reaching past the bannisters, he swiped a large tankard of ale while throwing down a few coppers on her tray in payment. Shouldering his way back upstairs he protected his drink from the careless elbows and staggering legs of drunk patrons. As he was about to set down the tankard on the floor to retake his spot, a large meaty hand shot out and grabbed his right arm, jerking him backwards.

“Oi!” Scanlan shouted, splashing ale over half his tunic. A large, middle-aged man was standing over him, a scraggly ginger beard doing a poor job at hiding his double chin and red, bulging cheeks.

“What do you think you’re doing, street rat?” He bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth. Scanlan flinched, shrinking back towards the wall.

“I paid for it!” He replied immediately, his voice not so much defiant as tinged with panic. He winced at the sound and took a second to compose himself. Looking up, he met the man’s gaze with renewed confidence. “I paid for it fair and square.”

“Hrmpf,” The man straightened up, eyeing Scanlan with a suspicious look on his face. But Scanlan’s now calm demeanour seemed to settle him down somewhat. The man crossed his arms.

“You’ve had your fun, boy. Time to go. We ain’t in the habit of entertaining every hoodlum wanting to spent an evening ogling young women.”

Scanlan put his hands on his hips, cocking his head. “But apparently this business is in the habit of throwing out paying customers willy-nilly? Seems like a bad investment.”

“Guests only.” The man rumbled, reaching out to grab Scanlan’s vest - but seeing the move coming the small gnome danced out of the way.

“Well, you’re in luck! I’m a guest,” He grinned, and quickly produced a handful of gold coins. “And I can pay.”

The man glared at the coins. “You a thieving scoundrel as well, then? We don’t take no stolen money.”

Scanlan felt a wave of annoyance flare up inside of him. “I’ve never stolen a damn thing in my entire life.” He spat back, glaring at the man.

“Oh, come on, Fabien, let the boy be. He appreciates the music, which is more than I can say for half the people here.”

Scanlan peered past the innkeeper to see who had spoken up, and noticed a youthful Half-elf leaning against the wall next to the stairs. The young man had short, curly brown hair and wore a simple blue tunic with a white vest. Scanlan recognized him by the well-worn intricately carved lute slung across his shoulder. It was one of the minstrels who had played earlier.

The young man pushed off against the wall and shrugged, giving the innkeeper with an amused look. “And he’s got a point, when are we in a habit of turning away paying guests?”

Locking his sharp green eyes with Scanlan’s, he added; “I’ll vouch for him.”

The taller man - Fabien - grunted and looked between the young Half-elf and Scanlan, conflict playing out on his face. After a long pause, he finally seemed to come to a decision and swiped Scanlan’s gold from his hands. As he turned, he gave the younger Half-elf a look. Mumbling something about it being ‘your funeral’, the man marched down the stairs.

Scanlan, surprised by the entire turn of events, leaned over the balustrade to follow where the innkeeper was going with his gold. Wading through a group of customers, the man approached the bar and had a brief conversation with a stocky, short-haired woman behind the counter. She ducked down and then offered the man a large, brass key. A room key. Scanlan grinned and turned back towards the young minstrell.

“Thanks.”

The Half-elf nodded, giving Scanlan a curious, inquisitive look. “I’ve seen you in here before, right?”

Scanlan fidgeted with his vest, giving the Half-elf an apologetic grin. “Oh no, you caught me.”

“Well, try not to enjoy yourself too hard, or you might get me in trouble.” The Half-elf said, eyes twinkling as he readjusted the lute hanging from his shoulder.

Scanlan put a hand over his heart, giving the young man a severe, solemn look. “I swear it upon my honour as a hoodlum.” He said, echoing the phrase the innkeeper had used.

The Half-elf chuckled, shaking his head as he ascended the stairs, leaving Scanlan behind to enjoy the rest of his evening.

–

Three days Scanlan spent inside a small, narrow room near the roof of the Silver Heron. Obviously a former servant’s quarters, it was right above the kitchen and smelled like a curious mixture of grease and ale at all hours. A small, round window opened up to the roof outside, limiting his view of the city - but Scanlan had discovered he could just see the top of the Market Street’s bell tower over the roof of the building across when he was lying down on his straw bed at night.

He didn’t mind the cramped quarters. There was a roof over his head, dry floorboards underneath his feet and hot food waiting for him every morning. During the day he roamed the city; singing at the corner of Garden Square for passersby, or carefully scouting out the affluent Temple district for better opportunities. At night he came back, found a seat up on the balcony, ate warm stew and drank amber ale while listening to a string of musicians play. Not all were of an equal skill level - but in Scanlan’s view all were good.

And although they had not spoken since that first night, every evening the Half-elf had played, strumming his instrument with deft fingers, weaving such finely crafted melodies. Studying him on stage, Scanlan had judged the young man to be not much older than himself. He wondered where the elf had learned to play like that at such a young age.

Counting his earnings of the day, feet dangling from the balcony, Scanlan knew he should be more careful with his spending. He could probably find much cheaper lodgings at one of the almshouses on the other side of town, squirreling away the money for a rainy day. But he never had such a windfall before… and living at the Silver Heron was nice. He wanted to stretch the days and not think about the future at all.

It was like living in a dream.

“I heard you sing today.” A familiar voice spoke up. Scanlan froze with his tankard halfway to his lips, looking up towards the source. The Half-elf, leaning next to him against the balcony, laughed when he saw Scanlan’s expression change. The gnome lowered his drink and scrambled to his feet, absentmindedly straightening out some creases in his dirty vest as he did so.

“You-” Scanlan’s voice pitched up, and he cleared his throat, “You eh, followed me?”

The young man nodded and raised an eyebrow, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You’ve got a nice voice.”

“Ehm. Thanks.” Scanlan was at a loss of words. Which is something that didn’t happen often. He gestured at the Half-elf’s lute, searching for something to say in reply. “You… play well.”

He winced.

The Half-elf seemed amused at his discomfort, folding his arms. “So, haven’t stolen anything yet then?”

Scanlan frowned. “I don’t steal things.”

“No, you sing for your supper. Like us.” The Half-elf nodded towards the stage and then, turning back, held out his hand in greeting. “I didn’t introduce myself before, it’s Edym. But most people around here just call me Ed.”

Scanlan took the offered hand and shook it. “Scanlan.”

Softening his grip, Edym clasped Scanlan’s hand with both of his and turned it palm upwards. He rubbed his thumb over the callouses on the younger man’s fingers. Taken aback, Scanlan studied Edym’s face for some insight into the young man’s thoughts. The Half-elf had a curious expression on his face.

“You play?”

Scanlan pulled back his hand, a soft pang of regret in his chest. Hesitating, he gave a sad smile. “I used to.”

“What happened?” Edym asked, frowning. Scanlan bent down to pick up his ale and took a long swig before answering. He could feel the cold liquid traveling down his throat, settling down deep down in the twisted pit of his stomach.

“Someone took my lute.” His voice only wavered slightly.

“That’s a grave offense.” Edym said, his voice sounding solemn. As Scanlan turned his head to meet the young man’s gaze, he saw understanding in his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Scanlan shrugged, staring into the dark, amber liquid inside his tankard. “Not your fault. And I…” He hesitated. “I wasn’t much good anyway.”

He turned around, looking out over the room down below. An older man was playing a shawm up on the stage, but half his audience had gotten distracted. Conversations and laughs drifted up towards the balcony, mingling with the music.

“I mean, not like you.” Scanlan added.

“Well,” Edym turned to lean on the balustrade as well. “I was blessed with a good tutor.” Scanlan could feel the man’s eyes on him as a silence settled between them. Then, carefully, the young man prodded; “Who taught you?”

Scanlan bit his lip. It was not something he usually openly shared. But for some reason, here in this moment, he swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. “My mother used to play when I was young. I guess I picked it up from her.”

“Hm.” Edym answered, but didn’t pry any further and Scanlan felt thankful for that.

Their conversation was interrupted when their attention was drawn by muted applause from below, the man with the shawm bowing and leaving the stage. No sooner had he left when a red Tiefling woman in a long, flowy white dress appeared, slowly walking out onto the podium next. She carried with her a beautifully decorated lyre and sat down on a simple, wooden stool in the middle of the stage.

As she played her first few notes, a hush descended on the crowd.

Like magic, Scanlan thought.

—

Afterwards, lying on his bed staring up at the slanted wooden roof, Scanlan couldn’t even remember what the woman had sang about. His head was swimming with melodies and an inexplicable soulful yearning for a place beyond the city; divine nature untouched by humanoid hands.

He thought about Edym. And about their conversation.

After the performance, they had shared a drink and a few more words. Edym had let him play a few songs on his lute, although Scanlan had found it difficult to judge what the Half-elf thought of his skill level. After he had nervously returned the instrument, Edym had simply grown quiet, finished his drink and bid him goodnight.

He wondered what it was like, to live a life like his. To have people adore the stories you weave, to be able to enchant a room with the songs you spin with just the power of your words and the help of an instrument.

It seemed a far-off fantasy, at least for a street rat like him.

He fell asleep and dreamt about his mother.

–

The next day brought rain. Scanlan spent most of the morning outside, sloughing underneath the awnings of a butcher’s shop, waiting for a break in the weather so he could find a place with better foot traffic. By lunchtime, when the rain gave no signs of abating, he decided to simply call it quits and return to the inn.

Afternoons were cozy at the Silver Heron. There were two great fireplaces in the barroom below, and ample people coming and going, looking for rooms and lodging or a place to dry out their clothes while getting something warm and tasty to fill their bellies. There was even a shelf of books; all well-read and thumbed-through, some almost falling apart the seams. But they were free, and Scanlan didn’t get many chances to curl up by a fire and just read. He had learned that skill from his mother, and it was something he was thankful for every day out on the streets.

Fabien had given him some suspicious glances while cleaning the bar, perhaps half expecting him to run off with the entire collection of tomes. But all in all, the large innkeeper had eased off him somewhat, perhaps coming to accept Scanlan’s presence among his guests.

“So, now you read as well.” Edym spoke up behind him.

Scanlan looked up, surprised by the sudden appearance of the Half-elf. Catching the young man’s eyes, Scanlan found them to have an unreadable expression.

Edym leaned his lute against the large chair Scanlan had made his new home, and then shrugged off his coat, placing it on the chair beside him.

“Singing, lute playing, reading… Any other skills you are hiding?” Edym sat down opposite of him, holding a glass of mulled wine.

“Hmm, I’m a multi-layered onion of surprises.” Scanlan replied grinning, the words leaving his mouth before he could reel them in.

Edym didn’t reply, but just drank slowly from the wine. Scanlan felt fidgety under the young man’s scrutiny, remembering his reaction - or lack thereof - to his lute playing the night before. As the silence dragged on, he tried to focus on his book instead.

Edym put down his glass on the table and finally spoke up; “What’s a boy like you doing living on the streets?”

Scanlan tightened his grip on the book in his hands, nails digging into the soft leather. “I’m not a boy.” He frowned at Edym. “I’m not much younger than you.”

Edym sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m not calling you a child, Scanlan. I’m asking why you’re singing on street corners for people who don’t appreciate it, spending money you don’t have on ale and lodgings at a second-rate inn in a city that doesn’t want you.”

Scanlan felt like he had been slapped in his face. Shame bubbled up inside him, making his throat itch. He sunk lower into his chair - an easy feat to accomplish as its massive form was already dwarfing him. Hiding his face in the book he was reading, his mind raced for a reply.

“Why do you care, Elf boy?”

“Hm… polite professional curiosity.” There was a slight cheeky tone to Edym’s reply, and Scanlan couldn’t help peeking over the top of his book to glower at the Half-elf. A stubborn sort of rebelliousness welled up inside of him.

“Not everyone can be so lucky to have a good paying job at a nice inn playing songs for drunks.” He scoffed, studying Edym for a reaction.

Edym frowned at him. “That’s not what I mean.”

Scanlan lowered his book, annoyed at the response. He crossed his arms and gave the musician a mirthless smile.

“Then please enlighten me, oh wise one.” Glaring at Edym, he could hear a downdraft in the fireplace behind him, spitting up embers. He ignored it, but noticed the Half-elf’s eyes briefly travel towards the fire.

“Hm.” Edym looked back at Scanlan, carefully considering him. For a brief moment it appeared he was going to answer his question, but then thought better of it. He pushed himself up out of the chair, leaning forward to grab his lute.

“Come on, I want to show you something.” He said, and gave Scanlan a quick wink before turning around and leaving towards the kitchens.

Scanlan, still sitting in his chair with his arms crossed, waited stubbornly for Edym to cross the room. That guy thought he knew everything.

As the Half-elf was about to leave his field of vision, Scanlan rolled his eyes and jumped out of the chair with an annoyed sigh.

“This better be good.”

—

The ‘something’ Edym had wanted to show him was not so much a thing as multiple someones. In the space behind the kitchen was a corridor leading to a backstage area and a large dressing room. Or perhaps ‘secret bar’ was more apt.

In the middle of the chamber was a large round table. Sitting at it there were multiple people playing cards, some of which Scanlan recognized as musicians he had seen perform before. Lit up by wall sconces and a large hearth to the right of the door, the room was cast in a warm, dancing glow. There were costumes hanging from a web of clotheslines crisscrossing the ceiling, and instruments everywhere people were sitting; Lutes, viols, flutes.

In the corner, at the beer-stained counter, a half-orc was playing a playful diddy on a fiddle. Next to him, a stocky dwarf was shouting at a barmaid, who apparently had brought him the wrong drink. Weaving between the tables, a half-naked woman was running around asking whether anyone had seen her headdress.

An older gentleman - the shawm player Scanlan recognized suddenly - stood up triumphantly from the large table and shouted “Ah-ha! Pay up, ye bastards!”. He threw down a hand of cards. Various groans from the other people at the table announced their defeat.

Standing in the doorway, Scanlan felt a slender hand upon his shoulder. Turning, he saw the Tiefling lyre-player leaning down towards him, her breathe hot against his right ear.

“I see Ed has brought us some new meat.” Her voice was soft was playful, and Scanlan felt a tingling sensation in the back of his neck.

“Ehm…” He mumbled, trying to discern the meaning of her words as she pushed past him. She sat down at the table and padded the chair next to her.

“You play, love?”

Edym stepped forward, a crooked smile playing on his lips. “Now, now. Be kind to him will you, Ariane?”

The Tiefling leaned her chin on her hand and pouted. “I’m always kind, Ed.” Sitting behind her, Scanlan could see a red-haired halfling woman catch his eye, slowly shaking her head in warning.

Edym stepped back around him and patted him on the shoulder. “Everyone, this is Scanlan! He wants to be a musician.”

Scanlan could feel his cheeks burning as everyone turned towards him. Various excited greetings flew his way, but he caught at least one cheeky; “Eh, your loss”.

In the hubbub of noise and activity, he frowned up at Edym.

“I never actually said I wanted to be a musician.” He hissed between gritted teeth, unsure about the situation.

“You didn’t have to.” Edym replied. Scanlan shook his head at him and looked around. He didn’t know what he had expected, but it wasn’t this. He felt… vulnerable.

A large hand slapped him on his back, and one of the dwarves shoved a tall tankard of ale in his hands.

“A musician huh? You sure about that, laddie?” The dwarf grinned at him, his beard so wild and bushy some of its hairs pricked Scanlan in the side of his face. The gnome cast a helpless look at Edym as he felt himself get pulled away.

Edym just grinned at him.

—

For three hours Scanlan was guided around the room in a whirlwind of introductions and conversations, getting to know some of Edym’s colleagues a little bit more personal than he had intended to. He had learned to play at least two card games he didn’t even know existed, and had heard some interesting stories about the tavern - although none he dared to repeat among politer company. He had also discovered why shawm players were apparently the world’s best lovers.

Musicians, he decided, were not a shy bunch.

When he finally managed to extract himself from a particularly rowdy conversation - ears still burning - he quickly scanned the room. He found Edym in a corner, sitting on a bench while carefully tuning his lute. In the soft flicker of the candlelight, he was hard to spot among the revelry of his fellow colleagues. Like a moon caught in a planet’s gravity, Scanlan felt himself pulled back towards the only person he felt could save him from all this insanity.

“Are these people all playing tonight?” He asked, trying to steady his sloshing beer as he sat down next to the Half-elf. As Edym looked up from his lute, Scanlan noticed the room was spinning a little. He might have had more than a little to drink, but he couldn’t exactly remember how much since different people had kept putting new drinks in his hands before he had the chance to finish the previous one.

“Nah. Half of them come here just to hang out.” Edym replied, nodding towards an older lady applying makeup at the small table in the corner. “Some of them aren’t even musicians. Actors. Dancers.” Scanlan felt himself staring into the crowd, trying to pick out who was who. This place was ridiculous, like a secret society of artists no one knew about.

Edym played a few notes on the lute, listening and adjusting the strings. Noticing Scanlan’s puzzled look, he folded his arms and leaned on his instrument, grinning. “Fabien allows it because we bring in patrons when we play, and, well, back here we almost match his customers out there drink for drink.”

“So, you do this every night?” Scanlan said, looking at the Half-elf in astonishment. “This is… amazing.”

Edym shrugged, his grin fading. “I mean, if that’s what you want.” He turned his lute over, picking at the strings as if lost in thought. “It’s… not exactly the word I would use.”

Scanlan gave him a dumbfounded stare. “Are you kidding? You get to play your music every night for an audience who actually likes you. You get paid. You get food and a warm roof over your head.”

Edym frowned at him. “You make it sound like those are the only things in life worth pursuing.”

“Aren’t they?”

Edym leaned back against the wall, eyes narrowing as he considered the gnome next to him. “I’m not sure. But I didn’t expect you to be that easily taken in by the razzle-dazzle, Scanlan.”

He paused, and then scanned the room.

“All of this,” He gestured around, “It’s… superfluous.”

Taken aback by Edym’s attitude, Scanlan remembered the question he had asked that afternoon; what was a boy like him doing living on the streets?

Some of us don’t really have a choice, asshole.

“This might not be much to someone like you, Edym. But it is to me.” Scanlan bit back, downing the rest of his beer in one go.

“Yes, you’re having fun now. But… I don’t think this place is meant for you.” Edym said, looking at the gnome with a curious expression on his face.

Scanlan stood up abruptly, the earlier shame and anger returning. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Did Edym think he wasn’t good enough?

Edym looked at him, hesitating, but didn’t reply. Scanlan bit his lip in annoyance and turned his back on the Half-elf.

Walking away, he felt a strong desire to enjoy the heck out of all the things Edym had ever deemed superfluous.

—

The morning after brought back only wisps of memories of the night before, in addition to a pounding headache which only partially cleared up after Scanlan managed to drag himself out of bed and get some breakfast down at the bar. He didn’t see Edym that morning, and instead spent the better part of the day trying out different busking spots in the city.

He had counted his funds after breakfast, and that had sobered him right up.

The afternoon brought a chill to the weather, but he found a nice spot between two high-end tailors that seemed it might provide him with a pretty penny. By that time, however, most of the day had already been spent scouting, and when the street lamps were getting lit, Scanlan reluctantly packed up. As he made his way back to the Silver Heron, he was able to count that day’s earnings on one hand.

That evening he found himself backstage again. Most of the musicians welcomed him back with equal enthusiasm as the night before. Scanlan eased up on the ale that night, not in the least because he found that this time around, he was expected to contribute towards his own drinks.

Late in the evening he briefly caught a glimpse of Edym as he entered the dressing room to change his outfit. But just as soon as he arrived, he was gone again. Having failed to catch the Half-elf’s eye, Scanlan just leaned back in his chair, sipping his drink and thinking.

“Edym doesn’t seem to spend as much time here as some of you.” He pointed out, trying to keep his tone neutral.

“Hm.” The older halfling woman - Ronda - replied, not looking up from her hand of cards. As no further comment seemed forthcoming, Scanlan pushed a little harder.

“So… what’s his story anyway?”

Ronda cast him a look, scratching her pointed chin. “Ed? He just shows up, he plays, he goes.”

Scanlan frowned at her. “And… where does he go?”

“Who cares!” Shouted the shawm-player - Bret - from the other side of the table, aggressively putting down a handful of cards and fixing him with an expectant look. Scanlan, distracted, had entirely forgotten which game they were playing. He picked a random card from his hand and put it down. Ronda started picking up his cards from the table, shaking her head at him.

“Nobody knows. That boy’s got a restless soul.” Ronda said and started counting out money for Bret, who had somehow won the round. As she counted, her sharp brown eyes fixed Scanlan’s with a piercing look. “There ain’t ever come anything good from ‘aving a restless soul. We have it good here, and you should remember that, boy.”

“… Okay.” Scanlan replied, slightly unsettled. A hush descended on the table, and Scanlan felt like he was missing something. But Ronda’s tone of voice had suggested that any further conversation would proof fruitless, so he just slowly took a sip from his drink instead.

A restless soul? What was that supposed to mean.

Frustrated that he had not gotten any wiser from the conversation, he spent the next few minutes impatiently finishing his hand before excusing himself from the table. He could feel Ronda’s eyes on his back as he dodged another encounter with the dwarven brothers who were calling out to him from another table. Instead, he made his way to the door and back out into the tavern proper.

Back among the normal patrons, he elbowed his way through the busy barroom, looking for a sign of Edym. Moving past a large Dragonborn, he thought he spotted the young Half-elf pass by on the other side, but when Scanlan turned around there was nobody.

A drunken young man stumbled into him, using Scanlan’s head to catch his balance. Scanlan cursed under his breath, pushing the man’s hands off him. Catching his beret from falling off his head, he sighed and gave up his search, shouldering through the crowd to make his way upstairs. When he found his usual hiding spot along the balcony still empty, he sat down for a better vantage point over the room.

If he was completely honest with himself, he knew that although the backstage area was interesting, the actual magic was out here. Even if he was being used as a elbow rest by some of the patrons. It was the atmosphere. Electric.

He spent a few moments soaking in the sights and sounds. Invisible. Alone. Like a rat among the rafters, waiting.

It wasn’t long before the current musician finished his set and, just as Scanlan had expected, Edym appeared to the side of the stage, quickly bouncing up the wooden steps of the platform to take over. His hair was a curly mess and he had on a different outfit this time; darker with more muted colours. Sitting down, it instantly made his lute stand out against the firelight, blazing red, while he himself almost blended in with the background.

Not waiting for the audience to settle down, Edym’s fingers danced across the strings of his lute, launching into a polyphonic fantasia. As the Half-elf slowly increased the tempo, he started singing, and it wasn’t long before Scanlan begrudgingly found himself lost in the young man’s voice.

To him it seemed like Edym applied verses to a song like paint to a canvas, conjuring up a tale about the cradle of creation and the founding of the Dawn City, Vasselheim. His poetry made the city sound like an unreal, divine place, far removed from the view of mere mortal men.

It might as well be, Scanlan thought, staring at his dirty boots dangling from the balcony. He was quite sure he’d never get the chance to see it.

Sitting on the ledge, he pondered the Half-elf down below. Edym had a commanding sort of presence on stage, like he had grown more mature before their very eyes. He was clearly one of the more talented musicians up on that stage every night - and the audience knew it, too, hanging onto his every word.

He had called this place a second-rate inn, Scanlan remembered. If life at the Silver Heron was such a burden to him, why was he still here? It seemed like a perfect fairy tale to Scanlan, but… something gnawed at him.

Superfluous.

Distracted, he almost didn’t notice when the Half-elf bowed and took his leave, Scanlan kept sitting at the ledge and observed the people down below. Like a spell broken, he noticed all the different, small sounds rushing back into the room. Interrupted conversation restarting, laughing, the sounds of glasses. A younger human girl with a dulcimer appeared on stage; the last musician of the night.

Her music proved a simple distraction as Scanlan remained, thoughts churning.

The hour eventually growing late, the crowd was thinning, with the majority of those staying behind either mostly drunk or preoccupied with pursuing more carnal interests. It was like watching a play, where none of the audience realized they were actually the actors.

Fabien loudly announced last call, and Scanlan finished his drink and got up to head to bed.

—

Trailing his hand along the wooden panelling of the corridor towards to his room, he wondered how long before he would have to spend a night out in the rain again, if he didn’t start saving money soon. A week?

A few days?

Turning the corner, he had come upon the narrow door to his room, and he started fumbling for his key.

There was a polite cough.

Turning to look, Scanlan found Edym standing behind him, holding a key out towards him. Scanlan froze with his hands in his pockets, before dropping them by his side and leaning back against his door, suspiciously eyeing the young man opposite him.

“So, I guess I’m not the thieving one around here after all.” He said, his voice careful.

Edym arched an eyebrow. “You dropped it.”

“Uh-huh.” Scanlan answered, not convinced. He stepped forward and snatched the key from Edym’s hand. The Half-elf crossed his arms, cocking his head in amusement.

“Look, Scanlan-” He started, but Scanlan interrupted;

“Here it comes.” He said, turning towards the door.

“- I just wanted to apologize.” Edym finished, and Scanlan halted, the key halfway in the lock.

“Oh.”

“I think I might have misspoken before.” Edym started, sounding slightly unsure of himself. “I didn’t mean to imply that this place wasn’t meant for someone like you, but that… you don’t really belong in a place like this.”

“If you’re trying to apologize, you’re doing a piss-poor job of it.” Scanlan muttered.

Edym smiled regretfully, an expression that made him look suddenly young. “All I’m saying is… you can aim for more than just this tavern, Scanlan. There’s a whole world out there.”

“Oh, I’m well aware! ”Scanlan replied, still not budging. “But sometimes I wonder whether you are.”

A restless soul, he thought.

“You’ve been stuck here too long, you can only see the bad.”

“And you can only see the good.” Edym shot back, his voice rising slightly. “I want to show you how-”

“I don’t need your help, Edym.” Scanlan cut him off. Like hell he was going to get lectured to by a rich elf boy who didn’t understand the value of having a roof over your head. He unlocked his door and stepped inside. “But if you hate this place so bad, nothing is stopping you from leaving.”

Edym’s face fell. “You misunderstand.”

Scanlan shook his head, trying to gauge the other man. “I think I understand plenty.”

The Half-elf was silent, frowning at him. A moment passed.

Scanlan sighed and closed the door.

—

That night he dreamt of far off places. Dark ships sailing in the night, and a land filled with sun and sands.

—

The next day was dark and dreary, clouds blocking out the sunlight and casting the whole city in a semi-darkness. But the rain stayed away and - considering his low funds - Scanlan was eager to try out his newly discovered spot. The morning started off well, and he soon found his money pouch clinking with coins. During lunch hour he took a brief break to buy a hot sausage bun from a vendor down the street from him.

Holding the wrapped bun in both hands, the heat of it managed to warm his hands as he walked back towards his spot. Drawing near still chewing his lunch, he froze when he noticed two boys standing where he had set up shop. They wore ragged, green coats and chequered caps.

Aron’s boys.

He swallowed, eyes darting to the streets left and right of him. It didn’t seem like they had spotted him yet, so he decided a hasty retreat would serve in his best interest. He turned around and immediately bounced into a large boy standing directly behind him. Scanlan fell back, dropping his lunch as he tried to catch himself.

“Hey Scanlan.” The boy before him rumbled. He was tall, had a mess of black hair and wore the same chequered cap as the other two kids. Scanlan tried to scramble to his feet, but was instead pulled up by his vest. The kid was at least thrice his size.

“Word reached us you’ve been living in that fancy little tavern you like so much.” The boy said, grinning. He had at least two teeth missing. Scanlan clutched at the boy’s fingers, trying to release himself from the strong grip.

“Imagine our surprise, seeing as last time we ran into you, you didn’t have the money to pay us.”

Scanlan struggled with the boy’s grip, his vest choking him. “Yes, well. Sometimes people get unexpectedly lucky, Aron.” He offered, grimacing.

“Nahh,” Aron said, “You having that kind of money can only mean one of two things. Either you’ve been stealing, or…” He waved his left arm in a slow, wide arc, gesturing towards the buildings surrounding them. “You’ve been busking on my turf.”

Scanlan watched as the kid plucked his coin purse from his belt. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach. Aron held the gnome closer to his face and weighed the purse in his other hand, his grin widening. “That’s a lot of coin, my boy.”

A sudden wave of anger rolled over Scanlan. Being this close to the taller boy’s face, instinct overtook him. As he flashed Aron a vicious smile, he leaned back into the kid’s grip and kicked forward with both of his feet.

“I’m not your boy, dillweed!” He shouted.

To his satisfaction, he could feel something crunch underneath his boots. Aron cried out in anger, his grip on Scanlan’s vest lessening. Scanlan pried of the remaining fingers on his vest and managed to release himself. Falling back, the wind was knocked out of him when he made contact with the ground. His heart hammered in his chest, and he started crawling backwards. He briefly noticed the pedestrians around them giving them a wide berth, but before he had a chance to get up, a large hand reached out gripped his left arm like a vice. Scanlan was unceremoniously hoisted up in the air for a second time, but this time he could feel the bones in his arm being crushed.

“Last time I broke your stupid, little instrument. But this time I think I’ll break your pretty little face!” Aron bellowed. Before Scanlan could throw up his arms in protection, a large fist flew at him from the side and stars exploded inside his skull.

The world was spinning and pain radiated from the right side of Scanlan’s face. He barely registered rearing back for another hit. Panicked, Scanlan grabbed onto Aron’s left hand and bit down, hard. Hot blood welled up beneath his teeth. Howling in pain, Aron released him again, but this time Scanlan hit the ground running.

His right eye stinging like the nine hells, he stumbled away from his attacker half-blinded. There were throngs of people now, some having stopped to watch, and he ducked behind a couple of older women on the sidewalk. Head throbbing, his focus was on the alleyway he had spotted earlier, hoping he could at least use his size to an advantage and make his pursuers lose him among the crowd. Sprinting into the alley, his heart sank when he heard Aron’s shouting “Get him, you idiots!” not far behind. He might have miscalculated.

Vision swimming, heart pumping, Scanlan started a uncoordinated scramble up a pile of crates blocking the end of the alley. Perhaps if he got high enough, he could reach the roof of the building behind it, and then… well, he’d plan for his next move when he’d get there.

As he heaved himself up the final crate, he felt someone grab his leg from behind. Blind panic setting in, he started kicking back to prevent himself from getting dragged back down. Boot making contact, he heard someone grunt behind him and the hand released its grip.

Scanlan quickly got to his feet and turned around. Looking down he could see all three thugs below him now. Great, it’s a party.

Aron was looking at him with a furious look on his face; blood was streaming from a clearly broken nose, and his hand had a nasty bite mark. One of his lackies was already trying to climb back up the crates, having partially fallen down due to Scanlan’s struggle.

A slow, vicious grin appeared on Aron’s face as he watched Scanlan’s panicked look. “Give it up, gnome. If you make us come get you, things won’t be pretty.”

As he saw Aron’s shit-eating grin, a sudden hot rage filled Scanlan’s chest. He couldn’t stand the guy, or his stupid face. He heaved himself up tall, a surge of adrenaline spreading through his body. It was like a well of electricity building up inside of him, making his fingers tingle with nervous energy. He pointed down at the thugs below and took a deep breath.

“Listen up, assholes. Don’t even think of climbing up here. If any of you lay a finger on me, a broken nose will be the least of your problems. The city guard will need help scraping your ugly mugs of the street, because when I climb down these crates, I’m personally going to kill every last motherfucking one of you!” Scanlan yelled, his voice vibrating with pent up rage. As he heard his words bounce back to him, he scrunched his eyes shut, his head dizzying with pain and anger. His voice seemed impossibly loud to him in that moment, reverberating through the alleyway like a thousand shouts - but maybe that was just a concussion speaking.

When finally the echoes died down, he expected laughter. But silence followed.

He carefully opened up his left eye. Through a blurry haze, he could only just make out the retreating backs of all three thugs as they rounded the corner at the other end of the alley.

Hesitating, Scanlan just stood there. He wasn’t exactly sure what to do now. Slowly, his knees buckled underneath him and he sat down on the crate in a confused daze. Seconds passed.

“Wow.” Said a female voice above him, and he recognized it as Mouse. Somehow, he was not surprised. He realized she had just witnessed him cuss out Aron and his gang. An amused smile flickered across his face.

The young girl carefully emerged from behind a chimney up on the roof and looked down at the gnome from above. “I mean, wow!”

“…Yeah.” He replied slowly, staring down at his hands. Sitting there, his body felt tingly and heavy, like he expended all his energy on that one final, rage-fuelled tirade. Or maybe it was just all the adrenaline leaving him.

“You really sent them running.” Mouse said, crouching down near the gutter directly above him.

“I guess so.” Scanlan said, rubbing his aching right eye, trying to clear his vision. He unsteadily got back to his feet.

“They’ll probably be back, though.”

He looked up the gutter above him, judging the distance. He was in no hurry to climb down and follow Aron and his goons out of the alley, so he had to think of alternative exits. He flexed his fingers, bent his knees, reached up and… jumped. His hands found purchase on the slimy edges of the gutter, but his feet scrambled uselessly against the rocky wall. A couple of seconds passed as he dangled.

He coughed politely.

“You want some help?” Mouse asked, watching him from the same spot, not having moved.

“That would be swell.”

—

It was late. Very late. Scanlan didn’t know how late, and he didn’t care. He stumbled from the backstage bar, almost collapsing into the corridor. Steadying himself against the opposite wall, he noticed a portrait of a stern looking lady looking down at him. He pushed himself upright and waved a finger in her face.

“At least you don’t have to, eh… pay rent.” He slurred. He wished he didn’t have to pay rent either. That would make his life a whole lot easier.

“Scanlan?”

He whipped around. It was Edym. He was wearing a long woollen coat, and had his lute slung over his shoulder, like he had just come from outside. Or was leaving. Scanlan noticed the Half-elf was frowning at him.

“Hey, Elf boy.” Scanlan grinned. Then he hesitated. “Wait, I’m still annoyed at you.”

“You’re drunk.” It wasn’t a question, but Edym’s voice wasn’t admonishing either.

Scanlan twirled around, waving at the door he had just come from. “Well, you would be too if you had shown up for my goodbye party!” He laughed. When Edym’s eyebrow arched up, the gnome sighed. “Tonight’s the last night.”

He clumsily turned out his empty pockets, to signify his lack of funds. “So, I guess you got your wish after all, no more Scanlan at the Silver Heron.”

Edym’s lips curled up in a half smile, although it didn’t reach his eyes. “Funny, it turning out that way.”

Scanlan rolled his eyes at him. “I see you still can’t help being an asshole.”

He tried to push past the Half-elf, but Edym stepped out of the way unexpectedly, making Scanlan stumble. Edym shot out a hand to steady him, but Scanlan quickly brushed him off.

“I still don’t need your help.” He mumbled, feeling a weird mixture of annoyance and shame. But Edym wasn’t listening. He reached out again and Scanlan felt the Half-elf’s soft fingers on his face. He could see surprise flash in Edym’s eyes as he turned the gnome’s chin towards him. Scanlan realized the right side of his face must look a mess by now; he could feel the bruising underneath his eye, and the swollen, broken skin on his cheekbone.

“What happened?”

Scanlan slapped away Edym’s hand and turned his back towards him, staring down the corridor. He swayed in place, something preventing him from simply walking away.

“Like you said, Edym. There’s a whole world out there.” Scanlan laughed humourlessly. “But not everyone wants a hoodlum like me in it.”

Edym was quiet, but Scanlan felt the Half-elf’s hand settle on his shoulder. “Let me help you.”

“I don’t-”

“You don’t need my help, I know. But… humour me.” Edym interjected. “Please.”

When Scanlan turned to cast a glance at him, he caught a concerned, apologetic look on the Half-elf’s face. He didn’t seem so arrogant then. Maybe just somebody who had trouble finding the right words to say.

Which was ironic, for a poet.

For some reason it convinced Scanlan.

“Well, please has always been the magic word.” He replied. A smile flickered across Edym’s face.

–

Edym guided him up the stairs, no easy feat as Scanlan realized he had a little more to drink than he had intended. But it was his goodbye party, after all, and the other musicians had given him a proper farewell. They walked past his room, around a corner, and up another stairs Scanlan hadn’t explored before. This must be the attic, he thought. Edym left him standing in the narrow corridor as he opened a heavy, oak door at the end of the stairs.

The chamber beyond wasn’t large, although compared to Scanlan’s room everything seemed spacious. There were two long, leaded windows on the opposite wall, and a slanted roof on both sides of the room. There was a simple bed to the left of the door, with a large wooden chest at the end. A small, narrow desk was on the other side, with a shelf above it containing many different jars and pots. There were papers on the desk, and many kinds of maps and other drawings pinned to the wooden roof boards all around the room.

Scanlan stared at it all while he was guided to sit on the bed by Edym, who promptly turned around and lit a small oil lamp on the window sill. In the soft, orange glow, Scanlan could see the details of one of the drawings above the bed. A dragon, casting flames on a forest below. In the margins of the paper, there seemed to be a few lines of song verse scribbled in careful, black lettering;

In peril the knight did careful treadBold Ayla, her end in stone was setIt came upon her like a veil of dread With flaming tongues of gold and red

Edym closed the door and then started rummaging through the jars on the shelf, looking for something.

“Did you draw these?” Scanlan asked in awe.

“No.” Edym replied. Walking towards the foot of the bed, clutching one of the jars, he cast a look at the page Scanlan was studying. “Well, some… Most are from books.”

The Half-elf knelt down and opened the chest, searching through its contents. He pulled out a piece of cloth and tore it in half. Scanlan was distracted, taking in some of the maps and other drawings hanging above him. It wasn’t what he had expected to find in Edym’s room.

“Are they Inspiration? For songs?”

“Well, yes. But it’s… more than that.”

A restless soul, Scanlan thought. There was more to Edym than met the eye.

Edym removed a lid of one of the jars and used his fingers to smear some of the white, thick ointment on the cloth he had prepared. He looked up and carefully put a hand on Scanlan’s chin, moving the gnome’s face towards the light. Scanlan wrinkled his nose as the strong herb-like smell wafted over him.

“Hold still.” Edym said, and Scanlan closed his eyes. The Half-elf started applying the salve around his injured eye, obviously careful about not pressing the bruised skin too hard. The substance was cold and oily, but felt surprisingly soothing against his skin. Scanlan frowned.

“Your hands are soft.”

Edym let out a soft laugh while continuing his work. “Thanks?”

Scanlan opened his left eye. “It’s not a compliment. It’s just… I had expected different from a lute player.”

Edym’s smile lingered on his face, eyebrows raised. “Hmm. What can I say, I’m blessed by my Elven heritage.”

Scanlan closed his eyes again, snorting. “That sounds like horseshit.”

“Ah, well.” Edym finished his work, wiping off the excess. “Keep that on there for the next hour or so, it will dry up but help with the swelling and bruising.” He turned around and Scanlan peeked at him. Edym seemed different in his room. Like he had let his guard down. He watched the Half-elf return the jar to the shelf, and smirked when the young man almost knocked over a few books on the desk. Maybe he was not the only one who had something to drink.

Edym wiped off his hands on his coat, and sat down next to Scanlan on the bed. He looked around, seemingly a little lost on what to say.

“So, singing, lute-playing, reading, drawing… healing. Any other skills you are hiding?” Scanlan asked amused, mirroring Edym’s words from a few days before.

Edym looked up sharply. Noticing Scanlan’s mischievous grin, a careful smile appeared on his face. “What can I say? I’m a multi-layered onion of surprises.”

They both laughed, and Scanlan was glad he had gone with him up to his room. It seemed an intimate sort of place, and he would never have known about it if he had let his pride take over. He felt like he might have misjudged Edym. There were indeed layers there. The realization that the Half-elf wrote most of his poetry surrounded by drawings of dragons and the Feywild made him strangely endearing.

Scanlan leaned back against the bed, eyes on the ceiling. Edym watched him read some of the texts on the pictures above. A comfortable silence settled between them. Scanlan closed his eyes, thoughts wandering.

“So… Where will you go?” He asked, breaking the quiet.

There was a brief pause.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not stupid, Edym. I know you’re leaving.”

He opened his eyes and looked at the Half-elf sitting next to him. “That’s what you meant right? Before? About it being funny it working out this way. You meant our goodbyes coinciding.”

Edym eyed him carefully. “Yes.”

“Look, contrary to what I let on I don’t actually blame you.” Scanlan sighed. “All those things you said? They’re true.” He sat up and wrung his hands, staring at the dirt underneath his fingernails.

“This city doesn’t want me. So, if I could get out of here like you, I would too. But I wouldn’t last two seconds out there.”

Edym let out un unexpected laugh, and Scanlan gave him a quick, curious look. It was not the reaction he had expected.

“You would do a whole lot better than me.” Edym said, giving him a strange look. His eyes were soft.

Scanlan frowned, leaned forward and gestured at the bruised side of his face. “Look at this, Edym. I can’t even protect myself out on these streets. How can I last out there on the road?”

“Scanlan, I don’t know how to convey this but…” Edym sounded uncertain, hesitating. He licked his lips, then seemed to focus on Scanlan’s black eye. “First, tell me what happened.”

“I told you what happened.” Scanlan replied, raising an eyebrow. He felt like he was missing something.

“No, I mean, what really happened.” Edym insisted. Scanlan hesitated, but then decided to humour him.

“I got in a fight with a bunch of assholes. There’s this kid… He’s got an attitude problem.” He began, and he saw Edym’s eyebrows twitch.

“Sounds familiar.”

Scanlan laughed. “Not like me, asshole. He’s the kind that likes to intimidate people.” He shifted his weight, sinking back in a memory.

“He’s laid claim to one of the more affluent neighbourhoods, and he doesn’t like it when people try to earn an honest living on what he views as ‘his’ streets. So… he doesn’t like me.”

Edym grew quiet, but then asked; “Is he the one that destroyed your lute?”

“Yeah, like I said, a real dick.” Scanlan replied.

Edym nodded. “So, you got in a fight again. What happened next?”

“He punched me in the eye. I kicked him in the face and then I ran for my life.”

“You got away?” Edym asked, confused, like that was not how he expected the story to go.

“No… he and his friends came after me, cornered me in an alley and I… eh,” Scanlan hesitated, “Well, I shouted at them. Threatened them, actually. And they left me alone.”

“You… shouted at them, and they left?” An odd expression appeared on Edym’s face, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I think they might have just thought I was more trouble than I was worth.”

“These were humans, though, right?” Edym asked, smiling. “They don’t sound like the sort to just run away from one measly gnome.”

“Well, who knows why they left,” Scanlan replied, growing more suspicious at Edym’s tone of voice. Like he was not understanding a joke. “Maybe they thought it was more fun to let me stew in my panic- What are you grinning at?”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” Edym said, and Scanlan felt a wave of annoyance flare up in him again. Or maybe it was all the alcohol.

“You’re being an asshole again.” He pointed out and stood up, frustrated. The room started spinning and he grabbed for Edym’s shoulder. The Half-elf reached out and helped steady him.

Edym shook his head. “Gods, Scanlan. I might be an asshole, but you’re a damn idiot.”

“Well, thanks, I guess.” Scanlan said, releasing his grip from Edym’s shoulder, confused. “Very enlightening.”

Before he could move away, Edym held onto his shoulders, soft green eyes focusing intently on his. “Wait… I’m about to tell you something that’s going to change your life.”

There was a pause, and Scanlan could see a sudden hesitation appear on Edym’s face. The Half-elf looked away, frowning.

“Well, shit.”

“Wha-”

The next question was erased from Scanlan’s mind when Edym suddenly leaned forward and kissed him, hard. Scanlan blinked, the sudden move blindsiding him. He felt his cheeks flush with heat, his eye throbbing. His fingers pressed against Edym’s chest, he could feel the soft thrum of the Half-elf’s heart below the fabric of his shirt. Holding his breath, Scanlan closed his eyes, his world spinning to a single point. Soft lips. The taste of mulled wine.

When Edym finally pulled back, Scanlan slowly opened his eyes and just stared. The Half-elf gave him an embarrassed, soft smile.

“Sorry, that’s not actually what I wanted to say. Although… I have been wanting to do that.”

“Uh…” Scanlan’s brain drew a blank. The kiss had been unexpected. But… nice.

Only inches from each other, Edym grinned at him, his hot breath on the Scanlan’s face. It smelled sweet. “The thing I wanted to say, Scanlan… is you’re magic.” Edym whispered excitedly. “Your music. Your words. They have power you don’t even understand.”

A confused daze settled on Scanlan as he carefully sat back down. A few moments passed, and Edym’s expression changed to one of worry.

“Scanlan? I hope I’ve not upset you.”

“You mean, like… metaphorically, right?” Scanlan said, staring at Edym. “I mean, with that kiss and all…”

Edym laughed at him. “No, you idiot! You’re magic! Literally!”

Scanlan just fell in a deeper confusion.

“Your music,” Edym began, searching Scanlan’s face for comprehension, “it casts spells on people. You didn’t just threaten those bullies, you scared the ever-living hell out of them by enchanting their minds.”

Edym’s voice had a soft awe to it, which would have sounded endearing at any other moment. But right now, Scanlan was just trying to find the logic in what Edym was telling him.

The Half-elf watched him closely. “You’ve been doing it for a while.”

Scanlan frowned. He probably had too much to drink for this. Hesitating, he finally only uttered a single word; “Spells?”

“Yes.” Edym smiled, “You must have an extraordinary strong magic ability if you’ve been casting them without a spell focus. For someone like you it’s usually a musical instrument. That’s how I first noticed it.” He had a mischievous look on his face. “I mean, granted, you’re charming when you sing. But when you played my lute, it was… something else.”

“When you mean someone like me…?” Scanlan said, coming to his senses.

Magic. Him? It seemed like a strange dream.

“A bard. And I don’t mean like those you see play down in the tavern either.” Edym gripped Scanlan’s hands. “A proper bard, like the books talk about.”

Holding hands, Scanlan could feel the heat radiating from Edym’s soft fingers. He watched the awe in the Half-elf’s eyes. A slow, wicked smile appeared on Scanlan’s face.

“It’s kinda cute how excited you get about all this book and magic stuff.”

Edym shook his head with a soft smile. “The point is, you don’t have to be afraid of anything out there, Scanlan.” He cast the gnome a fond look. “I mean, with some-”

Edym was cut off when Scanlan leaned forward and kissed him again. If felt like the right thing to do.

If only for tonight.

—

That night he dreamt of a great battle above the cradle of creation, a city full of shouting people, and a brave Half-elf boy going on a journey into the unexplored.

—

Scanlan awoke in his room. The bright sun shone through the small window above his footboard, light hitting his eyes. As consciousness crept up on him, the last remnants of a dream left a bittersweet memory. He stared up at the ceiling above, empty of any drawings. When he turned on his side, he noticed the well-worn, intricately carved lute leaning against the wall next to his door.

He closed his eyes, unexpectedly moved by the sight.

When he got up later, he found Edym gone. He had already known. Nobody could tell him where the Half-elf went. None of the musicians knew. He had a restless soul, they told him.

You couldn’t expect someone like that to stick around.

But he found a note inside the lute, later, while playing it for the first time in a field of celandines just outside the city gates.

When he opened it, it showed lines in carefully written ink, like a verse to a song:

Into the unknown the bard did careful treadBold Scanlan’s faith no longer setThough many words are left unsaid I know of him one day books be read

END

#Critical role #scanlan shorthalt #scanlan #critfic #fanfic #I love my bard boy

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