#he frequently suggests burning down cities to deal with shit

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Friend: How are you doing?

Me: Honestly I've been better

Friend: Do you want to burn down a city?

Me: ... Actually yeah that'd be nice

Friend: Do you want to burn down Texas?

Me: That's a bit bigger than a city but I'm down

Friend: Idea! Let's burn down any cities that deny people abortions

[bigskydreaming]

I’m just gonna say it, cuz people certainly have said it enough about Dick.

Tim was an asshole post BFTC. Yeah, he was. Sorry not sorry. I know losing Robin hurt him and yeah Dick probably could have handled it better, but Tim was the one who made the decision to avoid Dick in the aftermath and refuse to even talk to him when Dick kept trying to reach out and check on him. Like, hello, Tim, guess what gets in the way of a big brother ‘who wronged you’ trying to make things better? You not letting him talk to you even.

(An entirely different scenario from when Bruce fired Dick, because the problem between that and Dick eventually reconciling with Bruce was that Bruce didn’t ever reach out and take the initiative to try and reconnect with Dick, when Bruce was the one who made it clear that Dick wasn’t needed there anymore and did nothing to say or suggest he was even wanted, when Dick lingered for weeks hoping he would, and it was never Dick’s responsibility to try and make the first move to repair their bond after that. This isn’t comparable to Dick and Tim because Dick didn’t do the same thing as Bruce, he did the opposite of what Bruce did because he learned from what Bruce did....thus he kept reiterating how much he needed Tim and wanted him to stay and Tim was the one who refused all the gestures actually being made).

And enough about all the people Tim lost, because guess what? Dick lost his second father too. And he’d not long before Tim lost Jack and Kon and Steph, lost his entire city. After his circus, chock full of all his remaining first family from his childhood, the extended family of friends and honorary aunts and uncles who’d helped raised him, was burned down around him with massive casualties. After his apartment building, which was chock full of people he canonically had made friends with and formed a freaking community of their own with, had been blown up with only one survivor, just to hurt him. After he’d left the Titans because he’d lost multiple teammates in the Titans Hunt and watched Joey killed in front of him, been raped by Mirage and blamed by his teammates for it, lost his several years long relationship with Kory in part because of it and various other manipulations that had nothing to do with either of them but rather his being brainwashed and then Raven’s messing with their emotions and on and on and on....

And after he’d lost Donna, and after he’d been raped again by Tarantula and after he’d lost his relationship with Barbara over Tarantula’s manipulations, to such an extent that when he went to Barbara the night his circus was burned down, she let him stay for the night and then told him he had to go in the morning, after he’d lost Jason and killed the Joker over it and feared he’d lost Bruce’s trust because of it to the extent that he was downright suicidal in the wake of Blockbuster’s death, after Stephanie Brown a girl he barely even knew had become the second kid to die in his family’s colors without him ever having a say in them wearing them in the first place, and then getting Jason back only to have him try and kill Dick’s new little brother Tim, and then try and kill him while they were fighting for the cowl, right after Dick’s newest little brother Damian tried to kill Tim and now Dick was stuck trying to raise him himself, and felt the burden of having to teach Damian to not do stuff like that, because he couldn’t just pretend that Damian wasn’t Bruce’s son, wasn’t his brother, and so he felt the pressure of having to try and find some way to turn Damian into someone who could coexist with Tim so that Dick wasn’t forced to yet again choose between brothers like when Jason was going after Tim, because yeah, Tim was the target and there’s no substitution for that but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still royally suck to be the big brother who feels obligations and ties to all three of these boys and considers them all family because of how they’re tied to him whether he likes it or not so he’s constantly struggling with trying to find some way for them all to coexist because he can’t lose any more family.....

And all of this happens in the span of like, three or four years comic book time, and then their second dad dies and Dick is suddenly stuck living his dead father’s life, running the company he never wanted, being the Batman when all he ever wanted to be was his own hero of his own invention, protecting a city that has taken from him time and time again, raising his dead father’s son as though he’s practically his own, and he just had to battle his brother Jason for the cowl he didn’t even want with it ending with Jason falling from a train and potentially to his death again (since Dick didn’t know yet if he had even survived that for sure or not) when its not like Dick has issues with family members falling to their deaths in front of him....

And Dick gives his newest little brother Damian the mantle Robin that means family in his eyes, because its the only way he knows of to make Damian believe that Dick actually wants him here, wants to form a bond, and isn’t just doing this out of obligation to Bruce, as Damian did believe at that point and why he was keen on leaving....and he tries to explain to Tim that this was an act of desperation, of necessity, of he didn’t know what else to do, and it has nothing to do with Tim not being good enough, or not wanting Tim as family, or wanting Tim to leave, its the exact opposite, he sits there and tells Tim he feels Tim is too good to treat as a junior partner, that he’s his equal and he could never be Batman to his Robin again because Robin takes the lead from Batman and Dick no longer sees Tim as someone who needs to follow, and that’s why Dick needs him to stay, needs him to help him in Gotham because he’s fucking drowning here.....

And Tim just goes, whatever, fuck you, you took away Robin which was the only thing that matters to me (no mention of the fact that he only had it in the first place because of Dick) and just outright refuses to respond to any of Dick’s frequent attempts to check on him, to see how he’s doing, to acknowledge that Dick is just fucking worried about him because he’s stretched impossibly thin and all he knows is he can’t bear to lose anyone else, it’ll break him, he’s lost all he possibly can right now.....

And Tim just.....doesn’t fucking care. Peaces off to pursue his (still lacking evidence) Bruce isn’t dead theory because Dick did something he didn’t like and won’t believe him without evidence about the thing he always says every time someone who’s close to him dies and has led to him going down some very dark roads in the past but why should past behavior worry Dick at all......

And sorry not sorry, but if you can reframe every one of Dick’s issues with Bruce about Robin as him being an immature spoiled brat, but that doesn’t sound like sulking to you, I’m calling foul. 

*Shrugs*

Tim was kinda a brat back then. I know he had a lot going on and was dealing with a lot, but Dick was too, and all he wanted was to know that his little brother was freaking alive and Tim was like no, that’s too big an ask right now, you made me mad so stew on that bro. BYE.

Yeah Tim was a teenager, but Dick wasn’t even eighteen when he left home, and if he has to always be a big boy or else he’s a spoiled kid throwing a temper tantrum for not getting his way, I don’t see why Tim (who preboot, was definitely at least close to eighteen at the time) can’t be expected to be a big boy too and at least say “Dick I’m still mad at you and hurt, but I at least recognize that you are going through shit too right now and so I can at least be bothered to check in and let you know I’m alive and okay still and you haven’t lost another family member while they’re hating you and blaming you and thus making it likely your fault too.”

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Owed to a Grease-cian Earn (baon)

Summary:  Stretch should've known something was up when Edge asked to go to Grillby's with him.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Hints of Kustard, Angst, Issues with LV, Suggested Past Prostitution, Implied Past Promiscuity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Notes: Note the tags, some angst ahoy!

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Back in Underswap, Stretch had always been in the know. He saw things, knew things people thought he shouldn’t, he could Look into souls and sometimes did, felt the sins of others crawling up his back.

He’d given that up pretty quick when they came to this ‘verse. Sometimes, a lot actually, it was better not to know and seeing that shit let him assume too much. It’d taken that ass-of-u-and-me thing way further than it should’ve with Edge and years later, he still had a regret about it. Too much of the negative, not enough of the actual soul and Stretch didn’t miss it one fucking bit.

It did mean he was pretty out of practice, though, and he should’ve known something was up from the beginning when Edge asked to go to Grillby’s with him.

Grillby’s was the only Monster-owned establishment outside of New New Home. Had to give him credit, Grillbz was a pretty savvy businessmonster. He’d hustled to get this place up and running in record time, before any Humans even thought of passing laws to prevent it. Protests here were few and far between and it was pretty damn popular with Monsters and Humans, like the Beanery was. During the day it was a family establishment, with some of the best burgers in Ebott. At night, there was plenty of entertainment. Stand-up comedy, local bands, even slam poetry from time to time and that was what brought them here tonight.

Stretch couldn’t say he actually liked slam poetry, but he loved coming whenever they were doing it. It was worth it for the people-watching alone; interesting folk crawled out of the ground and Thrillered their way downtown for this and since Andy couldn’t come, he’d planned on making it a solo trip. So he’d been pretty surprised when Edge wanted to tag along. It hadn’t even occurred to him to turn Edge down when he offered to come, hell, no, he loved spending time with his honey.

He was feeling pretty damn guilty about it now. Grillby’s was not on Edge’s top ten list of hangouts; he’d probably rather go to the DMV than here. Stretch didn’t mind some grease slathered on his food, added flavor in his humble opinion, but he knew better than that where Edge was concerned, and neither was he much for drinking. And the only person Edge ever seemed interested in watching was sitting in this booth with him. So that meant he got to sit around in a place he didn't want to be, surrounded by people he didn’t want to be with, picking at drinks and food that he didn’t want.

Sounded like a fun night, if you were a pal of the Marquis de Sade. They’d only been here an hour and this was the second time Edge’d gone to the bathroom to wash his hands, impressive even by his standards, considering he was wearing gloves.

It wasn’t Stretch’s fault, no. He hadn’t asked Edge to come along, no sir, he wasn't a glutton for punishment, preferred it to be snack-sized. But he still felt bad; there was no question that Edge only came along to keep an eye on him, hell, he’d already caught his baby stifling a yawn once and this was a Monster who was capable of sitting through meetings about trade agreements. Edge knew his boring.

But if Stretch was filled with relief about Alphys’s news, he had a sneaky suspicion that Edge was still feeling a little fragile about it. S’ok, he got it, the whole situation was a clusterfuck from start to finish. Between his HP, Andy’s attempt at getting some internal air conditioning, and Edge’s LV trying to tap dance on his soul at night, Edge was due a little fragility. If his baby needed to keep him in arm’s reach for a little while, he could deal. For fuck’s sake, it wasn’t like he was the one who’d have to be hands-on if his HP ever gave out, so Edge was welcome to all the extra snuggles he needed until he got back on an even keel. Edge probably considered the boredom and grease a fair price.

Stretch gave the bar a glance, trying to decide if it was worth fighting his way through the crowd for a drink. Grillby was moving tirelessly along with the other bartender, flames tamped down to a steady glow that matched the dimmed lights. Some nights he would put on a little show, give a demonstration on a few interesting things that alcohol and fire could do when mixed. Tonight he was probably trying not to distract from the show, currently what Stretch presumed was a Human waxing poetically about avocados—was that a Human? Honestly, he was having a hard time deciding.

But hey, with the frequent fiery shows, it was no surprise no one tried to burn this place down. Maybe Deb should ask for a special presentation at the Beanery someday.

He’d just decided that sending Edge to get him a drink when he came back might entertain him for about a minute when from behind Stretch came, “Hey, Papyrus! Haven’t seen you here in ages!”

“rolf,” Stretch had to struggle not to make a face. He knew Rolf, a little better than he preferred to remember and from two Universes besides. Here was a Monster who hadn’t shown much difference between Underswap and this ‘verse.

A distant relative of the Dogi, he had the ears and the muzzle but not much else in common. Not every Monster had taken well to surface life and Rolf was one of them. He wasn’t bad sober, but when he’d been drinking he was a jackass and a half, something Stretch figured out pretty quick on one shitty evening. From the smell of him, he’d already been here a few hours. “i go by stretch, now, remember?”

Rolf only laughed, too loudly, earning a couple of dirty looks, and crammed into the booth next to him. Stretch wasn’t beating too many Monsters when it came to body weight and he was forced to scoot over to keep Rolf from falling into his lap. It was still cramped enough in the booth that he was pressed in tight, the heavy smell of beer and not enough showers strong in Rolf’s fur.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Grillby had a strict policy against using magic in his establishment. Once, you got a warning, second time, a month’s ban. A third and the ban became permanent.

Which was the only thing keeping him from knocking Rolf out on his ass when he settled a clawed hand on his knee. “You’re lookin’ good tonight, you know that?”

Yeah, in a hoodie and jeans, he was a regular supermodel shaking his ass on the catwalk. Rolf’s grin let his tongue loll out, a dribble of saliva dripping down to puddle on the table. It clammed up into a frown when Stretch firmly moved his hand away and he whined, “C’mon, you always used to be up for a good time.”

“maybe you didn’t hear,” Stretch said coolly, “but i’m married.” Not that any idiot shouldn’t know; the Monster community was small and Edge wasn’t exactly the most private citizen around. Neither was he, to be fair, most of New New home followed his twitter, if not the experiments he got up to with the minions on the weekends.

Rolf threw back his head and his raucous laughter was loud enough to earn a glance from Grillby and half of the rest of the bar, fiery glares both figurative and literal at them both for interrupting the ode to avocados. “Yeah, I heard, everyone heard, you and that dust-scraper shacked up. Think you’re worth more than that, don’t you?”

Just hearing him call Edge that set his teeth to grinding, forcibly wrangling his temper down. He was not going to start a fight, not here, not with a bunch of Human college students listening to some guy wax eloquently about being a lone wolf in a city of sheep. Low, he said coldly, “i know i’m sure as fuck worth more than you. get lost, fuckface, find a different tree to piss on.”

“Come on,” Rolf leaned in too close and the alcohol on his breath was gagging, “I have G. Buy you a pack of smokes and everything.”

Okay, screw being subtle. That implication made his already simmering temper flare into white-hot. He’d heard that gossip, thanks a heap, and he didn’t know who the fuck started it, but it had never been true, not even in Underswap. Stretch gave Rolf a hard shove but he didn’t budge an inch, even when he dug in his fingers. “Fuck you!”

“That’s the idea, pretty,” he leered

Enough of this shit; Grillby would definitely kick Rolf out if Stretch asked and he wanted him gone before Edge came back. This was the kind of stupid bullshit that Edge did not need to deal with right now, not when his LV was giving him a bitchfit. Rolf deserved an ass-kicking but if Edge lost control and gave him one? There was too much of a chance he’d get too rough, his control was taking a walk on the wild side. If that happened, he’d never forgive himself and Stretch was not about to allow his baby to get any emotional scars over this piece of shit.

But his racing thoughts weren’t giving him much to work with. Even if he were allowed to use magic, Rolf was touching him so if he shortcutted, this prick would be coming along for the ride. And going anywhere alone with him would be fucking stupid, calling for Grillby to help would be humiliating, so what the fuck could he— Stretch gave him another hard shove and hissed, “i said no, asshole, knock it off!”

“Yes, you should knock it off.”

Well, fuck.

Those words were dripping with cold, practically freezing in the air itself. Say what you would about Underfell, it’d gone a long way towards helping Edge really perfect that casual sort of menace that usually got people pissing in their shorts.

This was an all-new level of suck, and Stretch wondered a little wildly if it was possible for a Monster to die of panic, because here he was sitting ass to elbows with a guy he’d drunkenly slept with once. Edge wouldn’t doubt him, he knew he wouldn’t, but, but, he didn’t know what to do, didn’t want Edge to get hurt in any capacity, not by anyone else or himself.

“babe—" Stretch started, still struggling with the unfamiliar sensation of not knowing what to say. Just his luck that his one superpower would give out now, usually he couldn’t manage to shut himself up.

But anything he might have said stuck in his throat, unspoken, when Rolf turned to Edge and showed his teeth, growling low in his throat. “Yeah? What’re you gonna do?" he sneered. "Gonna kill me? Add a little more EXP to the pile you’ve already got?”

People talked so blasé about things screeching to a halt, but right now they were all living a textbook example. The entire bar was watching them, even the kid on stage was silent, notebook pages crumpled in one hand as he stared wide-eyed. Grillby was watching closely but he made no effort to intervene, not yet. Only polished the glass in his hand while he waited with everyone else to see how this panned out.

Stretch was about to shortcut out and damn the consequences, take the black mark on his record and pin this asshole down outside with a little blue magic when Edge spoke again.

“Don’t be ridiculous," Edge said mildly. He tucked his hands into his pockets and Rolf probably didn’t appreciate the subtle insult of it. "I’m going to remind you that your monthly stipend is dependent on the contract you agreed to when you moved to New New Home, and that if you break that contract, say, by breaking the law assaulting someone who is only trying to enjoy a drink at a bar, you no longer benefit from it. You can move out and live with the Humans and cover your own expenses without having to worry about petty rules. Although I would remind you that assault is generally frowned upon by the Humans as well.”

There was no telling how much Rolf had to drink, but it wasn’t so much that the picture Edge was a painting for him wasn’t crystal clear, no happy little mistakes, just broad, blatant strokes. Slowly, he slid out of the booth, that low growl still vibrating in his throat and Stretch didn’t think he imagined hearing him mumbling something about whores. That was fine, he could whine like a two-month puppy. Stretch didn’t give half a shit what this asshole thought of him, but he really hoped Edge wasn’t listening too hard.

Once Rolf slunk away, back to an empty table in a dark corner of the bar, Edge sat back in the booth, across from Stretch and everything around them slowly resumed, like a film reel flipped back on. Glasses clinked, bottles opened, and the kid on stage started up again about pencil graffiti.

“my hero,” Stretch smiled wryly, the tension in his soul leaking out, leaving him weak with relief, “you're a smooth motherfucker when you want to be, aren’t you.” He frowned when Edge didn’t say anything, “babe?”

“Give me a moment,” Edge said tightly and Stretch took a good look at him, at the pinpricks of his eye lights, the way his gloves creaked as he clenched his hands together.

So he did. Didn’t talk, for once, let all the words bubbling in his mind fizzle out and instead, he busied himself making a tower around his empty beer bottle out of the condiments and silverware. There was enough math involved to keep him entertained, weighing out on whether the ketchup or the vinegar was best as a foundation, the exact formation required to balance the saltshaker in the end of a spoon.

He was just jenga-ing in the last fork when Edge gave the ketchup base a flick with one finger and it collapsed in a mini shower of flatware.

“you asshole, you have no respect for art,” Stretch laughed, gathering up forks and spoons. Then softer, “you okay?”

Edge sighed. “I feel that’s a question I should direct back to you.”

“me?” Stretch scoffed, waving that off, because no, thanks. “please, i could have handled that asshole in two seconds if it weren’t for ‘da rulez’” He made little air quotes around it, just to see if Edge grimaced. He did, and that right there was encouraging, a nice little slice of normality.

“I know you could.” Edge reached over and took his hand, squeezing gently. His gloves were buttery-soft against Stretch’s bones, but he sort of wished he could feel the light scrape of phalanges. “I’m not upset with you, I want you to know that.”

“yeah, i know.” Stretch gave him a lopsided smile. Edge had never held his previous indiscretions against him, if that was what you called fucking around with anyone that offered. This was the first time one of them had shown up asking for an encore though, so it was kinda nice to hear.

Edge looked at him searchingly then slowly nodded. “So long as you know.” He drew Stretch’s hand up, his breath warm as he kissed his knuckles gently. That was better, much more normal, so it was something of a surprise for him to drop Stretch’s hand and pull out his phone to start typing, enough that Stretch blinked at him in confusion.

“what are you—?”

“Contacting Embassy security.”

That gave him a hell of a jolt, “babe—"

“It’s not only about you,” Edge didn’t look up from his phone, “If he’s like this often, drunk and aggressive, he’s a danger to himself and others. I don’t want to hurt him, love, but he needs help before something worse happens.”

Of course. Of course Edge was thinking about helping him, so worried about his LV, about hurting people, and here he was making sure some asshole was gonna get better than he deserved. Stretch loved Edge, more than he could explain, sometimes so much it scared him a little, but the warmth that rose in his soul right at this moment was soft and sweet, begging to be properly shared.

“you’ve got a good soul, babe.” Stretch regretted it the moment he said it, too teasingly light, and the way Edge’s eye lights constricted made his own soul throb once in sympathy, that warmth dimming. By unspoken rule, only his soul got to be talked about and held, his supposedly perfect LV-free soul.

True to form, Edge didn’t say anything to that. He only tucked his phone back into his pocket, shifting to stand, "I'll get us another round, try not to get into more trouble while I'm gone."

"i wasn't trying to get into trouble the first time." Stretch pointed out. It got him a brief smile, but not the kiss he was angling for. He saved his sigh until Edge walked away, tracing the circle of moisture his bottle left on the table with one absent finger.

“babe, you have a beautiful soul,” Stretch whispered to nobody at all, “someday i’ll get to tell you that.”

For now, he only turned his attention back to the stage. A woman was up there now with hair in a rainbow of fascinating colors and no paper notes, only raising the microphone with brisk determination. He watched with interest as she began talking about public transportation, only glancing once at Edge who was standing in line at the bar. No one else was giving Edge so much as a cautious look and the bartender’s smile as he stepped up was friendly.

It allowed him to relax, focusing more on the show. No one thought anything bad, then, no one let Rolf’s drunken anger give them a worry about Edge’s LV, even if it was jarringly high.

Good enough.

~~*~~

Rolf was considerably drunker when he stepped out of Grillby’s at closing time to see the plain black cars waiting for him. His waitress had cut him off about an hour before, fucking unfair, he’d been sitting by himself, not causing any trouble at all. Hadn’t even said a word when the dust collector and his whore left earlier, kept his head down looking at his drink.

None of the Monsters leaning against the cars looked remotely threatening, but he wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot. ‘specially not when one of them was Sans, and maybe he’d swapped out the pink slippers for sneakers, but otherwise he could’ve stepped right out of Snowdin, the hoodie and shorts, that easy grin. Made Rolf think of other days, better ones, staggering home through the snow with a drink in his hand and a song in his heart.

“heya, rolf,” Sans said, easily, “was hoping you’d come with us, yeah?”

Hoping, right. Conjured magic was heavy in the air, clammy humidity before a storm, and part of him was ready for the fight, more than, wanting to lash out and hurt a couple of these pricks for daring to try laying hands on him. But he wasn’t that drunk, not that stupid, and he wouldn’t get off a single hit, he knew. Not against Sans.

He only walked up to the closest car and one of the Monster’s held open the door for him, one for the backseat. He hesitated long enough to sneer, “So much for freedom on the surface.”

“nah, you got it wrong, pal,” Sans’s easy smile never wavered. “you’re pretty free to do what you want. out from under the mountain. out in the sunshine. but your freedom ends right about the point you make the humans want us all dead. that kinda takes away my freedom.” He stepped closer and Rolf hastily climbed in the car. Too late, Sans stood in the open door, keeping him from closing it. “anyway, we’re just here to help you get home.”

“Home,” Rolf repeated, hopefully. Sans nodded, his grin widening.

“gotta little tip for you, first.” His pleasant smile seemed anything but when coupled with those suddenly dark sockets and Rolf swallowed hard, the pressure of too much beer heavy in his bladder. “stay away from stretch.”

The reminder of the little whore made his anger surge again and Rolf blurted out, scoffing, “I get it, that pussy stays in the family, huh.”

Sans laughed as if it was the best joke he’d heard in a year. His eye lights flared back to life as he chuckled and Rolf let out a little tremulous laugh of his own, “nah, don’t be stupid, i just don’t like to see anyone hurting my brother.” A cheery ting choked off Rolf’s laughter and he cringed, strangling on lack of air and terror as Sans leaned into the car, one of his eye lights flaring like staring into insanity. His voice was deeper, trembling in Rolf’s very bones as he whispered, “stay away from stretch or you’ll have a really bad time.”

Then it was gone and there was only Sans and his easy smile, along with the sharp smell of urine. He slammed the door shut, giving the top of the car a slap and it drove off in a short caravan, headed towards New New Home. He watched a little longer, until the taillights twinkled out of sight before he said to no one in particular, “good enough for you?”

He didn’t bother looking over his shoulder at the sudden flare of crimson eye lights. “for now.”

Sans nodded, “they’ll either get him some help or get him on house arrest until he wises up. it’ll work out.” Sans slanted a glance over his shoulder, towards the sudden click of a lighter and a whiff of cigar smoke. “whoever gets home first gets to top?”

A dark chuckle and a plume of exhaled smoke. “you’re seriously underestimatin’ the appeal of getting’ to lay there while you fuck me.”

“am i?” The innocence in his voice was as pure as New York snow, “guess you’ll lose, then.”

There was nothing but the sound of a shortcut, a faint pop of displaced air, and Sans cursed aloud and vanished into one of his own, leaving the street empty and a neon sign flashing with the word, ‘Grillby’s’, the same above as it had been below.

-finis-

[alfredosauce50]

Who’s the bad guy? (2p + 1p America x reader) 14

Wordcount: 2,961 The reader is referred to as she/her

The driver just couldn't help it. With two men bleeding all over his leather, one with blood painted all over their face and the other with their white dress shirt stained with crimson blotches, he frequently darted his eyes to his rearview mirror. That way he could update himself on just what was going on with his two patrons, where one of them was on the brink of death. His head was mostly limp as he sat in the back; face pale and glazed with sweat, he miraculously scraped together his remaining willpower and energy to talk to his redhaired accompaniment. "... Where did you say Luciano was again?" He coughed. And once again, the driver let his visage travel to the rearview mirror with a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. His brows would twitch at every cough and splutter Alfred let out. If he was not gurgling on his blood for the moment, there was no need to react this way. 

Despite his companion's condition not being much better than his own, he huffed heavily and still responded. "Everywhere. We gotta find him with Flavio's help." That was when Alfred burst into a coughing fit, spluttering and hacking violently to spew a little bit of blood onto the seat in front of him. "... You-" He interrupted himself with another cough. "-don't know?" Allen's brows furrowed, nodding without another word. As evident in his expression that contorted into resentment, he did not want to delve into their obstacle any further. And so, a silence so tense fell around them that a knife could cut right through it. Of course, it was not completely quiet because of the sounds of nightly traffic and the dripping of blood. The man behind the wheel flickered his eyes back to them once more. "... Uh... You guys sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" He asked, to where the two figures behind shook their head simultaneously at. It was the third time he had brought up the question. "No thanks." They mumbled. "Lennox Hill Hospital is right on the left if you guys wanna go-" "No." "Are you sure?" Allen's nostrils flared and he shot up. "NO!" The man flinched. "Is that a no because you're unsure or it that a no because-" Stretching of leather was heard as one of them sat up. Reaching for the headrest right behind his head, he craned his own to the side so he could stare at the side of his sweat-glazed face. "If you wanna keep this car and job, then I suggest you keep driving." He whispered, striking red eyes round with menace. Despite his volume being low, the tone in how he worded things made him sound threatening. The other responded with a quick nod and fixated his attention back onto the black road ahead like he was supposed to. "You got it, buddy." The ride felt so much longer than what the cousins expected. What felt like hours was only around twenty minutes. Alfred wanted some time away from the flashing lights of paparazzi and the blinking lights of the city. Glowing billboards, crazy taxi drivers and towering structures scattered at every corner were signs of a dense population hotspot, and that just meant more people to deal with. Allen on the hand just missed his hometown. It was much quieter there, as ironic as it sounded, but it was true. So when the bustle of life faded away and they drove into his neighborhood, he felt a rush of euphoria and relief surge through his veins. The rundown single-story house at the end of the street stood there in all its glory, beckoning its owner to enter it. It was the perfect embodiment of poor living standards, but damn, it was luxury in Allen's eyes. He jumped out of his seat and pointed it out to the driver. "There! Just stop there." He exclaimed. "Okay, got it." The vehicle slowed down in front of the driveway so that crushing of asphalt could be heard. The interior lit up as the car doors flung open. Allen stepped out first to marvel at the house, but when he heard the painful grunts sourcing from a blonde just behind, he turned around. Before he collapsed onto the ground, Allen reached out and held him up around his stomach to avoid the wound in his shoulder. "Yo, you good?" Alfred struggled up to his feet while holding onto him desperately. "Shit, thanks." He whispered. They made their way up to the front door and he never experienced this much trouble going up a few stairs in his life. By the time he was facing the front door, his body was finally succumbing to the wound in his shoulder that ripped a few tendons. "Actually... I don't feel so good..." When the flyscreen flung open, its screeches faded out into a ring in his ears and he fell forward. His face collided with the front door, pushing it open so he could land on the ground inside in a heavy thud. Allen was already struggling with his weight when he was conscious, but when that left Alfred's body, he was unable to prevent him from plummeting down onto the floor. "Shit!" Allen hissed and rushed to his side. "How the fuck was the door unlocked anyway?!" Blood was pooling on the wooden floorboards he was lying on, and the grotesque sight of how much red there was escalated his heart rate. The only sensation he knew now was pure panic as he carried him over to the couch. Little did he know, another person was there in the house with them. Much too focused on getting Alfred's limp body into a flat position, he did not notice the man that just moved off of the piece of furniture. "Oh my god. What the absolute fudge happened to him?!" Flying back out of sheer shock, he threw the pillow in his hands with a scream. Allen found himself gawking at a familiar blonde and grabbed the fabric around where his thundering heart would have been. "Flavio? The hell are you doing here? You know you gave me a heart attack!" He wheezed. Said man pulled out a baby pink handkerchief and a bottle of clear liquid. Spraying the little square of velvety material a few times with perfume inside, he pressed it to his nose and inhaled deeply. "I was here since nine. I was waiting for you guys to come back and I've got to say-" Flavio dug his finger into the corner of the handkerchief so he could wave it around. In all honesty, he was whipping it, not waving. "I don't want to know where you crazy people have been, nor do I wanna know what you've been doing. Not at all! No, no no!" Allen breathed heavily and furrowed his brows at that. He was going to have to explain their current predicament because Alfred was unconscious, and the thought made him grit his teeth. "Look, Flavio. I can't really talk right now because I have Alfred to look after, but I have a story filled with shit to tell you." He spoke really quickly because he was both breathless and under a tight time constraint. He ran into the kitchen and returned with a large rectangular box. It was a glossy white with a green cross sticker stuck on it. "Mmhmmm." He hummed, stretching out the 'mm' and 'hm' to emphasize his displeasure. "I just told you that I didn't wanna know, but you don't care-" "Of course I don't." He mumbled, ripping open the shirt Alfred was wearing. Buttons flew everywhere and they bounced around on the ground in light taps. He then proceeded to clean the wound, and when Flavio saw, he backed away. "Why is it always him?" He asked in a volume no louder than a whisper. "That's cause he's always making mistakes..." Allen murmured. He pressed his hands on his body to apply pressure so his blood flow would improve. Flavio rose his brows and eyed him with skepticism. But that was exactly what Allen did 24/7. Allen caught that look and stretched his eyes. "... And he doesn't know how to defend himself." Flavio shook his head with a sigh. He then folded his arms and watched the two in a tense silence. "So, what happened?" He finally broke that silence as concern overwhelmed all feelings of disgust that associated with the situation at hand. He felt a sinking feeling in his stomach when he also noticed that you were nowhere in sight. You left with them to Alfred's penthouse, so why did you not return with them as well? "I took care of (F/N)'s shop while you guys were gone. Where is she?" Allen stopped moving and a shadow consumed half his face. It was as if he stopped breathing. If it were not for the bandages coiled around Alfred's chest and shoulder already, he would have bled to death due to his cousin's sudden cease in activity. Images of you flashed in his mind. He recalled the screams and chaos that seized the venue, as well as the stinging pain in his palms. It returned to burn his hands like a ghost sickness and he stood up. "... She's not here." Allen turned his head slowly to Flavio and separated his lips shakily. "Luciano took her. And all I did was watch." He slid the shades off the bridge of his nose to reveal a pair of magenta irises. That way, he could pinch the area between his eyes. "... How could you?" The other dug his hands through his hair and rubbed it stressfully. "I don't fucking know. I could have stopped them, but I didn't... I couldn't!" Flavio stormed up to him and poked him in the chest just under the collarbone. He glared in those striking red irises with his own that were almost glowing with menace. "That's an excuse because you could. I know you're not the type to just give up easily. You had a chance." He dug his finger deep into his flesh under his shirt. "You know how to run. You know how to steal cars. You know how to fire a gun. And most importantly, you can make quick decisions in risky situations. So what happened?" Allen was beyond shocked at the sudden change of behavior, and he was speechless at what he said because it was all true. He was more than capable of chasing down mobsters like Luciano even when they used the latest car models that could travel at the speed of light. He could chase down anything in the world if it involved you. "... I don't-" "You do!" He exasperated, turning around to storm off for a bit. But he returned right after to keep talking. "You made a mistake, and it's way worse than whatever Alfred did." Allen's breath fanned onto his face, and that was when he discovered the answer. It was laced with alcohol. "You classless pig. You were drinking on the job!" Flavio fumed. "Is getting drunk more important than looking out for your friends?!" "No, of course not! I just didn't know-" The other shook their head and sighed angrily. "That doesn't matter. I thought you moved there in the first place because you were worried about (F/N)'s safety. And look what happened. You still fu- messed up!" He quickly corrected himself and threw his hands in the air in rage. "Jesus H Christ. I can't believe you, Allen. You can't just take breaks like that when you have people like my brother around. You're the last person in the world to forget that." Allen did not even try to argue anymore. He just glared at him with a vein popping around his neck and contained all the emotions inside. "... So, what can we do?" He finally let go of the breath he held. Flavio clicked his tongue. "Gee, it's really hard to say, Allen. We need the most intricate and well-thought-out plan if we wanna do anything at all. But of course, we strike when his guard his lowest, so during-" "-the day, got it. What else?" He paused for a moment. "I'll tell you what. I'll give you details to Luciano's hideouts, and I'll update you on his whereabouts whenever I can. Then, it's all up to you." He explained, glancing at Alfred. That was when he noticed his eyes flickering, then opening. He sat up slowly with a groan and rubbed his face. "Um..." Flavio appeared flabberghasted. "I kinda forgot to tell you that Luciano laces his knives with poison, so how he's awake so quickly I don't know how-- but I guess I didn't have to in the end," That was when the clicking of leather shoes was heard and another voice interrupted the conversation. As Allen helped Alfred to sit up properly, the newcomer established his presence by clearing his throat. "Oh yeah, he's like that." Everyone whipped their heads to the man at the same time. "He just can't die." "Happy?!" Flavio just contorted his face into a weird look. Who the hell was he? Happy nodded. "Yeah, I got your text. I figured you guys would've needed someone to drive you around." *** You did not imagine your place of death to be comfortable. Instead of being tied up on a cheap, rickety chair in somebody's basement with a single light source hanging over your head, you were kept in a lavish bedroom. You were still constrained in a way, but not to the extreme case of not being able to move at all. Sliding your legs off of the bed you had been sleeping like a log on, you walked over to the door and jiggled the handle. You were just locked in a room of what looked like a luxurious mansion, which was, of course, located God knows where. Kicking the polished mahogany wood a few times, you gave in with an extended sigh and sauntered to the marble balcony. The French doors you passed through to get outside were conveniently opened already, so wind had been blowing in since square one. "... Where am I?" You mumbled, folding your arms across the stone railing. Lush, green gardens and fountains spewing out water in beautiful patterns were found everywhere underneath. "Whatever this place is, I like it." It was even better than Alfred's penthouse, per se. "Why thank you, bella. I take pride in my gardens." Somebody murmured. "Woah!" You twisted yourself to the right to find one of the garden chairs occupied by a familiar face. His prominent Italian accent and oddly-hued eyes could be recognized from miles away. He had been staring out into the vegetation below as well, just like you, except he was playing with a knife in one hand. Jumping back when you caught sight of the sharp blade rolling in his fingers, he chuckled and stood up. "Don't get near me with that thing, you creepy Italian!" He tucked the throwing knife into his jacket with a grumble. "Luciano." "What?" He walked over to you and grabbed your hand. "My name. It's Luciano." You were beyond confused about his intentions when he grasped your hand, but when he bent down to kiss the back of it, it hit you. "Do all Europeans do that?" You suddenly asked. Luciano's brows twitched and he stood up straight again with a frown. "No? It really varies on the person." He responded. "And why Americans always generalize things I will never know either." Pulling your hand away from his fingers, you wrapped your arms around yourself to shield against the cold. "True." He assumed that you were uncomfortable outside from your body language, so he attached a hand to your back and ushered you back inside. Luciano was being so gentle it made you suspicious of his motives. So when your feet made contact with the soft carpet inside again, you turned to him with furrowed brows. "Luciano, why are you being so nice?" He walked over to one of the dressers and pulled out some robes. He returned and draped it over your shoulders while you stood there, filled to the brim with confusion. Although you were grateful for what he was doing, in the time being, you did not understand why he was doing these things for you. Previously, you were not wearing much at all, just a slightly transparent nightgown. But now, you were a little more decent with something to cover up with. "... Because I don't have a reason to do the opposite." Luciano replied. "And you're a pretty girl." Blood rushed up to your cheeks and you shot him an incredulous look. He laughed at that and leaned in to fan his hot breath over your neck. "I see why Allen likes you so much." Goosebumps pricked all over your skin when he whispered into your ear, so you pushed him away with a gasp. "What are you going to do with Allen? What are you gonna do with me? I thought you wanted to kill me!" You exclaimed. "Seriously, Luciano. What are you playing at?" Luciano did not answer the first question. "I don't want to kill you." He replied. "I need you alive, for Allen." With that, he turned around and made his way to the door. But then, he stopped again so you could stare at his back. "You don't deserve to die. I just want you to realize that the best friend you love so much is not what he seems." Luciano murmured. "And by the time he comes to get you, you won't want to go home. To him."

[ultrakeystotheheartblog]

Popstar Pipes (Dick Grayson x Reader)

Request: “Can you do an imagine with Dick from Young Justice singing Jesse McCartney songs?” - @nyntendoh44

Song: Better With You (Acoustic Version) - Jesse McCartney

A/N: A long one again, I hope you all enjoy! :) I apologize if there’s any grammar mistakes or if Dick seems out of character in any away (it’s been such a long time since I’ve watched Young Justice. I definitely need to re-watch before the new season starts lol). Also, the next imagine I’ll be working on will be a Starfire x Fem!Reader. Look for it soon!

Warning: swearing, and cheesy-cheesiness 

*********************************************************************************

Thirteen texts.

In counting.

And still nothing back.

You stare dejectedly at the open messenger of your phone, anxiously swinging one of your legs and tapping the toe of your boot against the sturdy oak siding of the bar. The wood is scuffed and aged, just like most of the furniture pieces and features that make this place feel kind of homey and lived-in and real. Like a little slice of domestic bliss that’s hard to find in the fast-pace of the outside world, a comforting haven dressed up as a small, semi popular bar near the centre of the city. 

There’s a cute juke box in the far right corner of the bar area, with peeling red paint and a minorly cracked plastic casing. A large, scratched up pool table in the far left that no one really seems to gravitate towards anymore—if the layer of dust settled in the green bed cloth is any indication. And a cluster of worn round tables and wicker chairs bordering the small raised platform at the very back. 

The platform itself lies beneath a row of remote controlled spotlights that flood the stage in hot, bright beams, bolted along one of the many heavy beams crisscrossing in a grid along the ceiling. The stage is tiled with flashing squares of multi-coloured lights that are reminiscent of a disco dance floor. An upgraded DJ booth sits just beyond it, and is evidently what most of the money seems to have gone towards. And for good reason you guess, as this place saw a lot of business for their involvement with anything music—be it local bands or starving singers, or more recently (and maybe hilariously) the open mic karaoke nights. 

It’s a nice place—rare in the city you live in—with an even rarer handful of pleasant staff and a good vibe that usually attracts good, friendly people. It’s probably why you and your friends like to come here so often to de-stress. Though right about now you think the warm environment is lost on you for the night, because you do not feel one bit de-stressed.

You’re one of the few people sitting there at the bar (the rest of the patrons already crowded in the seating area around the stage), perched on a cushioned, yellow bar stool with thin metal legs that creaked with any amount of shifting weight. It’s cooler there and quieter, a sweet couple sitting to your far left at the end of the bar. They’re swapping stories about their days, hands intertwined over the top of the bar, and there’s a much older man in his early 40’s just down a couple of seats from you. 

He’s unshaven and blinking rapidly through bloodshot eyes, already on his sixth drink of the night. He’s also clad in a stylish blue business suit that’s crumpled like he’s slept in it for days, obviously here to drown his sorrows in alcohol. Well, suit guy, look at you go.

You think you can surely understand him on a spiritual level.

On that note you frown and lock your phone, placing it face down before turning back to your own drink. You squeeze the cool glass between your fingers and take a rather large gulp from its contents. It’s still only your first one, so the burn as it hits the back of your throat is not numbed in any way by a drunken haze, and is still sort of painful when you swallow. But it’s good enough to take your mind off your own problems for a minute.

You peek at the couple again when the no-nonsense, heavily tattooed bartender passes in front of you to refill their drinks (taking a moment to throw you a sympathetic smile and playful wink over his shoulder on the way—thanks Joey, you’re kind of best friend material), feeling bored and sad enough to continue in your people watching. Both women are dressed in matching red and black motorcycle jackets that reminded you of something straight out from Grease, the emblem of a team or group (maybe a gang? There were a lot of those still operating in Blüdhaven lately, regardless of a certain bird’s frequent visits) stitched in white across their backs. God, you wish that were you.

And by that, you meant enjoying those cheesy, delicious nachos sitting between them. Because it seems that your ‘date’ for tonight—this definitely isn't a date though, just two friends hanging out after a stress-filled week of work that literally (metaphorically) burned out a piece of your deadening soul, just two pals out for a casual drink in a casual bar with a causal amount of anxiety (okay, an abnormal amount of anxiety because you were having some really weird, certain feelings about this friend lately, but that was nothing to really worry about, right?). Besides it’s not like anything is going to happen tonight…because he isn’t even here to see you potentially embarrass yourself like the walking disaster you are—has decided that 8:00pm was more like a suggestion, than the actual meeting time you’d both put effort into setting up like responsible adults (ha! what a fucking lie). And here you were at 8:45pm, planning the best way to throttle one of your best friends in this whole stupid world with only your bare hands.

You seemed to be resorting to that plan a lot today, but that’s just because people suck and you want to live like a hermit in your bedroom until you get old and wrinkly and eventually die covered in something both tasty and respectable—like chocolate. Was that a little too weird? Probably. Are you going to take back any of what you just conjured up in a moment of frustrated self-reflection? Nope, you decide that you’re committed to that vision, as long as you don’t have to deal with how shitty the world was becoming anymore. Or staying…it’s been pretty shitty for a while. And does that make you a coward? You don’t like to answer that question. 

But you can’t help but admit that part of you is worried too. Worried if he got sucked into dealing with more vigilante stuff, or team stuff, or bleeding out in an alley somewhere alone stuff, and just lost track of time. All three have happened before. You tap the screen of your phone again and sigh in defeat when you see there are still no messages from him.

And then you very nearly lose what’s left of your crap when two hands clap over your eyes from behind and eclipse you into semi darkness. You tense, spine locked straight as you shoot up in your seat and are unceremoniously ripped from your depressing musings, gripping the edge of the bar so hard it hurts your knuckles. You have to learn how to be more aware of your surroundings, because holy shit you can only take so many heart attacks during your young life. 

There are lips at your ear, minty fresh breath soft against your skin as the person chuckles, the sound comforting and warm and familiar in a way that has no issue bringing peace to the drowning, dark places in your mind. And as damningly cliché as it can get, the world just seems to fall away into the background—the sounds of clinking drinks, the clunk of cheap shot glasses striking wooden tables, crappy pop music, boisterous, annoying loud-talking and off-key singing from the group of bachelors partying it up on that open mic, and the laughing couple still sharing that damn plate of nachos they’d ordered over an hour ago, all becoming this muffled sort of white noise in your ears.

You can only focus on the feel of his hands, roughened and calloused from his work as a hero, but you can feel the strength in them too. A strength that always makes you feel protected and insanely wired in the best possible way, a heat pooling into your abdomen that you can never quite discern as one thing or another. All you know is that it makes you truly alive. And maybe a bit annoyed, especially when the owner of said hands is almost an hour late. 

Prickling irritation makes your chest grow tight, and you take a steadying breath in, immediately inhaling the muddled scent of his sharp cologne and a clean, citrusy body wash that makes you feel blissfully dizzy. But only for a moment.

"Guess who?" He whispers with a ridiculous amount of charm seeping into his voice (looks like someone knows they’re in trouble and is now trying to get on your good side), the front of his body pressed up against your back. So close, that if you weren’t just a little ticked, you’d have probably leant back against his chest to seek out some semblance of comfort—like you always do when around him—especially when thinking about what you’d had to go through during your work week. So, you settle for being a little petty instead. 

The night is still young after all. 

You reach up to touch the back of his hands, slouching back down in your seat a little. "Hmm let me see—sweaty, calloused hands and the smooth timbre of a teen popstar. It could only be my dork of a birdbrain."

He snorts in laughter and his arms drop like dead weight to his sides, moving to your left side to lean against the bar. His eyebrow lifts in amusement as he stares at you. "Ouch. Just going straight for the throat tonight, huh?"

You blink at the sudden return of light filling your vision, sliding around on the bar stool to face him with a pointed, narrow-eyed gaze. “Would you rather me go for something else?”  

Dick Grayson ever rarely, and so outwardly, reacts when it comes to threats of his own well being (though if it were ever turned on the people he cares about…than that’s a whole other room you don’t want to spend time unpacking right now)—a testament to his time raised and trained by the scarily stoic, and maybe slightly emotionally constipated, father figure (THE freaking Batman you’d come to learn recently, and kind of wished you hadn’t, because that’s super intimidating) and then his time spent as a highly-skilled vigilante hero—and this time was definitely no different. 

But you’d gotten good at reading him over the years without much to go on, almost just as well as he can read you, because you can see the flicker of something akin to concern in his gaze—but for you or his situation, well, it’s kind of hard to truly distinguish with how fast it comes and then melts away into uncertainty—and then he’s slowly moving to cover his crotch with a one hand. He never breaks eye contact with you, awkwardly clearing his throat in a way that tells you he’s now a little nervous.

“Not that I don’t appreciate our playful banter, but that one, uh, seemed a little hostile.” He observes with a furrowed brow. You choke back another mouthful of your drink, eyes shifting to admire the high, open shelved liquor cabinets that line the wall behind the bar. The shiny different colors of glass and alcohol give you something else to focus on for the moment, while you steel yourself for the night ahead.

Or maybe you should just head home.

“Did it?” You ask casually, unable to keep the bitter edge out of your tone. You can feel Dick’s burning eyes on you, and know that he’s already analyzing your emotional state with his well-versed detective skills.

“What’s up, (Y/N/N)?” He begins quietly, “You know you can talk to me about anything.”

The concern is back in that searching gaze of his when you turn to look at him, his eyes so honestly earnest and deeply worried and beautifully blue as he leans towards you—goddamnit how can a person even have eyes like that, it’s unfair—that you not only lose your breath for a second, but the entirety of your precariously constructed iron will. So, now it’s also unfair how fast you find yourself forgiving him for his appalling tardiness, just leaving you happy that he’s finally here now.

The things you go through for this man.

You sigh and deflate, leaning the rest of the way into him to press your check against his shoulder. The fabric of his dark blue jacket is smooth and cool against your skin.

"I know, Dick, I--It’s just…been one of those days. I’m sorry."

Dick drops his chin to the top of your head, releasing a shuddering breath that tells you he’s just as exhausted as you are. "I know what you mean. But I'll have you know that I was just trying to be adorable."

"You don't have to try." You say with a laugh, almost tipping right off the bar stool when he abruptly pulls back from your body to flash you a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes at him, "I mean you don't have to try so hard around me.”

“Oh?”

Dick reaches behind you for your drink. He brings it up to his lips, watching you over the rim as he takes a long sip. You poke his chest with a teasing smile, coyly arching a brow in challenge.

“No matter what you do or say for the rest of your life, I'm always going to see that tiny 13 year old boy who not once, but twice, answered the door to the manor half asleep, humming some old ABBA song, and wearing nothing but those majestic little black and blue Batman ‘undies. You know…the ones with the glittery gold bat signals on the butt?"

Dick definitely remembers.

He sputters instantly, a clear, resounding yes, choking on the burning liquid with a grimace. His reaction makes you laugh harder than ever before (yeah, you’re definitely not going home yet, you kind of really needed this). Dick swallows a desirable amount of air into his lungs in one gasping breath, quickly depositing your drink back onto the bar. He playfully narrows his eyes at you, reaching out to firmly clamp his hand over your mouth when you go to say something else. You’re sure he can feel the undeniable way your lips curl into a triumphant smirk underneath the skin of his palm.

“You said you’d never bring that up ever again.”

You reach up to grip his wrist, drawing the offending hand away from your mouth so you can speak. “I lied.” You counter, humming in amusement as you recall the hilarious image of a very mortified boy wonder making a dash for the manor’s grand staircase—bat signals sparkling under the lights of the hall. Ah, the memories. 

“By the way, do you still have those?”

“No.”

“Shame.”

Dick straightens, sets his hands on his hips, and smirks, staring down at you thoughtfully. His eyes dart to look out over the crowd still gathered around the stage, and then at the people lingering closer to the bar, gears turning behind his gaze when he catches sight of Joey rinsing out empty beer glasses at the bar’s sink. "Hmmm I guess I'll have to try harder then." He says a little too casually for your liking.

And with that you suddenly feel something horrible creeping up over the horizon, the changing winds of which it wrought bringing a chill so foreboding in its wake. Meaning he was irrefutably planning…well, something, and you were screwed (trapped by social convention and the sacred promises of ride-and-die friendship law to participate in whatever it was, curse it all). But there was also no way you were letting that smug face win tonight without some sort of fight. So you simply stare him down as well.

"Do your worst, Fingerstripes." 

"I will."

You scoff and pick up your nearly-empty glass again, "Then I'm really going to need to finish this drink first."

"Nope." He merely says, plucking the glass right back out of your hands despite your protests, and then he’s moving it to sit behind him—despairingly far from your reach. You pout at him like the sophisticated young adult you are.

"No?" You question unhappily.

"We're going to do something else first."

He lifts his hand to get Joey’s attention, the bartender sauntering over within a moment to warmly greet another one of his favourite regulars. Dick claps both hands over your ears then and leans in over the bar top to speak quietly to him, ignoring the way you squirm and curl your fingers under his palms to try and wrench them away from your head. But his hold is strong and your attempts are fruitless. Joey only nods once Dick finally finishes and releases your head, grinning at you mischievously from behind the bar.

You eye the both of them suspiciously, "I don't like that look in your eyes, Grayson."

Dick’s smile is nothing but charming as he pulls you to your feet, “It’ll be good, I promise. Besides…you need to loosen up.”

“I am loose—wow that came out wrong.” You wince, already knowing Dick’s mind went straight to the worst place imaginable with that little slip up, especially when you hear him snort in laughter. What a dirty boy.  “Hey! Don’t you dare start laughing at me, you asshole, I didn’t mean—stop it. Dick!” You whine, and your friend only laughs louder.

“Was that a Freudian slip?”

“You’re a Freudian slip!”  You retort without any real malice, shoving at his shoulder in embarrassment. “Ugh, that’s it, I’m out. I’m still too sober for this.”

His sets his hands on your shoulders when you go to turn away, keeping you still and somehow managing to sooth you considerably, thumbs rubbing gentle, tiny circles into the dips between your collarbones. “My point remains. You’re stressed. I’m stressed. We can release that stress together.”

You squint at him in disbelief, “For the sake of our fucking friendship, I am maintaining that I heard absolutely nothing come out of your mouth within the last 10 seconds.” You pause, smirking and tilting your head in mock curiosity. “But I do have to know one very important thing before we move on with our lives....did Wally teach you that line?”    

He rolls his eyes, and doesn’t answer the question. 

Oh my god, Dick. 

“Come on, get traught and follow me.” He practically sings. And now that should have been your first clue. He takes your hand and starts dragging you through the crowd around the stage, circling around tables and weaving in between groups of people in such a roundabout path, that it throws you off any possible trail of where he might be leading you.

“Where are we going?”

“Need to know basis.”

“I need to know.”

“Just wait a second.”  

And then you realize exactly what he’s planned when you both tumble out of the crowd and come face to face with a nightmare just waiting to happen. You stare at the now empty, mocking stage with wide eyes, gaze zeroing in on the lone mic stand. The silver metal glints under a circle of white light and you yank your hand free from Dick’s grip in a bout of panic. Fucking NO.

“Dick—”

“It’ll be good, I promise.”

You might just stomp your foot a little, “No, absolutely not, there is no way in demon-shitting hell I am getting up on that stage. You’ll have to drag me kicking and screaming.” You threaten seriously, taking a few steps back.

“Oh, come on, it’s not going to be that ba—”

“I’d rather die.”

Dick sighs, running a hand through his hair. He reaches out to take your hand again—his touch never failing to calm you—and squeezes it in reassurance. And then he’s drawing you back towards him, his smile soft and kind and all sorts of crazy attractive. You let him throw his arm around your shoulders, and he leans in to mutter. “Dramatics aside, how about we make a deal.”

It’s a trap and you know it. But the fondness and playful determination in his eyes intrigues you enough to throw caution to the wind.

“What kind of deal?” You ask slowly, brows furrowed as you gauge his expression.

Dick gestures to the stage with a flourish of his hand, “I get up there first, and, uh, hmm—averagely bring the house down with my sweet, teen popstar voice—” You heave an exasperated sigh at that, and Dick begins to guide you towards an open seat near the front, continuing his proposal eagerly. “—and then you go up there and smoke me.”

“You know I’m not a very good singer, Dick.” You remind him, refusing to sit just yet as you maul over his words. He waves away your worries, increasing pressure on your shoulders until your lowering your body into the heavy wicker chair.

“That doesn’t matter. You’ll still be amazing, and more importantly it’ll be fun. Now, sit.”

“I’m not a dog.” You scoff, glaring up at him as you slump back and cross your arms.

“Oh, I know, you definitely don’t have to tell me that. I’ve already decided a long time ago that you’re more like a whining, middle school child.”

“Says the edgy, bird-themed child.”

Dick leans down awful close, hands gripping the arms of the chair so that you’re caged in and can’t make any last minute escapes. “I love how you get me.” He quips in answer.

“I’m going to regret this.” You groan, a hand pressed to your forehead in frustration. Damn him and his damn smile. “Fine, go, get on with it.” You relent.

“You’re going to love it.”

“And you’re going to have to convince me.”

“Challenge accepted.” He declares smugly.

With that, Dick shrugs out of his jacket to uncover the plain gray tee underneath, the hem of which is smoothly tucked into his jeans. He tosses it to you as he turns and bounces up the three steps to get onto the stage, striding towards the mic with purpose. You grumble as your bunch the jacket in your lap, fingers tangling in the fabric to ground yourself from the creeping nervousness you feel. 

He slips the mic from the stand and steps a few feet to the edge of the platform, a single spotlight following him as he brings the mic up to his mouth. His voice resonates through the room, strong and enthusiastic. He’s ready to put on a show, and you’re just about ready to sink into the floor and disappear from this situation altogether.

“Hello, everyone! I think I’m going to—” He gestures to someone at the back of the crowd (you have a sneaking suspicion that Joey is now playing his part in all of this and—yeah, there he was, tapping away at the tiny square remote clenched in his fist as he makes a beeline towards the DJ booth and the young goth-inspired girl seated behind it) and the main lights in the bar immediately dim. 

Dick’s surely gotten everyone’s attention now. 

People quiet as they turn to watch him, and he sweeps his gaze across them as though deciding on how to properly entertain. “—slow it down a little now if you don’t mind,” Dick continues unhurriedly. “I have to admit...I don’t usually do this kind of thing very often, but as it turns out, I was double-dog dared to get up here—” (what a little shit) “—and sing a song for you all tonight. And I’m never one to back down from a challenge. That being said, I’d like to dedicate this little number to someone special—right here in this very audience. (Y/N)? Can you see me? No? That was a no, folks. Can I get a light down there? Yes—a little, yes! Right there. Perfect, perfect. Can you see me now?”

You blink quickly in the sudden harsh light washing down upon you, a second spotlight now trained on you intently. You glare up at him, “Unfortunately.”

There are laughs from the people around you, and Dick—all show-business now—sends you a teasing wink. “And you tell me to stop flirting.”

You try and glare harder at him, but you don’t think its working. He seems to understand all the same though, throwing up a hand in mock defense. “Okay, okay, I’m going.”

The pretty guitar of an acoustic song fills the silence right on cue.

And then he opens his mouth to sing.

I know it's ugly turning on the news There's people fighting over point of view Sometimes it's like there's nothing left to lose And I don't know what to do But I know it's better with you

Dick moves to sit on the top step of the stage as he continues, refusing to break eye contact with you for even a second. And, huh, you’re not sure why your heart is trying to escape from your chest all of sudden.

I was a wreck when you came along When there was nothing left You showed me the best I'm still a mess but you hold on Don't know just why you do But I know I'm better with you

But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you

Okay, you were not expecting to feel this way—dizzy and confused and slightly embarrassed—or for him to stare at you as intently as the spotlight on you both. But you find yourself liking it regardless of your feelings on the situation—just entirely awed at the talent of your friend. You knew he could sing, sure, but damn, it never fails to surprise you.

And make you smile.

For every laugh there is a silent cry For every day there is a darker night Sometimes this life doesn't treat us right And I don't know what to do But I know it's better with you

He rises to his feet with something like fire in his eyes, drawn with an invisible string down the remaining steps and short distance to where you sit, and you wonder why this all seems so personal all of a sudden—like he’s earnestly trying to say something and nothing all at once. You follow his movement with a confused tilt of your head.

I was a wreck when you came along When there was nothing left You showed me the best I'm still a mess but you hold on Don't know just why you do But I know I'm better with you

But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you

There’s a brief interlude in the song, guitar ringing pleasantly in your ears.

It’s just as Dick reaches you—but he doesn’t stop moving—climbing up onto the table you’re closest to with a grace that you’ve only seen in action a handful times. The people around it scatter much to your amusement, pushing their chairs back to give him more room, and he lowers himself to sit at the edge facing you, legs hanging off to freely swing. What a dramatic dork, you think fondly.  He hunches over to take one arm of your chair, tugging you around to better see him and then closer still to where he’s now perched. The spotlights follow you both closely, various gasps from the crowd making your face burn hot.

Wherever you are, it's never as dark Whenever I start slipping, you make all the difference Been there from the start, no matter how hard Whatever piece is missing, you know how to fix it

I was a wreck when you came along When there was nothing left You showed me the best I'm still a mess but you hold on Don't know just why you do But I know I'm better with you

But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you But I know I'm better with you

The music finishes and fades out into another moment of silence, the bar eerily quiet as people watch on in anticipation for…something to happen. But nothing does. Well, besides you staring at him, too afraid to say anything and break the spell that’s shrouded the two of you in a peaceful sort of daze. For that moment, you think you can see it—a dance of muddled emotions in his expression that tells you he feels it to, that ever present connection that runs deep in your bones, and now he’s trying to make sense of it. Just like you’ve been attempting to do for days. 

And then the corners of his lips lift up into that beautiful, kind smile that squeezes your heart, any knots of tenseness in the atmosphere unwinding into the familiar reality of the bar, and he’s pulling the mic away from his mouth with a grin so boyish and blissful it makes your toes curl in your boots. Okay, so, evidently those ‘certain’ feelings you’d been hesitantly circling around for weeks like a frightened, wild animal are still as strong as ever. And you can’t help but hope that this soft, new affectionate glint in his eyes reveals a hidden truth—that this particular moment means something more to him too. 

The main bar lights get brighter again, the spotlights sliding back to train on the stage instead of on the pair of you. He leans towards you from his spot on the table, so only you can hear what he says next through the light applause that picks up around the room—once people realize that the show is indeed over.

“So, was I able to convince you?” He questions still smiling, swinging his legs on either side of you as he waits expectantly for your answer. You take a deep breath, slipping right back into easy banter when you crack a smile of your own.

“You’ve intrigued me.”

Dick nods with a chuckle that envelopes you in warmth, tapping the mic gently against your nose. “Mmmm good—because now it’s your turn.”

You freeze.

“Ah, crap.”

[finn-odell]

Settle With the World the Only Crime Is That I Bought You

Self-Para || Finn History

Life had been hell. How many days was he on now? He couldn’t remember. The days seemed to pass slowly, and he wondered how much longer he would have to keep this up before he could get out of this. Sure, he’d had conversations with people about an exit strategy, and he wanted to get out, but he was stubborn and wanted to succeed. He just needed to get close enough to get a name, or put the name to the face. If he could get the FBI any information then he could ask to be released from the assignment. He could go back to living a somewhat normal life. Maybe he could even think of other options because working undercover had turned out to be a nightmare.

All of those concerns had to be pushed aside, he had things to do today. Finn had done exactly what he was asked to do. He found the guy that the boss was wanting to find. The traitor to the group. They had been searching for him for a while now. Somehow, every single day that they had worked on finding Gino they would get close, and miss him. This time, Finn had ensured that no news of them was coming. He’d warned the guys that they were to keep this information under wraps. They would explain it all afterward. If they were ever going to catch this guy, they needed to make sure there were no warning signs prior to their coming. Two months was too long for Finn to spend searching for one guy.

There was a pounding on his door. “MAC! Get the fuck out here! Let’s get this shit DONE!”

Finn picked up his personal phone, shooting off a text to Eve. A hope to see her soon. It had been too long since he’d gone and spent time with her, but he’d been so busy lately that it wasn’t possible. Between working his shifts at the bar, and running off with the guys piecing together information, there was no time for fun, at least not a lot of it. Sliding his personal cellphone into a hidden compartment in his apartment, he made sure he had his guns, his other cell, and his keys. Stepping out of the door, he greeted the male with a familiar handshake, and a grin. “Alright, let’s get the fuck outta here.”

As the man with the information, Finn was the lead on this. The other guys were following him. He was comfortable in the position, having others following his orders. It crossed his mind that perhaps he shouldn’t feel so comfortable leading the others this way. It also didn’t go unnoticed that Finn was beginning to feel more comfortable around the criminals that surrounded him. He tried not to let that eat at him, feeling as though that meant he was slowly losing himself to the acts that he was constantly taking part of.

They found themselves in a little shop, entering it, and locking the door behind them, although they didn’t own the business. Finn knew that Gino would be hiding here. He’d gotten a tip that the idiot had been frequenting this place lately. It was neutral territory, at least he was smart enough to do that. Neutral meant that Finn and gang would not cross into turf that wasn’t theirs. They couldn’t very well deal out punishment in an area where this traitor would be safe. At the same time, Finn wondered why Gino even considered leaving the protection of an area protected by the rival gang. If he had only just remained there, Finn would never have been able to reach him. Not without making some sort of deal with the enemy.

Finn stepped farther into the shop, seeing Gino off in a corner with another boy. Stretching his arms out wide, a cold smile crept over Finn’s face. “Gino! What a surprise! Come and say hi. Long time no see.”

The amusement that had been on Gino’s features quickly melted into a look of terror. Somehow, that look of terror spurred Finn on. He could see the other male’s eyes darting around to attempt to form an exit strategy. Finn didn’t have to turn around to know that the men he had with him were blocking any potential exits. Finn tilted his head to the side, his previous cold smile morphing into feigned confusion. “What? Not happy to see us?”

“How the fuck did you find me?” Gino asked. The male at the table with him watched the scene in silent fear. It made Finn almost laugh.

With a casual shrug, Finn stepped closer, “I have my ways. If you’d stuck around long enough, you would have learned that. What was it someone compared me to recently? A hound? Fucking hounds have nothing on me.”

Placing his hands flat on the table and leaning in close to Gino, Finn’s face was now devoid of any other emotions aside from an intense, intimidating stare that had Gino cowering in his seat.

“You can’t do anything to me, the boss will kill you!”

As he pulled back to straighten to his full height, he rolled his eyes in annoyance and then stared down at the male with almost a bored expression. “Will he? Funny, these orders came down from him. Looks like you’ve been a bad boy, and now father dearest needs some answers.”

At that clarification, Gino clambered out of his seat and tried to make a break for the door. Anticipating the move, Finn reached out grabbing the male around the middle, and then quickly taking him down so that he couldn’t fight him. The companion also tried to escape, and Finn’s counterpart who was closest to the main exit was able to grab that one.

“Let me go you fuckin asshole!”

“At least you’ve got some guts now, but I’m afraid that we can’t let you go. Sorry for your luck, you should’ve thought about that before you went and ran your mouth. Number one rule. Keep your fucking mouth shut.” And with that Finn knocked the male with a blow that ensured he was unconscious.

Standing up, Finn glanced at the companion, nodding at him. “Let’s take this one too. I have a feeling that if he’s been trying to help this guy hide out, he might have some answers that we need... and if not? Who cares.”

Once each of the men were secured in their car, they made their way back to their area of the city. A location was given to them, and once they arrived other people came out to assist in moving the men to a place where they could be interrogated without getting caught. Finn followed the crowd, the confidence that he had earlier now fading. That adrenaline buzz had come crashing, and in it’s place was a quiet horror at the fact that he’d so easily led to men to a place where they would likely be tortured until the information that was wanted came out, or until they were dead. Either way death was at the end of this.

Finn stood on the edges, letting others try to take the lead on asking the questions at first. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, careful to display no emotions on his face. He had to be careful here. These were always the hardest moments for him, when something particularly gruesome and cruel happened. As easy as what he did earlier might have been, this would not be easy in the slightest. This was his doing. This was something he would have to live with being on his conscience. He’d played the game, and now he would have these two lives hanging over him until the day he died. That was part of being in this life, he knew, and it was part of why he’d left gang life as a teenager. This was the part of it that he couldn’t handle.

People kept taking turns trying to extract information from Gino, and from the other male with him. Finn watched every blow, every shouted, angry word and warning. In all of this, he paid attention to details. He listened for all of the information that was shared, if any at all. If Gino and his friend were smart, they would keep their mouths shut and die, but they weren’t smart men. Gino, in particular, had been stupid enough to run his mouth to another boss. A man that reckless with his life was likely to make more mistakes before it was all said and done.

“You ain’t getting shit from me.” Gino spit at the men in front of him.

Finn scoffed, and shook his head. Eyes turned in his direction. Shit. One of them looked as if he’d gotten a bright idea. “You know what... why don’t we let Mac here question you for a bit? Let’s see what he’s got. After all, he managed to catch your ass.”

“Nah, bruh, you’ve got it.” Finn waved the suggestion off.

Hands shoved him forward toward the two men who were tied to chairs. The quick stuttered steps from being pushed forward unexpectedly transitioned to a smooth, slow gait. It was a complete contrast to the rapid beat of his heart. His mind was racing with what he would have to do next. Inflicting pain in exchange for information, was he capable of it? He’d have to be. He had to figure out a way to handle this, to live with it, and quick.

Finn stood in front of Gino, forcing himself to go into a different headspace. He wasn’t Finn right now. This wasn’t Finn. Finn wouldn’t be in this position. He was Mac, and he needed to make sure that he appeared as though he could handle this work in front of the rest. Show weakness, suffer consequences, and Finn was in this to survive. He wanted to survive. He needed to survive.

“You think you have it made now, don’t you Mac?” Gino asked, glaring up at Finn.

He didn’t react, he just stared at Gino for a while, letting the male feel the full extent of his presence. Although, admittedly, Finn wasn’t trying to be intimidating on purpose. He was trying to figure out what way would be best to get information.

“Yeah, you think you’re the golden boy, now. It’s too late. You’re going to burn with the rest of them.”

Finn tilted his head to the side, crossing his arms over his chest, still silent as he stared at the male.

“You don’t have it in you. They’re gonna see it. You can’t fucking hurt me. You don’t have the balls.”

Without even a second thought, and what seemed like space of only a second, Finn’s fist collided with the male’s jaw. Blood sprayed out of the male’s mouth and Finn crossed his arms again. A punch was easy. Punches he could do. That was something he’d done plenty of times.

“It doesn’t matter what you do to me. BK won’t accept you. Not fully. You’ll see. You’re gonna be in the same position as me soon. You’re gonna be looking for a way out, if you’re not dea-”

This time Finn punched him with the other fist from the other side. “Sorry. Thought your face needed some balance.” He commented calmly.

There were laughs that came from the spectators. “Oh shit, I think you’ve pissed Mac off.”

“I only just started.” Finn said as he reeled back to throw another punch, this time to the male’s stomach.

Hours later Finn was stumbling into his apartment. He stopped at the sink in his bathroom, leaning on his hands as he stared down into the empty basin. His hands had signs of blood. His clothes showed the same signs. Finn tried to swallow, he couldn’t, a wave of nausea rolled up powerfully beginning in his stomach and working it’s way up with a quickness that he almost didn’t have time to reach the toilet next to where he stood. Yanking the lid up, he fell down to his knees as he wretched loudly.

It was a while before his stomach had finally had enough. There was nothing left to throw up, and Finn let himself collapse flat on his back on the cool tile floor. He stared at the ceiling for some time as he tried to come to terms with everything he’d just done. The punching had only been the beginning. He wished that had been it. It wasn’t.

He was slow to pull himself up, finally managing to come up to his feet. He started the shower, and peeled off his clothes. It was another thirty minutes before he was out of the shower and brushing his teeth. After that he walked naked to the place where he hid his personal phone. He pulled it out and quickly dialed a number. “I think I want some deep dish.” He said into the phone.

“I guess you’d better head this way, then.”

The line went dead. Finn got changed, put the clothes into a bag to deal with later, and then made his way out the door. When he finally reached the usual meeting location Finn tried not to think about the last time he’d met with these two in person. The threats that had been thrown his way still sat uncomfortably in his stomach. 

“I think I have a name. Or at least some kind of nickname.”

“Of the boss?” One of them asked incredulously.

Finn nodded. “Yeah. But before I tell you what the fuck I know, I have some things that I want from you.”

“Oh here we go. He thinks we haven’t been through this a million times before. You don’t get to name your price, pretty boy.” The asshole one replied.

Angry eyes landed on the FBI agent, and Finn tried not to fine amusement in the way he sat back. Clearly, Finn’s look must be more intimidating than even he thought he was capable of. Good.

“I’m not asking for a lot here. No fancy cars, no fancy homes. I give you a name. I want out, and I want it fast.”

the one who wasn’t an asshole happened to look surprised. “But you haven’t seen his face yet.”

“I’m not likely to. I give you this much, and it’s more than you’ve managed with anyone else before. It just so happened that I don’t think Gino realized what he said. Nobody else there seemed to notice either. They don’t pay attention. I do.”

“Fine, we can try and see about getting you out, but it’s not as easy as all that. We have to find a way to pull you out without suspicion. We have to get everything cleared. They’ll need to debrief you. Make sure that your record is clean of whatever you’ve done. There are a lot of things that are going to go into getting you out. It’s not going to be overnight.”

“I can wait, so long as you get the process started.”

He could be patient a little longer. His life wasn’t in danger, not yet. He had time on his hands.

“What’s the name?”

“I’ll tell you, but I’m not telling him.” Finn turned his gaze to the asshole agent.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me! You don’t get a choice!”

“I do, and I know very well that you’ll try to fuck me over. I’m not stupid. I’ll give the info to him. Only him. Not you. End of story.”

“Get out, Ben. I’ll get the info we need.”

It was a lucky break when the male got up. “If you’re lying to us I’ll personally see to it that you go down. You won’t get any pretty exit from this shit. You’ll go down with the rest of them.”

No more than Finn expected. It was better to keep his expectations low. Right now? He still felt death was most likely. Second option? Prison. He was in a race against time. Could he get out before one of those options caught up to him? Unlikely. He would still try.

Turning his attention back to the agent. “They call him King Papo. That’s the nickname the boss goes by. Only higher level, inner circle, call him that. Those of us on the outskirts, we just refer to him as the boss. Nobody really knows what he looks like, unless you’re inner circle, or get close enough to inner circle. From what I can tell his name is BK.”

“BK? And how is that supposed to help us?”

Finn laughed. “Because when I first got here I remember someone referred to a person by name, someone else asked if that person was ‘Baby King’ and they said it was.”

The man in front of him looked surprised.

“I told you. I pay attention. I didn’t think anything of it then. People have all sorts of stupid nicknames that make them sound important. Baby King isn’t even the most pretentious one. At the time the name only came up once on a conversation about something completely unrelated and unimportant. I think they were just talking about inviting him to the damn strip club, or some shit like that.”

That earned a snort from the agent. Finn continued, “BK, I’m guessing it’s Baby King, whose real name is Ray Gonzales. Now get me the fuck out of this city.”

Finn stood up from the table and walked out of the room. He’d gotten as close as he wanted to get to the boss. He didn’t need to get any closer. Now it was only a matter of time before he could get released from this hellhole and maybe be able to get his life back together.

[tattooednursewrites]

Fate, Up Against Your Will - Ch 3

Masterlist

Ch 1

Dean/Reader

Summary: A ghost in the past, and vampires in the present. 

Ch 3

Then (3 years ago)

              You jerked the slide back, loading another salt round into the chamber of your sawed-off as you rounded the corner. The ghost’s target, Emily, was in a salt circle in the living room. You had already unloaded two salt rounds into the ghost, but it was persistent. It wanted Emily.

             The ghost’s first victim, Brian, had been Emily’s live-in boyfriend. His death is what brought you here in search of a case. It had been ruled ‘accidental’, but the steel rod that had skewered him (when he ‘lost control’ and drove his car into a barricade) had demolished his heart in the process. It had seemed hinky to you. When a second body had dropped – another bizarre ‘accident’, but again with a demolished heart, you had known it was your kind of case.

            Your research had turned up that Brian had been cheating on Emily with a woman, Kim, when Kim died in a car accident. Brian would’ve been in the car with her if Emily hadn’t needed him to stay late that night and help her clean up after a dinner party. The girl that died after him had taken Kim’s place as his mistress. You assumed that the new mistress was probably the catalyst for Kim’s rage. So, after taking her revenge on Brian and the girl that had taken her place as his mistress, she was moving on to her next target. Emily.

            Emily had taken the whole ‘ghosts and monsters are real’ speech surprisingly well, considering. Between the shock of her boyfriend dying, and then finding out he had been cheating not just once - but twice, she was holding up amazingly well. Add on the fact that the Kim’s ghost was responsible for the deaths? You were impressed Emily was walking and talking. When you had explained to her that she was the next target, she rolled her eyes like she expected nothing less and asked what needed to be done. No break down, no tears, straight to the point. You respected that. You had salted and burned Kim’s bones once you made the connection between her and the victims, so there had to be something else keeping her here. You were headed up the stairs, to see if Brian had kept anything that belonged to his mistress that might be allowing her to stick around, when Emily screamed. Shit.

            You rushed into the living room and were promptly thrown into the bookcase. Ouch. Shaking it off you stood and took in the scene before you. Emily was still in the salt circle, but there were books and various debris in there with her. Since Kim couldn’t reach her, she was settling for throwing stuff at her. You looked around the in the chaos, searching for your shotgun. You noticed something peeking out of the pages of a book on the floor. When you pulled it out of the book you saw it was a picture of Kim and Brian. You flipped it, and as soon as you saw the swak you reached for your lighter. Hoping the lip print was the link, you lit the photo. Kim screamed, turning to attack you before disappearing with the picture. When she was gone you moved to check on Emily.

           “Well,” she said bracing to push herself up from the floor, “now that that is taken care of, I could use a drink.”

            You laughed full out, walking over to her and offering her a hand up. She stood, thanking you and headed for the kitchen. You followed, nodding. “Yeah, I think a drink is definitely called for.”

 ***

              You finished off your coffee and sighed. The diner was nice, and breakfast (although it was closer to lunch time) and coffee had helped with your mild hangover. You left Emily your number before you left in case she needed anything. She had already texted a couple times bitching about cleaning up after ‘Casper the bitchy mistress’. You had invited her to breakfast, but she declined in favor of a little hair of the dog. You understood that, too. You’d been there more than once.

              You stood, picking up your check and taking it to the counter. You passed a booth that was occupied by two men. One had his back to you, but you could tell by his salt and pepper hair he was a bit older. The other… holy panty dropper. If he hadn’t been dining with what seemed to be his dad, you might have made a move. He had light brown hair and some scruffy stubble. He had gorgeous eyes. You weren’t close enough to see the color, which you found disappointing. And his mouth? You wanted to find out if it was as soft as it looked. The waitress at the register cleared her throat, breaking your trance. You paid your bill, leaving a nice tip, before booking it out of there without looking back. You didn’t want to risk getting caught staring.  

 ***

              “Dad, it looks like a simple salt and burn. I know you’ve got a lead you need to follow. I can handle this one.”

              “I think you’re probably right, son. We can check in with the girlfriend of the first vic, and if it seems open and shut I’ll head out, deal?”

              “Deal,” Dean replied, trying not to sound distracted. A woman had just stood up from booth in the back, and she pulled his attention from his conversation. Holy shit she was… hot wasn’t the right word. With her curves and those legs, it definitely applied. But it was more than that. The mischievous twinkle in her eyes, the way her lips had a subtle smirk. She was in a tank and jeans with boots. He didn’t realize how much he appreciated a woman in shit-kickers until that moment. She had her hair pulled back in a messy bun with sunglasses perched on her head. No make-up on, and it looked like she had a long night. Damned if he didn’t want to be the reason for it. He was hooked, and he hadn’t even spoken to her yet. Fingers snapped in front of his face, breaking his trance. Shit.

              “Back with me, Dean? You gonna be able to keep it in your pants and keep your head in the game long enough to close this case, or do I need to stick around and supervise?” John asked, shifting in the booth to turn around. Dean saw his dad’s brow furrow as he looked at the woman that had caught Dean’s eye. Then he shook his head quickly, turning back to Dean. Huh.

              “No, sir. I’m on it. No fun til the job is done, promise.”

              John nodded. “Alright then. We ready to go see the girlfriend? What was her name?”

              “Emily.”

 ***

              John watched the Impala pull from the curb and sighed. Back at the diner he had thought for a minute he had seen Nova. It had been awhile since their paths had crossed, but he knew from the updates Bobby gave him that she was still hunting. His suspicion had been confirmed when they arrived at Emily’s house to learn the ghost had already been taken care of. Something the little spitfire had come right out and told them as soon as they introduced themselves… “Sorry gentlemen, my girl Nova already took care of Casper the bitchy mistress. If you want to help clean up, though, I won’t say no.”

              Dean had stood there shocked. Hell, so had John at first, but then he thanked the girl for her time. Dean had asked him if he knew who Nova was, but he had brushed the question off. Dean had been ready to press, so John suggested Dean go on his own for a bit, to try it out. The distraction worked, Dean had jumped at the idea so quickly John worried it was a mistake. But the boy had to learn to do things on his own at some point. John had hoped his boys would be a team, but that dream left when Sammy did. John shook his head and stepped up into his truck. Dean was smart, and he was turning into a damn fine hunter. He’d be alright. Time to give Bobby a call and let him know he saw Nova.

  Now

              “Yes, Em, I promise I’ll stop by! I know it’s been awhile, but this is the closest I’ve been to you lately. And I think I’ll definitely need a mini vacation once we deal with these vamps,” you sighed as she launched into her ‘be safe’ spiel for the third time this call. Rufus had called and said he was about an hour out. Jessup had texted to say he would be at the hotel in about 45 minutes. You had decided to use the time to call Emily to check in.

           When you heard her take a breath to continue her lecture, you cut in. “Of course, I’ll be safe, Em. I promise. I’ll text you when my backup gets here so you know I’m not alone, okay?”

            Emily agreed, and only told you to be safe and stay in touch twice more before finally ending the call. You sighed, setting your phone on the bed. You had walked to the lobby for free ‘breakfast’ when you woke up. The coffee had been little better than brown water, but they had half a dozen different cereal varieties for you to mix however you wanted, so that was a plus.

            Sleep had been… restless. You rarely hunted vamps… they brought up too many memories. Avoidance didn’t really help, but after over a decade you figured it was one of the healthier coping mechanisms you employed. Plus, vamps usually had nests, and you liked to consider yourself more of a solo act. Sure, you’d collaborate occasionally, but you mainly kept to yourself. It was better that way. Safer. For everyone. You scrubbed your hands down your face, trying to clear your head.

           You opened your laptop and pulled up the city website. A friend you had met in a chatroom years ago, Lucy, had helped you learn some minor hacking. Not anything crazy, for that you had to come up with an excuse for needing it and then beg her to help. The only monsters Lucy knew about were the human ones, and you were determined to keep it that way. You always told her to call you if anything unusual happened and gave vague reasons as to why. The more you had gotten to know her, the more you realized she had some bad shit happen in her life already, and you wanted to protect her from your reality. So, you chatted frequently, and had movie marathons a couple times a year, but you only gave her half-truths about the bulk of your life.  

             No new bodies had been checked in to the morgue with unusual marks, but you didn’t kid yourself into thinking the vamps hadn’t killed again… they just hadn’t dumped the bodies yet. You needed to end them before more people died. Your phone dinged pulling you from your thoughts. Jessup was here and checking in to a room. Good. You texted him your room number.

            There was a knock on the door just as your cell started to ring. Rufus.

            You opened your phone and brought it to your ear as you checked the peep hole. The guy at the door reminded you a little of Garth. His hair was darker, and he wasn’t quite as wiry, but his structure was similar. “Rufus, you close?”

              “Yeah girl, just hit city limits. I’ll be there soon.” He didn’t wait for you to respond before hanging up.

              You opened the door, your gun held loosely at your side. “Jessup?”

              He nodded, extending his hand. “You must be Nova.”

            You slipped Vera back in her holster before taking his hand. “Sorry, can’t be to careful. Nice to meet you, thanks for coming.”

              “No problem. Dean mentioned vamps?”

              You paused at the name. “Uh… Dean?”

              “Yeah, he said his friend Bobby was putting the call out for backup. Do you not know Dean? Winchester?”

              “Can’t say I do. Bobby let me know you were coming, so I just assumed he had spoken with you. Send my thanks along to Dean, yeah?” Damn it, Bobby. He was trying to keep the fact that John’s son was at his place from you. It had to be. There’d be time to deal with that later.

              “Of course. So, what are we looking at?”

            There was another knock at the door, and you checked it to see a impatient looking Rufus fidgeting outside. “Rufus!” you greeted opening the door and pulling the grumbling hunter into a hug. “Thank you for coming to help. I know you’re retired.”

              “Yeah, yeah. Let’s get this over with,” he grumbled, making his way to the table.

              “Rufus, this is Jessup. Jessup, Rufus.”

            After the formalities were done you started going over what you knew.

            Rufus leaned back when you finished going over everything. “Glad you waited for backup. Makes you smarter than most of us. Let’s go check out the places on your list. We can make a plan from there.”

            You and Jessup nodded. “Okay, I’ll drive,” you said, grabbing your keys. Rufus grumbled but didn’t argue. Time to find some vamps.