#i can just see the blinking through the fucking plastic of my monitor

[nexus-nebulae]

there is a blinking light in my bedroom that I can only see in my peripherals and it's driving me nuts

[iluvapplesxh]

⧽⧽ Behind The Scenes III. ⧼⧼

❀ pair: billie eilish x fem!reader

✯ summary: After bringing you to safety in her new home, Billie makes the recklessly stupid decision to go out to a small shopping trip by herself in the companies of her bodyguards, but that turns like the best and the worst decision of her life.

✰ warnings: injury, hospital, paparazzi, shooting, guns, choking, death, swearing, mentions of blood, fluff at the end, !ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE!

✯ part I, part II

✒ a/n: apologies for the late post! I just somehow couldn't get myself to write this, but I did it! (6k+ words)

It was so agonizing. The pain all over your body. It hurt all over and your head pounded especially loud, your ears picking up on the faint sounds of a beeping of some kind, maybe some words. Was someone talking? What the fuck is happening?

You slowly and, in all honesty, annoyedly peeled open your closed eyelids, thankful to whatever God that the room in which you were in had its blinds pulled in because otherwise you probably would have gone blind to top all things. 

You blinked a couple of times, taking deep breaths and looking around before all the memories came flooding into your head like a train crashing into another. Your heart beat faster and suddenly you were wide awake, sitting up which you regretted in that moment when a sharp pain shot through your side and your hand flew to cover the main source of the pain, a low but almost silent groan mixed with a grunt leaving your lips.

The realization of how dry both your mouth and throat have been almost made you choke on your breath, and you screwed your eyes shut when a small cough rocked your body, your hand pressing harder onto your side. 

“Hey, hey, be careful” 

The sudden rush of words came from the door which you’ve located in the left corner of the room and your head swiftly turned to look at the direction of the white entrance of what you recognized could be a hospital room and your confusion, panic filled eyes met with soft blue ones. Before you could say anything, she took hurried steps towards the uncomfortable bed you were now sitting on, arms stretched out and her hands soon were holding onto you, one of them gently pulling yours away from your bandaged side.

In her other hand was a bottle of water and your heart fluttered a little before alarms of scoldings and denial rang through your head, and you focused back on her creased eyebrows then her blue seas. 

Billie breathed in softly and held up the bottle to you, which you wordlessly took and uncapped before taking big gulps which earned you a dirty look from the woman next to you, but you ignored it and took a few more big sips before screwing the cap on the plastic bottle once more. 

“Thanks” You muttered out finally and a tender smile grew on Billie’s lips before her front teeth dipped into the lower part.

“How are you feeling?” The crease between her brows returned while her head tilted to the side the slightest bit, her hand never leaving yours which made your heart rate pick up again. And the action doesn’t go unnoticed by the heart monitor next to your bed, the beeping growing speedier and your cheeks heat when you see Billie’s eyes leave yours to confusedly glance towards the device before meeting yours again.

“Uh…-” You began after the small awkward silence. “I’m okay-...I think” 

Your words weren’t calming at all, but Billie decided to just nod subtly before taking a deep breath, her hand reluctantly letting go of yours as she took a step back and folded her arms over her chest.

“The doc said they’ll do a checkup when you wake and if everything’s okay, we can go home” She stated and her eyes stuck gazing into yours, making you lose yourself in them a little, almost missing her words before your head bobbed up and down, nodding. 

There was another long moment of silence, and your head quickly filled with questions about a lot of things. How long has it been? Did they find him yet? Did she see him? Why is she here? Where is he?

“Why’re you here?” The question left your mouth quietly, like you were afraid that the question would break the peace of the moment.

Billie sighed and dropped her arms to her sides, shifting on her feet. “I mean, you were attacked in my house…” Her gaze fell from yours almost as if she was nervous or embarrassed. “And-...kind of nobody came when I called. We-...well Finneas came by yesterday. He dropped off some clothes for me and food” 

When she began rambling your eyes narrowed in confusion before a small exhalation of a choked breath left your mouth and you nodded. “Right” You muttered under your breath, your tongue running along the inside of your cheek. “Thanks. For being here” 

Billie’s eyes lifted again and softened more when she saw your expression. She took a small step forward again. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be here?” She asked, because she knew that even if she wouldn’t have been there that night, she would have raced to you the moment she heard something.

Your gazes met again and there was a knowing look in your eyes to which a small, almost inaudible scoff left Billie before her head shook and there were a few seconds of stillness. “We’ll talk about everything when this shit is over, okay?” Her words almost sounded like a promise, but you knew better than to believe your own mind right now. Maybe if we talk at least, we’d stay friends

Although you knew that proposition was just hanging on by a small tinge of hope, you wanted to believe that it was true. Because if it wasn’t, it meant you would probably have to live your life without her in it and looking into that future, it didn’t seem right.

When you nodded your head, the door of the small room opened again and the doctor which you assumed Billie was talking about walked in with a soft, kind smile on his bearded face.

“Great to see you’re awake, miss” He said with a gentle look in his eyes when he approached the two of you. “My name is Dr. Hart” He extended his right hand, and you slowly did the same, giving his gruff hand a firm shake before pulling back.

– 

After Dr. Hart successfully finished up your check up, and signed the sign out papers, you were free to go. You sat in the wheelchair, now in your normal clothes which Billie had admitted to getting for you after borrowing your apartment keys a couple days prior when you were still unconscious, she was behind the chair, pushing it in silence as your eyes darted around the unfamiliar surroundings of the hospital hallways.

Finally, when the two of you made it out and arrived at Billie’s car which she had close to the entrance of the building, you just about got out of the wheelchair when the blinding flashes and lights of cameras almost took away the light of your world as seemingly hundreds of press employees and paparazzies surrounded the black SUV and, of course, you and Billie.  

“Fucking hell” You hear Billie mutter then the warm feeling of her arms wrapping around you made your breath hitch. “Come on, get in.” Her breath tickled your ear as she leaned close to your ear, then one of her arms left your body and opened the back door of the car, gently pushing against your back. 

The now muffled screamed questions of the reporters made your head pound once more as you watched Billie quickly being ushered into the car next to you by one of her bodyguards before he also hopped into the car in the passenger seat. 

You could see through the dark tinted windows how the security guards from the hospital had begun to push against the crowd, trying to make way for the SUV to leave.

You exhaled softly and leaned back against the seat you were in, one of your shaky hands reaching up to grasp onto the strap of the belt, pulling on it before grasping the latch plate and shifting in your seat, bringing it down beside you and fastening it inside the buckle with a soft breath of a grunt and when the soft clicking sound reached your ears, you leaned back in your seat again.

“You okay?” 

Your head turned to the side, eyes locking with Billie’s. “Yeah-...” You say, a little breathlessly. “I didn’t expect…all of this” You said and your eyes left hers, instead gazing at the slowly fading crowd, meaning the security guards were succeeding.

“Hm” Billie pursed her lips as her eyes followed your line of sight. “I should have thought about this before just bringing you out. I’m sorry.” Her words made your head turn back to her again, brows knitted together.

“What?” Disbelief tinted your question, and your head tilted a little to the left. “No, you couldn’t have known-...”

“Of course, I could have. I’ve been doing this a long time” Billie swallowed harshly and buckled her own belt when she saw the bright, orange light of the streetlamp next to the Hospital’s sign by the road, meaning the way’s been cleared. 

Your teeth bit down on your tongue, feeling like there was no argument with that and you took a deep breath, hearing your heartbeat in your ears at the sudden silence in the car.

–

You didn’t really pay any attention to where the SUV was heading, instead having chosen to stare at the gray carpet by your feet. So, when the car came to a halt and your eyes finally lifted, settling on the metal gates being lit up by vehicle’s headlights, your head filled with confusion.

“Uh, where are we?” You spoke finally, turning to Billie who was sitting in silence until now.

“Oh, right.” Despite the very uncomfortable situation, a small -almost cocky- smirk grew on her face and she slid lower on her seat, hands hanging loosely between her spread legs. “My house.” 

The crease on your forehead grew and you blinked. “Uh, no…this is not your house.” You shook your head, looking ahead again as the gates opened and the car began moving again. “And also, I thought you were taking me home? To- to my house? So, you wouldn’t be in danger” Anger and worry laced your voice, and your eyes glanced back at Billie.

Billie took a sharp breath and ran her tongue along the left side of her cheek. “First of all, I never said I’d leave you alone. Not now.” She muttered; expression hard before it softened again. “And also, I bought a new-...safer house right after you were treated. For my own safety and for your own since you will be staying here until that…-” Her eyes darkened and her jaw clenched. “Asshole is behind bars.”

Your head shook in disbelief. “Billie, you don’t understand!” Your voice grew somewhat desperate and frustrated. “Being with me is not safe for you!” 

Billie swallowed hard and her tongue darted out, moistening her drying lips before she spoke. “No, you don’t understand!” She said harshly, her gaze averting from yours for a moment when the car stopped on the end of the driveway and the bodyguards got out. “I won’t ever leave you like this, okay? No matter what the fuck happened or didn’t happen-...” Her eyes softened. “I just want you to be safe…”

Your own face eased and there was a minute of stillness, just the two of you gazing into each other’s eyes. You didn’t need words to talk. You never did with her. The both of you knew each other like the back of one’s hand.

Then, a simple nod from you and she was out of the car, turning back around to hold out a hand for you to take. Your heart almost melted at the small gesture and a lump formed in your throat, gaze stuck on the extended tattooed hand before you teared it away and unbuckled your belt, sliding towards the opened door and taking the soft hand. 

Billie slowly helped you out of the car and -much to both of your dismays- her hand left yours, pushing the opened door closed. Then she stood next to you and the two of you began walking towards the front doors.

When you reached them, Billie pushed them open with a soft grunt. Then she turned to the side, her eyes looking into yours before darting to the inside of the house then they met yours again. You took the signal and stepped forward, the unfamiliar warmth of the new place engulfing your body.

You heard the doors shut behind you before Billie was standing next to you again. “So, there are 2 guest bedrooms.” She paused, biting down on the flesh of her bottom lip. “I think…”

A small smile spread on your lips at her unsure knowledge about her new home and your eyes took in the sight of her side profile, tracing the sharp contour of her jawline before darting to her nose then her cheek and then your staring and Billie’s thinking was broken by a deep but not unkind voice from behind the both of you in the hallway.

“Hey, guys!” 

The both of you turned around, Billie’s face lighting up into a grin while yours turned into one of slight confusion when your eyes laid on Finneas walking towards the two of you, a gray button up hanging on his upper body and a checkered pair of pants clinging to his waistline. 

“I’m surprised you made it out of there.” He spoke again when he reached the both of you. And due to the puzzled looks from you and Billie, he elaborated; “It was all over the news.” 

A small ‘oh’ fell form Billie’s lips next to you while you only nodded, suddenly feeling very awkward in Finneas’ presence considering the two of you haven't spoken or seen each other since that day after the breakup at the airport. 

The thought made your throat tighten up and you cleared it, sadly gaining Finneas’ attention. He looked back at his sister for a moment who shook her head and Finneas sighed softly before shooting you a small smile.

“Is Claudia here, too?” Billie asked, glancing down the lit-up hallway.

“Yeah, in one of the guest rooms” Finneas replied, nodding his head. “Mom and dad will be here soon, too.” He continued.

Billie nodded and your brows furrowed, finally daring to speak up. “Uh, no offense, but why?” 

Both of the siblings turned to you, and it was Billie who answered your question after a small second of silence. “I just figured it would be best. I mean, the guy figured out where I lived. I couldn’t take any chances” 

You noticed how she tried to play her worry for her family off, but you saw right through it and the smile returned to your face, nodding. “Alright” 

–

After the small conversation by the entrance of this much bigger house compared to what Billie had previously, you were led to one of the other guest rooms -which you learned there were three of- and were very reluctantly left alone by Billie in it.

It was when you were finally alone that the worrisome thoughts came back into your mind. The uneasiness in your chest made you sit down on the twin bed in the middle of the room, and you could have sworn your side started to hurt more at the thoughts -or maybe the painkillers were just wearing off-.  

You knew that you really shouldn’t be as worried as before, this house was big and safe. He didn’t even know it existed. But then again, he did somehow find out where Billie lived previously, and that you were there. 

The images of what had happened flashed quickly before your eyes and your breath caught in your throat before you swallowed thickly and got up, deciding to take a hot shower.

After getting the towel which was folded on the bed and some of the clothes also laid out on it -no doubt Billie’s which made your heart race for a different reason than fear-, you walked into the bathroom attached to the room and rid yourself of the clothes Billie brought for you to the hospital. When your gaze found its way on the mirror above the sink, your eyes burned holes into your bandaged side and a sigh escaped your mouth at the tingling pain you felt with every twist of your torso.

After successfully and painfully tearing off the bandages as gently as you could, you didn’t dare give a second glance at the wound on your side, you just stepped into the shower and began washing your body.

When you were done, you got out, dried yourself up and put on the underwear and shorts you were given. Then you walked out of the bathroom with the T-shirt in one of your hands, the small medical kit which was placed on the counter next to the sink in the other. 

You tossed the T-shirt on the bed and stood next to it, opening up the box of medical supplies and taking out the needed things. Then you sat down on the plush mattress and one of your arms circled under your bare breasts, pulling them out of view of your wound and you groaned softly when your body twisted to the side, the skin around the gash stinging sharply. 

Your free hand held the soft cloth with the disinfectant on it above it, hesitantly bringing it down with a deep breath. The sting was not as bad as your head had previously told you it was going to be, and you exhaled loudly, pressing the cloth firmer against your side before pulling it back then pressing it there again.

The peaceful silence of the guest room was broken by a knocking on the door and your body tensed, causing your grip on the cloth to tighten and press hard against your side. A hiss left your mouth and your eyes screwed shut.

“It’s Billie.” A soft, seemingly angelic voice called from the other side of the door. “Can I come in?”

Your body relaxed at the sound and your eyes opened, taking in her words. You looked down at your half-naked body, the cloth now hovering over your wound and your thinking stopped for a moment. Was it clear that you couldn’t do this alone? Absolutely. Were you going to let Billie of all people help you with it? Absolutely not. 

 You weren’t ready for her to see you like this, so vulnerable and…wounded. Looking like a kicked puppy. It was humiliating. 

Well, as it turned out you were pondering for too long, and Billie grew quite worried by your silence. She quickly pushed the door open and when her eyes found your figure sitting on the bed with your back turned to her, her breathing calmed just for a moment before her eyes took you in and it hitched.

Your head whipped around quickly, and your heart jumped into your throat at the look on her face and you turned back just as fast. 

Billie’s eyes left your form and fell onto the bed you’re sitting on, looking over the medical supplies and her mind filled with worry rather than the acknowledgment of your state and she walked closer to you.

“Can I…-” She spoke softly, her eyes strained onto the wound on your side. “Can I help?” 

Heat bloomed in your chest and your arm tightened around your body as you looked up at her before sighing softly and nodding. Your hand which was hovering over your side extended and Billie slowly took the wet disinfectant drenched cloth and took a seat on your right.

The somewhat awkward tension in the room was palpable and it sent a hot shiver down your spine, or maybe it was the fact that Billie was leaning close to you, her hand dapping the cloth against your side while you felt her breath on your skin, that caused it.

A minute later, one of her hands rested against your hip bone, probably accidentally since you didn't notice any change in her focused expression, and the other was mindfully wrapping the bandage around your torso.

You could feel the heat in the air grow by the seconds that Billie was spending focused on taking care of you. Just like she had done so many times before and then after you would smile and kiss her as a ‘thank you’ before the two of you cuddled up in each other’s embraces on her bed or the couch. But not this time, no, when she straightened up with one last touch on your bandaged side, a respectful distance was created between you two again while she packed up the supplies and you wordlessly pulled the T-shirt over your head, letting it hang loosely on your body. 

Billie soon shifted further away from you on the bed to put the box on the bedside table and your teeth nibbled on the flesh of the inside of your cheek, your feelings all over the place.

You swallowed hard and took a deep breath, deciding to be the first to speak up. “Thanks” The words were muttered and quiet, but Billie caught them, and she turned back to you, pressing her lips into a thin line as she nodded.

“You’re welcome”

You looked away from her and a long exhale left you. You placed your hands on your knees. “Why-...uh why did you come?” 

Billie was silent for a moment, trying to read your body language before she folded her arms. “I was just going to check on you.” She said simply. “Oh, and also my mum made some dinner, if you’re hungry” 

You took in her words, and nausea swirled in your gut at the mention of eating right now. You felt like you had no appetite whatsoever. Your head was still far in the gutter of what had happened. 

Back at the hospital you had caught a glimpse of a television in one of the rooms, the news was on, and it was flooded with your name, some even mentioning Billie’s.

“I’m not.” You said lastly, not looking at her and instead carrying on staring at the pulled in curtains.

Billie smacked her lips, her jaw clenching as her eyes didn’t leave you until she stood up. “Alright.” She said with a sigh. “We’ll be downstairs for a little while longer, if you need anything.” 

When she saw you nod your head, she took a couple steps towards the door, her hand pulling it open by the handle and she cast one last lingering worried glance towards you before she stepped out and the door shut behind her.

-

It was a couple hours later, which was around 9PM, that you emerged from the guest room. You hesitantly took the large flight of stairs downstairs, following the sound of voices to the living room of the house. 

When you arrived at the entrance, your eyes scanned over the room. You saw Finneas and Claudia sitting close to each other in the loveseat while Maggie and Patrick were sitting on the sofa, all having a seemingly pleasant conversation. But your heart beat faster when you looked around the whole room and you didn’t find the comforting presence of the one person who you felt like actually wanted you here.

And unfortunately, when you turned back around to make your way back upstairs, Maggie’s voice stopped you with a call of your name and your breath hitched. Your jaw clenched and you turned back towards them, seeing all of their eyes on you, Maggie had a soft expression on her face, Patrick was looking at you with a kind smile and both Finneas and Claudia were looking at you a little skeptical but not unkindly.

“Would you like to sit with us, sweetie?” Maggie spoke up again and your eyes locked with hers. 

“Oh-...uh, no thanks, Ms. Braid.” You spoke quietly and pressed your hands together behind your back.

Maggie smiled at you softly and nodded. There was a pause in the air before she parted her lips to speak again. “Billie went out for some stuff for you” 

Her words made you freeze, and you felt dizzy all of a sudden. “Alone?” Your voice trembled slightly.

Patrick butted in; “Don’t worry, hon, bodyguards are with her. “ The smile never left his face, but it did little to ease the thumping against your sternum. 

“Yeah, but-...” You took a ragged breath and placed a palm against your chest. Maggie, taking sign of your panic, swiftly stood up and walked over to you, wrapping her arms around you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. She’ll be okay” Her hands rubbed your arms comfortingly. “There was nothing to argue about when she said she wanted to go out for more supplies.”

You shook your head. This was your fault again. 

–

Meanwhile, Billie sat in the same SUV which took the two of you home a couple hours before. Two of her best bodyguards sat in the front seats and one next to her in the backseat. She had a plastic bag of supplies in her lap, both hands placed on top of it as her eyes followed along the road through the tinted window.

A minute later, the car came to a stop by a gas station and Billie’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion. She looked at the man next to her and he offered a small smile. 

“We stopped for gas, Ms. O’Connell”

Billie breathed out a puff of air, the small knot which began forming in her gut previously untying as she nodded. “I’m going to use the restroom” She told him, unbuckling her belt and placing the plastic bag down on the car’s floor.

“Would you like me to come with you, Ms.?” The bodyguard asked, slight worry in his tone and Billie smiled at him before she shook her head.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be quick” 

With that, she stepped out of the car and shut the door after her. She rounded the SUV and sent a small wave at the other two guards outside it, one of them filling the car with gas while the other stood watch. She walked into the dimly lit station and looked around in slight confusion at the lack of the cashier by the counter before shrugging and striding across the small store. She walked to the back door which led to the restroom and pushed it open, making way to the women’s bathroom.

When she was inside, she looked around. Silence was all that greeted her, and she took in a deep breath before walking into an empty stall and locking it.

When she sat down on the toilet seat, she exhaled loudly and relaxed a little. But her body tensed once more when the entrance door of the bathroom opened again, and footsteps followed the sound soon after. Loud thuds of boots against the marble floors and soon the door slammed shut, making Billie flinch a little. She held her breath as the person took slow steps in front of the stalls and her heartbeat in her ears when she saw the shadow of the boots stop right before the door of the stall she was in. Then the person turned and walked into the stall next to hers and Billie let out the breath she was holding.

Billie stood up, flushed and hastily tugged up the baggy jeans she was wearing, making quick work of buckling her belt before she unlocked the stall and stepped out. She took anxious glances around the premise before stepping towards the sinks and opening one of the taps. She held hands out and wetted them under the stream of water before one of them reached up to the dispenser of the liquid soap. She held her wet palm under the soap pump and her thumb moved to press down on it. After a couple of tries an annoyed huff left her lips when nothing came from the dispenser, and she muttered under her breath.

“Of course,”

Her frustrated muttering froze when the stall door next to the one she was in opened and the sounds of boots nearing made her pulse quicken.

Her movements froze as well, and she just stood there while the person took place next to her. 

“Hm, crappy bathrooms in this city, huh?” 

The voice made her throat tighten in fear. It was a gruff, deep male voice. In the women’s restroom. And she swallowed hard before nodding her head. When she heard a derisive chuckle from the man, she shakily stopped the running water and looked up. The man had dark hair, a messy, thick beard, and a mustache. He was wearing a brown jacket and a white shirt, and he had a few wrinkles around his eyes and forehead. The man appeared to be in his 30s or 40s. 

“Uh, sir, this is the women’s restroom” Billie finally spoke up, trying to keep the shakiness out of her voice as the man basically towered over her. 

“Oh, I know” The man said, his voice having a slight edge to it. Then a smirk appeared on his face, and he ran a hand down his beard. “I think you know who I am” He said lowly and Billie’s expression hardened, taking a step back.

“Oh? Are you scared now?” Another dark chuckle came from his mouth as he took a step toward Billie. 

“What the fuck do you want from me, dude?” She asked, her voice laced with anger and her teeth grit together.

The man’s smirk spread into a grin; his eyes dark. “I don’t like how close you are to what’s mine…” He began and tilted his head to the side, his grin falling. “And since plan A didn’t go as planned…” Billie continued to glare at the man. “Time for plan B” When the words left his mouth, he pushed forward and threw Billie against the dirtied wall of the restroom.

Air was knocked out of her lungs as her back collided with the wall and the man stepped close to her. Just as she was about to gather her breath, a large rough hand wrapped tightly around her throat and her own hands frantically came up to wrap around his wrist.

She struggled against his grip, pushing with all her strength when she suddenly froze to the sound of a loud click and something cool against the side of her head. Billie’s eyes widened and she looked at the man in panic, her lungs desperately searching for air while her heart thumped loudly against her ribcage.

Her sight became blurry, and she could see the man’s mouth moving but she couldn’t hear anything, blood rushing in her ears. When she felt the gun press against the side of her head harder a cry left her lips and she screwed her eyes shut.

She heard the man’s distorted chuckle one last time before a loud bang echoing through the restroom cut it off. Her ears began ringing loudly and then suddenly the pressure of the big hand around her throat flattered and her eyes opened. She looked down and saw the man on the ground, blood pooling underneath him as he coughed.

She felt dizzy and her throat hurt as she looked to the side and saw one of her bodyguards standing by the door, gun gripped tightly in his hands, his own gaze stuck on the man on the floor who was now chuckling quietly, the blood gathering in his throat making them sound choked.

Billie stayed pressed against the wall until the bodyguard came over and gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders, turning her away as they walked out of the restroom, leading her out of the gas station store to see the blinding lights of police cars paint the whole station red and blue, and somehow there were even some press around with cameras on their shoulders and microphones in hands, screaming while being held back by police.

Some of the officers rushed past them into the store while Billie was led to an ambulance.

– 

Panic was all over your body as your body stood frozen in the middle of the living room. All of your gazes were on the television in front of you and tears sprung to your eyes at the headline;

‘Popstar, Billie Eilish, attacked by her ex-girlfriend’s stalker at local gas station’

Your body moved on its own, mind hazy as you quickly rushed out of the room and to the front doors, trembling hands reaching into the bowl of car keys on the dresser next to them. You didn’t give a fuck about what car it was you took the keys for, you just took one and ran out the doors, pushing the button on the remote key, your head turning all around the place hastily when a pair of headlights on a random car in the driveway lit up and you quickly made your way over to it.

You all but ripped the door open and jumped into the driver’s seat, starting the engine and driving to the already open gates as fast as you can and speeding down the streets.

You didn’t even know which gas station it happened at. You just hoped that you were right about driving towards the closest one to Billie’s house. Your mind was a mess as you repeatedly blinked back your tears. Your chest hurt and you felt sick to your stomach the whole drive.

When you finally saw the red and blue lights flashing near you, you drove even faster and stopped just as fast behind a police car, the abrupt stop making your body jolt forward but you didn't care, you just pushed the door open quickly and jumped out of the car. You didn’t even bother shutting the door, you just ran through the crowd of reporters and such, pushing through them without a fucking care if they fell over ot not. 

When you reached the edge of the crowd, a police officer stood in front of you but you just pushed against his chest, making hims tumble back as you ran to the site, hearing some shouts and callings for you but you didn’t stop until your eyes finally found her, sitting on the back on the ambulance with an unreadable expression on her face as the paramedic explained something to her.

You raced towards her and when you were finally in front of her, she looked up and your gazes met. Her eyes were red and fearful as they looked into yours and your heart shattered into a million different pieces at the sight. Your chest now hurt for two different reasons and you felt slightly dizzy but that didn’t stop you from dropping to your knees. Billie caught your arms, making you fall into her. 

Your arms wrapped around her, clinging to her desperately as your tears finally fell. Her hold on you tightened and she shifted in her seat, brushing off the small blanket which was around her back and pulling you into her. Her own eyes burned with tears but she shut them as she pressed her cheek against the top of your head.

“It’s okay. I’m okay” Billie whispered softly while sobs rocked your body. “He’s gone. He’s gone” Her reassuring words made you cry harder, relief flooding your entire body.

The two of you held each other for a little longer before you stood again, and she followed you. Her hands lifted to cup your cheeks, her thumbs wiping the tears on your skin.

Then her hands fell and your own lifted, one of them placed on her right shoulder and the index finger of the other tremblingly hovering over the red mark around her throat. Billie took a deep breath and gasped your hand, bringing up to her lips and pressing it against them. 

Your eyes met again and she pulled your hand away, letting it fall on her other shoulder before she leaned in. Not leaving room for overthinking, or any thoughts or words at all. She didn’t care right now. It was over.

When you felt her soft lips press against your trembling ones you breathed in sharply through your nose, body tensing up. But then her hands held onto your waist and you relaxed, kissing her back. 

The kiss was filled with emotion, longing and hundreds of apologies. Your chest filled with warmth and your arms wrapped loosely around her neck, tugging her closer.

It felt right. It felt like nothing ever happened or maybe even if it did this one kiss sealed the happy ending of it. You felt at home again. In her arms. And she felt the same. She felt safe and calm, finally having you in her arms again. And there was no fucking way she’ll let you go ever again.

✒ a/n: I so, so hate how this turned out btw. but am I gonna post it anyway? fuck yeah! the endings are always so shit i'm gonna kms.

REQUESTS OPEN!

➣ tags: @be3flow3r

[azsazz]

Bloody Hearts

Azriel x Cassian x Rhysand x Reader

Summary: A modern mafia AU.

Warnings: Blood, injury, guns, depictions of graphic violence. Ik this isn’t how hospitals work but just pretend for the storyline that it is.

Word Count: 3,306

Notes: I want to thank each and every single one of you for your continued support. I love writing for you all and seeing your excitement and interactions are incredibly honoring. Here’s to you, 3k, and the many more to come! 💙

Special shout out to @sarcasmsweetie for planting the mafia seed in my head, I hope you enjoy! 💙

_________________________________________

The night sky is full of stars, but no moon.

It’s an evening like most in late September, the breeze blowing softly up the darkening streets, caressing everything in its wake. This just so happens to include Rhysand, who shivers as the gust tickles the dark hairs at the base of his neck.

He checks over his shoulder before pulling his coat tighter around himself, a hand pressed firmly over the fresh wound on his stomach.

He’d been caught, narrowly escaping a gang of rivals who had ambushed him at a meeting with a potential customer. A bullet shot to his side was a gift and a warning, and he can feel it still lodged in the taut muscle of his abdomen, fresh blood oozing between his fingers.

Rhys had lost his gun and phone during the attack, managing to intercept one of the escapees and rid them of their life and weapon, one that’s clutched tightly in his other hand, tucked just inside the flap of his overcoat. 

“Fucking asshole,” he spits through gritted teeth, jaw clenched to try and stop them from chattering. He’s cold, can barely feel his finger on the trigger of the cool metal of the gun, can definitely feel the warm, thick blood seeping from his stinging wound.

His breathing is labored and he stumbles every once in a while, his vision blurring. He curses. He hasn’t been able to find a pay phone and the streets in this part of town are abnormally quiet tonight.

He’s waiting for someone to jump him.

Rhys blinks hard, once, twitch, three times to clear his sight as he continues his quick pace towards the hospital up the street.

He’s been through worse before.

Squinting against the fluorescent lights as the doors slide open for him, Rhys tucks the weapon into the waistband of his pants. It hurts to do so, and he grunts as he makes his way up to the counter, straightening his posture as much as his body allows without putting any more strain on his injury. He needs to act as normal as possible so he doesn’t get asked too many questions.

There’s a woman on the other side of the glass, head buried in the computer screen before her. He can make out the lines of age on her face in the glow from the monitor, and she doesn’t even look up at him when she speaks.

“How can I help you?”

“I’ve seemed to have cut myself while cooking,” he lies expertly, but he doesn’t think she’d even care if he told the truth.

She gathers his information – most of it lies to keep his identity a secret – and prints the hospital bracelet, standing from her chair onto her aching feet as she shoves the large glasses perched low on her nose up into her disheveled hair to wrap the plastic band around his wrist.

Rhys has made sure not to show her his bloody hand.

“Have a seat and someone will be out shortly,” she tells him, collapsing back into her chair with a lethargic breath, slamming the space key to start her show back up.

He rolls his eyes, moving away from the counter, hand still pressed firmly to his side.

He chooses to slump against the wall instead, as far away from the few other people in the waiting room as he can get, knowing that if he were to sit down in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs he would probably let the darkness that’s been vignetting his vision for the past half mile lull him to sleep.

It takes longer than he would like to be called into the emergency room. Rhys leans his head against the wall, releasing a shaky exhale as he watches the steady drops of blood falling from his hand and onto the linoleum tile beneath his feet with a soft patter. No one notices, and he doesn’t say anything when someone’s finally calling his name.

He lifts his head as he follows the nurse leading him back and he catches sight of you.

His heart stumbles at your beauty. You’re in the midst of a game of chess with a coworker, head propped on your curled fist as you assess the board, trying to figure out your next move. Your face is scrunched in the cutest way, silently taking count of your black pawns, deciding which one you can sacrifice.

Naturally, because he’s not paying attention he trips. He tries to catch himself on the countertop but your game is in the way and his bloody hand slams down onto the checkerboard, blood splattering in its wake as the board goes sliding and the pieces go tumbling onto the floor.

“Sorry,” he grunts, his side slamming into the cheap countertop because he’d been unable to catch himself. It hurts like a bitch but he bites his lip as harshly as he can, avoiding eye contact with you and your friend who have shot to your feet in shock.

“No,” you exclaim, raising your hands. Your feet are rooted to the ground as you stare over at him, slightly rattled from the incident. “Are you okay? Maybe we should get you a wheelchair–”

“That won’t be necessary, but thank you, really,” His voice is gravelly, and he stuffs his bloodied hand into his pocket, forcing you to look from that mess to his face. It’s squished in pain, dark brows furrowed, luscious lips pressed into a firm line, but when he looks up at you the whole world stops.

His eyes are like a dream and you can’t stop yourself from falling into their rich purples and dark speckles like stars. Long lashes frame the rounds of his eyes, looking like they’re each dipped in coal liner but you know that he’s just effortlessly pretty.

Rhysand opens his mouth to say something but the nurse leading him back to his room places a gentle hand on his bicep. He flinches at the contact, gaze snapping to the woman before him.

“Sir, maybe we should get you to a room so that you can sit down.”

He’s sure he’s delirious now, after the way you looked at him. A face of confusion that had melted into one of awe when your crystalline eyes met his. His heart throbs in his chest and he can feel the fresh wave of blood seeping through the silk of his torn shirt as he allows the nurse to guide him forward.

He’s led to a private room where the nurse retrieves a fresh gown and places it on the bed.

“You’ll need to take off your clothing and put this on,” she instructs, reading over his chart. Her gaze flicks to where his bloody hand is once again putting pressure on the wound in his side, then meets his own, sizing him up.

“Some cut that must be,” she comments, watching him for any sort of give.

He’s been playing people for far longer than she could even know.

Rhys tries to muster that cocky smirk that seems to work on most women, but it must look more like a grimace because she seems unaffected. “Yeah, the knife got away from me when I was carving the meat,” he replies coolly, though the effort to stay standing is making him sweat.

She stares at him for a long moment before relenting. The nurse points at the gown on the bed with her pen, “Gown, now. You’ll be helped shortly.”

“Thank you very much,” Rhys tries not to snear and he swears he can hear the grating roll of her eyes as she draws the curtain shut upon her exit.

He sighs, shoving the gown away as he collapses on the corner of the bed, hissing at the twist of his wound. The bullet hasn’t hit any organs, he knows that, and he’s only a little nervous about the amount of blood he’s lost, but he can’t stop thinking about the pretty chess-playing nurse in the other room.

He needs to get in contact with his team, set bounties on their heads for the assassination attempt. 

Or he can just sick his Cassian on them.

He knows he’s going to get lectured by Azriel for being out there alone, but the both of them had deserved the night off, away from the sharp gazes of those mutts in the Canus gang. Their rivals for generations, Rhys had never known a day of peace while they’d been around.

They’d been at war with the Canus mob for as long as he knew. Rhys had been taught about it some when he was younger, when his father had the time to sit him down for the sort of talks other seven year olds weren’t receiving. Instead of talking about what he did at school or what he wanted for his birthday he was taught of the long-lasting drug war he was going to reign over some day and gifted weapons instead.

And that fateful power had been thrust upon him sooner than he anticipated, when his mother and sister were captured and killed by the infamous Oleanders, a rival crew that had not been short on land nor wealth. His father was a man of business, and no one said no to him, but they had. So his father took what he wanted instead and because of that, his mother and sister had suffered because of it.

Rhysand blinks harshly, trying to shove the memory from his mind and the black spots from his vision. He’d been the one to ask his father to join in on the revenge, using their best allies and assets to sneak into the penthouse the Oleanders occupied, slaughtering them, one by one, until only the youngest son, Tamlin, was left to take over the family business.

His fingers dig into his wound and he holds back a pained cry at the searing pain burning through him. It works though, flushing the memories from his mind while he waits for help.

.·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·. ♜♞♝♛♚♝♞♜ .·:·.☽ ✦ ☾.·:·.

“(Y/N),” room three,” your coworker nearly growls, slamming his patient papers down on the counter in front of you. They would’ve landed in the patient's blood had you not hastily cleaned it up, tossing the bloodied board into the biohazard tin.

You hadn’t been able to find one of the pieces in your hurried cleaning. Maybe your chess partner, Vern, had picked it up and thrown it away or it had rolled under the counter to be found later by a janitor. You had no time to fret over it as you stare at her in shock.

“Isn’t he your patient, Amren?”

She brushes her cropped hair behind an ear, glaring. “I don’t like him.”

“Well what makes you think I want him then?” you ask, but are peeling the papers from the damp counter anyways.

Amren doesn’t respond, slumping down in the seat you’d stood from when the mysterious, injured man had stumbled into the counter.

You sigh, making your way towards room number three.

You can’t help yourself, looking through his papers. There’s quite a bit of information left blank or redacted, like he hadn’t been willing to answer any of the necessary questions in order to treat. His name is Rhysand, last name redacted. Age, redacted. Occupation, blank. Eye color, redacted. Height, a surprising six foot two.

“Hello again,” you greet, brushing through the thin curtain separating his room from the rest of the hospital area. “I’m (Y/N).”

He’s laying back fully now, closed eyes opening to latch onto you as you make your way straight towards the sink, placing his papers down before washing your hands.

“Rhysand,” he offers, his breath rattling in his chest.

“So I’ve read,” you toss him a soft smile over your shoulder, wiping your hands off on a paper towel, walking around the side of the bed to perch in the chair beside it.

Rhysand’s cheeks redden despite the blood loss he encountered tonight. You’re attractive, looking everything like an angel came to save him. The black scrubs you’re wearing don’t do your body justice but that’s okay, he can imagine how you look beneath your clothes just fine in his delirium.

“So,” you roll your chair closer, noting the bloody hand pressed to his side, “What brings you in tonight?”

“I uh–” he hisses, slowly peeling his hand away, exposing the wound. “I cut myself while cooking.”

“Some cut,” you murmur, starting straight into the gaping hole in his side, “What kind of knife were you using? A nine millimeter?” 

He lets out a surprising laugh, groaning when it jostles his wound.

“Glock,” he admits disgustedly, before he realizes what he’s just admitted.

He tries to sit up, panicking. He instantly regrets it when the pain rips through his side once more. He bites his lip, holding in the whimper of pain he so desperately wants to release. You’re there, pressing him back down to the bed with your hands on his shoulders, shushing him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell,” you send him a wink that makes something in his chest flutter, “Let me take a look at it.”

Rhysand settles but his heart doesn’t, watching you as you slip on a pair of rubber gloves before slowly lifting up his shirt to examine his injury.

You try not to let your gaze linger on the tightly corded muscle of his stomach and focus solely on the wound.

It’s an injury you haven’t worked with before, since your time at the hospital. You can’t compare it to the ones you’ve seen, the woman who’d come in with the top of her finger cut off, just below the first knuckle. She’d shoved the remaining bit into your arms in hysterics, shouting at you to help her. Thankfully, she had managed to put it on ice before rushing over to the hospital, which was nice.

Then there was the child who had broken his leg in such a way that the bone had ripped through the muscle and tissue and you could see it clear as day. That one was awful. The child wouldn’t stop screaming and crying and he’d almost gone into shock with how terrified he was to see his own bone sticking out of his leg like that. 

That one had been a little harder for you to sleep off.

You have to admit, you’re a little intrigued. As much as you don’t like seeing people in pain, it’s interesting to see the extent of injuries people come into the hospital with, and sometimes it was amusing to know the stories behind them.

Looking from the wound to Rhysand’s face, your breath catches in your throat. You hadn’t realized how far you’d leaned in to examine his side, and you’re blushing and quickly turning away, busying yourself by opening one of the drawers, searching for supplies that you know aren’t in there.

You find the scissors on the tray Amren had left out, turning back to your handsome patient.

“Do you think you can take your shirt off or do you need me to cut it off of you?” you ask, holding up the scissors and snipping at the air.

You can cut me out of my shirt anytime that you please, Rhysand thinks, biting back a smirk.

“I can do it,” he manages, because he’ll need to put it back on once he leaves. He wouldn’t be caught dead out in the street with a hospital gown on. He lifts the hem of his shirt, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling when he peels the wet clothing that’s stuck to his body off. He hisses when he accidentally tugs on the wound while maneuvering his shirt over his shoulders and head.

He should’ve let you cut it off after all. 

Rhys relaxes the best that he can, leaning back slightly on his hands so you can come in for a closer look. He holds his breath as you examine his torso.

“Well, it doesn’t look like it’s hit anything important,” you explain. It’s still trickling blood but doesn’t nearly look as bad as you thought. “Is there an exit wound?”

You shift to look at his back but he’s letting himself fall back to the bed, heart thumping. The gun tucked into the waistband of his pressed pants digs into his spine.

“No exit wound,” he rushes to respond.

You furrow your brows at the confusing reaction but let it slide, “Right.”

You rise to your feet, pulling off your gloves.

“Sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

Rhysand nods, watching you with eagle eyes until you leave.

He relaxes once he’s alone, releasing a shaky breath, slamming his eyes shut tight. He curses himself for being so careless. He needs to get this bullet out and get out of here.

“Call the doctor, gunshot wound, room three. Why didn’t the front desk get him back here sooner?” you call over your shoulder as you pass your coworkers, though you know the exact reason why.

“Maybe it was because he said he cut himself,” Amren supplies, confirming what you already know.

You roll your eyes as Vern gasps, immediately asking her what is going on with the pretty patient in room three. 

“The doctor is on his way,” you announce when you enter room three once more, setting the tools that are wrapped up in their respective packaging onto a portable table next to Rhysand’s bed.  “Need anything while you’re waiting?”

“A glass of water would be great,” Rhys answers, eyeing the tools he’s seen plenty of times before.

“I’ll be right back. The doctor should be here any second.”

You can feel his colorful eyes on you as you dip behind the curtain once more, walking towards the nurses area. You grab a little pitcher and fill it to the brim with ice and water, picking up a few plastic cups to bring back to the room with you.

You exit the nurses nook just as Amren is walking by and you trip, spilling the water on the floor. You curse, apologizing to the tiny nurse who’s grumbling about having to deal with a code gray, but knowing her, the patient is no match for the little nurse.

You exhale, irritated as you clean up the mess as quickly as you can. You just want to get back to the man in room three. Maybe you’ll even get a smile out of him for bringing the water.

You replace the old pitcher with a new one, disposing of the crushed plastic cups. You tap your foot impatiently on the ground as the water slowly fills the tiny jug. Carefully this time, you make sure no one is in your way before heading back to Rhysand’s room.

There’s still no sign of the doctor in the halls and you roll your eyes. Rhysand’s lost who knows how much blood for Mother’s sake and the doctor can’t even be arsed to hurry up a little.

That is the most frustrating part of your job.

“Here’s your water–” you stop in your tracks when you catch sight of the empty bed. 

You furrow your brows, backtracking a step to make sure you’re in the correct room. Yup. Three. The bed is still a bloody mess, but Rhysand is nowhere to be seen.

You place the water pitcher and cups down on the counter and that’s when you notice the bloody tools on the mobile cart you’d prepared for the doctor.

The tongs and tweezers to get the bullet out are no longer clean and sitting in the small metal bowl where the rest of the tools are laid is a tiny bullet covered in Rhysand’s blood.

[gvfgal]

Bound- Chapter Twelve

Chapter Eleven

A/n: Saddle up! One more after this. And as always, enjoy <3

Warnings: Angst (because what is Bound without it?), language, that’s pretty much it!!

Word Count: 3.1k

The steady beep of the hospital monitor is what lulled Jake back to consciousness. He blinked his eyes several times to adjust to the harsh fluorescent lights hanging above him. When he was fully aware of his surroundings, the first emotion to hit him was guilt, for what he put his family and friends through. Guilt for the things his fans must be feeling. Then stupidity, for hoping that your face would be the first thing he saw when he turned over.

Instead, it was Josh, slouched in the armchair beside him as he watched the sitcom on the TV with disinterest.

“Glad to have you with us,” Josh spoke without facing him. Jake’s eyes scanned the sea of flower arrangements lining the counter, a few gift baskets bearing stuffed animals scattered between them. He grimaced, though he appreciated the thought, he didn’t know what the hell he was going to do with a dozen stuffed animals.

“Where is everyone?” he croaked out, throat gravelly from his several hours of silence. Josh assisted him in drinking from the plastic cup that sat waiting on his bed table.

“Good thing you aren’t the front man, huh? We’d be in trouble,” Josh chuckled with a half grin, “they just went to grab some food. They should be back shortly.”

Jake emptied the cup before flopping back onto the bed with a huff, Josh grabbed the perspiring picture and began pouring more.

“Josh,” Jake called out, his voice much smoother but still faint, “I hope you know I wasn’t trying to…I’m not…” a feeling of embarrassment washed over him, intermixing with the guilt. How could he be stupid enough to let things get out of hand that way? He didn’t want anyone to pity him, or think he was just another unstable rockstar (though all signs were pointing in that direction).

“You don't have to explain, Jake. I get it, we get it. And don’t worry about the media, we’ve already taken care of that,” he threw a dismissive hand up as he set the picture down, “life of a rockstar, you know? Plus Kiszkas are well known to overindulge every once in a while. No big deal, right?”

He settled back into his chair, his eyes trained on his twin as he stared up at the ceiling. After a few moments, Jake scoffed, “I just don’t get it you know,” he shook his head, “how the fuck did things end up like this?”

His jaw ticked as he thought it over, “way before that summer, way before we got together I always told myself I was gonna be the one to marry her. But now…”

Josh thought back on his conversation that he had with you the evening before, and he sat up in his chair a bit, “it may not be too late, Jake.”

Jake scoffed, turning to look out the window with a mumble.

“I doubt that.”

“She called to check on you yesterday, you know,” Josh offered, not missing the way Jake stilled to hear what he had to say, “she was devastated. We talked for a bit and I don’t know,” he shrugged, “I think she had a moment of clarity. You know I can read those kinds of things.”

Jake rolled his eyes, “well I won’t get my hopes up, we see where that landed me this time,” he lifted the hand that the IV needle was jammed into to emphasize his point.

Silence lingered between the two of them as the TV continued to fill the room, Jake’s mind, as it usually did, drifting to comforting thoughts of you.

He thought of the way your body felt wrapped in his, on his living room floor, wishing with everything in him that he could relive that moment, if only briefly.

He thought of your smile, your laugh, your moans, the absolute hold that they had over him. He tried desperately to figure out what it was about you that he couldn’t let go of, but he quickly realized he’d be laying in that hospital bed until he was old and gray trying to create that list.

“I think I’m gonna go back to Tennessee for a while,” he spoke up, “just to clear my head before the next leg of our tour.”

Josh had since scavenged a bag of trail mix from one of the gift baskets and tossed a handful into his mouth, “that doesn’t sound like a bad idea. Still don’t know how you ended up in Montana in the first place.”

“Yeah,” Jake sighed, turning to look out the window again, “me either.”

The door to the room creaked opened, and the rest of the Kiszka crew, along with Danny, poured in, each with some sort of bag in hand.

“Bout time” Josh hollered over a mouth full of trail mix, “I was about to have one of the nurses hook me up to one of those IV machines.”

“Oh cut the crap, Joshua,” Karen scolded as she sat her bags down and sat on the side of Jake’s bed. She pulled his head towards her and peppered kisses all over his face, “glad to see you awake, baby.”

He allowed her the moment before greeting the rest of his family, “I hope y’all brought me something, I’m starvin’.”

Karen and Ronnie worked to hand out all the food, then they all settled themselves into the room. It was crammed, but Jake wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

And that was almost true. But there was one person whose presence was missed by him, and would always be missed, until you were back in his arms.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You decided to stay the night at your mom’s before returning home. Asleep by eight, you were up before your mother for a change, and you took it upon yourself to make her a cup of tea for once.

Similar to the morning she revealed to you that she sold the house, you sat waiting for her at the kitchen table. She didn’t seem caught off guard by your presence, it was as if she knew you were waiting there for her.

Without missing a beat, she sat down across from you and grabbed her mug, “how’d you sleep?”

“Alright,” you nodded, “better than I thought I would.”

“Guess that means your mind is a little clearer today,” she sipped her tea.

You nodded again, “yeah… it is.”

A bird chirped from outside the window, pulling your attention away momentarily.

“Well, now what?”

“Well,” you whispered, “now I go back to Nashville, back to August. And I tell him the truth.”

She placed her hand over yours, drawing your eyes bac to her.

“Are you ready?”

You gave a her a pathetic smile, tears welling in your eyes.

You wer so damn sick of crying.

“Can you ever be ready for something like this?” you sputtered, bringing a hand over your mouth, “mama I’m gonna break his heart.”

Her grip tightened on your hand as she allowed you to weep silently, “I can’t say that you won't, but if you run around worrying about breaking other people’s hearts, you’ll mess around and break your own,” she comforted you, once again saying all the right things.

She leaned back to grab a few tissues from the counter and handed them to you, you dabbed at your nose and your eyes.

“Just speak your truth. As long as you do that, then everything will be alright, I promise.”

You nodded, standing from the table with a heavy sigh, “speak my truth.”

Your truth was that you loved Jake, plain and simple. But you couldn’t tell August that, at least not that blatantly, but the three hour drive home would be enough time to figure out something a bit more eloquent.

You gathered your things and walked to the door, giving your mom one last hug, “I’ll see you later, okay?” you gave her a knowing look, and she returned the sentiment.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Later That Night…

It was Monday. Mondays were your days off. You made a beautiful spread of food, all while going over your words in your head, and had it waiting for August when he returned from work.

The setting was all too familiar, the two of you sat across the table from one another, August, completely indulged in his meal, you, pushing food around your plate.

“How is it?”you asked rather absentmindedly, more so to fill the inwardly tense silence.

“Fantastic, as usual,” he complimented over a mouthful. He swallowed then took a sip of his water, “you know, I saw they teach cooking classes up at the rec center every Wednesday and Sunday. I was thinking about going to a few, maybe brush up on my skills, that way you’re not the only one cooking when we get marri—”

“August I have to tell you something,” you interjected, unable to take anymore of his devoted rambling. It only served to make what was coming more difficult for you, as much as you appreciated his offer.

He’d more than likely rethink those classes after hearing what you had to say.

“Okaayyy,” he chuckled at your abruptness, “what’s up babe?”

You sat your fork on the table with a deep breath, bringing your hands to your lap and wringing them together nervously. It was now or never.

Your mother’s words began playing on loop in your head; speak your truth… Everything will be alright…

“I… When I was five, this family moved in down the road from us, the Kiszkas.”

August frowned, completely confused on what this had to do with cooking, but he let you continue anyways.

“They had a son named Jake, and from the moment I met him, I was head over heels for him,” you smiled at the memory.

“My entire childhood I had the biggest, agonizing crush on him, and I think he kind of always liked me too, just never had the guts to say anything. Eventually I left for Berkeley, but when I graduated and came home that summer, it was our summer. After years and years of pining after one another, we finally did it… finally took that leap. I thought it was endgame,” you chucked, “I thought that was it for me. Jake was it for me… but things didn’t work out that way. Jake left for California with his brothers to make music and kinda left me in the dust, or at least that’s how it felt anyways.”

August’s face was still puzzled, but he was listening intently.

“And I was hurt. God, I was so hurt” you choked out, “up until then I’d never felt a heartbreak like that, and I felt like I’d never recover from it. But then time passed, and you came along, and I thought I had finally, finally, gotten over what happened. I thought I was over Jake, I want you to know that, I really thought I was over him.”

This was not at all what you planned to say. Not even close.

“Then a few months back, I ran into him at the bar, remember when we went to meet your coworkers?” You didn’t wait for a response, you were in too deep now, “and when I saw him Aug, it’s like my world turned on it’s axis. All those feelings that I thought were gone just… exploded inside of me again, like they never really vacated in the first place.”

You wiped a tear from your face, “he wrote me after that, asking me to come visit him in Montana, and I struggled so hard trying to decide if I was going to go or not, but in the end I did.”

Realization washed over August’s face, and he stood from the table without a word and began pacing, and this broke the last bit of composure you had left in you.

“I know I shouldn't have gone, it was stupid,” you sobbed, “but I just… I couldn’t stop myself. I had to do it August, I had to. And those four days I spent with Jake were the best four days I’ve had in a long time. I- I can’t explain it, when I’m with you I feel like one person, and when I’m with Jake I feel completely different. I feel like me. A-and honestly, if I could’ve just stayed there in Montana with him, I would’ve. But I couldn’t do that to you August, because I love you too, I swear I do it’s just… it’s different.”

“And I’m sorry August,” you shook your head, “but I can’t marry you. I- I thought if I came home and forgot about everything that happened then I would be okay, but I was only fooling myself. I thought I could make us work, August. I thought I could love you enough to make me forget about him but I just cant. And that’s not fair to you. When you love someone like that you cant just ignore it, you know? And I love him, August, I love him so much I don’t think I was made for anything else except to love him. And you deserve someone who loves you like that and I’m so sorry I can’t be that person. I’m so sorry.”

You dropped your face into your hands and continued to cry, partially from sadness, and partially from the weight that had at long last been lifted from your shoulders. If it weren’t for the sobs escaping your body, you’d probably say you could breathe a lot better.

August was silent as he continued to pace, his face contorted in deep thought, the same way he did when he was in the courtroom.

“Damnit, y/n,” he cursed under his breath shaking his head, “Damnit!”

“August, please…” you croaked.

“I’m not… mad because I’m mad,” he revealed, though his voice was still elevated. But he stopped his pacing to look at you then, his features shrouded in disbelief, “I’m mad because I can’t be mad.”

His last words had you now looking at him in confusion, and when he took note of it, he sat down at the table with a large sigh, reaching both of his hands out for yours. You gave them over, and he steadied their trembling with a tight squeeze.

“Look I’m not happy, y/n, in fact I’m quite the furthest thing from it,” his face softened, “but to tell you the truth, from the day I met you, all I ever wanted was to see you happy. Everything I’ve done, and been doing, is just so I can see you happy.”

“And you have made me happy, August,” you cried, “so very happy.”

“Just not as happy as this Jake guy makes you?”

You dropped your head without a word, giving him the answer to his gutting question.

“Baby, I love you,” he spoke up again, sounding exasperated and hopeless, “and I want to marry you. But knowing everything I know now, I don’t see how that would benefit either of us. Now I dont know this ‘Jake Kiszka’, or whatever the fuck,” you chuckled a bit at that, “but I can tell by the look in your eyes that he’s a whole lot more than just some childhood crush.”

He drew his hands away from yours and casted his gaze down at the table, “honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this look on your face when it came to me. But I guess that tells me everything I need to know.”

You scrambled to grab his hands again, the downtrodden look on his face sending daggers through your heart, “August, I’m so sorry…”

A small grin graced his face as he looked back at you, “don’t be. Like I said, your happiness matters most to me. And if he really makes you that happy, then who am I to stand in the way of that?”

You sniffled and nodded, wishing that you could show more appreciation for his understanding, but it was all you could muster at the moment.

August Cook would always have a special place in your heart. He came into your life at just the right time, and carried you in grace for as long as he could, making all your days a little brighter blue. And you loved him for it, you always would.

But God, were you in love with Jake Kiszka. And though there were many other people in your life who held shelter in the home of your heart, Jake would always and forever own it entirely.

August sat with your hands in his, allowing the rest of your tears to fall; carrying you in grace. And once the tears subsided, you both stood from the table, dinner long since forgotten.

“I- I’m gonna go stay with my mom for awhile. Give you a chance to figure out… what to do next.”

“Okay,” August whispered, and you could tell he was trying his hardest to hold back a few tears of his own. You stared at him momentarily before you engulfed him in a hug, pulling him tighter than you ever had before.

While his back was turned, you removed the engagement ring from your finger and slipped it into his pocket, not wanting to do it in his face, a knockout punch. And though he didn't see what transpired, he knew, and his grip on you tightened a bit more at the effect of it.

You pulled away and pressed your cheek to his, “thank you for everything,” you kissed him gently, “you’re an amazing man, August.”

He nodded, shoving his hand into his pocket to toy with the ring, “you take care of yourself, y/n.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You’d done enough driving in the past few days to last you a year. The drive back to your moms house felt like it’d never end, and the tears that returned and never left were no help. But finally, as you pulled off onto the narrow dirt path, the singular porch light on your moms quaint house was like the beacon calling you home.

The rest of the weight that rested on your shoulders fell off as you put the car in park. You slung the small bag of clothes you packed over your shoulder an trudged up to the door, hoping that you weren’t too late. But when you heard shuffling behind the door seconds after you knocked, your shoulders perked up.

When you saw her tired face on the other side of the door, you felt the sudden urge to drop your bags, fall into her chest and sob. So that’s exactly what you did.

She caught you in her arms and pulled you close, similar to the way August had done earlier. Your mom’s embrace was different though, while August’s signified an end, this hug with your mother felt like a beginning.

“The hard part is over,” she reassured you, petting a hand through your hair.

As of late, you were having a hard time accepting people’s words to be true, yours included.

But that night, as you stood soaking your mother’s shirt on her front porch, you believed that maybe, just maybe, she was right.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Chapter Thirteen

Taglist: @jakesgrapejuice @fretaganvleet @josh-iamyour-mama @why-ami-on-here @objectsinspvce @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock

[pikapeppa]

Garrus Vakarian x f!Shepard: Crick

Hello friends and loved ones: I am dipping my toe into Shakarian fic. Haven’t quite decided yet how much to commit to writing this pairing in detail, so here’s a little oneshot set just after the Horizon mission in ME2. ~2400 words. (Tumblr only for now, but I’ll post on AO3 if I decide to write more.)

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

Garrus sighed as he made his way to the main battery room. There was a stiff feeling in the left side of his neck and shoulder when he tilted his head, and he was annoyed by it. It was his own fault, really; he’d fallen asleep at his weapons modification table again last night and woken with this crick in his neck that wouldn’t go away.

It was one of those times when he really wished he could get a proper hammer massage. There was that one place on the Citadel that did real Palavenese massage, the good kind that you really felt vibrating all the way through your carapace into your bones, but Garrus wasn’t sure if Shepard would be ordering them back to the Citadel anytime soon.

It’s just a crick, he reminded himself. It could be so much worse. The fight they’d just gone through on Horizon had been… a tough one, to say the least. Any fight with an unfamiliar new enemy could be unnerving, but seeing that Harbinger thing jumping from body to body during the fight had almost been enough to make Garrus pause.

Almost, but not quite. Archangel never hesitated or missed his shot. 

He stepped into the main battery room and took a deep breath, then released it in a satisfied sigh. The air in here smelled like clean plastic and a hint of metal, and he savoured the relaxing smell just as he did every time he stepped into this room after a hard fight. 

He flicked on the monitors and cracked the joints in his fingers, then started his usual routine of checking the gun settings – a routine that was more for comfort now than necessity, if he was being totally honest. Cerberus might be a pack of crazies doing their twisted human experiments, but they sure made a mighty fine canon. 

He finished up his calibrating routine, and he was just about to move on to studying the Collector particle rifle that Shepard had salvaged when he heard the distinct beep-and-shunk of the door unlocking. A second later, the doors slid open, and Shepard stepped through. 

She nodded briskly. “Garrus. Just checking in. You doing okay after that fight?”

“I’m just fine, Shepard,” he assured her. “I was about to start looking at your new toy here, actually.”

“That’s great,” she said. “It looks like a powerful little piece of tech. Something we can turn to our advantage, you think?”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said. “There’s nothing I find more satisfying than using the enemy’s own weapons against them.”

A small smile crossed her face, just as he’d hoped it would. He hadn’t seen a smile on her face all day, not since the Collectors had gotten away with the population of Horizon’s colony. Kaidan’s angry lecture probably hadn’t helped things, either. 

She huffed and leaned an elbow on the weapons mod table. “That’s pretty bloodthirsty of you, Garrus.” 

“Bloodthirsty? Me? Never,” he said. “Thirsty for justice, on the other hand…”

She laughed — a husky rolling sound that always reminded him, for some reason, of brandy-filled chocolates. “What a line. Did your time on Omega inspire you to dip your toe into writing noir mystery novels?”

“What if it did?” he said playfully.

“Then I’d tell you stick to your dayjob,” she replied.

It was Garrus’s turn to chuckle. Shepard smiled at him once more, then straightened up and nodded at the particle rifle. “I know you just got started here, but I’m interested to see what you find. Mind if I watch you working for a while?”

“No problem,” he said. “Might ask you to throw up a barrier for your own protection, though. This thing doesn’t use conventional heat sinks. I’m not sure yet if it can even be fully turned off.”

She nodded and cast herself a barrier with a quick clench of her fist, and Garrus got to work studying the Collector rifle. He scanned it to build a schematic and explained the exploded view to Shepard, and she frowned thoughtfully and asked questions about the weapon’s uses and disadvantages, and all the while, as he often did, he wondered what she was really thinking. 

By any objective standards, it had been a bad day. They’d just watched most of a human colony get taken away by the Collectors. Her former lieutenant had accused her of crimes against her race right after a really tough fight, and when they’d boarded the Normandy once more, the Illusive Man had told her that he’d actually incited the Collectors to target Horizon. 

If Garrus was in Shepard’s place, he’d be vibrating with anger by now. But here she was, watching him dismantle a gun with the calmest look on her face. 

A solid half hour later, when he’d finished thoroughly surveying the rifle, he tapped his visor from its analysis mode back into its resting mode and looked at her. “I think that’s about all I’m going to do with this rifle for today. You need me for anything else?”

“Nothing else for now,” she said. “Thanks for the demonstration. I’ll talk to you later.” She stepped back toward the door. 

On a sudden whim, he opened his mouth. “Shepard, hang on a second.”

She turned back to him. “What is it?”

He hesitated. Now he was wondering if the question at the tip of his tongue was too personal. He and Shepard were friends, sure, but his question might touch a bit of a sore spot, given what had happened today. If Garrus knew anything about Shepard, it was that she wasn’t much of one for talking about her feelings when missions didn’t go as expected. Not that Garrus was a talky-feely sort of guy, either, but still… 

She raised her eyebrows expectantly, and he shook himself. He’d called her to turn around; he had no choice but to ask now. “Are you doing okay?” 

Her eyebrows rose higher. “Sorry?”

“This whole Collector business on Horizon,” he clarified. “I know it didn’t go down the way we wanted, and then with the Illusive Man being, you know… illusive.” He lifted his shoulders. “It can’t have been easy.”

Her blue-black eyes crinkled at the corners. “You worrying about me, Vakarian?” 

“A little, maybe,” he said. “You’ve only taken a dig at me once today.”

Another smile flashed across her face, but it was gone a second later, smoothed back into her usual businesslike expression. “I’m all right,” she said. “It’s a hit to have lost the colony, but we’ll save the next one. I’ll make sure of it.”

He nodded. “Seeing Kaidan was a bit of a shock, huh?”

She huffed and folded her arms. “It wasn’t ideal, but that’s the way it is. He’s got his mission, and we’ve got ours. We can’t lose our focus over personal feelings.”

Garrus nodded again. Everything she was saying was reasonable and true, and her calm attitude was envious, really. If Garrus was able to keep his calm like Shepard did… well, he’d tried to channel Shepard’s calm while he was on Omega, but it had only gotten him so far. Garrus had never known anyone, human or otherwise, who kept their cool all the time quite the way Shepard did. 

And yet, for some reason, he just… he wasn’t sure. Her manner struck him as a little bit off, somehow, like the feeling of the crick in his neck.

She lifted her eyebrows. “Anything else?”

“How do you do it?” he said bluntly.

She blinked. “Do what?”

“Keep it together all the time,” he said. “You never seem uncertain. You always seem to know what you’re doing, even if you can’t possibly know. I have to admit, I envy you,” he admitted. “How is it that you always manage to keep it together?”

She didn’t reply right away. Instead, she just stared at him without speaking, and Garrus started to feel a little awkward. It was hard to tell from the look on her face, but he thought that maybe she was… was she angry? Surprised? Bored, maybe? He couldn’t quite tell. Human expressions were usually easy to interpret, with their fleshy lips stretching and pouting and their eyebrows leaping up and down. But when Shepard was in her ‘commander’ mode, she could be so damned hard to read. 

She glanced at the closed door. Then, to his surprise, she walked over to him and sat in his chair. 

She raked her long black bangs back from her face and looked up at him. “You want to know my secret?” she said.

“Secret?” he said blankly. “To what?”

“To staying calm all the time,” she said. “Can I tell you my secret?”

“Um, sure,” he said. 

She leaned toward him, and he instinctively stooped down a bit to hear her better — a good thing that he did, since her voice was low and conspiratorial when she spoke. 

“I cry in the shower,” she said.

His guts twisted in a funny way. “What?”

She leaned back in his chair. “I cry in the shower,” she said. “When something really fucked up happens, I get in the shower at the end of the day and I cry like hell.”

He stared at her wordlessly. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected her to say, but it wasn’t this. 

A little smile curled the corners of her lips. “What’s wrong? Not the answer you were hoping to hear?”

“It’s — it’s not that,” he said. “I’m just, uh, surprised. You cry in the shower?”

“Yep,” she said. “Not bullshitting you, I promise. This is not a bet with Joker or anything like that.”

He tried to gather his wits. “So… what, you cry in the shower, and then you just… get back to being Commander Malin Shepard, saviour of the Citadel and resident Reaper conspiracist?”

She chuckled. “Exactly. It’s like a purge. Works perfectly every time.”

He nodded slowly, feeling like he needed some time to process this, and Shepard huffed and punched his arm in a friendly manner.  “Not so impressed with me anymore, huh?”

That wasn’t the problem. It wasn’t that he was unimpressed. But now he was actually worried about her. In all the time Garrus had known her, he had never once imagined her crying about anything. If what she was telling him was true, though…

Hang on. How often did she cry in the shower, exactly? No, he couldn’t ask that — it would definitely be overstepping. 

He scrambled to find a clever reply. “It’s not that,” he said. “Actually, I’m jealous.”

She laughed. “Jealous? Why?” Then her eyebrows rose. “Wait, can turians cry?”

“Sure,” Garrus said. “But we don’t do it often.”

“Is it hard for you to cry?” she asked.

“Well, the turian military doesn’t exactly encourage you to curl up in the corner for a little weeping time,” he said dryly.

She snorted. “Not what I meant. I was more wondering if, uh, since you have deep eye sockets, maybe your tears collect in there somewhere…?”

He flared his mandibles in amusement. “Tears don’t collect in a little reservoir under our eyes or something, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he drawled. “But yeah, we can cry. It just doesn’t happen much. Which leads me to the jealousy,” he added. “You get to sit in your shower crying whenever you feel like it? Forget the private cabin: that’s the real luxury of being the commander.”

She laughed again, more heartily this time, and the husky warmth of her laughter was such that Garrus could almost taste the sweet bite of brandy and bittersweet chocolate. “Well, if you ever want to try it sometime, let me know.”

“Try what?” he said. “Crying in the shower?”

“Yep,” she said. “You can borrow my private shower instead of using the shared showers down here, if you want. The walls are soundproof, so nobody can hear you wailing.”

For a split second, an image flashed across his mind: Shepard’s private shower. No, not just Shepard’s private shower: Shepard’s private shower, with Shepard in it. Shepard naked in the shower — what did her body look like under those clothes, he wondered? — and he, Garrus, joining her in the shower —

Wait. Wait a second. Why was he thinking about that? He shouldn’t be thinking about that. It was Shepard, for crying out loud: his friend and his CO. Who did he think he was, to imagine his human female CO naked in the shower? 

He scrambled to get his thoughts back on track. “I’ll, uh, let you know,” he said. “Might have to train my eyes how to cry, it’s been so long.”

She smirked. “Nice try, Vakarian. Something tells me you’re not quite that heartless.”

He chuckled — a little weakly, to be truthful, but Shepard didn’t seem to notice; she was rising from his chair with a smile. “Well, I should go. I’ll see you later.”

“See you later,” he echoed, and he watched her surreptitiously as she left the room. Once she was gone, he sat in his chair and closed his eyes. 

Crying in the shower… he honestly wouldn’t have guessed it. He’d expected her to give him some kind of encouraging advice or bolstering words of wisdom, like the sorts of things she said to the team before they set off on a mission. But somehow, hearing her say she cried in the shower was… interesting. It made him think about her in a different way. He was worried for sure, but also… comforted, somehow, to know that even Shepard got overwhelmed enough to cry. It seemed that under all that heavy N7 armour, she really was a regular person, too. 

Under all that heavy N7 armour… A flash of a thought projected itself on his closed eyelids: Shepard stripping off her armour, her slender human fingers raking her sweat-dampened bangs back from her face, the small bare patch at the nape of her neck where her short spiky hair faded into light golden-brown skin… 

He snapped open his eyes. Was he drifting off? He must be more tired than he thought. No other reason that he’d keep thinking about Shepard like this. 

He rose from his chair and rolled his shoulders, then clicked in his mandibles in annoyance as the crick in his neck announced itself once more. “Really could use a damned massage,” he muttered. Well, he’d just have to suck it up and wait until they got back to the Citadel.

In the meantime, he’d just have to cope with the strange nagging feeling of the crick in his neck.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

By My Side (Part 1)

Summary: While at home one night, the reader, an actress, is almost kidnapped and at her friend’s suggestion she hires Jensen as her bodyguard. While the pair doesn’t get along, an incident at the reader’s new home leads her and Jensen to taking a drastic measure...

Masterlist

Pairing: Bodyguard!Jensen x reader

Word Count: 3,900ish

Warnings: language, minor injury, attempted kidnapping, drugging

A/N: There will be no taglist for this series. Please check out the masterlist for posting dates/times. Enjoy!

_________

“Get the fuck off!” you said, kneeing the man that was halfway through dragging you down your stairs. You threw a punch and a kick, swinging more than a few times before the grip on you fell away and you booked it for the front door. You sprinted outside and down the driveway, dashing across the street and banging on your neighbor’s door. 

A light came on and you glanced over your shoulder, spotting the guy dressed in black and wearing a mask jog to the end of your driveway.

“Shit, shit,” you said, a strong arm grabbing you and yanking you inside before you could even turn back around. The door slammed shut after you and you took a deep breath, your neighbor standing there in his boxers, saying something to his wife in the background. 

“Y/N, are you okay?” said Jared. You straightened up and nodded, his eyes going wide. 

“Gen! Tell them she needs an ambulance too,” he said.

“I’m fine,” you said as he walked you to his kitchen and sat you down at the counter. Gen was in there, on the phone with the police it sounded like, as Jared went to a cupboard. He pulled out a red bag and then was walking back over with a wad of bandages, holding it up to your forehead. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” he said. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you said, pressing your hand to your head, seeing the half secured zip tie stuck on your other wrist. There were sirens in the distance and you shut your eyes.

“Hey, no sleeping. You might have a concussion,” he said.

“I’m not sleeping,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut. “Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” he said, the sirens getting louder before there were flashing lights in the window. Gen walked over to the front door, letting the police in. About four officers came inside, one of them immediately coming over to you.

“What’d he look like? How many?” he asked.

“Uh, all in black, with a mask. He was white I think from what I could tell. Maybe six foot, average build, strong. It was just the one as far as I know. Last I saw him he was at the end of the driveway before my neighbor let me in his house,” you said.

“You two, call it in for backup and start looking. Jones, get a full statement from these three. Start with the vic. Medics will want to look at that head,” he said. “Which house is yours?”

“Right across the street. Red front door,” you said. He left and the other cop in there pulled out a plastic bag from his back pocket.

“I need to cut that off for evidence,” he said, glancing at your wrist.

“Should we do anything?” asked Jared as the cop made a cut and bagged the plastic tie.

“I would keep pressure on that wound for the moment,” he said, writing on the bag and taking out a notepad and pen. “Alright. Let’s start from the beginning.”

“I was asleep less than ten minutes ago in my bed and I woke up to someone touching my arm and I found that tie thing on me and the guy tried grabbing my other arm but I rolled away. I got caught up in the covers while I was running away so he caught up to me in the hall outside my bedroom and I just started hitting what I could and then he tried to pull me downstairs and I hit him some more and then he let go and I ran over here.”

“How’d you sustain the head injury?” he asked.

“Well he was hitting me too when I started fighting back,” you said. “I was half-awake.”

“Okay. Sir, I’m going to need to ask you a few questions now.”

Three Hours Later

“Hey,” said Jared, setting a cup of tea down at his breakfast table. He rubbed your back and you sighed. “Rough night huh?”

“At least I don’t have a concussion,” you said, touching your butterfly bandages on your head.

“Police said your alarm wasn’t on.”

“So this is my fault?” you asked.

“No, I didn’t say that. I am saying that you and Gen have a very popular show together and if she didn’t have me around, I’d want her to have a bodyguard, maybe even full time,” he said.

“I have had this conversation with my manager multiple times. I’m not getting a bodyguard. For events and conventions, fine, I’ll have one. At work? In my life? No way,” you said.

“Y/N, you know I used to be in the army. Then I was a cop. Then I was on a SWAT team before I retired to become a stay at home dad,” he said.

“Yes. You’re an adorable scary badass. What’s your point?” you asked.

“When I worked SWAT, I worked a a few kidnapping cases. The honest truth is sometimes we don’t find you until it’s too late or we never do. It’s not like a movie. It’s not like your guys show and someone swoops in. No one shows up out of the blue to save you. You save yourself or you don’t get saved. Rarely do we get you out of that situation.”

“Again, what’s your point?”

“My point is whoever that person was, when they come back because they will come back, Y/N, and when they do, they’re not going to be that sloppy. They may drug you. They may knock you out. They could do a number of things but your chances of getting way again would be extraordinary. I love ya and I’ll always protect you. But next time, I might not be able to stop something bad from happening. You alone over there...I wouldn’t know until it’s too late.”

You were quiet, playing with the tea bag in your drink as he drank from his own mug.

“I don’t want a stranger coming into my home,” you said.

“Y/N, Gen and I want you to stay here for as long as you-”

“I meant a bodyguard, Jare. I don’t want somebody I don’t know to start coming into my life and controlling it.”

“I have a friend from my army days who does that kind of work. He’s between jobs at the moment. I’ll vouch for him,” he said.

“You’re not gonna give me a choice on this, are you,” you said.

“Gen and I are moving. A bigger place,” he said. “We think it’s a good idea if you had a change of scenery too.”

“You think she’s in danger too?”

“We don’t know but she’s five months pregnant. We don’t want to risk anything,” he said. “It’s just a thought.”

“Can...can I stay over here a few days? While I figure out what I want to do?” you asked.

“Yeah, of course, Y/N.”

Two Weeks Later

“I like the new place,” said Jared as he helped you carry in the last box. 

“It’s uh, a bit big,” you said. “But the owner wanted to sell fast and I wanted out of the other one fast so it worked out.”

“Seems like a lot of space for one person,” said the man walking in through the open front door. He was in a pair of dark jeans and a blazer, a tee shirt underneath. You stepped behind Jared but he chuckled. “Really Jare? Didn’t mention I’d be stopping by?”

“Y/N, this is my friend Jensen. I told you about him. You said you were interested in meeting him,” said Jared.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” said Jensen, holding out a hand.

“Y/N please,” you said as you shook it.

“I prefer to keep things professional,” said Jensen. “It’s easier that way. So, this is the new place, hm? Which room will be mine?”

“There’s a guest suite over on the first floor you can use,” you said.

“Where’s the master?”

“Upstairs.”

“Preferably I’d like to be in a room closer to yours,” he said.

“Fine. Take the guest room upstairs,” you said. “This is just a test run remember.”

“My contract says this is a six month test run,” he said as he looked around. “I see you’re still moving in so perhaps we can go over some of our new procedures in the morning.”

“Sure,” you said. 

“I’ll move in my belongings then,” he said. “I don’t have much.”

“Mhm,” you said. He nodded and headed back outside, Jared catching the look you gave him.

“What?” he asked.

“He’s gonna be a joy to live with,” you muttered.

“He’s quiet until you get to know him. I wouldn’t have recommended him if I didn’t trust him. He’s saved my life before. I know he’ll have your back,” said Jared.

“Yeah,” you said, his phone going off. “Jared, go. I know you’re already late for the baby checkup.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I only have boxes left to unpack anyways. Go on. I’ll talk to you guys later,” you said. He gave you a wave on the way out, leaving you to stare at the pile of boxes sitting on your kitchen floor. You cracked your back and started to work, catching Jensen move in a few duffel bags of his own. He left and wandered around outside eventually, allowing you to try and get the essentials all stored away.

By the time it was seven, you were exhausted but your bedroom, bathroom and kitchen were all set up. You plopped down on the couch, closing your eyes. They blinked open when you felt a presence standing over you.

“I’ve done a review of the property. I’d like to have an upgraded security system installed tomorrow,” he said.

“Whatever. Just put it on the card my manager gave you,” you said.

“I’d also like to consider hiring an additional person to monitor the system at some point. They can be remotely based,” he said.

“Like I said, whatever,” you said, closing your eyes again.

“I assume I have access to use the kitchen as I desire,” he said.

“No smoking. No drugs. No random hookups you bring here and as long as you don’t bug me and stay away from my ice cream, we’ll be fine,” you said.

“I can agree to that. As long as you follow my rules, we’ll also be fine,” he said. You laughed and sat up, walking to the kitchen to find your phone. “Do you think that’s funny?”

“I think the fact you think you’re going to be making rules in my home that I paid for is very funny,” you said. You took the phone to check on the pizza and wings you ordered for yourself, Jensen walking over and stopping in front of you. “Can I help you?”

“You are paying me a very large sum of money to keep you safe. If you don’t listen to what I say then I can’t guarantee your safety,” he said.

“Let me get something clear. I’m doing this to appease my friends and manager. Do whatever you want around here but don’t start telling me how to live my life,” you said.

“I took this job as a favor,” he said, snatching your phone out of your hand and tossing it on the countertop behind him. You scowled and he walked forward, forcing you to back up until your back hit a wall.

“Dude, backoff.”

“Pretend I’m that man that tried to take you before. What do you do? Right here and now. What’s your plan?”

“I’m serious,” you said, trying to brush past him and getting a light shove into the wall for it. You glared at him but he held his ground, pushing you again when you moved.

“I’m serious. Tell me what your plan is. Better yet, show me,” he said. 

“I don’t care if you are Jared’s friend. I am this close to punching you. Move now.”

“I said show me.”

You narrowed your eyes and brought up your knee to hit him in the groin. He pushed it away before it connected though and you were off balance, Jensen grabbing you and yanking you away from the wall, putting you in a headlock and tugging your arms behind your back.

“Don’t go for the most obvious move in the world,” he said. “Now that didn’t go how you wanted it to. What’s the plan now?”

“Get off,” you growled, trying to stomp your foot down on his but he moved it back and kicked out your ankle, making you fall back against him. He picked you up and you started moving your legs, Jensen suddenly dropping you down onto the hardwood floor. You hit your knee and winced, a hand suddenly grabbing the back of your shirt. “Alright! I get the fucking point.”

“Do you?” he said, squatting down beside you. You tried pushing his hand away but it tightened and you tried throwing a punch, his grip almost too hard now and his free hand easily blocking the hit. “You have no plan. You’re too small and too weak to overpower someone. You can’t afford to have no plan. The thing is, when it’s real, you’ll be panicking and you’ll have no time at all to think of one.”

“Stop touching me unless you want me to call the cops on you,” you spat out. He moved his hand away and stood, staring back at you.

“You need to do what I tell you if you want to stay safe. I will teach you what to do if you’re in that situation for whatever reason. But the rules keep that situation from happening in the first place. Understand?” he said.

“Understand that you are fired as of now. Pack up your shit and get out of my house,” you said. You got to your feet and he raised an eyebrow. “I’m your boss and I can fire you whenever I want. Get out.”

“How on earth Jared is friends with a someone like you I will never understand,” he said. He headed upstairs and the doorbell rang. You forced a smile for the delivery guy and took your food back to the kitchen, digging in before Jensen was even tossing his first bag down the stairs. You rolled your eyes and were on your third slice by the time he was walking downstairs.

“Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,” you said. He shot you a dirty look, his head cocking as he set his bag down. “Oh now what?”

“You look really pale,” he said, walking over to you. “Your pupils are huge.”

“You know what else? You are so not as hot as you think you are,” you said, reaching for another piece of chicken before he smacked your hand. “You are this close to me calling...someone.”

Your head got dizzy for a second, Jensen grabbing your arms and setting you down on the ground.

“I feel funny,” you said, tipping over and resting against him. “Really, really funny.”

“You just got drugged,” he said, using his phone to dial a number. “No more takeout. Got it? Obviously this person knows you moved. I want to put someone at the house full time.”

“I’m gonna fall asleep now,” you said, shutting your eyes.

“No, nope, try to stay awake,” he said. You hummed and he grabbed your face. “Y/N. Try.”

“You’re really pretty for a grumpy grump,” you said.

“I thought I wasn’t hot. Just stay awake for me, Y/N,” he said.

Twenty minutes later you were in the ER with an IV in your arm and feeling a whole lot of crappy. Jensen said something to a doctor before he walked over to the stall you were in and stood by the bed.

“Hey. Police are at your house. Neighbor said they saw a silver pickup parked down the street. Seemed shady. It was gone by the time they got there,” he said.

“Course it was,” you mumbled.

“You more with it again?” he asked.

“Yeah. Feel really tired is all,” you said.

“Well I called your manager. He said he’d be here soon so I’m gonna head out,” he said.

“Huh?” you said, sitting up as he started to leave. “Wait.”

“Last I remember, you fired me. Nothing has changed,” he said. “Goodnight.”

“Wait,” you said, grabbing his wrist, the effort taking more energy than you were anticipating. He didn’t shrug you off, instead gently setting your hand back in your lap and pushing you to lay back down.

“You should rest. There’s a cop outside the room,” he said.

“Stop. Just...sit down,” you said. He sighed but sat on the edge of the bed, raising an eyebrow. “How could somebody already know where I moved? Hardly anyone knows.”

“You rent a moving truck?” he asked.

“Yeah. Movers did the furniture,” you said. He shrugged and you shut your eyes. “The movers?”

“No, probably not them. But that truck probably has GPS for mileage tracking and if this person has your credit card info, they could figure it out,” he said. “The food thing probably happened back at the restaurant you ordered from. Somebody slips in the backdoor, puts some stuff on your food and slips back out.”

“What’s your suggestion?”

“I don’t work for you anymore.”

“Let’s pretend earlier didn’t happen. Please,” you said. “I can’t...I can’t be alone right now and something feels really off about this whole thing.”

“This whole thing has felt off the second Jared told me about it. Tonight just further proved that point,” he said.

“You were in the army longer than he was, right?”

“He decided to retire, go be a cop. I stayed in. Worked on a few more specialized skills a bit longer before I left and got in this line of work,” he said.

“I’m going to assume you know what you’re doing then.”

“Yeah. I know what I’m doing. I can’t guarantee anything but I can give you some pretty damn good odds,” he said. He stared at you for a moment and looked you over. “You’re smarter than the stereotypical actress I pegged you for.”

“It had to have been someone on my team or that’s close to me in order to know that I was moving,” you said. “Or else the person never would have known to look today.”

“Someone that knows your go to takeout place too. You need to be extremely careful about who you trust right now,” he said.

“I trust Jared and Gen,” you said.

“I trust the guy with my life. I’d trust him with yours. Gen is fiesty when you piss her off but you’re her best friend. They didn’t do this.”

“Your expert opinion, what’s my next move?” you asked. He rubbed the back of his neck and made a face. “Jensen.”

“Ideally? You go off grid. I mean off grid, off grid. Middle of nowhere, no one knows where exactly. Cut yourself off and it’d give us more time to figure out who this person is and what exactly it is they want with you. If they’re as close as we think they are, they’ll find a way to sneak in again and next time, it might be my food that’s drugged. It’s a big risk to go back to the house.”

“I can’t go be alone though. What if they did find me somehow?” you asked.

“I said off grid. I didn’t say alone,” he said. “It’s an extreme approach, I’ll give you that. But it gives me more time to work on this and it’ll keep you safe.”

“Why not hire a bunch of guys to stay around me all the time?”

“Because you’re still in danger if you stay in LA and I don’t have the ability to check that many guys out. I got guys I know I can trust but they’re all over the country and the only other one here is Jared and Gen needs him. No offense but she’s got a kid with another on the way. More bodies means more priority,” he said.

“No, no. Please keep them safe too. If it’s a fan of the show, they could be in the same situation,” you said.

“I’m not going to try and tell you what to do because obviously, you weren’t a fan of me doing that before. But if you want to be able to sleep safely at night, we need to go, just you and me. Jared and Gen can know but that’s it and I mean that’s it. I can secure a safe place and everything we’ll need. But it’s going to be a drastic lifestyle change.”

“How drastic?”

“Like no internet and our electricity will run off a generator drastic.”

“If I stay here?”

“I give it a week tops before they try something again,” he said.

“We wrapped two weeks back and since Gen’s pregnant, we aren’t slated to start filming for another seven months. I’ll have to cancel some events but if I was ever going to go off grid, now’s the time to do it.”

“I will get it arranged. Do not speak a word of this to anyone,” he said.

“Jensen,” you said as he stood. “What was that back at the house? You acting all aggressive like that?”

“The last client I had, I was lenient, never taught them anything, let them push me around and dictate how I worked. They got put in a bad situation because of that. If you don’t take this seriously, then what’s the point of me being here.”

“Well wherever we go, I’m gonna need a few things. Women stuff,” you said.

“Make a list and tomorrow, pack a bag,” he said. “I want us on the road tomorrow night. I don’t care what you tell your team about why you’ll be MIA. Just tell them something so we don’t get a missing persons report on you.”

“Alright,” you said, Jensen nodding and starting to leave. “Wait. Where are you going?” 

“I need to start preparing. Like I said, there’s a police officer by the door.”

You stared at him and he took a deep breath.

“How about he stays in the room with you until we’re ready to go home and get what we need, okay?” he said.

“Okay,” you said.

“Hang tight. When you’re up for it, we’ll get out of here.”

_____

A/N: Read Part 2 here!

[hopeamarsu]

Hello m'lady! I'm so excited to see you're accepting prompts! If this strikes your fancy, may I request : “What happened to us?” and “I can be your reason why.” for our Frankie??? ANGST HOTEL HERE WE COME...MAYBE?!? Thank you for your time 💚🌿💚

My darling lady, I'm so happy to get your request! 💚

One huge dose of angsty Frankie coming right up. Oh, this one has a happy ending too. I hope you enjoy this, I'm sending a lot of hugs your way.

I can be your reason why

Frankie Morales x gn!reader

Word count 1,4k

Warnings: Hospitals, accident, mention of drunk driver, mention of death (Frankie was in the army), angst, sad sad sad, pining, hopeful ending

The room is so white, right down to the bedsheet that covers your lower half.

The white machines hooked on your body, keeping a check on vitals and making sure you are fine, look like something out of a sci-fi film for Frankie. He hates that he has to see them in multitudes as well as the monitors above your bed drawing lines as you breathe and your heart pumps blood and medicine all over your body, healing you.

To say he’d been surprised to get the call from the hospital at 4 in the morning was an understatement when he’d been shocked to the core. Ever since you had had a big fight with him all those months ago, something that was still unsettled and gnawed at his guts, Frankie had been certain he’d been crossed off the list for good and he had only himself to blame.

He had tried to scrub the yelling, the insults, and the low blows out of his mind, but every time he’d glance at his phone and see his wallpaper of you and his daughter smiling together and it would all come back.

“Fuck you, Frankie! I can’t believe you out of all the people would say this! You were supposed to be my friend!”

“Cariño, please…”

“NO! No Frankie, just no. You’ve gone too far this time.”

“Please, please let me explain. Please.”

“Absolutely not. I heard you loud and clear the first time Francisco and, God, what happened to us? Where did we go wrong? I thought you’d… I thought you understood… I thought...”

He can still hear the sniffles, feel the pain in his stomach as he watches you slam the door on his face on the film reel in his mind, and the desperation that creeps up his spine as his texts and calls go unanswered for weeks. He remembers asking the guys to call you and the mountain of ice spreading through his veins when Will told him that you had blocked his number and didn’t want him to contact you.

Frankie contemplated going to your house after that, but what good would it do? He was broken, beaten and lying breathless on the ground. Nothing would help him rise from there. Definitely not you. He is still all those things and more because he doesn’t have you beside him to weather out the stormy seas.

Getting cut off from you hurt him on levels he had trouble comprehending. Frankie had gotten used to you being around, comfortable in the knowledge that you had always been there as his friend and would always be there and that was his grave mistake.

All those moments in the playground swing back in teenage years when he escaped the yelling and shouting in his house, turbulent times in college where he began experimenting with his sexuality and life all the way to his high-risk career in the Army, the coke rap and losing his lady to another man. You had always been there for him.

You had been his rock and his most ardent supporter, Santi hot on your heels but never reaching the level of trust and intimacy you shared with Frankie. All the times he fucked up, needed a shoulder to cry on or a couch to sleep off his desire to go out and find one of his bad habits for a visit, you opened your door to help him. And what had he done for you? Fuck all but trouble and heartbreak and pain in measures he can never pay back.

He hangs his head, his ballcap twisted between his fists as he wrings the fabric to give himself something to do. He would do anything, everything to take back the last 3 and half months and just hold you tight and tell you that he believes in you and will stand by you in all the ways you want him.

But you are sleeping, eyes closed, hooked up to all the machines that monitor your body and Frankie cannot do that. He’s not sure if he’s even allowed to touch you, because just being in the same room as you without your permission feels like an invasion of sorts.

“Cariño, if you can hear me, I am so sorry. I’m so sorry for all the words, all the insults thrown in your face and all the pain I’ve caused you. I wish… I wish I could take it all back.”

He whispers, placing his hand next to you where it lays on top of the bedsheet. The difference between them shocks him still, your elegant fingers next to his calloused and battered ones. The way your skin is unmarred by scars where he has all these silver lines criss-crossing his knuckles.

Taking care to avoid the IV line, he gently moves your hand into his and sighs at the first connection in months. The softness of your hand against his roughness is still something out of a dream; how something so beautiful and lovely and gorgeous could ever want something so dark, drenched in the blood of people he’s killed and lost count of is a mystery Frankie never hopes to have to solve.

Like a thief in the night, he steals yet one more moment with you as he squeezes your hand gently. And like a greedy one too, he rises from the creaky plastic hospital chair and kisses your forehead, pushing his luck a little further. Frankie begins talking, his deep timbre bouncing off the walls as he tells you stories you’ve heard a thousand times already but which bring him comfort.

His thumb strokes your knuckles softly, a soothing gesture more for him than you, while he continues telling you things. Time ticks by and Frankie’s voice grows tired and gravely, but he refuses to stop. He talks about Will, Benny and Santi, the ways all of them get together weekly and he talks about Olivia, his pride and joy, and how she grows and how she misses you. How he misses his friend.

The tone tinges with sadness as Frankie starts to talk about your accident and what has happened in the past couple of days. “They caught him, the drunk bastard that ran the red light. He’s in custody and the traffic cameras have him on tape. You are not going to have to see him, he’ll be locked up for a good time. You just need to get better, cariño, so you can kick my ass in softball again and tell me Oreos taste superior when dunked in cold milk.”

He takes a deep breath, blinking away to keep his raw emotions hidden. Had you not changed your medical info and your contact in case of emergency details, he wouldn’t even be here with you, known about your accident, and the mere idea breaks him, wounds him deep. He hides his tears in his sleeve as he tries to gather himself up again. Frankie needs to be strong now, you have a long recovery ahead of you and he will do his best to help you.

“Te amo, mi corazón y mi alma. Por favor, vuelve a mi. I want to kiss you and tell you I belong to you, that I love you more than as a friend. You hold my heart already and I will gladly give it to you if you come back to me. Smile for me again. I can be your reason why, I’ll do anything to see your soft lips grinning at me, with me...” It becomes too much and Frankie folds in half, draping his upper body on the bed as he cries uncontrollably.

He doesn’t know how long he weeps, the seconds and minutes all blurring together as the sleeves of his shirt go from damp to soaked but he doesn’t care. Frankie loves you and he almost lost you for good and he cannot hold it in anymore. He loves you and he needs to tell you.

He’s so deep inside his mind that he doesn’t recognize the weight on top of his head first. But when fingers card through his locks repeatedly and the motion registers, he’s shocked into reality. Frankie lifts his head carefully, eyes blurry and almost afraid of what he will see.

Your eyes are droopy but the small upturn of the corners of your lips as you regard him softly forces another sob from his chest and it takes all of his willpower not to kiss you right then and there. Your hand doesn’t stop moving as you look at each other in silence, fingers in his curls and Frankie is finally back home, breathing freely.

His lips move, though no sound comes out, telling you te amo over and over again.

Everything taglist @clydesducktape @wayward-rose @themuseic @miraclesabound @clydesfavoritegirl @a-true-janian-reply @10blurredsmoke10 @caillea @mind-p0llution @mariesackler

[spvce-cowboy]

could you put these together with javi? i got them from one of the pomrpt lists!!! thank you!

when one of them is hurt by the antagonist… and their lover goes… absolutely ballistic and does everything in their power to get to the person they love, to the point in which the antagonist and it’s crew have to physically restrain them… and it still doesn’t stop them… they jsut keep kicking… doesn’t matter what happens to them… doesn’t matter if they get beaten in the process… as long as their lover is safe…

when they haven’t seen each other for a while (bonus point if they’re not sure the other one is alive) and all this time they’ve been trying to stay strong, but when they reunite, they crash into each other’s arms, and completely breakdown…

anon ur speaking my language here

warnings below the cut: cannon-typical violence, painkiller usage

--

javi spits out the blood in his mouth before turning his gaze back up at the sicario crouched before him.

it lands on the dirt floor of the basement with a wet sound. the sicario’s eyes--so strung-out that his pupils have been reduced to twin pinpricks of black against his sickly green irises--flick down to the puddle of red-black liquid before resuming his scan of javi’s face.

“the girl means a lot to you, huh?” the sicario has an all-too-familiar texan drawl, long blond hair stringy with the gel.

“where the fuck is she.” he grits out the same mantra he’d been repeating since he broke down the back door of the warehouse. the same mantra he’d repeated as he fought off two of the men, shooting one of them in the foot (twice) before he was overwhelmed by the other guards. the same mantra he repeated as they forced him to the ground, kicking his ribs until breathing was an issue. didn’t matter. he kept fighting regardless. it took two men to twist his arms behind his back like this, both of whom he got a jab or two against before they wrestled him to the ground.

“think that’s it. she your little play-thing? didn’t realize men like you still got hot for teacher.” the sicario cocks his head like a dog might, itching behind his ear with his glock in mock-thought. “though i suppose the whores get old after a while. y’know where we grabbed her? the fucking library. the whole sweet and innocent shick must really get your rocks off.” he laughs. a cruel, sharp bark. javi didn’t understand the meaning of blind rage until this moment.

“i’ll fucking kill you,” javi grits his teeth as one of the men restraining him twists his shoulder back even further. “i swear to god if you laid a hand on her i’ll--”

the sicario makes a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, rolling his eyes and standing, as if even the suggestion was insulting. “not my style,” he pauses for a second, then gestures to one of the men holding javi down. “bull, however, if i decide to give him the chance...”

javi doesn’t register the surge of energy that has him attempting to struggle to his feet again. he only processes being pushed flush with the floor again, the sharp crack of pain that rolls through him enough to still the breath in his throat.

“i can get you money,” it’s hard to speak around the blood flooding his mouth but he manages. “money, information, whatever you want. whatever the fuck you want. just tell me where--”

the windows break all at once. javi stays flush against the group as the weight on top of him lifts, the sound of gunfire loud enough to have his hearing go to nothing more than a dull whine.

he doesn’t know how much time passes before someone rolls him onto his back. he coughs, something warm and wet covering his chin and rolling down the sides of his neck. someone’s voice is speaking to him, urgently, as a bright light is shone into his eyes but it’s nothing more than a murmur over the high-pitched tone bouncing through his skull. he thinks he might be saying something, might be trying to blindly bat the flashlight away because it hurts and he keeps trying to blink away the fuzzy haze that has settled over his vision. the world goes dark without warning.

--

you wake up in a hospital bed, heavy eyelids sliding open as your head rolls to the side. for a second you can do nothing more than take in deep lungfuls of air and listen to the steady beeping of the monitor to your right.

the painkillers getting pumped into your arm renders your tongue thick and heavy in your mouth, your throat dry enough that you can barely croak out a small: “javi” without wincing.

there’s a cool hand against your forearm, giving you a reassuring pat. you have to blink a few times before the nurse’s kind face comes into focus.

“he’s alright,” she tells you. her spanish, soft and sing-song and warm with relief, is as much as a reassurance as the hand she has on your forearm. something in you automatically relaxes. you think it’ll be a while before you can hear an american accent again without something within you curling in on itself with fear. without warning, the sicario’s face reappears in your memory, a jolting enough apparition that you squeeze your eyes shut again, flinching. the nurse notices, her voice growing even calmer. “he’s alright. resting, but alright. go back to sleep, you need your strength right now.”

you comply, though it’s not really a choice on your behalf. you just blink again and suddenly all other sounds fade, your eyelids sliding shut.

--

they make you down a meal of saltines and apple-juice before javi can come into the room. 

you can see javi’s silhouette on the other side of the small pane of glass above the doorknob as you patiently work your way through the packet of crackers. you can’t help the loopy smile that overtakes your face while you see the silent movements of him arguing with the nurse outside. the frustrated way he throws his hands up and then starts pacing small circles in front of the closed door.

when you finish nursing the small box of juice that they gave you, the nurse who was helping you unwrap the saltines’ plastic sheaths--your hands too shaky to manage on your own, which was a bit embarrassing--stands and opens the door just wide enough to slip through. 

you wait, entire body stilling as the two of them speak quietly outside, the monitor beside you betraying the beat of your hear. your breath catches in your throat as you see the knob turn down. it hesitates for a second before the door swings open.

you nearly start weeping when you see him. he looks panicked, wide-eyed and scanning you from the other side of the room as if you were about to break at any second. you swallow, opening your mouth to begin saying his name and--

javi crosses the distance between the threshold and your bedside in two long strides. you do your best to sit up to meet him half way, ignoring the whirring series of beeps that the monitors release with the movement. you collapse against him, his arms folding you against his chest with a touch gentle enough to demonstrate he at least absorbed at least some of whatever the nurse told him. you can practically feel the restraint it takes him not to crush you to him in reassurance that you were actually here. that this wasn’t some delusional mirage. he peppers the top of your head with kisses, one of his hands gently cupping the side of your face. his are shaking as much as yours are.

you don’t realize you’re crying until you pull back to look at him, cupping your palms against his cheeks and searching every feature, every new inch of swollen bruising, the stitches collected just above his brow that will no doubtably form a new scar for you to kiss before the two of you fall asleep each night.

“i’ve got you,” he breaths, closing his eyes and gently leaning his forehead against yours. your thumb swipes the under-eye of the unbruised side of his face as you look at him with relief, feeling truly safe for the first time in weeks. “no matter what. fuck i-- you--” 

you cut him off with a kiss, something that’s both hungry and reassuring. he sinks against your mouth as he gathers you against the warmth of his body once more.

and it feels like home. it always will.

--

requests are open !

[logan-is-noggin]

Beneath these wings: chapter 7

Summary: Roman and Virgil have a long-awaited conversation.

----------🧠🌩️---------

the pounding in virgils forehead seemed to be in sync with the pulsing of the heart monitor. That's what initially pulled him back into consciousness. the room was dim, the lights on his side of the room were off but the other half and the doorway into the hall were on and open. his neck cracked as he turned to look around. footsteps came closer and Virgil was ready to see Logan's worried face, but instead, he saw... Romans?

" what.. wheres" virgils voice was dry, so roman grabbed the plastic cup of water and held it out for him to take. after he set it down and deeply breathed for a minute, followed by a yawn " what are you doing here?" he asked. there wasnt any hate in his voice but genuine curiosity.

" Actually, logan called me. after you were taken back. He's really worried about you. so was I." he admitted.

virgil frowned and his fist slammed down on the bed in a huff. " im so stupid! and weak. I can't do anything right, im so fucking defective, i-"

roman grabbed at his arm and forced Virgil to meet his gaze. " hey! you're not defective. sure, you handled your trauma this way and it's going to take time for you to unlearn it all. but remember that just cause you slip up once in a while isn't the end of the world."

"but it could!" Virgil slapped his hand over his mouth, realizing that the words came out louder than they probably should, given the early hour.

" it could be the end. if I hadn't called logan? I would have bled out on the bathroom floor. " he wiped his eyes as tears fell. he shook his head as he tried to rid the thoughts of his husband finding his body on the bathroom floor.

" where- where is he? " Virgil asked after he calmed himself. " I lent him my car. I told him to go home, just to clean up and get some sleep, but I doubt he'd rest with you here. " Virgil nodded. agreeing that even when they weren't in a crisis logan would stay up late hours on a usual basis.

" Did he tell you about what happened? " he tried to avoid looking at roman, now feeling like he overreacted to such a minuscule thing

" he did, but you can tell me your side if you want." he shrugged

Virgil shook his head " I just feel so stupid. we only had ivy for three months."

" that makes no difference, you're clingy to start with, vee, and animals have a way of getting us to love them like that " he snapped his fingers.

I know you feel you didn't handle things well, but when someone is in the heat of the moment, we don't always take time to think things through."

virgil slumped in the bed but nodded.

romans phone buzzed and he answered it. " hey, yeah he's awake. " he saw Virgil sit up more in the bed. but Roman didn't hand the phone over as he expected. " okay, ill tell him, see you soon." he put the phone down and informed, "he's on his way back."

Virgil slumped a bit " he didn't want to talk to me?" he asked

" im sure he did, but he was driving. he's probably thinking of speeding to get back to you" roman offered.

----------🧠🌩️---------

they were silent for a moment but then Virgil got the courage to ask " did you ever notice? when we were together? what i was doing?"

roman sighed as he sat down, water welling in his eyes but he blinked them away " no. I didn't, not until the first time you were brought here. and I hate myself for not noticing. I know why you did, cause you never felt good enough for me, but why didn't you ever tell me you were hurting?"

Virgil frowned " because back then, I didn't think you would care. honestly, I just thought you dating me was one of your 'charity stunts' as you called them. and that if I said anything about being the least bit unhappy, that you'd dump me then and there and i-" he held himself "I didn't want to be alone. at the time, id rather be miserable than have no one"

Roman opened his mouth to respond, but a nurse knocked at the door and they both turned. the nurse came in followed by logan. virgil smiled involuntarily. logan nodded to roman as he handed back his keys." thanks. for everything." roman turned back to Virgil, he wanted to tell him that 'no, he wasnt dating him for charity, that he truly loved him...' but it wasnt the time to say that, not anymore. " I guess ill talk to you guys later," he said as he turned and left.

logan and Virgil sat in silence while the nurse checked his blood pressure and drew some blood. " im sorry, that I wasnt here when you woke up."

"It's alright lo-" his voice started growing thick. " we shouldn't even be here again. im so stupid! I wasnt thinking!"

" Shhh, shh love, don't blame yourself. what you did, how you respond to being upset is ingrained through mental trauma, you cant expect it to be resolved quickly, I don't mean to be blunt, but you could be dealing with symptoms your whole life."

virgil nodded, " picani mentioned that. but I still hate that I did this to me, and you. all because of an animal I knew for, what? a few months at most?"

logan took virgils hands in his and kissed his forehead. " love, you gave Ivy a home and made her feel safe and loved. That's all any pet would want out of life. the fact that hers was cut tragically short is out of our control. but while we had her, you, and admittedly, I thrived. I've seldom seen you happier when we three were together. im sorry that my moving her things out of sight triggered you,"

the sun was just beginning to rise and Virgil yawned into his sleeve. " you need some rest, we both do." Virgil attempted to scoot over in his hospital bed to make room but Logan shook his head " I don't think the staff would like that very much." logan ended up moving the armchair closer to the bed so Virgil could at least hold his hand while he fell asleep.

----------🧠🌩️---------

breakfast came and went and logan had called Patton and parker to explain the situation to them, though Virgil winced every time Patton mentioned coming home early. " you two need your time together, don't let my stupidity ruin your vacation. to which Patton started off. " im going to fight you if you keep talking down about yourself Mr sanders."

the doctor came in and logan and Virgil said their goodbyes. " - it is a precaution we take with cases like virgils. he's been to the er, admitted twice this month for self-inflicted wounds. its ultimately up to Virgil, but our recommendation is that he seek inpatient treatment at a psychiatric facility." the doctor handed Virgil a pamphlet " this is a place we work closely with that is the closest in our county, but there are other options I can call if you prefer." with that, the doctor left them to discuss.

" Really? im not insane, they really want to lock me up?" logan placed a hand on his husband's shoulder. " it's not like that, virge, treatment facilities are a lot more humane than what people say. It's just so you can get around-the-clock care and treatment, these doctors would be much more suited to help you find better ways of coping than dr picani or I could."

virgil flipped through the page, showing a picture of what looked like a courtyard, and a small library, attendants smiling, posed.

" but I would be away from you for so long. I don't know if I could handle it."

" you would get to call me a few times a week, and we could set it up I could make sure our friends are with me so you can speak with them as well. I believe you could really benefit."

virgil flipped back and forth through the booklet, sighed, and nodded " ill do it. for you."

Read chapter 8 ->

[bibliocratic]

I come bearing a sort-of fic idea! (Only if you feel inspired to use it, of course 😊) Back in ep 101, Martin figures out that/where the Stranger has taken Jon, and goes all BAMF to save him, using either Web powers or his developing Backup Archivist powers to do it. (Dealer's choice) Some of that sweet sweet emotional h/c...

Dearest anon, this fic has been so long in the writing, and it’s only distantly related to what you asked for. Hope you like it regardless. :)

Set in an S3 AU, implied JonMartin. Tim-centric.

Content warnings for strongly implied graphic violence, canonical S3 captivity and imprisonment, hospitals and hospitalisation.  Rated T for language and implied violence

Jon’s skittering, sprawl-legged slam against the archive door startles Tim from the shadowed walkways of his reveries.

The tilted legs of his chair thump back in a slap to the floor. Almost physically wrenched into the now, there’s a snapback to Tim’s spine, a vice-clench knot tightening in his jaw. His mood cranking up from frosty to furious.

“The fuck?” he barks at the intrusion. His snarling primed with teeth, his temper clawed to rend. He’s up and standing, whereas Jon’s practically handing off the door handle, the impact of his arrival almost knocking his legs out like ten pins from under him. An ugly, airless heaving of his chest. His eyes bloodshot, wild. In the weeks since Tim saw him, his hair has grown out unwashed and limp. His skin shimmering wrong in the light in a way that’s oddly greasy.

He’s a shattering mannequin of a man tending to ruin but Tim’s long pared down his own capacity for compassion. He loads up his questions in their chambers, and he knows where to place emphasis, where to press at the bruising, the soft-tissue targets; where the hell have you been, oh wait, don’t fucking bother, why would you even tell us anything anyway huh, because you don’t even trust us. So why the bloody hell should we care where you go galivanting off to for weeks without a word, fine by us, just fucking peachy.

“Martin,” Jon rasps out finally. His words floundering beached in his mouth, and Tim has never seen this particular mania, this bruise-sick shade of pathetic desperation. “T-tim, please, help, please, god, i-i-it’s Martin.”

Jon’s spasming, quivering hands are staining brown with blood.

-

“He wouldn’t have just left! Not – not like – like this!”

“You mean without saying anything. Not sharing with the class. I dunno, Martin, sounds exactly like something he’d have done. Classic Jon.”

“I’m telling you, something’s wrong!”

“Ha – everything’s wrong. Narrow it down.”

“You know what I mean! Something’s… He should be here, is all I’m saying, and Elias, well he’s useless but he – he knows something, I’m sure of it. We have to do something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! Find him!”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found. Huh, what about that? Maybe he’s finally managed to fuck off and leave here, legged it and left the rest of us to rot.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“We should – ”

“No. No, listen, Martin. This isn’t a team sport. Jon made his choice to go this alone. If he’s gone off somewhere, then that’s on him. There’s no ‘we’.”

“There used to be.”

-

Martin didn’t come in for work, and Tim assumed he’d left. Just like Jon.

He’d stewed in that betrayal, pacing lupine and furious, bricking up the walls of himself with his self-righteous anger. Because he’d been right, hadn’t he, he’d been vindicated in his bitterness, because of course Martin had left scurrying after Jon, of course there was never any loyalty to Tim despite his pretensions to their friendship. Of course, Martin hadn’t fucking stayed, and Tim was glad he was gone, free of his nagging and needling and whining.

Tim was acquitted in all his furies, every one of his poisonous doubts. The rose-thorns of his betrayals tore deeper, and he let the wounds fester.

-

Elias arrives in the aftermath.

Jon collapsed not too long ago. Shock and dehydration and whatever the hell happened to him threaded through him like blood poisoning. He’d babbled to the ambulance crews, his tongue a senseless oracle of clowns and skin and blood. They’d given him a shock blanket, the foil treating the light around them erratically, but he kept shaking it off and trying to stand, dressed in grubby boxers, an overlong coat, the fabric worn to grey at the pockets and stretched to billowing at the chest, clearly belonging to Martin.

It was hard for Tim to hate him like that, even as he’d barked at Jon to stay down. Jon’s face a theatre mask of ghoulish blood, begging the paramedics to help Martin, manic and spiralling.

The old bastard had had a heart after all.

There’s a bank of chairs outside the part of the ward where they’re keeping Jon. He’s pin-cushioned with IV’s, a set of machines monitoring his vitals. He wakes fitfully, and every waking is a pitiful confusion before he sinks back under.

Martin’s still in surgery.

Elias, deigning to leave his ivory tower, his face formed in an impeccable replica of concern. He wants to speak to Jon. To have, as he put it, ‘a private word’. He talks a precisely ordered stream of bullshit in his infuriatingly reasonable tone, about all this being such a terrible tragedy, such a blow to their little family, if only they’d known. Poor Martin, of course, what a horrible ordeal, we’ll naturally help him with recovery, cover any time off, no expense considered.

Tim watches his mouth move, and knows in his gut that Elias could have stopped all this.

That he chose not to.

Elias doesn’t get within a hundred feet of Jon. Tim makes sure of it.

-

Jon does not speak for days. Delirious and distraught. Martin’s condition worsens, then stabilises, then lingers at critical. There are several more operations, and Tim does not know what they are doing, only that they are reforming a heap of blood and bone back into a person.

Tim wants to know what happened. Where Jon went, where Martin found him, who he needs to hate.

Tim learns to temper his frustration, the desire for knowing that curls at the bottom of his stomach. It is not a natural wanting, and it’s a spiteful, gleeful action, to deny that rot within him.

-

“Tim?”

“Stay still, boss,” Tim says. “You’ll pull everything out.”

Jon doesn’t say anything more for a long while. Tim shifts uneasy on the chair provided, thinking, hoping that Jon might have sunk back into sleep, when:

“Martin? Is he…?”

Jon turns his head to look at him. His eyes wide, beseeching, wet with fear. Wanting Tim to make this all ok.

Jon’s eyes in this light are a lot like Danny’s. Tim sucks back a hard breath, and doesn’t meet his gaze, and he knows that only distresses Jon further, who will take the avoidance as a death knell, as a punishment he is expecting to have earned.

“He’s alive, boss,” Tim says eventually. The words hard won. “He’s… he’ll be alright.”

That could be a lie. He doesn’t know much these days.

-

“Th-there was a room,” Jon stammers one day. He’s sat up, pillows stuffed behind his back. Tim’s bought him an apple juice carton like you buy for children, and he hasn’t touched it, even to push the plastic straw through the top.

His fingers at his lap twist, twist, twist.

“It must have been a … a factory floor, or something. One of those old textile mills or something, up near Manchester. It used to have those big machines for spinning cotton, there were big, discoloured spaces on the boards where they would have sat. There were columns, load-bearing, every fifty feet or so, and t-the chair that they – they had me tied to was anchored against one of those s-so it didn’t – so I couldn’t move it, or knock it over. I-I don’t know how long I was… I.” Jon stops, out of breath. “I don’t even know the date.”

Tim tells him. Jon blinks, and murmurs ‘oh’ like it’s not what he was expecting. His hands are shaking. Tim should reach out, shouldn’t he, it should not be this difficult to provide comfort.

His hands have forgotten how easily reassurance used to come to him.

“Th-they didn’t, they didn’t hurt me. Not, well, not exactly, I-I-I mean, it wasn’t – they wanted me unharmed.” Jon’s voice has crept small and crouched, words tuck under his tongue. “They were waiting. For the right time. They were going to t-take my, um, my skin. For their – for the ritual.”

“Christ.” Tim hisses out, because that is fucked, this whole thing is fucked. How the hell is this the way their lives have turned.

Only Jon’s fingers, his restless hands make noise for the next minute.

“I don’t know how Martin found me,” Jon says.

Tim has a creeping suspicion. It’s the same thing that helps Tim spits out exactly the right seeds to allow hurt to take root. What told Martin that there was something wrong. He could call it intuition, but that’s not how their world works.

Gifts, of a sort. For their faithful service at the temple of their all-seeing god.

“He tried to get me out. Snuck in somehow, cut the ropes with this – huh, this battered old kitchen knife. But I couldn’t… they’d had me tied to the chair for so long that standing up was… I couldn’t walk, and it’s my fault, he was half-carrying me but – I slowed him down, a-and then Nikola came back. And I couldn’t do, I couldn’t do anything, there’s never anything I can do, and they pulled me away and I. I tried, Tim, I-I tried, and I wasn’t… please, Tim, you’ve got to believe I tried to stop them.”

Jon’s fingers are moving to fist in his hair, yanking, tugging, his spine moving to fold himself over.

“Stop,” Tim says sharply. Trying to loosen Jon’s clenched hold.

“I tried, I tried – everything, I offered them anything they wanted, and they just kept – I-I-I tried, Tim.”

“I know,” Tim replies. Quieter. Softer. Separating Jon’s hands from his hair, pressing them back down to his lap, his burnt one held over the other pocked with worm scars. Tim doesn’t move his own away from the fragile tower they’ve made. “I – I know, Jon.”

“Martin – there was more of them. It was easy for them, to hurt him until he stopped struggling. They didn’t tie him up, they knew they didn’t need to. A-and Nikola, she was… she s-s-smiled as they pushed him over onto his back. She – she kept smiling. And she said they didn’t need the two of us. That they could have a bit of fun, a bit of – ” Jon’s voice chokes horrified. “A bit of practise. And wouldn’t I like that. To watch. To give the Eye something to look at.”

Jon crumples into tears then. In on himself like a disintegrating star. Tim feels cold and distant for a moment as he watches this shipwreck as though through the porthole of another boat. Listening to Jon’s hitching sobbing from elsewhere.

The rage is burning off him to reveal something plain and hideous in its humanity, and Tim hates it.

Jon falls apart, and Tim stays.

-

“You know your Archivist killed them all? He’s got a bit of a temper on him after all. Must be all that repression.”

The newest form of the Distortion still smiles like a headache. Her fingers curve corkscrewing. Tim, who is trying to get a Snickers from the vending machine two wards along from Jon, whips his head around to glower at the unwelcome visitor.

“What do you want?”

The Distortion, who has previously called themselves Michael, and is now still Michael but not entirely, whose face has refracted into a different form – there’s been a sort of change in management, if you like, except, well, that’s not really it at all, but do feel free to call me Helen.

“I was hoping for a teeny bit of gratitude. I was the gallant rescue, after that assistant of yours blundered in and made such a pig’s ear of it.”

Tim snarls. The Distortion’s expression wavers displeased.

“Ooh, touchy, alright. Calm down, firecracker. I bought them both back breathing for you. Your Archivist would be still strapped to a chair in Stockport if it wasn’t for me, to say nothing of that woebegone assistant. Blood all over my carpets.”

Tim ignores her. The glint in her eyes suggests she’s disappointed not to have riled him up.

“What now then?”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about the Circus for a while! Dear Jonathan’s seen to that quite splendidly. Knew he had it in him. Although, I suspect, even he didn’t know he could. The Circus was always good at pushing too far.”

“And you. What about you?”

The Distortion’s smile reflects a hundred alternatives.

“Oh, I’m just waiting to see what happens next.”

-

Tim’s thoughts have been straying to Danny a lot. Naturally, all things considered, his trauma’s head reared high and made horrifically manifest.

Jon is not like Danny was, too stiff and self-conscious in his own bones. But Danny’s skin had been lit up with that same live-wire intensity that last night, smeared in shadows and exhaustion and tears that shone foreign on his cheeks. Tim had not recognised the crying, silent, shaking stranger in his room, just as he barely recognises Jon.

Watching him finally fall apart holds no victory for any of them.

Martin is not like Danny was. Taller, for one, wound-up over tight in his own clockwork of fears. He’d be about Danny’s age though. Maybe.

Danny went back to the Covent Garden Theatre, alone, and the being that had then gone by the name of Joseph Grimaldi had torn off his skin as easily as wrapping paper.

Martin went alone. He didn’t ask Tim for help, because he knew Tim would have said no, and there’s an ashy shame coating his tongue, knowing it would have been true.

It’s powerlessness that’s snarled him up in barbed wire, toothless and immobile. Tim’s felt powerless for a long time. That is not going to stop.

But his anger hasn’t protected him. Hasn’t protected Jon. Certainly hasn’t protected Martin.

Jon is not in bed when Tim goes back during visiting hours. The nurse directs him to another ward, indicating in few words that this jaunt was neither encouraged nor advised, but the patient was not one to be dissuaded.

Sounds like Jon.

The man himself has dressed erratically in the spares Tim bought. A t-shirt that is divorced from his own style, the colouring drawing him over-sallow, the jeans too short and trailing above his ankle. He’s squashed himself into a chair, his back folded like a shepherd’s crook, his scatter-shot energy spent into exhaustion. His hand in Martin’s wrapped one.

Martin’s awake. The ministrations of the Circus left his face mostly alone, clear enough for tubing to be threaded into his nostrils and down his throat but the bandaging is extensive. Tim would have thought he’d be away with the fairies on morphine by now, and rightly so, but his jaw sets imperious when he sees Tim. He doesn’t let go of Jon’s hand.

“You doing alright there, Marto?” Tim asks. There is another chair nearby that’s been left by a visitor long gone, and he drags it over. Tim chooses to keep his voice low, chooses to squash the anger that sparks up in him at the violence done to Martin’s body.

“What does it look like?” Martin replies. Not snapping, no wisp of anger there, but there’s a pained whipcord strain to his response, a forced pace to his breathing.

“I thought they’d have you on the good stuff,” Tim says after a moment.

Martin gestures with imprecise movements at a remote off to his right, a grey blocky shape with buttons, hooked up to some sort of patient-controlled analgesia machine.

“You not taken any?”

Martin, as best as he can, shakes his head.

“Why?”

“I just don’t want to, alright?”

Tim doesn’t push. The silence between the two of them is protracted, uncomfortable, but Tim can stand to learn some patience.

Martin’s eyes are watery, clearly trying to push through the pain. Jon sleeps on.

“He won’t tell me,” Martin says. “But it’s bad. I know it’s bad. Right?”

“Yes.”

Martin deserves his honesty. Tim doesn’t know how long Martin suffered on that factory floor until Jon ripped the Circus’ sawdust out with his fury. Long enough for the bandages to coat his arms and legs and back like lacquer, changed multiple times a day to make sure the skin grafts take, and the stitching holds.

Tim should have been there. Like he should have been there for Danny.

“God, Martin,” he says, and he’s surprised to find his throat has clenched tight. “It’s… I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? I went and got myself…” Martin trails off, swallows with difficulty. “I did this, it was all, all me. Fat lot of good it did.”

“You don’t know that…” Tim starts, but Martin looks at him and he seethes without raising his voice.

“What good’s come out of this then? Go on, Tim, tell me. I’m a – I’m a mess, and what the fuck do I have to show for it. What the fuck have any of us gained from this? I just fucked up, and it – I thought I was going to die. And worse, I thought they mightn’t let me, that they might take what they left as scraps a-a-and – ” Martin’s jaw clacks shut as he pushes down his distress.

“You saved Jon.”

“I didn’t though. The bloody – the bloody door monster showed up and did that simply fine without my help!”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what you changed. God, Martin, this whole, this entire thing is all so, it’s fucked, right, it’s…” Tim’s voice wobbles, cracks. “But you tried to do something. You tried to help. And I’m – I’m so sorry you did it alone.”

Martin doesn’t leap to forgiveness. But he nods and Tim puts his hand on the wrappings up his arm and he doesn’t move away.

“What now?” he asks after a moment.

“I don’t know.”

Martin closes his eyes.

“I’m tired,” he confesses. “I’m just so tired of all… all this.”

“We’ll think of something,” Tim says. Finding that he means it. It’s not a promise, but it’s as good as he’s able to offer these days. “You should take some of that morphine. It’ll… it’ll help.”

“It makes me feel out of it. Like, sluggish. And everything’s far away.”

“That means it’s working, Marto,” Tim says, trying for light-hearted, but Martin’s shaking his head, and the shivering is back in his hands. A wide and trembling glaze to his expression.

“If they come back…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

“I’ll stay,” Tim says. Pats Martin’s arm in a way he hopes conveys reassurance.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Martin nods. Tim helps him grasp the grey remote, push down the button. It’s not long before Martin’s drifted off.

Tim sits there for a long while, thinking about the future.

[halo-charlie]

This was supposed to be a short post about what I thought would happen if Dream attempted to rekindle his friendships, but then thoughts happened and... I accidentally made a whole AU in my head.

enjoy!

——————————————————————

Dream said that he was planning on going far away and living out in the uncharted territory of the SMP due to most people wanting him dead at the moment. He doesn’t wanna go alone- he’s never had to live alone before. So, of course after the ash settles, he goes to Sapnap, stance apologetic. unarmed. Sapnap is a closed door, though, and frankly has to use every ounce of self control not to put an arrow between Dream’s eyes for even attempting to convince him to go out there and live like Dream hadn’t done awful things.

Dream half expected this response though. once Sapnap had broken free from the threads of control that dream had him wrapped around he was forever aware that Dream was manipulative. Sapnap was too intrepid to go back to Dream, had too much pride to give into the memories of chasing and playing and fighting alongside each other.

Dream knew Sapnap would do this. He just had to try.

However, George was always an enigma in the ways that dream would never know what he was motivated by. George wasn’t like Dream or Sapnap in that way - not willing to scream out emotions and motives blindly in battle. He was a brand of calculated and reserved. so, by this logic, Dream visited George next.

There was still rubble on the path leading to George’s home in the mountain from when it had been destroyed and rebuilt by the former king himself. Dream didn’t even know if George currently resided in El Rapids or not - but after seeing embers from torches floating through the windows, a pit settled in his stomach. It felt like butterflies, but had the sting of wasps. He stood stiffly on the doorstep, fighting back a shiver from the night’s cold.

George had every right to leave him out here all night, and to wordlessly stride past him in the morning and not even acknowledge him, only interaction between the two being George’s radiating distaste. Hatred.

But of course, the door opened and warmth seeped into Dream’s skin, not as violently as the cold. Sure enough, before him stood one of the people who helped to build the foundation of this world. The person he held closer, protected more valiantly, and had the hardest time pushing away.

George didn’t look physically different. However, his aura was guarded, which Dream never had to experience before. When they were alone together before, they both broke down walls that had been constructed so carefully to protect them from the judgement of strangers.

George held a sword in one hand, held at his side. Not wielded, but at the ready. And that struck Dream in a way he had never expected. Hurt melted his civility, and his stance softened.

“George.” it was pleading, quiet. Like they were surrounded by crowds instead of hills and meadows.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Dream let out a shaky breath. “I have to talk to you.” This was a whole different person than the one who had disposed of an entire nation the day previous. This was dream. This was the same person who had built the community house. Who stopped bickering between Sapnap and George with a fondness that couldn’t be matched.

George huffed a mocking, empty laugh. “Talk to me? Are you sure you’re not here to kill me? That’s normally the next step after betraying your best friends and becoming some crazed psychopath.”

Dream winced, the words hitting like shards of glass. This was George’s defence mode: cover the emotion with sarcasm and insults so that they hit a home run to the person’s heart.

“Please, George, let me come in. I won’t be long.” Dream hoped the gentle tone would be enough to infect George’s most recent memories of him, which had been him at his most violent. He hoped it would take George back to the days where they would daze in the fields next to the closest village.

Apparently it worked, because George pushed the door open wider, allowing space for Dream to enter the cottage. An opportunity, a chance. this was already further than dream had gotten with Sapnap.

Dream shifted awkwardly, unsure whether to sit or not. He noted how George kept the sword by him, disappearing into another room and appearing with a bundle of sticks, adding them to the fire in the corner of the space.

“Sit. I’m still brewing, but I can listen.” George told him, and Dream perked up a bit.

“Brewing? What for?” He knew George wouldn’t be brewing potions to use in a battle, so the curiosity got the best of him.

“Health potions. Turns out, it’s hard to control who an explosion hurts.” The venom was intertwined in his words, and George held up his hands and forearms to show Dream several burns and scars. Dream had assumed the dried blood on George’s shirt was Sapnap’s, and that already hurt him enough. Now seeing it was George’s, it cut a bit deeper. George’s face held no trace of any emotion, and at that moment Dream just wished George would start shouting at him, screaming, hitting him. Anything would be better than him staring at him with that vacant expression, devoid of- anything.

That was one thing that Dream had never seen George do- lose his composure. He was silently begging for him to do it now.

“George...” he began, searching for an apology in his words as guilt enveloped him. “I told you to stay away. You knew it was happening.”

George did another one of those empty laughs, turning back to the stand which held the glass bottles of water. “Unlike you, Dream, I wasn’t going to leave Sapnap to go out there and lose his life.”

Dream’s memory flickered back to the day before, when he had watched Sapnap swing furiously at Technoblade from the grid of obsidian above. Out of everyone fighting, Sapnap had come the closest to giving them a conclusion. However, at one point when Sapnap had taken one too many arrows, George had to drag him to cover from the blast. Dream had specifically instructed Techno to avoid them, spare them if it came to it. So when Techno approached an unconscious Sapnap being patched up by George with his back turned, Dream fired a warning shot. The flaming arrow from the sky was enough to make Techno look up, and Dream narrowed his eyes. Techno took the hint, briskly moving on to fight the next person.

Dream blinked away the hazy memory, focusing his gaze back onto his friend. He swallowed thickly, “Sapnap has no interest in talking to me.”

“And what makes you think I do?” George questioned as he measured out a handful of nether wart before adding it to the top of the stand.


“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”

George gave him a look. “I know you would have stayed out there all night. You’re just the type of person to be that stubborn.”

Dream didn’t confirm nor deny, though they both already knew George was right. “It’s not safe for me here right now,” Dream continued, watching George light a spark to the golden powder. George dropped the metal utensil he was using to measure onto the counter, it landing with a frustrated clatter.

“Then why are you here?”

His tone was cutting.

Dream moved in his chair so that he was facing George more, gaze remaining gentle and voice quiet. “For you.”

George let out a sigh to himself, trying to mask it as bitter, but the shakiness of it revealed everything. He made his way across the room and sat opposite Dream. He tried to keep his stare and body language closed off. “You made a mistake coming here then. These walls may have burned before, but you lit the final match when you turned on us. There is nothing left for you here anymore.”

Dream knew that ‘here’ wasn’t just talking about this home. The home he had went to seeking safety and warmth, and that he was always given. The home he visited and was greeted with arms wrapping around him, which felt so much more protective than the embrace of armour, cool metal against his skin. Everything that he had given away was now just hitting him. Everyone he had turned against him due to his actions. “You would have died as king.” He murmured.

“You don’t know that.”

“The possibility was enough to convince me.”

“What are you looking for, Dream?”

His breath hitched in his throat at the question. How come it was so much easier to ask Sapnap? He pushed away the thought for now. “I want you to come with me.”

The silence rushed back in waves, and George stood up, returning to the counter with his brewing stand. Dream could only watch his meticulous movements. George was always in his element with this type of thing. His hands weren’t made to hold blades. They were made to construct, to heal, to love. Dream held his hands out in front of himself which he had unknowingly clenched. They were rough and callous, perfectly crafted for the hilt of a sword. To hurt. He retracted his hands back to arms of the chair.

“Come with you.” George repeated, and Dream nodded in confirmation. “You want me to leave my friends to go with the person who caused mass destruction over, what, plastic? You took my position from me.”

Dream stood. “George, I gave you the position without knowing the danger that it put you in.”

“You were my knight. You were supposed to get rid of the danger.”

“And I tried to do that, but I couldn’t always be there when I also had to monitor L’Manberg. I took the kingship away to prote-“

“Protect me, Dream? Really?” George turned to face Dream. “You know, you were right about one thing. I never cared about being king. I didn’t even care when you took it away. It was never about me being king, Dream. We both know that. You hurt us. You said yourself that you never cared about u-“

“I didn’t mean it.”

George narrowed his eyes. “Don’t lie to me. You know I hate that. You only care about those stupid fucking discs. So don’t even try to lie about wanting to protect me. You used Sapnap and I to make you look more powerful. It’s always about power for you!” He exclaimed, exasperation and anger now fueling his words.

Dream took a step towards George. “George, you were already helping Quackity with Mexican L’Manberg, which in itself was creating conflicts! It went directly against the reason I crowned you as king!”

“Whatever, Dream. The answer is no.” George approached Dream, now only a few feet of space between them. “Did you hear that? I’m sure you’re shocked. My answer is no. I’m not going with you. Now, get out of my house.”

And just as George was about to turn, a gloved hand grabbed his wrist, and he turned back to Dream who’s expression was now blank. The mask helped to cover his trembling features. “I didn’t want to do this. I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again,” Dream began, his voice already regretful.

George attempted to pull his hand from the vice grip with no luck, fear now clouding his thoughts. “Dream? Dream- let go. What are you talking about?” The bite that was previously in his words had left.

Dream revealed nothing. “I’m sorry, George.”

“What? Dream, stop, you’re scaring m-“ He was cut off as Dream brought his hand up and rest two fingertips on George’s forehead, and immediately his vision started to haze.

“Wait, no! Dream, not this again, please. I’ll go with you! We can go far away from here!” George pleaded, but he could already feel his free will being twisted. Dream weakly shook his head. “I’m only doing the best for you, George. This way I can protect you.”

Anger now replaced George’s fear as his body went limp. “You’re a cheater. We aren’t NPCs, Dream.” He seethed.

“Shh, just go to sleep. It’ll be over soon. You’ll wake up and realise you’re supposed to come with me.” Dream steadied George and slowly lowered him to the floor. George couldn’t fight the unconsciousness that was taking over him. “I’ll f-find out… and stop y-you…” Those were the last words George said before he fell into a sleep, and Dream shifted him slightly.

Dream got to his feet, staring down at his unconscious friend. The guilt wasn’t strong enough to stop him.

They would leave in the morning.

———————————————————————

> 2114 words

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

I Wonder What It’s Like (2/3) - fic

Characters: Damian Wayne, Jon Kent, Kathy Brandon Pairing: jondami Summary: Damian is a mess. A big, sappy, romantic mess. A/N: This hot *~garbage~*. Sorry.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

~~

He was just walking down the hallway in their team’s shared apartment. A loft that overlooked the city of Chicago, the ridiculous rent paid for by his father, no questions asked.

The little kitten he’d found on patrol the night before was pattering excitedly after him as he walked, Titus protectively on the little thing’s tail while she meowed loudly. Damian was laughing as he walked, and had just felt her jump at his ankle and stumble, so turned to make sure she was righting herself.

But then he froze.

In his attempt to glance down at the kitten, his gaze caught movement nearby, in the bedroom he was passing.

Jon’s bedroom.

The door was open and Jon stood there in front of a mirror, fiddling with the collar of a white dress shirt he was already practically busting out of. Not that Damian noticed the shirt too much. No, he was too busy staring at the perfectly form-fitting black slacks that hugged Jon’s ass and thighs – and that in the mirror he could clearly see they were not buttoned yet.

“Jon…”

He felt the name come out of his mouth without consent, and instantly snapped his lips closed, practically sucked them between his teeth.

Kept staring, though.

Refocused back on the shirt, on the sliver of chest he could still see, and the muscles rippling as Jon shifted. Stared at those long fingers fumbling against each other. Felt his breath catch in his throat, as Jon slowly glanced over his shoulder at him.

Jon blinked and his face brightened, and Damian – motherfucking Damian goddamn Wayne – felt his knees go weak as Jon smiled at him. As his violet eyes shone, and absolute joy radiated from his being.

“Hey, D.” He said. “What’s up?”

“Nothing, I…” Damian cleared his throat, thanking his lucky stars. Jon had heard him, but he hadn’t heard his…tone. Good, that was good. As he exhaled his relief, he glanced down and saw the kitten, Titus still tight on her heels, stomping forward into Jon’s room. “Theadora!”

The kitten mewed grumpily as Damian stepped into the room and swooped her up into his hands. She wiggled even as he held her to his chest, and tried to bite at his fingers.

“We do not enter rooms uninvited.” He scolded, touching his finger to her nose. He looked back up at Jon. “My apologies.”

Jon snorted. “You know you and your animals are welcome any time. I don’t mind.” He turned back to the mirror. “In fact, I enjoy it. Always a nice break.”

Damian hummed, biting the words on his tongue. A nice break from what, doing nothing? No, that would be rude. He was working on not being rude, on saving the sarcasm for when it was warranted, not every word out of his mouth. He was better than that. He should be better than that.

(Especially to Jon.)

“…What’s the occasion?” Damian nodded towards him. “I don’t recall you being much into suits.”

“I’m not. It’s some shindig at the Planet. Mom’s getting an award. Again.” Jon chuckled as he rolled his eyes. “She said since I’m barely home any more the least I could do is come tonight.”

Damian couldn’t stop his eyes from darting downwards again. “I doubt it’s an…ahem…open-trouser affair…”

Internally, Damian winced at himself. It wasn’t sarcasm, but it was still rude. Jon wasn’t an idiot. Obviously he wasn’t done getting dressed. There was no need to tease. There was no need to open his stupid mouth.

But Jon laughed anyway. “I’m getting there, I’m getting there.” He stuck his tongue out thoughtfully, returning to his task at his collar. “I’m going to tuck my shirt in, but I can’t get these stupid buttons up top, here.” He tried for another second, then spun back to Damian. “A little help?”

Damian felt himself smiling, almost instinctively stepping forward. “Sure.”

Jon cooed as he grabbed Theadora from Damian’s hands, petting her as Damian took over button duty, gently folding the little round plastic through the fabric of the shirt. He ignored how close he was to Jon’s skin, how easily it would be to reach out and just touch him.

(Just caress his jaw, just lean forward and kiss him, just–)

The buttons were finished, and he quickly stepped back. Jon twisted his torso back towards the mirror. “Perfect.”

But then he turned back to Damian with a sheepish grin. “Help with one more thing?”

Damian shrugged.

And he watched, almost bewildered, as Jon didn’t give his kitten back (much to Titus’s disappointment in the doorway) but instead placed her on top of his head, right in the center of his nest of curls. Then he turned towards his bed, hastily shoving the shirt tails into those unbuttoned pants before grabbing a red ribbon that was lying across his comforter.

“I know you’re going to think it’s cheesy, but it’s kind of an inside thing between me and my dad.” He spun around, balancing Theadora perfectly, and held the ribbon out. “But I never learned how to properly tie one.”

Damian glanced between Jon’s kitten crown, and the ribbon in his hand. “A…bowtie?”

“It’s a thing, I promise. Inside joke.” He walked closer. “Please?”

Damian sighed, annoyed that his default exhale made him sound put off, when in reality, he really wasn’t. Not at all. He was happy to help.

He was always happy to help Jon.

But he took the ribbon and looped it carefully around Jon’s neck. Ignored the urge to pull the other forward with it, ignored those thoughts already popping back into his brain, and began to knot it.

“…I’m really only going to make my mom happy.” Jon let out his own sigh as he finally buttoned the stupid pants. Damian was happy to have a task, anything to stop him from looking down again. “These things are so boring.”

Damian snorted. “Welcome to my life.”

“Hey, I bet your dad will be there. And Diana. Apparently this is like. A huge award. Wouldn’t be surprised if Bruce Wayne showed up for some reason. You know, beyond my dad inviting him and Diana as a friends or something.”

“Unfortunately I do not know my father’s schedule.” Damian hummed. “I can call and ask if he or any of the family are going. While my siblings are complete Neanderthals, they might ease some of your boredom.”

“Or better yet…” Jon grinned. “Why don’t you just come with me? I’m sure no one will mind if I bring a plus-one. Besides, it’s been a while since you’ve been home too, right? Might be nice to see your dad.”

Damian laughed before he thought about it. “Absolutely not.”

And he wanted to absolutely stab himself, immediately, at the disappointment that flashed through Jon’s eyes, the way his smile faltered just a little. All because Damian laughed.

At him. In his face.

God, he was the worst.

“I mean,” Damian coughed. He slowly pulled Jon’s bowtie through its last loop, and then carefully tugged Theadora from Jon’s hair. “I’m on monitor duty tonight. And the girls are already out for their own night off.”

Jon’s grin, though it never disappeared, softened now. “D, when was the last time you took a night off?” Damian opened his mouth to answer, but no sound came out because he didn’t have one. “The world would survive if all four of us were out acting like normal people for one night.”

“That’s how all apocalypse stories start, isn’t it?” Damian mumbled, keeping his gaze lowered. “Besides, if it’s like you said, half of the Justice League will be at this event. Someone needs to be out there watching.”

“No one said it had to be you.”

Damian glanced up, felt his cheeks warm as he realized Jon had stepped closer. Was staring gently down at him, that simple smile still on his face.

But Damian was a coward.

Emotions were a weakness. Wanting was selfish, and selfishness was unbecoming. Rejection was a useless pain and so easily avoidable.

He would not mess this up. He would not mess up one of the only friendships he had. He would not mess up Jon.

So he stepped back, an apologetic smile on his face. “Enjoy your party, Jonathan.”

He scurried from the room with his pets before he could see Jon frown.

~~

“Damian?!” Jon practically screamed, even over Maya’s attempts at soothing him. He smacked his hand against the door again. “D, please, just open the door!”

Damian, instead, turned away from it, rubbing his fist angrily against the tears pouring from his eyes.

“He just wants to help.” Kathy whispered from the desk. “You know him.”

“And he knows me.” Damian spat. “He knows better than to do this.”

“You just heard your mother might be dead, what else did you think he was going to do? Shrug it off and go play video games?” Kathy snapped back. “You’re his best friend, of course he’s going to want to comfort you. Take care of you.”

“I don’t need it. I don’t need comforted. I don’t need…” His face twisted in disgust. “Taken care of.” He shook his head. “I don’t even need you here.”

“Well, sucks I was there when Batman called and can move faster than you, huh?” Kathy smirked. “Jon may respect your boundaries, but that doesn’t mean I have to.” She let her smile drop. “Besides, I know what it’s like. Losing…questionable family. Not knowing how to feel about it. I…I get it.”

“…I know.” Damian sighed. Sniffed and ran his hand across his nose. “I know you do, Kathy. And I…despite everything, I do appreciate it.”

“Damian, please!” Jon whined.

“I can’t.” Damian whispered, twisting purposefully away from the door. “I…I can’t look at him right now.”

“Why, because he’s trying too hard? Or because he wouldn’t get it?”

“Both, maybe.” Damian shrugged, reaching for the tissue box on his nightstand. “And because…it’s embarrassing.”

“What is?”

“I’m mourning the not-yet-confirmed-death of a mass murderer, and here the son of fucking Superman wants to make sure I’m okay.” He shook his head. “This is not worth his time. I’m not worth his time. When’s he going to see that? Why does he think I am?”

“He’s your…best friend.” Kathy reiterated, but she seemed to struggle with the words. Like best friend wasn’t supposed to mean that. “He just wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am okay. I’m always okay.” He dabbed the tissue at his eyes. “I have to always be okay.”

“Why, because you’re the son of Batman and anything less than okay is a weakness?” Kathy mocked. “I thought you were over that line of thinking. Years ago.”

“It’s…I am, it’s not just that, it’s…” Damian sighed, dropped to sit on the edge of his bed. He pulled the photo of him and his mother back into his hands, the one he’d had in his desk drawer up until his father had called. “If I’m okay, people think I’m good. That I’m a good person.” He gently touched Talia’s face. The smile was warm in this photo. It wasn’t always. “If I’m not okay. I’ll…then I’ll go back to being bad. I’ll lose control. I’ll…be that monster again. The one I used to be.”

Kathy blinked. “And?”

Damian waited a beat. Listened as Jon continued to bang on the door, desperately call his name.

“Jon deserves better than a monster as a best friend.” Damian whispered.

“Wha…that’s it? You have to be okay for his benefit?” Kathy drawled. “That is the most convoluted bullshit I’ve ever heard. Especially because Jon loves you no matter how messed up you are. Jon loves all of us, no matter how messed up we all are.”

Damian remained silent. Listened as Jon pleaded with him still to open the door.

“Meanwhile he’s crumbling at the mere idea that something’s wrong with you and he can’t personally fix it.” Kathy grumbled, standing from the chair. She paused there, for a moment, looking between Damian and the door. “…You know?”

Damian glanced up at her.

“If you asked me, it almost sounds like you’re more upset about upsetting Jon than your mother potentially being dead.”

Damian didn’t answer the accusation, just shrunk deeper into himself, into his own brain. Let guilt swirl in his gut, both for Jon and Talia.

He closed his eyes. He truly was a monster, wasn’t he? In more ways than one.

After another second, Kathy sighed, and Damian opened his eyes to see her moving. “…You two, I swear.”

Damian watched as she walked over to the door, throwing it open.

“Jon!” She yelled. Jon jerked back at her tone. “Give it a rest, okay?!” Gentler, as he lowered his hand. “He’s fine. He just needs a little time to himself.”

Jon, the epitome of a kicked puppy, glanced over Kathy’s shoulder. “D?”

Damian sniffed, wiped at his eye. “It’s fine, Jon. I’ll…be out later.”

“You shouldn’t be alone right now, D.” Jon rattled off immediately. “I can-”

“You can leave him alone.” Maya cut off, pulling Jon back. “Now you saw him, okay? With your own eyes. He is alive and he’s in his room.”

“Damian…”

“Don’t worry on my account, Jon. Please.” Damian tried, offering a weak smile. It just made Jon frown deeper. “I’m fine. In fact, feel free to take Kathy with you.” Kathy glanced back at him. “I give you full permission to give him all the details of my father’s phone call, and everything we’ve talked about, if you believe it will help.”

Kathy looked at him for a moment, then rolled her eyes.

“You need therapy.” She sighed. Then she turned to Jon. “Both of you.”

Jon blinked dumbly as she took his other arm and began to pull him down the hall. Maya leaned into the room to grab his doorknob and gave him a wink.

“Preferably some couples therapy.” She hummed. “And, like, soon. Or Kathy and I are gonna lose our minds.”

She pulled the door shut. Damian just sighed, rubbed at his tears, and stared at the picture of his maybe-dead mother.

~~

Damian Wayne didn’t dream.

He had nightmares. He had flashbacks, absolutely. He woke up in cold sweats, screaming, crying, whatever. You name it.

But he didn’t dream. He had nightmares, or nothing at all.

So…this didn’t make sense. This didn’t make any sense. He was lucid, he knew this wasn’t real. He recognized it as a dream.

Because he didn’t own an antique shop.

But here he was, behind the counter of one, refurbishing an old cabinet, carefully painting along its edges, listening contently as a pair of customers were rung up.

By…by Jon.

“Thanks for stopping by K.W. and Sons. Have a great day!” He called as the old couple waved and walked out the front door, bell above the door chiming. As soon as the door slammed shut, Jon gave a happy sigh. Damian, still facing the cabinet, sensed more than heard Jon turn around. “…I still can’t believe you did it.”

“Hm?” Was all the response Damian had.

“I cannot believe you found the book Mr. Hamada used to propose to his wife.” Suddenly there was a weight on Damian’s back, arms wrapping around his waist. “Like…how do you find that? How do you even know where to start looking? They didn’t even realize they’d accidentally given it away until three years after the fact!”

“Well, for starters,” Damian laughed as Jon kissed his cheek. “It’s nice to know a private detective or two. Then it’s just a simple retracing of steps.” Damian placed his paintbrush along the edge of his paint tray. “Also – the internet is a great tool. There’s only so many books with the phrase ‘will you marry me?’ written in English and Japanese in the front cover. That kind of thing goes viral all the time.”

Jon hummed, leaning his chin into Damian’s shoulder. “Mrs. Hamada cried when I brought it out. It was sweet.”

“Such a shame I missed it.” Damian drawled cheekily. Jon squeezed his sides.

“Don’t be rude.”

Damian turned his head, keeping his smirk. “You love it when I’m rude.”

Jon hummed again, glancing downwards. Damian was so distracted by the lashes splaying across his rosy cheeks that he didn’t notice Jon dipping his finger into the pastel teal paint until he was dabbing it against his nose.

“I don’t know if I said love.”

“I don’t know.” Damian said thoughtfully, leaning over until his nose brushed Jon’s, smearing the paint against his skin as well. “I think you did.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yeah-huh.”

“Nuh-uh, times a thousand.” Jon countered, dragging his nose along Damian’s jaw to make a bigger mess. At the same time, he squeezed Damian’s torso again in an attempted tickle. “No take-backsies.”

And despite the childishness, Damian laughed, leaned into Jon’s embrace. Accepted paint-filled butterfly kisses and real ones too. Gently twisted in Jon’s arms to face him completely, and take a tender hold of Jon’s face.

He had a beard here. A small one. And it was graying. How old were they? Do you age in dreams? Damian found himself not caring.

He let his laugh drop into a sigh, stroking a thumb across Jon’s face as he stared into his eyes. After a moment, he smiled. “I love you.”

Jon beamed. Like it was the first time he’d ever heard it. Like it was the only thing he ever wanted to hear in his whole life. He pressed his forehead to Damian’s and closed his eyes. “I-”

“I love you too.”

Damian jerked, his head shooting up.

Wha…what?

He blinked rapidly, wiping at his lip instinctively. There was drool there. Since when did he drool while he slept?

Since when was he sleeping?

He blinked a few more times, the room becoming clearer. It was still a dark space, but he recognized it. Their apartment living room. The girls were in the loveseat nearby, also asleep. There was light coming from the TV across the room.

Oh yeah. It was their monthly team movie night.

“You okay?” Came a whisper to his right. He flinched again, spinning around to see Jon staring down at him with an amused look. Damian let his eyes dart around, and the situation became clear.

He’d fallen asleep during the movie. On Jon’s shoulder.

And dear god, he was drooling.

“Uh…y-yeah.” Damian stuttered, throat dry. “Is the movie over?”

“Just about. Guess I’m the only one who made it.” Jon laughed softly. “I don’t blame you though. It’s pretty boring.”

Damian nodded silently, trying to look at anything but Jon. Glanced over to their teammates. No modesty there, Maya had Kathy’s head pressed to her breasts, her own legs contorted around Kathy’s waist. He frowned – there was no way that was comfortable for either of them. Freaks.

“You can…uh…go back to sleep, if you want.” Jon murmured. Damian turned back to him as he yawned. “I was about to fall asleep myself, actually. And…honestly, I don’t feel like getting up to go back to my own bed.” Even in the dark, Damian noticed Jon’s cheeks brighten. “And, uh…you’re warm.”

Damian smirked. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Jon snorted, fiddling with a nearby blanket, and throwing it over the both of them as Damian resituated himself closer. Without a word, Jon slouched, throwing his arm across the back of the sofa, forcing Damian closer into his side.

“Team slumber party.” Jon said absently. “Been a while since the four of us did one of these.”

“Indeed.” Damian breathed. His heart was pounding as dared to lay his head back on Jon’s shoulder. Waited for the other shoe to drop, waited for Jon to say something. To tell him off.

Instead, Jon just…leaned his head against Damian’s in return. Whispered: “Goodnight, Damian.”

Damian – giddy, frozen, and oh-so pleased – just closed his eyes once more.

“…Goodnight, Jon.”

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 2

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

word count: 3.5k

masterlist

Richard Slessman's bedroom looks like something straight out of a serial killer documentary. floral wallpaper taunts Morgan and I as we walk inside. a model airplane hangs above his bed; cheap medals-- the kind kids get for participation-- decorate the area above his desk, which is littered with books about forensics. there's a carousel of CDs, too.

"whoa." is my brilliant analysis.

"we should have Garcia check out this guy's laptop." Morgan starts to wander around the room, trying to piece together Slessman's head just by examining his things. a group of cops are already huddled at the table with the laptop open, and I realize too late what they're doing.

"log in password." one of them plucks a post-it off the screen, starts to type it in.

"wait, wait--" Morgan and I nearly lunge toward them, but the crackling sound of a fizzing motherboard tells me we're too late. the screen goes black.

"it's not turning back on." Genius #1 observes. Morgan sighs and squeezes his eyes shut in frustration.

"yeah, and it won't. it's a false password."

the cops stare up at us blankly.

"it triggers a complete shut down of his system." I clarify. they share a look, deservedly feeling stupid. I want to roll my eyes, but Morgan's told me that the police on these cases get defensive most of the time; they don't like us on their turf. one glance from my partner, though, and those guys flee the room without another word.

I pull out my phone and dial Garcia's number in the hopes that she can salvage whatever's left of this asshole's computer. we arrested him an hour ago and we can only hold him with probable cause because we don't have any charges yet. this house search could be our only chance to get him in custody.

"well hello, my fresh-faced beauty queen." Penelope answers on the second ring. a slight smile turns up the corners of my mouth.

"hi, Penelope." I watch Derek plugging something into the laptop, then opening another monitor next to it. "listen, Morgan's trying to set up Richard Slessman's computer and I was wondering if you'd be able to hack into it."

"oh, kitten," she sighs contentedly. "that's my bread and butter."

"great. I'm putting you on speaker." I press a button and wait for Morgan to talk. he's typing furiously until a tab pops up with the words "Deadbolt Defense" in bold above a box for a password.

"what's the six at the bottom of the screen mean?" I ask.

"remaining password attempts until it wipes the hard drive." Morgan replies. shit.

"Penelope, there might be a journal or document or something that tells us where Heather is." I inform her.

"what system are we talking?" she asks.

"Deadbolt Defense?"

"Deadbolt is the number one crack-resistant software out there, hon. you're gonna need to get inside this guy's head for the password."

my heart sinks. when my colleague double takes, it makes me think that this is a rare occurrence.

"babygirl, are you serious?" Morgan complains. my shoulders droop. Penelope has been nothing short of genius since I got here. slicing through sealed files and unfurling secret criminal records is always ridiculously easy for her.

"sorry, handsome."

"thanks anyway." I hang up and shove my phone into my back pocket. "so... what now?"

"now," Morgan takes another look around the room. "we get creative."

...

somehow, I wind up in the attic. I don't really know how this happens, seeing as I started by flipping through discs in Slessman's weird quasi-childlike bedroom, but it's certainly an interesting space. Christmas lights are strung about, along with some shawl-like material that drapes raw ceiling.

the laptop sits in front of me, password cursor blinking mockingly while I sit in the chair. my head is aching. despite having the unit go through every single one of the CDs in search of the most-played one (hoping it'll crack the password), there's been nothing.

at least there have been other successes since we got here: we know that Slessman isn't operating on his own. he's the submissive in a partnership with Timothy Vogel, a prison guard where he was incarcerated a while back. the problem is that Vogel was onto us and fled to the kidnapping site, which we can't find. I feel useless sitting here with nothing to offer.

I consider going back downstairs and perusing the room again when I hear footsteps on the stairs. Reid's head pops into the room, spinning a bent paper clip between his fingers.

"hey." I greet curiously.

"I've been thinking about the CDs." he responds, walking over to me. I rub the heels of my hands against my eyes.

"we tried it, Reid. there's nothing there," I slam my back to the cushions with an exasperated groan. "if we don't find something, this girl is dead."

instead of replying, Reid bends down next to the laptop in front of me, squinting at the DVD slot in the side. he pokes the end of his bent paper clip into the small opening.

"I think we may have missed the obvious." he murmurs, working diligently. I scowl.

"what do you--?" in response to my question, the DVD slot pops open and out slides a copy of a Metallica CD. Reid and I look at each other with wide eyes before I snatch the disc out of of the computer and stare at it. "what made you think of this?"

"it was the only empty case." he shrugs. I grin at him.

"okay, okay," we still don't have the password. I read the cover of the case he hands me. "I'm an insomniac who listens to Metallica to fall asleep. what song would make me do that?"

Spencer frowns, grabs the thing back from my hands, and scans the track list within the span of a second.

"'Enter Sandman'." he says. I watch the puzzle pieces fall into place in his brain, those lips parting with a slight smile playing at the edges. his eyes gleam with satisfaction.

"you are a national treasure." I type like the wind, unlocking the screen and immediately digging into his files. Spencer peers over my shoulder as we search for any indication of Heather's location.

"fucking bingo." I mutter when a video feed pops up. it's black-and-white, showing a crate in the corner of the room with a light hanging above it. Heather's inside, eyes duct taped and hands tied in front of her.

Spencer is already dialing Hotch's number. the blood drains from my face as I watch her trying to breathe through the gag in her mouth.

nothing in the feed is helpful in terms of finding out where she is. it's a nondescript room with wooden floors, mostly shrouded in darkness except for the light hanging overhead.

"wait a minute." I pause what I'm doing.

"hm?" Reid asks. I hit a few keys, trying something.

"I'm lining up the last twelve images." I explain as he watches me work. the photos sit in a grid on the screen, causing my heart to stop in my chest when I notice what I've been meaning to find. "look at the light."

"it's shifting positions like it's swaying," he notices. "like the earth is tilting."

"the ocean." I nod. we share another glance, both of our hearts hammering. we're so close to solving this, I can feel it in my chest. "we need to tell Hotch. find out if there are any piers or docks near here. there's no way he could get the webcam image from the middle of the ocean."

Reid nods, runs downstairs as fast as he possibly can. when he goes, I notice the board in the corner of the room: Go, mid-game. I've never learned how to play.

...

by the time I get back to my apartment that night, my limbs feel like jello. I collapse into the chair by my door and rub my eyes again. my head is still pounding now that the adrenaline rush has subsided. we ended up finding Vogel at the docks; Heather is safe. Hotch was shot in the arm, but he'll be fine. and I'm still a little in shock.

I hate the rumble of my stomach as I realize I haven't eaten since this morning. my head was too full of other thoughts to even consider food and after such a long day, I can barely fathom getting up to change into pajamas.

my phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to see that Garcia texted me.

what are you up to? followed by a series of emojis that make me smile. I sink deeper into the seat before replying.

nothing why?

can I bring over takeout?

I stare at the message for a second with surprise. Garcia is fun and we've had drinks as a team, but I've never hung out with her one-on-one before. I'm curious.

sure. what genre of food should I expect?

Thai. send me your order!

that sounds so good right now, I almost order it myself. part of me is nervous about hanging out with a team member by myself, except she's been so friendly to me. Penelope was the first person to make me feel at home, aside from Prentiss.

I wait patiently for her to arrive, watching some TV and working my way through some leftover paperwork. my thoughts are everywhere right now, but when she tells me she's downstairs, I try to put it all out of my mind.

"hey!" I open the door to see Garcia with an armful of plastic bags.

"I have your curry, and I got chicken satay and spring rolls and fried rice in case you're still hungry." she beams at me. her bracelets make a pleasant clinking noise as she waves the goodies around.

"a woman after my own heart." I smile, stepping aside to let her in. we head upstairs and before long, we're settled on my couch with a full display of food on the coffee table. I heap my plate while she looks around my space.

"this place is so cute!" she says through a bite of spring roll.

"thanks. I've had it for about two years now. that window over there was really the selling point." I point to the enormous view of downtown DC, which is sparkling right now. there's another chair set in front of it, where I sometimes read or nap in my free time.

as we eat, Penelope and I gossip about work and the city and everything else. she's really easy to talk to. when I ask about her life, she doesn't seem guarded at all; unlike a lot of FBI agents I've met, she wears her experiences on her sleeve.

"how are you liking the team so far?" she asks a similar question as I received this morning. I smile to myself before answering truthfully.

"everyone is great. Hotch is kind of terrifying, but I've worked with people like him before." I shrug. he reminds me of one of my old professors: perpetually stoic to the point where he doesn't even seem like a real person. she laughs.

"he's super nice once you get to know him."

"really?" I look up.

"definitely. he's just always got that scowl on his face. don't let it put you off." she pats my hand reassuringly. I sigh, finish chewing my bite. there's been something prodding me since visiting Garcia's tech lair for the first time, when she showed me her collection of puppy calendars and fuzzy pens.

"can I ask you a question?"

"anything, my love." she smiles warmly. I hesitate, hoping I don't ruin the moment somehow.

"how did you get involved in the FBI? you just don't seem very..." my sentence trails off.

"government oriented?" she laughs. "I used to do a lot of hacking in my free time, and I got into some stuff that the government didn't like. and, um-- you know that saying, 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em'?"

I nod.

"it was like that, except they hired me. and I love it." she finishes the last spring roll. I think on this, imagining Penelope doing something so serious that the American government hired her on the spot for her skills. it's interesting.

"so you don't profile at all." I state.

"technically no, but I've picked up a couple things." she smirks.

"oh, yeah? like what?"

"well, it's obvious that you're never home, based on the lack of decoration here." she refers to the mostly blank walls of my apartment. aside from a couple photos of my friends and family, there's not much unique to me. "and you've obviously got a candle addiction." she points to the various spots around the living room, where half-burned pots of wax sit patiently awaiting their next light.

"that's definitely true." I laugh. she gets up and starts to smell the various candles.

"I like this one a lot." she sets down my chai vanilla one. I let her go through my things, despite the fact that Garcia is incredibly reserved about people touching her own little office trinkets. she picks up stray books and memorabilia, occasionally making a comment.

while she does, I finish my curry. I'm way too tired to resist her search, anyway. I'll be curling up in bed soon and praying that tomorrow is a paperwork day. eventually, she settles onto the cushions again.

"you seem tired," she says when she glimpses the dark circles beneath my eyes. "I'll get out of your hair."

"what? oh, I'm sorry." I draw myself up a little more. "this last case just took a lot out of me."

"they all do." she gives me a soft expression, then pats my knee as she stands.

"Penelope." I say as she gathers up her coat and purse.

"yes, darling?"

"thanks. for the food and for coming over." I smile gratefully at her. the tech analyst stands at my door with a look on her face that makes me think we're going to be good friends.

"anytime." she heads out, leaving me on the couch. I stare at the mess of empty takeout boxes that I told her to leave. now that I've eaten, getting up to clean the space is even more difficult. I trudge about the apartment, wash some dishes, and head off to bed.

my body is too exhausted to remember the dreams.

...

"oh my god, I'm so sorry!" I practically sprint into the conference room, swinging my bag down by my feet as I grab the last open chair. JJ is standing at the front of the room with a new case on the screen. everyone stares at me as I settle in. "my train was super delayed."

"everyone is allowed to be late," Hotch barely glances up from the case file. "once."

a chill runs down my spine and my face flushes an embarrassing red as JJ passes me the remaining file. keeping my head down, she notices my discomfort and clears her throat.

"okay, you guys are heading to Arizona today." she clicks a button. some pictures pop up for us to see. "Bradshaw College in Tempe has had six fires in seven months."

it's a video recording of a building from the outside, and two students talking about a fire inside. the camera shifts to show them in their own dorm, examining a strange wet spot leaking into their room. and then one of them catches on fire.

he burns to death on tape. it's jarring, the shrieking noises he lets out as the flames engulf his body. they travel up his legs alarmingly fast, so much so that it's obviously chemical.

"the first fire was in March, the second in May. the third didn't happen until September." JJ explains once the clip is over. "and then two weeks later, there were three that happened in one night."

"he's speeding up." Prentiss observes from her spot next to me.

"82% of arsonists are white males between seventeen and twenty-seven. female arsonists are far less common, with motives usually limited to revenge." Reid sits across the table, adjusting his watch.

I raise my eyebrows at his fact and look more at the crime scene photos. burned flesh is definitely an uncomfortable sight, one that makes my stomach churn.

"sounds like he's a student." Morgan taps his pen against his fingertip and leans back in his chair.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Hotch continues to read the document. "we don't want to rely too much on precedent."

at this, I press my knuckles to my chin and try to think of other suspects. he's obviously doing these during the school year, but that doesn't necessitate that he's a student. he could be working on campus-- a professor, even.

"there's a rapid escalation. he's gone from the damage to a building to something far more satisfying." Morgan closes the file and we all look to Hotch.

"wheels up in thirty." he says. I get up to grab my go-bag and gather some things from my desk, my cheeks burning at the memory of being late again. I've never done that before, but I don't want to start now. maybe it's best if I start coming in early, just in case my train gets delayed again. I can't risk losing this job, or being moved to a different department. it was enough of a hassle switching from sex crimes to the BAU. I really want to settle into this position, and that includes having the unit chief not hate me.

"hey." Prentiss catches my wrist just as I'm hurrying out of the room. I turn to her.

"hi."

"a little birdy told me that you and Reid pretty much single-handedly solved that case yesterday." she smiles.

"oh, no. it wasn't just us." I shake my head.

"quit being modest. nice job." she nudges my shoulder as we walk down the steps to the bullpen. "also, I brought a couple of those horticulture magazines that I told you about. we should read them on the jet."

"no way!" I pause at my desk, grinning.

"one of them has a whole section on caring for orchids."

"orchids?" Morgan overhears her from his desk. he appears deeply concerned with our discussion.

"if you have to ask, you wouldn't understand." she smirks. he turns his attention to me in hopes of a clearer answer.

"it's plant care." my explanation seems to be enough to bore him, however, because he just shrugs and returns to packing his bag up. Emily waves the stack of magazines at me before I head over to her desk.

she doesn't really seem like the type of person to be into it, but when Emily caught sight of the air plants I've got scattered on my desk my first week, we got wrapped up in a conversation about them. there's a special magazine subscription as well that has a bunch of helpful tips about where to buy and how to keep them healthy.

I'm flipping through one of the copies on the way to the elevator, my nose buried in a section about how much to water Hoyas, when Reid and JJ pop in next to me. the blonde is on the phone with someone, presumably the Tempe police. I haven't seen much of her recently-- she's been staying behind for most cases-- but she sends me a sweet smile before returning to her call.

"what are you reading?" Spencer's eyes hungrily run over the paper, as if seeing something he hasn't already absorbed in that big brain is unbearable. his hair is slicked back as usual, and his tie is sort of crooked; he's not aware of it. I hold the material between us so he can take a peek.

"a magazine about plants that Prentiss and I like."

"fascinating. can I see?" he grabs it before I can answer, although I don't think he means to. his fingertip runs down the page quickly, and then he's flipping them like mad, staring at the pictures. my eyes widen at how eager he is; I guess his curiosity is enough to override any awkwardness.

"did you know that owning indoor plants is actually correlated to overall mood improvements?" he asks me once he finishes reading, attention still focused on the back cover. the elevator door to the main level slides open.

"no, but I'm proof of it," I take back the reading material and put it in my bag. we walk out into the lobby. his long legs mean that my pace has to quicken a bit in order to keep up. "something about taking care of them is quite nice. they don't need as much attention as a pet, but they still rely on you."

"interesting." he nods.

"I like to think so."

"maybe I'll get one." he muses more to himself than anyone else. I smile at his open-mindedness, keep my eyes on the tiles we're walking over. maybe he, Prentiss, and I can have our own affinity club. he would become more knowledgeable than both of us combined within the span of a week.

[isthisthingeven0n]

i’ll marry you someday : j.w

brief summary: jeff hopes that someday he’ll marry you, but after an accident that lands him in hospital, he’s more certain than ever 

word count:  2.5k (i kinda went off on this) requested: yes by the sweetest anon. i adore this idea and cause i’m super dramatic well, you’ll see   warnings: mentions of a car crash, some graphic descriptions. nothing too threatening, but if these are sensitive topics please read at your own discretion or miss this one (your wellbeing matters more than anything!)

* masterlistin’ / masterlistin’ 2.0

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website know it hasn’t been approved me unless specified. all rights reserved. - i have to start doing this as I had some shit on my other blog with plagiarism)

DO NOT STEAL MY WORK - IT IS ALL MY OWN WRITING

“You know, I’m gonna marry you someday,” Jeff mumbles as you curl up against his chest as you struggle to keep your eyes open long enough to focus on the film.

“That so?” You whisper, looking up at him as he smiles down to you, his fingers gliding through your hair as you hum in content.

Jeff nods, unable to hide his grin as your eyes close.

It’s true though, Jeff really means it when he says it. Even if you think he’s just joking around. As a matter of fact, in all his life, Jeff has never been more certain about something. That being with you, and spending the rest of his life alongside you, and only you. After everything he’s been through, the consequences he’s faced from his actions you’re just a ray of sunshine.

You didn’t care about his past, the things he once did. He’s grown, matured as a person into someone you want to be with and love him regardless.

*

Standing in the doorway, Jeff’s bags pile up outside whilst Todd patiently waits for his friend to depart from his house. If only it were easier said than done.

“Do you have to go?” You pout as your arms remain around his waist, not wanting to let go.

Jeff chuckles as he glances behind you, seeing Todd filming on his camcorder in the pathway. “I’ll only be gone a few days, baby.” Jeff reminds you, hearing you sigh loudly as your hands begin to slip away from him.

“Just, stay safe.” You nudge his arm as he picks up his bags before leaning down and kissing you softly. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” He blows one last kiss to you before walking out from your house, leaving you with Nerf sat by your side watching his Dad get into the passenger seat of Todd’s car.

“You really love her, don’t you?” Todd speaks up, noticing the way Jeff looks at you as if you’re the only person in the entire world.

Jeff can’t help but think of the ring he’s picked out and reserved at the jewellers, a quick pitstop on route to his and Todd’s destination. “I do, Toddy.” Jeff sighs as they pull away, moving further away from you, but closer to the next step in your future.

“So, airport?” Todd looks over to Jeff before returning his attention to the road.

Shaking his head, Jeff points to the left hand turn coming up, the opposite direction. “I just wanna make a short stop first.” Jeff states as Todd turns the car, and as they follow the road Jeff can see the old shop sign.

Feeling his heartbeat quicken pace, it isn’t something that goes unnoticed by Todd. “We going where I think we’re going?” Todd asks with a hesitant smile before Jeff points at the shop whilst Todd parks up just down the road.

“Yeah.” Jeff runs his fingers through his hair as he opens the passenger door, hearing Todd mutter his name as his right leg hangs out of the car.

“This is it, huh?” Todd chuckles, an attempt to hide his nerves for his friend. “You’re gonna ask her?”

“I really am, Todd. Got it all planned out.” Jeff states, feeling that familiar sense of uneasiness return to his stomach as he climbs out fully, his arm resting on the top of the car as Todd remains in the driver's seat. “Gotta say, I’ve never been more certain of anything.” He admits before turning away from the car, crossing the street toward the shop in question.

Whilst Jeff is crossing, Todd’s fingers tap on the steering wheel, humming to himself. Yet, Jeff doesn’t make it across the road.

Glancing through his rearview mirror, seeing a car speeding down the narrow street, shortly followed by a sharp break and a loud thud.

“No, no.” Todd mutters, feeling everything play too quickly for him to process. “Jeff?!” Todd yells, looking behind his car to see the small car in question with the window smashed as the driver crawls out, coughing violently.

A few shop owners and customers gather around behind the driver's car, some converse whilst others call for help. “Is he alive?” Todd hears one lady question whilst another bends down, her feet sticking out from behind the car as Todd hesitantly walks closer.

Fearing the worst, Todd took a deep breath as he moved between the gathering crowd to see what his fears be a reality.

“Jeff? Buddy?” Kneeling down, Todd couldn’t stop his hands from shaking as he reaches out as blood dribbles from Jeff’s mouth as his eyes remain closed. “Has someone called for some help? Fuck!” He looks around, desperation lacing his tone as faces blur together whilst blood coats his face and exposed limbs.

“An ambulance is on its way.” Someone speaks up, resting a hand on Todd’s shoulder with a sympathetic smile.

“You’ll be okay, buddy,” Todd mutters, forcing back his tears as Jeff’s limps are splayed out, lifelessly.

*

You couldn’t process the phone call as it came through. Part of you thought it was a sick prank call until you heard Todd’s hushed voice down the line, loud enough to understand without it cracking.

David picked you up with Natalie, understanding you were in no fit position to drive.

No words were exchanged as you sat silently in the passenger seat, thinking about what Todd had told you. He hadn’t even left town, they were making a pit stop and some sick fuck was speeding.

Tearing the images from your mind, you open the car door and rush inside without checking your friends were close behind.

“Is Jeff Wittek here?” You ask bluntly, remaining emotionless as you bite your lip, holding back a sob.

The receptionist looks up at you before averting her attention to her screen. You wait painfully as she types into the system, now aware of David and Natalie either side of you. Natalie rests her hand on your forearm, squeezing it lightly as a single tear spills from your eye.

“He’s in room 207. Turn left down the hall, and three floors up.” The receptionist tells you and before she can ask if you need anything else, you’re gone.

You can’t keep up with your own feet as you race to his room, a distortion of voices play as Natalie and David converse as they try to catch up to you, but you’re oblivious to everyone else.

Slowing down, you can see someone hunched over on a seat outside of a room. A tuft of brown hair, slouched form and his hands clasped in each other.

“Toddy?” You call out weakly, seeing him rise to his feet and rush over, engulfing you in a tight hug as you sob against him.

Natalie and David hang back as Todd focuses on Natalie with watery vision. “I’m so sorry, Y/n.” Todd mumbles into your hair as your whole body shakes. “He, he just wanted to get something. I should’ve gone with him.” Todd rambles, but you lean back, shaking your head to him.

“It’s not your fault, Todd.” You tell him bluntly. “Do not blame yourself. It was an accident.” You breathe deeply as you force yourself to look at the door number behind him. “Is he, is he awake?”

Todd scratches the back of his neck as he takes a hold of your hand, guiding you closer toward the room. “He’s still unconscious, but he’ll be alright,” Todd tells you, but you can tell there’s something else. “but he got hurt bad, Y/n.”

Taking a shaky breath, you nod. “How bad are things?”

Shutting your eyes, you wipe away your tears forcefully as you listen to Todd listing off Jeff’s injuries. Two broken legs, fractured ribs, a collapsed lung. He was lucky to make it out alive.

“Can I see him?” You question quietly.

Todd opens the door and guides you inside to the room where Jeff is being monitored.

As you lift your eyes up, the sight before you breaks your heart.

You listen to the sound of his monitor beeping as various tubes are connected to him. Discomfort is worn heavily in his face, despite him being unconscious as stitches line his cheeks and forehead. Bruises are starting to form across his exposed skin, but the damage evidently lies deeper than that.

A sob wracks through you as you cover your mouth, muffling the sound as you fall to the ground.

“It’s okay, Y/n.” Todd hushes as he helps you to your feet. “Jeff’s strong, we know this.” He reassures you as you step closer toward your boyfriend, sitting beside him.

Reaching out, you rest your hand alongside his.

Both you and Todd sit in silence until visiting hours are over, and at this point, you can feel your entire body is numb. You didn’t want to leave him, you didn’t want Jeff to be alone in that room, left in pain without anyone by his side.

*

Two days you were sat in the room, sitting in silence beside him as Doctors and Nurses passed by. Checks were made, vitals were monitored and silence was a frequent friend.

You saw many faces, most with sympathy etched into their smiles as they tried not to focus on the damages covering Jeff’s body or the tiredness lining your eyes. It felt like an ongoing cycle, just waiting for any kind of update.

Everyone was just waiting, waiting for him to wake up. And after three solid days of waiting, sitting by his side for as long as you were allowed to, Jeff started to stir in the bed.

“Where the fuck am I?” He mumbles, and you quickly jolt up from sleeping at an angle on the plastic chair beside his bed.

“Jeff?” You call out, blinking rapidly as your vision begins to focus on his confused expression as he winces. “Oh thank god.” You reframe from wrapping your arms around him, knowing he’s still fragile. “I, I’ll go get someone, I’ll be right back.” You tell him quickly as you rise to your feet, finding the first Nurse to pass you by.

Whilst you talk to a nurse, Jeff looks around the room as the events of that afternoon replay. He remembers seeing a blue car speeding toward him and being on the ground with faces surrounding him. But after that, everything is simply blank.

Jeff watches as you walk back in, your angelic smile plastered across your face as bags wear heavy beneath your eyes.

Sitting beside him, you rest his hand in yours as the Nurse checks his vitals and explains exactly what has happened to him. As you listen to the Nurse, you feel Jeff faintly squeezing your hand, letting you know he can feel you beside him.

“So, I got hit bad, huh?” Jeff tries to joke but winces at the pain spreading across his ribs.

“Take it easy, babe.” You remind him as he lies back down, letting out a strained sigh.

“Seen worse in jail, let me tell you that.” He continues his efforts to make you smile, even if tears fill your eyes as you focus on him, how casts cover both legs and bandages across his stomach. “Hey, Y/n, I’m okay.” He reaches out as you lean closer toward him.

Feeling his hand rest across your cheek is enough to comfort you as you let out a shaky breath. “I know, I just, I don’t know what I would do if you were,” You struggle to finish your sentence as Jeff wipes away your tears that fall.

“Don’t think ‘bout that, baby.” He hushes you, peering over your shoulder to see Todd leaning against the door frame. “If it isn’t my saviour,” Jeff calls out and you laugh lightly, leaning back as Todd walks in.

Rising to your feet, Todd hugs you lightly as you pass him and exit the room in search of the bathroom.

“Hey man.” Todd sighs as he sits down, taking your seat temporarily whilst you’re gone. “Good to see you awake, you, you had us worried for a moment.”

“Just a moment?” Jeff raises an eyebrow, ignoring the bruising around his eye and the stitches below.

Todd shakes his head as he reaches into his pocket, taking out a small velvet box. “I, I picked this up, thought you might want it.” Sliding the small box across the bed, Jeff hides it underneath the covers of the hospital sheets.

“Thank you, Todd.” Jeff smiles, and Todd simply nods as you return.

“Did I miss anything?” You call out as Todd stands up, moving away from the chair as he shakes his head.

“Nothing too eventful. Good luck getting him to pee for the next few months though.” Todd laughs, nudging you lightly as you roll your eyes, missing the wink he sends Jeff.

For the next few hours, you just sat with Jeff as the Doctors explained the next step in Jeff’s recovery. It wasn’t going to be easy, and you understood that there would be hard times, but you weren’t going anywhere.

“Thank you, Doc.” Jeff speaks up, processing everything he’s just been told.

“Looks like you’ll be my bitch for a while, huh?” You tell Jeff, hoping to see a smile cross his lips to ease the pressure of the detailed recovery process.

Jeff chuckles, looking up at you as you keep a smile on your face. “You’re seriously something else, Y/n.” Jeff shakes his head, watching as you shrug a shoulder. “You know, I’m gonna marry you someday.” He reminds you, and you laugh lightly.

“I know, baby. You tell me almost every week!” You smile brightly, but Jeff shakes his head as he reaches into the sheets, taking a hold of the velvet box.

“I really mean it, and, and I know this isn’t probably the way I envisioned it. And I can’t even stand, let alone get on one knee right now, but,” Taking a deep breath, Jeff reveals the diamond inside of the box, looking up as your lips part.

“Jeff,” You start, but Jeff shakes his head.

“Y/n, you’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met. You, you’ve seen past all the shit in my life, you’re willing to help me through this and wheel me everywhere for possibly months. I can’t imagine being with anyone else, and I don’t want to.” Jeff reels off all of his thoughts as you remain in a state of shock. “So, Y/n Y/l/n, will you marry me?” He finally asks the question, feeling his heart pause as he awaits your response.

“Yes.” You mumble, nodding as you rise to your feet, leaning closer and kissing him passionately. “Yes, yes!” You laugh excitedly as you sit back down, letting Jeff place the ring on your finger. “So, this is it, huh?”

“I told you, baby.” Jeff smiles brightly, fighting through the pain as his monitor continues to beep at a slightly rapid pace. “I’m gonna marry you someday, and that’s a promise.”

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Puzzles & Pleas

A JSE Fanfic

A new part whoooo! As I’m writing this description I’m very tired so I’m not sure what to say. We’re basically following up directly from the last part, like literally only a few hours later. Chase and Marvin are having a nice visit with Jack, and at the exact same time, their other three friends are having a variety of bad times with Anti. Fun fun fun! Well, not for the characters, but probably for us. Enjoy :)

You can find the other stories under the pw timeline tag!

“You look nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“I mean, it’s understandable if you are—”

“I’m not fucking nervous, Chase.”

The elevator doors opened, forcibly stopping the brief exchange. Chase stepped out onto the third floor, glancing back over his shoulder at Marvin. “Well, if you were, I was just gonna say it’s okay to be. Now c’mon.”

Marvin hesitated. Despite what his protests would indicate, he did look rather anxious. He kept twisting the edge of his shirt around. But he took a moment to steady himself and followed Chase out of the elevator, saying nothing.

“It’s just the same room,” Chase said, gesturing down the hospital hallway. “Let’s go.”

They walked in silence for a while, passing by closed doors, each with a room beyond. Chase kept looking back towards Marvin. This would probably be the first time he’d left his house in a couple weeks, something that Chase knew from experience wasn’t good for your health. Marvin looked fine, physically. His hair was combed and pulled back in a ponytail, his shirt and pants neat. But he just seemed...not as energetic. If that made sense. Hopefully, this would be good for him.

They soon reached the room they were looking for. Chase was about to knock on the door when Marvin suddenly asked, “Do you think he’ll be mad at me?”

Chase blinked. Then laughed, in an effort to lighten the mood. “Why would he be mad at you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I hardly ever went to visit him.” Marvin continued to twist the hem of his shirt. “A-and I haven’t seen him at all since he woke up.”

“Marv. Trust me. Jack wouldn’t be mad at you for something like that.” Chase instinctively went to pat him on the back, but Marvin leaned away, so he dropped it and settled for a reassuring smile. “He’s not that type of guy.”

“Would he be...disappointed?” Marvin asked tentatively.”I-I don’t want to make him feel bad, he probably has enough to deal with—”

“It’s going to be alright, Marvin. Jack knows you didn’t mean to hurt him by not visiting. And besides, you’re visiting now, aren’t you? So it all works out.” Chase waited for Marvin to say more, but he just nodded, breathing out slowly. “Alright, we’re gonna go in now, okay?” Marvin nodded again, and Chase knocked on the door before slowly opening it. “Hello? It’s me.”

Jack turned to look towards the door. The moment he saw Chase, he smiled, and reached to the side and adjusted the controls of the bed to a sitting position. “Hii Shhays.”

“Hey bro. Look, I brought a friend.” Chase stepped into the room, allowing Marvin to take his place in the doorway.

Marvin froze for a moment. He stared at Jack, taking in the bed, the wires, the oxygen tube. Then he waved. “Um...hi.”

“Mahfin!” Jack grinned even wider. “‘S good t’see yuh!” He waved Marvin over.

“Ha. Y-yeah, good to see you, too.” Marvin stepped inside. “Oh, uh, d’you want this open?”

“S’fffine.”

“Alright, then.” He closed the door.

“Hey, c’mon, Marv, sit down.” Chase walked over to the side of the bed, indicating one of the nearby chairs. “Get comfy in the plastic hospital chair.”

Marvin laughed, and followed Chase over to the bed. They both sat, and Jack leaned over to pick up his communication board from the nearby table. He pointed to the How are you? box. 

“Eh. We’re alright, I guess,” Chase said, glancing at Marvin.

“I...well, I’ve been...” Marvin stopped, the words getting caught in his throat. “It’s fine, though. Probably nothing compared to what you’re going through.”

Jack frowned. It was a small, awkward gesture, something his facial muscles were still having trouble with. He indicated the I don’t think so box.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Marvin asked, confused.

“It means he’s doubting you,” Chase explained. Jack nodded.

“Well, I mean...it’s fine,” Marvin said slowly. “Honestly, I’d rather talk about you. Like, how are you doing? What are you doing? It can’t be too fun being stuck in here.”

Jack still looked unsure, but he shook his head, and tapped a box labeled I agree.

“You’ve got a TV in here now, though,” Chase said, pointing to the corner. A big box television sat on top of a wheeled cart. “It looks like the ones they used to bring into classrooms in elementary school, y’know?”

Marvin and Jack just stared at him. “I think that’s an American thing,” Marvin said. “Or at least, something that wasn’t common where we were from.”

“Ah. Well, they did it all the time. A couple classrooms had them bottled to the ceilings in the corner and you watched movies on it, but you were always too far away to see it properly.” Chase laughed a bit. “But still, there’s probably only so much TV you can take.”

Jack groaned, rolling his eyes. He emphatically tapped the I agree box.

Marvin smiled a bit. “Well, don’t you have hospital stuff to do? Like, examinations and shit?”

Jack pointed to the Yes box. “Therrs...th’rapy. Lotta it.”

“Yeah, like speech therapy, physical therapy, probably a million other kinds.” Chase nodded. “Oh, speaking of which, you sound much better! Good job, bro.”

“Thnkss.” Jack smiled a bit.

“Y’know, I did some, uh...I don’t know if it was physical therapy exactly, but I did some exercises as a kid,” Marvin recalled. “Because I was severely uncoordinated. Tripped over my own feet to the point Grandmam was worried about it.” He paused. “I don’t know what I mean by that. I guess I’m just saying I relate a bit. It’s probably not the same thing, though.”

“Nnoh, ‘sfine,” Jack assured him. “I geddid. Ah.” He made a face. “I. Get. It.”

“Good, then.” For a moment, there was just silence. It stretched long enough to get awkward, and just when Chase was about to change the subject, Marvin blurted out, “I’m sorry I never came to see you, Jack.”

Jack blinked. “Hm?”

“Well I did but—it wasn’t that often. A-and not since you woke up, and I’m really sorry about it, it’s just—I’ve been having...a...moment.” Marvin clenched his fists as he tried to find the words. Sign language wouldn’t work here; Jack couldn’t understand it. So he was stuck with verbal speech. Not always his strong suit. “You know, when you have...a moment? When it’s hard to do anything because you...don’t...really...feel like anything?” Chase nodded encouragingly, and Marvin took a deep breath. “It’s not because I didn’t want to come see you. I really did, I-I’m really happy you’re awake again! It’s just...my fault. I put it off for so long, and then I got nervous about it, like, that it would be weird to suddenly show up and start talking like nothing had happened—I-I do that a lot, y’know, that’s why I don’t really talk to anyone besides you guys—and it’s not you, it’s me, and I’m sorry.” He finished with a rush and then stopped, waiting, his posture stiff and tense.

Jack was quiet for a moment. Then, he leaned closer, reaching out and putting a hand on top of Marvin’s own. “Mahfin...Mmmahrf...Marrrfvin.” For a moment, he looked frustrated at his inability to pronounce his friend’s name properly, but then he took a deep breath, and moved on. “Mahrfin. ‘S not...yoh fahlt. Thin’s happen. ‘S alright. ‘M happy t’see yuh—yyou. Yohr herre now. An’ tha’s what’s...i-im....important.” And he smiled.

Marvin’s face swelled with a mix of emotions. Relief, hesitancy, joy. It brought tears to his eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Yeh. O’courrrse.”

“I...good. That’s...good.” Marvin wiped his eyes. “Y’know...if you’re having trouble, you could just call me Muffin or something, for the time being.”

Jack laughed. “Shurr, Maffin.”

The moment was interrupted by a faint buzzing sound. Chase jumped a bit, feeling something vibrate in his pocket. “Oh, uh, sorry guys.” He took out his phone, face turning red with embarrassment as the other two watched him. “I didn’t think anyone would be calling me.” He glanced at the screen. “Huh. I don’t recognize the number.”

“It’s probably spam,” Marvin dismissed.

“Maybe. Or it could be important. Like, the kids are in school now, what if their teacher’s calling?” Chase hesitated. “I’ll just—just see if it is spam, really quick.” He tapped the Accept button and pressed the phone to his ear. “Hello? Who’s this?”

—————— 

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. Something was squeezing his chest, his lungs—something was inside him, it was—no, no it wasn’t. This was panic. That had to be the explanation. He had to calm down, and—and do...something.

Schneep had woken up a few minutes ago. It took him a while to remember what happened before that. How someone had been in his room. No...not just someone. He knew—it was him, it was—there was no escape, there had never been any escape—

Okay. Calm down. Breathe. Focus on the facts. He was lying on the floor. In a strange room that he didn’t recognize. Near the wall. And he wasn’t alone. But he couldn’t focus on that fact now, it just made it hard to breathe again, thinking about being watched, being stared at, being—stop. Calm. Breathe.

Maybe if he looked around, it would help. But there wasn’t much to see in the room. The walls were dark gray, the floor was rough white carpet. There was a circular black rug in the middle. And a window with blinds. Besides those features, the only thing of note in the room was...a desk. And its chair, with someone sitting in it. But he didn’t want to look towards that. What about...the window? Was there anything outside?

He hesitated, and briefly glanced back towards the desk. It looked like the chair’s occupant was busy, attention fully focused on the computer monitors on the desk’s surface. But he knew he was still being watched. Perhaps...if he moved slowly, then it wouldn’t be too strange? It would be natural?

Deciding that was worth a shot, Schneep cautiously sat up. His head was still a bit dizzy, and heavy, too. He grimaced, then glanced out the window. The glass was a bit dirty, and looked unusually...thick, if that made sense. Outside, he could see a street corner, and houses. This room was in a house like that, then? And it was at an intersection, with a pair of street signs marking the roads that crossed here. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make out the street names this far away without his glasses. But one of them had some graffiti on it, a spray-painted square with a diamond inside it, and a black dot inside that. It might’ve been more elaborate than that, but again, he couldn’t quite make out the details.

“I see you.”

Schneep yelped, pressing against the wall as he turned to look towards the desk. Anti. He’d turned around in his desk chair and was staring at him now. Staring with those mismatched eyes that haunted his nightmares.

“Enjoying the view?” Anti nodded towards the window. “Sorry, not much to see. Nothing particularly helpful. Especially since you can’t read the street signs from this distance without your glasses.”

He knew what he was thinking?! Was he in his head again?! Schneep squeezed his eyes shut, shook his head, and opened them again. No, that wasn’t true. Anti was human, he’d never read his mind, humans couldn’t do that.

“What? Do you think you’re safe up here?” Anti tapped the side of his head and grinned. “Don’t be so sure. You’re so easy to—”

“Shut up, you are lying,” Schneep interrupted. “You—you cannot do that anymore. I know it’s a trick.”

“You don’t know anything,” Anti said, still grinning. “Because I’ve been watching you. I know you’ve heard me. And I know you’ve told others about me. Don’t you remember what I said about that? The more people know about me, the stronger I become.”

“That is more lies,” Schneep insisted, pressing his back to the wall. 

“I’ve never lied to you. And I’m not about to start now. I’ve been watching you. I know you’ve seen my shadow in the corners, and my eyes in the ceilings.”

“How do you know about that?!” Schneep shrieked.

“Because I sent them, of course. To keep an eye on you, make sure you didn’t break any rules.” Anti sighed dramatically and shook his head. “I hoped it wouldn’t be needed, but I thought, better safe than sorry. And it turns out I was right.”

Schneep pressed his hands to his ears, trying to block out Anti’s words. They had to be lies. He knew that Anti wasn’t some supernatural creature, he was just a man. Anti had to be guessing about the things he saw. Though...how did he guess about the eyes in the ceilings? Schneep couldn’t remember telling him about them, and that had to be a fairly specific hallucination. Maybe he really...? No, there had to be another explanation.

Anti laughed, and Schneep flinched at the sound. His eyes darted around the room once more. There was a door, but it was on the other side of the room, and he was willing to bet it was locked. Same with the window. He could try to break the window, but there was nothing to break it with. Unless he wanted to try and grab one of the computer monitors and throw it through the glass, but he knew he’d be overpowered if he tried.

“That’s right, you’ve got no way out,” Anti said, leaning back. “You’re lucky I haven’t tied you to a chair or anything. The only reason I haven’t done that is because you know it’s hopeless, anyway. Unlike certain others...wearing red jackets.”

Schneep felt a chill pass over him. Jackie. Of course. Anti still had him captive. “I-it’s different, now,” Schneep protested weakly. “They know about you, a-and me, and that we are not the same. They will be trying to rescue me this time.”

“Probably,” Anti admitted. He grabbed something off the desk and stood up, approaching. Schneep’s eyes widened, and he pressed further into the wall, pulling his legs and arms close. “That is, they’ll be trying a search and rescue as long as they think I’m involved.” Anti stopped, standing over Schneep, and leaned down. “So here’s what’s going to happen.” He showed him the thing he’d grabbed from the desk: a phone. “You’re going to call the lovely Dr. Laurens and tell her you left on your own.”

“What...wh-why would I do that?” Schneep stammered.

“Because you got scared. Because you didn’t feel safe in that hospital. Because you told her you saw Anti in the hospital rec room, and you think that he’s real, and that he can come after you.” Anti smiled. “It’s built on truth, isn’t it? Because you told her you saw me, didn’t you?”

Schneep stared at him in disbelief. He had told Laurens about seeing Anti in the rec room. At the time, he thought it was just him seeing things, but...had it been real? The whole time? And how did Anti know he’d told Laurens about that?

Because he hears your thoughts. He can twist them to control you.

No! No, that wasn’t real. But...the idea still lingered.

“What are you waiting for?” Anti held out the phone, staring at him. Staring, staring, staring. Always staring.

Schneep swallowed a sudden lump in his throat. “..okay. I will call her.”

Anti didn’t say anything as he took the phone, still watching him as he dialed the phone number. Schneep tried not to think about it too much as he held the phone to his ear and listened to the call connect.

The other end rang for a long time, and Schneep swiftly grew afraid that nobody would pick up. But just when he thought it would hang up, the ringing stopped. “Hello? Who’s this?”

“Um. Hello.” Schneep reminded himself to breathe. “It’s me, it is—well, you can probably tell by the voice.” The voice that was shaking quite a bit.

“What the f—Schneep?!” The voice on the other end shouted in disbelief. “Why are you calling me?! No, wait, how are you calling me? I thought you weren’t allowed to have a phone there.”

“No, I—there is—something has happened,” Schneep said carefully. “I-I am not at Silver Hills anymore.”

“Well then where the hell are you?!”

“I am...I am somewhere...else,” Schneep said slowly.

“Yeah, where?”

Anti narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Get to the point,” he hissed.

Schneep froze for a moment. He needed to speak freely. “It’s because of—of him,” he said carefully. “You know who I mean, yes?”

“You mean...Anti?” The other end went silent for a minute. “Schneep where are you? Can you tell me, give me a clue or something? I-I’ll call the police, but if you could tell me anything—”

Anti frowned. “Put it on speaker,” he said.

Schneep’s heart sank. Impossible. Anti would immediately know that he hadn’t called the right person. He had to do something drastic. “Er ist es, er hat mich mitgenommen,” he said, speaking quickly. “Ich weiß nicht wo ich bin.” Anti’s eyes widened, and he lunged forward. Schneep cried out, and rolled to the side, just avoiding him. “Ich weiß nicht wo ich bin! Ein Haus an einer Straßenecke—Ich kenne die Straßennamen nicht! Das Schild hat Graffiti, es ist ein Kreis in einem Diamanten in einem Quadrat—”

“You little—!” Anti grabbed Schneep’s wrist and twisted the phone out of his hand.

“Bitte komm—!” Schneep didn’t manage to get the rest of the sentence out before—

Smack!

He fell to the side, half of his face suddenly alight in pain. For a moment, he was too dazed to respond properly. Then Anti grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him upward. He instantly started struggling.

“You worthless little fucker,” Anti hissed, grabbing a handful of Schneep’s hair and pulling his head backwards. “Can’t believe you did that. Fuck. You deserved that. Your friend’s gonna have worse for that stunt you just pulled.”

“N-no!” Schneep gasped. “Leave him alone!”

“No, you know the rules. You know how this works.” Anti glared at him. “You’ve just gotten cocky. So you need a reminder.”

Schneep felt a tear trickle from his eye. He hoped that call was worth it.

—————— 

“Schneep?! Henrik?! Are you there?!” Chase shouted into the phone, but got no response. There’d been a rustling sound, like a struggle, then Schneep had shouted, and then there was—there was another sound, a sound he’d most often heard when his kids would fight each other, and he had to scold them. That sound was a lot more sinister in this context. Especially considering the call had apparently dropped after it. “Fuck!”

“What happened?!” Marvin asked, shaken by the half of the conversation he’d heard. “Was that really—?”

“H-hang on, I’m gonna call his doctor first,” Chase said. He hurried to dial the number for Dr. Laurens, misdialing at first because of his rush and entering it a second time.

The call was picked up surprisingly quickly. “Chase? Is that you?” Laurens’s voice came through loud and clear.

“Yeah, it’s me. Listen doc, is...is Schneep okay?” Chase didn’t know how else to ask.

“Is he—oh, Chase,” Laurens said softly. “I was just about to call you. We...we don’t know where he is.”

“You...don’t know where he is?” Chase repeated, feeling the bottom of his stomach dropping out. He heard Marvin gasp, and saw him squeeze Jack’s hand, who was now sitting up as straight as he could. “What do you mean?”

“He never showed up to dinner. When Oliver went to check on his room, he wasn’t there. We’ve been searching the building and the grounds, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I thought—since you’re his friend, a-and his emergency contact—wait a minute.” Laurens stopped, realizing something. “Why are you asking?”

“Because he just called me,” Chase explained. “From some number I didn’t recognize. He said that—he said that Anti took him.”

“Shit,” Laurens cursed. “Chase, I need you to hang up right now and call the police. We’ll keep searching the nearby area, just in case. I-I’ll call you if we find him.”

“Y-yeah. Okay. And I’ll call you again after I talk to the cops.”

“Great. Go do that.”

“I’m doing it. Talk to you later.” Chase hung up.

“So he just disappeared?!” Marvin whispered harshly. “Just—just like that night.” He glanced over at Jack.

“Wh’s happennin’?” Jack asked, his features drawn.

“You guys heard that call, right? Henrik called me, h-he was speaking...haltingly, I think, with a lot of pauses, I think that’s the word.” Chase squeezed his phone case. “Then he freaked out and started shouting in German—I bet because Anti can’t speak it.”

“What did he say?!” Marvin demanded.

“I don’t know all of it, it’s been a while since I—give me a second.” Chase opened up a translation app on his phone and quickly typed in a few words, trying his best to match the spelling of the things he thought Schneep had said. He had to fill in the gaps. “Okay. He said that Anti took him, and that he didn’t know where it was, but it was a house on a street corner. He couldn’t see the street names, but mentioned some sort of like...graffiti? On the sign? A circle in a diamond in a square.”

Jack’s head shot upward, and he cried out.

“What?! What is it?!” Marvin leaned forward, checking all the wires and monitors.

“Nn—noh that!” Jack clumsily pushed him back. “That sss...ssymmbel. Know it.”

“Wh—you recognize the symbol?!” Chase repeated in disbelief. “Square-diamond-circle?!”

Jack nodded. “H-he...fffakes. Th’ fakes, th’ one...prtendinn tuh be yuh two. I...rmemmber now.”

“Huh?” Marvin asked, utterly confused.

“Right, you don’t know,” Chase realized. “Jack, he—he’s said some stuff about fake versions of us visiting him. Anti, in disguise. I-I know, I ran into him pretending to be you one time, and I heard about an imposter me from Dr. Emerson another time. Apparently Anti talked to him, said some freaky stuff.” He gasped. “You mean—he told you about this symbol?”

“Symmbl. Symbel to...to haf others recogniss him.” Jack pressed his hands to his forehead and leaned forward. “Put outssside...places he...h-has? I don’...don’ rmemrrr.” He fell silent, squeezing his eyes shut. “On a sighhn...steet signnn...ffahk. Fahk!”

“I’m gonna call the police,” Chase said, already dialing 999. “I’m gonna tell them everything, a-and meanwhile, try to remember anything else.”

Jack nodded, eyes still shut. Marvin squeezed his shoulder, an anchor to the physical world. He could hear Chase’s voice relaying what happened over the phone, but the words were indistinct as he tried to concentrate on his memory. Everything was all mixed up and blurred. None of it made sense most of the time. He remembered hearing voices, but he wasn’t sure when it was Chase, when it was this Anti, or when it was just a dream. But he’d definitely heard that description of a symbol before. When...when had he...when...when......?

——————

......

...

“It’s a calling card. Or a warning, if you want to think of it that way...simplified version of my...”

...

The man had no eyes. Or maybe he was just missing one eye. A blank, dark spot in the middle of a white face. He looked like a friend, but that dark spot was wrong. It told him it was a lie.

“Most people don’t know what it means exactly, only that it’s trouble. The area...claimed.”

And the voice was wrong. It...it sounded a bit like his own, actually? Was this...him?

Was that why he couldn’t move? Why he couldn’t look away?

“...outside safe houses, where I store my...and other equipment. They’re also secondary bases. Just in case...never know in this line of work. I don’t want...caught. Living...prison...just be the worst. You have no control.”

The man was smiling. His teeth stretched...his skin was melting. He—he couldn’t understand. What was happening? Who...was this man...? Was he him? Who are you? Who am I? Are we the same? I can’t understand. Something...something is broken up here. My thoughts...they’re scattering. Like throwing paper in a bowl of water, watching it soak it up, then stirring violently. Everything came apart.

“I’m never going to let anyone control me. No. I am in control. Everyone else...my little puppets. I like watching the shows.”

The white ceiling and walls were burning his eyes. It was curving, like a bubble. They were in a bubble. He was floating. He couldn’t feel anything.

“...times I worry about you telling people. But then I—” Laugh. Laugh. Laugh. “I remember you’re a veggie. People rarely wake...after something so severe. So...doesn’t matter. Maybe you can hear me. Maybe you can’t. Doesn’t...”

Green line. Up and down. Up and down. Crossing the man’s face. Cutting him in half.

“Why am I even doing this?”

Green light. Everything is green.

“I don’t even know. It’s a waste of time, a waste of resources, and a risk. Maybe...need it? I’ve never talked so freely. Not even to Jamie. He...a kid, you know. Always will be.”

Light is gone. Everything is black.

“...it doesn’t really matter what I say. I can tell you about the marks outside the houses. Ha. Hell, I can even tell you where they are. Like, for example, on the corner of—”

——————

Jack’s eyes flew open. “Ah!”

“Wh—?!” Marvin jumped a bit. “Jack?”

“Th’ steet! Strreet! Is—is—” Now the problem was just getting his mouth to form the sounds properly. “Ay...airrr...loom.”

Marvin blinked. “Air loom?”

“Hhay. Hhhhair loom.”

“Oh, heirloom? I don’t know that street, uh...” Marvin turned to look at Chase. “Did you catch that?”

Chase nodded in response, still on the phone, then returned to his conversation with the emergency line. “Um—maybe try on one of the corners of Heirloom Drive? My friend thinks that might be it.” A brief pause. “Uh, I don’t know.” And he looked over at Jack, pulling the phone away a bit. “Hey bro, do you...remember the other street? It’s at an intersection, right?”

Jack closed his eyes again. But this time, the memory wouldn’t even come to him. “No.”

“That’s fine.” Chase returned to the phone. “My friend doesn’t know, but on the phone call he said—my other friend—said that there was some sort of graffiti on the sign, that was a uhh square around a diamond around a circle. That probably helps right?” He paused. “No, I don’t think he’d see them. He’s near-sighted, and I don’t think he has his glasses. That probably means that the graffiti description is pretty vague, but it’s an idea.” Another pause. “Yeah, that’s it. Oh, wait, uh...I think Detective Nix was involved in this case? Can you tell him?” And another. “Yeah, his name’s Henrik.” And one last, long pause. “Alright, thank you ma’am. I’ll wait.” And he hung up, letting out a long exhale.

“It—it’s going to be fine, right?” Marvin asked anxiously. “They’ll find him?”

“It might take a while, but I think so,” Chase replied. “God...Hey, uh, Jack? You’re sure about this?”

Jack thought about it, then nodded slowly, head bobbing. That memory was a bit weird, but Dr. Emerson told him it was common to have dream-like memories, with everything that had happened to him. He was confident that the conversation was real. He couldn’t forget the times Anti came to visit, just because of how deeply unnerving his words always were.

“Alright. Well, they’re going to call me to update me on what happens,” Chase said. “Uh...not sure how long this’ll take. Visiting hours might end before they sort everything out.”

“Mm.” Jack shrugged. He picked up the communication board again—he’d just done a lot of talking, and needed a moment—and pointed to the I’m okay box.

“You sure?”

Yes box.

“Well we’re not leaving until they kick us out,” Marvin asserted, folding his arms. “If they call us back, you need to hear it. You just helped out a fuckton.”

Jack smiled, a bit lopsidedly. Thank you box.

Chase laughed, but it quickly faded. He looked down at the phone in his hand, already anticipating the call. “I guess...we just wait now.”

——————

There were footsteps passing by outside the room. At first, Jameson had tensed, waiting for the door to open and Anti to walk inside. But that didn’t happen. They just kept passing back and forth. You hear those, right? JJ asked.

Jackie didn’t respond, so JJ looked back over at him. He was lying on the bottom bed of the bunk and staring up, eyes glazed. Something he’d been doing quite a lot, JJ noticed. When he asked about it, Jackie always said he was daydreaming, which would be fine normally, but JJ was pretty sure that he was doing it too much. Well, he couldn’t blame him. But still, it would be nice if Jackie would look at him when he was signing.

Jameson walked over and, after a moment’s hesitation, shook Jackie’s shoulder. He blinked, made an odd gesture like he was asking someone to wait, then looked at JJ. “What?”

Have you been hearing the footsteps outside? JJ asked.

“Huh? Oh, uh, sorry. No. I wasn’t really paying attention,” Jackie admitted. “What do they sound like?”

Like someone’s running up and down a hallway outside, JJ described.

“Really? Well...I mean, I can’t really think of anyone but Anti who’d be doing that.” Jackie’s face scrunched up in thought. “Maybe he’s...doing something? I dunno. Running, though...it must be important.”

Jameson frowned. That was a good point, why would Anti be running about? I’m going to try to look outside, he said, walking over to the door.

“Look outside?” Jackie sat up, turning so he was on the edge of the bed. “You mean, through the gap?”

JJ nodded. He got down on his hands and knees and pressed his head to the floor, peering through the gap under the door. Nothing much to see. He got to his knees and was about to stand up...when he heard the footsteps again. Wanting to see what happened as they passed by the door, he quickly peered through the gap between the door and the doorframe. The steps were approaching—

Then the door slammed open, directly into Jameson’s face. He cried out as he fell, clasping his hands to his face.

“Oh my god, Jamie?! I’m so sorry!” Anti covered his mouth, staring down at him in shock. “It was an accident, I didn’t expect you to—are you okay?!”

Jameson didn’t answer. His face was in pain, and his nose in particular was throbbing. He pulled one hand away and saw it covered in blood, felt it trickling from his nostrils and soaking into his mustache.

“Shit. Fuck! I-it’ll be fine, I can—i-is it broken?” Anti bent over, grabbing Jameson’s head and trying to inspect the damage. But Jameson pulled away, waving at him to get back. “Hey, I just—okay, fine. This isn’t the time. We can look at it later.” Anti took his phone out of his pocket and checked the clock. “We need to go.”

Go? Did he say go? As in, they were leaving? Jameson stood up, keeping one hand on his face, trying and failing to stop the bleeding from getting everywhere. Why did they have to leave? More importantly, why was Anti trying to move the two of them? Unless...something happened that meant he had to move them. Like...the police coming. At that thought, Jameson started backing away.

“Jamie, this isn’t a joke, we need to leave now.” Anti insisted.

Jameson shook his head. He glanced over his shoulder at Jackie. Judging by the wide-eyed expression on his face, he’d come to the same conclusion as him. It was strange to see the glimmer of hope in his eyes. And that thought made Jameson’s heart hurt.

“Are you going to—?! Fuck, I don’t have time for this.” Anti rubbed his eyes, then adjusted the strap of the bag hanging off his shoulder. He stared at Jameson for a moment. Then followed his line of sight over to Jackie. For a moment, he hesitated, thinking about something. And then he made a decision. “Okay, fine.” Anti pushed past Jameson, reaching into his bag as he did so. He grabbed Jackie, yanking him upwards to a standing position, and pressed a knife to his neck.

Jameson gasped. “A-an!”

“I’m going to kill him,” Anti said calmly. “I’ve been thinking about it, and I can’t handle three of you after all. And he’s the most useless.”

“A...aan.” Jameson shook his head slowly. He didn’t dare to take a step forward. Jackie had looked terrified when Anti grabbed him, but the moment he said he was going to kill him, all emotion seemed to drain out of him. Now he was slumped, eyes blank, not there at all. Please, Jameson simply signed.

Anti looked him in the eyes. “The only way you can convince me not to is if you come with me right now.”

Oh.

So...that was the plan.

Jameson wasn’t sure why he wasn’t more shocked. No...no, actually, he knew why. But somehow, it surprised him to feel this lack of...well, surprise.

But in any case, he couldn’t let Jackie die. Alright, he signed slowly. I’ll go with you.

“Good. Follow me.”

Anti walked out of the room, right through the door, and Jameson followed behind him, quietly. He tried to catch Jackie’s eye, but Jackie wasn’t paying attention to anything at all. He just let Anti pull him along with the blade at his throat.

They went down a hallway and arrived in another, which they then walked down to arrive at a door. Anti pushed it open with his shoulder, and then they were in a small backyard, hardly more than a strip of grass. Jameson glanced at the neighboring houses, but they looked empty. But...maybe someone could see them? Maybe someone would call the police, if they hadn’t already been called.

There was a car parked in the gap between their house and one of the neighbors. It didn’t have anything distinct about it, a simple, gray, four-door car. But the trunk was a bit open. Jameson caught a glimpse of some sort of suitcase—maybe multiple suitcases—before Anti kicked the lid closed. “Stupid boot,” he muttered. “Jameson, get in the passenger side. Leave the door open.”

Well, he didn’t have much of a choice, did he? Jameson walked around to the passenger side and got in, sitting stiffly on the edge of the seat. He wiped his face, clearing up blood from his nosebleed.

“Good.” Anti nodded once. He then shifted his knife to his other hand, still keeping it pointed at Jackie, and used his other to rummage around in his bag until he pulled out a small bottle. He popped the lid open. “Hold out your hand.” When Jameson did, Anti shook a few small pills out of the bottle and into his palm. “Swallow three of those.”

That was the part that got Jameson to finally say something. Or, try to, at least. “A-annn? Yuh...c-c-cannn’...beee sss—”

“Don’t do this, Jamie,” Anti said through gritted teeth. “I know what you’re trying to do. Just eat them, okay?” He put the bottle back in his bag and switched the knife between hands again. He pressed it firmly into Jackie’s neck, causing a drop of blood to trickle down from where the blade met skin.

Jameson nodded, and hurriedly threw the pills in his mouth. Anti watched him closely, making sure they were eventually swallowed. “Good,” he said again. Then he closed the car door. Immediately, Jameson heard the clunk of the lock. He was expecting that...but he wasn’t expecting Anti to walk back towards the back door they’d come from, taking Jackie with him.

“Hhh—!” Jameson pressed his face and hands to the window. “Aaaan! N-nuh!” He banged a fist against the glass. “Nnnuh! Nn—n-n-no!” He screamed. But Anti didn’t even look towards him as he disappeared back into the house with Jackie.

He tried pulling at the door, but of course, found it useless. And looking around the inside showed there wasn’t a way to open the car from the inside. That was probably a safety hazard, but Jameson was willing to bet that Anti had the car modified. He spun around in his seat, looking for anything that would be of help in the back. But there was nothing. Except for...a man. Asleep, sitting in the back seat. Pale skin and brown hair, with a yellow-purple bruise forming on his cheek. Jameson was confused for a moment, until he noticed the plastic medical bracelet around the man’s wrist and remembered. That was Henrik, wasn’t it? Schneep? He hadn’t recognized him. Of course, they’d only met once, and Schneep had spent most of it freaking out, thinking that Jameson was Anti. He looked unharmed, but he was clearly unconscious, and therefore couldn’t help them get out of the car.

Frustrated, Jameson started kicking at the door, leaning back to build up as much force as possible. He tried hitting the window. But it felt as solid as the actual door. This went on for a few moments, until he saw the back door opening again. And Anti came back outside. Alone.

That made him stop, fear shooting through his heart.

Soon, Anti sat down in the driver’s seat. “Alright, finally,” he said under his breath, glancing up at the dark, early-night sky. “We’ve wasted enough time—”

Smack!

Anti was too surprised to even cry out as Jameson’s fist connected with enough force to whip his head to the side. “Y—you just—” He pressed his hand to his cheek and looked at Jameson in disbelief. “Jamie, you hit me.”

Don’t fucking call me that! Jameson threw his hands in Anti’s face, almost hitting him again. Not after all that! You don’t deserve it! You’re the most horrible person I know!

Anti glanced back towards the house. “He’s not dead.”

Well I don’t trust a word you say!

“Just...” Anti sighed, and rubbed his cheek. “Just go to sleep and be quiet, Jameson.”

Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Jameson seethed. You’d like to have a perfect, quiet, naive kid brother that you can protect and therefore feel good about yourself for once. Well he doesn’t exist. Not one of those words describes me. Jameson turned away. Don’t ever call me your brother again. You make me sick.

Anti didn’t say anything in response, and Jameson refused to even look at him. The car started, then pulled out of the driveway and onto the street.

As the house on the corner faded into the distance, Jameson’s anger lessened, overtaken by the fear and all-consuming worry he’d felt before. He could only hope that Anti wasn’t lying about Jackie. And he didn’t like that. He didn’t like relying on this...person for anything. But, unfortunately, he was at his mercy for the time being.

He had to find a way out. Not now, though. He could already feel the sleeping pills starting to take effect. But as Jameson closed his eyes, he swore that he wouldn’t let Anti be in control of anyone ever again.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Now that team ITS is playing Phasmophobia on stream (I mean they are when I am sending this) can we get ghost hunters team ZITS?! I'd love to see the full team of morons (affectionate) dealing with ghosts.

I love Team ZITS so much, they’re such morons (affectionate). Just a few notes for this one:

1) CW: swearing

2) This loosely takes place in Phasmophobia. Some details are different/altered to fit the story better

3) Also I would just like to clarify that even though they reference playing Among Us, all my fics are set in the fictional world. I will never write about the real people, only their Hermitcraft characters/personas. 

...

  “Okay, guys.” Impulse addresses his team in the back of their van, handing out pieces of equipment as he talks. “We’ve got a poltergeist living in this house right here. Our job is to get evidence and get the hell out before it kills us. Any questions?”

  Zedaph raises his hand. “Yes, what happens if it kills us?”

  “We die,” Tango says wryly. “Permanently. So don’t get killed.” 

  “I guarantee at least one of us isn’t getting outta here alive,” Skizzleman remarks. “And all the times we played Among Us is telling me it’s gonna be Tango.”

  Tango shoots him a scowl. “Hey!”

  “Well, if you really don’t wanna die first, find some kind of electrical room and send Impulse there,” snickers Skizzleman. 

  Impulse rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Skizz. Anyway, we only have one piece of equipment each so we gotta make sure we work together. Skizz, you’ve got the camera to take pictures of the ghost. Tango, you’ve got the EMF reader so you can gauge the strength of ghostly presences. Zed, you’ve got the temperature tracker so you can check when the rooms get freezing. Everyone understand?”

  “What have you got, exactly?” Skizzleman inquires.

  Impulse holds up the item in his hand. “A flashlight that doubles as a UV light. I’m the one who’s gonna go first into each room and probably get killed in, like, ten seconds.”

  “A true hero,” says Zedaph, nodding. 

  “And don’t forget that the instructions say that if the flashlight beam starts to blink, that means the ghost is hunting,” Tango adds. “We should stick close to you so we know when to panic.”

“Gotcha.”

  The team makes their way towards the dark, dilapidated house. 

  “Man, the only way this could be more stereotypically creepy is if it had cobwebs in the windows,” mutters Skizzleman. “I dunno about you guys but I have zero trouble believing a ghost lives here.”

  Impulse pauses outside the house, glancing back at his friends. “Okay, the name of the ghost is William Thomas. And it said in the instructions that saying a ghost’s name will anger it, so try not to do that.” 

  With that, the four creep into the house. 

  They tiptoe into the first room in the house, Impulse shining his flashlight hesitantly around to make sure they’re alone. He switches to the UV light but no fingerprints show up anywhere.

  “Hey, have you guys heard that song about Shia LaBeouf being a cannibal?” Zedaph asks out of the blue.

  His friends stare at him.

  “No I haven’t, and also, what the hell?” says Tango.

  “I’ve heard it,” Skizzleman says. “What made you think of it NOW of all times?”

  “I was just thinking about how the ghost might be a cannibal and eat our bodies when it kills us, and that made me think of that song and now it’s stuck in my head.” 

  A pause follows this.

  “Aaaaand now it’s stuck in mine too,” Skizzleman sighs. “Great. Thanks.”

  “The image of a ghost feasting on our corpses is stuck in MY head and now I don’t want to move,” Tango says. “So thanks for that, Zed.”

  Zedaph grins to himself. “Anytime.” 

  A tense pause follows this.

  BANG!

  Skizzleman screams. “AHHH, WHAT WAS THAT?!”

  Impulse, heart now racing, instinctively shines his light towards the source of the noise. “I think it came from upstairs! Tango, Skizz, go check it out!” 

  “Why me?!” yelps Skizzleman. 

  “Because you’ve got the camera! Now go!”

  Tango drags a protesting Skizzleman away towards the stairs. 

  “Okay, while they’re doing that, let’s start eliminating rooms as the epicentre,” says Impulse to his remaining friend. “Keep the temperature tracker up.”

  Zedaph nods. “Will do.”

  The two start exploring the downstairs rooms. The kitchen and dining room show no signs of paranormal activity but when they enter the living room, something changes.

  “I’m cold,” Zedaph whispers, the temperature tracker trembling slightly in his hand. “It says three degrees. Not quite freezing yet.”

  “Right, okay… Stay here and monitor the temperature, I’ll go check for handprints by the stairs.”

  He moves off into the hallway and shines the UV light around at the staircase. 

  Upstairs, Skizzleman is clutching the camera so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. “Oh my god, I hate this so much. I feel like I’m gonna have a damn heart attack.” 

  Ignoring him, Tango activates his walkie talkie. “Impulse, can you hear me?”

  “I hear you,” comes Impulse’s crackly voice. “Found anything?” 

  “Nothing yet. We’re just having a look around.”

  “Okay, good. Remember, saying the ghost’s name a lot will make it mad so if you want to aggravate it a bit to get evidence, do that. But make sure you don’t say it too much or it’ll REALLY get angry.”

  Tango nods. “Gotcha. Talk to you later.”

  He puts away the walkie talkie and turns to Skizzleman, who is staring around the dark room with fearful eyes. “H-Hello, Mr William Thomas? Or, uh… Bill? Can I call you Bill?”

  He gets no response from the ghost, so he tries again: “Hey William, do you play Minecraft?”

Tango stifles a laugh.

  A few seconds later, a heavy-looking lamp in the corner tips over and falls all on its own, nearly crushing Skizzleman. 

  Impulse glances sharply up as he hears Skizzleman scream. He immediately hears Tango’s loud voice reassuring him, so he forces himself to relax. Nothing bad is happening. His friends are okay, they’re just a little on-edge, like Impulse himself. He just needs to relax.

  Inhaling deeply, he takes out the plastic water bottle he brought with him. As he sips at the cool water, he hears Skizzleman’s voice yelling from the upstairs bedroom: “HEY BILL, FUCK OFF!”

  Tango’s voice shrieks back, “SKIZZ, DON’T PISS OFF THE GHOST WHO’S TRYING TO KILL US!”

  “IF HE’S TRYING TO KILL US ANYWAY THEN WHY CAN I NOT TELL HIM TO GO FUCK HIMSELF?”

  Impulse chokes on his water. 

  “Impulse, I think Skizz is freaking out,” says Zedaph, peering round the door. “And I’m starting to freak out too. The temperature went below zero, like, six times in a few minutes.”

  “Right, okay, that’s one piece of evidence collected,” Impulse says. “Two more to go, then we can get outta here.”

  As Zedaph opens his mouth to respond, they both hear a loud thumping noise and Skizzleman screaming. 

  His heart leaping into his throat, Impulse and Zedaph dash upstairs at top speed and both almost trip right over Skizzleman on the landing.

  “Skizz, what the hell?!” yelps Impulse.

  Lying face down on the carpet, Skizzleman is glad it’s dark so the others can’t tell how red his cheeks are. “I… tripped over my own feet.” 

  “Oh, I hate you so much.” Impulse hauls his best friend to his feet. “Please tell me you have some more evidence for me.”

  “I got a level 5 reading,” Tango says, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. 

  “Okay, good, that counts. We got freezing temperatures downstairs, so now we just gotta look for-.”

  He breaks off as an ominous noise sounds from downstairs.

  The group stare at each other in terror.

  “Please tell me that was just someone’s stomach,” Skizzleman groans. 

  Impulse’s flashlight beam starts blinking.

  “Run!” Impulse screeches.

  The four scatter.

  Skizzleman and Zedaph dash inside the bedroom and jump into the closet, both breathing hard. They fall silent, listening intently for any sounds outside the closet.

  A minute goes by. Then another. Then a few more.

  “So,” whispers Zedaph. “Come here often?”

  Skizzleman can’t help a quiet snicker, despite the situation. “No, I really don’t. What about you?”

  “Well, oddly enough, this isn’t my first time hiding from a ghost in a stranger’s wardrobe.”

  “That genuinely does not surprise me one bit.”

  Zedaph’s walkie talkie emits a sudden burst of static, giving the two a fright. “Zed, come in. Where are you guys?”

  Zedaph fumbles with the device and hurriedly whispers into it, “Impulse, I think the ghost is still nearby.”

  “Nope it’s not. It’s currently having a very intense staring contest with Tango, so we could do with your help right now.”

  Zedaph and Skizzleman exchange a look of horror.

  Downstairs, Tango has been backed into a corner, frozen with fear as he makes terrified eye contact with the gruesome poltergeist, who is less than three metres away from him. “Impy,” he whispers out the corner of his mouth. “Help me.”

  Impulse dithers by the door, itching to go help his best friend but unsure of exactly how to do that without getting one or both of them killed. 

  Zedaph and Skizzleman appear next to Impulse seconds later. “Can we distract the ghost in any way?” the former asks urgently, as Skizzleman takes a picture of the spirit. 

  Impulse hesitates. “I-I don’t know how we’d do that.” 

  “Well, we have to do something! We can’t just let it kill Tango!”

  The poltergeist moves jerkily to the side, causing Tango to let out a strangled cry and press his back harder against the wall. “Help!” 

  Reacting quickly, Skizzleman snatches the temperature tracker from Zedaph and tosses it at the ghost. It passes right through its body, nearly hitting Tango.

  “Hey, William fucking Thomas, stay the hell away from my buddy!” Skizz yells at it.

  “Dude!” Impulse yelps, as the poltergeist turns on them. “RUN!”

  The three scramble for the door.

  Tango, seeing his chance, dodges around the ghost and follows, almost tripping over at least twice as he does.

  Skizzleman again trips over his own feet on the concrete pathway, and since he’s at the front of the group, the other three promptly fall over him and end up in a heap on the ground, panting hard from fear and exertion. 

  “Oh my God,” gasps out Impulse. “Is everyone okay?”

  Zedaph sticks his thumb up. “Very much below average, thanks.” 

  “My heart is about to die but yeah, I’m fine,” Skizzleman breathes. “I’m gonna have nightmares about this for months.”

  “Months?!” Tango is lying sprawled on his back, his heart still pounding in his chest. “Dude, I’m never gonna sleep well again.”

  Impulse pushes himself into a sitting position and watches the ghost float around angrily in the front doorway. “Looks like he can’t leave the house. PLEASE tell me we got three pieces of evidence.”

  At the same time, all three of the others speak:

  “Temperature,” says Zedaph.

  “Photo,” says Skizzleman. 

  “EMF reading,” says Tango. 

  “Right, then.” Impulse gets to his feet and opens up the back of the van. “Let’s get going. We can process the evidence in the van.”

  Skizzleman is the next to stand up and come to the back of the van. Rubbing his chest, he raises an eyebrow at Impulse. “Dude, we are DEFINITELY stopping at Taco Bell on the way home. We DESERVE Taco Bell.”

  Impulse chuckles. “Oh, you’ll hear no argument from me there, dude.” 

  As Zedaph hops into the back of the van, he grins back at his friends. “Now that was what I call a Shia Surprise.” 

  Impulse frowns and starts to open his mouth but Skizzleman shakes his head. “Don’t even ask, bro.” 

  Finally, Tango hands the EMF reader to Impulse and wordlessly starts to head to the front of the van but Impulse stops him. “Tango, are you okay? I-I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more in there.”

  Tango slowly shakes his head. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I’m just a little shaken up, that’s all.” He gives a pale grin. “Just promise me that next time we get the urge to do something stupid with the paranormal that we’ll use a oujia board like normal people.”

  Impulse laughs. After that experience, he’s just happy his friends are all okay.

  “Deal.”