#ive been messing with this thing for like a week straight making updates and adjustments but i decided i dont feel like it

[sheprd]

took a crack at my own interpretation of grimmjow's second resurrection form from the mobile game.

[winterscaptain]

when you wake up.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: i’m a sucker for protective aaron, alright? sue me. i have checked and double checked, but if i’ve messed up any gender-neutralisms, please let me know! i’d like to thank snow, the academy, and my welbutrin for their spiritual aid as i write these fics at an alarming rate rating/words: teen / 2642 warnings: canon-typical injury, swearing, kissing 

AO3 | Masterlist | Requests Open!

+++

“You know –“ you gasped, grimacing through the pain, “blood is a bitch to get out of a wool blend.”

Aaron pressed his lips together, his forearms flexing as he staunched the bleeding from the gunshot wound in your shoulder with his gorgeous navy pinstripe blazer.

That one was my favorite, you thought with a pout.

He had you propped against a wall, his shirt splattered with your blood. He had torn the collar of your shirt for better access to your wound, and your vest was entirely forgotten on the floor beside you. Emily called the paramedics about seven minutes prior, but the backroads of Montana were not conducive to prompt medical service.

The pain wasn’t unbearable, and surely you’d been through worse.

Shock is a hell of a drug.

Nevertheless, his concern was touching. It had been a while since either one of you were injured – long before you realized you had feelings for each other and did absolutely nothing about it.

It all happened so fast – you had your gun trained on the unsub, who was using the sixth almost-victim as a shield. As soon as Derek and Aaron threw the back door open, he’d shoved the frightened young woman toward Derek and moved really quickly.

Bang. Ouch. Fuck.

“Aaron.”

He didn’t respond and was dutifully ignoring your eyes, focused entirely on the blood gushing through his fingers under your shoulder blade. The hand attached to your injured arm wrapped around his bicep, your fingers clinging to the fabric of his sleeve.

“I’m fine,” you continued. “It’s through and through. Six weeks tops I’ll be back to my old tricks.” 

You brought your other hand to his hair, and he leaned into your touch almost unconsciously. Your thumb smoothed over the hair at his temple, where tiny silver streaks rested in the inky black. You were just teasing him about his greys last week.

“They make you look distinguished!” You insisted. You were behind him as he sat at his dining room table, helping Jack set the table for dinner while Aaron tried (in vain) to review a consult.

“They make me look old,” he retorted in a deadpan.

You raked your fingers through the hair at his temples, massaging his scalp all the way to the crown of his head. He leaned back, his hand relaxing around his pen. With a final pat to the top of his head, you stepped away and returned to the pasta sauce.

“No old man would cook as badly as you do.”

His withering glare made his son laugh out loud, and the look only grew darker as you offered Jack a high-five.

“You’re still losing a lot of blood.” His voice was low and tense, his jaw tight.

Derek hovered nearby, though Aaron had shooed him away minutes earlier. He was talking into the comm, likely getting status updates from EMS.

Offering Derek a weak smile, you let your hand drop to Hotch’s wrist. Your eyes were heavy, but you fought to keep them open. Falling unconscious now would only worry him more.

“Aaron, you need to breathe.”

He huffs, and it’s almost a laugh but there’s no humor in it. “You’re telling me to breathe?”

“I’m breathing just fine.” And you were, focused only on the feel of his hands on your skin and the slow, deep breaths you took to keep your oxygen levels high as your blood pressure dropped. “Breathe with me, please. It’ll make me feel better.” That was a low blow, but you were pulling every card you had to keep him from breaking his teeth with that clenched jaw.

God, you were just so tired.

Aaron’s brown eyes flickered up to yours and softened. He leaned forward, shifting his weight and wrapping an arm around you as sirens faintly wailed some distance away. “Lean into me. It’s okay. You can sleep. I’ve got you.”

You were cheek-to-cheek when you finally passed out, succumbing to the heaviness.

+++

When you woke up, your shoulder ached, and the lights were way too bright.

There was a weight dipping the mattress on your left side and a dark shadow on your right.

You lifted your head slightly to see Aaron fast asleep, his head resting on his arms. You smiled and redirected your attention to your right. The dark shadow was Emily, watching you with a soft smile.

“Hey, champ.”

“Hey Em.”

She gestured to Aaron with her chin. “He hasn’t left once.” There was an implication behind her words, something not-quite suggestive, but understanding.

You ignored it for now. “How long was I out?” You brought your hand to Aaron’s tense shoulder, relaxing there, your thumb tracing back and forth over his baby blue button-down. Your IV line pulled a little, and you retracted your hand to his bicep.

“About two days. Surgery went really well – they just had to patch up a couple of ligaments and set a few pins in your clavicle. Nothing shattered, and no fragments. All things considered, really clean shot.”

Not as bad as I thought.

“He’s been here the whole time? Are we still in Montana? What day is it?”

Emily laughed, smiling broadly. “So many questions!” She counted off on her fingers. “His ass has only left that chair to chase down your doctor and go to the bathroom like...twice. We are still in Montana. It’s Tuesday. We’ll be on our way home as soon as you’re discharged. We wouldn’t leave without you.”

You sighed, adjusting your position on the bed. “Thanks.”

She winked. 

Hotch stirred, and Emily stood.

“I’ll leave you two for now. We’re all out in the waiting room if you want to see anyone.” She kissed your forehead and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

You could see the exact moment he registered your hand on his shoulder. He startled, straightening faster than you could blink. His eyes still bleary from sleep, you watched as he took stock of your entire person, finally meeting your eyes.

“Hi, Hotch.”

“Hi.” He reached for your hand with both of his, careful of the IV in your forearm. He brought your linked hands to his lips - warm, relieved breath washing over your fingers.

You squeezed once, feeling the stress and worry in his grip. “I’m okay.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry I got shot.” Your voice was soft, but the humor behind it was unmistakable.

He huffed a laugh against your hands. “I should be mad at you.”

“You aren’t?”

Just then, a twinge in your shoulder made you wince. Your face crinkled up before you could hide it.

Hotch immediately reached for the call button, his body arcing gracefully over yours, pressing it twice. He looked down at you from under his arm. “No, I’m not.”

The nurse came in, said something about how nice it was to see you awake, and administered some more pain medication. She worked around Hotch, who never let go of your hand.

You had your eyes on him the whole time. His hawkish brown eyes tracked everything – the dosage, the IV drip – until the nurse left the room.

Right away, you started feeling heavy, your eyes slipping closed. “I don’t - I don’t wanna sleep,” you mumbled.

The back of Hotch’s hand traced the line of your cheek in a gentle caress. Your eyes fluttered closed, and you felt his touch fall down your good arm and wind your fingers together. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

“You should get s’m sleep.”

You weren’t sure if it was the haze of meds or not, but you could swear you felt kisses to each one of your fingertips before you slipped into unconsciousness once more.

+++

When you woke again, he was still there. He was kicked back in the recliner this time, a book in his lap and reading glasses perched on his nose. It was dark outside, and you surmised you’d been asleep for a couple of hours.

“Since when do you wear reading glasses?” Your voice was rough with sleep.

Hotch snatched the glasses in question off his nose and folded them into his collar. “I don’t, usually, but the fluorescents are hard on my eyes after a while.”

You nodded sagely before breaking out into a smile. He offered you one back, one of those sweet, crooked, closed-mouth tip-ups.

Those might be my favorite.

You shifted, scooting over in the hospital bed and raising the head with the remote so you could sit up with more ease. Hotch stood, and you could tell he was trying to give you space as you independently adjusted your surroundings.

You patted the bed next to your hip, and he gingerly sat beside you, crossing his ankle over his opposite knee. He probably didn’t realize, but his entire body was bowed toward you, from his toes to his shoulders. You had always been tuned to each other, like finely-made instruments.

There was so much to say, so much unsaid. This injury was pretty far from a near-death experience, but it was enough to screw your head on straight a little bit.

“Aaron, I --“ You stopped, not sure where to begin. You rested a hand on the knee within your reach, tracing absentminded circles on the grain of his jeans.

Almost three days in the hospital and he’s still wearing jeans.

Well...at least it’s not a suit.

“Why did you stay?” Your words left you without your permission, but maybe it was better that way.

His brow lowered. “It’s my job.”

Your lips tipped up in a small, wry smile. “Bullshit.”

He heaved a sigh. “Fine. I felt...compelled to make sure you were alright.” His eyes were cast down toward the heavy white blanket beneath him. “Every time I got up to leave, I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave you knowing you could wake up and I wouldn’t be there.”

You were acutely aware of the dopey grin on your face.

He looked up at you. “It doesn’t make any sense I know –“

“Aaron.” You stopped him with four fingers pressed to his mouth. It was the first time you’d actually instigated contact with his mouth. You felt the stubble that was rapidly turning into a proper beard, but you were focused on the softness of his mouth. You softened, letting your hand relax against him. “It makes sense to me.”

There was silence for a moment. You just stared at each other, your hand still over his mouth. You were glad your heart rate stayed steady, as the beeping was one of the only sounds in the room.

“Hey, Aaron?” Your fingers weren’t really tracing his lips, but they weren’t...not doing that either.

He smiled and spoke from behind your fingers. “Yeah?”

“The spot between my shoulders is insanely itchy.”

He shook his head, exasperated, and pulled your fingers from his mouth. “Lean up for a second.”

You did, and he pulled a pillow from behind you and put it in your lap. You wrapped your good arm around it and ducked your head down. His fingers massaged across your good shoulder and neck, releasing some of the tension there.

He laughed aloud when you made a (frankly) obscene noise when he hit a particularly sore spot.

“You’re giving my physical therapist a run for his money, Aaron.”

“Good.”

He moved down underneath the sling strap, gently running his nails back and forth over the skin peeking through your hospital gown. It was heaven.

“Okay, you can’t ever stop doing that.”

He continued, scratching lightly up and down your spine “I’m here as long as you want me here, sweetheart.”

The endearment made your heart feel all fuzzy, and you relaxed further into the pillow, your body relaxing as the tension melted out of your back.

He stopped after a few minutes, just smoothing his hand back and forth along the left side of your back. “Feeling better?”

“Much, thank you,” you said, leaning back against the pillows.

He brushed some hair away from your face and hesitated there for a moment. Your jaw fit a little too neatly in his hand. You licked your lips, finding your mouth suddenly dry.

“Y/N...” he said, still quiet.

You shook your head and leaned forward at the same time he did. You met halfway, and he captured your lips with a relieved sigh. He was so careful with you, considering your injury, one hand reaching from your jaw to the side of your head, the other resting on your thigh on top of the thin hospital blanket.

The faded smell of his cologne or deodorant or something very masculine swirled around you. It was a smell you could identify anywhere – something spicy and earthy and Aaron.

Your noses slid against each other as you pulled apart to grin at each other. He pulled you back toward him and your lips met again. Your breath caught as his tongue traced your lower lip. You granted him access, ignoring the embarrassing spike in your heart rate that sent the monitors into a frenzy.

A part of you absolutely wanted to jump him then and there, but between your shoulder and the big window facing out into the hallway, that was a no-go.

You settled for devouring him from where you were instead, taking his lips between your teeth until he was groaning into your mouth. His hands knotted in your hair and you twisted his shirt in your hand. You didn’t think too much about the fact you’d been asleep for two days and therefore had two days of morning breath. The only thing on your mind was the taste of coffee on Aaron’s tongue, the hand planted firmly on your thigh, and the surprising softness of his lips.

It’s not that you thought he’d be a bad kisser, but fuck he was good at it. Almost too good. You craved more and damned your shoulder (again) for keeping you tethered to this bed and unable to wrap him in your arms.

“God,” he whispered into your mouth. “I was so scared I was going to lose you.”

You laughed into him, nipping at his lip again. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

There was a desperate edge to his touch as he took your face between his hands and pulled back to look at you. He kissed you once. Twice. So gently you almost couldn’t feel it. “I’m never getting rid of you,” he said. “Not now, not ever.”

It took you a couple of seconds to open your eyes again. When you did, the warm brown of Aaron’s eyes sank into you, and you almost forgot you’d been shot less than 72 hours prior. “Am I nuts to tell you how much I love you when I’m hopped up on pain meds?”

He shook his head, a thousand-gigawatt smile eating up his whole face. You cupped his jaw in your hand, pressing your thumb into one of his dimples. He tenderly covered your hand with his and turned to press an achingly gentle kiss your palm. “Only a little,” he said. He guided you back onto the pillows, arranging them around you so you could sleep without jostling your shoulder.

The nurse bustled back in and asked after your pain level. You said seven (it was a lie, you’d give it a nine and a half if you weren’t trying to be a hero), and she administered another round of meds. She swept out of the room and your eyes started to close again.

“Aaron...” you whispered, clinging to the last dregs of consciousness.

A kiss to your forehead. Warm breath over your fingers.

If safety had a texture, it would be somewhere between the callouses on his hands and the cool cotton of his dress shirts.

“I’m here.” A pause. “Hey.”

You cracked an eyelid.

“I love you too, by the way.”

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @fics-ilike @octothorpetopus @ange-must-die @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @saintd0lce @good-heavens-chris-evans

[petri808]

Bakudeku canon divergent, vampire quirk AU

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24

“How are you holding up son, are you eating enough food? You need to keep up your strength.” Mitsuki Bakugou questioned through the phone when her son called to give her an update.

“Yeah, yeah, of course I am! And, um, thanks for the money you put in my account,” Bakugou mumbled his appreciation.

“It’s from us, Inko, and All Might— actually he’s been putting up the bulk of it. We’re all hoping you find Izuku soon, but until then we’ll make sure you have what you need, just bring him home.”

“I’m working on it. Bastard’s not making it easy, but at least the damn authorities haven’t picked up on the trail yet.” It was a good thing, because Bakugou didn’t need them scaring Midoriya further away.

“You’re like a dog with a bone when you put your mind to something, so I know you’ll find a way.”

“I can’t believe you just equated me to a dog!”

“Oh, bite your tongue boy! It’s an expression!”

“Yeah, yeah. I better go, the train’s here.” He could see it pulling into Kawaji station.

“Are you still not gonna tell us where you are?”

“Nope. He moves around a lot anyways. Just know we haven’t left Honshu.”

“Alright. Good luck son. I’ll pass on your update to Inko and All Might.”

This game of hide and seek was physically wearing on Bakugou, but there was nothing short of a full incapacitation that would keep him from searching. After the Ena incident, Midoriya’s tactics had changed somewhat. The man moved more frequently and, in a zigzag, whereas in the past it had been heading in a straight line towards Shizuoka to the southwest. But there was one thing Midoriya couldn’t hide— victims. It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces together.

There were still times victims were drained, but not all of them. Bakugou surmised in order to not leave them fully incapacitated like before, his friend wasn’t always waiting until he was hungry, or he hadn’t learned to control it yet. He probably fed almost nightly, picking drunkards who wouldn’t remember what happened, and even less likely to report the incident. But less reports made it harder to track, and less blood also forced Midoriya to drink more often. Bakugou hoped that with shorter times between attacks, the man would get sloppy and make a mistake.

There were a lot of small towns all over, including abandoned structures from older times. Plenty of places to hide, not to mention dense forests and the mountainous terrain of central Japan that a person could disappear in. When tracking a lack of victim reports grew frustrating, Bakugou started looking for other clues, and in one town, a perceptive police officer commented about thefts he’d been hearing about from the surrounding areas. Random stores or restaurants, even some homes reporting the theft of food, sometimes clothing, basically survival type supplies but no valuables, which are not the norm of a burglary. It was brilliant.

Bakugou had thanked the officer for the information and immediately began inquiring in towns and watching newspapers where they were having both types of problems. It took almost a month, including a couple of near misses, until Bakugou knew he was closing in.

Local newspapers were reporting about unusual happenings in the smaller towns. In Ieyama city, high up in the mountains north of Shizuoka, Bakugou spoke with a police officer and confirmed a rash of strange incidents reported. Three burglaries of just food, one bath house broken into after closing, and a couple of reported attacks where the victims had marks on their necks. So far, Izuku’s new behaviors included sticking around the same area for about a week before moving on. With these latest cases only 3 days old in total, Bakugou knew they were a fresh lead.

“Yesterday, right?”

“Yes, the last burglary was in the afternoon while the homeowner was at work.” Using a paper map, the police officer showed Bakugou the location of the most recent burglary as well as two others over the last couple of days. It was very telling. The three places were centered around a 4-block radius. “If you are looking for hiding spots, there is an abandoned factory in that area. I’ll give you the address.”

“Thanks. I doubt they’d stay so close to the attack grounds, but I’ll check it out.” He didn’t want any of them following him.

It was still daylight, but Bakugou didn’t want to waste any time and risk his friend moving again after dark, heading straight for the dilapidated warehouse. The place looked like it had been emptied for a longtime. There was a rusted, chain link fence around the property, many broken windows, and weeds growing over the structure. Bakugou crept up to one of the windows, and heard nothing, so he moved slowly, quietly around the exterior paying close attention to any sounds or movements inside. But he heard nothing to indicate anything was there, not even an animal. Maybe it was another dead end, or maybe Midoriya was just sleeping. Un-phased, he moved inside the two-story building to make absolutely sure.

It took a while to search cautiously through the darkness, watching his step so not to step on anything or make a noise. The vastly open bottom floor was almost completely empty aside from a few left behind junk. So, Bakugou moved to the second floor where offices once were. Of all the areas, the top floor would provide the warmest cover, as well as quicker access to the roof. Like a trained tactical soldier, he cleared room after room, moving down the hallway that separated the individual offices, and one by one, eliminating them from the search. Finally, Bakugou reached the last one and heard the soft breathing of a sleeping person. Well, that meant two options, it’s just a homeless person or he’d finally caught his friend off guard.

Bakugou peered cautiously around the door frame. It was dark, but just enough light from a small window allowed his eyes to adjust quickly on a form lying down on the floor. Next to the person was a backpack, empty food containers strewn around, and possibly other items from the burglaries. There was also a make-shift hearth of broken bricks and a metal bowl with dark residue inside. He could even smell the light scent of soot mixed with burnt wood. ‘Gotcha!’ He smirked as he pocketed his flashlight and pulled out a special pair of handcuffs used to dampen quirks. It didn’t completely shut down a person’s quirk, but it kept them from using its full power. He was ready for Midoriya this time.

‘Almost there…’ he crept forward in a crouched manner ready to pounce like a predator stalking its prey in careful movements since he no longer had the flashlight out to see by. ‘Damn minefield,’ Bakugou grumbled as he navigated around the strewn mess of stuff the sleeping man had around him. ‘Almost there—'

*Crunch*

A piece of glass shattered below his boot, the sounds reverberating off the silent cement walls. “Shit!” Bakugou dove forward when Midoriya immediately popped up and tried to dash away. “Not this time nerd!”

“Waaahhhcchan!” Midoriya screamed as he was tackled to the floor. The two men fought, vying for footing, but the blonde kept them on the ground. Bakugou grabbed for and slapped one end of the handcuffs onto one of Midoriya’s wrists. “Nooo!” The man screamed.

“Not this time Deku! You ain’t getting away!”

Weakened by the cuff, Bakugou poured all his strength into jerking the disheveled man, flipping him onto his stomach, and tweaking his arm behind him into a wrist lock for leverage.

Midoriya screamed again from the pain, but nevertheless fought with all he had. Unfortunately, the cuffs were doing their job. “Please, Kacchan! Don’t do this!”

“Tough shit!” Bakugou snapped back and attached the other cuff to his own wrist. The effects would hamper them both, but “I dare you, nerd, you can’t beat me in a contemporary fight.” He was confident of such, having always been the physically stronger of the two regardless of quirk. “I’m taking you home!”

Midoriya wriggled, and tugged, but it was of no use. His friend had planted his feet, dropped his weight, and refused to budge. He didn’t want to risk exhausting himself and triggering a full-blown thirst like last time, so he stopped struggling.

After a few seconds, Bakugou got off the man and turned him over so he could sit up. Midoriya nursed his arm and rubbed at his wrist to soothe the pain. “Of course, I want to go home,” he sighed. “But it’s too dangerous Kacchan, why can’t you understand that?”

“Eri’s getting better every day, one day she’ll be able to control her quirk and fix you.”

“That’s not good enough. What are you gonna do, lock me up hoping she can fix me?! You saw what happened! Just like we eat food every day, I need blood, how are you gonna deal with that?!”

“Fine,” Bakugou shrugged, “we’ll hook you up to an IV and feed you blood when you need it.”

“No,” Midoriya started tugging again as tears flowed down his cheeks. “Please,” he begged, “this is too embarrassing, don’t you understand! I’ll never be able to be a hero again, my reputation will be ruined once everyone finds out! Hero society will look bad! It’s better I stay away!”

Frustrated with having his wrist yanked, Bakugou whipped his friend around and put him in a carotid choke hold. “Well, I’m not fucking leaving,” he spat, “so, we need to come up with a solution. Now stop fucking fighting me and get it through your head, the reality is I’m not going anywhere.”

Midoriya clawed at Bakugou’s arm trying to pull it away from his neck, but the man had it cinched in tight. If he kept struggling, he was bound to pass out. Exhausted, he finally relented and turned into a dead weight, sobbing quietly. “Why are you doing this, Kacchan… why?”

“Because a friend once told me I need to save to win, and right now you need to be saved for me to win.”

“Right? Win, I get it,” Midoriya narrowed his eyes along with tone. “This is an ego thing? You’ll take me back to show how you’re still better than me?” His heart didn’t believe those words, but as a coping mechanism, it did.

Bakugou let go of the man and shoved him so hard Midoriya face planted on the floor, stretching the handcuff chain to its limit. “I ought’a punch your lights out for saying that! I’m trying to win my friend back you asshole! You think I’d spend all this time chasing you if I didn’t care?!”

“Kacchan…” The man sighed and slowly propped himself back up. “There’s nowhere safe for me to go.”

Bakugou ignored the man and looked at his watch, noting the sun would have fully set by now. It might best to stay another night while he came up with a plan. “Tch, I’ll figure something out. In the meantime, behave or I will just knock you unconscious.”

“Fine, I won’t fight. But I do need to feed tonight.” Midoriya lifted his arm to flash the cuff. “Guess you’ll have to help me.”

“Why? You feeling the urge?” Midoriya nodded yes. “How can you tell?”

Midoriya thought about the answer for a minute before responding. “It’s like feeling dehydrated, maybe, at least in the beginning, but then it starts to get painful if I don’t feed it. I guess think of it like if you don’t eat for so long your stomach hurts— that’s what it’s like.”

“Sounds like it sucks.”

Midoriya snorted. “Understatement. It takes control of my mind by that point, almost as if it’s a survival instinct to protect itself.”

“Well, mister know it all. You ever heard of this kind of quirk before?”

“No,” Midoriya shook his head.

“Do the vestiges have anything to say about all this?”

Again, Midoriya shook his head.

Bakugou groaned and ran a hand down his face. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter for the current situation.” He looked up again fixing a stare at his friend. “So, what do you do to get the blood?”

[michaelmyersmalewife]

LEVIATHAN | 15. Epilogue | MASTERLIST

words: 3k+

A/N: and there it is :') im still in shock that the second ever fic i finished is fuxjcking about godzilla of all things (and clocking in at about 80k+ words in total, it’s the longest thing ive written so that’s fitting i guess) but ngl, i had the most fun writing it and i actually felt motivated and even excited to start a new chapter ?? and it feels almost a little weird to see it end; anyway, it always feels nice to finish a project ur passionate about, no matter how self indulgent it is

you can also support this fic on wattpad & ao3

Jodie adjusted the mic on Dr. Graham's blazer.

It had been a long time since she had seen her so nervous, not since the mass awakening. But she couldn't blame her. She tried giving her a reassuring smile, but the woman was staring just past her shoulder, at the wall behind them.

"Uh, Dr. Graham?" Coleman cleared his throat as his head peeked through the door. "You're on in about in a minute."

Vivienne snapped to attention almost immediately, and Jodie stepped away. The doctor wrung her hands as she took a deep breath, taking a tentative step towards the door.

It was a big day, one that could potentially take a step toward mending Monarch's relations with the government and the public alike. Or, it could just make it worse. Jodie already felt her heart thunder in her chest, the start of a headache forming in the back of her head. She had suspected the oncoming barrage of conferences and hearings and the like after Boston, but she didn't think it would happen this soon.

"You got this, Viv." she punctuated with a thumbs-up.

The smallest of smiles appeared on her face before she turned away. Taking a deep breath, Dr. Graham stepped through the door, and in the brief moment before it closed Jodie could see the flashing of camera lights illuminate her form. Now, all she could do was wait.

Sitting down at one of the tables in the small, rectangular room, she pulled out her tablet from her bag. Things had been so hectic - what with being tasked with co-running the Monarch archive that Sam had created - that she barely had any time to catch up with her usual journalistic endeavors. She scrolled through the influx of newsletters that had flooded her inbox over the past couple weeks. It was odd, suddenly seeing 'deforestation halts across the globe', '14th species to be taken off the endangered list', and 'coral reefs restored' among other things. The general public was still unsure about titans as a whole, but their importance was undeniable.

Suddenly, she could hear Vivienne's muffled voice from just beyond the door.

"The Rise of the Titans was an unspeakable tragedy, one that we may never truly recover from. And while we've done all we can to track and contain the ones that were released, we have confirmed that they've begun to retreat to their natural habitats on their own. But it seems that is only the beginning. We believe that there are more titans to be discovered, ones that Ghidorah's call was not able to reach."

There was a massive uproar after that, but Jodie drowned them out. Or, tried to at least. Just then, a notification popped up at the top of the tablet's screen. It was a video call - from China's Yunnan Province. Opening it without hesitation, a livestream filled the screen.

It was Gill. Jodie had been waiting in anticipation for the stream to start, as she was just as excited as the rest of the expedition team for the trek into Mothra's temple. Though, Gill probably had her beat in that aspect.

The feed crackled every now and then, the soft fuzz of radiation seeping through the camera. It was dimly lit, but a fair amount of what looked like a tunnel was illuminated by a handful flashlight beams. It looked like they were walking down a spiral staircase, if those stairs had been carved straight out of the earth. Every now and then they would pass by tall, wide pillars. Just ahead of Gill's point of view were two figures leading the expedition.

In the background, just behind the door, the rabble died down and Graham continued with her speech.

"Which is why Monarch is currently developing a more effective means of dealing with the titans that will potentially..inevitably..wake in the coming years. More effective than our current containment facilities. Now, these plans are still in early development but we will make sure to provide you with regular updates as the project progresses. Which leads me to our next point,"

They had been walking for a while now. And every now and then someone would speak, but their voices would be difficult to make out. Just how far down had they gone?

Suddenly, the static on the camera spiked, filling the screen for a brief second before stabilizing. The feed was still fuzzy, but Jodie could tell they had entered a large chamber. As the flashlights fanned out, Gill's camera swept through the chamber.

There was a raised dais in the center of the room, and on either side were impossibly massive statues. They were identical, and they both depicted women standing almost protectively, their arms splayed out, pointing to something between them. Something massive.

Gill and the two figures that had remained ahead of her approached the object, while the others continued inspecting the rest of the room. One of the figures turned around, looking at Gill with raised eyebrows. It was Chen, and it wasn't too out of the question to assume the person by her side was her sister Ling.

They both pointed their flashlights at the object.

"As of now, Monarch will be operating with full transparency. In accordance with the United Nations, 60 years worth of our documentation regarding titans will be freely available to the public. And with each new discovery, there will be no more secrets. No more hiding. In a post-Godzilla world our mission was to provide a means of defense against every titan we uncovered. And now we believe that staying informed is the greatest defense of all."

Gill's camera was facing downward now, glancing at the EKG monitor in her hand. It was steady, but every other few seconds she could hear the beep of a heartbeat. The object on the massive platform was alive. Jodie felt a wave of chills rush down her spine.

Gill and the twins focused their flashlights onto the object, condensing into one beam. Jodie suppressed a gasp as she realized what the object was.

It was an egg, a giant egg about the size of two buses stacked on top of each other. It was a dull blue and yellow, with light white-ish spots accenting the striped pattern. She heard Gill laugh, unbelieving of the find. She turned to face the twins, and they had each lay a hand on the egg, staring up at it with the lightest of smiles on their faces.

Covering her bases, Jodie thought to herself. She couldn't help but smile along with them.

"We hope that with this new development, we can navigate this new era not just together, but with the titans as well."

_____

Darkness.

She couldn't tell if the void she was in was the size of a crawlspace or the entire universe. But what she did know was that it was pitch black, and it was cold.

She took a step forward, but found that she was frozen. She tried to wriggle her fingers, kick her legs, anything that would allow her the slightest of movement, but it was all futile. Elena could do nothing but silently scream into the abyss, the deafening silence threatening to push at the fabric of her mind.

She was about ready to give up her struggle until she heard it. The laughter.

That same lilting cackle.

It kept echoing throughout the space, three separate sounds melting into something so loud she thought her eardrums would pop. She wasn't sure if she was screaming or sobbing, but she had to find a way out.

Get out get out stop laughing let me OUT -

Elena shot up in bed, eyes wide and tear stains trailing down her cheeks. That was the third time that month where she had "The Dream", as she had been referring to it as. With a shaky hand, she wiped the drying trails away with her palms, quietly looking around her room. It was cold, and the blanket was so warm, but yet she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, brows creasing in annoyance as she reached for the alarm that blared in her ears.

She lay there in the stiff bed for a moment, face half-buried in her pillow as she stared ahead in the dimly lit room. There was an ache in her bones that had never quite left her since the battle of Boston, and some days it wasn't anything more than a dull stiffness that would soon fade as the day went on. But there were others where it spread anywhere it could reach, seeping into her limbs and leaving her wanting to never get out of bed again. Today was one of those days.

For all its inconveniences, she couldn't hate the feeling - not completely. She liked to think of it as proof that she was alive. But that didn't mean it wasn't a bitch to deal with.

Eventually, she knew she would have to drag herself up and out unless she wanted someone knocking at her door, so she did. Swinging her legs over the mattress, she pushed herself up, shuffling to the bathroom. Brushing her teeth, the lukewarm water hitting her face in the shower - it all felt hazy through the sheet of grogginess that still clouded her mind. It wasn't until she looked at the time while getting dressed that she finally snapped back to reality.

Grumbling to herself, she shot out into the hall of Castle Bravo's living quarters, messily tying her hair back in a ponytail as she walked.

It wouldn't have taken her so long to reach the command center had she not decided to stop by the mess hall, picking up a cold bagel and a cup of black coffee. Discreetly popping a painkiller in her mouth, she took a swig out of the cup, walking over to the figures standing in front of an array of controls.

"Well, it's about time." Dr. Stanton said, glancing over his shoulder before returning to his screen, staring intently at the steady beeping that came from the monitor. "Tall, dark, and atomic over here isn't the most patient of lizards, you know."

Elena made no comment save for a roll of the eyes as she ambled over to the front of the room, approaching the wide window that took up half of the wall. Godzilla was just on the other side, multiple drones flagging him like remoras with their floodlights trained on his form. He didn't look particularly upset, but he didn't look too happy either. It was hard to tell with him sometimes. But he seemed to be in a good mood nonetheless, or about as good a mood as the newly crowned "king" could be. But that was likely due in part to the minuscule figure just ahead of her.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor was Madison.

She looked up, giving her a quick wave and a small smile. Elena gave her a friendly nod, crossing her arms and trying not to look directly at the titan as she leaned against the window. Elena wasn't too keen on being around the titan even now, but the child had insisted she be there to 'send him off'.

"Am I interrupting?" she asked.

The girl shook her head. "Nah, he's gonna leave in a little while anyway."

She nearly sighed from relief. "Busy schedule, huh?"

"I guess," Madison shrugged. "Says he's got somewhere to be."

Not too far away from them was a large, mobile screen. Hooked up to it with a handful of thick wires was a familiar device. The ORCA 2.0's soft humming thrummed throughout the control room as a series of words appeared on the screen.

> YOU MAKE IT SOUND SO CASUAL

Madison snorted. "I'm sure whatever you need to do isn't as dramatic as you say it is."

> IF ALL GOES WELL

> THEN HOPEFULLY IT WON'T BE

Elena slightly raised a brow, but she decided not to ask any questions. Since Boston, her fear of the lizard had significantly faded, but she still found herself on edge whenever she was around him, no matter how much Madison reassured her.

"You won't be gone long, right?"

> YOU WORRY TOO MUCH

> TINY SPEAKER

Madison grinned sheepishly at the comment. Smiles like those were rare for her. From her mother's detainment to her father insisting she be given a "proper" education outside of Monarch's programs, Elena suspected the time she spent using the new and improved ORCA were moments of relief. It almost reminded her of..her. Or at least a long lost version of herself.

In that moment, Godzilla's eyes wandered from the girl over to Elena. She felt herself stiffen, but the lizard himself didn't seem to notice. At least, he didn't make it obvious that he did. Instead he let out a snort, a trail of bubbles fluttering above him. Madison had tried coaxing her into talking to him, even to say a simple 'hello'. But she wasn't sure if she was ready, not yet.

> I'LL SEE YOU

> WHEN I SEE YOU

As he began to turn around, Madison waved him off. Elena simply watched, taking a bite out of the bagel still in her hand. With a strong whip of his tail, he shot away from the base. The drones around him returned to their stations, and the ORCA 2.0 quieted as its translation feed shut off automatically.

"Where did he say he was going anyway?" Elena asked as she watched the titan disappear into the blue.

Madison stood up, smoothing out the jacket that had bunched up behind her. In a voice that was all too calm, she answered.

"Skull Island."

_____

Mateo led the men clad in black uniforms down the dimly lit corridor.

Despite their seemingly calm demeanor, they made him nervous, what with their heavy boots and steely gazes. None of them were talkers by any means, but that wasn't what made them seem..off. It was something in the way they acted, the way they spoke that unnerved him. It's not that they didn't act human, it's that they were trying too hard to be. That was especially true for the man that he assumed was their leader. Mateo had known people like him before, hungry for power no matter the cost. He didn't ask many questions, for at this point he just wanted their deal to be over and done with. Despite how uneasy they made him, he couldn't back out now. They were the ones that had approached him, after all.

And even if he could refuse them, it wouldn't have made much of a difference. The world had been changed forever. Much of his family and friends were either dead or scattered around the world due to the mass evacuations held just mere months before. He hated remembering it, how he could have been there for his family.

He had happened to be out at sea when Rodan woke from his slumber deep beneath the island's volcano, and he had been near enough to witness the drop of a bomb that left the waters lifeless. And during Ghidorah's storm, he had managed to make it to shelter. When it was all over, not many of his old relations were left. But he still had his boat and his fishing gear, even though they hadn't served much of a purpose since then. The island's seas were barren, and all the fish that had been killed during the bomb were poisoned.

But somehow, luck had been with him. He had made a good catch, and the strange men had come to pay him for it. Or they would just kill him and take it without a word.

They didn't look like any of the military folk he had ever seen, but they had a similar air to them. And in his experience, that usually did not bode well. But he had run out of choices, and he couldn't do much other than continue to lead them further down the warehouse.

"It's a brave new world, my friend." he told the leader with the calmest tone he could manage. "Such things as this have become much more valuable since the rise of the king."

The leader said nothing. Mateo swallowed nervously.

"Took nine fishing boats to raise it," he continued. "My men, they don't ask for much. Just enough to help their families."

Finally, he saw the entrance to the room where their prize lay.

"Can't fish here anymore..everything's dead."

As they reached the open warehouse space, he saw his men waiting to the side. They all seemed just as uneasy as him. But not because of the swarm of men behind him, but by the source of the stench of death that permeated throughout the room.

He flipped on the lights, and prayed that it was what they were looking for. His coworkers stepped away from it, recoiling as if it could strike them at any moment.

Even in death, covered in seaweed and barnacles, his once golden scales dulled by decay, Ghidorah's head was still terrifying. He had seen it happen, when Godzilla tore it off with his bare teeth and dropped it in the sea just before the bomb hit. He didn't have the slightest idea as to why these strangers payed him and his men to fish it out, but he knew - vaguely - how much titan parts ran on the market. He refused to dabble in that sort of thing, as something about it made him feel wrong. But evidently, whatever they were planning to do with it, the leader had no such qualms.

The leader stepped into the light, walking so close that he was able to touch the creature. As the white-haired man placed a hand on its slimy, rotting flesh, he stared up at it with an unsettling expression. His eyes were as placid as a lake, almost expressionless, and yet he was smiling. But there was nothing denoting happiness in that smile. It was the sort that his father used to call la sonrisa del diablo.

For the first time since his arrival, the man spoke.

"We'll take it."

[your-iron-lung]

No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross 7

AKA ‘Danger and Dread’; also readable on AO3!

Story Synopsis:  Some weird low-key occult parties start popping up that Steve can’t in good conscience ignore and takes it upon himself to investigate. Billy gets caught up in the consequences of his meddling, and isn’t it funny? For all the strange things the Upside Down has thrown his way, it’s werewolves that Steve has trouble accepting exist.

Chapter Word Count: 5049

Pairings: Eventual Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Genre: Supernatural/Drama/Horror-ish

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

Next Chapter: 8

Notes: i was hit hard with another bout of writers block, but i was also accepted into the artist alley for this years raleigh supercon and ive been struggling to get some material done for that! updates may be even more sparse than usual until after that con rolls around ehe. so uh ENJOY THIS WHILE IT LAAAAASTS

Because the owner of the towing company that had taken Steve’s car knew his father, and partly because he’d shown up with the chief of police to retrieve it, they were allowed to pick up the BMW without charge. Whatever fines Steve would normally have had to pay were waived, but that didn’t mean the owner let it go without question. The fact that Steve had arrived with the chief of police was enough of a question on its own, but that fact coupled with the fact that there was enough blood to paint nearly the entire passenger side of the car red when he’d towed it brought forth questions the man felt he deserved answers to.

“What’s all this about?” he’d asked, looking from Hopper to Steve after he’d pulled the car off the impound lot for them. He’d stood with his hands on his hips, brow creased with concern and curiosity. When he spoke, the cigarette in his mouth bobbed up and down haphazardly. “Was someone killed in there? You taking it in for evidence? Lil’ Stevie here in some kinda trouble?”

He’d laughed as he’d said it, but the look in his eye said he seriously wanted to know. Steve didn’t know what he was and wasn’t allowed to say, so avoided eye contact and kept quiet.

“That’s police business,” was all Hopper had said, but the brevity with which he spoke seemed to deter the man enough from prying anymore into their business.

“I should tell your dad,” he’d said with an annoyed sneer that said he mistrusted what they were doing, but he’d wandered back and away into the small building that served as his office before either of them could tell him not to.

Not that it would matter much in the long run; Steve’s dad was going to know all about it soon enough. He was due back from his latest business trip by the end of the week- clear weather permitting- and his imminent return was the main cause of one of his greatest points of anxiety. He was sure that there was going to be nothing, absolutely nothing he could say to his father that could possibly begin to explain why he’d put his expensive, valuable car through hell, but he felt that he might be able to justify it since Billy’s life had been on the line. There was no way of knowing how his father was going to react until he did.

Standing by the passenger side door, Steve stared in through the window at the mess waiting for him inside. Billy’s blood was crusted and dried, splattered over most of the dashboard, drenching the interior with a saturated reddish-brown colour that almost matched the paint job of the exterior. It was gruesome to look at, and held his attention for a few seconds before he was able to finally look away, wondering in the back of his mind how on earth Billy had managed to survive when he’d lost so much blood. He didn’t think it was humanly possible, but then again, he had failed biology; the human body was capable of more things than he was evidently aware of. He felt the weight of Hopper’s hand on his shoulder and begrudgingly stirred out of his ruminations.

“We got work to do, pal,” Hopper said, voice kind but stern with purpose.

The sky was looking heavy and grey, waiting to unload a fresh load of snow upon them. They were lucky that it hadn’t snowed the night before, but they were going to have to hurry if they wanted to investigate before the area lost all the important details to a fresh snowfall.

“Yeah yeah, the sooner the better,” Steve muttered, shrugging out of Hopper’s touch as he walked around the side of the car towards the driver’s side, where once again he found himself stalled, staring in at the blood coating the interior.

Touching the door handle was like reaching out to touch a forbidden object; it was something he didn’t want to necessarily touch, but needed to in order to fully access his car. He felt like a little like that archaeologist from that one movie Dustin had forced him to watch (“Come on, Steve, we live in Indiana! How do you not know about the Jones?!”) in that moment, with the amount of care and trepidation he utilized when he finally opened the door. His face pinched up immediately in disgust as the smell of the trapped air flooded out to greet him. The whole car stunk of slightly sweetened, old metals, and he was repulsed with the realization that the foul stench was the stink of Billy’s blood. It permeated throughout the vehicle, and he wondered how the fuck he would even begin to clean it. The smell alone was nauseating, but the sight of the large, brown spot where the blood had pooled in the passenger seat was almost worse.

There was going to be no cleaning that. It was far beyond the point of saving, he knew, as he slid into the driver’s seat and gripped the steering wheel. The owner of the car lot left the key in the ignition for him, and as he turned it to start the engine, he was once again hit with the understanding that Billy had almost died in his car.

The stress, the smell- all of it combined became disconcerting to the point where he wasn’t sure he was going to able to drive; the memories of the attack and just how badly Billy had been injured kept surfacing to the forefront of his mind. His own arm was beginning to throb, the wound pulsating under the bandages and around the stitches again. He didn’t realize he was clutching the steering wheel so tightly until he released it, immediately easing the pressure that had built up in his arm. Shaking himself out of his slight crisis, he looked into the rearview mirror and saw that Hopper was in the cab of his truck, ready and waiting to follow him.

He turned the radio on and kept the volume low before putting his car into gear, driving it away from the towing lot and towards the place the party had been held.

All the while he was driving- all the while with the stench of Billy’s dried blood plugging his nostrils- the only thing he could think about was, surprisingly, his bat. Not of his father’s wrath when he’d finally have to show him the car, or of his mother’s concern when she saw his injuries, or even of the lies he’d have to concoct in order to placate them both- but his bat.

It was the third time it’d had been used to save a life- be it his own or his friends’- , and like hell if he was going to just leave it out there to rot or be collected and shelved as police evidence when he might still have need for it. He wanted it back in his possession; felt lesser without it. After all, it was the only reason he’d been asked to help with the crazy monster bullshit that had happened the last time something monstrous had spawned in Hawkins.

As they pulled up alongside Billy’s camaro, thankfully still parked on the side of the road where it had been abandoned the night before, he thought about what he could say to let Hopper go with him back into the woods to retrieve what was his.

The body of Hopper’s truck swayed on its frame as he put it into park, and Steve followed suit, cutting his engine as the chief got out and gave Billy’s car a cursory examination, looking in through the windows to make sure it hadn’t been ransacked by looters overnight. Steve’s fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly again for a moment before he stepped out of his car to speak with him.

“Point me where to go and you’re home-free, kid,” Hopper said, looking over the hood of Billy’s car towards the forest line that didn’t seem nearly so intimidating in the daylight than it had when Steve had peered into its depths last. He couldn’t help but feel that the calm tranquility it emitted now was a lie; he knew it harbored secrets it did not want to share, and monsters it didn’t want found.

But it was stupid to think that the forest could take sides like that. It was a neutral force that just happened to be the place where whoever-the-fuck was trying to start shit.

“Well, uh, see, it’s not really a straight shot,” Steve said, shaking himself from his thoughts as he closed his car door and adjusted the way the coat’s sleeves were rolled back. It was cold, and too much of his forearms were exposed. “You can get real turned around in there if you don’t know where you’re going.”

“And you do?” Hopper couldn’t help but scoff, turning towards him with a bemused expression on his face. “Look, if there’s something to be found in there, then I’ll find it. Trust me. You can go home, I’m letting you off the hook.”

And Steve did want to go home, but he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to handle a night alone without the protective assurances of his bat. Billy’s words from the night before replayed themselves in his mind: ‘Let’s say it is following you- you go home and, what, it just magically loses your trail? You don’t think it’d just follow you back?’ If he went home without it, he would surely lose his mind by just imagining the creature lurking around in the constructed shadows provided by the tree line around his house.

“It’s fine,” he said, shrugging casually in an attempt to appear indifferent. “I’ll lead you out to where it happened then leave you to it. Get out of your hair, or whatever. I left something out there I want to get back, anyway.”

“What’s that?” Hopper asked, stepping back from Billy’s Camaro as Steve walked by him, leading the way to the path that they’d followed to start their trek into the woods.

“My bat,” Steve said over his shoulder, ignoring the pink splotches in the snow that had been left behind during their frantic escape.

They followed the trail of blood that had, thankfully, not yet been snowed over; the splatterings of blood serving as a better guide than Steve was currently being. He trailed a few feet behind Hopper, turning his head this and way and that as he surveyed the area, waiting to catch a glimpse of whatever was living out there. Everything about the forest looked the same even though he’d only ever been through the area at night, but despite that, he felt as though he wasn’t in the same patch of woods he’d been in before. Everything may have looked the same, but nothing else was.

There were sounds, first of all; sounds of wildlife that had been mysteriously absent the night of the attack- not that the forest had been particularly lively that time of night, but there were still expected sounds of nightlife that hadn’t been present. During his walk-through with Billy, it had felt like they’d wandered into an uninhabitable bit of land, but now it was thriving. Birds were chirping, singing bright, energetic songs while other small rodents made their presence known through their chittering and scurrying, claws scraping against tree bark as they ran up their trunks. Even the wind blowing through the evergreen tree branches created gentle, calming noises as the branches rustled against one another lightly. If not for the blood, Steve would have sworn they were in the wrong place.

But the blood stains were still there, even if all the other ominous warnings and dreadful wrongness of the forest had dispersed. Whether or not that made the forest currently safe for them to be in was unknown to him, but he was calmer knowing that the set-up was at least different. If the creature that had been stalking him was planning on ambushing him again, he’d at least be able to recognize the signs of warning before it happened. With that less-than-comforting thought in mind, they kept walking, feet crunching through the hardened snow as they slowly plodded along, acting as though they were taking a leisurely stroll the woods instead of conducting an actual investigation. Soon enough, Steve saw his first landmark: the place where he and Billy had stumbled upon the dismembered arm.

The snow was disturbed around the dried pool of blood, but the arm was no longer where it had been. He stopped walking, his stomach sinking as he stared at the vacancy with confusion.

“What’s up?” Hopper asked, turning around when he heard that Steve had come to a standstill behind him. He glanced at the place Steve was staring at, but didn’t see anything that stood out to him besides the blood; didn’t understand the location’s importance.

“There was- last night, we found an arm there.” Steve pointed at the place it should have been, remembering how the fingers had begun to turn blue from the cold when they’d found it; how it had been frozen, stuck clawing at the sky. Hopper frowned. “I guess whatever it was came back for it,” Steve said, throat dry.

Hopper stepped forward and crouched low to the ground, inspecting the disturbed snow and the large collection of dark blood around it. He wasn’t a tracker by any means, but being the chief of police for a small hick town meant he had to have some knowledge about animal tracks. A lot of the time he got it wrong and made amateur mistakes (he still wasn’t quite able to discern the difference between fox and coyote prints), but even he could see that the tracks he was looking at weren’t man made- or made by any animal that could possibly live in the area. They were huge, indicating that the animal itself probably stood taller than he did. Nothing that big was native to the Indiana area.

Steve was watching him as he awkwardly shuffled forward in order to get a closer look at the long, dragging prints that had frozen into the snow. Five toes existed in a line, sloping down at an angle that looked almost human, if not for the fact that they were absurdly long. Beyond that, though, he couldn’t pick up on any other resemblances, as the toes were the only part of the print that were clearly defined; the rest of it beyond the mid and hind-foot were lost to the weird, shuffling gait the creature used to walk.

“Can you tell what it was?” Steve asked, hovering behind him. There was a hint of hopefulness in his voice that Hopper unfortunately had to quash.

“Let’s just keep moving,” he said, knees groaning as he used a nearby tree for support as he stood back up.

Mute with disappointment, Steve continued to follow after Hopper, who was now relying on the deep-cut grooves left in the snow that the creature had made when it abducted Billy and ran with him to the clearing. The blood was too sporadic here; spread and lost in larger quantities that didn’t necessarily lead them in a straight line. Hopper whistled lowly at the sight- a somber sound that was out of place amongst the birds’ constant cheering.

“No wonder kid almost died,” he said upon taking his first step into the glen, not having meant to speak the thought aloud. Looking around the area, he saw the charred remains of a fire pit and followed the black scorch marks lining the surrounding tree bark with his eyes, up and up, impossibly high. “Musta been some fire.”

Even some of the branches at the top of the canopy looked burnt and blackened, meaning the fire must have been, what, 20, 30 feet tall? When he took his eyes away, looking back to Steve to ask him about it, he found him on the other side of the fire pit staring down at something and walked over to join him.

The bat laid half submerged in the snow after hastily being tossed away, poking up from the drift at an angle where only the barrel could be seen. What to Hopper at first looked to be rust that had grown over the pointed ends of the nails was quickly realized to be blood, as it spread down the length of the handle to the grip. There were even small, torn bits of flesh that were still stuck on the sharpened bits of metal. As Steve went to pick it up, Hopper said, “Looks like you hit it pretty hard; it can’t have gone far from here with an injury like that. I’ll call my deputies and have them search the area; with any luck, it’s probably already bled out and died.”

Steve let out a grim laugh and shook his head, gripping the handle of his bat tightly. His wound throbbed with the pressure he exerted, remembering the feeling of swinging the bat into the creature’s ribs. How the bones had cracked, but then restored themselves almost immediately afterward. The weight of it in his hands was reassuring, and he looked upon it fondly, as though he were looking at a copy of his favourite movie or album instead of the lunatic weapon. Hopper shuddered, but couldn’t say it was because of the cold.

“If it’s well enough to have come back for that arm, then it’s not dead yet,” Steve said, turning his sad, brown eyes to Hopper forlornly.

Billy was released from the hospital two days later and resumed going to school that Wednesday, arm splinted, wrapped, and held in a sling. He looked terrible; exhausted by the strain of his injuries and the duration of his hospitalization. Dark rings hung low under his eyes, and the dark purple bruises that had encroached up his neck were taking on a diseased, sickly sort of yellow-green hue as they began to heal.

No one said anything about his injuries to his face, but people didn’t spare Steve that same courtesy. Comparisons were made between the wounds on his and Billy’s bodies, with considerations being taken to remind him of how similar they were and how they were each focused on the arm. Rumors quickly began circulating that they’d done it to each other in some sort of catastrophic fight that Steve had somehow, miraculously, won, which soured Billy’s mood considerably. He stalked about the halls angrily, full of resentment despite the fact that Steve denied these details when presented with every chance he could.

But he never offered up any other explanation for what happened to them; wasn’t sure how secretive he was supposed to be about it even though Hopper’s investigation of the woods hadn’t turned up anything substantial. They hadn’t found the arm or the creature, and still had no idea what it was or if it was related to that dark other place they called the Upside Down. The fact that Billy hadn’t said anything about it yet either made him all the more reluctant to share the details about the supposed ‘bear attack’. Steve chalked Billy’s unwillingness to speak on the matter up to the immense amount of pain he must have been in, but he couldn’t have known that it extended beyond that- that something else was taking priority in Billy’s life.

In the dark, you can sense that something's following you. You can’t see it, but you can hear it, masking its steps by walking in synchronized time with you, each footstep carefully being placed in sync with your own. You’re not sure if it knows that you know it’s there, and are honestly too afraid to turn around and see what the hell it is. It could be anything, and although it’s being stealthy with its footfalls, it’s art of subtlety ends there.

It’s growling. A low, humming sound that makes you think of someone impersonating a wolf more than it actually being a wolf. It sounds more human than animal, and the idea that someone is behind you, making noises like that, is enough to make your skin crawl. Are they back there, crawling behind you on all fours? Plunging their bare hands and feet into the cold snow to keep up the appearance of the animal they’re trying to imitate?

If they are, you don’t want to know, but you can’t escape the thought now that you’ve pictured it- a pale, hairless, naked body lurching after you on their hands and feet, lips curled away from blunt and missing teeth as they keep up their growling, trying to ward you away from their territory.

You keep going forward, too afraid to turn around even though you’ve forgotten where it is you’re trying to get to. Hell, you can’t even remember why you’re out here, alone and wandering through the darkened forest at night, dressed so poorly for the weather you’re beginning to freeze. Your boots aren’t thick enough to keep the chill from creeping into your toes, a burning sensation overtaking the tingling feeling they’d been exhibiting thus far. You hope it isn’t frostbite.

Behind you, you can hear that the breathing of whoever it is behind you suddenly change. They stop growling for a moment, breath hitching raggedly as they begin to pant. The sound of something rushing in the snow towards you has your heart banging in your chest, beating a desperate rhythm. You’re afraid that it’s going to ambush you, but you can’t bring yourself to run away. Frozen in place, you stand still as the thing approaches you from behind, their hot breath suddenly on the back of your neck, the humidity that comes with it forcing your skin to bump up at the sensation. All your instincts are telling you to make a run for it, but your feet hurt too much, they’re so cold.

The thing behind you isn’t moving, just growling lowly in the back of its throat while it breathes on you, or smells you, or whatever the fuck its doing. You’re not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but if it hasn’t attacked you yet then it's probably not going to anytime soon. You decide to keep walking, plowing forward steadily despite the fact that it feels like your feet are on fire. They’ve never hurt so bad, except once before when you were a child and idiotically went walking barefoot down the beach during midday in the summertime. The sand had been soaking up so much heat that it blistered the bottoms of both your feet. Your mother had had to take you to the hospital, upset that your father had given you permission to go alone, barefoot of all things.

Up ahead, vaguely in the distance, you can see a faint glimmer of light flickering through the spaces of the trees ahead of you. You want nothing more than to make a run for it, but you know better; it’s too dark to see clearly, and it’s likely that you’d just run into a tree in your haste. Fighting against the panic that’s trying to consume you, you keep your legs going one at a time, slowly making progress towards what you recognize now to be a fire. 

Soon you’re able to hear voices, soft and low in the distance, and a spark of hope ignites in your chest. The thing that’s been breathing down your neck backs off when you get closer to the gathering, and this time it doesn’t bother disguising the sound of its feet stepping away from you.

With the thing’s retreat, you decide to take your chances. You run for it. You’re unable to tell if it’s following you, as the sound of your heart beating and the sounds of the party ahead of you become too all-consuming. Is that the sound of your feet slapping in and out of the snow, or the creature’s? Thin tree branches whip at your face, cutting thin lines into your face as you hurry past them to get to safety.

It feels as though you’ve been running for hours, sucking the painfully cold air into your lungs, paining your chest. A cramp wracks your side as you get closer, forcing you to slow down before you step into the clearing, a strong taste of blood rising up your throat. The bonfire ahead of you is roaring, flicking its sharp tongues up into the air and casting its brilliant warmth upon you. No one in the group assembled around the fire looks nearly as alarmed as they should be, but in a way you’re kind of glad for that. If they’re not afraid, then there’s no reason for you to be, right? The fire is safe, and you are finally in its protective glow. Someone steps forward and takes your arm, guiding you forward and closer to the fire. Everyone at the party seems to be speaking at once with voices that tumble over one another, but they all seem to be saying the same thing: they’re all so glad you’re here. Real glad you could make it out here tonight, Billy.

Feeling safe now that you’re by the fire, you feel brave enough to look over your shoulder at whatever it was you think was following you, half-convinced now that you’d hallucinated the whole thing. As your eyes adjust to peering into the looming gloom of the trees, at first you don’t see anything, but then it appears to you all at once- a tall, dark, bulky shape that’s staring at you with full, bright, completely white eyes. Your self-assured smile falls from your face as it suddenly moves, darting behind a tree and leaving your line of sight.

You turn around to ask if anyone else saw it too, only to find that you’re alone. Everyone that had been there with you is gone, having left you alone by the fire that somehow has been reduced to nothing more than a small pile of a few dying embers.

You take a few steps back, fear surging through you again as you look about the clearing to try and find someone- anyone- to help you, when you hear it coming for you.

Hushed, quiet steps are approaching you from behind, rushing out of the woods towards you. Again your fear has rendered you immobile; left you too afraid to even turn and meet your fate as, out of the corner of your eyes, you see two monstrously long and distorted hands slowly reaching out of the darkness to grab you.

And as you begin to scream, you still refuse to face it-

The scream that rose through his throat in the dream tapered off into a sharp gasp that brought him into wakefulness. Lying in bed, covered in fever-sweat, he panted and stared up at the ceiling, confused at first as to where he was, half-believing he was still in the hospital despite having been released days ago. Billy’s chest heaved as he turned his head towards the wall, relief flooding through him when he realized he was only in his room, safe in the confines of his father’s house. He felt the racing pace of his heart begin to calm as he closed his eyes, already forgetting most of the details of the nightmare, though the back of his neck still prickled with the remembered feeling of- what had it been?

He couldn’t remember anymore.

When his heart had finally returned to a normal pace, he felt that he could probably fall back asleep. He allowed himself to relax, his arms draped across his stomach when the sounds of a tortured scream erupted from the living room. Billy’s eyes shot open again as he sat up abruptly, groaning at the pain that flared in his arm with the motion. He waited for most of the pain to subside before standing up, the screams from the other room unrelenting in volume or agony.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered bitterly before standing up and storming out of his bedroom.

Initially jumpy because of the faint after-feelings the nightmare had left him with, Billy was now only twitchy with anger. This wasn’t the first time he’d caught Max watching one of those freaky horror movies she loved to watch at an unreasonable volume. He’d made sure to tell her the last time she’d pulled a stunt like this that he wasn’t going to tolerate it anymore. Purposefully having left the implications of what he’d do to her if he caught her doing it again open to interpretation, the promised punishment had been enough to keep her from doing it for a while, but she must have been feeling ballsy today, or certain he was knocked out from all the pills he’d been prescribed to take.

Lumbering into the living room, hair wild and eyes angry, he caught her sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring enraptured at the TV. The screaming continued as he approached her, practically having to shout to be heard over the movie as he began to demand, “What the fuck do you think you’re-”

The words he’d meant to reprimand her with dried out and died on his tongue, his throat seizing up as he finally saw what the man in the movie was screaming about on the TV.

“What?” Max asked, reaching forward to hit the pause button on the VCR, freezing the movie on a gruesome scene.

She looked annoyed at having been interrupted, but the look on Billy’s face turned her expression into more of a quizzical one. “What, Billy?”

“What the fuck are you watching?” he all but whispered, his eyes trained intensely on the frame she’d paused the movie on.

“‘American Werewolf in London’; why?” She spoke with a sneer, a slight smile curling up around the edges of her mouth as she interpreted the expression on his face to be one of fear. “You scared, Billy? Werewolf got your tongue?”

She couldn't have known just how right she was.