#like i just got hit by this very heavy rock in my skull this overwhelming and genuine urge for a second that yeah that'd be ok

[the-acid-pear]

Mental illness is insane I'm just having dinner w my father eating this a little too spicy pasta enjoying the Yeowch on my throat and the silence and suddenly I'm like yeah I'd kill myself.

[a-dorin]

tempestuous | darth maul

word count: 5.043k 

warnings: nsfw, 18+, professor/student relationship, sexual tension, smut,  nudity, sexual innuendos, dominance kink, age gap, cursing 

a/n: hello everyone! due to the response i received, this is the second chapter in the professor!maul au! i am so happy with the overwhelming comments of kindness. you guys rock :’) thank you for keeping me sane during quarantine. as always, the first chapter is linked below. enjoy :)) 

ardor

summary: weeks have flown by, and you find yourself under immense amounts of pressures with midterm quickly approaching. not only are you stressed with the academics, but you can’t seem to shake a certain professor out of your head.

“(y/n), did you have rough night?” barriss chuckled, handing ahsoka an iced coffee before sliding into her own spot, “here, i got you a little pick-me-up.” 

wrapping your hand around the cup, you swirled your straw around, “thank you, barriss. i guess i’m just a little stressed out with midterms approaching.”

“a little?” ahsoka giggled, covering her mouth, “(y/n), we love you, but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck. is everything okay?”

you rubbed your temple, a dull aching seeping into your skull, “i’ve been pulling some all nighters lately.”

“well if you ever want to study for with us, you’re always welcome,” barriss’ blue depths shone, her lips curved into an encouraging smile, “ahsoka and i are a little nervous about the midterm as well, especially for this class. professor maul hasn’t given us any sort of notion on what the exam may be.”

“i hope it’s something simple,” you grumbled, taking a sip of the matcha latte, “again, thank you for the matcha, barriss. i appreciate it.”

barriss laid a gentle hand on your shoulder, “anything for you, (y/n). after all, you’re our new best friend.”

“she’s very right,” ahsoka shot you a wink, prodding you with her elbow, “you should come to the library with us tomorrow night! i know, it’s lame, but it’s pretty empty on the weekend. we have a good chance at snagging one of those study rooms. and if we get our homework done friday, we can always meet up before that party saturday night!” 

“you guys party?” you arched a curious brow. 

barriss and ahsoka rolled their eyes simultaneously, the togruta letting out a huff, “we know how to have fun too, (y/n). after all, they say that the bookworms know how to let loose.”

“whatever,” you couldn’t help but laugh, pulling out your laptop. 

it was now about halfway through the semester, with midterms approaching on the horizon. the looming fact that you had about five exams, along with working extra hours with your internship, were beginning to take their toll on you. the internship at the hospital was running smoothly, and you were performing so well that you were offered extra hours. of course, you couldn’t help but accept the offer. 

yet, it came with a cost. although it was only two nights a week, they asked if you could stay a few hours later than normal. so, every tuesday and wednesday, you strolled into your apartment well past one in the morning. 

rex helped in every way he possibly could. whether it was cooking you dinner, making you coffee, tending to your laundry, as well as keeping the apartment tidy, he was adamant about making things easier for you. which, you greatly appreciated. there were even times he charged your laptop and made runs to the printer. last night was one of those nights where you didn’t get back till late, so to say you were exhausted was an understatement. 

although it was your first class of the day, and 9:56 a.m., sleep still hung heavy in your mind. the comfy clothes hanging on your frame weren’t much help either, the coziness of the fabric lulling you to sleep. a university of coruscant hoodie, a few sizes too big, was almost like a blanket. and the grey sweats were comforting. shaking your head, you attempted to focus. 

the class fell silent as he entered the room, causing you to perk up in your seat. today, he was clad in a pair of black slacks, the color of his button up and blazer corresponding with his pants. his shoes were freshly polished, glossy in the sterile light. the monochromatic outfit brought out the color of his crimson skin, his amber orbs nearly glowing. as usual, the silver chain hung from his neck, this time, settled on bare skin, as a button or two was left undone. 

you nearly choked on your matcha, as you drank in the sight of him. maker, was he gorgeous. mind buzzing, you mustered all of your strength to not admire for a moment too long. it was already embarrassing enough the sheer amount of instances you saw him on campus. 

now that you were enrolled in his class, you saw him everywhere. whether it was grabbing a meal to-go in the dining hall, bumping into him at the gym, or mumbling a greeting as you passed him in the halls of the psychology wing. it was odd, yet you paid no mind. a part of you yearned to see him, to just admire his features. 

professor maul didn’t seem to mind the encounters either. every time, he would chirp a greeting, his tone smooth and cordial. even though he was formal, you couldn’t help but notice a gleam in the golden pools as he spoke. it was almost as if his eyes were roaming your body, glittering with lust. 

just the mere thought of his lips on yours sent a faint blush painted across your cheeks. shifting in your seat, the realization that class began washed over you. letting out a quiet sigh, you typed notes as he spoke, his voice clear, thick with authority as it rang through the lecture hall. 

“now,” he cleared his throat, backtracking to the pedestal to the left of the space, “i compiled a list of terms and parameters of your midterm exam.”

groans of frustration erupted like a volcano, maul’s eyes blazing with amusement, “may i discuss the exam with you first or are you all going to complain?”

“i hate him,” ahsoka muttered under her breath. 

“you don’t mean that,” you whispered, teasing, “what if the exam is a breeze?”

“the midterm will be no walk in the park,” maul announced, gathering a thick stack of papers in his hands.

 your eyes wandered to his hands, and how they sprawled over the stack with ease, how they were would fit so well over your breasts. a shiver ran down your spine as you pondered of his hands all over your body, relishing every inch of your skin. his voice snapped you out of your fantasy, his gaze settling on you, a smirk creeping onto his lips. 

“for the exam, i ask that you research an individual or authoritative figure who is a ‘monster’ in our society. once you conduct your research, you will give me a brief presentation. the presentation will be done orally, through a video format. the deadline is printed on the assignment sheet. there are no exceptions, so plan accordingly.”

biting your lip, your cheeks reddened under the eye contact. however, his attention was taken away from you, eyes flickering towards a student near the top of the lecture hall. 

“does this mean we can talk about president palpatine? he’s a tyrant!” 

“i can’t believe he almost banned the frats!” another complaint rose from a classmate.

“if that’s who you would like to report on,” a bubbly, lighthearted laugh escaped his lips, the sound flowing like sweet honey into your ears, “you might have your work cut out for you. that is my boss after all, so i am not sure how biased i can be.”

the rest of the class droned on, ahsoka and barriss lost in their note-taking, their stares fixed to their laptop screens. meanwhile, you found yourself getting lost, daydreaming. maker, did you ache to experience just one kiss. to trace the tattoos all over his chest and shoulders as you unbuttoned the article of clothing. gnawing on your cheek, shame burned through you as you realized that you were beginning to feel a sensation in your core. the mere thought of maul had your folds slick, wet and desperate for him. 

soon, class was over, students herded to the doors. you followed ahsoka and barriss, conversing about tomorrow’s plans. you were anticipating the study session tomorrow, as you needed it.

after all, you weren’t paying much attention in class these days. 

*******

“so, are we wrapped up for the night?” ahsoka yawned, her eyes bleary with sleep. 

a rumble in the distance shook the library, a thunderstorm wreaking its havoc over coruscant. you, barriss, and ahsoka were finishing up, the building nearing closing time. it was 10:32 p.m., the three of you hunkering down in a study room for the past two and a half hours. however, the session was helpful, the three of you passing notes, sharing what you did and didn’t have. you were all caught up, thanks to them. 

“i believe so,” barriss nodded, shoving a notebook into her bag, “(y/n), would you like us to walk with you to your apartment? we can share an umbrella and give you one.”

“i’ll be fine,” you shrugged, glancing at your phone, “i think i might wait out the storm for a few more minutes. besides, my roommate has a girl over. i don’t want to impose on them.”

“you sure?” concern flashed across ahsoka’s face, “it’s not a problem to us.”

“you guys can go,” you teased, winking, “i can handle myself. besides, there’s no one in here besides the twi’lek at the front desk.”

“whatever you say,” barriss huffed, adjusting her hijab, “see you tomorrow!”

“see ya,” you waved to the two girls as they left the room, “text me when you guys want to meet up!” 

“we will,” ahsoka called, giving you one last grin before they disappeared from your field of vision. 

exhaling, you rose to your feet, slinging your bag over your shoulder. strolling out of the study room, the lights of the library were dimmed, a few students lingering, milling around the front desk or nose deep in textbooks, scrambling to finish their work. 

eventually, you made your way to the lobby, leaning against the brick wall. rex promised that he would text you when his friend was on her way, yet there were no message on your screen. no missed calls. nothing. frustration welled up inside of you, creeping into your thoughts. surely the girl wasn’t staying the night. rex didn’t mention anything about it to you earlier. 

“hey there,” an all too familiar voice rumbled, “do you need a lift?”

turning ever so slightly, your eyes widened at the figure before you. maul stood in the doorway, donned in a pair of grey joggers, a university hoodie on his top half. the hoodie was black, which was a prominent color in the zabrak’s wardrobe. you picked up on that the third day of class. his brows were furrowed, lips pursed. it was almost as if he was concerned. 

“i’m fine,” you muttered, “just waiting on my roommate to give me the all clear.”

“i remember those days,” maul mused, “savage used to have all sorts of women over when we rented an apartment together for grad school. it was downright horrid.”

“i bet,” you sucked in a breath, anxiety swirling as you read the time once more. it was 10:48 now, more and more students filing out of the exit. 

“you all right?” he inquired, his voice low, “if your apartment isn’t too far from here, i can give you a ride. it’s storming pretty bad out there.”

“isn’t that illegal?” you snorted, a glimmer of hope rising as rex’s called id lit up your phone, “hang on, i gotta take this.”

“heyyyy,” immediately, you sensed that rex was walking on eggshells, “do you have a place to stay for the night?”

“rex, i thought we talked about this.”

“well,” he mumbled, “she wants to stay the night. i’ll do all of your laundry tomorrow if you say yes.”

“rex this isn’t the right time to bargain with me,” tears brimmed your eyes as the horror crept in. you had nowhere to go. 

“please?” his voice was sickeningly sweet, “pretty please?”

“fine,” you caved, “i’ll see you tomorrow.”

“thank you-” rex began, but you hung up before he got the chance to finish. 

storming out of the library, tears streamed down your cheeks, mixing effortlessly with the icy rain as it cascaded down, piercing through your clothes. you sobbed, your cries deafened by the thunder. maker, you were so furious. how could rex do that to you? especially so last minute? the only place you could go was your car, and you didn’t even have a fresh change of clothes. 

“(y/n),” through the roar of the thunder, you heard his voice. 

“oh great!” sobs racked your body, “now i have to deal with you too-”

his hands grasped your cheeks, pulling you in. lips collided with yours, his touch warm, as you crumpled completely. fingers tangled into your wet locks, desperate to bring you closer to him, to feel your lips mold so effortlessly with his. the kiss was fiery, burning with a passion. a desire for you. it was exhilarating, intoxicating, your mind buzzing, losing any sort of coherent thought as the rain pounded against the cement, lightning illuminating your surroundings. 

“now,” he pulled away, leaving you breathless, “do you need a ride?”

“i don’t have anywhere to go,” you could barely string the words together.

“you’re welcome to stay at my place.”

“are you sure?” you wiped your tears, yet the effort was fruitless. your clothes were soaked, you were chilled to the bone.

“yes,” he took your hands, “come on, let’s get out of here.”

“what if someone sees us?” anxiety bubbled within you. 

“my hood is up,” he began to make his way towards the parking lot, clicking a button on his car keys, “besides, i’m wearing black and so are you.”

“i guess you’re right,” you muttered, a shiver rippling through your being.

as he approached the vehicle, he opened the passenger door for you as the rain pattered against the pavement. slipping off his sweatshirt, he shoved it into your hands, “here, put this on.”

“i-i’m not wearing a shirt underneath,” the words were a stutter.

“and i’m not fifteen,” maul scoffed, ducking so that he could slide into the driver’s seat, “you’re going to get sick out here and mine is somewhat dryer than yours.”

hesitantly, you made your way into the passenger seat, your eyes widening as you noticed the interior, “this is a tesla.”

in the darkness, you picked out the brightness of his grin, his incisors flashed, poking against his lips, “indeed. my apartment isn’t too far from here. i need to let savage know that we’re no longer having drunkfest.”

“drunkfest?” you couldn’t help but giggle. 

“drunkfest,” maul affirmed, his thumbs dancing across his phone, “we get absolutely wasted every friday night to forget about the awful moments of the work week.”

“interesting,” you settled into maul’s hoodie, grateful for the slightly drier fabric. his scent flooded your nostrils. it was a strong scent, with traces of leatherwood, spices, and bergamot. it was heavenly, with just the right amount of cologne. 

“it is interesting,” his eyes focused on the road, the lights of the city whirring by as he drove, “even though i’ve gotten completely trashed every single time, i can’t seem to shake you off my mind.”

blush flooded your cheeks, your breath hitching in your throat, “i see.”

within minutes, maul pulled into a parking garage, turning off the engine. he helped out of the passenger seat, “let me carry your bookbag for you. the textbooks probably need to sit out for a few hours. i’m sure you don’t want to pay for new ones.”

“i don’t,” you sucked in a breath. 

the zabrak slung your bag over his shoulder with ease, locking the car behind you. the two of you entered the elevator on the level, and maul pushed his desired designation. a wave of silence crashed over you, but it wasn’t unnerving. it was more relaxed, maul humming a tune as the elevator whirred. 

eventually, you were standing outside his door, the zabrak shoving the key into the lock. pushing the door open, you couldn’t help but marvel at the decor, furniture, as well as the viewports. the apartment was luxurious, screaming wealth. yet, maul remained humble, not uttering a single word. 

the floor was a flint concrete, glossed over with a polish. in the den, there was a massive patterned rug, intricate patterns of black, white, and crimson woven together. the couch was a sectional, a dark grey. the shelving and tables were black, paired with subtle hints of scarlet or grey decor. there wasn’t much wall decor, besides some vintage posters from the old days of coruscant. framed photos of zabraki were scattered, and you inferred that they were feral and savage, maul’s younger brothers. 

“there’s a hall leading to the refresher. it’s on your right, i’m going to set out your books to dry. before you shower, leave your clothes in a pile by the door. i’ll throw them in the wash for you. and if i pop in, don’t scream. i’m going to lend you some of my clothes,” the zabrak murmured, “take your time in the shower. i don’t want you getting sick.”

“what if i need help getting the right water temperature?” you arched a brow. 

his eyes narrowed, gleaming, “i think you’ll be fine, princess. call me if you need anything.”

your cheeks reddened, “okay. i’ll be in the shower.”

maul mumbled something incoherent, and you wandered through the den, discovering the hall that he mentioned. once you found the refresher, you peeled the damp clothing off your body, grateful that there was a towel hanging outside the shower. exhaling, you tossed your clothes outside the door, turning on the water. after adjusting the temperature to your liking, you stood underneath the stream, grateful for the warmth as it seeped into your skin. 

the shower was just as elegant as the apartment, with glass doors and a steel shower head in the shape of a square. it was far better than the shower in your own apartment, as you didn’t have to worry about wasting hot water or any spiders. steam billowed into the space, hugging the doors of the shower, droplets of water condensing on the glass. 

“i’m coming in to drop off some clothes,” the zabrak’s voice entered the room, “holy fuck do you always have the water this hot?”

“do you not?” you chuckled. 

“it feels like a sauna in here,” he chuckled, teasing, “anyways, i’ll leave you be.”

letting out a content sigh, you turned the water off once he left. opening the door, your eyes scanned the space for the light switch. after a few seconds, you found it, flipping on the vent. hopefully that would help with the amount of steam that clung to every single item in the refresher. 

on the counter, there was a black turtleneck, along with a pair of briefs. patting yourself dry, you slipped on the briefs first, then slid the turtleneck over your head. it was getting late, the clock on the counter reading 11:36 p.m. yawning, you pushed open the door, padding into the hall. 

maul was nowhere to be found, a frown forming on your lips. where could he had run off to? surely he would’ve mentioned something to you. yet, your curiosity crept in, urging you to explore. holding your breath, you noticed a door, inferring that it was maul’s bedroom.

the door creaked as you tapped it, the draft pulling it open. inside, the floor was the same as it was, a king-sized bed in the middle, pushed against the wall, supported by a black wooden bed frame. there was a dresser, along with a walk-in closet. the most breathtaking aspect were the viewports, acting as a wall. the lights of coruscant glowed, the room overlooking the city. rain flowed down the viewports as thunder rumbled. you felt drawn to them, awestruck by the beauty of the sprawling city.

“you like the view?” your heart nearly leapt out of your chest. 

“don’t scare me like that!” you pouted, folding your arms across your chest.

“don’t go snooping around,” maul smirked, matching your energy.

your heart thudded as his eyes drank in the sight of you, in his turtleneck. the sweater was a little large, hanging loosely in some areas. the briefs hugged your thighs, leaving nothing to the imagination. your nipples poked through the fabric of the sweater, the cool air sending a shiver running down your spine. 

“gods,” he breathed, licking his lips, “i-i don’t know what to say.”

“i’m sorry for wandering off,” you mumbled, your cheeks hot as shame burned through you, “i didn’t mean to-”

“just stop,” maul shook his head, taking a step towards you, “just fucking stop. you have no need to apologize.”

the air in room crackled like the lightning outside as he took another step forward, an old t-shirt clinging to his torso, the same pair of grey joggers hanging loosely on his hips. your throat tightened as you noticed the way his chest rose and fell, the zabrak’s breathing ragged. 

“it seems as if i can’t shake you off my mind,” he panted as the space between you dissolved, “lately, all of my thoughts have revolved about you.”

“what do you think about?” you swallowed thickly. 

“do you want the hear the answer?” his face was merely centimeters away from yours, “or would you rather experience it?” 

“i want both.”

his hand reached out, gently grasping your jaw. the touch was light, feathery as his fingers traced your heated skin. you melted, nearly collapsing to the floor. 

the zabrak’s eyes glowed, the amber now hardened into a deep honey hue, almost a chestnut brown, “can i kiss you?”

you nodded, almost a little too quickly, “yes.”

a low, guttural growl dripped from his lips, “i couldn’t resist you before. but fuck as soon as i saw you in my clothes, i just can’t fucking take it any longer.”

the kiss was hungry, an open-mouth, lustful kiss. his lips crashed into yours, yearning to explore the taste of your mouth. the zabrak’s hands laced into your hair, tugging at the roots, gripping tightly. a whine echoed through the room as he sucked on your bottom lip, his tongue delving into your mouth. a hand slid down, resting on the nape of your neck, holding you steady as the kisses grew hungrier and hungrier. 

“get on the bed,” he commanded, his tone thick with authority, a hand untangling itself from your hair and tugging on the hem of the turtleneck, “and take this off.”

the way the words rolled of his tongue struck you to your core, your folds growing slick as the anticipation grew. fingers wrapping around the hem, you tugged it off, your breasts bouncing. the zabrak practically groaned as he admired your exposed body, a hand palming his cock as it hardened, the outline prominent in the light. 

obeying his order, you laid on the bed, your back hitting the soft comforter. maul slipped off the t-shirt, almost pouncing on top of you. pinning you down, his mouth connected with your neck, trailing sloppy kisses down, onto your collarbone.

“if only i could leave my mark on you,” his breath was hot, coming out in pants, “i would paint you like a canvas.”

“you can,” the words were a broken moan as his tongue dragged across your collarbone. 

“oh?” you could feel his lip curved into a smile, “you want me to?”

“ye-” the reply was shortened as maul’s lips wrapped around nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive area. 

his tongue drifted from your nipple to your flesh, nipping and sucking, a satisfied purr erupting from the zabrak as a rich burgundy mark appeared, “i hope you’re aware that you’re the most beautiful woman i have ever met.”

“i don’t think so.”

within seconds, his mouth was hovering over the waistband of the briefs, “you better fucking believe you are, (y/n).”

“i- oh my god,” the tearing of fabric rang off the walls as maul ripped the briefs off your frame. 

“usually i take my time with this,” maul murmured, his gaze burning with lust, “but fuck i need you. i need to feel you take my cock.”

“please,” you whimpered, squirming as he parted your thighs.

“holy fuck. how are you so fucking wet? you’re soaking and i haven’t even touched you.”

the zabrak was appalled, a flash of awe painted across features as he took in the sight of your dripping core, your pussy aching. desire burned through your being, threatening to consume you whole. maker, you never knew you wanted someone this badly. exhilaration rushed through you with every touch, his fingers slipping between your folds. 

“i’ve thought about you like this,” maul was enticed, almost in a trace as your juices coated his fingers, “i’ve thought about the way your body would be underneath mine, your eyes begging for me to fuck you till you can’t take it anymore.”

“i’ve thought about you in class.”

“in class?” his voice faltered, “(y/n), that’s sinful.”

“it’s not as sinful as how i’ve wanted you to fuck me for weeks,” your cheeks were flushed,. 

“oh gods,” maul groaned as a finger entered you, “i’m going to make you mine.”

“please,” your hips bucked forward, his finger plunging further into you, “i want to be yours.”

“you’re going to be mine princess,” he purred, “i promise i’ll give you what you’ve been yearning for.” 

hastily, the zabrak tugged his sweats off, kicking them to the floor. your nearly choked on your spit when his member sprang free from the constraint of the fabric. his cock was massive, the largest you had ever seen. yet, it wasn’t too large that you couldn’t take it. crimson and black patterns wove all around it, his shaft ribbed, precum dribbling down his length. 

“tell me how much you need me,” his voice shifted from a coo to a growl as fingers wrapped around your throat, “tell me how badly you need professor maul to fuck you senseless.”

“i need you to fuck me,” the words were a broken whine. 

“louder,” his grip tightened, “say it louder. i need to hear you.”

“i need professor maul to fuck me,” the words were enough to bring the zabrak to the edge, to make him unfold. 

“good girl,” his tone oozed with praise, low and husky. 

he lined his tip at your entrance, slowly inserting himself into you. maul’s hand loosened from your throat, gripping the headboard for leverage. your moans were breathy, laced with bliss as your walls expanded, wrapping around his cock.

“that’s such a good fucking girl,” maul leaned in, nipping at your ear, “you take my cock.”

the zabrak thrust into you, his tip brushing against your g-spot. throwing your head against the pillow, your body almost went limp, collapsing. the pleasure was overwhelming, burning through you like a fire. but maker, did you want more. you needed more. 

maul watched as he fucked you, one hand steady on the headboard, the other on the mattress, gripping the sheets. he was plowing into you now, showing no mercy. the moans bouncing off the walls were rich and so loud, fueling his desire to keep going. the zabrak lost all inhibitions minutes ago, his thoughts blurred, eyes glossed over. 

the way you felt was heavenly, every single thrust euphoric. 

maker, was he losing control. 

tightening his grip on the headboard, his knuckles were almost white. he was completely feral, unhinged, detached. 

a horrid cracking filled the zabrak’s ears, and he glanced up towards the headboard. the wood split into two, a lengthy, crack down the middle, stemming from his hand. 

“oh shit,” you gasped. 

“look what you made me do, angel,” a smirk stretched across his lips, “you’re going to fucking pay for that.”

your nails dug into his shoulder blades as he slammed into you, balls slapping against skin. his cock throbbed, swelling. with every throb, your walls tightened, the pleasure building in your belly. eyes squeezing shut, you felt every inch of him buried in your soaking pussy, balls deep in you now. 

“maul,” the zabrak nearly unfolded right there, “i’m going to cum.”

“let go baby,” his lips brushed against yours, “you can cum. cum for me.”

the orgasm racked your body, maul’s mouth connected with yours, the moans muffled. your thighs trembled, stars bursting in your vision, the pleasure almost blinding. 

with no strength left, your body went limp, collapsing into the mattress. 

his thrusts were more languid, sloppy with every stroke. maul came moments later, filling you up with it all. 

“fuck,” he cursed under his breath, a sheen of sweat clinging to his body, “are you all right?”

“i’m fine,” your inner thighs buzzed, soreness creeping into the muscle. 

every inch of skin the zabrak touched tingled, as if your body was savoring the memory.

maul cleared his throat, his cock still inside of you, “i kinda lost control.”

“kinda?”

“a little bit,” he chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead, “it’s been so long since i’ve last had sex. it doesn’t help that i’m in heat, either.”

“you’re in heat?” you pressed, brows furrowing. 

“perhaps,” the color of his eyes returned to their normal hue, amber flowing into crimson, “let’s get you cleaned up. it’s late.”

“is it past the professor’s bedtime?” your tone was snarky. 

“don’t tempt me to fuck you again. because we both know damn well that i will.”

glancing up, you noticed the broken headboard, “how much is that going to cost?”

the zabrak let out a huff as his cock slid out of you, drenched with a mixture of juices, “i don’t know. it’s the least of my concerns at the moment. stay here, and don’t move a muscle.”

swinging his legs over the mattress, maul strolled towards the refresher, retrieving a rag to clean up the mess that you made. you sunk into the bed, questions ringing through your mind. 

yet, you couldn’t help but notice a prominent feature. in the light, the tattooed skin glowed. but there was something different about the way his thighs transitioned from flesh to an ashen metal. 

maul’s legs were cybernetic. 

and your curiosity about the zabrak, your professor, skyrocketed.

***

tagged: @sapphicstars , @maulieber , @starflyer-104 , @alwayshappysith , @doobiwankenooku , @magicalkitkat12 , @dartheldur , @princessayveke , @multifandombtch , @spaghetti-666 , @lis-ard , @swimmingsloths , @sithmando​ , @mother-0f-monsters​

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Guys I’ve been a really bad bean today. Despite not getting even remotely close to my nano word count I’ve got lost in editing land with this piece. I initially just wanted to correct the mistakes my amazing friend @finder-of-rings would find for me but ended up rewriting whole paragraphs of this and fiddling a little with the scene structure at the end.

At least I’m happy how it turned out.

@redstainedsocks  @salamancialilypad @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee

Chapter 3

CW: past parental neglect, panic attack, protagonist nearly experiencing a meltdown, stimming, undeserved punishment

Sahar stumbled, nearly tripping over the small stone steps as he hasted up to the farm. The bushes and ferns around him all swam together into smudged shades of green. The world around him dissolved into a melting aquarelle painting, ruined by tears burning their deep painful paths into his skin as they streamed down his flushed face, incessantly. 

He knew he wasn’t supposed to cry but he’d forgotten how to stop.

The rustling leaves and chirping beetles, the birds, the arguing voices from below, were all drowned out by the thundering heartbeat pulsing through his skull.

I didn’t do anything bad.

I didn’t.

I didn’t.

Or…

Did I?

Sahar’s right arm ached in warning but his relentlessly tapping fingers were somehow capable to hold the feeling at bay, getting it out through his movements before it could break through his skin and twist his very being into an abstract variant of pain.

For now, the horridly familiar sensation just lingered, stinging deep in his marrow and itching under his nails, eager to burst out.

Bolting over the little fence, Sahar hurried across the plateau and passed the house to hop behind one giant root, into nature's comforting embrace. 

He wedged himself between it and the old stump they used to chop firewood on, eyes fixed on the ax still rammed inside as his back hit the roots bark over and over again, chasing unwanted feelings out through movement and the growing throb across his skin, until his violent rocking slowed into a gentle rhythm.

The ache began to fade.

Sahar’s lips trembled around one long shaky exhale and his tears finally subsided. Their tracks were only crusty streaks of salty water now, not overwhelming liquefied aches.

Sometimes Sahar hated his body, hated it for being overwhelmed by the stupidest things, hated to have a brain full of misfiring neurons at war with themselves and the world. A brain that made it unbelievably more difficult to exist, as what he was, in this world.

Maybe this was some kind of divine punishment.

Punishment for what?

Why was it a crime to be-

“Sahar?” Moira’s head peeked over the root. Her brows furrowed in worry as she looked down at his cowering form.

“There you are, sweetheart.”

He didn’t meet her eyes, only tugged his knees tight to his chest, ready to hide his face from whatever scolding was surely to come.

There always had been reprehension when he hadn’t been able to behave himself. Until all of his mother’s angry words hadn’t been enough and she’d ultimately abandoned him.

Ugly icky fear gnawed away at his insides, a sharp toothed beast he desperately wanted to banish from his skin. He rocked against the root again, let his shoulder blades collide with it hard enough the rough bark threatened to tear his grey linen shirt.  

Sometimes his thoughts paused, stayed on safe paths and away from the maelstroms of his ever racing mind when he rocked or tapped or hummed enough. But now was not such a moment.

Sahar’s thoughts spun and spiraled, crashing violently into one another on their collision curses.

Please don’t throw me out. Away. I can behave. I can be disciplined. I promise. Promise. Promise. Please!

The curtain closed and left the window dark.

“Sahar?”

Wait.

There were no curtains here.  And no city streets. No concrete roads or bleeding knees.

Only warm earth under his fingertips. A long grass blade brushed his calf and Sahar closed his eyes to focus on the barely there tickle against his skin.

Feeling his ribcage expand and fill with the lavender scented air, inherent to his home, his eyes fluttered open.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

Here. Here. Here. And I can stay.

Moira began to heave Asmodea over the root with a loud huff that had Sahar instantly uncurl and twist around to take the snail with a firm, gentle grip from Moiras arms. Asmodea immediately clung onto him as best as their soft slimy body allowed, their foot moving in exasperated little waves until Sahar finally sat back down to place them over his lap.

“There, there baby. There you you you go.”

He couldn’t help but smile as Asmodea draped themselves flat over his legs, making no move to retreat into their shining shell. It’s brown and black stripes still shimmered from the shower Sahar had given them yesterday. 

“Sahar? Can you listen to me?”

Hunching protectively over Asmodea, he gave a hesitant nod, before adding a quiet, “Yes.”

Moira didn’t like it when she had to repeat herself. It made her livid when he or Ansgar ended up absorbed in one-

Ansgar.

Something hot and heavy lodged itself in Sahar’s throat at the thought of his furious gaze. Ansgar had never looked at him like this, ever before, but Sahar realized why, now, after he had a moment to collect his racing thoughts, to calm his hammering heart.  He really had been bad. Immature, thoughtless, utterly ludicrous.

But even so he knew. God how he knew.

Even after everything-

“Ansgar and Eric persuaded the… head hunter, to try his luck up in Berlin.” Moira began, lips pursed in displeasure. “Your house arrest however, stands nevertheless. Don’t give me that look. You’ve been irresponsible and ill-mannered, young man. No matter how good a reason you may think you had, you have to control yourself.”

A protest burned on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed the sizzle of anger down, buried it deep inside himself where all his other unsafe emotions were banished.

“I know. I I- I’m sorry.”

Moira shook her head with a sigh, grey curls swishing softly from side to side. “Just be better from now on and stay put for the next  few days.  No strolling through the farm woods either.”

His fingers began to tap an anxious rhythm onto Asmodea’s shell, while their foot pulsed in soothing waves over his thighs. One of her eyes gently nudged his forearm.

“What, uhm what, but if if if one of the snails escapes and-“

Moira’s strict tone nipped his tender try at backtalk at the bud, rendering him silent for good.

“Ansgar and I will take care of that then. I have to go now. Ansgar already went to help Eric and the others check the InD-Unit’s for a possible break through. I don’t trust one word out of this guy’s mouth, and I expect you to stay close to the house. Did I make myself clear?”

The scar on his arm stretched uncomfortably as he curled tighter around Asmodea, desperate for his friend’s silent support. Their soft body wiggled gently over his legs in response.

“Yes, ma’am.”

[fancifulwhump]

i’m a simple bitch who likes seeing jaskier get kidnapped and geralt having to rescue him lmao

AN:   as you ask, so shall you recieve.   protective geralt going from beast-mode to soft??  that’s my jam, dude

In Geralt’s complete defense, the risks of leaving Jaskier unattended — of which past experience had proven were many — really paled in comparison to a Devourer attack.

Rather, an attack by multiple Devourers, at the same bloody time, with the tenacity of a pack of wild wolves. The flesh-craving beasts showed little interest in a Witcher’s mutated blood. They wanted human flesh, and human alone. A reign of terror stretching on for weeks before Geralt happened upon the poor mining village in the mountains made that clear enough. People could no longer venture from their homes without risk of being torn to bits by a sulking monster. Geralt’s arrival was a blessing to them. Jaskier’s presence — for, having hit a creative dry spell, he'd been following Geralt for the last few weeks, to “fan the flames of inspiration” — was just convenient. 

Geralt never liked using the bard as bait. This had nothing to do with any moral qualms; any time Jaskier involved himself in a kill, things got complicated. He simple had a talent for getting in the way. Trouble was drawn to him like a magnet; rather than avoid it, the idiot almost seemed to invite it. Geralt tried to keep Jaskier out of the way during jobs because bailing him out of danger was more trouble than any amount of coin was worth.

That, and he’d rather not see his companion be mauled or swallowed whole by a monster. 

Sometimes, however, Jaskier’s presence during a job could actually be useful. Like it or not, Geralt had to put him to work.

“This isn’t my first time playing irresistibly seductive meat-sack, you know,” huffed the meat-sack in question, carefully fastening his lute to a pack strung along Roach’s side. When Jaskier looked up at Geralt, his eyes glittered. Whatever thrill he got from being in mortal peril, it was probably worrying. “Practically used to it by now. Could make it a profession. Thank the gods I’m here, too, or what else would you have done? Picked up a nice, juicy steak from the market, and dressed it up like a toddler?”

Geralt snorted, unsheathing a dagger from his belt. It was a small, silver-bladed thing — better for throwing than stabbing, though it could be useful at close range. The hilt was almost too small for his hands. In Jaskier’s, it fit perfectly.

“Only if you need it,” he said. Jaskier gripped the blade, eyes wide with fascination, before nodding and tucking it into his own belt. “Quick slashes. If you have to stab, stab deep.”

Of course, Jaskier couldn’t fight, and he certainly didn’t stand a chance against a monster… but at least he wouldn’t be completely helpless.

So, Jaskier was sent on ahead, and did what he did best — played the oblivious fool. Only when he’d blustered along the mountainside for about ten minutes, leading Roach along as the Witcher silently trailed them both, did their plan show signs of success. In the distance, a few rocks shifted. Pebbles rolled down the mountainside. The faint trill of birdsong went quiet.

Jaskier had been humming to himself, but his voice cut off abruptly. His head raised; he glanced around. That was all he had time to do before a blur suddenly shot out of the cave, launching itself at him.

And another, and another — more than Geralt expected.

In a few swift bounds, he was in the middle of the fray, cutting Devourers down in midair. This was just enough time for the bait to make his escape. With the battle begun, Jaskier leapt on top of Roach and sped off — “somewhere safe”, Geralt had told him.

So maybe Geralt was the fool, for assuming the hapless bard could look after himself. At any rate, he trusted Roach to keep Jaskier out of trouble; the horse always had more sense than he did, anyhow. 

An hour, maybe, or less — that’s how long it took for Geralt, covered in Devourer blood and a few new scratches, to follow the trail his horse and companion left, only to come up empty handed. Not being able to hear Jaskier’s annoying caterwaul was the first sign of trouble. Coming across a lute in the bushes, smashed and abandoned, was the second.

Picking up the remnants of the familiar instrument, Geralt’s hands tightened around the wood; he sighed through his nose, barely able to restrain his own frustration.

Served him right for letting Jaskier near his bloody horse... and letting them both out of his sight.

Witcher senses were better honed for tracking than even the most astute hunter. It also helped that the bandits didn’t bother to cover their tracks well. The left a trail of broken twigs, snapped branches, and footprints behind them. However much of a head start the group — Geralt counted five sets of footprints, maybe six — had on him, it didn’t take long to track them down.

Even so, it took long enough. Too long.

He could smell the blood before the noises reached his ears. Perhaps the senses hit at the same time, and he just didn’t register; as soon as that metallic tang hit his nose, all-too-familiar, Geralt saw red. Blood meant nothing on its own, but this blood held a familiar scent — he’d recognize it anywhere. It was as familiar to him as that annoying voice, or that smirk any time Jaskier said something he thought was particularly funny. Blood could belong to anyone, but Jaskier’s blood was his, and Geralt could smell a lot of it.

Blood, and noise, and shouting — not Jaskier’s voice, but a stranger’s rough tone, spitting venom in a language Geralt faintly recognizes. A horse’s frustrated wail. Sharpening blades. And underneath it all… a strangled whimper.

Geralt found the bandits’ campsite.

As for whatever happened at the campsite… well, he couldn’t be held responsible.

By the time the last of the thieves took off running into the forest, stumbling over himself in horror, the bandits’ camp was utterly quiet. Before his body hit the tree, the big one had been making an awful lot of noise. So was the quick one, when he hissed at Geralt and tried to draw his sword; thankfully, Geralt was quicker. Now, in the silence, with nothing but his heavy breathing as he came back to awareness, Geralt could see everything.

Roach was unharmed, tied to a tree. She stomped her feet as Geralt came closer, as if applauding his quick work… but Geralt’s attention turned in a second, from her to the other side of the clearing. Silence reigned there as well, and it was unnerving. 

Jaskier was never silent. Jaskier didn’t know how to be silent. 

The figure slumped against the base of the tree, chest bound with rope and head bowed, did not make a sound.

The stench of blood grew overwhelming the closer Geralt got. He had to force himself not to focus on it. Instead, he honed in on Jaskier’s heart, beating a steady rhythm in his chest. Not faltering, not stuttering — he was alive, then. Unconsciously, a sigh of relief escaped Geralt, loud in the silent woods.

Then he saw the blood staining a head of dark hair, trailing down Jaskier’s jaw.

“Shit.” Immediately, he dropped to one knee, hand finding his companion’s shoulder. The battered captive’s face scrunched you in pain when Geralt gripped it. “Jaskier. Hey! Jaskier.” Unwilling to hurt him any further, Geralt shook his companion lightly. “Wake up.”

It was just enough — or maybe the pain from Geralt’s touch pulled him back into wakefulness. Jaskier stirred, head sluggishly rolling on his shoulders. For a moment, he struggled to lift it, as though his skull were filled with lead rather than gray matter. When he finally managed, he blinked sluggishly up at Geralt, pupils blown wide. Concussion, then, Geralt thought, and had to bite back another curse.

“Ah hah — the mighty Witcher!” Jaskier’s head fell back like a doll’s; still, he offered Geralt a wide grin. His teeth were stained with blood, from the busted corner of his lip. “Knew you’d come for me. It was only a matter of time. Caught about half that fight, I think. Just half. Til you threw that one lad down the hill.”

Was it any surprise that even half-senseless, Jaskier still didn’t know how to shut up? Geralt just took it as a good sign that he was talking. While the bard blathered on, he busied himself checking Jaskier over for further injuries. His shoulder was probably dislocated; he’d have some colorful bruises in the morning; there were a few deep scratches along his face and bare forearms, like he’d been dragged through brush…

“Mmm. Geralt. Hey.” Jaskier’s movement was sudden — like a marionette unable to control his own limbs, his arm raised, landing heavily on Geralt’s shoulder. When Geralt looked up, Jaskier’s head was lolling to the side. He seemed to be putting in a valiant effort to stay awake. Half opened eyes remained trained on Geralt, warm with an emotion Geralt could not name, but left him feeling immensely guilty. He should have gotten here sooner. He shouldn’t have let Jaskier out of his sight in the first place.

“Look,” said Jaskier — and, very deliberately, nodded towards the thug still crumpled at the base of a nearby tree. The tree’s trunk had a dent in it. Geralt wished he’d thrown him harder. “In the pockets,” insisted Jaskier, giving Geralt a weak push of encouragement.

Bemused, Geralt made his way over; hoisting the thug’s body up by the back of his jacket, he shook him out for any spare bits. A shower of gold pieces greeted him, along with a pair of rings… and a silver-bladed dagger, stained with blood. Geralt lifted the familiar blade, frowning at it. When his gaze turned to Jaskier again, a grin, bleary but proud, greeted him.

“Jus’ like you said,” Jaskier slurred, then let out a dry crackle of laughter. “I stabbed ‘im deep. And they did not appreciate that, let me tell you —“

“Damn it, Jaskier,” Geralt muttered, hand tightening around the blade.

Yet another mistake to tally for the day. Giving Jaskier a weapon was supposed to keep him out of trouble, not damn him deeper.

Without bothering to clean it off, Geralt rounded on Jaskier, blade clutched in his hands. Jaskier’s unfocused gaze tracked his approach with obvious effort. However hard he was trying to stay awake, he was fighting a losing battle. Even so, not a flicker of fear crossed Jaskier’s face at the sight of a hulking Witcher, advancing with a blade in hand.

Geralt cut Jaskier’s bonds in a few quick strokes. As soon as he was no longer bound to the tree, Jaskier slumped forward. It took Geralt’s quickest reflexes to lurch sideways, catching him before he could hit the ground. A dead weight in his arms, Jaskier let out a small moan.

“What is it?” Geralt demanded. As he shifted the injured man into an easier position, Jaskier inhaled sharply, face twisting up in pain. Another groan sounded through clenched teeth, but a second later Jaskier forced a strained smile.

“Kicked me in the chest — more than once.”

Geralt didn’t need to test the statement any further. As gently as he was capable of being, he eased Jaskier back against the tree. Broken ribs would be more of a headache than all of Jaskier’s other injuries combined, but hopefully he didn’t shatter so easily. Human bodies were so fragile; Geralt saw it every day, of course, in the remains of men torn apart by monsters. Seeing it firsthand was different. Seeing Jaskier, of all people, wounded and in pain… something in Geralt’s chest was drawn tight, like a clenched fist, and the more his companion swallowed back sounds of pain, the tighter it got.

“Better get you up, then,” he muttered. Jaskier nodded, face still screwed up. A long moment passed before his hand tightened on Geralt’s shoulder, and it took yet another moment before he managed to hoist himself upright.

Finding his feet was another challenge. Geralt did his best to offer support without brutalizing Jaskier’s injuries further. No sooner did he pull himself up, however, than Jaskier began to teeter. When his gaze slipped out of focus, Geralt’s arm twined around him. He caught him just as Jaskier’s knees began to buckle.

A yell shattered the illusion of quiet around them, ripping through Jaskier’s body like a physical attack. As fresh pain rippled through his chest, he shoved away from Geralt, who released him without protest. For a moment, it seemed certain that Jaskier would topple. His breathing heavy, each gasp an effort that nearly knocked him sideways, he finally managed to find his feet. Wide eyed, he gazed at Geralt, twisting a protective arm around his chest.

“I’m — I’m okay.” Jaskier put a hand up. “I’m fine. But next time — next time I fall, Geralt, don’t bother catching me.”

Geralt arched an eyebrow. In response, Jaskier shook his head. “I can manage on my own.”

And to his credit, he did. He managed to get on Roach, at least, and the horse carried him back the rest of the way. Jaskier didn’t lose consciousness once, no matter how his head lolled or his senses drifted. Geralt didn’t mind the slurred ramblings, weaving their way through utter nonsense. Only when Jaskier went silent did he worry. Each time, he looked up to find his friend fading, blue eyes half-shut, head falling against his shoulder. Geralt gave a bruising pinch to the flesh of his arm, and Jaskier awoke again.

The nearest inn was a night’s ride from their campsite, and it was getting dark already. By the time they made it back, there seemed little sense going any further, especially with Jaskier in his state. He fell into his bed as soon as Geralt had it laid out on the ground, and did not have the energy to raise his head, even when Geralt offered him a sip of much-needed water.

“‘M fine,” Jaskier muttered. His muted tone suggested he was anything but; Geralt wouldn’t argue, though, if rest was really what Jaskier needed. 

“We need to set your shoulder,” he remarked, keeping his voice low for Jaskier’s benefit. “And clean the blood from your head. That wound ought to be bandaged.”

Jaskier nodded along slowly, as thought everything Geralt was saying made perfect sense. His eyes were closed, expression unchanging, so however much he really understood was anyone’s guess. Frowning, Geralt took the liberty of wetting a cloth himself. Hesitating for just long enough to wonder which decisions in his life brought him to this point — to caring so deeply for someone so easily breakable, so human — he set the cloth against Jaskier’s bloodied face. As the grime was sponged away, Jaskier could not help but sigh in relief.

“That’s the stuff,” he muttered. “All I need. Just… rest, Geralt? Can we? Is that okay?”

Geralt considered him for a moment. “Yes, Jaskier. We can rest awhile.”

This was all he needed to hear. Jaskier smiled, setting his head back down on his pack once more; as his eyes drifted shut, Geralt fought off an instinctive flash of worry. Hand tightening around the damp cloth, he brought it back to Jaskier’s face, and continued cleaning the remnants of that bloody encounter.

Next time they faced down monsters, he might think twice about letting Jaskier out of his sight… but no matter what trouble he fell into, Geralt would always be there to pull him out.

[minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong]

Smoke and Mirrors Chapter One

Smoke and Mirrors: a magician’s trick, the art of making an entity appear to be floating through the use of smoke and mirrors. In figurative speech, something which, once examined, is proven to be an illusion. Like the moon reflected on water, or a flower reflected in a mirror. Unable to be touched.

Description: Listless idol Jeon Jungkook has lost his creative spark. Something just feels...missing. And between jet-setting across the world and constantly evading public scandals, Jungkook’s life up until now has felt like a movie. One thing Jungkook can count on, however, is video games. Y/N has been gaming forever. And when a new VR game called Arcana is released, both Y/N and Jungkook are all over it. But what will become of Jungkook’s online persona when life forces the two to work together? And will Jungkook manage to keep his identity a secret from one of his closest Internet friends?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst

Pairing: Jungkook x (gender unspecified) Reader

Word Count: 12.1k

Tags: Solo Idol!Jungkook, Gamer!Jungkook, Makeup Artist!Reader, Manager!Seokjin, Florist!Hoseok

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of alcohol, although infrequently

A/N: Haha....ha....ha....um, well this is awkward isn’t it? I haven’t been active on here in a long, long time! But God does it feel nice to return. In the time I’ve been away, I’ve been working on a lot of things at once. Too many chefs in the kitchen, except the chefs are projects/responsibilities and the kitchen is me and is also on fire. I think right now more than ever, I’ve leaned into writing to help me feel a bit better about the world. So if this story can make you happy that’s honestly all I can ask for. I don’t think I’ll be keeping a posting schedule, as that feels like too much for me right now, but maybe in the future I’ll come up with a schedule that doesn’t feel overwhelming! Regardless, I’ve missed you guys and I’ve really missed posting my writing here. I hope you all still remember me! And I hope you enjoy this story. Really. As always, please feel free to send me any thoughts or concerns! Questions, critique, comments: send them all my way! I can’t wait to get chatting with you all again.

And I’m on Twitter! I’ll put the link here if you want to follow. I’m very active over there!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

“On God, if you don’t start healing me-!”

“I’m working on it! Christ.”

“Well work harder, damn. Tiki’s about to go down,” you say, gritting your teeth as you whip around toward the dragon staring your party down.

It circles you, never once looking away, several stories tall with glowing yellow eyes that seem to leave trails behind in the darkness of the cavern. You feel at once impossibly small and impossibly fragile in front of such a behemoth, all purple scales and saliva stringing across pointed fangs.

“Just focus on offense for now,” says Sapphire, grunting as he lunges sword-first toward the dragon.

Your brows shoot sky high as Sapphire, a DPS like you, runs straight for the enemy. His silver knight’s armor clanks in his wake. “Wait!” you call, but it’s too late. Your teammate has his sword plunging in and slicing out and slashing wild before you can even prep your next spell. “Jesus, Saph!”

You hear his laughter like bells echo through the cavern, seeming to bounce against the domed ceiling and drip like water from the clinging stalactites. “Tiki! Distract!” you call as the dragon whips wildly: first toward Sapphire and then toward you. “Shit,” you whisper, examining your mana with a hiss. “I need a second to recover!”

Tiki, a massive green orc and also your team’s tank, rushes in with his battle axe. Upon the first hit, the dragon writhes in pain and turns toward Tiki, ire in its yellow eyes. Tiki says nothing, just lets out a string of labored breaths as he swings his heavy weapon. Sapphire is quick to attack at the dragon’s heels. The dragon opens its mouth to spew flames across the charred cavern, aiming right for Tiki, but before it can Zero finally heals him with a flash of white light and a bolt straight to his broad green chest. You jump, turn to the side to see Zero is standing beside you about twenty feet from the dragon.

“Get spelling, Nova!” he shouts, long blonde hair flying in the breeze his spell created.

His voice, deep and gruff, doesn’t suit his pretty, dark-skinned elven body: particularly the well-rendered female…curvature. Every time he talks, it takes you off guard. You shake it off and nod once.

“Loli! Get punching!” you call to your resident monk as she idles near the dragon’s tail. She says nothing. You sigh, rest a hand on your hip. “Loli!”

She jumps to attention. “Sorry! My roommate needed me,” she says with a laugh, rubbing the back of her half-shaven head.

“Tell her to piss off!” calls Tiki as the dragon, halted by Zero’s healing spell, recovers and swings a mighty paw his way.

Your mana is finally restored and, shutting your eyes, you summon a bolt of ice. With a shout, you spin your staff over your head before slamming it down with a thunderous clap. Ice splinters dizzyingly fast from the ground beneath your staff and crawls like frost until it hits the dragon, stunning it still for a few seconds.

“Health’s low! Saph, go for the kill!” Lolita shouts as she lands a solid punch on the dragon’s belly that shatters your freezing spell.

Without waiting a second more, Sapphire shoves his sword into the dragon’s heaving chest as it writhes from pain. It looses a cry that sends vibrations through the cavern. A few rocks tumble from fissures in the cave walls, and a stalactite cracks and careens toward the ground where it explodes into shards.

And, with that, the massive beast falls to its stomach, its head clunking to the ground in front of Tiki’s feet. The ensuing silence rings in your ears as the five of you stand completely still, waiting. It wouldn’t be the first time an enemy has fallen only to reveal a dormant ability that results in a second battle. None of you says a thing until the massive body before you begins to dissolve into pixels, leaving you with only the skull as a prize and a bag of loot in place of a carcass.

Lolita is the first to break the silence with a loud hoot. “Wooh! Hell yeah!” she shouts, clapping her hands.

You chuckle, lean on your staff. “Loli, you can only celebrate halfway since you missed half the fight,” you tease with a fond sigh.

She rushes toward you, wipes off her blue robes and crosses her arms. “My roommate came in!”

“And you didn’t warn us,” Zero chides as he smooths a few flyaway hairs, smiling. That model of his is just too pretty…

“I-,”

“Guys!” Sapphire shouts, jumping once as he examines the loot bag. “Look at this!”

You spin your staff in your hand and jog to stand beside the knight. His red eyes are bright, digging through the bag until he produces in one gloved hand—

“Is that a Philosopher’s Stone Fragment?” asks Tiki, similarly enraptured as he comes up beside Sapphire’s flank.

Sapphire nods. “Which means—,”

“Which means we’re one step closer,” you say, and you lock eager eyes with Sapphire who only nods. “Well shit!”

“Also means we were right to come this way,” Lolita says, holding up one finger as if correcting us. “And whose idea was that?”

Zero shoves Lolita by the head and turns back toward the loot bag. “Anything else?” he asks.

Sapphire digs around before shrugging. “A shield,” he says.

“Don’t need it,” Tiki says.

“And…mm…,” he pauses, brow furrowing as he pulls out a piece of paper. He purses his lips, runs a hand through his blue-black hair, cocks his head to the side. “Schematic?”

“For what?”

“Oh!” he exclaims, turning to you as he hands you the paper. You look it over and scoff. “Superior elemental staff.”

“Cuts down the mana I need to do spells,” you say, rolling your eyes as you pocket the paper. “Coulda used that today.”

Sapphire claps your shoulder. “Next time! We’ve still got three fragments to find before anyone else does.”

You nod. “Well, with that settled…,” you begin, itching to use the bathroom.

“Ah! You gotta leave?” asks Sapphire.

You nod. “Got work in the morning.”

“Eugh,” he sighs, shoulders slumping. “Me too.”

“Me three,” says Zero.

“Ah, the working world. We’re lucky, huh Tiki?” Lolita says with a wistful sigh as water from overhead drips onto her shoulder. She jumps a little, but settles easily. “Don’t you miss your reckless college days?”

You laugh. “I only graduated last year,” you say, turning toward Sapphire. “Speaking of which, Saph did you ever go to school?”

He stiffens. “Ah, uh…,” he begins, glancing at his feet. He’s quiet for a moment. “No. Not past high school,” he says with an almost sheepish nod.

You don’t say anything, but it seems like there’s something he’s keeping to himself, something he doesn’t want to share. Sapphire is always like that, but this feels a little different.

“Hm,” you say, sensing his discomfort. “Welp, I’m gonna peace out for the night. Message me when you guys wanna go for the next fragment. I’ll keep researching where it might be.”

“Mm, sounds good,” says Tiki. “I’m starving. Loli, wanna get some food?”

Lolita glances at Tiki out the corner of her eye. “You mean, like, real food?”

Tiki sighs. “Obviously real food. I don’t wanna waste money on game food.”

She laughs and nods. “Alright. I’ll meet you at your dorm.”

“Mm.”

Without another word, both Tiki and Lolita blink out, leaving nothing behind them. You turn toward Zero and pat his back. “Sorry for getting on your case tonight,” you say. “I was worried Tiki would fall and then…well, you get it.”

Zero shrugs, examining one of his perfect fingernails. “No, I wasn’t on my game tonight. I’ll be better next time.”

“Me too,” you say, waving as Zero too blinks out.

You turn toward Sapphire and offer a smile. “Sorry for asking about college,” you say.

He stiffens, brows raised. “Hm? Oh, no it’s fine,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck with a smile. “It’s just, uh…well, you know my dad always wanted me to go to college so…”

You wave your hands, shake your head. “Forget it, alright? I won’t bring it up unless you do first.” You smirk. “You played tank tonight, didn’t you?”

He laughs. “Yeah, a little.”

“Don’t do that shit,” you say, but you can’t help your smile. “What would we do if we lost you in the middle of a battle?”

You can see his posture go a little straight. He turns to you, blinking. “You…?” he begins, but cuts himself off with a laugh. “Ah, mm, well…I’d better get going.”

“Mhm. Message me if you get any new info about fragment locations,” you say, then chuckle. “Or if you just wanna talk about The Bachelor or something.”

He laughs with you. “I don’t watch The Bachelor!”

“Well, whatever you watch!” you call as you jog a few paces away. You offer a wave which Sapphire mimics before pressing the disconnect button on your headset.

You shake your head, disoriented as you return to your bedroom, your window sitting before you, the outskirts of Bucheon spreading out in spindly arms around you. Your head throbs a little and you wince, removing your sensor gloves and setting them gently on the light wood table beside your computer. You guide one of the philodendron leaves to the side so it won’t tickle the gloves. You shuck off the sensor jacket too and leave it draped over the back of your gaming chair. Slowly, you return your attention to the window, smiling down at the sea of lights undulating in the dark. It’s a nice evening, you notice as you press the pads of your fingers to the cool glass.

Your phone, until then sitting dormant on the tabletop beside your potted jade plant, pings to life with a notification. Your eyes widen and you grab for it, stretching your torso as you do to work out your aching muscles. Tonight’s session with the group had gone long, and the fatigue on your back is severe from slumping in that gaming chair like a shrimp. And even though you have to move your upper body to activate the full range of Arcana’s sensor controls, your ass feels like you’ve just sat through back-to-back, four-hour lectures.

BeastSlayers™

SacredSapphire: miss u guys already :-(

You laugh, watch as Tiki begins writing a message in response.

TikiTikiRoom: ..

TikiTikiRoom: dont be soft bitch ill kill you

You pad down the hallway, watching your phone as you stumble through the dark apartment with one hand on the wall bracing you. You connect your phone to the TV speakers and play some lofi something or other, bop your head as you enter the kitchen and flip on a flickering yellow light. You rifle through the freezer, produce a cherry red popsicle. You press it to your lips and smile.

Lolovely: I haven’t even made it to Tik’s dorm wtf why are you being sappy already?

CodenameZer0: Looool, Saph? More like SAP.

TikiTikiRoom: press f

SuperNova: I think it’s sweet :’)

SuperNova: Wanna voice chat?

SacredSapphire: nonono

SacredSapphire: someone’s coming over lol

Lolovely: ominous…

You chuckle and take a bite of your popsicle. But as you do, the thing turns to mush and slides from the stick like slop, staining your white shirt and your lips red. “Shit!” you exclaim, then rush to the freezer.

With a sigh, you notice that a layer of ice is frosted over the back. And as you jam your hand in, you can feel that the temperature is higher than it should be. Hence, melty popsicle. You groan, take to it with a knife from the creaky drawer. You chip away at the ice and keep chipping until the back of the freezer is visible once more.

“Cheap piece of crap,” you mumble, kicking the fridge with your socked toe.

You return to the group chat to a slew of messages.

TikiTikiRoom: WAIT SAPH DO YOU HAVE A BOY/GIRL/THEYFRIEND??

TikiTikiRoom: IM GONNA HAVE AN ANEURISM

Lolovely: !!!!!!!!!

Lolovely: ??????

CodenameZer0: Hohohoh

CodenameZer0: Could it be?

SacredSapphire: NO!!

SacredSapphire: i don’t have a boy/girl/theyfriend! i’m too busy, rip

SacredSapphire: it’s just someone

SacredSapphire: don’t worry about it lol

Lolovely: sus…

Lolovely: nova’s better at this stuff

Lolovely: interrogation

Lolovely: think if i scream hard enough nova will come back?

Lolovely: NOVAAAAAA

You laugh and take a few photos. First of the old laminate floor which now resembles a crime scene in cherry popsicle red. Next of your shirt, now streaked in slush. Third, of your face, lips stained like you’ve smeared lip tint on your skin. You pull a pout before snapping the shot, then send all three together.

SuperNova: I crave death.

SuperNova: Stupid cheap fridge. Freezes over literally monthly.

SuperNova: I hate it here.

Lolovely: oooh that pic…

Lolovely: kinda….sexy hehe

SuperNova: ???

You set your phone aside and take to cleaning the floor. Last thing you need in this shithole is an ant infestation. Your music bumps gently through the sound bar beneath your TV. Sure, your apartment is decked out in tech, but the place itself?

You glance around the kitchen, a sanitary white with pretty fixtures, and suppress a sigh. It’s all for show anyway, this apartment. Like almost all the others in the area, it only looks nice. The reality, however…

Well, it’s melted popsicles and a shower that only runs lukewarm.

You check your phone with a hip against the countertop.

TikiTikiRoom: lewd lol

SuperNova: Shut up lmao nothing lewd about my shitty fridge.

SuperNova: Anyway, no I’m not gonna help you bully Saph.

SuperNova: Leave him alone or I’ll bite your ankles.

Lolovely: !!!

Lolovely: qu'est-ce que pas?

Lolovely: Nova…you’ve been defending Saph lately…

Lolovely: hold on i’m seeing something…

CodenameZer0: Don’t threaten my ankles.

SacredSapphire: nova baby ur the only loyal one here

Laughing, you type your response and make your way to the couch, falling flat on your stomach with an unpleasant thump.

Jeon Jungkook sits still, swiveling in his gaming chair with a soft smile as he watches the messages surge through the Discord group chat. Even though they’re busy teasing him, Jungkook can’t help the swell of fondness in his chest for his group mates. He leans back precariously far, the room nearly pitch black save for the shifting LEDs on his keyboard and the purple screensaver on his monitor.

SuperNova: It’s you and me, Saph.

SuperNova: Now come here and get your kith :3

Jungkook chokes a laugh with his hand, covering his mouth as his eyes squint. He tosses his head to the side, lets out a sigh. Quietly, he touches the photo you sent and lets it spread across his screen. He chuckles, examining your expression. Displeased, you eye the camera with furrowed brows and a pout. Briefly, Jungkook considers telling you it’s cute.

But he quickly clicks out of the photo, clears his throat, and catches up with the chat.

CodenameZer0: God, barf.

TikiTikiRoom: no kithes for zero

Lolovely: lolol i want a kith :(

SuperNova: Get in line then. Saph first.

SacredSapphire: i….*blushes*

SacredSapphire: N-N-Noona!

CodenameZer0: FUCKING BARF GOODBYE

Zero’s icon goes offline and Jungkook laughs in earnest now, his head lolling back. But before he can respond, the door to his studio opens with a robotic jingle. He jumps a little, turning his whole body toward the door. He nearly falls off the chair as he swivels.

In the doorway, Kim Seokjin shuffling across the threshold with two cups of coffee in a carrier. He looks a little disheveled, hair windswept and eyes scanning the room round and round. His gaze lingers here and there: resting on Jungkook’s wall of figurines, then on the futon still pulled down and covered in a messy heap of sheets, then on Jungkook’s face as he sits perfectly still, perfectly redhanded. Jungkook’s mouth agape, his fingers poised to type another message to the group chat, his computer monitor showing no lyrics, no notes, no Ableton. Just his screensaver.

Jungkook had planned to pull up his WIP song before Jin arrived, but the opportunity to do that has long since passed.

“Uh…,” Jungkook says, dumbfounded with round eyes glowing in the flashing keyboard lights. “Hey, Seokjin.”

Jin’s nostrils flare, his expression fiery. His attention flashes to the sensor gloves, the controllers sitting beneath them, the sensor jacket left astray on the ground, haphazard.

“Jeon Jungkook-,”

“I can explain!”

Seokjin glares at him, cocks one single brow. “Uh-huh?”

“I…,” Jungkook begins, flustered as he rises to his feet. He feels like he’s in school again. Seokjin’s gaze is disarming, intense, and his knuckles are white as he crushes the cardboard handle of the coffee carrier. “Uh…I was taking a small tiny little break.”

“A small,” Seokjin begins, placing the coffee on Jungkook’s work desk and resting his palm beside it, “tiny,” he continues, leveling his eyes with Jungkook’s, “little break?” Jin’s jaw is clenched.

Jungkook swallows hard. “Mhm…”

Jungkook expects Seokjin to bare his canines, to sneer at him, to scold him to kingdom come. But his manager simply eases into a sigh and leans away from Jungkook, rubbing his forehead. It’s clear the will to fight with Jungkook is slowly leaking, and before long Seokjin has fallen backwards onto the futon, crushing the blanket mountain in his descent.

“Listen,” Seokjin says, fatigue in his voice. “You’ve got…so much going on in the next few months, you know?”

“I know!” Jungkook says, quick to sit beside Seokjin, brows knitting. He feels like a kid again, and the disappointment laced through Jin’s words feels like his childhood. “Trust me, I’m not just…like, procrastinating. It’s not that.”

Jin eyes him sidelong. “Then what is it?”

Jungkook stiffens, his back straight as a board. He clears his throat, stares at the coffee. “Let me get those,” he says, rushing to his feet with a clumsy stumble and grabbing the coffees before returning to his spot beside Jin. He hands Jin a coffee, expectant and, begrudgingly, Seokjin takes it and sips.

“Don’t avoid the question,” he says, stern. “If anyone’ll understand, it’s gotta be me, right?”

Jungkook nods. “No, you’re right!”

“Like, we’ve gone through some hard shit and where have I been? Right behind you. From day one,” he says, leveling a serious look at Jungkook. The lighthearted mood has fled from the room through the cracks in the walls. “All I’m asking is for you to put in the effort.”

Jungkook sighs, rests his forearms on his knees, laces his fingers around the coffee cup. He stares at the space between his toes. “I just…,” he begins, voice choked with insecurity. He doesn’t want to say it. In fact, he’d rather do just about anything else.

Because, after all, saying it means it’s real.

And if it’s real, then it’s a real problem.

“Listen,” Jin begins, patting Jungkook’s back. “I get it. Making music…it can be really tiring, right?” he says. Jungkook can only shrug. “And sometimes you might not feel like you can do it. Like you don’t have the inspiration.”

“Mm…”

Seokjin gives another pat, stronger this time. “But that’s how life is, Jungkook. Work doesn’t just wait. You’re an adult now. You’ve got adult responsibilities. And when you make a passion into your full-time job, you kinda sacrifice the freedom. Deadlines are a thing. You can’t just…be flippant and casual about it.”

“I’m not being casual,” says Jungkook, and for the first time since Jin walked in his voice is strong and steady. He sits up straight and meets Jin’s imploring eyes.

Seokjin offers a small smile. “Good,” he says. “I trust you. And, you know, you’ve got a whole team of producers behind you who wanna see you succeed. All you’ve gotta do is call.”

“I know.”

“You’re not doing it alone, alright?” he asks, and Jungkook’s throat tightens a little. “That’s the good thing about making your passion into your full-time job, huh? Now…well, now it’s not just your responsibility. It’s divided.”

“Yeah.”

“Well…,” Seokjin says, patting his thighs as he pushes to his feet. “Just wanted to drop by and check on you.”

Jungkook offers a smile and nods, standing with his manager. “Yup.”

“You do remember what’s on deck for tomorrow, right?” asks Seokjin, cocking a brow as he takes another swig of coffee.

Jungkook nods again. “Screen test with the drama people.”

Jin smacks the side of Jungkook’s head and crosses his arms. “Not the drama people!” he says, rolling his eyes. “It’s IJBC.”

“IJBC, right,” Jungkook says as he tenderly rubs the side of his head. “I remember.”

“Do you even know the name of the drama?” The younger boy falls silent, sheepish. “It’s called Give Up Generation, Jungkook.”

“I remember,” Jungkook says, pouting a little. “I just…forgot for a minute.”

Jin can’t help chuckling. “Get to bed early then so you don’t have dark circles,” Jin says with a smile, nodding as he turns toward the door. “Ah!” Seokjin pivots around, casting a disdainful look over Jungkook’s shoulder at the foldout futon. He pulls a scowl. “Sleep at home tonight, will you?”

Jungkook chuckles. “Alright. Stop nagging now,” he says, patting Jin’s back as he guides him out the door and into the hallway. “Bye, Jin!” he calls, not awaiting a response.

Slowly and with his head down, Jungkook shuffles back inside and slumps into his gaming chair, staring at his screensaver. He heaves a deep down sigh, lets it escape through his lips nearly pinched shut. Like exhaling cigarette smoke.

His phone pings to life with an incoming message.

SuperNova: Alright, I had your back before but I don’t cosign the Noona Agenda. I don’t even know if I am your noona.

Lolovely: seconded.

Lolovely: plus it’s icky.

TikiTikiRoom: boooooo

SuperNova: Wait, I think I just heard something in the hallway. Hold on.

Lolovely: SCARY!

TikiTikiRoom: burglars lol

Lolovely: ctrl z yourself, tiki

Lolovely: what if it is though…?

TikiTikiRoom: doubt it.

SuperNova: !!!

SuperNova: Lol it was a package…?

Lolovely: so late…?

SuperNova: Yeah…Lemme open it hold on.

The next message that comes through is a photo you send. Jungkook sits up straighter, opens it quick, and grins once he realizes what it is. A cardboard box, relatively big, sitting torn open on your kitchen floor, the photo features a look inside at several pretty makeup palettes and brushes. Jungkook doesn’t know the names of everything he sees, but he knows why it’s a big deal.

SacredSapphire: !! they finally sent it!!

SuperNova: They did!!

Lolovely: wait what? what did who send?

SuperNova: Lol, sorry. Uh I guess I only told Saph. But the brand I’ve been communicating with actually sent me a PR package! I’m gonna use it on my next job.

SuperNova: This shit’s super expensive too, so I’m lucky I’ve been in contact with a rep.

SuperNova: Gotta use the best to be the best!

TikiTikiRoom: i forgot ur a makeup artist lol

TikiTikiRoom: .-.

SuperNova: …

SuperNova: We’ve been group mates for like four months jfc

SuperNova: Anyway, yeah I’m glad. I guess they sent it to the wrong apartment? So my neighbor brought it over. He just got back from work.

Lolovely: neighbor?

Lolovely: cute neighbor?

SuperNova: He’s like seventy so no, not really my type.

SacredSapphire: nova, that’s super cool. i’m sure you’re gonna get big gigs soon.

SuperNova: Well, I can hope haha.

SuperNova: No, well…all I can do is work hard.

SuperNova: >:-)

All you can do is work hard, huh?

Jungkook tosses his phone to the side and rubs his hands up and down his face. He pinches his eyes shut and relaxes into the back of his chair, feeling the lull of sleepiness finally pulling at him.

And instead of going home like Jin asked, Jungkook simply pads over to the futon and, without moving the blankets, collapses atop them and falls asleep where he falls.

“I’m very sorry.”

“No…uh, no it’s fine.”

“Of course, you can keep the fees or whatever.”

“Oh, um, I…no, I’ll refund those too.”

“Really? I’ll give you a really good review!”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m really sorry.”

You sigh, plant a hand on your forehead and heave a sigh. Forcing a smile, you shake your head and press your phone into the crook of your shoulder, bending down to give your fiddle-leaf fig a hose down with your watering can.

“It’s fine. Things come up, you know?”

The girl on the other side of the phone, a young independent model going in for headshots, had called you an hour ago and had spoken at length about why she has to cancel her appointment with you today. How the photographer did this or that, how she actually watched a few tutorials online and figured she could do it herself, how she felt so so bad. You feel bad for her, of course. Kind of.

“Listen, I’ll give you a shoutout on my page, alright? I’ll tag you in my story,” she says.

You shake your head. “No, that’s fine. Just, um…you know, take care. Remember to clean your brushes.”

At this, she laughs. “Thanks for being so cool. I was actually super nervous to call and cancel. I’ve had to cancel a few things like this before, and I’ve had bad experiences,” she says. “Anyway, I’ll recommend you!”

“Alright.”

“Thanks!”

You nod as she hangs up the phone. Gently, you rise to your feet and set your watering can aside on the kitchen table. You set the phone beside it, pausing to glare at the black screen. Well…there goes your Sunday. You turn over your shoulder, pad to the window, crack it open a little. A bracing breeze whistles through, cooling your skin. You shut your eyes against it — only for a moment — before you turn on your heel, shove your feet into your sneakers sockless, swipe your phone and house keys, and shove out the door.

The florist’s is a healthy walk away, but the weather is nice enough and you’re too tired to brave the subway even if it’s only a few stops. You pass buildings and parks as the landscape becomes more and more urban and the high rises look like they could puncture the cloud layer. Before long, you’re standing in front of Happy Garden and, stepping through the sliding doors that are always left open and all-but nonfunctioning with the lush green plants climbing all around. You breathe a sigh of relief, pat your chest a little as the fresh, grassy scent settles your heart.

You aren’t there for more than half a minute before Hoseok stumbles out from the back room, grinning wide with a bouquet of hydrangeas in his hands, wrapped in butcher paper and twine. He curves around the stumbling greenery littering every surface and encroaching on every walkway and comes to a stop in front of you. He smiles.

“Hey,” you say before he gets the chance. You hold up one limp hand in a lazy wave.

He glances up and down, from your head to your toes, and sighs. Still holding the hydrangeas, he rests a hip on the checkout counter and cocks a brow.

“That is the opposite of encouraging,” you remark with a scowl.

He chuckles, pats your arm. “What’s up?” He jerks his head toward the front of the store where bouquets are displayed and you follow behind him as he leads you there. “Unsuccessful raid?”

“Contrary to popular belief, my life doesn’t revolve around video games, actually,” you say, but his laugh wipes the grimace from your face.

His fluffy hair bounces as he bends down to add the hydrangeas to the display and when he stands upright once more he crosses his arms. “You know what I mean. You’ve been in here a lot lately.”

“Pardon me for trying to raise plants,” you say with a pout.

Again, he laughs. “Jesus, stop trying to pick a fight!” he says. “You must be in a really bad mood if you’re here acting like this.”

“Well what’s that supposed to mean?” you begin, outrage all over your face, before locking eyes with Hoseok and composing yourself. You sigh, nod your head. “Yeah, no I’m being annoying.”

He smiles, heart-shaped, and the apples of his cheeks grow rounder. What a joyful guy, you think to yourself with a wistful sigh. “Tell me about it then.”

He pulls one of the empty display boxes over and offers you a seat as he begins tending to the plants all around. You oblige, settle in, and sigh again. “It’s just…everything kinda feels like a dead end right now.”

“Hm?” he asks over his shoulder, graceful hands guiding a waxy leaf back in place.

“Like with my work,” you say, then shake your head. “No, that’s not it. Not entirely.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like…things are okay, you know? I’m getting PR gifts. I’m growing my following on Instagram. I’ve got consistent clients,” you say, nodding. “Like everything is fine, you know?”

“But something feels…missing maybe?” Hoseok offers as he moves to spraying the ferns with water.

You shake your head. “More than that, it’s…like, I feel like I’ve hit the ceiling of what I can do, you know? Like what if this is the best I’ll ever do?”

“Is that bad?” he asks.

You sigh. “Not bad, just…disappointing,” you say. “I wanna work on movies. Red carpets. Editorials.” You rest your chin in your hand and your elbow on your knee. You stare up at Hoseok, now trimming brown leaves from another plant across the store. “I don’t wanna be stuck doing birthday parties forever.”

Hoseok hums, turns toward you with his hands in his apron pocket. He offers a smile. “You sound like a brat.”

You stiffen, eyes wide. “I-,” you start, but there’s really not much you can say to retort. So, softly, you slump once more and shrug. “Yeah…”

“And if you keep that attitude, you’re never gonna be an editorial makeup artist. I can promise you that,” he says with a nod as he approaches once more and crouches before your knees, still smiling. “Everyone has to grow somehow, you know? Be grateful you’ve got opportunities to build your resume.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“What brought all of this on?”

Shrugging, you glance away toward the big croton plant in the corner, basking in morning sunlight, leaves all stiff and red and green. It’s a pretty plant. You tilt your head to the side, stare longer.

“That model bailed,” you say, but you’ve almost forgotten the self-pity of a moment ago. You stand to your feet and wander toward the plant, hitting halfway up your thigh. You crouch before it and look it over. “Hoseok, this is a really big croton.”

He laughs. “Mhm.”

“How much?”

“With the pot and given its height, it’s going for thirty-five-thousand won.”

You raise your brows. “I expected worse.”

“We’re fair here!” he protests, wagging his finger at you as he comes to stand beside you.

You smile softly, run a finger along the edge of a leaf. “It’s really pretty.”

“Suits you,” he says.

Without noticing, your anxiety begins to subside. “I think I’ll take it.”

“I’ll give you five-thousand off since you’re having a bad day,” he says, patting your back.

You turn to him with a smile. “Thanks.”

He chuckles. “I’ll loan you the dolly so you can get that thing home. Just bring it back before two.”

You stand up, stare down at the plant, nod once. “Mhm.”

Hoseok makes his way toward the cash register, punches in a few numbers. You linger a few steps behind, still staring at the croton. You get a good feeling off that one. Hoseok would tease you if you said as much, but you know when to listen to your intuition.

“Your big break will come Y/N,” Hoseok says as he rings you up, not once glancing to meet your eyes. “Just keep going.”

Jungkook sits with his head leaning against the rattling van window, eyes half-shut. Seoul blurs past him in shades of silvery grey and it’s all he can do to keep himself from falling asleep. For all his nagging, Seokjin had been right about one thing: Jungkook was sporting purplish bags beneath his eyes from a restless night’s sleep. Jin sits beside him now, frowning at his phone as he scrolls through Twitter. He’d given Jungkook a very stern talking to once he’d seen him, and really Jungkook deserved it. He knows that.

“Your voice is in good condition, right?” asks Jin.

Jungkook sits up straight, clears his throat. He shrugs. “Yeah. Why?”

Still stewing over his phone, Seokjin waves his hand without looking up. “Don’t worry about it.”

Jungkook sighs, leans back once more, gazes out the window once more. His phone buzzes once and he grabs it quickly, eager to distract himself.

BeastSlayers™

SuperNova: [image attached]

SuperNova: check him out OJO

Jungkook clicks the image you sent and chuckles as it loads up. The photo features nothing of you save for one hand, reaching out from behind the camera, throwing up a peace sign. Behind your hand, a houseplant. A pretty big one at that.

Jungkook smiles and drafts his reply, but the others are quicker.

CodenameZer0: Another plant? Lol isn’t your apartment overflowing with them by now?

SuperNova: Hush. Look at him.

LoLovely: cute!

LoLovely: does he have a name?

SuperNova: I don’t name my plants.

TikiTikiRoom: lol

TikiTikiRoom: because THAT would be weird

CodenameZer0: At least Nova can care care for a plant in the first place.

CodenameZer0: Let’s be honest here, Nova’s probably the only one among us who is even remotely responsible enough.

SacredSapphire: Nova it’s cute!

SacredSapphire: name him after me ;3

SuperNova: Sapphire?

SacredSapphire: hmmm say my name hehe

CodenameZer0: STOP IT FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST

CodenameZer0: IF THE FLIRTING DOESN’T STOP I’M GETTING YOU A TWO-WEEK BAN ON ARCANA

SacredSapphire: SHIT okay okay, let’s just take it easy

SacredSapphire: talk this out like adults…

SuperNova: Once I’ve finished setting up my new plant, I’m gonna play Animal Crossing. Anyone free to join? I’ve got oranges and mums.

SuperNova: Also had a meteor shower last night and have leftover star fragments first come first served.

The offer is tempting, to be sure. Not only would he receive star fragments, he’d be able to wander your island with the others. It might feel like you guys are side-by-side for real. Jungkook reaches into his backpack, slumped between his knees, and rifles around for his Switch. But as he produces the case, Seokjin shoots him the evil eye.

“If you’ve got time to play games, you’ve got time to review your lines,” he says, cocking a brow.

Jungkook sighs a little, slides the Switch back inside his bag. “I’ll look them over again.”

“Good.”

He takes one last look at his cell phone, checking the group chat with a frown that pinches the sides of his lips.

TikiTikiRoom: MEMEMEME

TikiTikiRoom: if any of you fakes get there before me ill go apeshit

TikiTikiRoom: i need so many

LoLovely: don’t need fragments, just wanna see ur cute face hehe

SuperNova: /blushes

SuperNova: I’ll open the gates once Sapphire Junior is nice and settled.

CodenameZer0: I’ll come too. I wanna shop.

SuperNova: Can’t you be cute like Lolita?

CodenameZer0: /gags

SuperNova: You coming, Saph? I’ll save a few fragments for you.

TikiTikiRoom: FAVORITISM

SuperNova: I am transparent about my favoritism toward Sapphire.

SuperNova: Because he is indeed my favorite.

LoLovely: *shocked pikachu face*

SacredSapphire: soz :-( i can’t

SacredSapphire: working

SuperNova: :-(

SuperNova: Next time we’ll all come to your island.

Jungkook tries not to feel that twinge of melancholy that tugs at his chest. That one he always gets when his friends go out for barbecue or grab drinks and hit the karaoke rooms. The one that feels like he’s really, deeply, fundamentally missing out on something important.

No, he doesn’t feel it. Instead, he focuses his attention on the printout Seokjin had given him three days ago. He scans the lines over and over, committing them to memory.

“No! That’s the thing, she didn’t even tell me!” says the girl below your brush.

You attempt to guide the highlighter across her cheekbones, but before you can make contact with her skin she’s jerked away once more, talking so animatedly that you can’t even tell if you’ve made her eyebrows even.

“That’s shitty,” says her friend beside her, likewise preoccupied as Jieun struggles to match her skintone.

The two of you lock eyes, both hovering over the two women as they chat over matching cups of coffee. Jieun puffs out her cheeks, raises her brows, and goes back to work, smoothing foundation on to the client’s chin with a brush.

You stand in a nice apartment — all marble floors and high ceilings and windowed walls overlooking Seoul. When you’d gotten the offer for a Seoul gig with Jieun, you’d been hesitant. The subway ride is long and you prefer to stay relatively local. But something made you agree. You don’t know exactly what. Call it divine intervention or epiphany or Jung Hoseok, but the words just keep going had been replaying in your brain since you last saw your friend. The pair of women — likely in their thirties — had booked both you and Jieun to do their makeup for a Sunday luncheon.

“And you know she’s looking out for him,” says Hyejin with a scoff. “As if I’m gonna bite the kid’s head off.”

“Maybe you will,” jokes the other woman, laughing just as Jieun reaches in to apply some liquid blush to her cheeks. “You know she’s got a soft spot for him.”

“Yeah well it’s a soft spot in all of our wallets if he doesn’t get his shit together,” says Hyejin, sighing. There is real woe in her expression and you can feel from the shift in atmosphere that things have turned serious. “He’s talented, you know? But…sometimes I think she goes too easy on him,” she continues, and this time her tone is decidedly softer, the movement of her face less pronounced.

You use the opportunity to work some powder beneath her eyes with a sponge. “Well, that’s motherhood for you,” says the other, flippant.

“Have you seen what the folks are saying on Twitter?” asks Hyejin as you apply shadow to her eyelids. “About his voice.”

“Hm?”

“Well some of his bigger hate communities have been compiling all the footage of his stage mistakes and they’re spreading it around,” Hyejin says with a huff. “Stupid, honestly. They’re making it out like he makes those mistakes all the time.”

“Netizens are like that, Hyejin,” says the other woman, now easing into her chair with her eyes shut as Jieun can finally get to work setting her base.

“Still…”

“Now you’re the one defending him,” she remarks with a laugh.

“It’s not that,” Hyejin says, scoffing. “It’s just…like if he doesn’t prove himself soon, all those commenters are gonna have more ammunition, you know? Which is annoying for all of us.”

“Sounds like you care a little bit.”

“I dont.”

“Hm.”

You focus on Hyejin’s full lashes, applying mascara with delicate, steady strokes. She hums a little as you use the pad of your fingertips to tame stubborn eyeshadow into blending more seamlessly. It seems, at least, that the conversation has died down. For that, you are very grateful.

“Say, do you two know anything about k-pop?” asks Jieun’s client.

The two of you lock eyes once more. It’s true that you are well-versed in pop culture: video games, TV shows, YouTube drama. But you’d be lying if you said you tune in to Inkigayo every week. And despite Jieun’s age and her trendy look, you know she’s not the type to keep updated on current idols. And you see in her brown eyes your own shock mirrored.

“Um…no, not particularly,” you answer for the both of you. Jieun releases a breath she’d been holding and smiles her thanks. “Do you two work in the field?”

Hyejin waves her hand and sighs. “Don’t go bothering them with those sorts of questions,” she says, and you notice for the first time the easy poshness that this woman has. Even with her head tilted back and her eyes shut tight, she seems sure of herself.

You envy her just a little for that.

“What? They’re young,” says the other woman, grinning with her eyes shut as Jieun works on her eyeliner. “You ever heard of RTE?”

“Hey now,” says Hyejin, warning in her voice.

“I’m just curious,” the woman continues with a sigh. “Look us up if you haven’t.” The woman chuckles, reaching out blind to smack Hyejin’s upper arm. “Hey, maybe even tweet something nice about our artists!”

“Knock it off and let them work,” Hyejin says, prying open one eye to meet yours. She offers a smile, apologetic, and sighs. “She’s just playing around. You can ignore her. It’s what I do.” She nods her head and leans it back once more.

Quietly, you get back to work. But you can’t help but feel like this woman’s incredible presence makes you paler somehow.

“What’s the point if it makes me unhappy?” Jungkook shouts, brows knitting, eyes growing watery. “The money, the lifestyle…what good is it?” his voice settles into a bare whisper, cracked.

“You only say that because you’re young! You’re stupid! You’re naive! You think things work out just because you want them bad enough?” says his costar, glancing down at the script every now and again as the two stand across from one another.

The set bustles on behind them, crew carrying tall lights and fixtures as they scuttle by. But Jungkook and his costar — a man named Namjoon acting as his older brother — continue their scene under the watchful eye of the cameras, trained right on them. Less of a screen test and more of a chemistry check between actors, Director Lim watches the monitor closely with his scrabbly chin in his palm.

“So what if I fail?” Jungkook asks with a quiver, referencing his script once to make sure he got the line right. “What’re you gonna do? Tattle on me to Dad?”

“I won’t have to,” Namjoon says, sighing as he grips the bridge of his nose. “He’s got his watchdogs trained right on you.”

Jungkook stiffens. “He’s been…following me?”

“I told you you’re too naive for the real world, Jiwon.”

Director Lim claps his hands and in an instant the tension and the scene are broken. Jungkook takes a respectful step back from his costar, and Namjoon offers him a bow of the head. Jungkook returns it, fighting off a nervous grin, and turns to the director as he circles around the equipment to stand in front of them. He’s a middle-aged man, handsome in a way with salt-and-pepper hair and eyes that seem to grab you and hold on like a snare. Jungkook is pinned in place like a bug in a shadowbox.

But Director Lim’s face splits in a crooked smile and Jungkook feels himself ease, exhaling long and slow. “Great job, boys!” he says, clapping both of their shoulders. “You were selling it well.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Jungkook replies too quick, like an eager child.

Director Lim chuckles, pats him again. “I’m praising you, kid. Don’t look so scared.”

He swallows hard. “I…I know. Um…thank you, Sir.”

Behind the trio, a group of stylists cart a rack of costumes quickly to the other side of the set, snagging the back of Jungkook’s shoe as they do. Jungkook stumbles to his knees, caught off guard, and the girls jerk to a stop as they catch themselves on the clothing rack. The two stare down at Jungkook, wide-eyed, and each of them covers their mouths. Immediately, they bow their heads in apology, both muttering sorry, so sorry almost too quietly to hear. Jungkook shakes his head and stands to his feet.

He too bows his head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been standing there,” he says gently, hoping to assuage their concerns.

But the girls remain bowed, as if too afraid to even lift their heads. Jungkook, puzzled, leans down slightly to meet their eyes, but they glance away so quickly that he can’t even get a proper look at either of their faces.

“Um…it’s really not a problem,” he says, but before he can say more Director Lim approaches with a grim severity in his eyes. Jungkook, quick to stand up straight and face the director, stutters a little as he settles himself in front of the stylists. “It’s no big deal,” he says to Director Lim, but it’s like the man can’t even hear him.

“We were distracted, Sir,” says one of the girls, raising her head slightly to meet Director Lim’s gaze. “We are very, very sorry.”

“It really isn’t-,” Jungkook begins.

“You think it’s appropriate to crash into my actors? In the middle of a conversation about their performance?” Lim asks, but it’s clear the question isn’t meant to be answered. His tone has shifted into something cold. “You could have very well injured Jungkook.”

“I’m fine-,”

“But what if you weren’t?”

Jungkook shuts his mouth, staring helpless at the girls as they both stand up straight once more, eyes on the floor and hands knitted in front of them. He feels a hand on his back between his shoulder blades and jumps a little, turning quick to find Namjoon standing close.

“Don’t,” is all he says, voice terse and so quiet Jungkook almost doesn’t hear it, before dropping his hand and taking a half step back.

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, his hands work into balls as he stares. The lighting is low, dramatic as if a scene composed by Lim himself. The two girls lift only their eyes to gaze up at him.

“We’re very, very sorry, Sir,” says one of the stylists, guiding a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

“Mhm,” he says, looming. “Make sure it doesn’t happen again. Can’t afford to replace two stylists and a makeup artist in the same week.”

Jungkook simply stares, Namjoon’s warning freezing through him like ice. His limbs feel leaden. And as the two girls rush off, dragging their rack behind them, Jungkook focuses again on Director Lim.

He swivels back around to the two actors with a bright, fatherly smile. “Pardon me,” he says, waving his hand with a warm laugh. “Gotta keep the crew in check otherwise they’ll slack off.”

“Ha,” Jungkook puffs out in response, smiling in turn.

Namjoon hums a little. “Why don’t we try the reconciliation scene?”

“What in the world do you mean?” Hyejin yells into her phone just as she ushers you into her apartment. You eye her as her face grows red, her brows coming together. “He’s not quitting!”

Hyejin pauses to offer you an apologetic smile. She’s dressed in a modest pajama dress, padding barefoot along the cool marble floors. She leans against the arm of a nice black leather sofa, raises a hand to her flushed cheek, looks at her toes with vexation. Carefully, you set your makeup kit on her kitchen island, meeting her eyes with raised brows as if asking permission. She waves her hand, nods once before pinching the bridge of her nose between her index finger and her thumb.

“Listen, we knew Lim was difficult. But this is a huge opportunity for his career.” Hyejin rubs her kneecap, massaging. Her short hair falls along the line of her jaw as she dips her head in a deep sigh. “I know you know that, Seokjin. But you’re his manager. You’ve gotta keep convincing him.”

You begin unpacking your things, setting them neatly along the edge of the countertop, and try not to eavesdrop as Hyejin continues letting out chopped sighs. You can hear her fidget around the apartment behind you. She’d called you again, only a few days later, to secure you for another important event. A meeting, she’d said. You didn’t want to agree. Wanted to say you were too busy, that the commute was too much.

“Hey,” she whispers behind you. You jump, but turn nonetheless to find her cupping one hand over the phone’s receiver. Her eyes are severe, jaw clenched. “How long can you stay? This call might take a while.”

You raise your brows, think back over your schedule. “Hm…,” you respond, then shake your head. “I’m free all day. But…when’s your meeting?”

She stiffens, eyes flashing to the clock on the oven. “Shit,” she mutters. She approaches you with a frown. “I’ve only got two hours to get everything ready—Yes! Yes, I’m still here Seokjin. Stop panicking, for Christ’s sake—,” she says, her shoulders pinching. She glances at you again. “Um…”

You glance around the apartment. It’s spotless, as usual. But you spy in the corner beside a massive potted umbrella tree a taupe pantsuit, hanging beside a steamer. You’d have thought someone in her position would have sent it to the cleaners to be properly steamed, but perhaps it had slipped her mind. With the way she’s pacing around the apartment, still dressed in her pajamas, you wonder if perhaps she’s not as put together as you thought.

“I’ll steam that,” you say with a nod, pointing to the suit.

She stares at you, wide-eyed. “Oh, no. You don’t have to do something like that-,”

You shake your head. “No problem. What else do you need done here?” you ask, consulting your wristwatch with a hum. “If we keep it light, I can have your makeup done in forty-five minutes.”

She blinks at you. “Uh…well…,” she begins, then jumps a little as a voice in the phone shouts loud enough for you to hear. “No! No! Can you relax? I’ll talk you through it in just a minute! I’ve gotta sort some things out,” she shouts back at the phone. She turns her attention back to you with a sheepish smile. “Um, I need to steam the suit, wrap the fruits — they’re a gift for the client —, call the restaurant to confirm the reservation, shine my shoes, organize our documents chronologically and set them up in a binder,” she says.

You have to admit that the sheer volume of busywork has you taken aback. But you steel yourself with a bracing sigh, nod once, and offer her a smile. “Consider it taken care of,” you say.

“Ah! I…I really feel bad dumping all of this on you,” she says, crossing her arms with knit brows. “Normally I’d have my assistant doing all of this, but she’s ill.”

“Not a problem,” you say, smiling once more. “Just take care of your phone call and leave the rest to me! As long as we’ve got forty-five minutes for makeup, we’ll be fine.”

She lets out a sigh that seems to deflate her, shoulders slumping as if in profound relief. She nods once, smiling, and turns on her heel. “I’ll be in my office, alright? I promise I’ll be out in time!”

You give one wave as she rushes through a clouded glass door and shuts it behind her. You roll up the sleeves of your sweater and get to work on the suit.

Two hours later, and you’re accompanying Hyejin out into the apartment hallway. She pauses as the door clicks shut, waiting for it to give a chime, and turns to you with a sigh. She looks pretty. You had to rush a bit once she emerged from her office, and after taking care of the other chores you found it difficult to focus on her makeup, but you’re proud enough of your work given the circumstances. You’ve managed to match her eyeshadow to her pantsuit with gentle oranges and reds.

Since you were rushing to finish everything in time, the two of you hadn’t had a chance to exchange words. Perhaps you are curious — just a little — about the emergency she had to quell over the phone. Or maybe you just want a proper thank you. So you linger beside her in the well-lit hallway, you let your eyes wander to a potted fern in the corner by the elevator, wait for Hyejin to say something.

“I’m sorry,” she says, sighing. She glances at you through her lashes.

Your eyes go wide. “Hm? What for?”

“For having you do all of that,” she says, flitting one manicured hand. “I feel guilty.”

You shake your head. “No,” you say with a smile. “It’s no problem at all, honestly. You had me booked for an hour and a half anyway.”

She sighs again. “I really feel bad.”

“Don’t worry about it…,” you say, eyeing her. She crosses her arms, vexed, and purses her lips a little. “Um…was that call about an artist?” you ask.

She snaps back to herself, glancing at you. “Oh? Yes. That was about our biggest artist actually,” she says. “I think I’ve got it taken care of though, thanks to you.” She guides the two of you to the elevator. “I’ll pay you extra, alright?”

You laugh. “No, no. It’s fine! I’m just glad it all worked out.”

She stares at you, scanning you for a very long moment as the elevator rises to your floor. You try not to fidget, not to shrink under her scrutiny, but you feel yourself recoiling just a little. Her gaze is intense, knowing, as if she can see right through you and she’s looking for something. And as the elevator arrives, she gives a hum that sounds contented and you wonder if she’s found it.

Jungkook glances around the empty pavilion, scanning the cobbled streets for any sign of escape. From above, a dark mage is laying waste to the small shanty town. Not a single player has ventured out this way, all following a lead in the Elysian Forest to the west. But after you had mentioned a tip you got from researching at the Library of Arcana, you’d suggested visiting the seaside nook on the far south of the map. A legendary evil slumbers hidden, you’d recited over voice chat with a laugh, Sounds about right.

Only now, Jungkook’s alone. His hands are sweaty around the controllers in his palms and the realistic graphics are serving only to make him more nervous as the mage swings low near the central fountain and sets off a spray of fire just in front of him. Jungkook can almost feel the heat.

Jungkook had set out to do some scouting. Nothing extreme. Just a simple peek about, seeing if he could find any clues. He sent a message to the group chat, but he hadn’t waited on a response before he signed in. He’d had no idea that the Big Bad herself would come flying from the fountain the moment he touched the water with his sword. And now she’s circling him like some sort of hawk. Quickly, Jungkook calls up his inventory menu and searches through his items. A few extra swords he picked up, some ritual herbs, his old chainmail armor, some healing potions and…

The fragment…

If this mage takes him out, he’ll end up dropping his entire inventory. Including the fragment.

And by the time he can make his way back over here, other players will have come running from the commotion.

And the fragment will be gone.

“Shit,” he hisses out, dismissing the menu and focusing back on the mage as she releases a chilling cackle.

The quaint village is smoking, with thatched roofs catching fire and whole storefronts crumbling into piles of simmering stone. The sky is nearly blotted out with ash, and all he can see is that mage, swirling around up there in billowing black robes and shiny white teeth exposed in a wicked grin.

Jungkook glances over his shoulder toward the street he’d taken in to the village, but it’s too smokey to see anything more than the outlines of ruined buildings. There’s no way he’ll be able to navigate his way out of here without a lantern. And if it’s this smokey, he’s absolutely positive that nearby players have noticed. Which means more competition.

And more people to snatch his fragment when he falls.

The mage gives a cry, shouts her line, “Not enough yet?!”, and swoops down at a dizzying pace. Jungkook stumbles back, but he’s not fast enough. She’s approaching in a dark blur, too quickly for him to counter. A flash of regret washes through him as he squeezes his eyes shut inside his VR headset. He doesn’t want to see this.

He waits for a tense moment that way, anticipating the melancholy piano chords that accompany in-game death, but none come. Instead, he hears very keenly the sound of the mage grunting as if in pain. And, in an instant, he opens his eyes wide to see standing on the other side of the fountain, a small, white-haired mage, staff searing with frost and ice as the dark mage clutches her chest.

His heart kicks up. “Nova!” he calls to you.

You turn toward him and, to the extent that you’re able in a video game, square him with a sour look. “You moron!” you shout back.

But he can’t help his grin as he stares at your character. “How’d you get here so fast?”

You launch another ball of ice toward the dark mage, sending her hovering just above the cobblestone in front of the fountain. “I saw your message and figured you’d already gone ahead like an idiot so I logged on right away.”

He laughs, but you’re too focused on dealing ice damage to reciprocate. It seems of all his allies, you’re the best equipped to deal with a dark fire mage. He notices in your hand the staff you wield has changed. Where before you used a gnarled tree root with a rune, now you’re swinging a cool white metal staff with a glowing blue gem.

“New staff!” he calls, pointing.

You nod. “Mhm. The schematic from last time,” you say, dealing another blast. The dark mage falls to the ground, groaning. Jungkook is too excited to see you to notice his cue to act, but your head is very much in the game and you jerk your staff toward the fallen mage. “Well? You gonna slash her or what?”

Jungkook stiffens, jumping back into action. He hoists his sword and lunges, giving the mage a few good hits before recoiling back as she rises into the sky once more. The dark mage sends out a barrage of wild, uncontrolled fire that manages to miss Jungkook and hit you.

“Shit!” you call, pausing to glance through your inventory like Jungkook had before. “Dammit! I’m out of health potions,” you say. He notices your health bar is looking low.

“Why are you so hurt?” he asks as you rush toward him.

You sigh. “I ran into some boars in the woods on the way over here and they drained my health a little.”

“Shit,” Jungkook repeats.

“Yeah,” you say, watching as the dark mage readies another spell. “This is why I wanted all of us to go here together.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, his cheeks flaring hot. “I’m sorry.”

You sigh again. “Don’t worry,” you say, flitting your hand. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to start the battle.”

Jungkook is quiet, thinking. You’d always been this way. From the first time the party played together, you’d been generous with him. With everyone. When Tiki fell in the party’s first battle against some goblins, you’d been the one to retrieve his stuff and give up your armor for him. When Zero — the richest player by far — forgot about your scheduled meeting to gather supplies, you’d paid for everyone’s health potions and weapon repairs in his stead.

He shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t have gone off on my own.”

“No you shouldn’t have,” you say, humming. “You need to remember you’ve got a whole team of people who have your back.” He can hear a smile in your voice.

“I-,” he begins, but you cut him off.

“Alright, here’s what we’ll do for now. She’s at half health, so I’ll just wail on her with my ice until she’s within melee range and then you slash her,” you say with a nod. “And if I fall, I fall. Hopefully by then she’ll be low enough health that you can finish her off alone.”

“No, no. If it comes down to it, I’ll take the hit. I’ve got more HP and you’re the one who can do ranged attacks anyway,” Jungkook replies.

There’s no more time to argue, however, because the dark mage turns her fiery eyes toward the two of you and screams before pointing her staff right at Jungkook. Startled, Jungkook glances over at you to see you’re watching too. Neither of you has a chance to say anything before the blast hits, sending the two of you flying back against the fronts of buildings turned to ashy rubble. You let out a shocked gasp through Jungkook’s headset and, as the dust settles, he turns to see your health bar is dangerously low.

“Oh!” he shouts, pulling up his inventory. “Let me grab a health potion! You can have it—,”

“Alright, now I’m pissed,” you interrupt, sidling up to the fountain with measured steps. You consult your inventory and heave a sigh. It seems like you’re mulling something over, but it’s impossible for Jungkook to know what exactly is on your mind. “Use your health potion, Saph!”

He stares at the back of your character’s head, at the capable set of its shoulders. And he feels somehow like he’s really looking at you. The real you. Silhouetted against grey smoke, with a dark mage glowing black and orange in the air above you, he can’t help but think you seem…really cool.

He recalls what you said before. That he has a team of people who have his back.

You grumble something under your breath before deftly swinging your staff around a few times and launching a powerful icy blast toward the mage. She cries out and before she can ready another spell, you’re hurling another ball her way.

“Whoa! Nova, how’re you doing that so fast?” he asks.

“Shut up and heal now!” you shout, and he’s quick to oblige.

You send another blast toward the mage’s chest, and it’s just enough to get her in melee range. But as you do, the staff you’re holding shatters and breaks into shards. The force of the break seems to have some kickback, and you take a few points of damage as you stumble back half a step. You’re down to your very last HP.

“Oh my God! Did it break?” Jungkook asks, stunned.

“Go hit her!” you bark.

Jungkook sends his character rushing the mage once more and gets in a few heavy hits with his sword, pressing furiously on the controllers and moving his arms about wildly in his chair.

He expects her to fly back into the air. Rinse and repeat until she’s finally dead. But this time, perhaps since she’s so low on health, the dark mage simply hovers in front of him. Quickly, she swings her staff back and rears it forward once more, the black orb embedded in the top glowing red.

“She’s gonna hit you!” you shout, and in his shock Jungkook can only turn to look at your character.

Before he can blink, however, you’ve blurred in front of him in a flash of white hair and when the dark mage deals a mighty, close-ranged fire attack, you take it straight to the stomach.

And just like that, your character blinks out of existence, spilling your entire unequipped inventory on the steaming cobblestones in front of Jungkook’s steel shoes.

“Nova?” he calls out, but of course you can’t answer. You’ve warped back to the nearest infirmary somewhere past the woods.

He curses underneath his breath and swings his sword a little wild once, twice, three times until, at last, the dark mage lay prone on the ground, wailing ghostly. She lets out one final scream before withering into pixels. And there, beside your lost inventory, is a canvas loot bag. Jungkook grabs it and pulls from inside a multi chrome shard, glinting in the light refracted through smoke. He examines it. There’s no doubt. It’s a Philosopher’s Stone fragment. Which means your hunch was right.

It also means your party it one step closer to completing the legendary stone, receiving more gold than any of you could ever spend, maxed out HP, and a permanent plaque in Central Square with all of your usernames.

Jungkook sighs as he puts it away in his inventory. He scans through the other loot. A crossbow, some alchemical herbs, and an Imperial Knight’s sword. He pockets everything and, pausing to save, immediately logs off and yanks the headset from his eyes. He drops his controllers, removes his gloves, and sets the sensor jacket aside as he reaches for his phone on his studio desk.

He types in your name in his contact list and calls you right away. Lucky for him, you answer on the second ring.

“Did you get her?” you ask, not sparing even a moment for hellos.

Jungkook stutters a little like an old engine firing up before replying, “Dude what the hell did you do that for?”

You sigh. “I figured you’d have a better shot killing her since I broke my staff.”

“Yeah, but why'd you break your staff?”

“How else were we gonna get her down?”

Jungkook is quiet for a moment. “You spent a long time crafting that, didn’t you?”

You hum. “Not too long.”

“Liar,” he says, but you don’t reply. After a few moments of silence, Jungkook sighs. “I got her.”

He hears you laugh through the phone, followed by a satisfied exhale. “Hell yeah! Then it was worth it.”

“I got the fragment too.”

“She had it!”

Jungkook can’t help but smile a little, staring at his computer screensaver. “Mhm,” he says. “Thanks for taking the hit. I would’ve dropped the first fragment if she’d gotten me.”

You pause. “Oh, you had the first fragment on you?” you ask.

And Jungkook realizes something crucial as the words come crackly through his phone. You didn’t know he was holding it. You didn’t know he could have lost it. You’d jumped in front of that mage not to save the fragment in Jungkook’s inventory, but to save him. He swallows hard, because the silly, stupid sentiment of it makes his eyes a little misty.

“Um…yeah, I did,” Jungkook says slowly, as if testing cold waters.

You sigh. “Why’d you go on your own anyway?”

Jungkook’s shoulders pinch like he’s been struck. Truthfully, he’d logged on after a particularly frustrating call with Seokjin. After begging his manager to let him out of his contract with IJBC, Jungkook had been forced not only to continue working with Director Lim, but to keep good behavior lest the company seize their promotions of his previous album. But after chatting with you, Jungkook’s work is the furthest thing from his mind.

“Um…some issues with my work were getting to me so I figured I’d scout around a little,” he says. “Sorry I didn’t wait for you guys to tell me not to go.”

You laugh. “Turned out okay in the end,” you say easily. “But…your work?”

“Yeah…”

You’re quiet for a moment. While the silence isn’t awkward, it certainly feels thoughtful. “You don’t talk much about your job, so…I guess I was just curious. Like…what sort of issues…,” you continue, voice trailing off.

Jungkook thinks for a moment. What can he safely share without divulging too much? “Um, it’s…like this guy I’m working for is just kind of a dick,” he says, nodding once. “He’s awful to the employees and he’s been firing staff who piss him off. Just the other day he almost fired two people because they ran into me.”

“Oh?” you say, pensive. “So you’re pretty high up then?” you start, then let out a soft grunt and a laugh. “Sorry, I’m prying. Um…he sounds awful. It’s been bothering you working for him?”

Jungkook nods and picks at the skin around his thumb. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s only for a few months, but if it’s this bad after only a few days I don’t really know what to expect. I’m thinking about quitting somehow.”

“Well,” you begin, and Jungkook can hear the sound of things shuffling on the other side of the phone. “Here’s how I see it. If you quit, that’s one less person looking out for the people below you, you know?”

“Hm?”

“Like…if you’re there, maybe you can do some good and prevent other people from getting fired. But if you’re gone, you can’t really help anyone,” you say, then sigh. “I dunno. Just…if you’re forced to work with the guy, I figure you can try to find a way to turn it around. Maybe make things better for the people under you.”

Jungkook is quiet for a long, pregnant moment. He lets your words seep into his skin like a plant photosynthesizing. He really chews on them. “I…I guess I hadn’t thought about that.”

You hum. “It’s okay. I can understand how working with someone like that would be really hard,” you say. “But…imagine how hard it is for the people who can’t just up and leave? The folks who have to sit there and take it and don’t have the option to quit, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook says, brows furrowing. He crosses his arms. “That’s true.”

“I mean, obviously you’re an adult and can do whatever you want, but…I dunno, I guess it would be pretty cool of you to stick around and try to help where you can,” you say. Before Jungkook can respond, however, you gasp. “Oh! I got a text from a client.”

“Oh? Who?” he asks.

“Ah, a woman named Kim Hyejin. She works for some entertainment company or something,” you say, and Jungkook’s blood runs cold.

Kim Hyejin. As in Rooftop Entertainment’s Kim Hyejin? As in Jungkook’s manager’s boss? The reason Jungkook can’t quit? He shakes his head, swallows the lump that’s growing in his throat, tries to silence the incessant thumping in his heart. It can’t be her, right? Surely not. But…really, how many Kim Hyejin’s work for ‘some entertainment company’ and require personal makeup artists? Even if the name is common, that’s just too sensational.

“O-Oh…um…is she the client you saw this morning?” Jungkook asks, but his mouth feels cottony. If you, of all people, were to somehow find out about him…

He shakes his head to clear it.

“Mhm, hold on a sec I’m trying to read it,” you say.

Jungkook doesn’t want to hold on. He doesn’t want to sit and wait for you to answer. He wants to end the call and throw his phone on the futon. He wants to take a long walk around the company building. He wants to delete his Arcana account.

But something keeps him on the line, like a string wrapped around his chest. He’s captive to your every word, desperate to know what Kim Hyejin has to say to you. Has she perhaps found out about Jungkook’s online friends? About the Beast Slayers? About you? Is she reaching out to make you sign an NDA? Did she approach you under the pretense of getting her makeup done only to lure you into accepting some sort of bribe to keep his identity secret?

Is she going to force you to stop contacting him…?

“Holy shit,” you say under your breath.

“What? What is it?” Jungkook says, too quick, too breathless.

You scoff. “Holy shit.”

“Please tell me,” he begs, voice frail. His hands are shaking.

Just when he’s found a group of people who he can connect with, who he can play with, who he can feel comfortable with, something has to come in and ruin it. Jungkook’s heart aches with the dread of anticipation.

“Dude,” you begin, but he can tell you’re smiling. “She just offered me a job on a TV show.”

Jungkook feels that same chill from before creeping up his spine like frost across a windowpane. “What show?” he asks.

If not a premeditated approach, then this has to be…

“Give Up Generation.”

Some sort of divine joke.

[lloydskywalkers]

i leave for a day and suddenly there’s an entire AU of straight-up pAIN for Cole on my post gnjkdgh u guys work fast, there’s an entire Winter Soldier Cole au that exists now and i am in awe. Thank you @entersomethingcreativehere, @ninjagianloser and @afandomroom for the burst of brief creative angst this evening, here’s my contribution:

All he sees anymore is purple. Dark and cloying, staining his vision and seeping into the deepest crevices of his core. Maybe he’s always been this way though — that’s what she tells him, anyways. The Quiet One, he’s supposed to call her, if he’s ever called on to speak.

He rarely is. He’s here to be strong, to squeeze the last drops of life from the Resistance that threatens his creator, and that’s all. The mask they have him wear is frustrating, suffocating at the worst times, but it’s a reminder of his place in all this. There’s not much need around here for the words of a weapon, anyways. 

So he doesn’t protest when she sends him out again before his shoulder’s fully healed — not that he would’ve, anyways. Any amount of pain is worth being out, away from the stifling close-quarters he lives in, deep in their stronghold of a tower. A part of him thinks he might’ve liked being high up on stone before, but the tower feels more like a prison than anything. It probably is. They used to lock him in, the first few weeks, but those memories are becoming foggier and foggier, like the rest of his head. Nothing sticks in his mind anymore, not after he comes in with his power. His head might as well be empty, useless, his brain—

Rock for brains.

He stiffens, his grip going rigid on the hilt of his weapon, his arms so tense they hurt. 

Not again. He can’t falter now, not when their targets are so close. He’s a weapon — he doesn’t have time for the headaches that split his mind in two. He doesn’t have time for the overwhelming ache in his chest that screams something’s wrong—

“Focus.” The Quiet One’s voice hisses over his comm like the call of a snake, low and poised to strike. “Remember what you’re here for. Kill the girl and take the boy, alive.”

He nods. Alive is a loose category, one he can work with. Unharmed would be considerably more difficult, with the strength he has. It’s what makes him valuable, makes him useful, and it’s the only time he feels like he’s in control. So it takes very little willpower to convince himself to smash the door in with his foot alone, startling the two figures hunched over by the window.

His eyes zero in on them. The pair wears masks, but their colors and builds are discernible enough. Girl on the right, boy on the left. Kill the girl, take the boy. This should be eas—

The girl’s moving before he can blink, silver spear flashing out of nowhere as she curves it toward him in a deadly arc. He barely manages to duck the blow, the razor edges whistling past his head as he falters back. He’s quick to push back on the defensive, swinging his hammer toward her head. Unlike him, the girl doesn’t falter, standing firm with one arm waving toward the boy as she screams “Go, Lloyd!”

The name’s like a nail to his skull. He staggers, his hit swinging wide and missing the girl’s head by a clear foot. He grits his teeth, desperately trying to refocus, but the name rebounds against the inside of his skull like a drum, her voice too familiar and the name—

—Lloyd, you know him, you idiot, you’re supposed to protect him!—

The Quiet One’s voice is howling at him over the comms, but he barely hears her. He feels like he’s splitting in half, and it’s enough for the girl to deliver a heavy hit to his face, his head snapping violently to the side as the mask splinters, cracking under the force of her blow. 

He staggers back, his hand plastered over his face as it throbs in pain, furious at himself. This is nothing, nothing compared to what he’s put him through, he shouldn’t be—

The girl’s gasp cuts across the room like a knife. Her spear clatters to the floor.

“Cole?” she croaks, her voice caught somewhere between overwhelming joy and umasked horror. There’s a strangled gasp from the other side of the room, but his eyes are locked on the girl, standing frozen where she’s dropped her weapon. 

He raises his hammer, arms shaking. It’s the perfect opening, and the Quiet One is roaring at him to take it. 

But that name. That name she’s called him, and the way she’s looking at him, is splitting his head in two. Something is his chest is screaming at him, louder than any other voice that’s forced itself into his mind, begging him to stop, no, don’t hurt her, you know her—

He shakes his head, flinching at the agony, and tightens his grip on his weapon. He’s a weapon. That’s all. As long as he remembers his purpose, he won’t fall back into the darkness. As long as he remembers who his master is, he’ll be able to swing at her. 

But in his hesitation, he’s forgotten about the boy. 

A solid weight drops onto his shoulders, wiry arms wrapping around his arms and holding tight, clinging to him like a vise. He rears back, straining to throw the boy off, but his grip is stronger than he’d thought it be. 

Hot droplets of water splash onto the back of his neck, and the boy’s voice is choked as it echoes in his ear. “Cole, please, come back, I know you’re in there, please—”

Cole, Cole, Cole, why do they keep calling him that—

Agony sears through his temples, blurring his vision. He’s stopped trying to throw the boy off. The girl’s taken her mask off now, her own dark eyes welling with tears and so, so terribly familiar as she stares at him. The look guts him. She’s looking at him like he’s a person, like she knows him, like she loves him— 

All I know is ninja never quit. 

Thank you, Nya. 

“Nya,” the name burns from his throat like fire, but it’s the most he’s felt since, since—

“Cole!” Lloyd’s hold around his loosens, his voice thick in what might be joy. “Nya, is he—”

Cole grabs Lloyd by the arm and pushes him, gently at he can, toward Nya before staggering away.

“Get back,” he gasps, the purple already clawing at his mind, tearing agony into his head as he clutches at it. “I’m not — I can’t — they’ve got me, she wants me to hurt you, I — please—”

Lloyd’s dark eyes are wide — why are they dark, they’re not supposed to be dark — and something in his expression crumples, before suddenly turning sharp and ugly, his eyes growing hot.

“Where is she,” he whispers, his fingers twitching toward his weapon for the first time this fight. “She’s near, where is she. We’ll free you, just tell me where—”

“Lloyd,” the girl — Nya, Nya, it’s Nya — whispers, her voice trembling. “We don’t have time for her. If he’s found us—”

Lloyd’s head swivels to her, his expression working furiously, before it whips back to Cole, blond hair askew as he stares at him with wild eyes. 

“Come with us,” he says, his voice frantic. “Come on, Cole, just — come back with us, we can save you.”

He — Cole, he’s Cole, he’s — shakes his head. “I can’t,” he rasps. “He’ll find me. You have to go, just — get away from me, get somewhere safe. I won’t let him get you, I promise, just go.”

Lloyd shakes his head, his expression furious even as his eyes begin to well over once more. “No,” he protests. “No, we’re not losing you again!”

Something crashes from the level down below, and Nya’s eyes go wide. Cole’s blood turns to ice. The Quiet One’s been quiet too long. 

“You have to go,” he whispers, the pain in his head finally springing burning tears to his eyes.

Lloyd shakes his head again, his hand trembling as he holds it out to him. “Come with us,” he repeats. “Cole, please.”

Cole wavers, his vision split into spiraling shades of purple. His right hand twitches, lifting ever so slightly. 

With an earsplitting screech the wall behind him explodes, and his vision flashes into fiery, violent red. 

[wondersofdreaming]

Lost Boys - THREE

Characters: August Walker / Captain Syverson / Walter Marshall

Word count: 2.389

Warnings: Family reunion. Memory overload. Realization. Hurt. Self-loading.

Author’s note: Everything in this story is a figment of my imagination, with inspiration and snippets from the movies ‘Mission: Impossible - Fallout’, ‘Sand Castle’, ‘Nomis/Night Hunter’. This is pure fanfiction. If something doesn’t make sense, it’s not supposed to.

I do now own any of the characters from the movies that I write about in this story. Only the OFC’s are mine.

Tag: @katerka88​ @littlefreya​ @hell1129-blog​ @radaofrivia​ @gothwhopper​ @fcgrizi​ @vania-marie​ @mary-ann84​ @sciapod​ @mitzwinchester​ @omgkatinka​ @mis-lil-red (your tag isn’t working 😢)

MASTERLIST

Feedback is appreciated. Seriously, please tell me all the good and bad stuff, else I won’t be able to develop into a better writer if I don’t know what I’m doing right and wrong. I swear I don’t bite.

[ONE] [TWO] [FOUR] [FIVE] [SIX] [SEVEN] [EIGHT] [NINE] [TEN]

Lucas was sent home to Georgia to heal. Joshua, the Syverson’s biological son, flew across the Atlantic Ocean to meet and bring him home. Silvia Syverson was a stern woman, and when she wanted her younger son to pick up her adoptive older son that is what she would get. His brother had been curious about what had happened, as a medical practitioner he was also compassionate and wanted to help in any way he could.

A 12-hour plane ride later Lucas was back in his childhood home, lying in his old bedroom filled with rock music posters. On his dresser sat an old boombox and next to it, a towering stack of CDs.

Silvia had demanded he got some rest. There he was. Staring at the ceiling like a good little boy. Fuck. He was a captain in the US Army. He had seen death and destruction enough to last two lifetimes, and he was still a little momma’s boy.

After dinner that evening, Lucas asked his mother for the things he had with him when he was sent to be fostered by them.

“Are you sure you want to rip up in the past?” Silvia asked him, her brows pushed together in concern.

“Ma, I need to know.”

She sighed and motioned for him to follow her. Joshua was right behind the two. All three entered the basement and towards the wall filled with stacks of boxes.

“One of them should be labelled Trevor Thompson.”

Lucas started lifting his uninjured arm to one of the top boxes, but a steely look from his mother made him back away and sit on the stairs.

“Joshua, come help your old mother,” Silvia commanded her younger son, who was snickering behind his older brother.

“There’s nothing old about you, ma,” the younger man said and kissed his mother’s cheek. He started taking box after box down. Of course, the box that belonged to Trevor Thompson was at the bottom of the pile.

It contained Trevor’s birth certificate, fostering papers, adoption papers, name changing papers, and a black photo album. Lucas opened it with one hand and a pair of blue eyes were staring right back at him. The same colour as his own haunted eyes. Beneath the photo was written ‘Jennifer Thompson’. The next page shocked him even more. ‘William Thompson’, Lucas was the spitting image of him, besides the eye colour. In his dream, his father was always too far away to get a close enough look besides some minuscule features.

“Wow, Luc, you look just like your dad,” Joshua exclaimed, “You even have the same freckle on your lower lip.”

“Josh, that is creepy as hell that you notice stuff like that,” Lucas looked at his brother with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m a doctor, I would be a terrible one, if I didn’t notice the little things. Now turn the page and let’s see those brothers of yours.”

Lucas sighed, preparing himself mentally to take a look at his biological brothers. Brothers he couldn’t remember until a week ago. They had shared a womb, so why the hell couldn’t he remember them?

Silvia noticed the change in her son. She put a hand on his good shoulder and squeezed. He looked into her green eyes that were giving him the confidence to face the past.

“Lucas, you were five years old. Don’t beat yourself up for not remembering.”

“I just have this feeling that we were so very close as children. I feel bad for forgetting them. They are my brothers. I’d do anything for my brothers, those in the army and even Josh.”

“Gee thanks, bro.”

Lucas chuckled and turned the page. Three identical young boys were smiling back at him. One of them had a front tooth missing. Probably himself. He couldn’t even see the difference between who was who in that picture. Only the names under each boy answered his question.

Trevor, Oliver and James.

“Aw, Luc, look at how innocent you looked once. Now you’re a grumpy old man with a beard,” Joshua was teasing him. Lucas ignored his little brother and looked at the next page, which was of the entire family sitting on a porch swing all together, laughing and smiling. The boys were smaller, maybe three years old at the time.

A sense of sadness washed over him. The flush of some childhood memories overwhelmed him. Lucas closed the book. He handed it back to his mother and walked away from the basement. Both mother and brother calling his name, he didn’t listen, just kept walking. He needed to be alone, to collect his thoughts. His mind was flooding with a million memories, his heart was racing, his legs just kept walking, until he was standing at the end of the driveway. He went into a sprint and ran as fast as he could to the beach, or as fast as his broken arm would allow him.

The beach was almost void of people. Only a few were out swimming or walking along the edge of the water. Lucas sat down and just let his mind wander. Letting all the memories in. His brain was throbbing, the feeling was like it wanted to escape from the cramped space of his skull.

Memories of smiles, laughter, love. He remembered the devastating feeling when two policemen came to the front door and told their neighbour, who had been watching over them, that their parents had died. A social worker, Marcy Kane, had taken care of the boys until they were divided into new families. He remembered a lot of yelling and screaming.

“They are only young boys. You shouldn’t separate them. They need each other!” Marcy roared at her boss.

“Nobody wants to take in three boys at the same time, so either you calm down, or you are off the case.”

The next he remembered was Marcy crouching in front of the three boys. They hadn’t said a word since the news of their parents’ death. They had vowed not to talk or be happy again without their parents.

“James, Oliver, Trevor. I’m sorry.” She started and hugged each boy in her warm embrace. It nearly made Trevor cry. As the eldest of three, he needed to stay strong for his brothers.

The families came and picked up each of the boys, separating them, forcing them apart from each other. Marcy put the medallion of Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton over each boy before they departed. None of the boys cried. They had made another pact, to find each other when they were old enough. A vow all three of them forgot as they grew up.

Now it was time to make that vow come true.

Lucas stood and brushed the sand from his well-shaped ass. With a clear mind, he walked home to get some sleep. Tomorrow was going to be a long day.

Joshua drove him to city hall. They released his papers but there was nothing hinting where his brothers had ended up.

Back home he called an old army buddy, Aiden, who had started a private detective company when he was released from the military. It took Aiden a few hours before he called back.

“Aiden, any news?” Lucas asked the minute he answered the phone.

“Yeah. I have some good and a whole mountain of bad, which one do you want first?” His friend told him.

“Give me the good ones. You found my brother? James?”

“I did. He was sent to live with a family in Minnesota. He’s still there. He changed his name to Walter Matthew Marshall, and guess what, he’s a police detective. He used to be S.W.A.T. and, dude, he has a daughter.”

“I have a niece?”

“Yes, congratulations Uncle Lucas. Are you ready for the bad news?”

“Hit me.”

“The brother, Oliver, you met in Iraq, he was moved to Virginia and changed his name to August Christopher Walker.”

“August? What the fuck kind of name is that? August is a month, not a name.”

“That’s not the worst part. Lucas, he was in the CIA.”

“He was definitely well trained. What else?”

“He rebelled.”

“What do you mean ‘rebelled’? What did he do?”

“Luc… your brother is wanted for planning to set off nuclear bombs around the world.”

Lucas nearly dropped his phone. His parents and brother were giving him worried looks. He went to sit down on the sofa before telling Aiden to continue.

“They thought he had died somewhere north of India, but they haven’t found his body. And there’s a warrant for his head from all the intelligence agencies around the globe.”

“How much?”

Nothing. Aiden kept his mouth shut.

“Aiden, tell me. How much?”

A heavy sigh could be heard through the speaker.

“A hundred.”

“A hundred what? Just a hundred? A hundred thousand? Spit it out, man.”

“A hundred million dollars. All the agencies want him gone, Lucas.”

“What does the warrant say? Dead or alive?”

“Both.”

Lucas groaned in frustration. What the hell had his brother done? Why had he done it? What happened to him?

“Thanks, Aiden. I really appreciate your help.”

“No problem. Call me if you need any help. Any kind of help.”

“Will do.”

Lucas pushed the end button and threw the phone on the coffee table. His mother came to sit next to him. She touched his left bicep, trying to comfort him without saying anything.

“What now?” Joshua asked and sat on his other side.

“I don’t know.”

“Son, look at me,” his adoptive father, John Syverson, was a rather large man himself. Don’t be fooled by his grey hair and grey beard, he might look like a nice old man, but he could kill people with a spoon. Lucas heard the authoritative tone in his general father’s voice and looked into the compassionate green eyes. “What are my rules?”

“Always be kind.” Joshua and Lucas said at the same time.

“Treat your woman like a queen,” Silvia chimed in.

“Don’t judge people based on the first look,” Joshua continued.

“Don’t do things to make other people happy, do them to make yourself happy,” Silvia smiled.

“And never leave a brother behind,” Lucas’ voice was firm. His mind was made up.

“I’ll book you a ticket to Minnesota.”

“Who’s going to Minnesota?” A soft female voice said from the hall. Four pair of eyes looked at the curvaceous woman entering the living room. The Syverson’s only daughter, who had been born a year after they had adopted Lucas. Her long curly brown hair was put up in a bun, her glasses sitting at the edge of her pretty little nose. She had her father’s deep green eyes.

“Melanie, darling, we didn’t know you were coming home,” Silvia exclaimed and went to hug her daughter.

“I heard through the grapevine that the captain was home, so I had to come home and say hello,” Melanie smirked at Lucas and squeezed his left side, avoiding his casted arm.

“Good to see you, shorty. How’s the University treating you?” Lucas asked and kissed his sister’s forehead. She went to get kisses and hugs from her other brother and father, before plumbing down with a huge sigh on the armchair.

“I love my job. I love that I can do research all day long, I never get tired of that, but lately…” She started.

“Lately, what?” Joshua gave his sister a quizzical look.

“Lately it’s been a bit boring. It’s too much of the same. I know it is what I signed up for when I accepted the job, but I was also promised more fieldwork, where I would be able to travel and study the texts, ceramics, and people up close, not from a computer where someone is streaming. So, I’m taking a sabbatical, one year where I figure out, if I still want to do desk research or if I need to find a job that is better suited for what I want and need.”

Silvia and John gave each other a look that only a married couple could give. They were communicating non-verbally. Lucas looked at his parents.

“No,” he said sternly. “Not in a million years.”

“You need someone to help you,” Silvia told her son in the same hard voice.

“I can take care of myself.”

“You’ll need help with the cast.”

“Josh can help me.”

“Sorry, bro. I have to be back at work on Monday.”

Lucas sighed and turned to the young woman, who had put her hair down. Her long curl cascading down her shoulder.

“Melanie, will you come with me to Minnesota?” He said through gritted teeth.

“Anything for you, Luc. What’s going on in Minnesota?”

“We’re going to find my brothers.”

Lucas had filled his sister in on his history. She had taken one look at all his documents and said she would figure out why in the world they had to be separated into three different states. They dropped their belongings off at a nearby hotel, walking to the precinct where Walter Marshall worked.

The secretary at the front desk didn’t even look up when they entered and just told them where to go.

“Hey Marshall, when did you break your arm? And I thought you said something ‘bout never wanting to cut your hair.” A young man, fresh from the police academy by the looks of it, was yelling from the other side of the room. He walked over and gave Melanie an appreciative look over. Lucas clenched his left hand into a fist; it wasn’t his dominant hand, but he could still break the little fucker’s nose.

“Hi, we’re looking for Walter Marshall, could you direct us to his office?” Melanie asked as she blinked a few times. Lucas smiled; he knew the look in her eyes. The charm-glare as he called it. That look that had gotten her out of trouble countless times.

“Well, miss, he’s right here,” he motioned at Lucas.

“Cade, get back to work or I’ll wring your neck,” a deep grumpy voice said behind them. Lucas turned around to look into another mirror version of himself. Walter Marshall was standing with his leg spread, his arms crossed over his broad chest, wearing a black jumper. His eyes widened as he looked at Lucas. “My office, now.”

[bonesthebeloved]

4 days and 4 months- Sanders Sides Part 2/2

Word count: 2277 Summary: After a fight, Roman goes on another quest to the imagination. After four days, Patton goes after him. Just to find that the issues might lay deeper than a simple feud

TRIGGER/SQUICK WARNING: Crying, Screaming, Mention of abandonment issues, neglective friends mention. (If there’s some I missed, please point them out to me (:  )

-Based on a request made by @ragingdumpsterfiremess​

-Read part one here-

"Why didn't you say something?" "Oh didn't I? What about the whole puppet episode Pat? And the many times I actually spoke out about it and you all acted like I hadn't said anything? What about the shattered mirrors? You really believed that was an accident? How do somebody crash into a mirror and only their hand is hurt, Patton?" "It isn't my fault that you were so vague about it! If you had just-" "I LITERALLY TOLD YOU I WANTED TO DIE AND YOU ACTED LIKE I WASN'T EVEN THERE!"

"When- when did you-?" "Five months, two weeks and one day ago. Though for you it would probably be one month right?" "You kept count?" "What else am I supposed to do to not go insane at the thought of all of my friends, my family, not giving a single FUCK about how I'm doing? Do you know how much it hurts Pat? To see your brother, somebody you've tried with all your might to not be like, get accepted so easily? Because I sure fucking do!"

He was crying now. Tears born out of anger and frustration rolling down his cheeks and all Patton wanted to do was to understand. Understand how it had gotten to this point. How they hadn't noticed. "We don't really enjoy his company you know. But I thought we should give him and Deceit a chance. We gave one to Virgil so-" "And that's wonderful Patton. It fucking precious that you want to see the good in everybody. But with a person who tried to kill his brother multiple times in multiple ways. It might be good to ask the person that he's been belittling his entire life how he feels about the whole thing. And please, for the love of God, don't talk about accepting people when you all have been growing cold towards me and haven't given two fucks about it." "We haven't-" "Yes you have. Now leave me alone." Was the simple reply before Roman stood, putting the jug on the counter and storming out of the pub they'd been sitting in.

Patton followed him outside and was immediately hit by heavy rain and stormclouds turning the cloudless sky into a black and swirling mess. Shielding his eyes against the rain he ploughed forward, shouting after Roman who now only was a flash of red in the sudden darkness.

He chased after him through the market place. The people there, frozen in place. The rain clattering down on them seeming to melt them away slowly, crude, melting substance turning the happy faces into a horrifying scene. They exited the market place and ran through the village surrounding it. A dog, frozen as it chased after a stick that hovered in mid-air. Face and half of its body dripping away like melted plastic, no skull or any bones were visible. Almost as if they were figurines molten without a thought about the inner anatomy.

"Roman, please! RO-ROMAN!" No reply, the red flash getting further and further away from him. He'd never been the athletic type.

Suddenly he saw the boy from earlier, standing still like a statue, arm stretched forward (he must've been the one to throw the stick then, he thought) half of his arm was missing already, melted off, face unrecognizable, the only way Patton had been able to identify him so quickly being the clothes he wore.

"What the hell is going on here," he asked himself between huffs of air, sides stinging, lungs aching and stumbling time and time again over small rocks and big branches.

It couldn't have been this bad, could it? Roman hadn't gone mad, had he?

Suddenly, he bumped into something, nearly falling to the floor and latching onto the thing to avoid crashing to the ground.

As soon as he registered that what he was grabbing onto was fabric, he jumped back, going to apologise before stopping mid breath as he realised that it was Roman he'd bumped into.

They were standing on the edge of a cliff, clothes sticking to the both of them, Roman's cape swirling around him and the wind tugging at Patton's clothes. "Roman, just talk to me!" he shouted, trying to be loud enough to be heard over the thunder and roaring wind. It barely sounded like a whisper. "We can talk this out! Don't you think this reaction is a bit overdramatic?" "you really don't get it to do you?" Roman spoke normally, but somehow his voice could be heard loud and clear over all the noise that nature crashing down around them was making.

A part of the cliff beneath them broke off and fell into the sea with a deafening sound and Patton resisted the urge to cover his ears in favour of keeping perfectly still, staring at Roman and trying to make eye contact. Roman looked away.

"You really don't," he said again, turning away, facing whatever lay beneath the cliff. Patton couldn't see the water. Couldn't see anything but darkness down there.

"It's my job to be dramatic Patton. But this-" he waved his arms around, gesturing to everything around them, the melted trees a few meters back, the squirrel that was now barely more than a puddle that sat a few inches beside the creative trait. "-can barely be called an overreaction. "

He finally turned around then, staring straight at Patton who, overwhelmed by the intensity of the gaze, was suddenly not so sure why he'd been wanting to make eye contact.

"Maybe it isn't. But you do need to come back with me Roman. Remus told us what this place does with your mi-" "Oh did he? Since when does he actually care about where I am?" "Roman he's your brother!" "And he's wished me dead more times than I can count Pat. I've stopped trying to establish a normal relationship with him long ago." "But he-" "Is evil. He's a bad person. I know you want to see the good in everyone but some people are just bad people. No matter how many chances you give them they'll keep disappointing you over and over again because they're just born that way. And even if you try your very best to include them they'll just cut you off, they'll tell themselves that you don't really care about them and they're RIGHT." "This isn't about Remus anymore." "YES IT FUCKING IS!"

Roman's voice sounded strange. Shaking with rage and repressed tears. But he also had the same voice Virgil would get when extremely anxious. Two voices speaking over each other, mixing and not quite matching.

"We'll try and make it work Roman I promise. Please just come home with m-" "THIS IS MY HOME!" "Please stop shouting." He was shaking now. They both were, though Patton wasn't sure that the creative trait was doing so because of the cold clothes sticking to him. "Roman I just want to understand. Why stay here? Why not just come back with me?" "BECAUSE- Be-because at least here... Here they actually care about me."

"Roman they're-they're not real..." The Prince let out a sigh and turned away again, facing the emptiness beyond the cliff, wind violently tugging at his cape and hair.

"I don't care Pat. It's better than real people pretending to care. It's better." "But-" he went to step closer, though reeled back when another piece of the cliff broke off, Roman now standing on the very edge.

"-but this place hurts you, Roman. I can't- It won't get better like this. I mean... Roman, what happened to you? You've--you've changed so much can't even--who are-... What happened to your face?"

He hadn't meant to ask. Not at that moment. Maybe not ever if Roman wouldn't have acknowledged it. And now he found that, as soon as he'd said it, it seemed like the worst possible thing he could've mentioned.

Roman turned around slowly. The bad side of his face, the side Patton asked about, facing him first.

The left side of his face was burned horribly, skin looking as if it had melted of rather than simply scorched. It reminded him a lot of the melting people and animals they'd passed as he chased the Prince to this place. Left eye a startling white.

Thunder crackled above them, the cliff creaked as if it was moments away from falling into the emptiness that lay beneath. Roman looked even closer to completely falling.

"I did."

It then occurred to Patton that the twins could both manipulate the imagination at will. Everything in there could be bent and broken. Created and destroyed if only they wanted to. At the same time, he realised that this meant that every time that Roman had come back hurt from his adventures, bleeding out on the couch or arm in a sling. Bruises ribs and broken noses. Had all been caused by monsters he thought up himself.

"Roman. Roman, please step back from the edge." "It's not dangerous if I don't want it to be." the Prince said a sick kind of glee in his eyes. Seeming to understand that Patton finally got it.

"Roman please, for me." "And why would I own you favour? Any of you? After ignoring me and all that I stand for time and time again, you really expect me to listen to you?" "Roman-" Patton was crying now, still shaking, still hopeless and still inching away from the cliff. "What would I get out of coming back Patton? You've all made clear I'm not wanted there. Why would it be any better now."

That stung. Not only because the words were an echo of the explanation Virgil had given them when he'd ducked out, but because he sounded scared. Roman sounded like a scared child, just wanting the comfort of knowing that he'd be safe but not able to believe it when somebody promised him just that.

All of the pain was self-inflicted. The bruises and cuts and stab wounds were an elaborate way of self-harming and it hurt him to the core to know that Roman felt as if it was needed. As if he deserved it.

"Roman, step off of the cliff. Let's talk this through while we're inside," he said, reaching out to him. Offering his hand, offering a chance. An opportunity. Roman stared at him in silence. And Patton wasn't quite sure if it were tears or simply the rain that streamed down the creative trait's face.

After what felt like an eternity, a shaking and ice-cold hand slipped into his own, the cliff behind them breaking into pieces and falling down and down and down. He couldn't hear the impact.

And while he grabbed onto the hand, pulling the heavily shaking Roman into a tight hug, he felt as if they were still on the cliff. Inches away from the edge, so very close to shattering themselves, plummeting into darkness.

"I don't want to hurt again Pat." came Romans voice, barely a whisper and so very fragile. And Patton squeezed him extra tight and wished for the door that would let them leave the imagination to appear in front of him. And as the door slowly materialised behind Roman, Patton buried his head in the prince's shoulder, not caring about the wet cloth sticking to his skin, the cold that ran bone-deep and made the both of them shiver. The fear that made them shiver so much harder. And the Prince clung to him as if he was a lifeline.

"Come on Ro. Let's get you home."

Patton opened the door with a quick wave of his hand. And they stepped through, Roman visibly deflating as soon as they were back in the familiar hallway.

"I'm going to let you go now, okay Ro?"

Slowly, so very slowly, he released his arm from their death grip on Roman's cape. And as he pulled away, he could see how the Prince was concentrating, face pinched as the wounds slowly melted away.

"It's not gone, is it?" "No," came the answer, a deep sigh leaving his friend who, now that they were out of the imagination, was all tugging sleeves and shifty eyes. Refusing to make eye contact. "I will it out of sight. But it's still there. The scar will be aswell. All of them are." "Can I... Can I see?" It sounded so strange. Something reserved for when you've caught a glimpse of a cut on somebody their arm or if somebody is showing an image on their phone. And as Roman nodded carefully, face pinched again before he, after glancing at Patton to see if it was alright, took off his shirt, the fatherly trait found that it was very much like the first scenario.

A variation of an uncountable amount of wounds littered the prince's body. Variating from burn marks to stab wounds to a slash that seemed way to near to his throat for Patton his comfort. Hands and arms littered in smaller scars from thornbushes and smaller creatures their teeth. A few large, tooth-shaped once indicating a nasty bite from what Roman told him was the dragon witch.

"Roman... Ro, you need to be more careful." "I don't want to be." And there lay the simple root of the issue. The truth sprawled out in front of him, bare and open like shattered glass. And picking up the pieces to glue them back together would be an impossible job. But maybe they could build it up again.

"Try to be okay? I'll make sure you're well prepared next time you go out."

It would never be whole again. And the cliff might never be too far out of sight,

"I'd like that Pat. I really would."

But maybe that's was alright for now. They had their glue, and some shards were easily fixed.

"Now. Come on then. Let's get you cleaned up and into bed champ. We'll talk in the morning."

And slowly, slowly but steadily, they inched away from the cliff.

-

Tags: @purp-man @brokencrown-au @ragingdumpsterfiremess @sapphire-knight

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

The Siren & The Healer (7)

Natasha Romanoff arc

Chapter 7: The Secret

Platonic Natasha x fem!Reader, Loki x fem!Reader (soulmates?)

Theme: With cracks between the most powerful superheroes of the earth, Natasha Romanoff does not find rest when she is assigned on a mission to find the missing pieces of a puzzling power that once nearly got into the hands- rather, tentacles- of Hydra. In order to unearth the pieces, she must dig through her own past and make a decision that might decide the fate of the earth in the coming wars.

Series: Will contain violence, death, destruction, softness, fluff, smut, friendship, and whatnot

Chapter warnings: Blood, death, gunshots, wounds, danger

A/N: This was written a few years ago with an OC in mind so reader has a name but it is a reader insert.

Word Count: Psychology is fun to learn. But oh God I still can’t belive I actually mentioned in passing about fanfiction in my resume

MASTERLIST in bio, love

Time: 1400 hrs

Location: Vienna

The prep siesta had partially done its job. You were snoring rhythms like a professional, your body splayed on that soft mattress that was going to make your back regret to ever have thought this expensive luxury could take your problems away for a day. Your lips parted, eyes moving under those heavy lids. Natasha couldn't help but smile on watching you like that- with no line of concern or some hidden worry. Though it didn't help the calculative part of her brain to wonder what had gone wrong and where to have you on your feet even when there was no threat. She had seen it- in your eyes; the perfect veil shrouding the fidgeting, your eyes darting towards the exit, the entrance and your own hands, those fluttering seconds when you would take a deep breath and blink multiple times to 'shake away' the moisture building at the edge of your eyes. Is she okay?

It was one thing to be worried about her family, her team, but to be feeling the need to wrap you in a blanket, kiss your forehead, hug you and make you something warm while watching your favourite shows- all this time keeping her gun close to point at anyone who dared hurt you- was overwhelming. It wasn't like she hadn't mentored little Black Widows back in the day. Her instincts to teach the right and wrong had been polished since she could remember how to hold a gun. With you, though, it was a different emotion entirely. Whenever she saw you- including the first time you ran away- she would see this little girl with dense brown hair standing amid rubble, her brown eyes looking straight at her, her dusky features marred with dust and dirt, the tears making a muddy passage over her cheeks. Her image seared into the Black Widow's skull whenever she would watch you. And just as the image had come, it would be burned into nothingness.

Noon was slow. Brunn was stretching while keeping his eyes on the monitors, making a five-minute ‘dash’ to the kitchen for a bowl of fruits. Keiko stretched her legs in the lounge, never bothering to suppress her yawn as she let her head hit the cushion and get a quick shut-eye.

Natasha urged Brunn to go get some rest, but the man was too stubborn to leave. "I downed four cups of black coffee for this, chief. Don't worry about me. You should go rest for a while. I'll let you know when it's time for your shift."

.

The last room to the corridor waited for her. The turn and click of the knob were easy. The view of the beige coloured bedroom emanating warmth was nostalgic. All the memories of her and Bruce talking through the night on their last mission in Vienna seemed to come back in one heavy downpour. Banner's giggles, his gentle stroke of fingers on her cheeks, him moving her hair strands away and her not feeling the need to crack his bones because it felt nice. It had never felt nice before with anyone else. That window from where the noon was being reflected in its full intensity was where they first kissed. The only time they kissed. And then Ultron happened. Wistful memories.

Her finger ran on the edge, surging up every piece of that memory till it stopped at the part of the frame where the polish was scratched. Natasha ran her finger on the roughness of the surface, her fingertips finding powdered roughness sticking to them despite knowing full well that the house is cleaned every Wednesday in the morning. Today was Wednesday.

It did not take more than two seconds to figure it out.

Keosha.

"WE'VE GOT COMPANY!"

No sooner did she blurt out those words than a figure all clad in black jumped out of the closet towards her, missing her as she bent away blocking his arm and aiming for his face with her elbow. The gun initially aimed at her was already falling on the floor with the man with a punch to his nuts. Before the man could clear the stars from his eyes, Natasha was running out of the room, hearing gunshots and furniture being broken- her mind only focusing the room at the opposite end.

.

It was a dream. But it seemed too real to be one. Flashes came and went. The smell of rocks just broken, the dust not settled yet. The odour of blood all around you. You could even taste it at one point. You looked down and saw your hands covered in them, not surprised. But beyond them, you focused on the familiar face lying still, dead eyes frozen unto you. That old face coloured in smoke and dust.

You wanted to call out to her, but everything crumbled in an instant, making you fall endlessly till you could feel your hands and knees over a floor glowing with the intensity of white sun with pulses in all colours of the rainbow, leading straight and far and...up? Your eyes widened at the ginormous tree with veins carrying the same sun till the tips of the endings branched out into infinity- into the galactic sky with a million stars and space clouds; out of which a pair of purple cloud and dust stood out.

You had to blink multiple times to witness those clouds transforming into the shape of purple irises looking right at you, growing in intensity by every second before everything went dark and you were left alone with your anxious breaths and a brain that was not thinking straight.

"Keosha!" A faint voice called out to you from somewhere. A whimper left your throat when you tried to walk towards the voice but could not see anything in the darkness.

"Keosha, you have to fight this!"

How?! You wanted to cry back. I can't even figure out where to look!

"Look inside you. You are here. You know who you are!"

...

What kind of stupid advice is that?

"Keosha!"

Your being tried to force itself out of this pitch-black existence, trying to find an opening; any opening. There was a glimmer of light, feeling like looking at something through the haze of a freshly awake pair of eyes or those which needed some sleep stat. Nonetheless, the outline of that pale face was hard to miss; especially when it stood out against the black hair falling from that head. There was a low and soothing, almost angelic voice saying something that you could not make out, but just as the haze started to clear, you caught a glimpse of eyes pure oceans of green looking at you with abundant surprise before everything faded into reality and you were being dragged off the bed while a man hovered over you.

"Hide!" Natasha hissed through her teeth as her hold left your feet and she sent a gun flying at the man with an injection in his hand, knocking him out there and then. You barely registered anything except your body rushing into the closet and closing it while Natasha fought off the bad guys with guns and knives. The grunts and growls coming from outside made every second a dreadful nightmare.

"Oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God oh God oh-" you found yourself whispering as your knees touched your chest, your arms wrapping around your shivering legs and your eyes on the verge of squeezing shut tight right when the closet door opened.

You and the man watching you exchanged a glance for one silent second before you were trying to crawl further back in the closet. He was faster. You felt his hand wrap around your neck- forcing all the warning alarms to go off- and throw you out.

Had your motor response been even a smidge better, you were pretty sure you would have avoided your forehead bumping into the bed frame. But for now, curses and stars in red and the strangest ringing was all that you felt as you dragged yourself under the bed, trying to get to the other side.

The man did get to you again. Grabbing your leg to pull you out. "What the fuck do you want?!" You cried out your lungs while smacking your foot into his face, putting him off balance for a second; enough for the Black Widow to pivot around the leg of the bed, wrap his head in her thighs and smacking the living daylights out of him.

At first, the silence was a bubble of relief where you tried to breathe as much as you could, trying to find a footing as your disoriented brain swerved. But the low rumble made you realise it wasn't you causing you to go mad but the house shivering before it was to collapse.

"What's happening?" You questioned your sanity with wide eyes before your eyes followed the dust raining down from the cracks forming in the ceiling.

"Keosha," Natasha announced, her eyes stuck on the ceiling, her arms extending to grab you, her chest heaving with all the intended workout she'd just got, "get out. Come on, get ou-"

Her words were dissolved by the concrete coming crashing down, her instincts forcing her to throw you away from the point of impact but getting trapped under it herself.

What she did not expect was finding herself still breathing, her limbs intact, no pain except for whatever bruises had started forming in the fight. Her sweaty shivering body tried to regain the hold to reality, finding herself bent in a ball as the concrete that was supposed to kill her five seconds ago floated above her. Her eyes- for the very first time in front of a witness- showed true horror at the sight before they went away from the concrete to look at you lying at the other side with your back on the floor, your knees up, your elbows planted while your hands were up in the air as you grunted.

It took some time for the Black Widow to realise you were the one who had just saved her. Somehow you were keeping all of that killer rock in place right before it could hit her. How?

"Get...out!" you hissed through your teeth, the scrunch of your nose giving it away, "c-can't hold-"

You didn't have to say it twice. Natasha crawled from under there and dragged you to her side, letting the concrete slide off and destroy the west wing.

"Natasha, can you hear me," a voice crackled in her ears, "We're here. Get to the roof. We'll take care of the rest."

"Keiko. Brunn."

"Right behind you!" Brunn answered.

You and Natasha ran for the roof with the Black Widow taking down whatever she could find, this time not holding back and using guns when she had to. You two almost made it to the roof till one of the men caught you at the entrance, holding you by the throat with a gun pointed to your head. "The girl goes with us or she dies," the man threatened.

You looked at all the worry on Natasha's brows vanish without a trace, the bloodied pale face surrounded by fire suddenly very calm, her gun not rising above the waist in her hand.

"Let her go or you die."

Scratch the previous statement. It was Natasha Romanoff who threatened to make a negotiation with the calmest face that could scare you for years to come. Her eyes met yours before flickering to look to her left in a blink-and-you-miss motion.

"No?" she asked with a colour of innocence appearing for a mere second before her gun- right where it had been frozen- shot a hole through the man's leg, making you dash to your right to give her a clear shot at the head, painting the wall red.

The stench of murder was all around you and all you could do was keep your mouth shut to not cry, take deep breaths to not puke and hold on to something as not to pass out. You didn't even remember when you got into that plane. Neither did you remember a plasmic blast taking down all the soldiers outside at once. Or register Keiko and Brunn make one soldier hold hostage for future.

All you remembered was falling on the cold floor of the Quinnjet to pass out and dream of strange green eyes you had never seen before.

.

You were in and out for the next few hours, watching everything through a daze. One fleeting moment was of Natasha talking to someone on a glass plate. "Needs...safety...I'm worried...her." You thought you saw her looking at you before passing out again. Next, you felt yourself being carried in some pretty strong arms. Through the blur, it seemed like Brunn was the one holding you. A little turn of your head and you could see Nakia upside down, walking beside you- beside Brunn. "You okay, Keosha?" Nakia's voice sang inside your head and you felt yourself cuddling to the blanket of darkness again. Next time it was neon lights covering two figures by the window in some deep conversation.

"I have my doubts."

"We need time. There are a lot of other lives at stake."

"We cannot just let them come for her."

"But we need to protect her. We have no idea what they're going to do to her if they get their hands on her."

You wanted to shout in their direction but the pain and tiredness made everything go blank again.

.

This time you finally woke up. The smell of something cooking did it for your hunger pangs, forcing your feet out of this soft bed. You stood up to feel the after-effects of that hit on your head, feeling yourself swirl a little in the head before walking straight for wherever the kitchen was.

Somehow it pissed you to have gotten out of an expensive estate to land into another expensive apartment in some city somewhere with the tall buildings blocking the view to the sunset. Warm yellow lights welcomed you to the kitchen where Keiko and Natasha sat with their devices. You could hear voices coming from the other room. One of them was Aneka and the other one Nakia. And the former did not sound happy being alive as you.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Natasha greeted you with a smile. Brunn popped his head out of the fridge to hand you a bottle of water. "How ya feeling?"

You sat down to gulp the bottle, feeling the desert in your stomach getting some much-needed rain, earning a raised brow from Natasha and a giggle from Keiko.

"I'm good," you sighed, satisfied.

"Good," Natasha declared, shutting her computer down and shifting in your direction over the barstool, "because we have lots to talk..."

...shit.

"...healer."

[snkpolls]

SnK S3E16 Poll Results (Manga Reader Version)

The poll closed with 352 responses. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Please note that these are the results of the manga reader poll. Anime only watchers are suggested not to read if you do not wish to be spoiled about certain events! Anime only viewers, click here to view your poll results!

RATE THE EPISODE 338 Responses

This episode gained a lot of positive responses with 87.6% rating it at a 5, with only a couple people not so impressed. Hopefully future episodes will keep up the high streak!

As it stands right now, this is my favorite episode from the anime. How the Beast Titan's rampage was animated was so much more horrific and impactful than the manga, I felt more sympathy with Erwin than I did when I read the manga, and the final series of scenes that depict the suicide charge were so masterfully done I felt my heart grow heavy. Absolutely spectacular. I hope the next episode is even better <3

It was fucking amazing. Perfect game, more like perfect episode

Great job all around the board imo. The rock throwing was truly horrifying either the red mist, and the screams were done perfectly

So far easily the most harrowing, depressing episode of the anime :/

Even though I knew what it is going to happen in this ep, wit has managed to surprise me. Best episode of the season so far with the first one.

Favorite episode of the series so far

It was great, but the poor animation quality really ruins some serious moments in this arc, as many people are dying

Just Perfect, the tension and release were just on point 👌

Took the crown from S2EP6 as the best of the series for me.

WHICH OF THE FOLLOWING WAS YOUR FAVORITE MOMENT? 349 Responses

A lot of attention was on Erwin this chapter and many were moved by his scenes. Most notably, his charge with his soldiers at the Beast Titan led with 28.9% respondents picking it as their favorite moment. 17.8% respondents said Levi kneeling in front of Erwin and vowing to take down Zeke was their favorite, followed by Erwin’s motivational speech at 14.3%.

Bombardment scene was made 30 times better in the anime.

It was the moment we were all waiting for, and it happened and now I'm like a deflated balloon of emotion. Thank you, Erwin.

The imagery of the fallen scouts chilled me and I loved that included Isabel, Farlan, Isle Lagnar etc but my anger towards Annie has been resurged seeing Petra's face. Female titan I'll never forgive you for wrecking Levi Squad!

Erwin and Levi's relationship is one of the most beautiful ones I have ever seen, and I was happy seeing how it was portrayed, finally. With them having cut so many of the moments that showed Erwin as human, I'm glad they took the time to draw the moment of his smile so much. Long live my Commander, I would have followed him to hell.

I was astonished at how well they adapted Levi and Erwin's scenes.  Bravo, the animation was top notch, the voice acting was stellar, like wow.

The bodies on the red background was really dark & was the part that had the most impact on me (as opposed to the manga)

erwin and levi's talk made me a lot more emotional than it did in the manga. the whole team did a pretty damn good job with this episode.

WHO WAS THE EPISODE'S MVP? 348 Responses

Unsurprisingly, Erwin gains the MVP award for this episode. Some think Levi stands out as well.

Erwin is humanity"s greatest soldier. Rest in peace, Commander.

Ono Daisuke is the goddamn mvp

Erwin made me gay

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT CONNIE MAKING A PUN ABOUT THE FALLING HOUSES? 346 Responses

28% of respondents can relate to Connie’s stressful comedic moment, with 27.5% believe he has the right to make jokes. Some are rolling their eyes or think this isn’t quite an appropriate time.

I think Connie´s joke was his own form of mental breakdown. It makes him all the more relatable to me.

WHAT WOULD YOU HAVE DONE IF YOU WERE ASKED TO JOIN THE SUICIDE CHARGE? 345 Responses

If asked to join Erwin on the suicide charge, a majority at 38.8% of respondents would have faith in the commander and hope to survive. 30.1% of participants aren’t sure what they would do, while an equal amount of people are between retreating or surrendering on the spot.

Crack a joke like Connie

If Erwin throw himself from a bridge, I would too! The fuck. Ok but being serious, being in that horrible scenario without a chance to survive, just nod and fight until the end.

Fuck it. I'm going die anyway; might as well go out swingin

cry, disassociate, and die. in that order.

Lads you would not catch me within 1000 miles of a battlefield. I'm less useful than Reiner on a battlefield, and that's saying something.

Pull a Floch and shit myself while crying

I would actually with all my heart follow Commander Erwin fucking Smith with no expectations of survival. Never have I ever encountered a man as compelling as him, real or fictional.

Sorry Erwin but... someone’s gotta keep Floch from being an ass. I’m sure you understand.

Not really but what about trying to hide closer to the wall since zeke will be throwing rocks at erwin and the others... then wait until levi is done with the monkey.

I would have never been stupid enough to join the survey corps to begin with lol

DO YOU THINK LEVI MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE TO FOLLOW ERWIN’S PLAN OVER HIS OWN? 346 Responses

41.3% of respondents believe that there was no other choice Levi could have made except to defeat the Beast Titan. 39.9% think the plan was the better of the two strategies.

It was the only viable narrative choice, but if it was a real battle retreating with as many survivors as possible might have been sensible.

Levi gave Erwin salvation by making the choice for him and gladly transferred Erwin's own burden of guilt and responsibilities onto his own shoulders. Which also why the word choice of "follow" seems iffy. Erwin is a proven master strategist and brilliant tactician, so of course you always go with his plan. BUT Levi didn't just 'follow' his plan, he made an active *choice* to implement the plan. It is Levi's plan as much as it is Erwin's.

Levi let his personal feelings get in the way of determining what would be the best hope for Humanity's survival.

I sincerely doubt Beastie would have let the survivors go unmolested all the way back to Wall Rose, and Levi knew it which was why he said he doesn't really expect anyone to survive this situation. Erwin had to make his last contribution to humanity in that moment, and they both knew that.

i think the plan should have been to stunt the beast, as we know that he doesn't get killed here anyway (obvs they don't know that), just buy some time ans save as many souls as possible.

HOW MUCH DID ERWIN’S INSPIRATIONAL SPEECH MOTIVATE YOU? 345 Responses

A large majority of voters are willing to believe in Erwin’s encouraging words and die by them no matter the risk.

I'LL FOLLOW YOU TO THE GRAVE COMMANDER ERWIN!!

ERRRRWWWIIIINNN!

WHO YELLED THE BEST INSULT TO BERTOLT? 345 Responses

Out of the few distracting insults, Sasha calling Bertolt a “massive pervert lord” was the best out of the three for 69.6% of respondents.

BEST SHOCKED FACE THIS EPISODE? 348 Responses

It isn’t often Levi is caught off-guard, so his shocked expression this episode was favored by 41.1% of voters. 23.3% of people thought Erwin had an expressive reaction as well.

Erwin’s face when he got hit... Wish we could’ve seen the gore though.

HOW WELL DID WIT ADAPT THE CORRESPONDING CHAPTERS? 343 Responses

There were a couple unsatisfied viewers, but overall a majority of participants believe the episode was fairly accurate to the manga.

the suicide charge was perfectly done.

that slow mo scene of the first boulder shower was amazing! and then the red mist of blood, the screams and cries of fear, pain, and death of the soldiers, the shock, despair, the ghosts of the dead soldiers, the emotion of Erwin and Levi’s last conversation, gosh this episode was beautiful in a morbid and heartbreaking way

It was very well done. It hurt, but not quite as much as the manga did.

Incredible adaptation. I’m tempted to call it flawless.

erwins soft smile after levi confirms what they must do was so special, especially since they hung on erwins face for a while

This episode was far more horrific than the manga version - the blood mist and the screams really upped the fear.

WHICH VERSION OF CONNIE'S JOKE DID YOU LIKE BEST? 346 Responses

There were a few different translations of Connie’s joke depending on the medium. 43.9% preferred Connie’s pun in the manga about Eren having a roof over his head again, while 31.8% thought Connie’s “Yeager” pun in Japanese was the funniest.

The only funny version of connie's joke is the japanese one...

HOW DID THE ADAPTATION OF ERWIN’S MOMENT OF GRIEF AFFECT YOU? 340 Responses

Erwin’s moment of grief was a somber scene for many, and over half of participants feel the adaptation tugged on their heart strings more than when they read the manga. Less than a quarter felt more sympathetic, with quite a number preferring the original manga version better.

There’s something about actually hearing his voice that made me want to cry again

I dunno, I think both mediums had different but equal impact in terms of the actual speech. The anime is very emotionally and viscerally effective, whereas with the manga you take longer to process what's in front of you at your own pace, in the privacy of your own skull. Both very moving.

Can't reproduce reading it for the first time but this was great.

I really liked it, but the manga is still more powerful for me.

Doesn't matter to me. I felt the same sorrow and overwhelmed like in the manga was a couple years ago. Great job WIT, absolutely!

I prefer the scene in the manga because of Erwin having more moments of being himself instead of colder than a summer day in Colorado, as the manga clues in more to him being a sad old man. However, Ono Daisuke’s voice acting was ON POINT. Erwin’s voice cracks like he was going to cry, the distance in his voice, it just made me cry.

I was practically sobbing on the floor, take from that what you will.

The hidden option of: Both were heartbreaking to me

KNOWING FLOCH NOW, WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON HIS BREAKDOWN? 348 Responses

Since RtS, Floch has become a paramount character in the current manga arc. Viewing his breakdown in the episode, 37.1% respondents think the moment was great in humanizing him. 18.4% respondents are less moved and found pleasure in his despair. Several were reminded why they used to like Floch and some gave praise to his seiyuu’s performance.

Back when I read the chapters, I found Floch to be annoying, now with the recent ones I really dislike him more. I still felt the same watching the episode but the seiyuu did a good job

Um, a combination of the above options I think. I was always 'meh' about Floch until his jerkface side began to show. So I never actually 'liked' him, but I certainly empathised with him at this point, and his seiyuu was definitely brilliant!

I have never liked him, really

I don't agree with his mindset in the current chapters of the manga but seeing the fucked up shit that he went through being the sole survivor and even then not being able to revive the Commander. I can see that trauma changed him to just follow Eren's instructions that he would let someone like Zeke live on but give far lesser thoughts to his actual saviour, Levi. As such, in the particular episode and the extent of the anime, I pity him and his VA did an amazing job of displaying a normal soldier's reaction.

Independently from his future actions, I think his breakdown is irresponsible and it doesn't help, given the circumstances.

Floch's a prick, but his VA was fantastic here and actually made me sympathize with him quite a bit. Can't wait to hate him again in a few eps though.

I had a lot of sympathy for him at the time in the manga, and seeing it again has made me think about how he's come to the point he has in the current story. PTSD and survivor's guilt explain a lot.

Hate him with a passion. I had forgotten that Levi actually kinda saved him, and now knowing how he wanted to kill Levi in recent chapters made me hate him even more.

I don’t give a floch

I think there still a hidden motive that Floch has since he is definitely following Eren now. I predict that in his mind he is honoring his fallen comrades by acting the way he is in recent chapters. Might be messed up externally, but I think there is more to Floch since his motives likely match Eren’s who we still haven’t quite figured just yet.

Of course we can have sympathy for someone without justifying their actions. I do sympathise terribly with Floch's trauma as the sole survivor of the suicide charge, but I do NOT accept it as a reason to become a militant ethno-nationalist. (His seiyuu was beyond amazing tho, props)

who the fuck is floch?

MARLOWE AND MOBLIT’S DEATHS ARE COMING UP AND SOME HAVE EXPRESSED THAT THEY WOULD LIKE SOME ADDITIONAL ANIME ORIGINAL SCENES FOR THEM - THOUGHTS? 347 Responses

Sadly, Marlowe and Moblit’s death scenes will be shown within the next couple episodes. 50.1% of respondents believe these scenes are impactful enough to stick with the manga while 36% would want to see the anime had something more.

Additional scene definitely for Moblit!! Poor boi is so underrated :'-(

Marlowe :( :( :(

I would definitely like to see more of Moblit, we have barely seen him this season. I feel like the only scenes we'll see him in are pre-death and post-death (we could see him as a ghost in Erwin's grief scene). Moblit deserves way more than this. Marlowe is adorable and seeing him die will be enough to break my heart, especially when you think that the only person surviving that suicide charge was not a great person like him, but the disgusting scumbag that Floch is.

WHICH SCENE FROM THE PREVIEW ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 348 Responses

A majority of readers at 69.8% can’t wait to see the infamous first battle between Humanity’s Strongest and the War Chief. 23.3% are more enthusiastic for Armin’s face-off against Bertolt. Needless to say, it’s going to be an eventful episode.

I AM NOT READY FOR SHINGANSHINA FRIED ARMIN.

Isn’t it wild that next episode we’ll likely see the defeat of all three of the Warriors? Bye Zeke, Bye Reiner, Super-Bye Bertholdt.

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS ON THE EPISODE?

This was the best episode so far that has been aired. The emotions were high, the soundtrack was impeccable, the animation/drawings were fantastic (aka Levi had emotions!!!), and it really did a good job manifesting the hopelessness of the situation to the audience.

I forgot how hopeless the situation was during all of this. The constant narrating on stones in the background and the recruits screams really showed that

My only gripes were the music choice and lack of proper facial expression (Although, maybe that's just because Isayama is amazing at expressions)

That red mist was so horrible and made everything look so gruesome, I was in shock. This episode really hit me hard, I wasn't ready to watch it and now that I have, I'm having a hard time recovering

I was HEARTBROKEN at the end of this episode. Hard enough to read the chapter, worse still to see it on screen. So much sorrow and regret for poor Erwin.

I need that piano ost

Rip Erwin. Shinzou'ed his last sasageyo.

I've never felt something watching SnK until this episode. Erwin's face during the suicide charge was something... That was the real face of fear. He knew he had to let go his dreams for the sake of humanity, unlike previous times where he used this excuse to move forward his dream.

The music and Erwins’s voice actor made it nearly perfect

WIT is playing a dangerous game with the amount of CGI they're using. It hasn't really "ruined" anything for me yet, but they're getting close.

I cried even though i already knew what would happen. Is it normal doctor ?

The episodes have just gotten better and better, and this one might just be my favorite in the series. Definitely top 3. Just fantastic execution all around. It truly managed to bring back that feeling of hopelessness. Daisuke Onoue is an absolute legend. Not ashamed to say I cried about 3 times opon rewatches.

This episode broke me. Literally. I was mourning for Erwin for a while after, still am. I thought having read the manga would prepare me somewhat for the Vow™ conversation, but holy shit. I dunno if this is in the manga but Erwin had tears in his eyes when he sat on the crate. Erwin Smith was *crying*. And his voice (kudos to Daisuke Ono!!!) just. Absolutely wrecked me. Amazing, amazing episode. The kind you badly want to rewatch again and again but can't without bolstering up your emotional strength each goddamn time.

WHERE DO YOU PRIMARILY DISCUSS THE SERIES? 332 Responses

Thanks to everyone who participated! We’ll see you again in a few days!

[mrsunny1018-blog]

Prologue

Inspired by the writing prompt When I Was A Kid, this blog is comprised of three separate fictitious stories told from the perspective of “me,” a twelve-year-old boy. The first story is about the harm of gossip, and the last two stories are two adventures. 

The following posts include images of snake and wolf, reader discretion is advised.

The Cost of Gossips 

When I saw Uncle Richard, it was a gloomy and cold day. He was sitting against a tree along a dusty road, with a battered old suitcase by his side. He was dressed in an untidy, torn jacket and a pair of scruffy blue jeans. He seemed to be sleeping, with his head against the tree and eyes closed. The bandage on his head looked so obvious compared with his messy hair.

(Originally posted by Video Blocks)

Just when I was hesitating over whether to leave to not. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a boy of my age on a bike came. When he drove near Uncle Richard, he took out of a rock from his pocket and then hurled it at him. 

“Ouch!” Uncle Richard was woken, with one hand gripping his leg. 

“Get out of the town, you murderer,” the boy yelled at him, with his hand reaching into his pocket again. 

“Hey! Yo! Stop!” I shouted. 

The boy turned his head in surprise.

(Originally posted by Getty Images)

I bent over, pretending to take the leash off Molly, who growled and snarled at him. Seeing this, the boy’s body went as taut as a bowstring. Like a thunderbolt, he dashed off and soon disappeared around the corner of the street. 

“Uncle Richard, are you OK?” I ran over to him. 

“I am fine, thank you, Daniel,” he answered, gratefully. 

I glanced at his suitcase and asked, “Why are you carrying this you?” 

He suppressed a mirthless smile. “I’ve got nowhere to go now. Mr. Jones won’t let me stay in her house anymore.” 

I looked at his badly swollen leg, with memories flooding back. 

It started from an article on a small-town newspaper about two months ago. The newspaper was owned by Mrs. Smith, an old lady who paid a few dollars for stories to whoever was willing to give it.  

（Originally posted by GRM Daily）

One day, one of her sources came in and told her that Uncle Richard was dating with Jenny Brown, a girl whom he had never met. 

“That is an excellent story for our society page,” Mrs. Smith sits at a typewriter and prepares an article. 

“A new romance is blossoming in our small town. This week, Richard James’ s heart is stolen by Jenny Brown, the most beautiful girl in our town…The young lovers were standing on a bridge over a river, kissing in the moonlight…It is so good to see young love. Best wishes to both of you. Our Anonymous Source Reporting.” 

After typing the story, Mrs. Smith reads it to herself. “What a romantic love story! People are gonna love it. We are the town’s ear to the world. It is our obligation to share them stories like this.” 

Because of this report, Uncle Richard was made fun of by his co-workers for a whole week. However, he did not pay too much attention to it. After all, it’s just gossiping. 

However, his life was changed by another report. A month later, the newspaper published a story in the crime section under the headline, “21-year-old Girl Raped, Murdered in the Regional Park.” The “girl” was Jenny Brown, who was said to have been missing for three weeks. 

After the news came out, the people of the town were horrified to hear that there was a cold-blooded murderer living among them. 

“We must find him!” 

They linked the two reports together and believed that Uncle Richard was the murderer. They called him names, threw rocks at him, wanting to drive him out of town. 

It was the last time I saw Uncle Richard. After that, he had been quietly disappeared in my world. 

One day, when I walking Molly in the park, as usual, I met Jenny Brown, who recently returned from a trip to Europe.

An Adventure in A Blizzard 

When I was in primary school, I lived in a remote village in Scotland with my family. It is located in Northwestern Scotland, with vast moors stretching far into the hill. The winners there are long and cold, with many blizzards.

(Originally posted by Pixabay)

On a winter afternoon, as usual, I left school and walked along a long, narrow path across the moors, I noticed that the weather began to deteriorate. In cold winds, thick, grey clouds began to build up over the moors. Then, the wind picked up, sending more clouds to gather. Soon, the sky was blanketed by a layer of heavy clouds. A moment later, the half-iced pellets began to fall down. They fell on my winter coat and hat and then bounced away. In a gust of cold winds, more and more snowflakes started to fall down. They fell on the long hills, on the vast, yellow grasslands, and on the path that would lead me to home. Soon, everything was covered in thick snow and the world was all white as if it was being erased around me. I scanned the horizon, in the hope of seeing my village. However, what I saw was a curtain of snowflakes flapping in the wind.

（Originally posted by Stuff.co.nz）

Under such circumstances, there was no way to know which direction to go. I tried to look for the usual landmarks, which, to my dismay, were all hidden behind the white. 

As I was walking fast, I sweated heavily, with my shirt stuck to the clammy sweat on my back. However, with the snowflakes and wind sneaking into my clothes and shoes, I began to feel that my blood cooled down and my skin became icy. I shouted hopelessly, “Mama, Papa,” but my voice was carried away by the wind. 

The walk in the snow left me quite tired out, so I decided to sit on a fallen trunk for a rest. By that moment, my toes were numb, and my clammy hands were as red as carrots. I felt my spirit was eaten away by coldness little by little. 

Just when I was trying to penetrate into the snowflakes falling down from the iron-grey sky, a glimpse of something sent a cold shiver down my spine. It was the wolf’s blue eyes. A surge of panic overwhelmed me and I couldn’t even move my legs.

(Originally posted by Esty)

As a child growing up in the wild nature, I knew that I could not show fear, so I plucked up the courage to pick up a long, thick stick and pointed at them with it, pretending that it was a rifle. However, the trick didn’t work. The wolves were drawing closer to me, with their eyes, ears, and nose pointing towards me. 

In despair, I brandished the stick and shouted at them loudly, attempting to scare them away, but it still didn’t work.

(Originally posted by WikiHow)

“Will I die here today?” 

Just as a wolf was going to jump onto me, I heard a gunshot and the wolf fell into the snow, with others fleeing away quickly. I turned around and saw my father on a horse. I ran to him and cried hard for several minutes. 

It turned out that my parents went out to look for me. My father heard me shouting and then came over to rescue me.

An Encounter in the Desert 

One morning in March 2080, when I opened the front door, I was started to see a rattlesnake curling on the doorstep. Snakes were common in a desert, as were other desert horrors like bark scorpions, wolf spiders, and tarantulas. However, this was the first time it visited my house. I grabbed a shovel and a shopping bag in the kitchen and managed to get the snake into the bag. Then, I hurled the bag towards a hill.

(Originally posted by California Herps)

“What are you doing with my bag?” An angry voice called out behind me. 

“Oh, no!” I had to get the bag back, so as not to get into trouble with my mother. 

I raced down the stairs and made a dash for the direction where the bag went. The red-rock desert stretched far into the hill that I was heading for. The dessert was basically barren, with some mesquite and cacti scattered about.

(Originally posted by Viator)

When I was halfway through my journey, dust swirled up, blurring my eyes and filling my nose. Luckily, I spotted a cave beneath a giant rock, so I crept into it to wait until the dust settled. The moment I came in, a damp, rancid smell hit me. It was the smell of rotting meat mixing with moist soil. As the cave was dark, I groped my way along one side of the cave, until my fingers touched a globular object. It was cool and wet but felt very smooth. 

“What is it?” A disturbing thought suddenly struck me, and my hair stood on end. 

“Is it a skull?!” 

The thought of a skull in a cave absolutely froze my blood. I let out a terrified scream and turned around, preparing to leave this horrible place. However, just at that moment, the “skull” spoke. 

“Hello!” 

When I heard this, I nearly wet my pants. 

Suddenly, the “skull” emitted a light. 

I turned over my shoulder and glanced nervously at it. In the failing light, it shined with a dark grey metallic luster. 

It was a globular droid.

(Originally posted by aliexpress.com)

“I found treasure in a cave!” I could scarcely contain my joy in this discovery. 

I grabbed the droid and crawled out of the cave. 

The dust, which settled thickly over everything, had stopped.  

On my way to home, the droid occasionally flashed its light and then read out a number. 

“What is it?” I thought to myself. 

“I am a droid, and I am on a mission,” it spoke suddenly, which startled me again. 

“You can read my mind!” My face was flushed with excitement. 

“Can you take me to the tallest mountain nearby? My master is going to retrieve me tonight.” 

“Master? You have a master?” My curiosity was aroused. 

Then, as the droid requested, we went to the tallest mountain in our region. On our way, I learned more about it. 

This droid was indeed carrying out a mission, that is, to detect the level of radiation of the earth. 

It turned out that fifty years ago, a war broke out because of food scarcity, with a large number of atomic bombs being dropped. The few thousand people who survived fled to deserts, the place that was less contaminated.

(Originally posted by Metro)

Some highly-intelligent creatures from another planet detected an unusually high level of radiation from the earth, so they sent dozens of droids here to see whether there were still habitable places. 

I put the droid on the mountain peak and waited for its master to descend from the sky in a shiny silver spacecraft, just like what I had seen in a movie. However, to my disappointment, nothing happened. At last, I took the droid home. 

Now, the droid still sits on my windowsill. It stares up into the space day and night, wondering where its master is.

[kiruuuuu]

Thank you so much for allowing me to conclude the unholy trilogy of Doc’s and Jäger’s mutual suffering, anon! For anyone interested, this is part 1 and this is part 2 - though in this case, neither of them are required to read the following snippet. I hope you enjoy ♥♥ (Rating E, smut/humour, ~2.2k words)

.

“You said it’s going to go away on its own”, Jäger states, frustration clearly visible in his face. He’s unable to sit still, shuffling on the chair and digging his nails into his thighs. It’s obvious he can deal with this, uh, affliction less composedly than Doc who peeks at him over his screen from the other side of the desk.

“I did say that”, he replies evenly and presses his lips together at the email being displayed on the monitor right now. “It seems I was wrong, however. A colleague has run into the same substance in California before and she seems to suggest to, um, take matters into one’s own hands.”

The German stares at him in disbelief. “I told you, I tried it, it doesn’t work. I can’t – I can’t finish.”

Doc is fucking tired. They completed a mission earlier that day which almost went off without a hitch, a clean infiltrate and extract, no casualties, an extremely satisfying result. Except for the fact that he and also Jäger breathed in some of the unidentified powder Smoke stirred up when he erroneously shot one of the crates standing around. The effect was… immediate. The two exchanged scandalised gazes to confirm it wasn’t just them feeling like this and awkwardly adjusted their uniforms, taking extra care not to undress in the presence of their colleagues. Doc claimed not to be affected to the rest of their team and hid in the safety of his office whereas Jäger made the mistake of mentioning the, er, effect of the drug to Bandit. Resulting in both of them being chased around by a horny German hoping to get some simply based on the fact that neither of the two have their most intimate parts under their control.

Therefore, Doc is sitting at his desk with a raging erection which is slowly starting to become painful. He kept his hands off it whereas Jäger didn’t display the same kind of self-control, attempted to alleviate the problem himself yet only seemed to make it much worse. It apparently takes all his discipline not to expose and satisfy himself right then and there.

“Well what did she do?”

Doc squints at the monitor. “She… made her girlfriend very happy that day, it seems.”

“Oh my fucking God. I’m going to implode, Doc, I need to do something about this.”

“From what she tells me, an orgasm diminishes the effects and encourages blood flow, so it’s recommended. With her, it lasted the entire day but she, well, seems to have ingested more than we did. So we might be lucky and it’ll all be over in a few hours.”

“It’s been at least two hours. My dick is going to fall off in the meantime. Does she have any suggestions on how to actually get off?”

“The use of specially designed toys seems to be -”

“Fuck, yes. Great idea, I’ve got tons of those at home, I hope you do, too. Otherwise, good luck suffering!” Jäger jumps up and eagerly turns to the door but stops when Doc calls his name the way a parent would call a misbehaving child.

“You’re not going to drive in this state. You’re a liability. Besides, you’d draw attention to yourself – even more than you already did – and I refuse, outright refuse to let anyone know about this. I have a reputation to lose. You can’t disappear right after a mission, not when the only explanation you can offer is your heightened state of sexual arousal necessitating immediate care.”

Jäger pauses and looks down at the very obvious bulge in his trousers. “I guess that’s not an acceptable excuse to go home early, is it?”, he responds sadly and sinks back onto the chair. “So what then? I don’t suppose you’ve got some dildos in your office?”

“If it’s just for a few hours more, there shouldn’t be any lasting damage. How about you just ignore it for now and -”

“I can’t. It got worse when I tried to jerk off and now it’s just… I can’t even think straight. It’s like when it’s spring or summer and everyone’s wearing short sleeves or no sleeves at all, oh God, all those pronounced muscles and sweaty bodies, and the -”

Doc pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Look. From the way it sounds, having a partner might do the trick.”

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting Dom touch me. He’d probably just tease me and then my dick will really fall off.”

A sigh. “While I do agree that he’s not the answer, there’s an alternative. We could just…” He makes a vague gesture and earns an uncomprehending stare in return. He wonders briefly whether Jäger’s brain always commits suicide every time he’s aroused, which admittedly would explain quite a few things, and simply gets up to lock the door before reclaiming his seat. “We can keep this among ourselves.”

Now he finally gets it. “But you said we were never gonna do this again, did -”

“I did say that. Once again, I appear to have been mistaken as I could not factor in the frankly ridiculous coincidence of the two of us finding ourselves in this predicament. Now get over here and shut up.” He observes Jäger basically jumping to his feet once more, a mixture of relief and excitement written in his features as he straddles Doc, already unbuttoning his own jeans. Now that his erection is freed, there’s nothing stopping him from touching it and suddenly Doc has an involuntarily randy German masturbating on his lap. He sighs and rolls the chair around a little, gathers a pair of latex gloves, a bottle of lubricant and, just to be safe, a few condoms. Jäger is so blissfully stroking himself that he barely notices anything happening around him, leaning back and propping himself up on the heavy desk behind him as he starts bucking his hips into his fist.

Doc tries not to let the sight get to him, puts the white gloves on and covers his fingers in lube before swatting Jäger’s hand away so he can wrap his own around the rock hard member. His own erection twitches at the contact, at the feel of it in his hand, at the warmth and the moan that has Jäger arch his back and for a second, Doc considers joining in. But no, he’s the responsible one here; in a way, Jäger is his patient and his well-being is in his hands – literally. He can’t allow his own lust to take precedence. Slowly, he begins sliding his fist up and down, wrenching a few pleading whispers from Jäger, who seems wholly lost in his pleasure, before he speeds up and tightens his grip.

It seems that he’s not doing anything wrong if the broken sounds stemming from Jäger’s throat and the way he trembles are any indication: the German’s eyes have rolled back into his skull and his hips meet Doc’s every stroke yet he doesn’t seem to be getting any closer for some reason. He’s almost there, just shy of the real thing, claws at the wooden surface under his hands, squirms under the decisive touches and moans continuously – but he doesn’t come. Maybe he needs more stimulation or just a different kind. Doc has his patient undress his lower half and lie down on the desk, adds copious amounts of lube and pushes one finger inside Jäger without asking, prompting a disbelieving gasp which almost immediately morphs into a throaty moan at the sensation.

Doc manages to work three fingers into him before giving up. He has to admit, Jäger takes them like a champ, grinds against them in a manner sensual enough to appeal to Doc’s most primal urges – and if he’s even more frank, he’s starting to understand Jäger’s desperation earlier. The incessant pull of his arousal is nigh impossible to ignore by now, being fed by the view in front of him, Jäger’s unbridled enthusiasm and the fact that it’d be so easy to just…

“Do it”, Jäger tells him breathlessly as if he’s read his thoughts. “Fuck me. You know you want to.”

He does want to. How did Jäger know? The lower half of his body throbs in anticipation and it’s a matter of seconds to discard the slippery gloves, open his trousers, rip open a wrapper and roll on a condom before he can finally, finally sink into this tight, delicious heat. Both of them are moaning now, Jäger wraps his legs around the Frenchman’s waist and pulls him in until he’s fully buried inside and it’s divine. Never before in Doc’s life has anything felt this good, his dick is pulsing gratefully and when Jäger murmurs: “Oh shit, yeah, that’s so fucking hot.” – Doc can only agree.

Right away, they chase their own release, Doc snapping his hips forward relentlessly and Jäger meeting his hard thrusts with his own hips while wanking with abandon. It’s carnal and unrestrained, both of them letting loose in favour of simply enjoying the bright hot pleasure their movements cause. Doc’s brain cares not for any of his previous concerns and is utterly preoccupied with the feel of Jäger’s insides, the sensation of him clenching around him, the fast thrusts that promise relief without delivering.

By the time Jäger comes, they’re both soaked in sweat, have foregone more dramatic motions for the most efficient ones, Doc slamming into him with short, deep thrusts as Jäger writhes and mewls and then – then he reaches his climax with a strangled cry. His body comes alive once more, pulls Doc in and speeds up his hands before ejaculating, spurting all over his t-shirt without a care in the world. He’s loud and it seems violent, makes him shudder and gasp for air but all Doc cares about are the contractions around his own cock. He continues his thrusts throughout Jäger’s orgasm, reaches deep with every thrust, his own climax in sight, treading ever closer to the edge.

When he’s finally pushed over, Jäger is fully hard again and moving against him insistently, grinding on him as an overwhelming sense of relief washes over Doc, his release sweet and brutal simultaneously. It’s elating and forceful at the same time, has his thighs tremble and unknown noises escape his throat. Wave after wave hits him as he comes deep, feels himself throb as Jäger almost rides him by now.

There’s a brief moment of clarity, right when the heavenly feeling subsides, a few sober seconds during which Doc’s mind regains control of him and thinks: This isn’t good. We should stop doing this.

But he’s still hard and even worse, he’s still aroused and Jäger is looking at him with a glint in his eye. “Let me suck you off and then eat you out.”

And both of those options sound equally appealing right now.

.

When he can think clearly again, he’s sitting on the floor in front of his desk, legs outstretched and naked, the upper half of his clothes rumpled and messy and his penis finally, finally not stiff anymore. He’s physically exhausted to a worrying extent, probably dehydrated and faintly dizzy. He’s pretty sure Jäger is draped over his chair behind him in an uncomfortable position as the low whining seems to come from that direction.

“I’m never sleeping with anyone again”, Doc mumbles and earns an affirmative grunt from the puddle behind him.

“I can’t feel my legs. I didn’t even know you could do that. The last position was -”

“Yes. Let’s not talk about it. Ever.”

The room reeks of sweat and sex, there are clothes, a troubling amount of wrappers as well as actual condoms and a long day’s worth of gloves strewn about and both of them are in desperate need of a shower. He’s not sure how much time has passed or whether they were so loud anyone heard it and dearly hopes no medical emergencies arose in the meantime. When there’s a knock on the door, he can’t even bring himself to panic due to the deep-seated fatigue weighing him down.

“Doc? Is everything alright in there?” It’s Blitz, sounding concerned – he has all reason to, is probably looking for his teammate and finds it odd that the office would be locked.

“Splendid”, Doc calls back drily which is accentuated by a snort from Jäger. Neither of them are moving.

“Can you – can you unlock the door?”

“I’d rather not, if I’m honest.” Another snort. There is no way he’s letting anyone see them in this state, wrong conclusions would be drawn and God knows he’s suffered under too many of those already. He’s only recently managed to convince his close family that Jäger and he are neither secretly married nor about to marry nor together in the first place – the last thing he needs would be workplace gossip on top of that.

“It’s just… Bandit was, uh, doing inappropriate things in front of the door and Tachanka found him. And he said that there was something going on inside which -” A pause. “Look, I don’t mean to pry or judge, but… during work? Really?”

Doc is so. Fucking. Tired.

[sherlockmonkeesstartrek]

If You Could Only See Me (Part 1)

(Posted this on ‘Some Small Fics’, but decided to put it on here instead.)

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Based on the Hollies, mentions the Beatles

Finished: Yes!!!

Summary: Niki grew up with a boy named John in Liverpool. Spending much of her life with him and his band, in 1966 she fell in love with the front man of another band.

Or… Did she?

Chapter 1: The Present

The first thing I become aware of is a cut down my bottom lip. I don’t remember when I got it. My lips haven’t been broken, though it’s cold enough to make them all chapped. It doesn’t hurt. I gnaw on it slightly, but nothing. All I feel is the sensation of skin missing, broken in one place. I run my tongue over it, tasting the tender inside flesh.

I don’t recall it bleeding, nor anyone biting it. Aww, that would be hot. I’d run my tongue over it and know exactly who’d done it to me, who’d made me bleed. Alas, things like that haven’t really happened for a while. Allan’s been decidedly vanilla, if he’s been at all interested in that, and I’ve been ok with it. We’re just too tired at the moment. This week has been non-stop. We were on tour. We only got back yesterday in the early hours of the morning and yet we both had to work once we’d gotten a bit of sleep. Today, we’ve nothing to do, and though it might be nice to finally be intimate, since I’ve missed that a lot, I can’t even bring myself to sit up, never mind wake him and make out. Even if I were to wait for him to wake up, I’d probably fall back to sleep and forget. Really, it’s bad at the moment, not between us, just together, we’re hopeless.

That doesn’t stop me from dreaming, however. As I turn onto my stomach, my eyes shut tight, my bones creaking, I think about having him. I ache for it, I do, almost as much as I ache for sleep. I think about him having me, pushing me up against the cold walls of the shower while a hot spray cleans us both, yet I am content in the prospect of being turned on my side, my leg hooked over Allan’s and him lazily fucking me like that. I feel his body over me, a leg up by my butt, an arm over my shoulders, his nose buried in my neck. His warm breath spreads over the base of my skull.

You know what? I’m perfectly happy to just fall back to sleep now, imagining all the wonderful ways Allan could have me. I imagine that he already has and we are drifting off in the wake of a post-climax glow.

Content, I shuffle onto my side, careful not to move Allan too much. He is deep in a well-earned sleep. I would hate to be the one to wake him. I cannot, however, ignore my urge to press a kiss on his cheek. I pry open my sleep-lined eyes to make sure I’m aiming for the right place, and the sight that greets me causes my brain to falter. It’s quite sunny and bright. I must’ve slept for much of the morning. My eyes take a moment to adjust, but even before they have, the blurry, unfocused view presents something very wrong.

Fair hair in place of dark brown. Facial hair where I know there to be none. A mouth like that of a hamster’s and a thin, pointed nose and a long face, all of which I recognise, but not as Allan. No. I find myself in bed, about to kiss the cheek of his best friend. My eyes dart around. I realise I’m not even at home. What the hell!

Groggily, I sit up. My stomach turns. Am I that girl? Am I such an awful person to have unconsciously slept with my boyfriend’s best friend? I am well aware of the fact that I’m not a particularly ‘good’ person. I’ve had my fair share of selfish, rude and generally awful acts, and not all of which I can attribute to the fact that I live in an era now where certain things are more accepted than others- after all, I’ve been surrounded by rock stars all my life, bad behaviour taught or learnt, I’ve always been around it. This, however, I don’t remember at all. I’ve always been loyal and faithful. I’d never sleep with anyone other than Allan (unless he said I could, of course) least of all with Graham fucking Nash. Of all people!

Was I drunk? Was I high? I seriously consider it, though I don’t drink nor take drugs. I don’t even remember being anywhere I could’ve got spiked at. I was at home last night. And Graham hates me as much as I do him. Why would he even try to spike me? Perhaps he didn’t, and the night was just so awful, I blocked it from my memory. But what, what in the world would have persuaded me into Graham Nash’s bed? Why am I even at his house?

Oh, this is all too weird. I feel sick to my stomach with shame and guilt, though I’m sure I didn’t knowingly sleep with Graham. No one is going to look at this situation and see where I am coming from. Everyone will think me a liar.

While I try to think up some way out of this awful circumstance, I consider the big bedroom, the double bed. Actually, I’ve got to say, this doesn’t look anything like Graham’s place. Are we at a hotel? The leaking, built in wardrobes and messy cluttered beside tables tell me no. Are we at a friend’s place? The fact that I see trinkets belonging to Graham, as well as several clothes I’ve seen him wear, I guess that is a no too. Weird. More than weird. The nauseous feeling doubles. Nothing, nothing is right.

On the bedside table closest to me, I’m shocked to find my usual assortment of necklaces and bracelets I hardly ever wear. They’re all presents I keep in the draws of a small mirror jewellery box I’d had since I was a young girl. That sits at the very back of the table. In front, my two slender watches are dumped, one with a gold face that my sister gave me, the other with a grey, leather strap from my dad. They curl around each other like intertwining snakes, the grey one on top, as it was the last one I wore. In front of those are my two current notebooks. One is a hardback with gold polka dots on its cover, while the other is leather bound with engraved silver letters reading ‘notes.’ Both mine, both half full of meaningless scrawls written in my special black and silver fountain pen which sits atop the leather bound one, diagonal with the lid off. My wallet and keys are piled beside a lamp with a pearlescent white shade.

Not everything is mine, though. Attached to my keyring is a key I don’t recognise. It doesn’t open any door I’ve ever had to unlock. And there is a ring on top of my jewellery box. It has a twisted effect on it that makes it look similar to rope. I was never gifted anything even remotely like that, and I’d never buy myself a ring. I don’t wear them.

This is so uncomfortable. So unsettling. Why the hell is all my stuff here? Why would I have brought it? Even if it was just one of these things, why would I have had the impulse to bring it with me?

It gets even worse when cast my gaze to the floor. I had hoped to see a set of clothes I’d taken off last night- because it becomes apparent to me very quickly that I am not actually clad in anything apart from the bedsheets right now- which would make a speedy exit more possible. Unfortunately, I am faced with several day’s worth of my own clothes, dumped on the floor. I may be untidy, but I rarely leave that much lying around. And I certainly don’t leave my things all over someone else’s bloody floor. The clothes that aren’t mine, mixed in all the mess, I know to be Graham’s, about a week’s worth.

My tired, overwhelmed mind asks, ‘did I say here all week?’ I shake that thought away. I know what I’ve been doing all week. The band has been on tour and I went with them. Technically, Graham’s stuff shouldn’t be here either, unless he leaves his stuff all over the floors when he goes away. But that opens up even more questions I don’t have the capacity to even consider.

I have to prevent myself from screaming in confusion as I look up at the wall. A calendar hangs on a single, bent pin pushed into the wall paper. It shows a lovely sunset over some American horizon, as well as telling me that it’s September 1967, the same month, year, even day- since someone has ticked the days past- as when I went to sleep. Just… what?

As I stare helplessly at it, I feel something crawl up my back. The mattress behind me dips and a pair of arms wrap around me, lips brushing the back of my ear.

“You know we don’t have to get up yet, Luv.” Graham’s distinctive voice tells me that this is no dream. It’s as real as it can get. I feel his breath hitting the back of my neck, his words vibrating into my skin. He called me ‘luv.’ I shiver.

“No.” I mutter, “I do.” I go to toss the duvet off my body, when I remember that I’m still naked. No way Graham is going to get to see any more than he has already. I reach down beside and grasp a thick, grey jumper to cover my nakedness. As I put it on, I push Graham’s hands off of me. I see the surprise in his expression, but he still tries to be cool.

“Oh, at least don’t get dressed.” He groans. I shoot him a filthy look as I pull the duvet from me and kick my legs off the bed. Before I stand, I see a mixture of confusion and concern in his eyes. It looks very uncharacteristic for him, really unsettling. It’s like he genuinely doesn’t get why I’m suddenly so angry, like he doesn’t remember who I am, not only to him, but to his best fuckingfriend. Why, why would I ever be so friendly to him the morning after I’d cheated on the man I loved with him?

My legs feel weak as I stumble around the bed in search for a bathroom. Upon getting to my feet, a great pressure as heavy as an elephant weighs down on my bladder. I need to pee, yet have no recollection of where the loo is.

From behind me, Graham pipes up, “What are you…” I hear the swipe of the duvet being dragged off him too. The floor creaks a little as he stands up and his bare footfalls pad across it, heading towards me, “Are you ok?” With him trying to follow, I quicken my search, finally catching glimpse of tiles glinting in the low light feeding in through an ajar door. I push it open and leap in. The lock on it looks ancient and squeaks stiffly as I try to put up a wall between me and him. After putting all my weight behind it, I manage to pull it closed, finally feeling safe.

That is until I flick the light on and turn around. On a shelf on the wall, shower products are lined up. Many are brands I use, including a perfume I (try to) wear every day. My toothbrush stands in a translucent red cup beside the sink, with another one crossing over it.

As much as I need to pee, I also need to have a good scream. I don’t, I just knot my fingers in my hair and pull. I must be going fucking crazy.

But so is Graham. He calls in a half joking, half concerned tone, “Will you open up, Luv? I need to piss!”

“Fucking wait!” I squeal furiously. I cannot believe he’d think I’d ever open the door. Having sex is one thing. Doing your fucking business in front of someone is entirely another, something most people never do. Even angrier, I add, “And stop calling me ‘luv.’”

He falls silent. I pee in peace, though I can feel his bloody presence on the other side of that door. I can practically hear his brain struggling to find something else to say. To calm myself and try to piece together what that fuck is going on here, I recall the day previous.

In the early hours of Saturday morning, Allan and I had gotten home and fell asleep on the sofa. Neither one of us, once the acceptable morning hours came, wanted to wake, yet we heaved each other up with false words of encouragement and kisses. We almost made out when we shared a shower, but once more we were too tired and to concerned about the rest of the day for it to turn too interesting. I went to work dressed in the few clean clothes that awaited me at home after the tour, was hungry as soon as I got there as I’d skipped breakfast and I didn’t end up eating until lunchtime. When I came home, Allan was making dinner. We sat in front of the TV and promised each other we’d do nothing tomorrow, since we really had nothing on. Before conking out once more on the sofa, I persuaded Allan it was best we actually got into bed, so we dragged each other up the stairs, took off some, but not all, of our clothes, and lost consciousness almost as soon as our heads hit the pillows.

I didn’t go out. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Graham, or any of the band, since those early hours of the morning we came back from the tour. I certainly didn’t turn up at his… or whoever’s house, nor did I bring all my stuff with me to throw all over the floor… or set up on the bedside table… or stand on the shelf of the bathroom. This doesn’t make any sense at all.

Ok, if it weren’t for all my shit being here, I could explain this whole situation away, chalk it up to my first experience with sleepwalking or- more likely- an awful lack of any judgement. Even though the implications of that is pretty bad, I’d take having to get down on my knees and beg Allan to take me back despite me having slept with his best friend over… whatever I can call this fucking mess.

I dread heading out of the small, cool room into the oddly cosy bedroom, where Graham stands in wait for me, but I do, without hesitation. I’ve decided, I’ve got to see Allan. I have to explain to him what happened, even if I don’t know myself. I just feel like everything will fall into it’s right place if I see him. He’s always been the sensible one, the shy, sane one out of us two. Even if he’ll kill me, I’ve got to see him.

As I walk passed Graham, he caresses my cheek tenderly. Something else that I don’t get right now is why he’s being so… nice. Has he fallen for me? Poor boy has slept with me once and cares about me now? How sad. I brush him off as I look for a pair of trousers; I won’t bother with underwear. I just want to get the fuck out of here.

“Are you ok?” He asks again, his voice now displaying an undercurrent of frustration. I don’t answer, which doesn’t shut him up as I had hoped, “Bad dream?”

A wash of defensiveness rushes over me. Had I the ability to form coherent sentences I would’ve retorted, asked why the fuck he’d think I’d ever tell him if I’d had a restless night. He should assume as much. I have been in his bed after all.

Then he adds, “You used to get them when you were a kid, didn’t you?”

And I can’t hold myself much longer.

“What?” I spit. He looks wholly bewildered at my reaction, unable himself to think of an answer. I turn back to pulling on a pair of leggings just as he pulls be back into conversation.

“Niki, seriously, are you ok? You’re scaring me.” “I’m scaring you?” I parrot, furiously, then calm a little, “Look, whatever happened last night, can we forget about it. I’ve got to…”

He cuts in, “What happened? Are you sure you didn’t have a bad dream?”

“No, I fucking didn’t!” I cry. I’m getting nowhere! I want to get the fuck out.

Still stunned, he tries to calm me by suggesting, “Look, let’s just get up… have some breakfast, ok? I’ll cook.”

It’s in that moment, I realise he’s not going to get it, he won’t leave me alone. I don’t know what’s got him so clingy, but I have to take a different approach to this. Without saying anything, I nod in agreement and slowly sit on the bed as though I’ve calmed. He then tells me he’s just going to pee, giving me a small kiss before he goes. He doesn’t close the door properly- fucking gross- but he can’t see me, so I dart with nimble, silent movements, picking up a pair of socks off the floor as I make for the corridor outside of the room. I hurry down the stairs so quick I almost trip over my own movements.

Luckily, the front door is right at the bottom of the stairs. Unluckily, I’m stumped once again by what I see. There are two other doors, one leading into a living room, the other into a kitchen. More trinkets, more clothes, more décor meet my eyes. In the space between them, the tiny hallway at the bottom of the stairs, several coats hang on metal hooks. Some I know to be mine, one I wear practically daily, a blue trench coat with deep pockets big enough to hold A5 notebooks, which hangs in front of all the others. I pick that coat up, pull it on, then look despairingly below the others. There is a messy rack of shoes, again, a mixture of Graham’s and mine. I choose a pair of boots I can slip on and walk in without doing them up.

Suddenly, I hear Graham’s footsteps pound down the stairs. I peer over my shoulder, panicked. He stands three steps from the bottom floor, pulling on a flowy beige shirt, decorated with a series of hippy bead applique around the neck line. Other than that, he’s naked. Like a kid- and for the first time in my adult life- I shy away from the sight, instead looking desperately at the door.

“Niki, come on, it’s Sunday. Where the fuck are you going?”

Worked up, panicked and desperate, I clear my tear-clogged throat to reply, “To see Allan,” before swiftly pulling up the latch of the front door and squeezing through the tiny crack I open it to. There are a small set of three steps I almost hurl myself down, but I manage to grasp hold of a banister and safely get down onto the pavement.

Shit. I didn’t quite think this far. I’m faced with a street I don’t know, a set of houses I’ve never seen, no informative street signs and no sense of direction. I don’t even know if I’m in London! I mean, I assume I am. I look around at the other buildings surrounding and… I guess I am. But I’m hopeless. I’ve no idea where I am, I’ve no idea where Allan is, I’ve no idea where my home is. Basically, I’m lost, running from someone I think I’ve slept with. Graham will no doubt be following me out any second, so I have to be gone, but I don’t know where. Fuck!

I thrust my hands into my pockets and speed walk in a direction that looks as though it might lead to a main road. If I can get a taxi, I might be able to try and work out where the hell I am and go from there.

Then, as I’m hurrying along the quiet street, my fingers clasp around something in my pocket. I can feel coins, a tissue, and then something hard, like cardboard, with a dip in the middle. The dip seems to be made up of sections, many, thin section. I recognise it just by its feel. It may only be that old address book I got given a while back, but it feels like a lifesaver. I’m so glad that, not only do I always have it on me, I always have a pen too. I write down the details of all my friends in it, anyone important that I’ve met, anyone I want to stay in contact with. I also have mine and Allan’s home address in there, because I’m awful at remembering it. For once, I’m so glad I can be absentminded and write everything down. I pull the book out and flick through it’s pages.

Allan is there! My god, I could cry. I don’t, because I’m on a mission, but I could. I really could just sit down on the side of the road and bawl my eyes out. To stop myself, I walk a little quicker and glance, every so often, at a different page of my book. There are names in there that I do not know, people I’ve never met before. By Allan’s name, there is a someone called Jen with no address, no number, no last name. On the ‘E’ page, Eric Haydock is written in my handwriting. He was the old bassist for the Hollies before Bern, before I’d met the band. I was never acquainted with him, so why was he in my book, with a number scrawled there too? That’s not too weird, I guess. Of all the things that has happened today, finding a name in a book is hardly even shocking. What is annoying, however, is the feeling that I’m missing people. I can’t think who. It’s like they’ve been wiped from my book, so they’re wiped from my memory too.

It takes me a while to find somewhere I can hail a cab. One pulls up and the driver, a rough-spoken man, seems to know the address as I read it out to him. He knows the street.

“’s not too far from here.” He says and pulls out onto the road. The amount of traffic is minimal. People don’t usually go out on Sundays. I’m thankful, though I also half wish the journey would’ve taken longer. As soon as I’d done my part of speaking, placed my mission in someone else’s hand for the moment, a tear runs down my cheek. Once the first one is out, a whole stream follows. I bawl helplessly into my hands, unable to organise my thoughts, unable to see a clear course of action. It dawns on me, as does everything else, that seeing Allan may solve nothing. I don’t know what could possibly happen.

Mostly, I wish the journey was longer, so I’d have enough time to dry my tears before I go and see Allan. It is, however, not too short so that I don’t get to take in the surroundings. This is London, of course. The black cab gave it away. It’s a part I’m not properly familiar with, but at least I’m somewhere, a city, that I know. That narrows the number of unknowns down. Not too much, still too much to count, but I’ll take anything, anything that makes me feel more comfortable.

We end up down a street that looks pretty much the same as the one I’d escaped from. The driver helps me find which house exactly is Allan’s- I lean over to the front of the cab and show my address book to him, while he points out homes in hope that I can read the number beside the front doors. I then get out and find myself alone, standing on the doorstep of a nice looking home, beside a car in the driveway. I get that feeling, as if it ever left, that something is very wrong, but I’m still full of hope. I knock on the door.

Allan opens it pretty quickly. God, I almost cry when I see him, his dark, curly hair, his narrowed brown eyes adjusting to the light from outside, the half-smile on his lips. Without thinking twice, without even looking at him twice- I don’t need to, he looks so normal, which is such a pleasant change for me- I throw my arms around his neck and bury my face in his chest. I manage not to cry.

“Erm… hey Niki.” He mumbles, awkwardly. Almost instantly, that feeling of normality, the comfort of familiarity fades away. His arms hang loosely around my waist and he parts the embrace really quickly. He has yet to kiss me or even invite me in. “Are you ok?”

“Yes…” I say automatically, before my brain kicks in, “No… I’ve really no idea, Luv. I just need to see you and…” tears threaten again, so I bite my lip.

Allan seems like he doesn’t know what to do. It’s very unsettling. He knows me… or knew me, so well. Unsteadily, he steps aside and gestures, “Come in.”

How can he be as confused as I am? I hate it. As I walk through the dark hallway, I glimpse him to make sure he is my Allan. He’s dressed in a button up shirt he probably slept in and a pair of dark, soft-looking trousers with an elasticated waist that he no doubt pulled on to answer the door. He rarely wears much in bed, or, at least, he never did with me. As he shuts the door, I notice faint lines in his hair, which looks to me like he’s brushed it a little. He must’ve been awake before I turned up, yet it’s early on a Sunday. What reason would he have to be up?

He slips in front of me and guides me into what appears to be the only lit room, a joint kitchen/living space. A low, orange light beats down over in the living area, where two brown sofas are positioned at 90-degree angles from each other. The windows are all covered with brown blackout blinds, but floral curtains are already drawn letting in a little sunlight from outside. The rest of the room is mostly in darkness until Allan stands in the door way and lets me walk in. He flicks on the rest of the lights.

“Sorry.” I hear him say, “Jen’s not up yet.”

Jen? That girl in my address book. That’s why she didn’t have an address or number attached to her name. She lives here? With my Allan? My heart thumps like Bobby Elliot banging his drums on stage of a Hollies concert. Still, I don’t have much time to connect all the dots. Allan continues talking.

“Take a seat. You want something to drink?”

Allan hasn’t sounded this much like he was playing host since that first night he asked me round to his place. That was early 66. He was so stupidly shy, and sweet. So nervous. Probably because he knew I was taken, technically, by John Lennon.

John. The Beatles. That’s who was missing in my address book. That’s who I’d forgotten. My John, my Paul and George and Ringo. The boys I’d grown up with. How could I? How could they be written out of my history? My whole existence, my past, I could feel it slip away and nothing replaced it. I have no idea who I am.

Allan’s voice steals me away from my sudden crisis, “Niki?”

I realise I haven’t answered him.

“Erm, no thanks.” I say, taking a seat on the sofa by the arm. He’s very awkward and cautious and quiet as he perches on the other end, facing me. I try to smile at him. The best he can do back is half grin.

“I… um… just got a call from Graham.” He tells me. He sounds oddly calm about it.

“Oh God,” I groan in embarrassment and shame, “What did he say?”

His eyes dart away from mine, “He said you weren’t feeling yourself. And… you wanted to see me?” He sounds confused about the latter.

“Why would I not?”

“Well, Graham…”

Before he can continue, I roll my eyes in frustration and snap, “I’m sorry, but last time I checked, Graham wasn’t my fucking keeper.” Allan looks taken aback. It must be the first time I’ve ever spoken to him like that. We’ve rarely ever fought, and I’ve rarely ever been so angry. He has, but he hardly ever has taken it out on me. I feel bad. Quietly, I add, “You were,” in an attempt to remind him of us. But he takes a moment to reply.

“I don’t… understand.”

This is all very wrong. I can’t keep my cool much longer. I throw my head into my hands and mutter to myself, “Of course, you don’t, just like Graham suddenly actually cares about me and I fucking…” My voice trails off and my eyes begin to squeeze tears from the corners. I must look insane, but Allan is too polite, too caring to butt in. Calmly and fondly, he shuffles up closer, still a bit uptight, and he places a hand over my own.

“Graham… loves you.” He chuckles, lightly, though warily in case I take it the wrong way. I manage not to explode at him.

“You did.” I insist helplessly.

He doesn’t get it, of course. This whole day is so fucked up, I can’t take it anymore. I cannot stand the way he smiles softly at me, patronisingly as though I’m a kid talking nonsense.

“Of course, I do.” He says, “But in a different way. Come on,” He laughs, “Graham would kill me if I loved you like that!”

“Since when!” I growl.

Still calm, Allan responds, “Since 1950. For, like, 17 years.”

“But…” I feel my whole past being rewritten, “I only met you guys last year. I was… with the… Beatles”

Embarrassment washes over me, pinks my cheeks and laughs at me as Allan, very kindly, explains that I never met the Beatles, not properly. I’d seen them once or twice at the studio, they all had, the whole band. The only one who’d properly talked to them was Graham. That was before the whole ‘If I Needed Someone’ situation. Now the bands refused to talk to each other, and I refused to talk to them too. I didn’t know them, I didn’t have their numbers or addresses, I’d never been withJohn Lennon. Four wonderful men, huge parts of my life, my teenage years, my childhood in Liverpool, the early 60s in Studio 2. All gone, explained away. And Allan had not only summed up my entire new, confusing, alien life in around five minutes, but he isn’t as big a part of it as his best friend is. The man I had practically hated, or at the very least, tolerated on the rare occasion, was now my boyfriend, my partner, had been since we’d been old enough to understand the word.

Meanwhile, Allan was married.

A medium-heighted, wide-smiling girl with dyed blonde hair came padding slowly down the stairs, her steps so soft we hardly heard her. Jen leans prettily in the doorway and waves hello, blowing a kiss at Allan before she sees me.

“Hello Niki!” She cheerily exclaims, “I didn’t know you were coming round.”

I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge her. My eyes darted from her to down to Allan for an explanation. Then I caught sight of a glinting gold band around his ring finger.

My heart stopped beating.

“Is Graham here too?” She innocently asks. I see Allan shake his head furiously, telling her to change the subject, but the damage is already done, I’m already hurt, just by her presence, not even by her words.

“No, just Niki. Will you get some tea?” Allan deflects the question and Jen, smiling, walks over to the kitchen area. While her back is turned, he tries to ask if I want to go into another room, but he can’t even catch my gaze. I’m staring at him, not seeing. Tears burn the back of my throat.

I have to leave.

Without a word, I get up. I wrap my coat around me, hands thrust into the pockets, and I head for the door.

“Niki.” Allan calls after me. I hear Jen turn around and ask what the matter is. Allan doesn’t answer her. He follows me into the hallway. I pull open the door and don’t look back, I can’t stand to, I can’t stand this Allan, this version of him who doesn’t know me as he should. This whole world is fucked. My life is now fucked.

I hop out into the street, turning my coat collars up to hide my tear stained cheeks. I’ve no idea where I am, not only physically, but mentally too.

Why, if this is my life, do I remember another as though it were real? Why, if this is not my life, do others think that it is and why has everything changed overnight? And why, if this is a dream, have I not woken up by now? Why, when I can feel very real pain right now? My chest aches, my lungs burn, my head throbs with all these questions swimming inside it. And what can I do now? I don’t have Allan to talk to. I can’t imagine unloading all this onto Graham. I don’t have the Beatles, nor Bri- Brian Epstein- who I adored. Who, who can I look to for a slice of normality?

I open my address book while standing across the road from a telephone box. I’ve walked a few blocks from Allan’s home and I’ve decided I need someone I can vent all my frustration onto, someone who could also pick me up, perhaps. A friend whose relationship with me could not have changed over the course of this switch. I file through the names in my book. They go back as far as Allan and Graham’s childhood in Salford, most I’d heard in passing conversations, almost always from Allan’s mouth, his friends, even some of his family. Being written in would suggest that I knew them too. Others, I really have no idea who they are. I skip over them. The pages fall to the ‘H’ section and there is scrawled an answer to who I could call.

Tony Hicks.

God, that boy would listen. I’m sure of it. He’ll listen to me, even if only because he is too polite and sweet to tell me to shut up. He’s kind, a good laugh, a good friend, as well as being a fucking epic guitarist. I hurry across the road, dip into my coat pockets to find some money and dial his number as I get into the phone box.

He picks up in a few rings, though it feels like forever between the last number I press and the sound of his voice. I don’t bother with pleasantries, I’m too desperate, too excited.

After he says hello, I ramble into, “Tony, it’s Niki. Do me a favour. I really need to come and talk to you, ok?”

“Ok…” He sceptically replies. He’s quiet. I think he’s been asleep. I feel bad for waking him, if I did.

“Please, if Graham or Allan phone, don’t pick up! They think I’m insane, and I might be, but I have to talk to someone.” I sound so desperate, my tone choked and hurried. I think he picks up on it. He sounds a little more awake when he speaks again, as though the fear in my voice has jogged his brain into gear.

“Are you ok?”

God, if I hear that question one more time! No, I’m not ok, I’m not. I know he’s trying to be nice. I know that everyone is, but it’s a dumb fucking question, because everyone expects you just to say yes, and if you don’t, if you say no, you look like you’re just grasping for attention. Still, maybe I want attention at the moment, just someone to listen.

“No,” I admit, “Just… please. I’ll be over soon.”

“Where are you? I’ll come and get you. That means I won’t be here if the others call.”

I sigh. It’s the first time I’ve felt content since this morning, before I turned around and realised I was locked in a hug with Graham Nash. I could cry from the relief. This may not bring my life back, it may not change anything, but Tony’ll listen to me and help straighten things out, even if he too thinks I’m crazy.

“Ok,” I say, “Ok thank you.” Then I tell him the name of the street, “It’s near Allan’s. I’ll explain once you get here.”

“OK. See you in a minute.”

I’ve no way of telling the time- I didn’t bring either of my watches. I forgot underwear, never mind a watch. It’s cold out. Bracing September air blows past me. Everything seems to hang in it, every uncertainty. I won’t know when Tony shows up; I don’t know which car is his. I don’t know what he’ll look like, who he might be with. God, he could be married for all I know.

I just let time tick by, not thinking of how slow or fast, hardly thinking at all. I watch every car that passes, every person as I stand rigidly against the wall of someone’s home. My arms are crossed over my chest, my legs crossed at the ankles. I find myself rocking to keep me warm, like a madman. A song plays in my head, ‘If I Needed Someone.’ I always liked both versions of the song. I always thought the Hollies did a good job of it, almost as good as the Beatles. I remember when they were recording Rubber Soul, I’d beg the three boys, John, George and Paul, to do the beginning of Nowhere Man for me. It was the first time I’d consciously listened to people do a three-part harmony until I started listening to the Hollies. But none of this happened.

As I say, I’ve no idea how long I stand there. Perhaps half an hour. It’s of no really matter, however, and regardless of everything, a car pulls up to the pavement down the road a bit and, though I’m several yards away, I can tell that the man stepping from it is the young-looking Tony Hicks. I practically run at him, bawling into his shoulder.

“Hey,” He croons, “What’s up?”

“Oh God,” I cry when I manage to make coherent sentences, “I’m no idea, I think I’m going crazy.”

“I highly doubt that.”

[hermitologist]

My 17 Favorite Records of 2017

Hello, Internet. Yet another year has passed, and because I’ve made a habit of making year-end lists, this old man has gone and done it again.

I listened to a veritable buttload of music this year on my morning runs, which I decided to post about on Instagram most days in a concerted effort to keep myself accountable bore every last one of my followers to death. I think it’s working.

What follows, is my list of favorites. Not “best”. “Favorite”. *My* favorite. So, spare me the “Your list sucks. WTF. I can’t believe “A Vest For Jerome” by Turd Circus isn’t on there!” comments. I’m sorry we don’t have the exact same taste in music. :)

As usual, I feel like the top 5 or 6 here are pretty carved in stone, but the last 12 and some of the honorable mentions could totally be flip-flopped depending on which side of the bed I woke up on. I actually fiddled with a few spots five minutes before posting this, which is either a testament to that or Exhibit 4,923 in my undiagnosed OCD case.

Anyways ... TL;DR. Here’s what I was into this year. I hope you find something you enjoy.

IMPORTANT: Please let me know what I might missed out on (as I’m sure there’s a ton of it), and share some of your favorites in the comments below. Thanks!

17) Japandroids - Near To The Wild Heart Of Life

This didn’t quite grab me the way Celebration Rock did, but it’s got a good number of super infectious earworms that got stuck in my brain at the top of the year. 

Listen here.

16) Sorority Noise - You’re Not As ____ You Think

Excellent “emo”with that feels like it could very easily fit into Brand New’s discography (and I mean that in a very complimentary way). Highly recommended if you’re looking for something to fill that void. 

Listen here. 

15) Queens of the Stone Age - Villains

This took a little while for this record to sink its teeth into me, but once it did, it didn’t let go. The arrangements are so nuanced that I’ve found little bits of ear candy each time I’ve listened to it, and while the mix is not my favorite, the songs are so brilliantly catchy and drumming so monstrous, I’m hooked. And Jon Theodore is the best drummer on Earth. That’s not debatable either. It’s fact.

Listen here.

14) David Bazan - Care

It’s no secret that I’m a sucker for anything and everything Bazan. His lyrics and the timbre of his voice cut to my core, and the songs on Care are no exception -- even when they’re delivered over minimalist electronica (which is not my favorite vehicle by any stretch). Another Bazan masterpiece.

Listen here.

13) Glassjaw - Material Control

This record is perfect in that it is exactly what it needs to be. It’s Glassjaw doing what they do best -- intense, vibey, groovy, heavy post-hardcore that is a logical follow-up to Worship & Tribute, while flexing and pushing enough to make it feel fresh. A tremendous return to form, and a record that was well worth the wait.

Listen here.

12) Julien Baker - Turn Out The Lights 

Sprained Ankle blew me away and knocked me on my ass, and somehow, some way, Baker has leveled up and topped that. The stripped-down “artist + guitar” intimacy is still there, but the heavy moments hit even harder because of the additional orchestration on this record. Such a promising future for her.

Listen here.

11) The Life & Times - S/T

Another excellent record from some of one of Kansas City’s best bands. There are few who do airy, melancholic, spacey, dynamic rock better than these guys. And Chris Metcalf is one of the best drummers on the planet right now -- so pockety, tasteful, and effortless. Highly recommended if you dig Failure, Shiner, Hum, Antenna-era Cave In, et al. 

Listen here.

10) METZ - Strange Peace

This beast is 36 minutes of noisy, nasty, heavy post-punk with stellar guitar and bass tones, and badass drumming that sounds like the best parts of Nirvana and Young Widows had a perfect lovechild. I dare you to listen to this record and not have an overwhelming urge to play it as loud as you possibly can and headbang until your eyes fall out of your skull.

Listen here.

9) CHON - Homey

I really enjoyed this when it came out, but it wasn’t until we spent five weeks on tour with them and got to see them shred a handful of these songs on a nightly basis that it really grabbed ahold of me. This record is stellar. Sure there are a ton of notes, but they’re all tasteful, never bogged down in painfully long prog opuses, and there’s so much feel here ... which is so rare in the new world of insanely chopped, gridded and sampled prog. The splashes of hip-hop and glitchy Prefuse 73 style electronica are a killer addition to the mix as well. This is the feel good record of the year for me.

Listen here.

8) Kendrick Lamar - DAMN.

There really isn’t another rapper who holds a candle to Kendrick at the moment, and this might be the best work of his career. I haven’t had a hip-hop record hit me like this in at least a decade. I was hooked from the second the beat dropped in DNA., got roped in even more by the slow jam LOVE., and HUMBLE. sealed the deal. What a beast.

Listen here.

7) Cloud Nothings - Life Without Sound

This record rules, but I’m not sure I can put my finger on exactly why I like it so much. It’s got tiny elements of so many bands I love or used to love without being overly referential. It’s got a melancholic vibe but never lacks energy. And it is packed with really, really well written and catchy songs without full-blown pop circus. You know you’re listening to a great record when you’re playing a deep cut and uncontrollably blurt, “Fuck, this song is good.” 

Listen here.

6) Converge - The Dusk In Us

Nobody does it better than these dudes, and it’s been that way for the better part of two decades. The Dusk In Us is yet another record a discography full of bar-setting hardcore/metal/noise records that elevate the ceiling of the genre and make everyone else sound/look bland in comparison. This one slides right into the #3 or #4 spot in that storied discography. So great.

Listen here.

5) Manchester Orchestra - A Black Mile To The Surface

This is one of those rare records that blows you away on first listen, and gets better with each subsequent listen. The former happens when the songs --stripped to their bones -- are stellar, and the latter happens when the arrangements and mix are somehow even more stellar. ABMTTS checks the shit outta both of those boxes and then some. Aaaand it was made with multiple producers, but doesn’t sound disjointed in the slightest, which seems damn near impossible. It’s the perfect Manchester Orchestra record ... “The Gold” was stuck pleasantly in my head for a majority of the year.  

Listen here.

4) Pile - A Hairshirt Of Purpose

Disclaimer: I am a late adopter of the majesty of Pile, but I am happy to announce that I am hopelessly hooked on their soulful, noisy, schizophrenic, (occasionally) dreamy, fusion of post-punk, blues, and all sorts of other good things. My entry point was Dripping, but A Hairshirt ... cemented my love for this band. It’s weird, it’s beautiful, it’s energetic, it’s heavy, it’s ethereal, and the musicianship is frustratingly good. If you know, you know ... if you don’t, just trust me. Spin it with an open mind and meet one of your new favorite bands.

Listen here.

3) Propagandhi - Victory Lap

I grew up on Epitaph and Fat Wreck Chords punk rock in the 90s, and these guys (and gal) are legitimately the only band of that era that continue to excite and inspire me. I look forward to every release, and they manage to deliver every. single. time. It’s not a nostalgia thing with Propagandhi. Chris Hannah’s lyrics, melodies, and guitar playing continue to push the boundaries of what can be done in that genre. You might expect a group of 40-year-old punks to decline or at least plateau, but they’re still on an upward trajectory and it’s  inspiring as hell. Bonus points if you’re a parent and can listen to “Adventures In Zoochosis” without tearing up. Victory Lap is outstanding -- one of their three best records without question. 

Listen here.

2) Cloakroom - Time Well

If you’ve been following me here, on Twitter, or Instagram, it’s no secret that I’ve got a massive soft spot in my heart for bummer jams -- especially bummer jams of the heavy variety. Time Well is a damn near perfect in those regards. It’s shoegazey without being tired or overly jangly, mildly doomy without being mind-numbingly boring, and fuzzy without sounding like it was recorded inside a sleeping bag. I’m pretty sure I listened to this record more than anything else this year, and after probably a hundred spins, it hasn’t lost any of its luster. It’s outstanding (and it’s got some damn tasty drumming on it too).

Listen here.  

1) Elder - Reflections Of A Floating World

My buddy Scott Evans (Kowloon Walled City vocalist/guitarist, Antisleep recording engineer/producer, multi-talented human, generally outstanding dude, recommender of many amazing bands) turned me on to these guys earlier this year by sharing 2015′s Lore with me. That record f-ing floored me. Riffs for days. Heaviness. Prog vibes. Stoner rock goodness. Dynamics. Space. Sabbath-y vocals. It checked all of the boxes. Needless to say, I couldn’t wait to hear Reflections Of A Floating World. 

ROAFW dropped in June, and it’s even better than I could have imagined. I’d wager that there are more sick riffs on this record than your favorite band has in their entire discography. I dare you to listen to this and not get a twitch to start a play air guitar. Also: How the shit do you write 15-minute songs that don’t bore people into catatonia? This is how. Just like this. Parts never drag, parts never feel like they’re just filler, and there isn’t a wasted moment in 64 minutes of music. That’s a remarkable feat in and of itself. This is a goddamn timeless record, and there’s no doubt I’ll have it in heavy rotation for the rest of my life.

Listen here.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

The Effects - Eyes To The Light

Brutus - Burst

Nate Smith - KINFOLK: Postcards From The Edge

Employed To Serve - Warmth of A Dying Sun

God Mother - Vilseledd

Slowdive - Sugar For The Pill

Hundredth - RARE

Mutoid Man - War Moans

Grizzly Bear - Painted Ruins

Quicksand - Interiors

Death From Above - Outrage! Is Now

Power Trip - Nightmare Logic

Health - DISCO3

Vince Staples - Big Fish Theory

All Them Witches - Sleeping Through The War

Code Orange - Forever

Blis - No One Likes You

Bjork - Utopia

Less Art - Strangled Light ;)

MY FAVORITE RECORD OF 2015 THAT I DIDN’T HEAR UNTIL 2017

Town Portal - The Occident

MY FAVORITE RECORD OF 2004 THAT I DIDN’T HEAR UNTIL 2017

The Stella Link - Mystic Jaguar... Attack!!!

CURRENT PODCAST QUEUE

Chapo Trap House (Grey Wolf Feed)

The Trap Set

Song Exploder

Slate’s The Gist

Slate’s Hang Up & Listen

INTERCEPTED

The FilmDrunk Frotcast

Deadcast

How I Built This

Freakonomics Radio

Radiolab

This American Life

[irkallanprince]

Redeemed

This is an old RP PSL that is a complete story and one of my favorites, so it was written with a partner. It’s a sweet, slow burn relationship and I enjoy it so much I wanted to share it because it’s a shame not to. It was originally part of a community on Insanejournal, but the game ended and we just continued on. Since the original community was deleted, there are a few scenes missing, but it is mostly complete. Hope you enjoy.

Brock is a demon hunter. His life is complicated. His friends have abandoned him and he has a rocky secretive relationship with his boyfriend. Roman is a demon who antagonizes him because he has a crush. When a group of Black-Eyed Kids start a murder spree in town, the two team up to try to stop them, but also find themselves battling something else; Their feelings for each other. 

Rating: R Warnings: Blood, Violence, Horror, Murder, Implied Sex. VERY LONG UNDER CUT!

                                                 One year ago.

Roman was bored, honestly. There was zero other reason for him to gut a rabbit and spread it around a large, flat rock that happened to be situated behind his house. His parents were out of town, his brother was with a sitter. Roman was home alone, not getting proper attention, which was how the threatening text to Brock had come about at all.

’You should come over or I’m going to sacrifice this bunny for spiritual enlightenment’.

There were some days he wondered just how much bullshit he could actually spew, but today was not one of those days. The gate to the yard was unlocked, Roman was sitting on a chair, he and the recently deceased animal just waiting. Idly, he flicked through the phone with a heavy sigh, glancing up only when he heard footsteps and a snap of a twig.

“You’re too late,” he called before Brock could even speak or properly identify himself. Roman picked up the knife and waved it indicatively at what was left of the rabbit, it’s skin peeled back and spread out into some odd shape on the surface of the rock. It’s organs were out and surrounding it in a circle.

“Bambi’s gone.” Roman paused, processing his words. “Wait. Thumper! I mean Thumper.”

Brock had found Roman in the woods not too long ago while he was on a hunt of his own. People had seen some winged thing leaping from the trees at night and Brock had to make sure it wasn't just the local drunks making up shit again. But that's when he first came across Roman cutting up some animal like a junior Jeffrey Dahmer. It sickened him. Of course, being as brash and as blunt as he was, he called out to him. Threatened him. Straight up asked him what he was. Of course he got coy responses, but it all circled around him being of some sort of demonic heritage. And yet, even in the dark of the night, after seeing his brutality that sickened and horrified him, he couldn't help but notice the boy's looks and charm. And Brock was weak to the promise of a good time, even in the face of darkness. Especially darkness. It was why he'd been attracted to Logan for so long. They got each other's darkness. Still… It was wrong to want someone this dark, wasn't it?

And yet that marked the beginning of their mutually beneficial relationship. In all honesty it was mostly because he was curious about Roman. If he would have to eventually kill him, he needed to know everything about him. So why not get to know him intimately? Brock never got too attached to the people he fucked anyway. It's why half the school loathed him.

He received the text, the pit of his stomach twisting in a knot when he saw the dark words. The boy was sick and cruel and he had no idea why he hadn't driven a knife through his skull yet. But he knew that in his own sick way, that may have been Roman's way of flirting. Like a homicidal kindergartner.

He arrived and saw the dark teen sitting there, brandishing the bloody knife. He snarled and ran over to Roman, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him out of the chair and slamming him against the wall behind him.

“You're fuckin’ sick, ya know’t?” He growled, staring into Roman's eyes, daring him to retort. He should have his own knife out, but he could just as easily snap his neck. But he wouldn't. As fucked up as it was, woodland creatures were just outside of his jurisdiction. Roman technically did nothing wrong except being a creep.

Roman’s back hit the wall, but everything on his face said he’d been expecting such a reaction. The surprise and mild pain passed quickly into smugness, and then feigned innocence, almost daring Brock to preemptively punish Roman for deeds he’d yet to commit.

“What were you doing, anyway? That poor bunny was depending on you and you made us wait.” No skin off Roman’s back -- ha, he’d have to use that later. He wasn’t bothered, not really.

Brock’s words really sank in after the moment of playfulness passed. His gaze slid over the other boy’s shoulder and back to the fake altar with the animal spread across it, before returning to meet Brock’s. “What are you going to do about it?”

Brock's jaw tensed as he glared at the other boy in the heavy moonlight. Maybe it was just a rabbit, but it was still a failing. One of these days that could be a person instead. Brock wasn't fast enough. He needed to be faster. Roman knew somehow that Brock had insecurities about his failings. But then anyone who got close enough for conversation knew because he wore it on his sleeve. Roman had all the right weapons to use against him. Knives and bullets didn't hurt quite as bad as psychology did. Making Brock feel like a failure was the best way to break him.

Exasperated, Brock screamed and punched the wall behind him, his fist breaking through the panelling. He grimaced as he looked over Roman's snide face as he removed his fist from the wall, hearing some of the siding clack to the ground below them. Really what could he do? He didn't kill a person. He didn't seem to have opened a portal to hell. All he could do really was snarl at him and tell him he was a freak. So he let him go, despite the evil kid's words causing a stir in his pants. He turned and shook his head and stomped away a few feet before turning back.

“What the hell’r ya doin? If ya wanted me ta come over ya could jus ask norm’ly.” He said in an agitated tone, nose scrunching as he looked down at the flayed, gutted bunny.

“Is this your fucked up way of ‘initiating a booty call?” He said, still disgusted with the boy but somehow not running. Sometimes his dick overtook his common sense.

“That’s so rude, damaging property that isn’t yours,” Roman warned. It was delivered sharply, surprisingly so considering how usually playful he sounded. He regarded Brock thoughtfully, not even breaking gaze as he spoke, and then he dropped it as if his words had meant nothing.

He shrugged at Brock’s question. It really hadn’t been for any significant reason, the bothering Brock, the “sacrifice”, the text. Roman was bored and he wanted entertainment now. That’s where his line of thinking had stopped. “I wasn’t really thinking of much. I just wanted to be a priority. You give me so much credit, picturing me as some guy with a big master plan. It’s almost overwhelming, you know … The pressure to fulfill that responsibility for you. Sometimes I have to act out.”

Roman walked over to stand beside him, but didn’t follow his gaze. His eyes were on Brock. “I’ll do my best, though,” he promised. “Annnnd I don’t know if this was a booty call, but now that you’re here...” A shrug and a smirk. “Is it working?”

It was strange that he put up with Roman and his weird, creepy ways of crying out for attention. But maybe it was because he identified with him? Afterall, Brock never really told anybody this, but he longed for attention too.  Attention he never really got from his family.  Attention he did get from his friends, but he kept them out of his head emotionally most of the time simply because he knew if he allowed them to get too close it could be dangerous for everyone, even if they went monster hunting with him regularly. Maybe Roman sought out attention for different reasons than Brock, who underneath the tough guy veneer was just a lonely and sad kid half the time.  But ultimately, their end goals were the same.  

Even then, it didn’t mean he liked him, right?

Brock rolled his eyes and turned and looked at Roman when he explained that he never had a plan.  “So what your sayin’s I should jus’ ignore ya? Then ya’d stop feelin’ pressured’t kill things? Cuz that I’cn do.” He teased, feigning like he was going to walk away.  And after a few steps he stopped again, then slid off his jacket.  

“Do ya wan’t ta be workin’?” He said out of the corner of his eye, draping his jacket over the chair the other had just been forcibly removed from.  Then he approached the other, hand coming up and pressing against his abdomen, pushing him back until he’d backed him against a tree.  His nose touched Roman’s, lips lingered just above the boy’s own without touching.

“Do ya ev’n care either way?” He whispered with a grin, hot breath against his lips.  Then he pulled away, happy with his tease.  Roman often liked to pretend he was the one with the power. Brock liked to reassert his dominance when necessary.  

There was very nearly a dramatic gasp as Brock pulled away. How dare he. Sure, Roman could lie and say he hadn’t wanted that kiss, but it would be the biggest lie and even he wasn’t sure he was capable of lying that well. The smirk and amusement had drifted from his face for seconds, mere seconds that he knew Brock noticed, as it was just desire when the other boy was leaning so close.

When Brock moved, however, Roman’s first instinct was to club him over the head with the same chair he’d draped his stupid ugly jacket over. Stupid fucking humans, always trying for power when power wasn’t what they needed.

He exhaled to calm himself, and it worked well enough, but Brock had riled him up and it was obvious in how long it took him to collect himself.

“See?” He finally said, still remaining by the tree, now leaning back against it and just watching Brock. Thoughtfully, curiously. He wasn’t trying to get under his skin again, for the moment. Now he was just assessing. “You all can be just as cruel.”

Brock smirked, noting the exasperated gasp and how long it took Roman to recompose himself.  Brock would be lying to himself as well if he insinuated he didn’t like working the boy up. Afterall, the hatesex that usually followed was pretty damn fun.  As for now, he would just rile him up, push his limits.  Roman still disgusted him, he didn’t deserve an easy pass. Brock looked down at the chair he’d draped his jacket over, then turned his nose up when he remembered it was in full view of the macabre tableau that Roman left for him.  So he picked it up and turned it around to face the boy and then sat, hands behind his head as he looked over the other once more with a little grin in response to him being called cruel.

“I’cnt argue witcha there. Ask anybody that done fucked round wit’ me an’ they tell ya I’m cruel cuz I din’t go out on a date wit’ them or some shit.” He laughed a bit, maybe enjoying that fact too much.  Sure, he wanted attention and love, but he didn’t really want it with any of these jokes he went to school with. And maybe secretly he was just waiting for the right time and the right person. For now, he enjoyed himself and he used his charm and his looks to get what he needed for that compulsion he just couldn’t control.  

“Maybe I jus’ wan’ see you beg, devilspawn?” He said in a low whisper, corner of his lips curling into a knowing smirk as his hand slipped under his tank top and raised it just enough for Roman to see the taut muscles of his abdomen in the pale moonlight.  Roman liked to play games, so Brock would play along with him.  It made it more fun.  

“Poor saps,” Roman laughed, joining Brock in the sole thing they could agree on in the moment. His interest in the other boy had nothing to do with dating. There was a connection, to be certain, but that was where things ended in any sense of romance. “Wanting to date you.” He said it with a tisk and did indeed get to his knees for Brock. And there he sat, lower than him, looking up at him, at perfect angle to see the well carved muscle Brock was teasing him with. Roman took it in and made a show of his lingering gaze.

“But you like toying with them, don’t you? Does it make you feel powerful to lead them on, or shut them down?” He paused, for dramatics more than anything. “Or maybe it’s control you want. You don’t have much of that in your life, do you Brock? So maybe that’s how you find it... But aren’t you supposed to be protecting others, not hurting them. Who’s going to protect them from you?”

“Fools, they is.” Brock gave a nod, agreeing about the lovers he spurned.  So many in the short amount of time he’d been the Redeemer.  Once his powers activated, his hormones just kicked into high gear.  Maybe it gave him some sort of otherworldly charm as well as strength? It certainly wasn’t one of his official gifts, but it came much easier to him than when he was younger. For now he just watched Roman kneel before him, followed his eyes’ gaze to his exposed torso.  

“I like ya like that…” He teased, lifting his shirt a little more as they continued their conversation.

“Maybe I do.  Maybe it’s fun. Maybe it’s the only thing I can control and I like’t that way.” He nodded.  He didn’t have any say in his life.  His fate. The things he was forced to do.  But he did have control over how he dealt with other people.  And they shouldn’t get too close anyway, so he made sure that they didn’t want to.  Sure, he yearned for something more. Secretly for the love he’d never received.  But he deemed nobody really worthy of that honor yet, and planned to keep it that way for a while.  And sure, there was some bliss in not being in control, but even that was something he’d want to control.  It was complicated.  Brock was complicated.  

Roman’s words did make sense though. They reminded him of what Lore said when he left the gang.  That he hurt people.  He abandoned them. Hurt them. And sooner or later he’d do it to his new friends.  He didn’t want to believe it either, but maybe there was some truth to it? Eventually they’d get too close too, and that would be too dangerous for them.  He didn’t want to think about it.  Instead he just growled with a clenched jaw and gripped Roman by the neck of his shirt, pulling him up and feeling the fabric rip as he did.

“Shut up, hellspawn.” He grunted before pressing a harsh, loveless kiss against his lips, sucking his lower lip into his own mouth and biting roughly on it as he did.

Roman laughed. “No you don’t. You don’t like it that way at all. And who would? Your life has to kind of …. Suck.” He didn’t really say it with any remorse, instead sounding more like he’d just pieced together some stuff and was blurting out the realization as it came. “You might like the control, but let’s be honest, Brock, you don’t like that it’s the only little sliver you’ve got.”

His smirk had to be grating, even as he was yanked off his knees and his collar ripped (Brock would pay for that later!!) -- Or now. Brock telling him to shut up barely registered, given that it was immediately followed by lips crashing against his, and Roman gave in to it easily. Too easily. Brock bit his lip, and Roman only reciprocated, but whatever Brock dished him, Roman just had to escalate. He bit down, hard, not satisfied until there was a metallic taste in his mouth mixing with the taste of Brock, and he ran his tongue over the cut just to confirm his own satisfaction. Roman didn’t care or desire the taste of blood, but he was fine causing pain, and better yet, getting others to cause their own.

He pulled back just enough to assess his work. “I guess we should work on healing that?” The suggestion, however, held a sort of lilt that suggested he was hardly done marking Brock up for the evening.

Brock hissed when he felt his lip split open, blood leaking out and smearing between their mashing lips.  The pain was sharp, but not all that unwelcome.  There was something enjoyable and dirty about the sudden blood-letting in the middle of their kiss.  It wasn’t all that dissimilar to his relationship with Roman. Wrong and something he should stay away from, but yet still kind of hot and addicting.  

“I said shut up.” He growled, standing from the chair and grappling the boy hard to the ground in a move he’d used many times on the wrestling team.  He brought his hands to the collar of Roman’s shirt once more and tore the shirt down the middle with one swift motion.  He’d already ripped it part of the way earlier, might as well finish it off.  

“You’re much less annoyin’ when ya don’ talk.” He said, aggressively pinning Roman down and forcing another kiss to his lips, the tang of blood interfering with the hungry kisses once more. Then he pulled back and gave him a dubious grin.

“C’mon now…” He said, subtly relinquishing his hold a little so that he could give Roman a chance to fight back. Because though he wouldn’t admit it, he liked when Roman fought back.  “Ya’cn do better than that.”

And while he did offer a weaker hold, he still bit down on the boy’s neck.  He didn’t care if the other boy liked it.  Well… maybe on some level he did.

“You know how much I annoy you is part of the appeal,” Roman teased, letting Brock pin him down because each irritated move was validating to him in a sick way. He did shift under Brock’s weight, just enough to show he knew exactly what he was doing. The bite to his neck drew out a moan; he contemplated returning the favor with the teeth of his other form, but he didn’t. Not yet, maybe not ever. His shirt was already open, making him the less clothed one by default. Roman wasn’t a fan.

Brock might’ve been the chosen one, but Roman was no stranger to grappling. He had training in it from a pushy dad; days and weeks and years of leg locks and pins until his father felt he was good enough for competition. Occasionally, he voiced this talent outside of combative company, but it was usually on the football team where he seemed to hold an exceptional tolerance to pain that was likely built from a childhood filled with it. Brock’s grip loosened, and Roman seized the moment, flipping them so he was on top for the moment.

“I can do better,” he confirmed lowly, leaning down to say the words breathily into his ear. Roman’s fingers found their way beneath Brock’s shirt, scraping tips and nails up skin and abs with a certain carelessness that said he didn’t particularly mind if he dug in too deep as they moved. In tandem with dragging Brock’s shirt up, Roman’s lips (and teeth) found the other boy’s jaw and marked their trail all the way to Brock’s lips. But they didn’t meet. Roman didn’t kiss him, just teased him with the possibility of one, mouth hovering just inches above the other’s, lips quirked into the tiniest little smile. He seemed like he was going to lean in, but it was distraction for what came next: Fingers digging hard as they could into Brock’s sides, hard enough to give the impression that if Roman could push his fingers into Brock; through flesh and muscle and bone, he might’ve.

Then, he kissed him.

Brock craned his neck, allowing the other boy better access even if he feigned a little resistance. Roman was on top, and even though he spewed acidic words at the boy, he enjoyed the pressure of his nails against his flesh, the weight of his body pinning him down to the ground.  He grabbed at Roman’s hips, hands fanning down to his buttocks, groaning as his fingers dug deeper in.  He laughed, maybe sounding a little sadistic.  He didn’t care.

“Silly fuckin’ boy.” He said, shoving him off again before tossing his own shirt to the side. But then…. well Brock pulled him back onto his lap and returned the kiss again, more fervently this time as his strong hands tore the leftover scraps of shirt from Roman’s torso.  He could say all the horrible things he wanted.  They could hurt each other as much as either could take.  But that kiss… he’d always get lost in Roman’s kiss, which though he would never admit because of his disgust for the boy, was one of his favorite things about him.  

Hands trailed down, finding the button of Roman’s jeans, snapping it open with little effort.  Lips never leaving his, though the bitter taste of blood from earlier still lingering.  

“This’s why ya murder bunnies, right? So I’cn come punish ya, right?” He said sarcastically against his mouth, biting at his lip again.  They were in for a long night.

* * *

Present Day

Nan was shaken.  To the point of tears.  Brock had seen a lot of blood in O’Cock. Too much.  It didn’t phase him.  He didn’t stop to think that Nan hadn’t.  That his grandfather and his own father had sheltered her enough from what they did that she never had to worry about the horrifying things that happened in this town.  But sometimes the darkness had a habit of creeping up on even the most unassuming of people.

Rosie hadn’t shown up for the bake sale. That itself was odd because the bake sales they organized three times a year were highlights for the woman.  Nancy, considering herself a friend, went to her home after a few days when her phone calls went unanswered.  When she’d arrived, there were scratches in floorboards of her front porch, and what appeared to be crudely wiped up blood.  As if a child that didn’t know what they were doing was trying to cover their tracks.  And the door was unlocked. Nancy had entered the home to look around, thinking maybe Rosie had an accident, but could not find her.  The neighbors had said they hadn’t seen her for days and that maybe she’d left town, but Nancy didn’t believe that. Rosie was too much of a townie to up and leave. But in the guest room, she’d found what appeared to be blood leaking from the closet.  When she’d opened the door, Rosie fell out. Or what was left of her.

Nancy didn’t stay around long after that.  As hard ass of a woman as she was to him, it was hard for Brock not to feel bad for how traumatized she was.  

But now it begged the question.  What was he dealing with now? There were any number of creatures that it could be, all of them with a different weakness.  When it came to the world of the supernatural, a great many beasts were just that.  Beasts.  Animals not yet capable of being tamed by the realm of mortals, and so they killed like them.  Brock wouldn’t know for sure until he was staring it down face to face. So for tonight he would pack the basics.  His silver dagger, for many creatures found themselves vulnerable to silver.  His grandfather’s gun that he’d keep concealed in case things got hairy.  A few bottles of holy water, because their uses were frankly surprisingly endless in combat.  Most of his stuff neatly tucked into his tattered messenger bag slung over his shoulder as he walked the streets with his hood up.  He figured the best place to start were the woods near Rosie’s house. Things could always hide in the woods.  

Roman was not exactly out looking for trouble this evening. Not in the sense that Brock would likely interpret his wandering through the woods at night, anyhow. Rather, he was actually trying to help, in his own sort of way. Which really boiled down to being awfully nosy and wanting to figure out what was going on on his own, since Brock had put him off and Roman was not known for his patience. He was capable enough of protecting himself, and hell, any monster he stumbled upon was nothing in the face of him, he was certain. He’d done a few seeing rituals, trying to piece together bits and pieces on people of interest. Or places of interest. Or events of interest. Unfortunately, Roman was prone to getting distracted by teenage gossip related details, and less on bloody murder and cut out hearts, or whatever was in style these days.

Naturally Brock was out too. It made perfect sense when Roman spotted him, only a slight huff of irritation that he hadn’t been invited as a result of their pact welling up in his chest, which Roman actively forced himself to deflate. Instead, he let it fizzle out before he got closer. “Boo,” was all he deadpanned as he came up behind Brock, and he spoke well before he was in compromising proximity of the other boy. It was partially to let Brock know he was there, and partially just a little joke.

He slid his hands into his pockets and looked over at Brock curiously. “Monster hunting?”

Brock took the ’Boo!’ seriously and turned quickly on his heel, swiftly gripping the boy’s shirt and rearing the knife back.  It was a reflex, but he clenched his jaw and shook his head, releasing him just a moment later.  He’d heard the Boo.  It was dark enough that most people would require a flashlight.  Brock had learned that lights scared off the spookies and tried to rely on his senses instead.  Of course these things were easier when he had a bloodhound, but eh… past was past.  

“Ch’yeah. An’ look.  I found’t one.” Brock replied sarcastically at Roman’s question of monster hunting.  It was a small enough town that news of Rosie’s passing spread fairly quickly.  He was certain Roman was out because of morbid curiosity or just plain creepiness.

“Ya wouldn’t’ve moved up to the big leagues have ya? Grajiated from bunnies ta lil old ladies?” He questioned Roman, though honestly not seriously.  Somehow he doubted that Roman would commit full on murder unless he got someone to do it for him, and even then he wasn’t sure he could justify a reason for it.  

“Or ya jus’ out here ta bug me?”

Roman only fixed his shirt as Brock released him, looking virtually unfazed by the fact he may have very well just ended up gutted for sneaking up on a hunter. “You were painfully easy to sneak up on, honey. Were I something more threatening, I could’ve eaten you.” His smile, however, was wide, with only seconds of something a little more predatory in it; demonic (were his teeth sharper?) perhaps, and then it was gone.

“Wait -- “ He seemed to take a more serious turn as Brock asked him the next question. It almost even seemed like he was going to ask a serious question. “You consider old ladies to be the big leagues?” Roman put a finger to his chin, feigning deep thought for all of a moment before opening his arms to gesture outward toward Brock. “Because, I’d have thought the big leagues would be you, Mr. Chosen One.”

“Neither, actually. Though it’s,” Roman looked him up and down as he spoke. “Always a pleasure to see you, Brock.”

Brock just rolled his eyes at Roman, which honestly was his default state around the other boy. It was annoying that part of him still found Roman charming and attractive, even despite his intense relationship with Adam and the fact that Roman honestly always had annoyed him.  

“Ya already have eaten me sev’ral times.  Don’ think’m in any danger there.” He brushed off Roman’s comment and turned to walk again. If the boy wanted to follow along he was more than welcome.

“I meant movin’ on ta people when I said ‘Big Leagues.’ But I uh… I guess I’m in a league’a my own.” He said sheepishly, hiding his hint of a smile in the shadows they walked in.  

“Look’f ya gon’ be out here I can’t make ya leave. Public place.  Jus’ watch mah back.” He shrugged, twirling the knife in his hand idly as he walked along.  He wasn’t feeling too confident he’d find anything tonight anyway.  The first night of the hunt was always the least successful.

“So why ARE ya out here, punk?” He said with a slight hiss, though some may have noticed the subtle hint of affection on the ‘punk.’  Brock knew Roman wasn’t right. When the time came, if it came, he’d put him down.  But he was ashamed to admit that sometimes his company wasn’t all that unpleasant.  

“You should always think you’re in danger, Brock. That’s survival.” That was said seriously, with no jokey follow up, no laugh, only a shrug as he switched topics as if he hadn’t given quite possibly his most legitimate piece of advice, warning, or indication of any worry for Brock’s safety whatsoever.

“No, I haven’t killed any people.” There was the laugh, quick and obviously (maybe?) joking. “Lately.”

“Sure, sure. I’ll watch your back.” He followed Brock as a surprisingly respectable distance, keeping eye out as best he could for anything odd; rustling, tracks, lights that didn’t seem to be poking through from nearby houses. “I’m out here because I was curious. I mentioned to you a while ago that I was interested in finding out more about what’s going on.” Roman shrugged. He didn’t lie often enough not to be believed when he said things, or so he thought.

Brock raised an eyebrow at his comment.  As a hunter of things that go bump in the night, he knew to be on his toes.  At the same time, if Roman were to turn he was fairly certain he could take him. From what he knew of him at least.

“Ya threatnin’ me, devilspawn?” He smirked, throwing a look over his shoulder as he walked. He heard Roman insinuate he’d killed in the past and wasn’t sure he took it that seriously.  Things always had a habit of being found in O’Cock, ritual murder especially.

“Guess I ain’t never took ya seriously when ya said that.  Or just when ya say stuff’n general.” He threw out the douchey comment without much a second thought.  He was always hot and cold with this one. Probably because his mind was never really made up about him.

“This curiosity o’yours just cuz ya curious by nature or cuz ya got somethin’ planned?” Again, always with the suspicion.  But Roman said it himself. He should always think he was in danger.

It was getting colder by the second, it felt like. Roman zipped up the hoodie he was wearing, layered with a sweater beneath it and still he didn’t feel completely satisfied. The only thing keeping him warm most was the thrill of a hunt, he supposed, but he wasn’t really an animal. Chase didn’t get his blood boiling in the same way that other things did.

“Hm?” Roman glanced at Brock. “Oh, no. Not threatening. The opposite, actually! Warning. I like you alive, sunshine.” He gave what appeared to be a genuine smile, before glancing back out into the forest. This hunt was a little pointless, he felt, but maybe that’s because he wasn’t exactly trained for this and Brock was. Roman had pretty much just been aiming to play damsel in distress in the woods and hoped something would take the bait.

“Well, whose problem is that?” Certainly not his. If people didn’t take him seriously, that was on them.

Brock threw another look over his shoulder. Confused.  Brock was always kind of an asshole to Roman, but it was because he knew the boy was no good.  But realistically maybe it was because he just didn’t understand him.  He knew things were not just black and white.  He had a handful of people in his life right now that weren’t exactly human and have done some pretty shady things and yet they always got a free pass.  And Roman was always nothing but nice to him.  He could sense some fakeness to it, but then there were small moments where he’d see his humanity and then feel immediately bad about the way he treated him. Why did Roman piss him off so much when he was just as much of an enigma to him as Adam had once been?

“Ya always givin’ me a compliment when I act like a jerk.  Ya’re fucked in the head, demon child.” He said, pursing his lips a bit.  He squinted when he looked back at Roman.  Did he just see a hooded figure run past him in the background?

“Just being honest. That’s not a compliment.” Roman gave him a weird look, and then when he noticed Brock was squinting and looking beyond him, he froze a little.

“Pleeeease don’t tell me there’s like a wolf waiting to eat me right over my shoulder.” He wanted to glance back, but worried the movement might deter Brock’s progress or scare whatever the human was looking at off back into the woods. So he stayed still. He could do that much, at least. Instinctively, he tensed up, ready for an attack, and then relaxed his body.

“For the record,” he whispered, “I told you it wasn’t me.”

“Wha-- no it’s not a wolf.” Brock gave Roman a strange side eyed look of confusion for a moment.  He looked back up and saw nothing.  But this wasn’t his first hunt.  He wasn’t the kid in the horror movie that would say ‘it’s nothing’ because it was always something.  He placed a strong hand on Roman’s shoulder as if to steady him so that he didn’t make any sudden movements.  He needed to listen.  Hear the movement.  Feel the change in the wind.  Things that ran off in the woods were often smart enough to be silent and still, but nothing could remain that way forever.  

“Shhh…” He whispered as he narrowed his eyes toward the direction of the movement.  But everything seemed still.  And then a twig cracked to their right.  

Brock’s head immediately turned and with a quick motion of his wrist he flung his dagger into the darkness, hearing a thunk as it hit something.  He ran off quickly to investigate, pulling out his phone and popping on the flashlight so he could find his dagger at the very least.  

Nothing.  His dagger stuck out of the side of a tree.  It wasn’t until he approached it that he noticed the dark blue fabric hanging from it.  Torn off in a hurry.  He’d hit something.  Someone even.

“...we’re bein’ watched.” He said just loud enough for Roman to hear.

“Stay close.”

Roman obeyed the command without too much huff -- he remained quiet and still while Brock did his thing. He really wanted to turn and see what Brock was hunting, but alas, no dice. Then came the snap of a twig, the sudden flick of a wrist and hurl of a blade. Impressive, to be certain, if a bit excessive. What if that had been some kid playing out in the woods. Roman opened his mouth to point out such a thing, maybe play a bit at Brock’s insecurities, but closed it. He’d wait.

He followed close to Brock, almost right behind him now, deferring to him for security in the cold and dark and eerily quiet woods. ...When did it get so quiet?

Roman’s eyes focused on the blue fabric as the phone lit it up, frowning. God, it was so tacky. Looked a bit ragged, worn down. Reminded him of the stories of cloaked figures in the Serbian wilderness his father would tell him and his idiotic little brother about. They wore half torn capes colored with their surroundings, out hunting for human limbs and flesh to help them walk and climb and live. He wondered if it was one of those, but thought it a bit unlikely that there would be two of those in town.

“What do you think it is?” Roman asked, mimicking the lowness of Brock’s voice. “And can I keep the fabric? ...Or at least borrow it?” Maybe he could trace something off it. Ugh, should he offer that information?

A pause. “I might be able to get something off it, with time,” he offered.

It was strange.  The feeling Brock got when he looked over the fabric, running it between his fingers.  Like a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Not that he was legitimately scared, but like something was forcing an emotion on him. Trying to dampen his senses.  He’d felt something similar the other night before he went to visit Adam.  

“Those kids…” He whispered to himself.  They were wearing dark blue hoodies.  And the stared at him long and hard before they turned to walk away.  They weren’t just kids being creeps.  They were studying him.  Sizing him up.  And ultimately deciding not to.  

“I know who they are.  Don’ know what they are but I’m sure they ain’t human…” He said, clenching his jaw as he looked up at Roman.  He raised an eyebrow for a moment at his request.  That was usually the kind of thing Lincoln did for him  But since they weren’t exactly on the ‘let’s do each other favors’ wavelength anymore and Brock needed all the resources he could get, he had to think about it for a moment.  He didn’t fully trust Roman, but he also didn’t have a real reason not to.  

He gave the other boy a once over one more time before handing him the fabric.

“If’n ya think ya can help me figure out somethin’ bout ‘em, then yeah. Here.” He gave Roman a nod. He looked around into the dark woods and didn’t see any more movement.  They’d be more cautious now.

“I don’ think they gon’ attack us.  They know we ain’t normal.  They smart. They prolly only go after the normies.”

Roman only gave the sweetest, silent smile he could muster as he plucked the fabric from Brock’s hand and pocketed it. “I’ll keep you posted,” he promised. And he would. Depending on what he found, however, there were doubts on how much information he’d give. Or for what price.

“Well, that was my plan out here all alone. Before I saw you.” Roman sighed dramatically and shrugged again. “To look like a potential victim and all. ...Do you think being around you has put me on their hit list? Or off it.”

“Are you going to see what else you might find?” He paused, realizing he’d been asking a ton of questions. “...Sorry. Watching you work is fascinating, that’s all.”

“Ya’cn look tha part all ya want, but s’long as ya got demon blood in ya, they prolly won’ wanna eatcha anyway.  I think ya safe for now.” Brock gave a little shrug.

“I mean… I s’pose they can always maul ya’t death, but they gon study ya up a lil bit first.  Jus’ gotta see what happens.” He continued on as if he truly knew what they were dealing with, but in all honesty all he had to go on was a dead granny and some spooky kids.  They could be anything.  

Brock stopped for a moment and looked over Roman again.  Why was he so interested in watching him work? Taking notes for the day he’d get to fight him? Brock couldn’t help but be skeptical.  But at the same time, he didn’t mind the company.  He missed having patrol buddies. Even if he wasn’t Roman’s buddy.  

“Uh… I mean, I should prolly look ‘round again.  See if there’s like… any other weird shit lyin’ round. You can uh… tag along if ya really wan.  My job really isn’t as action packed as ya would believe most nights.”  Because really, the epic monster fights came only after days and hours of sifting through boring shit.  

Roman asked a question he wasn’t interested in just to hear Brock talk, so he listened but didn’t listen. He wasn’t afraid of death in the same way most of the beings that surrounded him were. He didn’t actively want to die, of course, but for Roman, death was a means to an end the same way most of the awful things he did were. In life or in death, Roman would get what he wanted.

“Yeahhh,” he said, after a moment. “That sounds pretty boring. I think I’ll go home. See what I can sniff out from this.” Roman lifted the fabric out of his pocket and waved it once. He didn’t actually mean sniff, but whatever. Brock may or may not have known the difference or what he did to learn more about things he wanted to know more about.

It was rather unceremonious at first, his goodbye. In the sense that Roman didn’t really say goodbye, he just sort of turned and looked like he was about to leave. Then he seemed to remember (or realize) that goodbyes were a thing, so he stopped and jerked back to face Brock rather abruptly.

“Oh. And stay in one piece.” Roman smiled and kissed his cheek.

“It is. Pretty borin’.” Brock nodded in agreement.  Patrolling around the woods for creatures that were now fully aware they had at least two supernatural characters on their trail would probably be fruitless tonight if they were smart.

But then he felt lips on the side of his face and his eyes widened for a moment.  Once upon a time, that would have been tame.  But they were lips that didn’t belong to his boyfriend, and Brock had a problem keeping focused and actively trying not to have sex with people that weren’t Adam was a real challenge these days.  

“I uh… ya shouldn’t do that, Rome…” He said, thankful that the night concealed the way the corner of his lip quirked upward right now.  

“But… thanks.  I’ll try not ta run inta anymore ‘bears.’”

“Oh yeah, that’s right. Taken now.” Roman’s voice was low, but there was a smile in it that was difficult to see in the darkness. A smile and a little hint of something else. He put his hand on Brock’s chest for just a moment, and then leaned away, waving it  once as if shaking off a very bad thought. “Very well. Be boring now.”

Roman laughed, shook his head, and turned to make his way back to the trail he’d followed in. “Bears. Please,” he called out over his shoulder as he left.

* * *

Roman wandered just slightly behind Brock. They hadn’t been in the forest long, and things had that eerie silence that ought to send chills down a spine. He pulled his hoodie up and tugged on the drawstrings so the fabric closed a little tighter around his face. He wasn’t some hunter immune to the weather, and he really didn’t understand how Brock didn’t seem cold at all.

“...Can I see what’s in your bag of tricks?” He asked. It was a random thought, but he wondered if there was something in there for him too. Like all the rest of the monsters Brock was supposed to be hunting.

The last few days had been… strange.  Brock still wasn’t sure if Roman was just messing with him with all the things he’d said about ‘caring’ about him. The boy who he’d catch mutilating animals in the forest, who once displayed a gutted rabbit for him on a makeshift altar.  Back then he just figured it was because Roman was twisted. Evil. From what he knew about him from their strange little talks after their hasty previous hookups, he’d pieced enough of Roman’s backstory together to know he wasn’t human and wasn’t supposed to be a force of good.  Looking back, maybe the rabbits were his odd way of flirting? Like when a cat kills a mouse and brings you its corpse to show their affection. In any case, the idea of it suckerpunched Brock, who before felt no remorse in the insults and now just felt kind of mean.  But even if everything was all strange, Roman was a good resource when it came to this demonic stuff.  And maybe he secretly enjoyed his company despite their banter.  

“Uh… yah, sure.” Brock nodded as he walked along, opening his bag and shining his light in it.  He’d brought an actual flashlight this time.  In his bag was his standards. Three bottles of holy water.  At least two knives.  A few crucifixes.  His journal.  He’d packed light again, because honestly the silver daggers were enough to take out whatever he needed.  

“Tryna’ learn mah weaknesses, Lucifer?” He grinned a bit, not as hostile as he used to be.  It was better to be cordial when they’d be working so closely together.

Roman was keeping his distance, mostly. His last little conversation with Brock had left things in an odd spot for him, emotionally. He wasn’t sure if he’d said more than he should’ve. If he’d compromised himself or revealed too much. It was a small vulnerability that he wasn’t trying to draw attention to. Besides, he wasn’t going to beg Brock. Even if the other boy used to like it so much when he did.

Instead of stepping closer to look into the bag, he leaned over and peered in. It was kind of boring, now that he was looking at it, but he didn’t know what he expected. Half the weapons in the Blade movies were ridiculous, but he’d been kind of hopeful for some interesting tech. Roman reached into the bag without permission and drew out one of the bottle of holy water, looking at it thoughtfully. “I’ve always been curious,” he admitted, unscrewing the cap. “Just a little,” he promised, shaking it as if to say he wouldn’t drain Brock’s entire stock.

A few tiny drops were poured onto his palm, and Roman braced himself for some sort of sting or burn. But nothing. “Huh.” He screwed the cap back on, and handed the vial back over to Brock. “And don’t be silly, darling. I know your weaknesses already.” Cue the devilish little smile, but it was clear enough that Roman was being playful and not threatening.

And the boy was right.  He knew his weakness well. Roman’s smile was definitely one of the nicer ones he’d seen.  Of course it didn’t compare to Adam’s. Nothing could compare to him.  But then, he really didn’t need to compare the two, since they were so different.  In any case he gave the other a little half smile and shook his head.

“Ya din’t burn.  Guess ya ain’t as bad’s ya thought.” Brock quirked an eyebrow, taking back the bottle and slipping it back into his bag.  Holy water didn’t work on every spook.  Burned some things, but for the most part he brought it along for impromptu exorcisms.  Never knew if ya’d need to burn the bones of a poltergeist or force an evil spirit out of a middle schooler, which these days he was leaning toward the latter. The age ranges lined up.  Things had been quiet, he hadn’t seen the kids around town since that day a few weeks ago.  But they were certainly still active.  Now that Jillian was missing, he had to wonder if maybe they’d used her as a snack.  There were enough chunks missing out of poor old Rosie for him to know they had some sort of appetite.  Maybe they didn’t need to feed but every once in awhile?

“So these kids…. when ya did your...thing thatcha do, ya said you felt like… loneliness? Fear? What ya think they are?” He asked, keeping the conversation business oriented. He really needed to take out whatever these things were and soon, without being distracted by a nice smile and weird feelings.  

“Surprise,” he joked, grinning. “I’m actually an angel.” Roman couldn’t really hold the joke for very long. Or the grin. They both collapsed into one full laugh at the thought, but he kind of hoped it’d get a laugh from Brock too.

When things turned to business, Roman heaved a heavy, disappointed sigh. That was why they were out here in cold, wasn’t it? For a moment, it felt like something else. “They’re kids, Brock. They’re scared, they’re alone, and they’re looking for a way not to feel either. There was a desperation to it.” Roman shrugged, looking at him.

“I think they want a home, and like most of us, they’re not very happy when they don’t get what they want.” He shot a pointed look at Brock, but didn’t elaborate on what he meant by ‘us’.

An angel? How unlikely. And yet, amusing.  Brock just gave a light chuckle and gave the other boy a look, as if to say ‘really?’ without words.  Then he gave a small shrug.

“Lucifer was an angel too.  The most beautiful of the angels’n fact.  But then his head got’t be too big an’ he was cast outta heaven. But still, face so beautiful he’cd convince anyone’t do anything.” Brock nodded as they walked along.  It was clear he was interested in just the mythology of the world. He wasn’t super into religion, but he did find it fascinating at times.  It helped with his job at least.  

“I… can see it.” He smirked, acknowledging Roman’s beauty and his demonic nature working hand in hand.  

Brock listened to the other boy talk about the demon kids.  How they were scared, just wanted to be cared for.  It seemed both boys could probably relate on some level.  Brock missed feeling wanted by his family, something he hadn’t felt since he was a very small child. If these kids weren’t leaving a trail of bodies in their wake, they wouldn’t be so bad.  But as it was, he’d probably have to kill them.  At least he’d feel really bad about it.

Of course, Brock heard the little jab. He could figure out the subtext, if there was a subtext.  He just breathed a sigh and shoved his hands in his pockets as they walked along.  

“Yeah well, sometimes wants’n needs don’ line up.  Lifes great tragedy, right?” He said, trying to move past it without ruffling too many feathers.  

“Did his head get too big, or did he dare to have a thought of his own?” Roman wondered. Humans tailored stories the way they wanted to to teach a lesson, and it was these lessons that were supposed to discourage and scare children from giving in to … Roman, essentially. He took comparisons and stories of such things with a grain of salt.

But, Brock had just called him beautiful, and really, that’s all Roman took away from it all. He opened his mouth to say something. Maybe flirt. Maybe cut Brock down. He was teasing Roman now, wasn’t he? But neither came. “Why are you being so nice to me, suddenly? Is it because you feel bad for me?”

Roman shrugged. “I guess so.”

Brock stopped for a moment and considered his answer.  He was behaving differently, yes it was obvious.  But it was because he’d watched the other boy grow into someone completely different from who he’d made a snap judgement about not too long ago.  Yeah, there was the disturbing things, like the animal torture and the flashes of inhuman features that the boy subtly let slip every now and then… but Brock was always intrigued more by the things that should disgust him.  

“I uh… I do feel bad.  Not for you. Just…” He took a breath and looked up at the night sky through the treeline above them and thought about what he should say next.

“...Once ‘pon a time I was’n love with my best friend.  An’ I watched’m choose someone else.  An’ it was the worst feelin’ in the world.  An’ I’m over it now but… it took months.  Months’f feelin’ worthless.  Months’f feelin’ like I was bein’ dragged ‘long for the hope that maybe things would change. And in that time, yeah I found what I was lookin’ for somewhere else but…” He shook his head as he continued on.  It was weird talking all this out.  

“Point is… I’m fond’f ya.  But I also know what’t feels like t’like someone that belongs t’someone else.  An’ I’m bein’ nicer’t ya because.. because I been where ya are.” He nodded.  Sure he was attracted to him but he also knew that right then, if Roman was looking for more it was something he couldn’t give him. Not without hurting Adam.  

Brock was about to continue when he felt a hard crunch beneath his boot.  He shined the light down and saw that he’d stepped on a skull of some long dead creature in the forest.  He scrunched his lip up before looking around, seeing a few more bones scattered about, a formation of rocks around the area in a circle.  

“This one’o yours, hellspawn?” He asked mostly in jest, hellspawn having more an affectionate edge than any bitterness behind it.  This looked like some sort of ritual meeting place.  Reminded him of Roman’s bunny altars.  

Oh God Roman wanted him to shut up right then, but he listened, trying his best not to react as if the words burned him. Brock pitied him, didn’t he? He said he didn’t feel bad for Roman, but he did. This … This is what Roman was amounting to now? For fuck’s sake, Brock was going to force Roman to kill something just to secure his place back in the leagues of being terrible.

But there was something else. Something nice about being looked at differently. Something secure, warm, comforting. Promising. Roman forced a smile, a thought clearly brewing in his mind that he never got to respond with. Brock was had stepped on something, and the conversation took a wholly more comfortable turn.

“Oh please, why would I leave the comfort of my own backyard to do this and risk being eaten by a wild animal?” Roman shot Brock a look that said he should know him better.

A twig snapped in the distance, and Roman jumped a little. “...Speaking of wild animals.”

But really, it’s not that he pitied him. Did he? Brock didn’t really think it was pity if a part of him kind of wanted to make the boy happy, despite their history.  He liked Roman.  More than he could admit.  Were Adam not there, this new revelation would be worth exploring for him. But Adam was there, and Brock didn’t regret it.  And yet, even though his love for Adam burned bright, he remained drawn to the boy nonetheless.  

“Yeah… I s’pose the spacin’ is too big for a thumper sacrifice.” He jested as his ears perked up at the sound in the distance.  He heard it too.  And he got that sick feeling in his gut that he had the few times he’d run into the kids before.  

“They back…” He said, gripping his knife before slipping into the trees, moving swiftly around in the darkness after shutting off his light.  He didn’t wait for the other, though he was sure the boy could pick up on his cues.  He squinted in the darkness and looked in the direction the snap came from, looking over at Roman’s direction and whispering.

“Do ya see anythin’ with those perty demon eyes?” He asked in a hushed tone.  From his last encounters with them, he knew they were fast.  They’d have to work this intelligently. Or creatively.  His full speed ahead knife throwing last time only scared them off.

“Unless I’ve graduated,” Roman offered half-heartedly, but the thought wasn’t finished.

Brock was taking off in some direction and ugh, Roman was really not cut out of this shit, so he stayed put. What was he honestly going to do anyway -- Brock was the hunter, here. Roman just had the added experience of … Being a demon, he supposed. But they weren’t all alike.

Roman was standing in the middle of the circle, scanning the treeline, but it was dark and he wasn’t quite comfortable giving up his human sigh right now in exchange for a spiritual one. “See? No. Feel? Yes,” he answered. Roman wasn’t certain if they were just exceptionally heavy presences, or if he was still a little sensitive to them following his last attempt at connecting with them over the piece of cloth Brock has given him to work with.

“Come here,” Roman said suddenly. “I want to try something…” He eyed the sacrificial circle with a thoughtful look.

Brock huffed quietly when the other boy asked him to come back.  He knew he wouldn’t be able to just run after the things because of how fast they were, but damned if his brain still didn’t believe that’s exactly what he was going to do.  He clenched his jaw and twirled his dagger once before shoving it and the shut off flashlight into his bag before carefully slipping out of the wooded area and moving back over to the other boy.

“What ya got in mind? We sing koombaya an’ hope they really into campfire ditties?” Brock said in his biting sarcastic tone that he couldn’t help but let slip out from time to time.  Truth be told, he was curious what Roman had in mind.  He’d taken a delve into these kids’ minds, so as much as he was reluctant to trust him, he still did.  

“You brought me for a reason, Brock,” Roman countered. It went without saying that he was telling Brock to trust him, despite the fact Roman had little idea of if this would work or not. From his brief glimpses into their existence, Roman gathered enough to consider they might have a very personal aversion to the idea of sacrifice, which was why, with no warning whatsoever, Roman grabbed Brock and threw him down hard onto the ground in the middle of the circle.

“I just want to piss them off a bit. Go with it,” he instructed, looking down at Brock as he drew out the small concealed knife he’d brought with because -- look, he wasn’t going to be caught completely defenseless out in the woods in the middle of the night, okay?

“I’m going to sacrifice you now.” There was a wink, and then he started muttering some complete bullshit about an ‘old one’ and ‘planes beyond the earth’. It sounded convincing enough. ...For Hollywood, maybe. He even held his hand out and looked as if he was about to cut open his palm over Brock for effect. It was working though, he felt their anger rising, and closing in.

Brock was taken by surprise when he was thrown to the ground, wind knocked out of him momentarily as he laid there, staring up at the boy.  And he wanted to laugh, his lip curling into a small smile.  Maybe it seemed patronizing for him to think it, but in the back of his mind, Brock’s ego was always at work and he just told himself he’d make short work of the boy if he were to try anything.  But then the smile came from elsewhere as well. This was not an all too unfamiliar position for them.  They’d been in an almost identical place months ago, but the situation ended in a very different manner.  It almost shamed him that his body went into autopilot, as if remembering where things did lead last time they threw each other around, and blood started rushing down below.  But he wouldn’t acknowledge it, instead forcing a fake grimace on his face, giving him a little shove.  Not enough to force him off, because this plan did intrigue him, but enough to give a little warning.  

“Ya jus’ wan be on top’a me again.” He said with a shit-eating grin on his face, but then allowed the situation to play out and did his best to feign a fearful look on his face.  Brock wasn’t in Drama, it was easy to tell. But it didn’t make it any less believable to whatever these things were, because a shriek emanated from the woods and the bushes started to shake nearby. He wasn’t sure if they were just trying to distract Roman or if they were trying to scare him off.  Clearly if they wanted to kill him, they would have.  Brock quirked an eyebrow and looked up at the other boy.

“Ya made tha lil tykes angry.”

If Roman noticed, he didn’t respond. He was completely into his pseudo-sacrifice and attempts to get the attention of these kids that Brock was actually ranking a little low on his immediate attention. For once. When he felt the kids were sufficiently irritated, Roman dropped the act. He didn’t cut his palm, and stopped with the idiotic chanting.

That was of course when Brock called attention to their position, to which Roman did nothing but smirk. He took his time getting off of the other boy, however, and gave a little shift as he did.

“Good, at least now they’re out in the open.” He gestured out to them as if to say he was done helping for now. “All you, hero.”

As if on cue, the children started to emerge, hunched over, wary and clearly not a fan of the area or being so out in the open. They eyed both Roman and Brock with black eyes, assessing the situation.

“...I’m going to take it that since they’re not attacking, they’re open to dialogue.”

Roman had shifted on him, possibly knowingly, and it caused a small groan in the back of Brock’s throat.  For once he was thankful for the interference of monsters, because it saved him from making bad decisions.  The children circled them like jungle cats, more attention on Roman since he threatened sacrifice, but curiously watching both when such acts did not happen.  Brock sat up and stared back at them, taking in the dark void beyond their eyes.  He wasn’t scared, but they did bring an unnerving aura about them.  When it was clear that Roman was not going to kill him, the older one spoke.

“Why do you follow us?” He hissed at Brock.  Brock got the feeling he was the one the knife flew at.  

“I dunno.  You ate a lady.  That’s a pretty big reason.” Brock scoffed a bit.  The younger one backed up, looking ashamed. The older one shot him a supportive look, then glared back at Brock.

“That wasn’t our fault.  She wasn’t right.  We were so hungry.  We just needed a place to stay.” Suddenly they seemed scared.  Brock noticed it.  Suddenly everything Roman said started making sense.  

“Yeah… looked that way.  So what’re ya? Children of the corn?” Brock hissed back.  The kids started backing up.  Clearly this wasn’t working out too well.  

Roman listened to the rather antagonistic back and forth between the two parties, and he might as well have been looking at his nails for all he really gave a shit about it. They were eyeing him, but this wasn’t really his fight anymore, was it? Brock was supposed to kill them or something, even if they were just little … demon kids. Not unlike his little brother, actually.

“Oh for the love of --” When the kids started backing up, Roman put his hand on Brock’s chest and stepped in front of him a little. The backing up stopped, but they eyed Roman in a much less curious and much more wary way. He was the one who had feigned sacrifice to lure them out, after all.

“Excuse my friend, kids. He’s a bit insensitive to our kind.” That seemed to get their attention, but the oldest did not seem to buy Roman’s words.

“Our kind?” He asked, glancing to some of the other children. “You are not one of us.”

“Well, uh, no. Not exactly. You’re made. I’m pure.” There was a tiny lilt of pride to Roman’s words, but it was likely only Brock would notice. Flashes of emotional ran across the childrens’ faces: excitement, fear, hesitation, confusion.

“And basically, if we don’t figure out some way for you not to kill and eat people, this guy is going to have to kill and eat you instead.” Roman paused, glancing back to Brock and then to the children. “Okay, okay, I was kidding about the eating, but it sounded good, didn’t it?”

Brock’s lip contorted into a grimace as he listened to Roman talk. Yeah, maybe the diplomacy was working on the children better than his ‘BROCK SMASH’ routine but Roman made it sound so… sinister. Well maybe it was sinister.  Brock was going to have to kill these children.  He had no question about it in his mind.  But something about the hope that Roman seemed to have for it touched him. Another surprise that only endeared the boy to him more. Goddammit.  

“We already have someone taking care of us.” The older child said, as if dismissing what Roman suggested.  But what did he mean by that? Was someone killing for them? Or had they found a way to live peacefully? Something told him it was more likely the former.  Brock slipped his hand in his bag and gripped the handle of his dagger and looked at the children.  They seemed to multiply from the two he’d seen weeks before. Maybe they had? He didn’t know how they worked.

“Why’d you come? When he acted like he was gon’ sacrifice me?” Brock distracted them with a question so he could plan his next move.  But he was also curious. Wouldn’t demonic creatures live for that stuff?

“We… it just scares us is all.  We don’t want it to happen to anyone else…” The older child spoke once more. Something odd about him. LIke a sense of humanity. Remorse.  It took Brock off guard. Everything about these kids took him off guard.  And he didn’t like it.  Without much thought, he quickly threw his dagger at the older boy, impaling him in the shoulder.  At that all the children started to scream at once.  The older child pulled the knife out and threw it to the ground and turned, disappearing into the darkness of the woods.  The other children all but vanished as well.  Brock blinked for a few moments, actually feeling somewhat sorry for what he had done. They weren’t real kids right?  Just monsters. Just monsters.

Roman … Saw red. They had been making progress up until Brock went off the reservation, or so he thought. “BROCK!” Roman yelled, something he hardly did. Hell, Roman hardly raised his voice at people, let alone yelled at them. And that was far from all he did, with his temper flaring up, Roman lost sight of his actions long enough to shove Brock, and the hope was that he’d hurt from whatever he collided with. Roman didn’t care. Not then. And he didn’t stop to see if Brock was okay, either, partly because he knew Brock would be fine (he hadn’t shoved him hard enough to kill the idiot), and part because he was too busy launching into a tirade.

“Aren’t you seeing a bigger picture here?! They said ‘they don’t want it to happen to anyone else’ which means someone is out there doing --” Something. Demonizing? Sacrificing? Whatever. “--That, to THEM.” The kids were victims who made victims, sure. Perhaps that was easy for Brock. Perhaps it was black and white. Right now was a test for Roman, he realized, as he stood there glaring at Brock.

His features softened a little. “...Is that what you’re going to do to me eventually?”

Brock fell back and hit his tailbone on one of the rocks on the outer rim of the circle hard.  A broken tailbone was not going to be fun until it got healed.  But he couldn’t be mad.  He knew that Roman identified with the children.  Hell, Brock identified with them.  Growing up lost and confused with strange abilities and cravings nobody could relate to with what seemed nobody to love you.  It hit home.  Maybe he panicked and tried killing that part of him, now that he was so close to happiness.  Maybe he too associated the kids with Roman and he was trying to kill him by association.  Because Roman was a puzzle wrapped in a mystery that complicated things for him and part of him hated that.  

But as it was, Roman was right.  Those kids must have seen things in these woods. Brock often forgot that monsters could do horrible things and still have more humanity in them than some of the people he knew.  

“They… they still kill people, Roman.  I have to…” What? Kill them? Punish them? Human kids didn’t have much a moral compass.  Give them horrific cravings and demonic powers and he couldn’t imagine they’d react any different.  But then Roman’s question  It hit him in the gut like a punch.  But the truth of the matter is… that’s why Brock even started talking to Roman to begin with.  Why they ended up starting a sexual relationship. Why he listened to what Roman had to say even if he was driving him batshit insane.  Because one day he knew he might have to kill him.  And he wanted to be ready.

“...It’s not… If you don’t kill nobody, then no. But I gotta duty’t do, Rome… Anyone in this town does that shit, I gotta take’m out.” Hypocritical he was. Adam butchered Clint Balfour’s tongue. Lincoln used his abilities to kill someone even if they were a criminal.  Brock protected both of them, but because he could defend them. Adam wasn’t in his right mind, Lincoln was protecting himself.  It still caused the Redeemer to stir in him, but it was easier to trick the damn thing into not caring if there was a loophole.  

“I’m tryn’ not’t hurt you, Roman.” He said, leaving the statement open since it meant more than one thing.  Brock stood slowly, hunching a bit in pain before hobbling over to collect his now bloody dagger from the ground.  

“Maybe our lil adventures together ain’t such a good idea…” He said, wiping the blood from his dagger on a small rag from his bag.  

“It’s gon’ end in pain for everyone.”

“Of course they do, Brock,” Roman spat, barely resisting rolling his eyes. “But if they’re all dead, we’ll never find out who sacrificed some random kids to a darker power.” It was speculation, really, but their aversion to his test with Brock and how scared they’d been of the sudden motion … Roman thought it might be fair to assume they were possessed, or something similar enough.

“Have you ever thought maybe you could save some of these creatures, darling?” The question was partially rhetorical in that Brock’s answer meant very little to Roman right then. “If you haven’t, then you deserve to be ripped apart by each and every one of them.” Just as it was rare to see him yell, the coldness that seemed to encompass his words in that moment was an equally off key tone in comparison to his usual upbeat, run of the mill amused state of being.

With his temper in check, Roman’s general attitude seemed to fizzle down into something more distant. He wasn’t aggressive or even angry anymore, but the grins, flirting and bad jokes had yet to return. “They’d be a fine idea if you’d let me actually help you. Listening to me included,” Roman paused to shot him a pointed glance, and then a shrug at Brock’s next statement.

“Everything ends,” was all he really replied. “You should probably get yourself looked at.” It was the closest to an apology as he would give, and considering he knew how Brock typically healed himself, it spoke volumes that he wasn’t offering to do it himself.

It was an interesting concept Roman offered up. Maybe he wasn’t just supposed to save the innocent? Maybe he was supposed to save the damned as well? Offer them up a second chance? Wasn’t that what he did with his closest friends anyway? Over half of them weren’t completely human and had done something horrible, and yet he continued trying to guide them to the light. Hell, even in his own way he did it for Roman, checking in on him and making sure he wasn’t going past innocent bunnies for a thrill kill.  But then, maybe Brock did deserve to be torn apart.  He did a shit job at saving the people he was supposed to save these days anyway.

“...You’re right. Goddammit, I hate’t but… you’re right.” He said through his teeth, admitting defeat.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered out.  He should have let Roman talk to the kids.  He just acted on impulse like he always did.  He knew maybe he should listen to Roman.  Funny that he was slowly starting to trust him when he felt like he really shouldn’t.  But after letting other people get close, tell him how they were going to handle these things and then turning around and watching them either stab him in the back or die, he had a hard time trusting anyone these days.  But after that, their interactions were short.  Roman was annoyed. Probably horrified. Brock horrified Roman. There was a twist.  He just gave him a solemn nod and slipped his dagger into his bag.

“We’shd prolly head back then.” He said, quietly hobbling back in the direction they came.

* * *

Practice was exhausting today, but Roman was pretty distracted and it was obvious enough. Coach was on his ass, and a few teammates had a few choice words for him, all of which Roman chose not to take seriously lest they find themselves on the other side of a lethal temperamental downpour.

He was on his way back from the locker rooms, and not quite ready to go home yet. His parents were in one of their Moods which meant he’d be responsible for entertaining his awful little brother. No, not Roman’s idea of a good evening at all. When a noise from the garage caught his attention, Roman naturally gravitated that way out of sheer curiosity and as a way to do anything but what he should presently be doing.

Brock. Of course. A little twist of irritation in his chest told him he ought to keep on walking, but, well …

“How’s the back,” he called, and he was walking in before he knew it, dumping his gym bag and backpack on the floor against the nearest wall and walking over to watch Brock work.

Brock had to say the start of the new semester had gotten off to a weird start. These demon kids were just business as usual honestly, even if he hadn’t really dealt with monsters that he might be better off trying to save than kill. But there was this thing with Roman admitting he somewhat cared for him on New Years.  That was weird.  

Oh and there was also that threesome he just had with his boyfriend and Maja.  That was new.

In any case, Brock found himself wanting to stay out of the Armory for once.  Stay away from business.  Give Adam a break.  Give himself a break from his day to day.  And Mr. Carson was giving him until the end of the week to fix the engine on this car.  Brock decided what the hell, he’d stay after school and do a bit of extra work.  People should have known he was distracted by the fact that he was voluntarily doing schoolwork, even if it was in Auto Shop.  Though he had to admit, he didn’t mind it.  In fact, he’d hoped he’d be able to use his newfound mechanical skills to fix up a car for himself one of these days.  It was the little things that kept him going.  

Brock was leaned over the engine tinkering when he heard a familiar voice behind him.  He turned to look, wiping sweat from his brow but only managing to smear a little bit of oil on his face just above his eye.  

“It’sa… it’s better.” He nodded, wiping grease on a small red rag and laying it on the edge of the hood.  

“Weren’t football season in the fall?” He asked, leaning against the car, large arms crossed.

“Wasn’t aware we even still had a football team with how much a deal they make outta tha rowin’ team.”

Ew, why’d he ask. He knew what Brock’s healing entailed and while sure, he hadn’t pushed him hard enough to do last damage, Roman was still suspicious enough to regret asking. And being a little bitter that he did. “Great,” he said, in a much more chipper tone than he meant.

“Coach wanted us to practice. He’s crazy. Something about getting lazy over the break, I don’t know. I wasn’t listening.” Roman moved closer, clearly being nosy and peeking in at what Brock was doing. He didn’t take shop and he didn’t fix cars, so … he knew very little about what the hell he was looking at. And again, he didn’t care, so he wasn’t about to ask.

“It’s a little weird to see you at school after hours.” He leaned against the car beside Brock.

“Want company?” It was barely a question. He was probably going to stay anyway, and they both knew it.

Brock clicked his tongue against the side of his jaw and nodded at Roman’s explanation.  He didn’t claim to understand sports like most macho guys his age.  He was only on the wrestling team for a few years because… violence.  But anything else with all the… rules was something he didn’t care to understand.  

“Well if’n ya ask me, looks like coach needs’t follow his own advice an run a few laps himself. All them Buds are gettin’ to’m.” He said smartly with a little shrug, whilst letting his eyes study Roman up and down for a moment.  Brock had to admit, he didn’t mind the company.  Well, actually he didn’t want to admit it, but even when he sneered and called Roman a demon he felt some strange comfort with his presence.  

“Uh… sure.  Jus’ watch where ya sittin’, devil boy.  Oil be everywhere in here.” He said, giving a little nod to his own bare arms that were covered in black streaks.  He picked up his small wrench and went back to what he was doing when Roman got there.  

“Isn’t he just living up to the stereotype of the American high school coach, though?” Roman wondered, but he did laugh a little at Brock’s comments, and it was a genuine laugh. He shook his head and tsked, reaching out to poke Brock’s check. “Not everyone can be built like you, honey.”

Roman kicked his stuff aside and lowered himself to sit in one of the dry areas of the garage, opening his backpack as if he had any real intention of reading or doing any homework. He was bored and looking for an escape, but even his defiance had its limits.

“What’s on your mind?” He tilted his head. It was a shot in the dark, but it was strange enough to see Brock here that he thought he’d ask anyway.

Brock finished tightening a bolt before looking up to him with a quirked eyebrow.  What was on his mind? Too many things.  Worry for one.  Brock had reached a point in his relationship with Adam where they were so in love that it scared him, because he hadn’t been this far in without fucking it up.  His urges were never far from his mind. Yeah, an occasional threesome with Maja would help to quell it, but that was not something that happened all the time.  And not something that really mattered.  Maja was a friend. Sex was actually quite meaningless.  It was the attention that Brock liked.  Funny how a guy that grew up being largely ignored by his family would gravitate toward attention. And Roman gave him a lot of that.  Even when he was a total dick to him.  Roman was strange.  But then Brock always liked strange.  And he hated that he liked it.  

Then there was the fact that he wasn’t sure what to do with these kids.  They’d already killed at least one known person.  Maybe two if Jillian was involved.  And there was something weird going on in the woods that involved that creepy rock circle.  Brock wasn’t sure if he was prepared for another big battle after losing Logan.  He still hadn’t properly grieved the death of his former best friend.  He kept a lot of strange feelings to himself lately.  

Still. He lied. To save face. Save awkwardness.  “Not much.  Just tryna’ live like a normal boy for once.  Ain’t you never wanna do that? Jus’... forget ya have a face ya gotta hide from everyone else?” Because Brock hid everything now and he hated it. His job.  His feelings. His relationship. It was ironic that the one thing that made him happiest was also the one thing that made him saddest.  And was he just imagining things or did Adam enjoy Maja’s touch more than his own? Maybe he was just giving into his insecurities. He knew Maja wouldn’t do that to him with their history. But then maybe Brock was just looking for something to worry about to forget about his own mind’s betrayal, which currently involved hiding his dimpled half smile behind the open hood of the car when Roman gave him one of those curious looks he often did.  

“Why ya ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Roman started thoughtfully. He did and didn’t buy the answer. It was layered, he was certain, but he supposed it wasn’t a complete lie or stretch for Brock to just want to be normal every now and again. He had moments of wondering what it would be like too. Or if he was painstakingly normal in comparison to a lot of his kind, which presented the probably of feeling things a little too humanly. Things like the boy standing in front of him, for example. “I think I’m pretty normal, considering.” It wasn’t quite a lie, either. He hid in plain sight as that other side of everyone he was surrounded with. That was his true other face.

He shrugged. “Like I said, it’s odd to see you here. And our last encounter --” Roman stopped short. He was not about to apologize for his reaction, no way. But he’d hoped it had given Brock some things to think about regarding his approach to his job, and if that was one of the things on the other boy’s mind, well … he didn’t feel bad at all.

Finally, he succumbed to merely giving the real answer, “I was just concerned.”

Brock stopped and wiped his hands again and licked his lips before turning to face the other boy again.  He leaned against the car and tapped his fingers on the edge while he looked at Roman, studying his face to check his sincerity.  If this was still a game to Roman, he was very good at it.

“Concerned? Why concerned? My ass’s fine.  I overreacted wit’ them kids. You was right.” He shrugged, moving to the toolbox and shuffling around in it without any real purpose just to look busy.  

“But uh.. thanks I s’pose.” He nodded a bit, looking halfway over his shoulder at him.  

“So ya jus’ gon’ show up places from now on an’ tell me how concerned ya are about me? Do ya mean that when ya say’t or are ya jus’ tryn to catch me with my guard down?” He turned, looking him up and down once more, as if trying to interrogate him.  Because it was working. Every conversation he had with this softer Roman was lowering his defenses more each time.

“Would you rather me not say it anymore? “ Roman wondered,  almost snappy,  but he curved his irritation. It was technically a fair question that Brock presented.

“I'm concerned because of how pathetic you looked last time we parted, if you must know.” But Roman would not elaborate. Elaborating would be admitting some slight care about the fate of the kids,  or perhaps some care as to what happened to them in the first place.

“Haven't you noticed how much space I've been giving you,  even when we see each other?  I'm not trying to wear you down,  I'm letting you be happy.” Roman paused, realizing how nice that sounded from him,  so he had to tack on a petty little,  “For now.”

“Pathetic? How am I pathetic when I’m just tryna’ do a job? When I’m jus’ not used’t a monster bein’ on tha face of a kid? This is different than anythin’ I’ve dealt with before.” Brock grimaced, leaning against the counter that the toolbox sat on.  He clicked his tongue again and stared down the other boy, a small scowl taking over his face at his next comment.  

“For now? What the hell does’at even mean?” He shook his head.

“Ya start out murderin’ bunnies jus’ so I pay attention to ya, then when I get serious wit’ someone else, ya show up an’ suddenly start carin’ about me? Like what the fuck, Roman?” He smashed his fist into the counter, a crack forming in the marble top.  

“I jus’ had my ‘motions toyed with for two fuckin’ months by people that called themselves my best friends. I find a bit’a happiness an’ you show up claimin’ you care so damn much and I don’t ‘preciate the games.” Why was he getting so upset? They were just fuck buddies earlier last year.  Yeah, he was secretly real fond of Roman, but he wasn’t sure why it made him so… <i>emotional</i>.

“FUCK! I’m sorry.  I’m jus’... stressed out about so much these days. Forget everythin’ I jus’ said. I need a break.” He shook his head, sliding up on the counter and leaning his head against the wall.

“Yeah, different than anything else, and yet you reacted to it the exact same as anything.” The lack of pity in his tone disappeared just as quickly as it came. They’d had this argument once, and Roman was not about to reopen it again. He’d said his piece, both physically and verbally. It was up to Brock now.

Roman was still sitting, so he looked up at Brock as the other boy leaned back against the counter. he considered giving up, but the power exchange of the situation demanded that perhaps he should remain sitting. Brock had some things to get off his chest, and by standing Roman might challenge or threaten the release of all those delicate pearls of feelings and information that Brock was currently deciding to shower him with. Some of it could be speculated on already, but others placed new light on things Roman had only wondered about lately. Namely, where Brock’s actually feelings ranked between attraction and something more.

“Did it not cross your mind that I wanted your attention because I cared then?” Roman hissed it. He was getting (unfairly) tired of everyone speculating that he was playing games all the time, but then, he usually played games, so what did he want. He was so close to throwing a hurricane-level tantrum, though. Like hell was he forgetting any of this, but he didn’t dare say that either.

Finally, he stood, grabbing a notebook from his back and walking over to Brock as a slowed pace. He was flipping through the reams of paper, looking for something. “You haven’t seen me really play a game. Darlin’,” he made an extra point to speak a little more like Brock on that last word, “And you’d be too easy to play it on. Maybe at first, yeah, I kinda was. You know, you’re so emotional and you care so much -- perfect testing ground. But now?” Roman shrugged and closed the rest of the distance between, his smile once again holding that little hint of something else in it as he ….

Set a blank page down beside Brock on the counter. “We should play tic-tac-toe. I’m terrible at it, but I’m obsessed.” Roman flashed another smile, but whatever was behind it before was gone again. He held out a pen,  offering Brock first go. “Would you like to be hugs,  or kisses?”

Honestly though? It never crossed his mind back then that Roman might have liked him more than what they were.  Back then, Brock still harbored secret feelings for Lincoln. Still treated people like sexual objects to filter out the anger he felt for being <i>chosen</i> against his will. Back then, Roman was just an object to him. An annoying, possibly evil object.  One that he ended up getting to know a lot about and enjoyed spending time with occasionally. But still an object. Now, he was about another year older.  He’d fought more creatures. Learned more life lessons. Lost more than he could bear thinking about. He was almost totally different.  But the fondness for Roman stayed.  

“...Why ya never tell me then?” He asked, knowing the answer. Because Brock would have scoffed back then.  Because Brock would have been cruel. Because this person he was talking to now was sensitive and sweet despite having a twisted dark side and Brock would have relished crushing his spirit back then. So much for hero boy.

Brock listened to Roman go on about ‘playing a game,’ carrying on like some supervillain monologue in a movie.  Brock was fully prepared to roll his eyes, launch into another defensive tirade, when the boy pulled out a paper.  Tic Tac Toe? Brock stared at him for a long lingering moment.  Then… a bright smile followed by laughter. A release of nervous tension he’d had built up for a long while.  

“You’re so weird, hellspawn.” He chuckled.  He tapped a finger against his own bottom lip for a moment while he considered the offer.  Then he reached out and grabbed the pen, hand lingering a touch a tad longer against Roman’s than maybe he should have.  

“I’ll be X’s.  They more satisfyin’ to draw for some reason.” He joked a bit, stealing the coveted middle section with an X.  

Roman laughed a loud and dismissive laugh at Brock’s question. “You’re hilarious.” Why’d he never tell Brock. That was rich. On top of all the reasons Brock was listing in his own mind, Roman could hardly begin to wrap his head around human feelings and all of this bullshit that came along with them. It took him this long to figure out the basic meaning of caring about someone. He wanted Brock’s attention so he could ruin his life. Or be in his life. Or mean something in his life. Or … Ugh, the all ran together on the better days, and crossed over completely on the worst.

The smile was well worth the dramatic build up, he decided. He’d meant what he’d said, of course, but he might as well put his theater skills to use here and now and help Brock relax a bit by dressing everything up toward some epic and yet wholly anticlimactic revelation. He couldn’t believe how they overlooked his talent in theater, honestly.

Roman noticed the lingering touch, but did not draw attention to it. He wanted to see how many of those little touches would occur, and whether they were accidental or testing some waters.

“Right in for the kill, of course,” Roman teased, watching Brock take the middle section. He drew an O in the top right. “You’re weird too. You said you needed a break, so here you are.”

“Oh always in for tha kill. Someone once told me I should always think’f survival first or somethin like that. Consider this just’a tease.” Brock smirked halfway, acknowledging a statement Roman made to him weeks ago about how he should always be on guard. He responded to Roman’s move by placing an X in the top middle.

“I ain't played this since like… Third grade.” He gave a little awkward half smile and a shrug as he leaned back, waiting for Roman's next move. He almost asked if he remembered what he was like that far back but then he remembered Roman had only moved to town a few years ago.

“I'd like’t think I wasn't such a bastard back then but… I prolly still was. Still, things were simpler. Sometimes I miss it.  I mean, my dad was shit, but at least I ain't know no better back then.” Maybe he was too young to be making that kind of statement but given his line of work and the things he'd been through, he had to grow up faster than many of his peers. It sucked.

Roman returned the smirk, appreciating the world play, but other than that, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Ah-ah, I see you. No way.” He hurriedly placed an O in the bottom middle, cutting Brock off. This round, at least.

He listened with interest, a tiny little smile playing on his lips. “A tiny little jackass Brock. How precious.” Roman meant it, in his own little insulting way. In truth, Roman was torn between shushing Brock and letting him continue. It seemed like the other boy needed to talk and let off some steam, but it also seemed like Brock needed some time to <i>not</i> contemplate heavy things and harsh realities. “Are you saying ignorance is bliss? ...That’s the saying, right?”

“There’s a saying in Japanese…” Roman thought about it, recalling the exact phrases, and then speaking them to Brock in their native tongue. He tapped the paper, as if rushing the other boy, while he continued to translate between languages in his mind. Eventually, he explained the proverb. “It’s like … It’s saying your environment shapes you. Basically. So maybe you’re not shit because he was.”

“Uh… yeah I guess that’s what I’m gettin’ at. All the shit I know now. Or’ve done.  It’s uh… I donno. Sometime’s I jus’ like’t think how life would be different if I wasn’t chosen. Like… would I be a math nerd’r somethin?”

The other boy spoke in his native Japanese and a little smirk crept at the side of Brock’s lips.  He always envied people that knew more than one language. It reminded him of the world outside of Onancock he was never likely to see.

“Maybe. But he’s dead an’... I guess I’m bein’ shaped more by tha’ people round me now.” THAT was certainly the truth.  His two months of hell and heartbreak shaped him to be more cynical.  His relationship with Adam taught him that not everything was impossible.  And this strange friendship he had with Roman taught him the importance of actually trying to see life from another perspective.  A long cry from the beer and violence credo his dad taught him. But amidst all that he almost forgot it was his turn and drew an X at the top left corner.

“I get the wondering what if…” Roman stopped. “I mean I guess. I never really do. Except maybe about you sometimes.” He gave a sly smile, but his attention went back to the game. Huh. He had Brock pinned, didn’t he? It was a rare win. He wasn’t lying about being terrible at the game.

“Yeah, I’d guess so. Hopefully for the better?” Roman marked an O in the bottom right, before passing the pen back to Brock.

“You’re in check, honey.” Wrong game, but whatever. It sounded good.

Brock stopped and curiously looked at the other boy, legs coming up on the counter and crossing in front of him as he adjusted himself where he sat.

“What ya mean ‘What if?’” He asked, not in an intrusive manner. Just genuinely wanting to know.  Yeah, he had Adam and still knew that Roman was up to no good sometimes, but it still didn’t stop the little bit of heat coming to his cheeks.  

“Maybe for tha better.  Maybe not.  I’m shamefully real easy’t influence.” He admitted with a shrug, taking the pen again, finger brushing Roman’s once more. On accident? Maybe. Probably. Right? He drew an X in the bottom left to cut Roman off.

“What bout you? Would you say you was more’a hellion when ya was a lil tyke? Because you seem… I dunno… more pleasant recently.” He joked a bit, though not ENTIRELY joking. Maybe he was just noticing Roman more now but it was something that was always there.  

Roman bit his lip, not really wanting to answer in a completely serious way, so he decided to make a joke of it. “Brock, could you imagine if we were dating? Wouldn’t that be hilarious?” He actually laughed and shook his head.

“Are you? I hadn’t noticed.” He shot Brock a shit-eating grin at the comment of Brock being easy to influence, but he meant it as more of a tease than an insult.

“I was terrible. At sleepovers, I’d tell my friends the scariest stories I could think of and then watch them have nightmares all night.” He probably shouldn’t have looked proud of that accomplishment, but … It was Roman. Of course he was proud.

“Tic-tac-toe!” Roman marked his las O, middle right, and drew a line through it. He won! “Do you know which one the O represents in hugs and kisses? Because that’s the one you owe me.”

Brock quirked his head once more.  Roman presented it like a joke, but somehow it seemed like it wasn’t completely.  He pursed his lips and crossed his arms. “I dunno. I don’t think it’d be hilarious.  We’d prolly look real good t’gether.” He nodded with a little smirk.  He already knew how they fit together, how good they looked together naked.  Though that seemed like forever ago and times were different now.  At his little comment about being easy to influence, he gave him a little shove.

“Shut up, fool.” He said, though playfully.  

“Yeah well, lil did they know most’a them scary stories was true.  Kids’r stupid.  But it’s a blessin’t be that stupid sometimes.” He gave a little nod and watched as Roman won the game.  Damn.  He wasn’t really paying that much attention.

“I uh… I dunno.  Which one d’ya think’t is?” He gave a little shrug, looking down at the paper and squinting.  How the hell did people get kisses and hugs from X’s and O’s anyway? People are…weird.

“Well duh, of course we would. I’m involved in that combination.” It was easy to downplay the seriousness of something with Roman’s ego. He just laughed things off or made it about himself and how shallow he could be. This was not quite so different.

“Not all of them, though. I just have a knack for details and dramatics.” Obviously.

“I thiiink,” Roman started. He knew which one he wanted it to be, and quite frankly, he actually didn’t know which was which. “Kiss.” But, in the interest of being mildly considerate, Roman did at least turn and tap his cheek. Brock could spare that at least, couldn’t he?

Brock just gave a little harrumph at Roman’s ego.  Which… was not unlike his own honestly. He just shook his head and laughed lightly at the boy.

“That’s’n understatement.” He said in jest of the boy’s flair for dramatics.  He had SO much drama it just fell from his pores.  

Brock thought for a moment what he should do.  Honestly, he had no idea which was which, so the boy could be being honest.  He looked over him cautiously.  It was just a kiss on the cheek right? Brock could control himself enough for that.  So he leaned in, nervously oddly enough, and pressed a kiss against his cheek. He pulled away and hovered a moment before giving him another odd look and chuckling.

“You uh… got a lil oil on ya face now.” He licked his thumb and instinctively patted at it, trying to clean it off.

Easy to influence indeed. Roman allowed the chaste little peck to remain what it was. Brock lingered,  and he felt it. He did turn,  at least,  to face the other boy,  determined to force eye contact which he found Brock typically avoided with him.

“Good break?” He asked while Brock cleaned his cheek.  The other boy should know he didn't actually mind being dirty, but Roman wasn't about to turn away this contact. He did, however,  move a little closer, but if it came up he'd simply pass it off as giving Brock a better reach to get the smudge off him.

Yeah. Brock could recall how dirty he liked it.  But that was a lifetime ago.  And that was different.  But somehow they were eye to eye with Brock’s thumb on Roman’s cheek, faces not too far apart from each other. He could feel Roman’s breath against his own lips with how close they were. Their faces weren’t that close before were they? It was like some sort of magnetic force he tried hard to resist. He found his hand move up to Roman’s chest, pushing away, or at least trying to.  So it was very much a surprise to him when he found he couldn’t.

And he somehow found himself leaning in.  Everything in his mind screaming at him to stop but he couldn’t.  And he pressed his lips against Roman’s for a few short seconds. And then…

“I-I need’t… I gotta go.” Brock pulled away, upset look on his face. Goddammit he was so stupid.

Roman would've moved away if Brock pushed him,  but he didn't,  so he stayed there pressed against the other's hand,  curious about where this would go next and how far it would carry. There was this look in Brock’s eyes that said enough,  right before he kissed Roman,  but Roman didn't even get the chance to respond before Brock was gone again.

He leaned back against the counter in a position that could suggest he was okay with the idea of being pinned to it.

“Sure, gorgeous. I can close this place up for you.”

The way that the clothes hung to Roman's body was suddenly of extreme interest to Brock. He licked his lips and drank in the boy in the position he was in. Why the fuck was his mind doing this to him? Everything felt treasonous to him right now, but all he wanted to do in that moment was tear off Roman's clothes and make him scream.

Brock was a fucking idiot.

Brock approached him again, standing between Roman's legs as he leaned back on the counter before him. Hands moved around his waist and pulled him in roughly as he touched noses to him, breath hot against his lips.

“If’n ya care so much about me…” He said, breathing heavily, fingertips dancing lightly to his lower back under his shirt. And then his tone shifted and he gave Roman a shove.

“...then leave me alone. I got somethin real good goin on wit Adam and I can't think straight when ya near me.” He said, coming back down to earth. He pulled away and grabbed his own bag.

“You’n I just ain't possible. I'm sorry.” He said in a low tone. Though his voice was shaky. Like he wished he could say otherwise. Because something about Roman was so interesting and kept him coming back for more. But he loved Adam sincerely and the thought of losing him scared him so much.

And yet he kinda wished Roman didn't listen. Goddammit.

If Roman hadn’t already known Brock was dating Adam, he did now. Brock had this tendency to say things just as he reaffirmed them with action. Like not being able to think straight, and revealing a secret in the same breath.

Still, Roman exhaled the breath he’d taken when Brock got so close to him, and remained silent for several moments after Brock had pulled away. He didn’t have anything snappy to say right now, so he went with the ever-simple: “Okay.” Okay he’d leave Brock alone? Okay they weren’t possible?

Just okay.

Brock looked back at him.  He couldn’t tell what he was thinking by the look on his face.  On the one hand, maybe he had just been toying with Brock the whole time and it stopped being fun. Maybe this stopped it? But on the other hand… Maybe Brock <i>did</i> mean something to him.  And that made everything feel just… sad.  If things were different, he’d apologize.  Take it back.  Probably even kiss him again.  But things weren’t different, so it was best to just let things as they were.

“Thank you…” He said after looking Roman straight in the eyes for a long, lingering moment.  Not a gaze of dominance or anger.  Maybe a little guilt.  But he knew how often Roman tried to get him to look into his eyes, the least he could do was respect that.  

“I’ll seeya round, Roman…” He said with a small nod, biting his lip and turning for the door.  He didn’t know why that seemed so hard, but he knew it was the right thing.  Adam was his prince. Roman didn’t know him the same way.  He wasn’t sure he ever would. When he reached the door he turned and gave him one last look, then turned and disappeared down the hallway.

* * *

Things were awkward right now. Brock kissed Roman. He wasn’t forced. He wasn’t bewitched into it. And to be honest, as much as he could try to pawn it off on his sex addiction, it wasn’t due to that. It was something more. Something about Roman drew him in and it was fucking scary to him. Especially when he already thought he’d found his happiness and was doing what he could to protect that.  He needed to stay away from him.

And yet...

And yet there was some unfinished business that they both needed to attend to.  He had uncovered some new clues and needed to investigate things a little further, but if he had to talk to these kids he was sure now he wouldn’t get very far.  He needed Roman for this. They trusted him.  He trusted him, much to his own chagrin.  

He tried apologizing over text but things didn’t quite end where he wanted it.  So he might as well just go for it and go to him. He still had a job to do, he can’t just let this shit stand in his way.  So he arrived at Roman’s house for the first time in about a year. The last time he was there was in a warmer month, and he spent most of that in the backyard punishing Roman for his faux-bunny sacrifice.  This time wasn’t about that.  He knocked on the door and stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets, looking around as he waited to see if anyone was home.

A few voices could be heard echoing throughout the house, and then finally Roman’s right behind the door. He hadn’t planned on doing much today for weather-related reasons, which meant spending most of the time going back and forth with his brother and rolling his eyes at whatever crazy vacation his parents were planning for their anniversary. So far, he’d gathered some mountain climbing in Eastern Europe. Fun.

When he opened the door, he was not expecting Brock. For a moment, he just stared absently, and then pulled himself together so it was a little more Roman-like when he spoke.

“What, Brock?”

Brock stood there for a moment, looking down at the ground with an awkward half smile when the other boy stared.  Finally Roman broke the silence. Brock pulled down the sides of his knit hat over his ears and gave a shrug.

“Well I been doin’ some searchin’ for them kids an’ I figure you’d wanna go over a few things?” He said, big blue eyes soulfully, apologetically looking at him, saying things he wasn’t yet prepared to say with his actual mouth.  

“If’n I find’em, If I’mma save them I’mma need’t talk to them an’ they prolly don’ trust me so... “ He looked down and kicked his boot back and forth with another shrug. “I kinda need you, I s’pose.”

Ugh he had suggested that, hadn’t he? There was a tinge of selfishness that flared up in Roman that said he should just shut the door and let Brock figure it out on his own. The kids weren’t his responsibility, and whether they lived or died made no difference in his life. But another part…

Roman sighed and opened the door wide enough for Brock to walk in, and inwardly cursed the other boy’s stupid blue eyes every step of the way.

“We can go --” Roman paused when his dad started singing in the kitchen. “...To my room.”

Nicholas poked his head out from the kitchen, singing interrupted when he heard his son speaking to someone. “Guests? ...Are you eating?”

“He’s not,” Roman answered.

“Let him speak, Roman.” Nicholas smiled at Brock, waiting for an answer.

Brock walked into his home and was sidelined by the sudden appearance of Roman’s father. He’d never officially met the parents. Seen them around, yeah, but never really introduced himself. It seemed kind of blasphemous not knowing them being that he knew their son biblically, but then he had a hunch they were every bit the demon that Roman was and didn’t care much about that kind of thing. And besides, if he’d met the parents of everyone he’d had sex with...well it would take a very very long time.

“O-oh I’m okay, sir…” He cleared his throat and nodded, trying to be polite even if he was sure everyone in this house was just as off as Roman.  And really, how weird was it that this probable demon guy was being nice? Demons, man. The grey area confused him, but it was growing more and more apparent that things were more complicated than just good and evil these days.

“But um… thank ya.” He smiled at the man and looked over to Roman.  “If this’s a bad time I really’cn go. No big deal, man.”

Nicholas looked back and forth between the boys, and then to Roman for a moment, as if he knew something. “I will tell you what - I’ll make one just in case you change your mind,” he said, before ducking back into the kitchen. He resumed his song as if he hadn’t missed a beat.

“It’s … Fine. It’s a fine time,” Roman replied, shaking his head at his dad’s behavior. He nodded toward the stairs and made his way over to them, starting to head up without really waiting to see if Brock would follow. It’d be easier to talk about demon kids away from the prying ears of well … Other demons. And also away from his dad’s singing and current grill infatuation, and his increasingly annoying little brother.

He opened the door to his room and let Brock in. “Sorry about him. He always want to grill in the winter, so mom bought him an indoor one and -- Brock -- I swear that’s all he’s been doing for three days. Maybe I should thank you for coming and offering a distraction.” He groaned and flopped down on his bed, giving a lazy motion for Brock to sit wherever.

“So, what’d you find?”

Brock offered the man a smile before listening to Roman’s response.  He followed him up the stairs and listened to him complain about his family.  Complaints that… to Brock, sounded nice. He wished that all he had to complain about was his dad being, well… a dad. For demons, they seemed completely mundane. Brock was actually a little bit jealous, if he was being totally honest.

“That’s not so bad, Rome…” He said in all sincerity. His fondest memories of his own father were of dodging flying beer bottles around the house.  Those weren’t the best of times. In any case, he sat on the edge of the bed and shoved his hands back in his jacket pockets while he thought over everything he’d found out the last few weeks.

“Well I went back’n followed the blood trail from that kid…” He said, making a somewhat softened face at that. He knew how Roman felt about what he did. He tried moving past it quickly.

“It disappeared halfway through the woods, but’t was real close’t the Accomack Creek trailer park. So I went ‘round and asked if anybody seen’t any kids that they din’t recognize. No luck wit’ that but what I did find was apparently a few people have moved out rather quickly. Ain’t packed’p or nothin’. That’s kinda weird, right?” He said with a nod.  He had a feeling it was more than just them ‘moving,’ but people didn’t seem to care if someone disappeared from the trailer park. Seemed cruel, but on the flip side would be a perfect place for someone or something to pick people off.  

“I figure somethin’s either scared’em off or… y’know… eaten’em. In which case I’mma have a real conflict’f interest savin’ em but… I made ya a promise. I’ll try.” He nodded, looking over at Roman’s green eyes, offering a smile, then looking away again before he stared in them too long.

“I was gon’ go down there soon, see if anything else strange’s happening.  Jus’ wanted’t know if’n ya wanted to go. See if ya can pick up any weird vibes from’t.”

Roman smiled a little, rolling onto his stomach on the bed since he seemed a little incapable of sitting completely still at the moment. “I know. It’s a little cute, but I never said that,” he threatened, looking at Brock very seriously. This had to stay between them.

He listened as Brock recounted his explorations. Seemed like he’d been pretty busy investigating, which Roman figured was good, but he was a bit lost in his own thoughts the past week or so, so Roman couldn’t rightly say he’d noticed anything strange with the demon children one way or the other. He traced some of the lines on the comforter, idly, thoughtfully. “A trailer park is an ideal place for that stuff, I guess.” Stereotypically speaking, he guessed. But the kids didn’t seem very smart, just resourceful. Maybe stereotypes were all they had to work with.

At the mention of a promise, Roman looked up, catching Brock’s gaze for a moment, and despite himself, he returned the smile. It was sweet of him to try. Roman should try too. He was trying.

“I can go. It’s possible people are just scattering like animals do before a disaster, but humans are usually … Kind of dense about that stuff.” He paused, glancing to Brock. “Mm, comparatively speaking, I mean. So if they’re picking it up, maybe these kids are worse off than I thought.” Roman still didn’t want the first course of action to be to destroy them, but he was now opening up to the possibility that they might have to.

Oh good. He was agreeing to go. This went better than Brock initially thought. He offered another smile and shifted his body toward Roman, reaching out and patting his shoulder for a moment before pulling his hand away again.  

“Thank ya. I’m glad ya’re back on board.” He said with a lopsided smile.

“Maybe they sensed’t. But I agree that people’r stupid. It’s more likely they saw somethin’. Though that part’a town is in the thick’f it in the woods, I’d imagine they’d have to have seen more’n some spooky kids over the years. Somethin’ must’ve gone down.” He thought out loud. He’d fought many things close to that trailer park. Werewolves, skinwalkers, cloven-footed beasts. How they could have been so dense for so many years and just now started picking up on something weird being afoot was strange to him.

“Still donno who’s up to no good at that rock formation in the woods. Been checkin; up on that as well. Ain’t seen a soul out there.” Brock would catch them soon enough.  For now he needed to focus on one mystery at a time.  

He sat silently for a few more moments, then inhaled a deep breath and turned to Roman once more. “Look. Much’s I hate’t admit’t…. you been a great help’t me lately.  So thank ya.” He nodded a bit, unsure of what else to say.  He thought he should also straight out apologize for last week, but he figured it was best to leave it alone unless Roman wanted to bring it back up.

It felt weird to tense up at Brock’s touch where he never really had before, but he supposed that’s where they stood now. Their interaction would be business-oriented; they’d stick to talking about Brock’s hunts and nothing else. It was an adjustment, and Roman couldn’t decide if it’d be better to sever Brock completely or take what he could get. He felt pathetic over it, though, either way.

“They’re vicious and territorial, but they don’t want to be. Maybe someone got to close to their home, or they thought someone was a threat. It doesn’t take much to spook people. Just a few shadows that are out of place and a razor sharp smile.” Roman gave one of his signature little smiles, but it faded faster than usual.

“You’re welcome.” He pushed himself back up into a sitting position. “I guess just keep me posted on when you’re going and I’ll met you there.” See? He could do it. Curt, professional. Or whatever. This was hard. He probably wouldn’t last.

“Yeah well… either or, tis worth a look, right?” Brock nodded, noting Romans acknowledgement of his own little smile. A smile he honestly was curious about and wouldn’t mind seeing more of.  But then the responses moved back to impersonal and business-like.  Good? Isn’t that what Brock asked for?

“Okay well… I’ll uh… letcha know when I make my move.” He said, not sure what else to say. Conversation was done, right? He should get up and leave. Yet he didn’t.  He sat there a few more moments and looked back over at the boy who was now sitting up next to him.

“I uh… don’ think I met your dad b’fore.” He said, making small talk because he wasn’t sure he wanted to leave just yet.  “Have you demons always been so Brady-like?”

“Yeah, it is,” Roman said, perfectly aware that they were struggling for conversation that wasn’t pertaining to the topic of monster hunting. He didn’t really know how to change that though, or if he should. “Worth a look, I mean.”

He nodded. “Okay.” Now it was almost painfully awkward. Should he ask Brock to leave? Should he have to? Why wasn’t Brock leaving. Roman knew why, of course, a part of him, but the struggle here was quelling his urges to draw attention to or exploit these reasons. Brock was asking too much of him, he thought.

Roman looked at Brock, and he clearly had a lot on his mind. Was that really what love was? Denying yourself something you want for the happiness of the other person? How could Brock or Adam ask that of each other? Roman didn’t get it, and yet, here he was, in a sense, doing the same thing wasn’t he? For whose sake.

“If you mean a happy family, then yes.” Things were better before his shitty brother was born, but details. “Mom is way too good for him, but he knows it. They’re happy. They indulge each other.” Roman shrugged.

Maybe it was awkward. No it was. He should leave. But at the same time he liked getting to know Roman like this. That in itself was strange. He chuckled a bit at the thought of Roman’s happy demon family and shook his head. He was supposed to be this holy evil fighter and yet these unholy… Uh… Creatures? They had a healthier family unit than he'd ever thought existed. It was charming in a way.

“Sounds real nice.” He said, not a hint of sarcasm on his lips. He wondered if maybe he'd ever have something quite like that somewhere down the road. Brock couldn't help but want it the more he thought about it. The absence of a loving family in his childhood made him long for something better now that he was older.

“...So if’n ya guys are so normal an’ happy then why ya gotta go round killin bunnies or shit like that? You know ya can be a demon without bein a cliche…” He said simply, not sure what he was trying to say. Maybe he just wanted the best for the boy. For everyone really, but Roman was a special case, being a demon and all.

He watched Brock’s expression. It was nice, but he decided not to elaborate. It felt a bit like rubbing it in the other boy’s face, which, while Roman was not against usually, now wasn’t one of those desired times. He had many reasons to gloat, but he withheld just this once.

Roman laughed and shrugged. The ‘bunny fiasco’ seemed so long ago that he hardly remembered it until Brock brought it up. “You seemed to think I was a cliche, so I played along.” It did satisfy some urges for him, too, but he knew who he was talking to. Some things, it was just better to keep to himself than confide in Brock about. For the most part, Roman was greatly composed of his mother’s demonic traits, but his father’s more simplistic demonic urges did run deep and they were prevalent enough that sometimes… Roman just wanted to tear something apart. His temper was all Bazarov.

“But thanks for telling me the obvious, darling.” Roman grinned.

Brock gave a little laugh and nodded. “I did think ya were a cliche’. But’t be fair, I was still new’t all this.  I din’t understand that good and evil weren’t so simple.” He looked over to Roman and studied his face for a moment.  If Roman wanted, he truly could be a powerful force of evil. That beautiful face could convince anyone of anything.  At least he inferred it from the effect the boy had on him alone. If Roman shared his urges with him, he might flinch, but he’d understand.  He wouldn’t have looked up ways to kill his friends… and his own boyfriend, just in case, if he didn’t have urges of his own he needed to quiet down.  Sometime the Redeemer screamed in his ear that he shouldn’t rest until all the supernatural beings in town were resting in pieces.  He actively fought against it, because it seemed like everyone he cared about was connected in some way to the darkness.  Brock could understand unspeakable urges, even if it technically meant they should be enemies.

“You’re so much more’n enigma than I gave ya credit for…” He looked over him again, biting his lip as he thought about it.  Brock always loved a mystery.  Unraveling the pieces to solve the puzzle.  That was what kept him coming back, even when part of him knew it was the wrong thing to do.  

“Everyone has both in them. That’s an important distinction in my world,” Roman said, reaching out to poke Brock playfully in his side. He might’ve been softening the seriousness of his statement, but he meant it, and he fed off the inevitable cycle of someone giving in to one side more than the other. Like he should be compelling Brock to do, maybe, but instead he was trying to get him to save possessed children and stay loyal to Adam. But Adam … Roman had a slightly different perspective on him now, given their chat in the spirit world. He was another creature Brock should destroy, possibly one that Brock would eventually destroy. And wouldn’t that feed Roman too? Maybe he didn’t need some lusty betrayal. He just wanted it.

“Oh well thank you, Brock,” Roman said, lowly, and to make sure Brock heard him as he lowered his space, he leaned closer. “I do try.” He was close and he was far just as quickly, leaning back to rest his back against the wall.

“...Do you think you should leave?” Before we get too comfortable was implied.

Brock took the playful poke to the side with a little smirk, giving Roman a little joking swat on the side of the arm himself  It was nice to see him smile, to joke around with him when a year before his misunderstanding of the boy was so gross and overdone that he said the cruelest things. This side of him was pretty great.  But then before he knew it, the boy was close again.  And his heart started beating a little bit faster.  He leaned in, his lips not far from Roman’s. Thankfully, Roman pulled away again.  Brock cleared his throat and patted at his pants, pretending to dust it off as he was distracted.  

“...Yeah, you’re probably right…” He added, giving a little nod.  Whatever was going on between the two clearly hadn’t gone away. Brock wasn’t sure he wanted it to, even if he didn’t want to give up Adam for anything.  He turned and looked at Roman and shook his head.

“I’m sorry for bein’ so weird…” He said, thinking he really should get up to leave but instead just staring at the floor.  This was weird.  And new.  And he wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

Roman sighed and shrugged. “Just how it’s going to be, I guess. We both want to fuck each other and we can’t. It sucks.” This was a stupid conversation, Roman couldn’t help but think, but at least he was putting it into physical terms instead of ‘we both have some weird feelings for each other and have no idea what to do with them’. He wondered if Brock felt the same, but everything about the boy’s reactions lately suggested that he did.

“And you’re used to getting things you want, and so am I. At least in a sexual capacity.” Roman smirked, but it was playful.

“Is that all you think?” Brock turned his head and raised an eyebrow.  Yeah, Brock wanted to give it to him.  Good. But that wasn’t everything.  And that was unusual.

“It’s not jus’ that.  I… I like bein’ round ya.  I smile ‘lot more when I am.” Brock looked to the floor, a little upset at putting it into words like he did and yet it didn’t make it any less true.  He was absolutely in love with Adam. But part of him kind of wanted to be with Roman.  Brock wanted to curse to the sky because it would seem that his own heart was too complicated for him to understand.  He’d thought it would beat for only one person after the Lincoln and Logan nonsense resolved itself. Was it ignorant for him to think it was that simple?

“I…I like the way ya make me feel...” He whispered a bit.  This was getting to be too revealing.  He should go.

“It’s … Nice that I make you smile,” Roman said, but he sounded unsure if he believed that. It wasn’t that the idea wasn’t nice, but it was a foreign concept to enjoy making someone happy for the sake of it, and an equally foreign concept to hear it. “And I like it when you do.”

As much as he wanted to move closer and indulge this little moment of intimacy that seemed to be brewing between them, Roman instead brought his legs closer to himself, but he did grin. It was an admittedly goofy grin; Roman’s attempt to break up the tension of the moment. “It’s weird to say it makes me happy that you like it, considering what I should be doing is ruining your life, gorgeous. But… It��s a good feeling. So I guess I like the way you make me feel too…”

Hearing the words come from the other boy just conflicted him.  On the one hand, it made a little smile creep across his lips that he quietly tried to conceal by keeping his head down. It felt really nice to be able to talk like this with Roman.  But on the other, he felt so damn guilty.  He knew sooner rather than later he was going to have to make a choice. That he was going to have to cut Roman out if he wanted to be happy with Adam.  And that Adam trusted him so much, but here Brock was letting himself feel things for someone else even if there was no real comparison between the two.  This was just a shit show and was going to end in pain for everyone.  

But damned if it didn’t feel good in the moment.

“And I should be trying to kill you just for bein’ a demon. But I don’t wanna. So I guess we’re both failin’ pretty terribly.” He laughed a bit, fidgeting in place as he looked over at Roman.  His half smile had a little hint of sadness to it, it wouldn’t be hard to see in the moment.

“Y’know in the grand scheme of things, I’m probably more the bad guy here than you’ll ever be.” He gave a little shrug.  “Adam and I are in love.  I’d give anythin’ for him.  But I can’t shake this… whatever this is… when I’m ‘round you. And that’s not fair for either’f you.”

This was complicated and stupid, but he supposed it was good that he was getting it out.  

“I’m uh… I’m sorry’n advance. For bein’ a jerk.  Well bein’ a jerk in the past too.  For last week as well.  For… all’f it. I’m just a confused shithead right now.”

“Feels nice to fail once in a while, doesn’t it?” Roman mused, but then he laughed and shook his head. “I’m joking, it doesn’t. I don’t like to fail. But I’ll keep you as the exception.”

“In a way, yeah. That’s how I work, though, so don’t beat yourself up about it.” It was Roman’s nature, but Brock’s choice -- and yet, here they both were, trying their best to resist the very thing that made them who they were. Humans were kind of built that way, and Roman was choosing to be so very human right now.

Roman’s reaction was instinctual, this time, with no thought or concern that maybe he should maintain the distance he’d been so actively keeping between them. He moved closer and put a hand over Brock’s, desiring to be comforting which made him want to gag. How much longer until this sentimentality in him ran its course? Sooner rather than later, he hoped. But for now, he had a hand resting on one of Brock’s. “Calling yourself names isn’t going to fix it either.” Despite the contact, Roman rolled his eyes. “It’s both of our faults, stop trying to fall on your sword.”

Brock listened to him and nodded silently. This was all so odd, Brock wished he could channel his heartlessness from a year ago.  But he couldn’t. He’d always thought Roman was special, even when he was being hateful and threatening to kill him.  And now this came at a fucking terrible time, and yet he couldn’t help himself.  And then a hand covered his own that rest on the bed.  His eyes widened for a moment, head turning to look at their hands for a brief second.  He should pull away.  To him, sex maybe wasn’t so much a betrayal because he didn’t have to care for someone to get off with them.  But little intimacies like this… they mattered.  If Adam found out, he was surely to be crushed by it.  This was not something that needed to be happening.

And yet, he found his fingers spreading so Roman could thread his own through them.  He silently stared at their hands and saw how well they fit.  In a way that was not dissimilar and yet completely different from Adam’s hand.  This was the point in which he crossed the line.  The kiss could have been an accident.  This was him accepting something was happening.  He felt like shit.  But he also secretly wanted more of it.  He tried to regain his composure and deny Roman this moment, because he knew it was wrong.  And yet he couldn’t pull himself together long enough to pull away.  So instead he just let his fingers tighten the grip.

“What’re we doin, hellspawn?” He asked quietly, still unsure of how this all happened.

Roman drew in a breath when Brock didn’t actually pull away. It was a good question that Brock asked, and he glanced down at their hands, fingers interlocked, and he wasn’t sure he had an answer that was any sort of appropriate. His patience was waning, as was his resolve.

“What we want to do?” The guess was said more innocently than he was feeling. The contact, the proximity -- Roman was kissing Brock before he even knew it; one biting, hungry kiss, lasting beats longer than he wanted it to, if it should’ve even lasted at all. When Roman forced himself back, which took ages of self control he didn’t even realize he could call upon, his breath was uneven and his gaze was predatory.

“You should leave,” he warned. “Before I don’t let you.”

Roman was kissing him. A deeper, harsher kiss than the innocent one they had in the Auto Shop. And yet, Brock couldn’t fight it. He opened his mouth and let his tongue inside, sliding it against his own, his hands gripping at Roman’s shirt as he pulled him closer.  The kiss did last longer than Brock wanted, and yet not long enough.  When Roman pulled away, a small breath escaped Brock’s lips, followed by a moment of sadness that the contact was broken, then another of realization that this kiss was no accident and he’d broken his promises to Adam.  

And that he wanted more.  

“I… y-yeah… I should.” He said with big, shocked eyes, thankful that Roman was no longer close enough to notice the growing desire in his pants.  He pulled back and stood, shoving his hands back in his pockets.

“I… I guess I’m leavin’ now. Uh I’ll uh… I’ll let you know when I go after these kids.” He said, backing away and yet strangely in no hurry to leave.  He needed to get out now. He needed his feet to work.  He only hoped Roman helped push him out the door.

Roman took a moment of just ignoring Brock’s presence to collect himself. He shouldn’t have kissed, he shouldn’t have done that. Maybe he’d invite John over later and be mean to him, just to distract himself. Yeah, maybe…

His gaze shifted over to where Brock was standing awkwardly in the middle of his room. He was muttering something, but Roman didn’t hear him. He had to leave but he wasn’t leaving, and every moment he stood there made things harder to resist. Roman slid off the bed and eased right by Brock, taking the door knob and twisting it open to pull open the door.

“I’ll walk you out, okay?” Okay.

“Y-yeah. Right.” Brock nodded, but he too was only half-listening.  He had to tell Adam, right? This… this wasn’t right. He couldn’t keep this up, and honesty was the foundation of their relationship. It’s the whole reason they got together in the first place.  But at the same time, he knew telling Adam would only speed up how soon he had to stop hanging around Roman.  And selfishly, he wanted to see him more.  Brock was such an idiotic dickhole.  

But then the door opened.  Brock looked up into Roman’s pretty green eyes once more and opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.  So instead he just gave a little nod and walked out to the hallway, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way to the stairs.

Roman didn’t say anything else, but he obviously had a lot to say. He made his way down the stairs in silence and guided Brock toward the door. His father no longer seemed to be in the kitchen, and in fact, the downstairs portion of the house had gone eerily silent since they were last there.

“Let me know about the kids,” he said, as some sort of initiation of a goodbye as he stopped at the front door.

Brock had a lot he wanted to say too, but it wouldn’t make a difference. It didn’t change the situation.  It didn’t change the fact that he was now a shitty boyfriend.  It didn’t change the fact that he was possibly leading Roman on with the hope for more when he wasn’t sure what that even meant.  All he could do was walk in silence.  Awkward silence.  Maybe he shouldn’t have come over.  

But at the same time, he was always glad to have gotten something bothering him off his chest.  He wasn’t so sure how well it helped when he just replaced one stressor with another though.  

They stopped at the door.  Roman said something about the kids.  Brock just stared at him for a moment, looking at his lips and the way they moved before chastising himself in his own mind.  He brushed his blond hair back before tightening down his knit hat once more, giving the other boy a half-smile.

“I will, darlin.” He said, trying to maintain a respectable distance from him even though he subconsciously moved just a step closer.  

“Uh… I’ll uh… I’ll seeya round?” He posed it more like a hopeful question rather than a statement.

What the fuck was he still doing here?!

Roman groaned. “Oh my god, Brock, are you trying to make me kiss you again?” It was spoken more like a very sincere threat. Or another warning. Maybe a slight plea.

He didn’t know why, but that made him laugh a bit.  This whole situation was fucked, but he might as well find some humor to it. As for his question… maybe? Brock had a habit of doing very bad, very terrible things all for the sake of curiosity.  He just gave a little half smile and stood there for a moment longer, considering it.  But then he stepped back and gave Roman a quiet little salute with two fingers from his forehead before turning and shoving his hands into his pockets.  He stood for another moment before taking his first step off Roman’s porch, looking back momentarily, then shaking his head.

He really shouldn’t, but Brock knew even if he walked away now, he’d be back.  It was only a matter of time now.

* * *

Tonight had been… productive.  Brock had returned to the trailer park with Roman in tow, this time to see if they could get a glimpse at anything weird or off putting.  Some of the people that remained that were willing to talk all had the same thing to say, though he wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with what they were looking for.  As it turned out, Melinda Weathers had been acting strangely since the death of her boy. Up at strange hours of the night, wailing in the woods. Strange noises coming from inside the trailer.  Multiple voices, even though now she lived alone.  Most of the neighbors thought she’d just gone crazy. It was a fair point, she might have.  But when Brock knocked, they were just met with hostility.  She knew who Brock was, her boy came home many times with a shiner on his face from him.  Brock tried to be a caring individual and offer his condolences and even pressed about the strange noises, but she told them to ‘Get the hell off my lawn before I call the cops.’ And yet, before she closed the cracked door he could have sworn he saw something run behind her.  Something small.  Hooded.

In any case, today was apparently not the day this was going to happen.  He’d have to sneak in if he was going to get the answers he wanted, and she was already on high alert.  So he decided it would be best if they called it a night.  

“C’mon, hellspawn. I’ll walk ya home.” He said, not giving Roman time to protest.  It was sincere.  For the most part of the night, the two had been pretending not to acknowledge the deep kiss they shared not too long ago in Roman’s room.  Brock had been trying to push it away from his mind and yet the harder he fought it, the more he thought about it.  Roman’s lips were surprisingly softer than the last time, maybe because his memories of him from the year prior were tarnished with his memories of a demon he would be destined to kill, when now he wasn’t so sure.  And of course the guilt of hiding these thoughts from Adam weighed down heavily on him.  So why was it that anymore these days, he wanted to see Roman just to see him, not necessarily due to their current business partnership?

“Uh… thanks for comin’ out.  I was hopin’ we’d get more out’f it but…” He shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets.  ‘Mrs. Weather’s is definitely hidin’ somethin.  I think she’s the key to all this.”

They walked at a slow pace, and Roman stayed quiet for most of the time. Brock hadn’t given him time to protest, even if he’d been about to, but Roman wasn’t going to fight Brock’s company too much. It’d been a strange night full of suspicious behavior; his own family of demons was so different from these others they’d been encountering lately that Roman had to shake his head at all the shady happenings. So secretive.

“Mm, swing and a miss.” Roman shrugged. They were definitely there, though, Roman had felt them. It was strange to have such a connection with them, but he wasn’t eager to gaze about them again because of this apparent tie.

“But you’re welcome, honey.” He smiled. “Thanks for walking me home and making sure no one tries to kill me.”

“Yeah well, it’s my job.” Brock gave a little shrug as if he actually believed that was the only reason he was walking the boy home.  But truth was he just liked being around him.  Fuck he even liked being around him last year when he did nothing but insult him. Something about his weirdness, his otherworldly charm and his mystery.  It was the Redeemers curse to always go after something they didn’t understand. Maybe it was because all Redeemers inherently had a death wish and they just aimlessly followed one mystery after another until it eventually killed them, but Brock always seemed to pull at the little threads until there was nothing else to solve.  It was his nature, he couldn’t help it.  

He shoved his hands in his pocket and blew out a short breath.  The air was chilly enough now that the sun had gone down that he could see his breath.  Weird for O’Cock, but winter was winter.  He walked quietly, not sure of what to say. Not sure if he should say anything really.  He could walk away from it all now, just call the two kisses an accident that never were supposed to happen and leave. And yet… he couldn’t.

“Well, we’re close’t least.  Won’t be too much longer’n we’cn put this thing to bed.” He nodded, attempting to make some small talk.  It had to be strange for Roman that Brock was dragging him out at night for these hunts.  It wasn’t normal for anyone really, but Brock was used to it.  He was just happy to have company.  He hadn’t had a buddy along since he and Logan fell out, and while he was always worried that involving someone else would get them hurt, he was still thankful to have someone to talk to.  He’d bring Adam along but… he didn’t want to risk him getting hurt. And Roman knew enough about demons to be helpful in this particular case.

“I’m sure ya gettin’ tired’f me draggin’ ya out to these crazy places.”

“I suppose it is. Kind of.” Roman cast a sly smile toward Brock, since they both knew Brock wasn’t really supposed to be protecting someone like Roman. It was bullshit, really. If Roman died, Brock’s life and the whole town’s life might be a little easier. Well, after the fallout of his death, anyway. Protecting him. Roman wasn’t able to bite back a small laugh like he wanted.

“Good, you can keep me warm then, too.” He slid closer and hooked arms with Brock, content to simply enjoy the moment of contact for whatever it was. Warmth? Companionship? ...Friendship? Something more. It was something more.

“Agreed. I was thinking maybe I should go back alone. Without the big scary hunter. See if I can get them to speak with me more.” Truthfully, while he was running the idea by Brock, it was hardly something he intended to ask permission for. If Roman wanted to help these kids and not hurt them, he had to put in the work for other solutions or Brock would be forced to do his job.

“It’s the only time we spend together, so I’m fine with it.” Roman shrugged, paused, and then recoiled a little at the admittance. So much so that he even drew away again physically, unhooking their arms and instead sliding his hands into the pockets of his coat. He sounding desperate and disgusting, didn’t he? When would this pass.

Brock’s jaw clenched a bit, but not in an annoyed manner.  In an ‘I don’t want to openly smile’ kind of way.  But he still (reluctantly) welcomed the arm hooked in his own.  It was a little strange that he was somewhat okay with it.  He could lie and tell himself that it meant nothing, that he was just humoring the boy. But of course he was allowing it because it felt good himself.  

“I uh… I dunno, hellspawn. I mean… talking is one thing, but I don’ know’f they gon’ hurt ya or not and…” He stopped before he said anything embarrassing.

“Just think bout it a lil bit before ya go off on your own.” He gave a little grunt and a nod.  But the conversation soon went on thankfully so he didn’t waste much more on words he didn’t say. But he just gave Roman an odd look, then gave a little laugh at his statement.

“Ya count this’s spendin’ time t’gether?” He smirked, shaking his head and running a hand through his blond hair. “Nah.  This’s a job. My job.  Spendin’ time t’gether would be more like watchin’ a movie or gazin’ at the stars’r something…” He nodded thoughtfully as they walked along. He was just doing his job, Roman was helping.  Once this case was over he’d have no more reason to speak to Roman outside of school and it was better that way.

So why was it that Brock was dragging it out? Maybe because he did count it as spending time together in a way.  Maybe because this new, helpful side of Roman he’d found that was totally opposite from the spoiled demon kid he thought he knew was intriguing, even if it was fake. But honestly, the little splash of danger of Roman being a creature of the unknown helped.  

“I'll let my dad know,” Roman replied,  vaguely.  Well,  it was likely a bit vague for Brock,  but it wasn't so much for Roman. If he went missing,  Roman had some amount of faith his dad would find him. Through violent means if necessary. “And I'll be fine anyway. I don't think they'll hurt me unless they feel threatened.  I'll level with them.”

“Of course I do, Brock.  It's not as if you've given me much choice now.” Roman actually looked … hurt? Bothered? “Don’t be an asshole and list all the things we're not doing together.”

Oh good,  his house was coming into view.

Brock stopped and gave Roman a little side eye, eyebrow raising as he tilted his head toward him.  Roman confused him.  A lot.  He was such an asshole some days.  But it seemed like when he got him alone, he let his more endearing qualities show.  His vulnerability.  And yet Brock still could never get a good read on whether it was an act or if it was true.  It was probably the mystery that kept him interested.  

“Ya act like we goin’ out. Don’t be so sour.” He said, attempting to diffuse a situation that would find him getting close to the boy again.  But then as he always did, he allowed his curious nature to get the best of him.  

Hands in his jacket pockets, he looked over and shrugged and responded in a low voice. “...why, ya wanna gaze at the stars wit’ me?” He said, half joking, half serious.

Roman waved the assertion away with his hand,  as if the motion could physically close the verbal door Brock was nudging open. “It doesn't matter, does it?” The answer may as well have been a yes,  though,  for all that Roman wasn't denying it. If Roman didn't want to do something,  everyone would know it.  Now he couldn't bring himself to protest against such a small question?  Even Roman knew he was being transparent, but he let it go. It did matter. To him,  at least.

He bit his lip and seemed content to let things sink back into awkward silence. It was easy when they were hunting demon kids,  but now that it was just them, there was an obvious elephant in the room that they both seemed content to ignore.

Brock could feel it too. That giant elephant.  Pink with tassels. Hard to ignore.  But at the same time he heard it in his voice.  The hurt, but the eagerness to actually spend time with him. The yes. And if there was anything Brock craved more than sex or drugs or alcohol, it was someone’s attention. Someone <i>wanting</i> to be near him. It made him feel not so less than as he used to.  So he pursed his lips and looked down at the ground, kicking at the dirt as they walked.

“...night’s still young.  Sky’s somewhat clear.” He said, looking over at the other boy with his crooked smile.  

“I s’pose if’n ya get a blanket and got a way’t climb up on that roof’a yours, I could be convinced to stay and stare at the sky for a while.” God Brock, this was stupidly intimate of a thing to be suggesting. But then they were friends now. Friends could do that stuff.  Right? Right.

Roman tried not to look too happy (or too pleased), but he wasn’t sure he really passed off either very convincingly. Honestly, he didn’t care in that moment about keep up appearances that were ~too cool~, so what was supposed to be a casual smile ended up spreading into a grin. “I know a way.” It wouldn’t be his first time climbing out onto the roof.

He unlocked the door to his house with ease and let them both inside. The house was dead silent, almost creepily so even by the standards of a normal empty house. Roman didn’t bother to elaborate as to where his family was. Either he didn’t know, or he didn’t think it mattered. They’d said they were going (somewhere) and Roman wasn’t listening, but rejected going with them in favor of joining Brock on their hunt.

“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the stairs that once again lead them up to his room, but Roman didn’t linger there, he was strictly after a blanket and then on a mission toward the patio of his parents’ room. “Ta-da!” he started, pointing to a pipe on the side of the house. It ran close to the railing of the patio, and bridge the gap of a few short ‘steps’ to the roof.

Brock followed into the house.  It was a little quieter than before. Roman’s surprisingly pleasant family didn’t seem to be around. Part of him felt like maybe that was bad news, because a lack of parents around never led to anything good.  And yet, he followed still.  A part of him still wanted to be around Roman despite all his reservations.  

He followed to his room, and then to his parent’s room where Roman pointed out the pipe.  Brock smirked and moved toward it, making short work of the climb, then leaning over the edge of the roof and offering a hand.

“Careful, hellspawn.  If’n ya fall and break somethin’ this will be real awkward.” He chuckled, helping him to the roof.  Once they were there, he sat down and looked up at the sky. It wasn’t cloudy out tonight, and the slight chill of the winter air somehow made the sky seem a little clearer.  

“I don’t often get a chance’t relax and do things like this. This’s nice.” He gave a nod, laying back on his folded arms as he studied the formations in the sky.  

“It’ll be fine if you let me devour a bit of your flesh,” Roman jokes, watching Brock’s face to see if he’d buy into it. There was a time when he was certain the human would’ve, but now? He wasn’t sure. Maybe Brock had learned more about him in the past few weeks. He hoped so. “I’ll heal right up.” Of course, between the two of them, Brock was the one with the instantaneous healing, not Roman.

Roman joined Brock in sitting, and then eventually laying, and he was quiet for a few long moments in his contentment to just look up at the sky and enjoy the cool air that was nipping at his lips and cheeks.

“Yeah, it is -- Hey look, that cloud looks like a unicorn.”

At Roman’s response, Brock quirked an eyebrow.  “Really?” He asked curiously.  He supposed that would make sense.  He’d heard of creatures that healed after eating flesh.  That Jeepers Creepers movie wasn’t entirely fictional.  

“I mean, I suppose I’d be the only guy that’cd help ya since I regenerate an’all.” Of course he didn’t elaborate at what that insinuation meant, but Roman knew how he healed.  So instead he just let the subject change when they laid down on the roof.

He looked over at the boy when he mentioned something about a cloud and then just let go a little chuckle.  

“Nah, hellspawn. Ya doin’t all wrong.  We lookin’ at stars.” He smirked.  He scooted over closer to him and pointed up to a formation of stars in the sky, body sliding under the blanket next to Roman.  

“See that? It’s Orion’s belt.” He started pointing out his favorite constellation. “If’n ya connect the dots, it looks like a guy wit’ a bow’n arrow. It was based’n the legend of Orion the hunter from Greek myth. He was like… son of Poseidon and a princess and was a badass but… was also kind’f a drunken fuck up.  But he eventually got so good’t bein’ a hunter that Mother Earth herself sent a fuck-all giant scorpion down specially made’t kill him.  Which’t did.  But the other gods thought he was heroic enough to have a place forever in tha heavens or somethin, so they cast him into the sky to live forever as a constellation.” It was when Brock talked about history and mythology that people could see a different side come out of him.  A more intelligent side.  He truly loved learning about history and myth, because not only was it his job but it just interested him.  

“I guess’ts my favorite constellation cuz I can relate.” He said with a little nod.  

“Oh yeah,  we did say stars,  didn't we?” Roman laughed lowly, mostly to himself and he didn't speak until Brock moved closer to him to show him exactly what they were supposed to be looking at as opposed to what he had been.

His gaze followed Brock’s hands out to the sky,  taking note of the stars he was talking about.  Roman could kind of see what he was describing,  but his eyes didn't stay up toward the sky for long before they made their way back to Brock,  watching him as he told the story.  The story was interesting,  but not quite as interesting as the boy telling it.  Brock was different in moments like these,  where he talked about mythology and stuff that interested him instead of just flirting or keeping things business like.

At long last,  Roman let his usual sly little smile sneak out,  and teasingly said,  “... You're kind of a dork.” He sounded nothing less than charmed,  however.

”And this one right here…” Brock continued on, not really paying attention to the boy’s gazing eyes, instead using his pinky to draw a line in the shape of a J in Roman’s line of sight.

“...is Scorpius, the big ass Scorpion.  Zeus threw him’n the sky as like… a trophy’r somethin for Orion.” He explained, then let go a small almost nerdy chuckle, then looked over at Roman finally.

“It looks nothin’ like a scorpion. Ya jus’ gotta humor it and use ya imagination.” He laughed a little more, blue eyes catching Roman’s pretty greens.  

“I know… It’s a secret. Don’t tell no one.” He smiled and bit his lip before turning back to the night sky just in time to see a little streak skip across the sky.

“Hey look.  Shootin’ star.” He nodded. “Ya gotta make a wish’r somethin, right?”

“So what’s going to be your scorpion then, Orion?” Roman asked, but there was a suggestive lilt in his voice the purposely sought to draw attention to the fact that he was, in some ways, Brock’s opposition. Roman thought of them as similar in many ways, but he’d play up the good vs. evil trope if it meant Brock would be pulled in a little more by the danger of it.

He tossed a tiny little smile over Brock’s way and then his gaze drifted back out to the sky where Brock was pointing. He didn’t see what the other boy was talking about at all, but it was nice to hear the story anyway. “Sure gorgeous, I’ll humor you.” Roman smirked.

“And don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.” Roman considered the star for a long moment, and then smiled. “Hmmmm, okay. I made one.”

There was an interesting question if he’d ever heard one.  His scorpion. His end. What--or even possibly who would do him in? Probably Zebel if he had to guess. She’d already warned him before she wasn’t done with him.  Maybe Adam’s family would break the pact and do him in just because of all the thoughts he’d planted into their son’s head?  Or maybe…

“Why? You tryna’ apply for tha position?” He chuckled, mostly joking though a small part of him was serious.  He’d known Roman’s darkness was bigger than he let on.  He figured one day the two would have to come to blows.  And that made him… kind of sad to be honest.  He enjoyed Roman.  

Brock smiled, rare dimples showing in his cheeks under the moonlight as he listened to Roman’s offhanded compliments.  

“Good.  If’n people thought I was smarter’n I look I wouldn’t get ‘way with near as much.” He smirked, then looked back over at the boy.

“I can’t ask since ya wan’t to come true.  But I hope it was a good one, hellspawn.”

Roman laughed and leaned closer, pushing the limits, and lowered his voice. “Maybe,” he teased, and then leaned away. He wasn’t looking to kill Brock, but Roman couldn’t help but be aware that in a way, he did act like a venom for the other boy.

“Of course you’d get away with it, sunshine. All you’d have to do is smile and show those dimples of yours.” He smiled as he spoke, and with little warning leaned back to be close to Brock, but this time in a less suggestive gesture. Where as before he’d been deliberately attempting to tease Brock, right now Roman only rested against him, head very nearly laying on the other boy’s shoulder.

“It was a good one,” he promised. “And it will definitely come true.”

Brock chuckled and rolled his eyes, shaking his head but with a smile as he looked back up to the night sky. Roman was probably one of the only people in school that could charm Brock in such a manner, but here he was, giggling on the inside despite knowing what Roman was and vaguely what he was trying to accomplish.  In the long run anyway, for now he ‘d been extremely helpful.  And on his mind more than he needed to be.  And the little husky tone Roman temporarily took with his voice did cause a tingle down below, as much as he would try to ignore it.  

“Not everyone is charmed by me, devil boy.” He shook his head.  Of course the handful of people he could think of that didn’t fall for his charms were people that had previously and were angry about it. And they were also dead now.  So…

The other boy shifted.  Somehow Brock found his arm around his shoulder as his head laid back near to it.  Fuck it.  He just allowed the somewhat cuddle to happen.  He’d laid this way with Lincoln before a long time ago, but that was when they both secretly pined for each other so… maybe that wasn’t the greatest example of laying this way with friends.  

“How d’ya know ya gon’ get it?” He asked curiously, eyebrow piquing at the response.

“Not everyone is worth your time,” Roman assured him with a deep exhale,  like he was for the most part bored with people.  It was dramatics,  though.  The last thing humans were to Roman was boring. “So who cares if they're charmed or not.”

Roman shrugged.  “I get what I want.”

He shivered a little.  “We picked a dumb time to do this.”

Brock just scoffed and yet again rolled his eyes. Roman was such a bastard and full of himself.  He was just like… well… Brock.  But then the boy shivered, despite having a blanket on them and Brock’s arm around him.  He pursed his lips and gave a little huff, then looked at him once more.

“It’s not that cold.” He said, but then with a sigh, he pulled Roman up against him, his full body pressed against his own.  

“Besides, chilly nights’r the best time to look’t the sky.  Look, ya can see Mars.” He chuckled, pointing to the sky at a very faint reddish dot.  He turned back and offered a little smile, though Roman’s face was closer now.  To keep him warm and all.  

“Weren’t aware that big bad demons got cold anyway.”

“Of course we can,” Roman said, rolling his eyes with faux-exasperation as he settled in close to Brock. “Mm, there’s the warmth I was looking for,” he said, mumbling into the blankets. “And honestly, darling, do I really strike you as big and bad and threatening?” Roman gave one of his best demonic smiles, and only when he turned to do so did he notice exactly how close their faces were.

Roman fell silent and his smile faded and he just caught Brock’s gaze and held it tight. A few long,  never-ending moments passed and then he said very lowly,  “I want to kiss you again.”

Brock stared him down as the boy’s fangs made such a quick appearance that if he were a normal boy, Brock would have assumed he’d imagined it.  But he knew better.  He knew what Roman was.  And just as he wasn’t normal, the glimpse into the creature Roman was didn’t scare him.  It only made him curious for more.  

“Well when ya do shit like that you make it hard to argue ya innocence.” He said sarcastically.  But then things got silent.  They locked eyes.  The boy spoke and all Brock could do was swallow.

“We shouldn’t…” He said with his words, but his lips were doing the opposite.  

“...but I still want to...” He leaned in, nose touching Roman’s, his breath hot against Roman’s lips.

“You make me feel so confused, hellspawn…” He said with a whisper before pressing a kiss against his lips, hand coming up and resting on the side of his face.

Roman thought about leaning away and denying Brock the moment. Denying them both that much desired kiss, but he was also getting a little short on his rope of denying himself things he wanted. It was nice being good for a while, but it wasn’t meant to last. And if Brock was going to kiss him, Roman was going to kiss back. Bitingly so.

“You’re not confused right now,” he said once they temporarily parted. “Not half as confused as you want to be.”

Roman was a little right.  Brock wasn’t so confused in this moment.  In this moment nobody else existed but the two of them.  Even though that frame of mind was going to come back and bite him in the ass spectacularly later, right now he wanted what he wanted. The Redeemer in him had gotten too strong, his need to know the touch of someone else, his curiosity, his everything, had reached a peak, and now the electricity between the two of them was too much to turn off.  

“I need’t stop…” He said, but his lips pressed another kiss to Roman and his hand ventured up underneath his shirt.  

“I need to stop but I can’t… I like you… I want you… I shouldn’t but I do...” He admitted out loud, even though it caused a pain in his heart.  He couldn’t deny his weird but still present feelings for the boy.  This was the last straw.  The moment he knew was going to change everything.  But somehow that still stopped nothing.  Before he knew it, they were undressing.  They were climbing back into his bedroom.  They were wrapped up in each other’s naked forms for the first time in over a year.  Tender at first.  Then not so tender.  And tender again.  Multiple times.  Addictively so.  He couldn’t get enough of the boy even though he knew it was wrong.  If his old world was over the least he could do was enjoy it.  When all was finished, Brock’s scratches and bitemarks had all but healed.  He laid in the bed with Roman in his arms, resting the demon’s head on his chest while he just stared at the ceiling. He fucked up.  This was bad.  He was going to feel it in the morning, but for now he was still coming down from everything.  He just laid in silence while his strong hand offered a comforting caress to Roman’s shoulder.  He’d have to think about how complicated things were now and mentally prepare himself for what was to come.  But he would have to tell Adam either way.  

Roman wouldn’t heal as quickly, but that was fine for him. It was a way to remember things by.

But this… This resting against Brock. The content, yet tense silence. The fact that Brock was still there. All of it was odd. They’d never done this before. The sex, yes? Plenty of times, but even that was different for them, he thought. Roman was trying not to think about implications or anything at all, really, but his mind was only left to wander in the silence.

So he broke it. “...This is new for us.” There was a moment’s pause before he realized Brock might not know exactly what he meant, so he lifted his hand to poke the other boy’s chest as if to indicate the whole … Roman laying his head on Brock’s chest thing. That was definitely new.

“A lot is new ‘tween us.” Brock responded shortly after.  Which was the truth.  Last year, Brock would insult him, humiliate him, and when they would have sex, he wouldn’t stick around and wouldn’t treat him with any kind of respect.  But now he did.  Now he let the other boy do what he wanted, gave him the reigns a few times throughout the night.  The feelings changed the way he treated him, and it made him regret being such a gross asshole to him before when all Roman seemed to want was to be close to him, even if it meant taking the abuse that came along with it.  

But as nice as this all was, how Roman’s weight felt against his body, how sweet his kisses were… it still did nothing to quell the war in his heart right now.  It was hard to hide the worry in his face.  But he was always nothing but blunt.  

“You know this means things’re bout to go’t shit, right?” He let out a breath and shook his head.  Right now his feelings were a little more numb than they’d be in the morning, but truthfully he hadn’t gotten past the shock yet.  “This was nice. Really nice but… it was probably a mistake for both’f us.”

Brock immediately started voicing thoughts they both were having, but Roman didn't want to hear them right now even if he'd been the one to open the line of conversation.

“Shh,” he leaned up,  hushing Brock with his lips. It was a gentle kiss, unlike the majority of their previous kisses of the evening. Gentle and brief. “That's tomorrow,  and I've got you for approximately…” Roman sat up and took a peek at the clock before settling back down to rest on Brock’s chest. “Forty-five more minutes.”

Something about the boy calmed him.  He knew everything was going to fall apart, but in this moment, he was lost in Roman’s pretty eyes.  He savored the kiss, heart hurting a little more as the betrayal deepened.  Because he couldn’t get enough of Roman, and likely wouldn’t be able to have enough after everything went to shit.  

“Ya kickin me out, then?” He calmed himself by way of humor and gave a little lighthearted chuckle.  “Brutal.” He said in jest.  He rubbed the boy’s muscular shoulder once more and brought his free hand to the side of his face.  He would panic tomorrow, but for now he would just enjoy this brief moment of peace the both of them had.  

“No,” Roman said with a sad smile between kisses. “But you'll still leave.”

Brock looked over the boy for a moment and saw the heartbreak in his eyes.  He was right.  Brock was going to leave, and he might not look back because of all the wreckage this was going to cause.  But he still cared for the boy in his own way.  So he leaned in and kissed him one more time and pressed their foreheads together.

“Tell you what… I’ll wait until you fall asleep.  You have me until then.” He said, holding him to his chest again.  He would keep his promise, and then some being that he would fall asleep himself and then wake up at 4 am and sneak out of Roman’s window in a panic.  But the least he could do for now is hold the boy until he slept.

* * *

It had been a few weeks since Brock had talked to Roman.  They both fucked up.  Brock moreso than Roman.  Because Brock was in the relationship.  Brock knew better.  And yet Brock gave in to his attraction and let everything implode.  But after he gave in to passion, he realized how much it hurt not having Adam around, so as much as it made him feel like an absolute jerk, he knew he had to cut Roman out.  Before his feelings caught up again.  Before he made another mistake.

And yet despite all this, they left behind a mission.  Things had grown quiet with the kids.  Nobody else had gone missing.  He figured maybe he should leave it alone, but there were many supernaturals in town that hadn't killed before, so he knew if there was a group of wildcards around he would need to keep a close watch on them. Just in case.  Really the only reason they were alive was because he promised Roman... there it was again.  In any case, he was going to check in and make sure they weren't causing harm.  

He crossed through the woods on his normal route.  He packed light, just his dagger in his pocket.  He wasn't anticipating a rumble but he was never not prepared.  And just before he reached the park, he saw a movement through the trees.  A familiar shuffle, maybe looking a bit more down than he used to. Again, Brock's fault.  But still, at this moment he couldn't contain the anger he felt.  Was he stupid? Brock specifically told Roman to tell him when he was coming out here because he could get hurt and that would just kill Brock…

He stepped out of the trees into his line of sight, not hiding the look of disappointment on his face.  

"I told ya't leave this't me." He said with a clenched jaw, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was around.  

"Never one't listen, are ya?"

Roman was determined just to finish this on his own, but instead he’d ended up sitting with the eldest of the children and dumping all his relationship problems on him earlier in the week. The kid, strangely enough, was not a bad listener, but he did have the oh-so-annoying point that sooner or later, Brock would kill Roman just like Brock was going to kill them. Roman tried to convince them otherwise; Brock had agreed to spare them so long as they kept to themselves. But it was the nature of the thing. Both demon children knew that.

Now, Roman was back again, just to check on things. He wore he could handle himself if things turned sour. Alpha demon, or some nonsense. But then he heard Brock’s voice and he tensed up and considered just continuing to walk like he hadn’t heard anything at all. You know, kinda like what Brock was doing by avoiding him at school or acting like he didn’t exist anymore. He wondered how that would taste, but the pettiness subsided just long enough for Roman to push his hoodie down and cast a sidelong glance at the human.

“Statistically, I’ve had far better luck with them than you have,” he pointed out.

“Statistically you’re squishier than me.” Brock retorted quickly. It was true, despite sounding like childish playground banter.  And well… he supposed he didn’t know the true extent of Roman’s power.  He clenched his jaw and shifted where he stood, crossing his arms as he looked back at the direction of the trailer where they were likely hiding.  

“I’m ‘sumin they ain’t on no murderous rampage for now since ya walkin and talkin all upright.” He said, trying to avoid eye contact.  Because Roman, despite being a shit starter and a possible evil creature, had some of the most lovely, soulful eyes that lit up like lanterns when he was saying something charismatic.  One of the many similarities he had to Adam that got him into trouble in the first place.  

“If’m bein’ totally honest it’s not the kids I’m worried bout.  It’s that woman.  She doesn’t scream mental stability to me.” He gave another nod, again avoiding a look.  

“Just be more careful’s all.”

“Guess not,  no,” Roman replied shortly to Brock’s observation. As far as he could tell,  they'd been doing okay. But he wasn't there mother and Roman was far from willing to come check on them daily. Now,  it was just some sort of test of wills to see if he could keep them alive.

Roman listened to his words and glanced back toward the trailer the kids supposedly stayed in,  then back to Brock. He too was avoiding eye contact for the most part.

“Yeah, okay.  I will.” Roman moved to walk around him and continue on.  What else was there to say?  A lot,  actually. Roman had a lot to say,  the words burned like venom on the edges of his tongue and lips.  But he held back.  There wasn't a point.

Brock could feel the thickness in the air between them.  Before, the tension was sexual and romantic, made all the more urgent by the forbidden nature of their tryst.  Now the tension was hollow and painful, with a little crackle of longing here and there.  Brock was very intentionally trying to ignore that last part, but try as he might, he still cared about Roman.  He loved Adam and he knew if things were ever going to be right between them again, he’d have to sacrifice Roman for it.  It was a price he was willing to pay, even if it didn’t feel particularly good to do it.  And yet he still felt the need to say… something.  Anything.  It just didn’t feel right to let Roman walk away when he had that pained look in his eye.  

“I’m sure you got more’t say that’cha just keepin’t yourself.” He said as he let his eyes follow the other boy as he tried to pass.  He gave a little shrug and sat on a downed tree off the side of the path and looked up at him.  

“I’cn take it.  I been at the top of the leaderboard for the ‘Biggest Asshole in O’cock’ contest for a few weeks now.”

Roman paused.  He should keeping going,  but instead the words drew out of him some sort of half bitter laugh. “I'm glad one of us can take it,  then. Because all this feels the same as before. You get off with me and then go on your way.”

It wasn't exactly like before. He knew it,  rationally he knew it.  And Roman used Brock too - until he guessed it wasn't using anymore?  Fuck this. But he still felt used,  and the implication of such thoughts was there even if he didn't voice it.  Wouldn't voice it.  Roman felt weak and pathetic even thinking such thoughts, let alone saying them out loud. But he'd opened his feelings up to Brock and Brock knew how he felt -- Roman was sated by the destruction he'd help bring to the relationship,  and that felt nice,  but he couldn't help but wonder if the pain was worth it sometimes. Why did he have to get shut out?

“This sucks,  Brock.  And don't say you're sorry.  Say anything but that,  because you're not really.”

“Except’ts not like before. I didn’t give a shit how you felt before.  Now I…” Brock took a breath and looked down at his feet.  He needed to stop that thought from coming out because he knew the hard decisions had to be made, and he’d made it in the back of his mind already.  He was going to get Adam back.  It just sucked that it came at the expense of someone else he felt something for.  

“It don’t matter no more anyway.” He said with a little shrug.  Was he sad they had to cut whatever they had between them short? Well he couldn’t lie, he was a little.  He would wonder a little what could have been.  But then what could be was not worth sacrificing the good thing he knew he could already have if he just worked a little harder for it.  

“Okay.  I won’t.  Even’f you’re wrong bout it.” He kicked his feet in the dirt and looked back up at the night sky.  

“I didn’t mean for anyone’t get hurt an’ I’m just a stupid person.  Ya may be the demon here, but I’m the one that’s truly wrong’n all this.  I get that.”

Roman rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, anger faltering just enough that it only served to make him more angry when he regained his composure. He would not give Brock this. He would not feel bad for him.

“No, it doesn’t matter,” he said coldly, and then his chill relented just a bit. Just enough for him to say, “Don’t let him hide you again,” in a smaller voice.

* * *

“Yeah, yeah,” Roman grumbled at the random Russian being slung up the hallway toward his room by his father. He kicked his door shut and didn’t bother turning on the light, just immediately started unbuttoning his shirt and grumbling his various grievances in about three different languages about his extra shitty day. Practice was rough, so he’d played rough. For every failure Diaz made, there was Roman to tackle him down hard, practically imprinting his body into the ground with how hard he had in the last moment.

“Fucking bullshit practice,” he kicked his shoes off, and was halfway through unbuttoning his shirt when he caught a familiar scent. Roman’s face, already fixed with a frown, only grimaced and ground out a, “What do you want, Brock?”

They hadn’t seen each other in a while, and that was on purpose.  Brock never used to be the person who felt things, but he ended up that way.  He fell in love with Adam Izel, but he always knew underneath he was a ticking time bomb.  He wasn’t good for him.  And then Roman, who for some reason, despite how rude Brock was to him, kept pushing.  And Brock was just curious enough to push back, until he crossed the line and couldn’t go back.  Maybe it was better this way, because the future he had with Adam was grim at best, and would only be painful for both of them.  It just wasn’t realistic.

Then there was the small part of him that wanted to blame Roman for it.  But honestly… he didn’t.  Didn’t mean he wouldn’t still take it out on him.

Still in all that time they hadn’t seen each other, Brock had become more reclusive.  He hadn’t reached out to anyone for ‘help’ healing after his fights, demonic or otherwise, even though people like Maja offered.  Because of this, Roman could probably make out in the dark a few scars on his face.  One on his upper lip.  One above his eyebrow.  A few peeking up over the v of his cutoff hoodie.  It hardened him in a way that matched his stony expression.  At the end of the day Roman was a demon, and he wouldn’t forget it.  

“Long time no see, Hellspawn.” He said, leaning back on the dresser he perched on before throwing a newspaper on his bed.  It had an article circled in highlighter. MYSTERIOUS ATTACKS LEAVE FIVE DEAD. It would detail attacks very similar to Rosie Wilkins’ a few states over, with eyewitnesses stating they saw pale teenagers in hoods leaving the area before the bodies were found.  He just leaned back and crossed his arms, as if waiting for a response.  As if to wordlessly say ‘I told you so.’

Roman glanced at the paper and sighed, looking almost like a disappointed older brother or father before his gaze flicked away from the headline. It had been a while since they’d seen each other; avoiding glanced in the hallway, a small trip to Japan with his mother. When she’d learned about his subsequent dalliance with Brock, a hunter, she left him no choice but to go with her in what she hoped to be a purge of some of his humanity. Roman was left feeling angry and empty, a strange combination now which simmered with such a familiar sting as he found Brock sitting in his room.

“Are you here to gloat, then? That seems low, even for you.” He sat down on his bed next to the paper, pushing it onto the floor.

Brock clicked his jaw and leaned back, resting his hands behind his head as he gazed over the other young man.  He looked a little bitter, angry, maybe hurt.  He didn’t know.  He didn’t… well he couldn’t say he didn’t care.  Secretly he did, otherwise he wouldn’t have let Roman get as close as he did.

“Nah.  I’m here ta letcha prove me wrong.” He said, hopping down off his perch and approaching him, before moving past and stuffing the paper into his back pocket.

“I can’t let’em go again.  But I also told ya I’d give’m a chance.  I’d rather not break anymore promises this year, even if they are to you. So…” He shrugged, running his finger along the curtain before peaking outside.  

“Ya gon’ come with me.  We’re gon’ find them.”

There was protest just at the tip of his tongue because he wanted not to care anymore.  He wasn't supposed to care anymore.  Promises be damned -- but they weren't.  The promise Roman had nearly made with those kids,  vowing to hello them and to possibly show Brock better still rang true. Maybe his mother's purge was not as successful as he needed it  to be.

“Fine,” he was speaking before he even had time to reconsider. “...We… finish this and I never see you again?” It was meant to be a statement filled with avoid, but instead it turned into a half filled question.

Brock looked back at Roman from the window and narrowed his eyes for a moment.  That was easier than he thought.  He’d prepared an argument and everything. But then he asked a question that sounded like something he genuinely was concerned about.  Brock licked his lip and shrugged, looking back out the window.

“If that’s whatcha want, Hellspawn.” He said, not really giving it much inflection one way or another.  Because it really didn’t matter.  He didn’t have room for anyone else to bug him any more.  And he still had some Adam-related rage issues to work out.  

“Pack a bag.  I’ll be back in’n hour.” He said over his shoulder as he started to climb out the window.  

---

Roman was waiting outside on the curb when Brock returned, backpack slung loosely over his shoulder and idly kicking rocks on the ground. His family had settled in to wherever they’d probably be for the rest of the evening, leaving Roman with placing a simple note on the counter and pulling on a hoodie.

When Brock pulled up, he tossed his bag into the backseat and climbed in, barely waiting for them to make it to the end of the street before opening with what was probably not his best line: “You look like shit.”

Brock had gotten himself a job at the local body shop over the summer to take his mind off of things, but also to save up a little money for a car.  And luckily, he was able to afford a beat up pickup truck that he would work on during his off days.  He rolled up around the corner in the old red truck and stopped in front of the other boy.  He heard him and grunted in response.  It was true, he’d seen better days.  He didn’t much care.  

“Well we can’t all look like you, devil princess.” He said as the other one jumped in.  

“True enough,” Roman almost purred it, but where the flirtation might’ve lingered before, he cut it short now by leaning over to get a better look at Brock’s face. There were more scars now; they suited him. Just like being bruised and bloody could, Roman pictured it perfectly now. He smiled and dragged a finger over one of the larger scars, and then leaned away.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Brock let Roman touch one of the scars for a moment before flinching a bit.  He couldn’t lie, it wasn’t unwelcome, but at the same time he was still trying to avoid it.  As much as he hated to admit it, his heart had been broken by Adam because of himself, and his inkling of feelings for Roman wouldn’t help that.  So he just took a breath and didn’t acknowledge the touch.

“Gon’ be a long time’n the car.  That newspaper from Charleston.” He said, moving forward as they drove toward the edge of town.  

“I ain’t leavin’ town til we find somethin’.  I got some money saved from work. We’cn get a cheap hotel room for a while if’n we hafta.”

Roman’s head dropped back in a childish display of whining. “Really?” He groaned. “I mean, normally I thrive on awkward situations but… That’s a long car ride to ignore the elephant in the middle of our -- whatever we have. Had.” He shrugged dramatically and forcibly looked out the window and not at Brock. Truthfully, he didn’t like that there was no thrill when he looked at Brock; no happiness, or smugness at what he’d done. Roman didn’t feel proud that Brock seemed broken and removed, he felt… Something else. Something that was not common for his duties, and that bothered him.

Brock’s jaw clenched a bit and his eyes stayed on the road ahead, hands tightening on the wheel.  

“What we had was sex.  There’s really not a lot’t talk bout.” He said, brushing it off.  He didn’t have to go into the aftermath of what giving in to one moment of passion had caused, it was very public.  Adam’s public meltdown in the spring before the end of the school year made sure of that.  

“Right now, what we gots is a business relationship. The kids trust ya. If’n they bad, I kill em.  That’s all we gotta know now.”

The subsequent sinking down into his seat, now desperately fixated on the uninteresting view outside the window. “Fine,” was Roman’s reply, and he only just managed to not huff it out. He seemed deflated about the whole thing, but determined not to keep pushing. Pushing had been what had gotten him into this whole mess, hadn’t it? So. Fuck pushing anymore.

When Brock said he’d kill the kids, Roman finally glanced back toward him, lips pressed together. “So you’re asking me to potentially lure them to their demise? Just to be clear.”

“Ain’t that what ya good at? Luring people?” He said, a little harsher than he intended.  He clicked his jaw once more and adjusted in his seat before continuing.

“If they ain’t the ones doin’ the killin’ then they ain’t got nothin’ to worry bout.  But if they are, then yes.”

“Oo, catty, Brock,” Roman teased but there was definitely a bite to it that his words didn’t previously hold. It melted quickly, but he didn’t apologize for it.

Brock rolled his eyes.  Yeah, it was probably catty.  There was still that small part of him that wanted to pass off the blame to Roman even though he knew that he went to him willingly.  He didn’t revisit the thought.

“Look, we will do what we gotta do and then we can part ways. Ya can go back to stabbin’ bunnies or whatever.” He said before putting his foot to the gas as they hit the highway at the edge of town. `

“Mm, I don’t have to do that anymore. No more dashing hunters to seduce, the well’s all dried up.” Roman could be catty too, and he had no problems showing it. Never had. The difference was the near sing-song way such pettiness rolled of his tongue, like gentle cuts you might not even notice until later. The point was, if Brock wanted to make him a villain, Roman would just fit himself into the part.

Brock’s nose scrunched in slight annoyance.  Once upon a time, Brock was a creature of vanity, making himself feel worthy by how many notches in his bedpost he got and how many times someone appealed to his ego.  

“Yeah, well sorry mah face is too jacked up for you’t consider dashing.” He snipped.  

“Not that’t matters.  I guess ya right.  That well’s dry as the desert.”

Roman let out a loud, obnoxious huff and curled up in his seat. “I’m going to try and sleep. Since we don’t have anything to talk about anyway.”

* * *

They’d been driving all night.  Well… Brock had been driving, because it kept him sane and kept him from saying anything stupid.  They’d arrived at Charleston by noon the next day.  Roman was still curled up in the seat asleep.  It was fall and the air was starting to turn chilly.  As Brock parked the car in front of the motel they’d be staying in, he looked at the other boy for a moment before throwing a jacket over him, then got out and headed to the front desk to get them a room.  

Afterward he came out and knocked on the window.

“Rise’n shine, princess.”

Roman woke up with a start, and then a groan as he stretched out from the uncomfortable yet effective ball he’d managed to curl himself into. There was an incoherent mumble and his eyes fumbled through a tired haze, taking in their surroundings, piecing together details, and then slowly, the past half a day or so caught up with him.

“Did you sleep at all…?” he mumbled again, grabbing his back and unfolding out of the car. Again, he stretched, but more fully this time, and only then did he notice the motel they were at. “Oh good, Norman Bates can come kill me in the shower.”

“Nah.  Figured I’d get a nap in ‘fore we go out lookin’ later this afternoon.” Brock said, collapsing on the edge of the bed.  There were two.  Brock wanted to make sure there wasn’t too much awkwardness going on.  He closed his eyes as he heard Roman fumbling around the room, raising an eyebrow at his Norman Bates comment.

“We could only be so lucky.” He joked, placing his arms behind his head as he watched the other pace.  

“...anyway, I figure we could snoop round the murder scene later today.  See’f anything looks familiar.  Maybe one’o them kids lingered around. Who knows?”

Roman paced until he found himself at the foot of Brock’s bed, looking down at him as he spoke but not really listening at all. Brock had a different sort of investment in this case; duty or whatever. Roman simply formed a connection that he wanted to sever but couldn’t, so he was here.

His eyes dipped lower, and then back up. “You’re in the perfect position to ride right now,” as if it was just a casual observation. Which, truly, at the moment it was. Just because he was mad at Brock hardly meant he wouldn’t take notice of such things, but there wasn’t quite the will the act on it. Or try to. There was still a little sting at being discarded, even if he’d always known it was coming.

“..And fine, sure. Sounds great.” He practically waved off the suggestion, walking over to his own bed and flopping down. Maybe he’d find something to eat after Brock fell asleep.

Roman certainly had a way with words.  Brock looked up, eyes widening for a moment as he felt the air suck from his body like a swift punch to the gut. “You’re in the perfect position to ride right now…” It rang through his body and caused a flow of blood below.  But Brock wouldn’t give in to that.  Not out of boredom.  Not to pass the time.  Certainly not because he WANTED to touch Roman again.  So instead he just let out a little cough and rolled over to his side.

“Uh… yeah.  Well… wake me up’n like two hours I s’pose…” He said, grabbing and clutching one of the pillows and forcing his eyes shut.  

Brock couldn’t see him, which was really for the best because Roman was wearing a tiny wicked little smile. The stammering told him enough, that at least he’d managed to make Brock uncomfortable which was no less than he deserved. Truthfully, Roman didn’t know what he wanted anymore, whether it was to have Brock or just to torture him, so in the meantime, he was content to poke at him with a stick until he made up his mind. As if Brock might so easily bend for him again, but even that had its own appeal.

When Brock finally fell asleep, Roman disappeared to raid the snack machine, and rudely woke him up four hours later by dumping some snacks on him. “Rise and shine,” he echoed back to Brock, flopping down next to him on his bed.

“There was the creepiest dude in the hallway. He couldn’t take his eyes off me.” Roman paused, biting into a candy bar. “...But who can.”

Brock rolled over and grunted, rubbing his eyes as they readjusted to the dim light in the room.  Roman had laid down next to him to eat some candy, and just on the other side of him was his phone.  He reached out and checked the time to see how much time had actually passed and he growled low and lazy when he saw that Roman did not do as he asked.  But then he collapsed again, arm across Roman as he laid.

“Ya di’n’t do what I asked.” He mumbled, laying for another moment before realizing he was pretty much cuddling Roman.  Slowly, he rolled back over and peeled off a few candy bars whose wrappers had suctioned to his side and tossed them to the side before stting up.  

“Well it’s almost five, we’cn still ask around bout some stuff, I guess.” He shrugged, running hands through his now longer, messy blond hair.  

“Guy stayin’ here?” He said, asking about that guy Roman brought up.  

“Whatever, I let you sleep longer because you needed it.” It was thoughtful, but Roman didn’t seem to notice that that was how it could be taken. In fact, with the shrug he gave as he spoke, it was highly doubtful that he did. The facts to him were that Brock would function better with more sleep, and that he’d let Roman sleep the entire ride, so… The favor was returned.

The arm around him, even for just a moment, gave him pause and he bit into the candy even more aggressively this time to balance the tension that rose in his body. Forcibly, he did not lean into it or acknowledge it, and when Brock slipped away, Roman let him.

“I think so. Maybe? I didn’t really stop to ask him since he was like, staring into my soul and all.”

Brock let a little sarcastic chuckle slip from his lips as he sat on the side of the bed.

“Still claimin’ to have one’f those, eh?” He said, acknowledging Roman’s soul.  He was certain they’d had that conversation before, he was just being a mean spirited joker right now. He pulled out the newspaper that brought them here in the first place and laid back on the bed next to Roman, popping open a candy bar as he scanned the article for street names of where they should start.

“Well…” He said as he looked over the article.  ‘...lemme know’f it happens again…” He nodded.  Not that he cared, right? But he needed Roman on this mission, so that meant protecting him from motel pervs.

There was a glare before Roman chucked one of the candy bars at Brock’s chest, the gesture deliberate but playful. They’d had the discussion before, to which at the time, Roman insisted that of course he had a soul. He’d almost been offended, then. Now? He’d almost be willing to kill to purge it completely, even though his mother had tried so hard to do so already.

“Oh thank you, what a knight.”

That word. Knight.  It may have been a technical term for what he was, the very first Redeemer was a knight and his blood ran through and kept the family line alive.  But it was also the nickname he had from Adam.  The Knight to his Prince.  It was very… It was something he needed to get over.  But he wasn’t about to give Roman more ammunition, so a little wince at the word would have to be enough.  

“Welp, get ready. We gon’ go snooping around’t see’f we can’t find these kids.” He said, sliding off the bed and tossing a jacket at the other boy.  He picked up his hunting bag and slung it over his shoulder, slipping his phone inside along with the newspaper.  

“Maybe ya’cn point this guy out if’n we see him.”

Roman caught his coat and pushed himself up off the bed, stuffing a few more pieces of candy into his pocket and grabbed his phone as well.

“Just like old times, hm?” He didn’t really wait for an answer, just opened the door to a setting sun. “...If we don’t find them tonight, I’ll try communing with them or something. My ancestors see everything.” Rarely did he speak of what he actually was, or how his own demonology worked, but there were breadcrumbs every once in a while. He was a mix of two demons, which made his own genetics a fucked up cocktail of oddities.

Brock shook his head with a little shrug as he muttered “Not quite…” Under his breath, because the old days when Brock needed a little demonic help usually ended up with varying degrees of nudity and sweat.  Something he was trying to avoid for now.  He’d let his heart intervene with his duties enough.  

“Yeah, do your demon mumbo jumbo thin’if ya want.” He nodded, jangling the keys to the truck as he opened the door.  He’d hoped that the kids hadn’t left town yet, but they usually didn’t skip out unless they felt threatened, something that Brock managed to successfully do to them without rarely trying last time.  

“So… you think they’s innocent?” He asked genuinely, because honestly, Brock had a lot more of an open mind than he used to.  And lots of creatures killed the way these kids did.  It wasn’t unreasonable to think maybe they were in the crossfire of something else.  

There was a sharp laugh at Brock’s question, and Roman tossed a glance toward him as if he thought Brock was just the cutest thing in the world at that moment. “Nothing’s innocent,” his bitterness slipping out, “But.. I think they are just as much victims of their crimes as the dead.”

He shrugged. “Demons are made, or they’re born. I’m pretty sure they were made, terribly so, and they’re doing what they have to to survive. Because they don’t know any better. Or because they’re made to, I don’t know.” Roman glanced down at the ground as they walked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Demons are made or they’re born.  Brock supposed that was true of any sort of ‘evil’ in the world.  Hell, Brock was molded into the jaded, hardened person he was today because of the constant abandonment paired with his crippling duties.  But it also meant that Roman was a bit of an anomaly.  Because Roman was never truly evil.  At least not in the classical sense.  His instincts just wanted him to be.  And it was probably that which intrigued Brock about him, that he had such a conflict of his own self interest of what he should be and what he wanted to be.  A struggle Brock knew too well.  

“So what does that make you?” Brock asked after looking him over a little.  He knew the obvious answer, that he was born to two demons.  But he didn’t see anything that made him.  Yet. In any case, he shrugged it off and started to drive.  It took them about ten minutes but they arrived at their destination.  It was a small duplex on the edge of town.  The victims were a pair of brothers and their roomate and their girlfriends.  Skewed a little young for their normal victims, but… okay.

“Prolly gon’ need to ask the neighbors if they saw anythin’.”

Quietly, “...I don’t know.” It was an honest answer. No smoke and mirrors, no playful tone, just a light shrug, no eye contact, staring straight ahead. Obviously, the topic was one he’d considered many times before. “My father is easy - he was born. My mother… She’s an anomaly. But I guess… Technically she was made.” Leaving Roman in the middle? His brother seemed fine, maybe even human enough, so it was just him.

“So… I don’t know.”

Luckily, they pulled up and the subject was easily shifted onto something that was not him. He could go back to being the carefree ‘hellspawn’, as Brock called him, who was just there to help with no real attachment to the situation at all. “Sure. Have your social skills improved at all?” Roman’s lips parted into a wide, shit-eating smile.

And it was that human side that felt the pain and the confusion that drew Brock in, made him question a lot of things.  He knew enough about Roman now to still want to try and comfort him, but… he still couldn’t let himself.  So he just drove the conversation forward.  

“Heh… I uh… I’m not sure.” He shrugged at the mention of his lack of social skills.  He usually didn’t have to try, because the things he wanted at least used to just sort of fall into his lap since he was reasonably attractive and could at least seduce someone, and then ignore them when he was done.  Punch everyone else.  He really had two modes of communication and neither of them were useful for practical situations.

“I usually only talk when I wanna fuck’r punch someone.  As someone who’s been on the opposite end of both’f those, I think you can agree.” He said with a little nod.

“But… I’ll try.” He shrugged, getting out of the truck and walking to the other door, giving it a few knocks.  Nobody was answering, so he pulled back and looked at the other door, thinking maybe they should just go in.

“Think the door’s unlocked?”

“Well maybe you can fuck some answers out of them then,” Roman teased,  finding the ease of slipping back into his show to be relaxing from the brief admonition he'd made in the car.

Wordlessly,  Roman reached for the knob, and was very surprised when it turned and opened,  the door creaking inward to reveal a dark and disheveled house. Immediately,  Roman moved to duck behind Brock. “It's creepy in there,” he mumbled, just about burying his face in the other boy’s shoulder.  It mints been strange behavior for a demon,  but here he was.

“Yeah, no… Not’f it’s’n old cat lady wit’ a sandpaper vagina.  That’s all you.” He smirked.  Maybe he was getting a little more comfortable with the other guy’s presence.  He wouldn’t admit it, but then he’d been hunting by himself for months, since even before Adam and he broke up, since his hunt buddies were Logan and Lincoln, dead or gone respectively.  

The other boy pushed the door open and immediately hid behind him. Brock felt his nose brush against his shoulder, and he tilted his head to give him a side-eye.  

“You’re a demon from hell an’ I’m basically a superhero. Chill.” He scoffed before pushing into the living room.  He looked around, moving his hand against the wall for a light switch.  He found it and flicked at it, but to no avail.  It had been a few days, he supposed the power company had already been notified that the residents were… y’know… dead.  The moonlight was pretty bright, with a little squinting he could make out dark spots on the floor where there had been blood.

Brock reached in his bag that hung from his side and pulled out his phone, flipping on the flashlight.  The floor was a rust orange color from where someone had unsuccessfully scrubbed blood off of it.  There were gashes in the floor.  Not quite from claws.  It looked like from a weapon.  Knife? Maybe an axe?  Something was weird here.  

“Ya seein’ anythin?” He asked, fingers tracing over the gash on the floor.  

“The death smells weird here,” he noted,  roaming around the house, waiting for any touches he got to send shivers of information from the other side,  but it felt jammed and redirected, like the other side was being strained.

“Like um… purposeful, I guess?” Roman looked at some dust on his fingertips from where he'd touched a table. “And why is there dust here already...?”

“Yeah…” Brock agreed.  Something was off.  This looked either planned or done by someone with intent on killing, not some ravenous hungry teenagers.  Brock continued to look around, shining the light around the room until the light caught glinting on something just poking out from under one of the loveseats.  Brock leaned over and pulled it out and held it in front of the light.

“I… think these guys may’ve been more’n meets the eye…” He said as the light illuminated an upside down pentagram necklace.  

The pentagram didn't mean much to Roman directly,  though he knew of its abuse and associations now where it had not always once been.  No doubt,  it had been used here for something sinister, especially given what Roman found next. “Yeah and um… This?” He lifted his hand after a brush against a particular wall near the back of the room. It was blackened. “Is not dust.  This is ash.” Yet no other signs of a fire were present.

“I think something came through this wall,  Brock.”

Curiouser and curiouser. Or however that old book went.  Brock just stared at the necklace for a moment and then back down at the gashes in the floor.  He shrugged and stuffed the necklace into his pocket and shined a light on the back wall that Roman mentioned.

“So many thoughts right now…” He said out loud as he looked around at the different clues that made no sense, even with knowledge of the supernatural that they had.  

“Something came outta there but… I think someone killed these guys.  The marks on the floor look like a weapon.  Maybe… they summoned somethin’n got possessed? Maybe someone went crazy? I donno… a lot’t think about.” He licked his lips and gave the room another once over, but then he heard a rustling in the leaves outside.  Superior Redeemer hearing and all.  He reached in his back and gripped his silver dagger and looked toward the door, inching in front of Roman almost instinctively protecting him.  

“Shh… someone’s out there…”

Being quiet was not exactly Roman's strong suit, and he inhaled a sharp breath and hissed out,  “Oh no we're gonna die…” as one of his hands curled into Brock’s arm for security.

Connor emerged from the bushes and was letting himself in the back way,  but he paused only for a moment,  as if reconsidering,  before opening the door anyway,  glancing around the house through the kitchen and stepping inside almost freakishly silent.  If not for the fact that they had eyes on him,  he might’ve been almost impossible to detect.  Or at least, this was Roman’s opinion.

“Oh - That's him,  Brock,” he whispered lowly.

Connor heard that much,  even for the lowness. “Show yourselves,” he demanded.  “This is a crime scene.”

“We’re not gon’ die.” Brock said in what was probably a comforting voice for him.  The other grabbed on to his arm, but it was fine, he still had access to his knife if he needed it.  When the man entered the room, they had been doing a perfectly good job sitting silent and still, until Roman nervously whispered.  Brock clenched his jaw when the guy acknowledged them.

“We’re aware.” He said in a snarky tone.  “You also trespassin’.  I’ve had my fair share’f run ins wit’ the law to know ya ain’t no cop.”

Brock kept his hand clenched around the hilt of the knife in his bag as the other man entered the room.  He was prepared for anything.  

Connor stepped in further,  the moon hitting his face just enough to make his features a little more distinguishable. There was a smile there,  more amused than friendly.  “You bragging about that,  man?” But he shook his head,  not intending to start some sort of pissing contest.

“Anyway, I know why you're here. Same as me.  Trying to figure out who - or what- did this,  yeah?” Now, his smile was friendly.  Small,  but friendly.

Meanwhile, under his breath, Roman was having a crisis, “Oh no,  he's hot.”

Brock pursed his lips and cocked his head to the side, dropping his knife in his bag and crossing his arms.  “...no I’m not bragging  it’s just a… thing…” He dropped it as quickly as it came up because it really made no sense anyway, so he instead just narrowed his eyes and watched the other when he entered into the light of the moon.  

“Wow you’re… ya lack subtlety. But uh… yeah, I guess we here for the same thin’ sure… why you care what happen to these people?” Brock just instinctively didn’t trust people nowadays.  He had a hard time trusting Roman, but he knew he was a valuable asset so he kept him around.  Brock heard Roman’s words and rolled his eyes.

“He’s okay…” He mumbled back.  

“Well it’s great thatcha have such an interest in your uh… civic duties or whatever, but we were jus’ goin.”  He scrunched his nose up, hand clenching in his pocket over the necklace.  

Connors eyebrows raised a little in surrender. Brock had every reason to be paranoid,  but Connor didn't seem too fussed over it. His job came with misconceptions and skulking about;  he was used to being mistrusted.

“I care because I have to kill whatever did it,” it was almost blurted out,  but while Connor wasn't exactly new to the game, it was also a very lonely life.  Another person like him around --maybe even two people like him -- seemed a special treat.

“We could go to a diner. Exchange notes, “ He offered before Brock could fully turn away.

“...right…” Brock skeptically raised an eyebrow at the boy’s sudden passion to find out what killed these twenty-somethings and murder it.  That was a job that was his but not one that he held gleefully.  It was a duty, nothing more.  It came with some bomb ass perks but he’d much rather trade it in for the life of some boring, average person.  

“What next? Braid each other’s hair?” Brock clenched his jaw and then rolled his eyes after looking over to Roman.  

“Business relationships.  Yay.” He groaned, remembering why he preferred working alone.  “Where to?”

“Brock,” Roman finally chimed in rather than just watching terrible banter between two hunters, really,  he should've felt a little more uncomfortable in the situation than he did,  alone in a home with two people who should probably be trying to kill him.  But instead,  he was just more interested than ever.  “I thought you said you improved your social skills.”

With an eye roll of his own,  Roman stepped out from behind the other boy to shake Connors hand,  smiling.  “I'm Roman, and we'd love to exchange notes.”

---

The diner wasn't far at all,  which was nice because the walk had been relatively awkward between Brock’s standoffishness and Connor’s perceived hospitality. Not that sitting across from the newcomer was much better,  but at least Roman had a rather sizable stack of pancakes to offer some distraction.

“So, Connor. Do you live here?” Roman asked,  pretending to be interested.

Brock leaned back in his seat and watched the two converse. It was… odd, to say the least, that at least one other person at this table claimed to do what he did.  He had so many questions but at the same time he didn’t care or trust him.  It was… well Brock was a mess.  

“Just passing through like you.” Connor smiled sickly sweet between the two boys.  Brock tugged at the strings on his hoodie and just plowed forward with his trite questioning.

“So you’re a hunter?” Brock said in a very matter of fact manner, gaze moving up to study the other man’s.  

“Why?” He said, barely letting him answer.  

“I just mean, I was born’nto it. Cursed by’t.  What’s your deal?”

Roman barely resisted facepalming but he dug into his pancakes and went back to quietly listening.

“I --” Connor paused,  a seriousness settling over him that he had not previously shown. “I wasn't born into it,  but I was made into it.  My family…” He trailed off,  and then cleared his throat,  pouring himself another cup of coffee.

Roman nudged Brock lightly. “Remember our conversation earlier …?” in reference to the origins of demons.  He hoped to invoke just the slightest sense of consideration from Brock.

“I'm sorry about your loss,  Connor,” Roman said,  and he was good at sounding sincere.

Connor just shrugged.  “It's nice to be in the presence of two hunters.” To which Roman laughed a little awkwardly and poured himself some tea.

“Oh, no.  I'm just his ………..friend.”

Brock listened to his story, or what there was of it, and while he still didn’t fully trust him, he could sympathize.  He sipped his soda out of the straw and tapped the side of the glass for a moment before nodding.  

“...my gifts are passed down through ma family.  In order for me’t hunt, somebody had’t die.  So… I feel ya.  It’s never an easy life.” He said solemnly.  

Brock heard the awkward pause between his and friend and had to think of something to say.  He wasn’t going to out Roman in front of this stranger.  

“Oh, was that a friend I heard in there?” Connor asked.  Brock pursed his lips and shook his head.

“No.  No. I mean not long ag-  no.  He’s just somebody I trust wit’ this stuff.” Brock nodded, staring back into the black void of his soda.  

“Yeah,” Connor was also looking down for a moment,  like just the conversation alone brought up the unpleasant well of memories and he could see it on the surface of the table. “Definitely not easy.”

Roman looked back and forth between them,  face unreadable,  but when Connor perked up just enough to tease them,  he smiled.

While Brock stammered to explain them, Roman just took another bite of his pancakes. “Not even friends,  then,” he revised his statement,  and then gave his best little smile at Connor, more to try to make him uncomfortable than anything else.  “So name a time and a place.”

“Time’n place for what?” Brock gave Roman an annoyed sidelong look. He figured Roman was flirting.  It’s what he did.  It’s what Brock did once upon a time before he got feelings and then had his heart broken.  Back in the old days it’s what made Roman so fun.  All that tension bubbling under the surface, an itch easily scratched with a fun playmate.  But now things were odd and weird because there was something more there that Brock pushed down for the sake of his doomed relationship.  Which was why it wasn’t all that surprising when Brock, disgusted as he may be by it, felt the slightest twinge of jealousy.  

Brock decided to push past it and focus on business.  

“So what you know bout them murders? Cuz’t looked like weren’t exactly accidental.”

“Really Brock?” As if the other boy didn't know what he was doing,  interrupting the moment before Connor could really answer and turning Connor’s attention to debatably more important topics that weren't about Roman getting laid.

Connor mostly ignored the outbursts, his attention honing back in on the matter at hand. “Looked like a sacrifice to me.  There were candles there,  originally, but the cops took them.  75 candles, I saw it on the police report. -- No idea what they were sacrificing for,  maybe just please someone?”

Roman almost cut him off with his over eager reply: “Oh they were definitely summoning someone then.” A sure nod was given,  but when he noticed Connor was giving him a strange look,  wondering how he might know,  Roman just smiled a ditzy little smile.  “...I mean,  I'm just guessing.  What else would you do with 75 candles?  Unless you found like a Barry White album too…”

Brock scrunched his nose at the other boy.  He didn’t trust this Connor.  Not at all.  I mean… who cares if Roman wanted to fuck him? He was just looking out for him wasn’t he?  Brock just sat silently and looked over the other hunter while he plead his case, then watched Roman fumble himself as he almost outed himself once more.  Brock intervened before it could turn into a thing.

“We had some sacrifices back home.  At least I think.  Rome’n I found an altar in the middle of the woods wit’ a bunch’f animal bones’n stuff.  An’ there were a few kids that went missin’ round school ‘fore that.” He nodded, explaining why Roman might know a thing or two about that stuff.  

“We found a buncha black eyed kids lurkin’ round there.  Heard from the reports in the newspaper that someone saw some kids like that round here.  Guess we jus’ decided’t finish the job and so we here.”

“Black Eyed kids?” Connor rubbed his chin,  thoughtfully. “Haven't seen any of those… Are you here to kill them?”

Roman’s jaw clenched but he said nothing.

Brock chewed on his bottom lip while he looked over to Roman, seeing the discomfort on his face.  Then he looked back over at Connor and smiled, calm and collected.

“Only if they killin’ people.  But… I ain’t convinced they did this.” He said with a little nod, looking back over to Roman and giving him a subtle reassuring nod.  

Roman gave him just the tiniest thank you smile before turning his gaze away,  looking outside while the hunters talked shop.

“I'm not sure what did.  Never seen anything like this. -- Hey,  look,” Connor scribbled his number down on one of the napkins and slid it over to them.  “I have to get going but let's do some more searching together,  yeah? I'll see what I can figure out,  and let you know what I find.” He also drew out some money,  more than just for his own meal.

“Uh… yeah.  We’ll keep’n touch…” Brock said with a nod, still a little at odds with the whole situation.  He’d never known anyone like him before.  Well… at least not at the same time he was a hunter.  His father and grandfather kind of had to die before he got the family gift.  But maybe he meant well.  After all, it looked like he just paid for their meals as well, and he didn’t have to be so kind.  

“Thanks… you don’t hafta really…” He protested lightly, but he was only met with a sly grin and a wave goodbye.  He watched the other hunter go for a moment, then looked over to Roman. After a moment, he slid over in the booth until he was next to him.

“Wow, Hellspawn. That’s the quietest I’ve seen’t ya.” He joked a bit, following his gaze out the window.  

“Homesick?”

“No,” Roman said,  voice filled with indignance as he only seemed to curl into himself more.  He felt Brock get closer,  and there was a tickle of desire to lean back against him,  but Roman didn't take it.  He didn't look at him either because he didn't want him to see the small hint of fear that he was sure was in his eyes.

“I'm fine,” was the lazy,  half assed reply he served.

Brock could see him avoiding eye contact, which honestly was nothing new in their relationship, but he also knew that the silence started at the talk of killing.  Brock pursed his lips and nodded, playing with the rim of his soda glass.  He knew it had to be hard to hear people talk about killing your own, but that was his job.  And he didn’t kill those that hadn’t earned it. He was a protector of all people after all.

“Look, I meant’t, what I said.  I don’t kill nobody that don’t have’t comin’. I… don’t think those kids do.” He said, laying his chin just on the rim of his glass as he looked over at him.  

“...I don’t think you have’t comin’ either.” He said, knowing where the meat of the insecurity was coming from.  

“But… Maybe I do.  Or I will,” Roman said,  shrugging and finally turning to look at Brock, gaze eerily serious in a way that didn't quite sit well on his usually devious face. “Maybe this new hunter guy convinces you.  Or you're not just blinded anymore because you kinda like me,” the last words were said with an empty smile.

Roman breathed out a heavy sigh,  clearly deflating in his existential crisis.  “Look, I'm not going to bother asking you to make promises you can't keep.  I'm just … becoming aware that I'm potentially endangering myself by helping someone who might very well be the biggest danger. To myself.” He shrugged,  like he was trying to shrug it all off.

Brock listened to Roman’s concerns, and they were surprisingly valid.  It was a concern many of his friends brought up to him; what if one day you have to kill me? And it was a valid concern in his line of work, especially since half the people he knew were monsters.  Then Roman got to that last little zinger, the part about him liking Roman, and Brock gave a subtle sideways smirk, looking back down into his soda.

“Look, Rome… I’m through lettin’ other people convince me what I should be doin’.  A couple guys tried doin’ that earlier this year and one’s dead, one’s skipped town, and one is currently probably plotting my death, so I don’t plan on bein’ controlled by nobody else.”

Brock sighed for a moment, then playfully bumped his shoulder against Roman.  “I won’t let’m hurt ya.”  Clearly that was Brock’s job.  

After a moment,  Roman smiled and bumped Brock back,  but it was difficult to tell if he was truly comforted behind the smile.  Seemingly done with the moment of exposure,  so rare and so Not Him as it was,  Roman quickly transitioned the whole thing back to humor.

“Honestly, neither of you guys might have the opportunity anyway,” he joked,  glancing down at the plate where his pancakes had once been. “Coach might get to me first.”

* * *

Roman had all but forced Brock to get more sleep the next day, and pulled another trademark ‘Sure I'll wake you up in two hours’, but this time he didn't even set an alarm and had every intention of letting Brock get a full night's sleep.  During the day.  

Unfortunately,  this left him incredibly bored,  so he walked down to the nearest store which was just a CVS and wandered aimlessly, grabbing a few things for snacks and then finding himself lost in the greeting card aisle for an embarrassingly long amount of time, flipping through birthday cards and laughing to himself at the good ones.

Connor just happened  to be in the neighborhood, and also seldom believed in coincidences.  He saw the boy duck into the store and followed silently behind.  Hunters were sly and quick, Roman should know that from experience with as many times as Brock snuck up on him. So he followed behind, dipping into the aisle for batteries and picking up a pack of AA’s before walking by, stopping and feigning surprise when he saw Roman.

“Hey, fancy seeing you here.”

Roman very nearly jumped out of his skin, but he managed to compose himself at the last minute and shot one glance over his shoulder at Connor,  forcing a smile that didn't really hold the same amount of effort his bullshit smiles could when he was trying to be especially convincing.

“Connor, hi.” Roman shut the card he was looking at and put it back. “Mom’s birthday soon.” As if he felt the need to explain himself before Connor even asked.

Connor just offered a knowing grin before peering over his shoulder.

“Mom’s big into Dora the Explorer I see.” He joked.  He looked around for a moment, tapping the case of batteries in his hand.

“I’m just getting some supplies.  Flashlight batteries.  All very boring.  Where’s uh… where’s your other half?” He asked innocently, knowing somehow from studying their body language the night before that referring to Brock in such an intimate fashion to Roman would ruffle a feather or two.  He just wanted to see how he’d react honestly.  

Roman cleared his throat,  “Well, you know.  She likes languages,” but the last bit sort of deflated into acknowledgement that he couldn't keep that lie going.

Connor moved on,  and so did Roman,  but he didn't like where it moved to. “He's not my - I just hunt with him sometimes,” he lied,  and that part was easier because he lied a million times before. “I'm just helping him out.” That part,  however,  sounded weaker.

“Oh.” Connor played coy. As a hunter, half the job was watching and waiting, studying the prey’s moves so you knew what made them tick and what they would do next.  He obviously knew there were buttons there to be pushed.  

“I just mean… he’s really protective of you.  Like he seems grumpy in a tough love kind of way but he seems fond of you so I just figured… nevermind.” He nodded, letting the thread dangle there for a while before moving on.

“Sorry this is weird.  You wanna get some coffee or something? I’ll buy? We can talk shop if you are feeling up to it.”

Roman eyed Connor for a moment,  expression very clearly one of recognition. He'd played these games far too often not to know when it was being played on him,  yet the role reversal was not flattering for him.  His lips pressed together in a frown and then he pulled himself together a bit.  He needed to gain some power back in this situation, and was quite frankly just being reminded why showing any sort of vulnerability was idiotic.

“If you want to ask me on a date,  that's all you have to say,” he replied,  shrugging. “Though it's cute the way you danced around making sure I was single first.” There it was again,  his usual playful little smile.

Well it seemed Connor underestimated Roman, because from the moment he met them he’d pegged him as the weaker link of the two.  But really, this just gave him a new angle to work him with.

Connor leaned in close with a sly smile. “I wouldn’t want to make Brock mad.  But… if you’re saying it’s okay then we can call it a date.”  

Then he flashed a darkly handsome smile and held up his batteries.  “Well let me pay for these and you can tell me where you want to go.”

Roman laughed. “Don't get ahead of yourself,  Connor. You haven't even proven yourself to be a threat,  yet.” The words tasted a little acidic in his mouth,  but he let them fall from his lips anyway.  He doubted the guy would end up as interesting as Brock,  and his newness made him unpredictable, but…  Maybe this proved an opportunity to clear some of that mystery.  Roman needed to know this guy wasn't going to come shove a pillow over his face while he slept.

“There's a coffee shop down the street,  let's just go there.”

* * * * *

Brock woke up and it was already dark.  He grunted and rolled over in the bed and looked around the room that was only lit by the blue moonlight and some dim streetlamps outside.  No Roman.  Huh.  He looked at the time and rolled his eyes.

“Bastard.”  He muttered under his breath and proceeded to text him.

Hey u ok? Where u go?

It was then that he heard a skittering in the darkness.  He didn’t have a shirt on, so no pockets, which meant most everything was in his bag by the bed.  He kept his eyes focused on the part of the room he heard the noise and slipped his hand into the bag, gripping the handle of his silver blade.  

“Rome?” He asked out loud.  Roman was a little shit prankster sometimes, so this wasn’t out of the realm of possibility but he couldn’t be too prepared.

A smaller figure emerged from the dark corner, hoodie up,  stepping out cautiously. “He's not here,” said the younger boy, and then in a smaller voice.  “I came to see him - please don't hurt me.”

Brock saw the small, sickly boy walk into the moonlight and immediately recognized the coal black eyes.  As a knee-jerk reaction, he pulled out the knife, but upon hearing the boy’s words, he paused and spun the knife before setting it on the night stand.  

“I stabbed ya once, right?” He said, lacking tact but asking honestly.  

“Sorry ‘bout that.” He nodded, watching the figure carefully.  

“What did you want to see Roman for?”

The boy didn't seem to register the apology, but he didn't seem to hold a grudge either.  There were a lot of things out there that wanted to kill them,  lately.

“We were just wondering... He tried to help us before.  But now there's two of your types here and someone's summoning demons and pinning it on us,  honest…” The kid sounded afloat like he was trying to avoid punishment for stealing from the cookie jar.  Except that he sounded very fearful for a severe sort of punishment. “The others think he brought you here to kill us,  but I don't think so.”

Brock was never one to pull punches, especially not with a demon he knew had tasted human flesh at least once before. So he answered honestly.

“I brought him along to convince me not to kill you.” He said in a stern voice.  But he still had sympathy for the kid. He knew that they had only killed Rosie because they were young and scared and hungry and didn’t understand what they were fully.  At least that’s what Roman had him believe.  He would give them a pass if it didn’t become a pattern.  He didn’t want to be a hypocrite after giving Lincoln a free pass for murdering a guy with magic or Adam a pass for cutting out someone’s tongue.  

“Do you know who is doin’ this? Because I believe ya, but I can’t say for sure if someone else’s gonna believe ya.  I wanna stop this now.”

At the honesty, he cowered slightly,  half his form dipping back into the shadows. But he shook his head quickly in protest. “We don't know who…. We tried to stay away,  but when they started framing us,” he bit his lip, digging into his pocket and unfolding a piece of paper,  looking down at it,  and then to Brock. It was with great hesitation that he stepped fully out into the room,  and close enough to hand the paper to Brock.  The paper was old and withered,  with what looked to be some ancient incantations in it,  and the burned form of a pentagram seal in the middle.

“We don't know what it says. Thought maybe you might.  Or him,  but he's not here…” The kid glanced toward Roman's bed,  frowning.  “He's with that other hunter right now and we don't trust him.”

Brock took the paper and traced the lines of the pentagram with his fingers.  It wasn’t all that dissimilar from the journal in his Armory back home. In fact he probably could find something on it if they were only there.  Sadly he would probably have to rely on Roman’s demonic knowledge for this one.  

Brock followed the kid’s vision and looked at the bed as well, fist clenched and lips pursing.

“Yeah… I don’ trust’m all that much either.” He said, still balancing his viewpoint on the mysterious new hunter.  Although, he was irritated and admittedly a little worried that Roman was alone with him.  

“I’ll tell him you were here.”

“He seems nice,  but he can be…” The kids eyes suddenly widened.  “They know I'm gone. I have to go.” He rushed toward the door in a panic and vanished quickly once outside.

-------

Roman sucked the sugar off his fingers after tearing apart his croissant, staring at Connor like he was an alien.

“There's no way you've never had cinnamon before,  I don't buy it.” He squinted at Connor.

Connor watched the boy eat with an amused smirk and offered a little shrug.

“My family had a lot of weird rules growing up.  There’s lots of things I haven’t properly eaten.” He didn’t make such a big deal out of it because it really wasn’t.  Besides, he was much more interested in finding out more about Roman.

“So you never really elaborated why you help hunt.” He aid, a kind look of interest on his face.  

“Everybody’s got a reason to be in this line of work.  Even if it’s simple.”

Roman still looked at him like he was strange,  but didn't push the issue. And as if on cue,  things circled back to the hunt,  but he supposed that was why they were all here,  wasn't it?

“He saved me once. So I go with him now and watch his back. Sometimes it's useful to have an extra hand,” Roman said,  shrugging the lie off easily.

“I’ve saved a lot of people and they don’t all want to join me on my nightly adventures.  It’s gotta be more than that.” Connor pressed.  He assumed that Roman’s obvious feelings for the other hunter were one reason, but there was also something off about him.  Connor wasn’t an empath, but every normal person could tell if someone’s aura was a little weird, and it was radiating off of Roman.  He had to know more.  

“Sorry, I don’t mean to press.  I just find you... interesting.” He said in a flirtatious manner to cover his prying.  

“Well,  I also liked him,” Roman offered. Sometimes you could afford a small truth to perpetuate a bigger lie. “But he has - had - a boyfriend,  so.”

Roman shrugged.  “Apparently not interesting in the same way I find you,  or we'd no longer be talking.” He smirked and polished off his cup of coffee.

Connor pursed his lips in an amused half smile.  The other boy was trying hard, he’d give him that.  “I like to get to know someone.  Not big into rushing in to things.” Which was true, one of many differences he had from the other hunter.  

“Besides, you said had.  You sure you didn’t want to see if there was still anything there? I mean… especially since he was so quick to cover up for your knowledge on the occult…” He let it dangle for a moment with a smile before continuing.

“I just mean you seem to know a lot about these things for such a casual tagalong is all.”

“I learn quickly,” Roman shut him down again,  frowning as his phone buzzed and he checked it.

“Anyway - he's awake now.  So I should probably head back.” He shifted awkwardly in his seat for a moment and then slid out from the booth and put some money on the table.

“Thanks for the company,  Connor.”

----

It was a quiet walk back,  and Roman let himself in to the room quietly,  sighing and setting down the bag of food he'd gotten from the store. “Brought you some actual food instead of just candy. “

Brock was sprawled out on the bed, still shirtless in his jeans with a single crucifix (his grandfather’s) adorning his scarred up chest.  He was flipping through the tv, just passing the time, checking his phone every once in awhile for a response.  When the door opened, he raised an eyebrow.  

“Thanks.” He nodded, pursing his lips.  He grunted a little as he adjusted himself, throwing his hands behind his head.

“How was Connor?” He asked, trying not to sound too accusatory.

“...lil birdy told me ya was wit’ him.”

“Prying,” Roman answered honestly, shrugging.  He let his eyes drag over Brock’s chest without much shame,  but said nothing as he sat down on the very edge of his bed.

“What bird?”

“Prying?” He clicked his tongue and sat up, scooting closer as he talked.  

“I still don’t know bout that guy…” Brock scrunched his nose as he thought about it.  If he was trying to get information out of him, maybe he felt the same about them.  Or maybe something a little more sinister…

“The kids’r here.  The one you talk to… he came lookin’ for ya.  Snuck’n here and everything.  Said he wanted’t talk to ya.  And… he gave me this.”  Brock leaned past him and grabbed the old piece of paper before dropping it in his lap.

“Looks Demon-y. Can’t tell what it is but’m sure’t’s not Shakespeare.”

“Yeah, me neither.  He said it was a date,  but it totally wasn't,” there was a dramatic heave of a sigh,  but Roman's attention shifted at the mention of the kids.

“Really, they risked coming to you alone?  Wow,” he said,  impressed as he scooted closer to look at the paper.  Roman lifted it up from his lap,  frowning.  “I don't know what this says…”

“Well that’s a relief…” He responded to the date thing.  “Just cuz… y’know… he’s kind’f weird’n all that…”

Brock’s face formed a grimace when Roman said he didn’t know what it said.  He didn’t know who would be able to make sense of it.

“Great.  Now we right back where we started.” Brock was sitting next to him on the bed, but dramatically threw himself back and covered his face.

“You think… maybe he could help? As much as I hate’t say it…” Brock asked with a wince, because it came from the kids and they said they didn’t trust him.  But then they were demons and he was a hunter, so it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of believability.  

Roman tossed a sly smile over his shoulder at Brock.  “You sound jealous,  gorgeous.”

Briefly,  he reached out to console Brock’s frustration,  but stopped short of actually touching him and let his hand drop just beside the other boy. “Maybe he could… but do we risk showing him?”

Brock turned and looked away at being accused of being jealous.  Maybe he was, but it was just a vanity thing.  He was used to being the center of attention when it came to Roman’s whims, even if he didn’t expressly want them.  But they were nice to have.  

Brock stayed laying back but arched up on his elbows and looked up at Roman.  “I wanna know what he knows.  But I don’t want him knowin’ bout this yet.  I wish we was back home because I got some books at the Armory that would prolly help.” He said in a slightly defeated way, peering up at Roman’s face and lingering maybe a little too long on it.  

“...wait.  Do you think you can do that demon thing? You talked bout talkin’ to the dead or somethin right?”

Roman chewed on his lip for a moment,  considering the paper. He wondered if his ancestors would know anything about this language,  or about anything that was going on.

“It's worth a shot,  I guess,” he said,  flopping down beside Brock.  “So are you gonna be in that position every time I see you?”

Brock raised an eyebrow to the question and looked down at his body position.  In the past he was very aware of his positioning and often used it as an enticing dance to get what he wanted.  Now he just fell into it without thinking, maybe it was a reflexive thing.  Either way, it wasn’t intentional.  Though he had to admit, it felt good garnering some attention after months of being made to feel like the worst kind of creep alive.

“Uh… It weren’t on purpose…” He said with a little chuckle, rolling on to his side and looking at the other boy for a moment.  

“Do… do you need me’t do anythin’ for ya to help wit’ the whole… demon spirit thingy?” He asked, though his eyes still lingered a bit more than he meant to.  

Roman smiled,  shaking his head and poking Brock’s well toned arm. “I was only kidding,” he promised,  almost innocently, which was near immediately deflated by his next comment.

“Well, actually, sex really helps get the energy flowing.” He gave his best wicked little smile,  and he let the suggestion linger for a moment before snickering. “I really just need to be alone for a while.”

“Seriously?” Brock asked, cocking his head to the side.  Of course Brock would take that seriously, because sex had a power to him.  It healed all his wounds.  It was literally magical.  But then he also had his doubts.  If it was just business sex it was okay, right? He wasn’t sure how he felt letting someone that knew so much about him get close ever again. And yet amazingly, with his addictive personality, he hadn’t had sex with any strangers.  Roman was actually the last person he’d slept with.  

Of course all the internal dialogue caused him to go silent while thinking for several moments, which he was sure was apparent to Roman.  But then he heard the laughter and scrunched his nose up before rolling his eyes.  

“K then.  I’ll go out’n see’f I can beat any new information outta anybody.” He said, sitting up and rustling around for a shirt.

“Have fun beating people to a pulp,  darling!” Roman replied in a sing sing voice,  watching Brock put on a shirt and then moving to fish some candles from his bag for set up.

Brock gave the other boy another once over before clicking his tongue and zipping up his hoodie.  He slung his hunt bag over his shoulder and moved to the door.

“Yeah uh… good luck with the… thing.”

---

Communing with his ancestors was always tiring,  but this time was even more so due to what he could only discern as some sort of spiritual block that had taken far too long to break through.  By the time Roman had gotten to them,  he only had time for a few questions,  a few answers,  before his body gave out and he weakly fell to the floor.  His mother had warned him about straining himself so soon after their rituals,  but Roman's stubbornness stayed true.

He was out for some time,  and woke up feeling heavy and groggy,  taking a moment to place his surroundings (physical world,  he had to keep reminding himself) and then pushed himself up to peek around the room. “...Brock?”

Brock had moved Roman to the bed.  He was passed out on the floor when he’d gotten to the room and it worried him at first, but Brock quickly realized he was breathing and that it may have just been a side effect of the spell.  He’d been in the shower when Roman awoke, and upon hearing his voice he hurriedly threw on a towel and came out to check.

“Heya there, Sleepin’ Beastly.  Welcome back.” He said with a little nod as he moved over to his clothes.  

“Tonight was a bust for me. Just found’t a buncha drunk hillbillies thinkin’ they saw things.  Please tell me ya lil dreamwalk came up wit’ somethin.”

“Mm,” was all Roman gave for a moment,  green eyes slanting toward to clock to see what time it was,  but that didn't really help anchor him yet.  That would come in time,  he'd settle back into his physical body layer by layer until he felt fully like himself again.

“Yeah… It's um - That paper. Wherever it is.  It's a protection spell. To summon protection.”

“Protection?” Brock quirked an eyebrow in disbelief.  

“Sure di’n’t look like protection. But then I’ve never been the magic guy.  Always been they muscle.” He said, sitting on the side of his own bed facing away from Roman as he removed the towel and knelt over to slip on some old shorts.  

“So why’d the kids bring’t to you?” He asked, peering over at the night stand and seeing the pentagram necklace he picked up from the crime scene.

“Unless… it came from them.” He nodded toward it.  

“I don't know,” Roman said,  honestly.  He had no idea about any of this,  really,  but mostly he was trying to not watch Brock change.  Why was he doing this out here,  Roman couldn't help but wonder.  Was he teasing him on purpose?  When had these tables turned,  he didn't like it.

He let out an irritated sigh and flopped back down on his bed,  staring up at the ceiling. “There's two hunters in town.  Maybe they're covering their asses. Whatever the case,  my ancestors seemed pretty convinced this was for protection. Just … couldn't suss out from what.”

Brock had initially come to town thinking he’d have to kill those demonic kids.  He had nothing to do with those five victims, but now the pieces were starting to form a clearer, yet still somewhat blurry picture.  Roman said when they were there something had been summoned.  And he used the same phrasing when talking about this paper.  Summon protection.  Could it be that those people cast the spell? Did it backfire and summon something that killed them? Did something kill them before the spell was complete? How did the kids get the paper? It was all just making a weird sense that also produced a dozen more questions.  

“You said at the house yesterday somethin’ was summoned.  If this was the spell, what do you think’t was? And… is it still out there?” He asked, laying across the bed with his chin on his folded arms as his bright blue eyes gazed over at Roman.  

“Oh, it really could've been anything but,” Roman thought about it and then rolled over so he was facing Brock. It felt silly that they were a whole bed apart having the conversation,  or maybe he just kinda wanted the proximity, so before he went on any further he grabbed his pillow and walked over,  nudging Brock enough for him to make room and then flopping down beside him.

“It was something strong,  though.  That ash was potent, usually that's a sign of the barrier barriers burning. Stronger entities break doorways open and weaker ones slip right through.” Roman gave an example by simulating an explosion with his hands versus the passing of his palms together gently.

“Huh.” Brock said, thinking about it for a second.  “Been a while since I wrassled wit’ a biggun. Gonna hafta raid my hatch on the truck for some firepower I s’pose.”

He rolled on his back next to Roman and covered his face. “Guess we gon be huntin’ some portal demon tomorrow. I’m done workin’ tonight.” He said as he hopped up and fetched a bag of chips from the bag of stuff Roman brought and settled back down next to him.  He opened it and tossed a few in his mouth before laying back again and side-eyeing Roman.

“Those kids really do trust ya, y’know? It’s kinda sweet I guess. Y’know, in that demons from hell kinda way.”

“Can't wait,” Roman deadpanned, but he really,  really could.  As he watched Brock,  he wondered if he knew of the rules.  Of the restrictions Roman had on the amount of help he could really provide.  How,  if he wanted to stay in good graces,  he'd have to watch Brock die target than interfere with a deadly blow. ...Brock probably didn't know. He had no reason to.

“Amazing what you can achieve with the trust of a demon,  hm?” Roman's smile turned sly.

Brock gave him a sarcastic look, shaking his head as he ate another chip.  

“Who says I trust you?” He teased, though clearly by now, Roman knew better.  Brock had already said it anyway.  Yeah, it probably helped that there was still feelings he’d left unaddressed due to the complicated romantic entanglements they were previously in, but Roman had also come through on a lot of things.  And it was nice to have allies that knew what he did and had skills of their own that could help.  That’s one thing he missed when he lost Lincoln and Logan.  

“You’re lucky ya charmin’.  Else I’d’ve put a knife in ya gut by now.” Again, it wasn’t said in seriousness.  Even if there was a tiny bit of truth to it.  

“Gut feeling,” Roman replied,  smirking.

His voice lowered and he reached out,  for the first time touching Brock a little more intimately than previously. Just a ghost of a touch,  fingers dancing up his abs. “You really know how to talk romance,” he replied,  innocently as his hand drew away.

Brock felt the fingers tap along his stomach and his muscles clenched.  Not necessarily in a bad way, just more so unexpected.  He looked down at Roman for a moment, then gave what could be considered for Brock a shy smile before looking away.  It was then that he decided he should just address the big pink elephant they’d been living with this entire trip.

“I never said I was sorry…” He blurted out, eyes on the ceiling as he tried to think of what to say.

“For treatin’ ya how I did.  Bein’ a jerk.  All’f it.  But I am.  Sorry, I mean.” He bit his lip and looked down at the other boy with sincere eyes.  

“Ya’ve always been weirdly nice’t me.  You didn’t deserve’t be led on and hurt.  I deserved all the rain of shit that happened to me… so… sorry.”

Roman looked over at Brock,  silent during his confession even if he had a lot to say about it. After Brock finished,  he drew in a deep breath and caught his gaze,  reaching up to brush a hand so gently across his cheek.

“I'm guilty too. I knew what I was doing…” Roman dropped how hand from Brock’s cheek.  “My dad was so mad at me when he found out what I did to you and Adam.  He's …. Really romantic.” Roman shrugged,  trying to shrug it off.

“My mom just took me to Japan hoping to try and purge me from having feelings anymore or something. - But I'm not sure it worked.” He looked over at Brock again.  “Anyway what I mean to say is …. It's fine.”

Brock gave a little half smile at the hand on his cheek, then gave a little shrug himself.  

“Still… I knew better.  An’ I’ve always been kinda a colossal fuck up so…” He pursed his lips and breathed out. He listened to Roman, eyebrow quirking at ‘I’m not sure it worked’. He gave a lopsided little smile and looked away at the wall while he gathered his thoughts. He had some other things he wanted to say about it but he wasn’t sure it was the time.  And he was also scared to say them, because his breakup left him skittish, which was weird for Brock. Still he moved the conversation in the opposite direction.

“Always wanted’t go’t Japan.” He said in an almost hopeful manner.  He’d barely been outside of O’cock for most of his life, he wasn’t sure he had any other options.

“We both are,” Roman assured him,  implying that perhaps they were both fuck ups on their own ways.  The words were serious, but a playful smile followed.

The subject change was a welcome one;  Roman had been so open and honest with Brock lately that he was beginning to worry himself.  He needed to steel himself against this guy again,  for both of their sakes, he felt.

“You should.  Such a change of pace from here,  and it's beautiful.”

“Maybe one’o these days.  If’n I can catch a break from this destiny’o mine.” He said with a little shrug, slumping over to his side and laying his head on the pillow. These days he didn’t try to think about the future too much.  It only distracted him and got him into trouble anyway.  

“But hey, one adventure’t a time, right? We here for now.” He said with a doofy little half grin, hand reaching out to playfully swat at Roman’s chest, but his hand went limp against the warmth of his chest as he got comfortable and his eyes started to close.  Something about Roman put him strangely at ease and he could rest easy around him when he barely slept at all back home, and he suddenly realized how tired he was.   

“Sounds like the best course of action.” Roman gave a solemn nod,  feigning wisdom at Brock’s words.  It was probably smarter to take life by smaller bits at a time,  otherwise it was ready to go mad.

He smiled as Brock started to drift in and out,  and for moment,  continued to let him rest his hand on his chest, both of them taking some comfort in having the other close.  But that wasn't helping his resolution to pull away very much. So with some effort,  Roman pulled himself away. “Think it's my turn for a shower,” he mumbled lowly,  grabbing his bag as he got off the bed.

Brock instinctively gripped his shirt for a moment, opening one eye momentarily before letting him go.  In truth he kind of wanted him to stay, but he wasn’t ready to admit that so openly, not when even though it had been a few months the wounds from his last relationship still felt so fresh.  So he nodded for a moment then rolled on to his back.  

“I’ll make sure Norman Bates don’ getcha.  Know you was concerned bout that.” He said, rubbing his eyes for a moment before looking back up at him with a little half grin.  

“”Thank you.  Dying in the shower would be an embarrassing way to go,  especially to my family,” Roman said with a little snicker,  disappearing into the bathroom.  He'd only intended to take a quick shower,  but the warmth and pressure of the water felt nice,  so a brief five minute rinse turned into a much longer affair.

When he emerged again,  he hadn't yet put on his shirt,  and was drying his hair with the towel. He sighed and flopped down on his bed. “Looks like you help up your end of the bargain.” He smiled.  He was still safe,  though really,  god help the poor sap that tried to kill him in the shower.

Brock watched him emerge and tried not to pay attention to the little rivulets of water still dripping down his toned chest.  Roman had the privilege of being one of the very few people he’d been with that had a physique similar to his own with that broad upper torso that must have come from all the football he played.  Of course, a moment of looking was still a moment, and he was sure Roman picked up on it.  He always did.  

“Well I’m a man of my word.  Least I try’t be.” He said with a little nod, laying back on his pillow and closing his eyes, though one eye slanted open to peek a look at the other to see what it was he was doing.   

Roman did pick up on it,  but he didn't say anything. Just finished drying his hair and pulled a shirt on,  then left his own bed to settle back onto Brock’s.

“Maybe you should go talk to Connor tomorrow.  And I'll talk to the kids.”

“Bout what?” Brock grunted for a moment, lost before he remembered.  

“Oh yeah…  I dunno.  If I talk to’m it’s gon’ be cryptic at best.  Still unsure of him.” Of course he also said that because the kids told him they didn’t trust him.  But they were demons, he was a hunter.  And yet…

But he lost his train of thought as the other settled into the bed next to him.  But at the same time, his own body language was looser than it was the day before.  He’d allowed himself to be comfortable around him, despite his reservations.  Mostly, it was just nice to be around someone again.  

“...y-yeah.  Sounds like a plan.”

“Yeah, be careful with him.  He's pretty persistent. And like, he didn't stop needling me for info even when I offered him sex, so.” Roman shrugged and sighed heavily. As far as he was concerned,  there was definitely something off about this guy.

At the tiny stumble of Brock’s words,  he couldn't help it if his lips spread into a sly little smile. “Don't worry,  I'm sleeping in my own bed.”

Brock gave his own little half smile and stayed silent for a moment.  But then he just spoke without thinking.

“...you don’t hafta.  If you want.” He said, wincing a moment after because he realized he sounded so fucking lame.  When the fuck did Brock Hewitt, stallion of Onancock, become a nervous loser?  

“Fuck, that was stupid.  I just… ugh…” Brock threw an arm over his eyes and shook his head.

“Ya could prolly tell’ts really been months since I’ve properly conversated wit’ someone.”

“It has?” Roman asked, dramatic and teasing.  His grin said as much. Instead of agreeing one way or the other,  he just laid down beside Brock and got a little more comfortable. He'd sleep in his own bed,  but he could stay here for now.

“What do you wanna talk about?  Or …. Do you know any games?” Roman realized he struggled now to find something for them to do in the down time,  since previously the solution to boredom would be simple enough.

“Shuddap.” Brock grimaced for a moment, then shrugged.  

“I just shut myself off.  S’what I do.” He nodded.  They sat in silence for a few brief moments before Roman asked if he wanted to play any games.  Brock turned and looked at him for a moment with big blue eyes before giving a sincere laugh.  Reminded him of that time they played tic tac toe in the autoshop. When Brock realized he might like him.  And then promptly panicked.  It was a weird time.  

“Uh… I dunno.  Truth’r Dare?” He shrugged, then realized that might be a colossally bad idea.

“You sure about that,  hunter?” Roman flashed a playfully predatory smile.  That same one he used to use,  that wasn't strictly human,  even if nothing about it was really easily placed is inhuman.

Before Brock could even back out,  though,  Roman said,  “You go first.”

Brock saw the glint of the demon underneath and his breath hitched for a moment.  It was a silly, strange thing that the man who was supposed to kill these supernatural creatures couldn’t help but be somewhat attracted to them, but here he was.  Brock just rolled his eyes and gave a little smirk, then looked him in the eyes again.  He didn’t really feel like moving, so he would save dare for later.

“Hmmm… truth?”

“Hm,” it was a tougher option,  really.  Roman wasn't exactly the best with vulnerability, but this seemed an opportune time to encourage some from Brock.

“Do you …. Wish you hated me?” It was a wonder.  It would surely have made Brock's life easier,  he suspected. Maybe he also wondered if Brock regretted their time together,  but for his own sake,  he wouldn't ask.

Brock chewed his lower lip as he thought of the answer.  Sure, he wanted to hate him.  But hating him would be placing the blame completely on him.  That wasn’t fair, right? They both felt things.  At least Brock assumed, he didn’t ask in depth.  

“I...no. I uh… I tried.  But truth is I couldn’t.  All you did was feel somethin’.  Ya couldn’t help it.  I couldn’t… uh…” He stopped before he went too far.  But it was nice to get something out now that the dust had settled.  He shook his head and gave a smile.

“Uh… your turn, right?”

“I could've helped it,” Roman told him very seriously,  in this moment wanting Brock to understand that he knew what he did was wrong,  not excusable because of potential feelings. “I knew you were seeing someone.  You told me.”

His gaze was not meeting the other boy's when he answered,  “Truth…” with a tone of unease.

“Do you still…” Brock stopped and winced and retracted before anything came out.  Instead he just rephrased it into something else.  

“I mean… did you mean’t when ya said ya didn’t wan’t see me after this?” He asked, echoing what he said in his room a few nights ago.  Though it wasn’t his original question, it was something he was still curious about.  

Say yes came the knee jerk thoughts, the impulsive wiring of his demonic side telling him to eject from the situation sparking to life.

But instead he said, “Not anymore.  I was hurt  - I definitely meant it then but…. Not now. “

“Your turn.”

Brock listened to his response and nodded.  He understood the hurt.  Brock couldn’t help it.  He’d developed feelings, but he also had a relationship that had been good to him for months.  He owed it to Adam to try.  Either way he was breaking a heart.  But it didn’t work out.  Roman didn’t have to speak to him again if he didn’t want to.  But he was, and Brock was… relieved and happy that he was.  He offered a sincere look, and gave his arm a squeeze before instinctively pulling away.

“I uh… I’m glad.” He said with an awkward nod before blurting out “Dare.”

Roman gave a tiny smile,  but was glad for the distraction of the dare.  He rubbed his hands together in an exaggerated manner and grinned.  “Alriight.”

Even he couldn't keep up that act though,  so he just continued his thought process.  “After this,  I dare you to take a whole weekend off from hunting and go do something and enjoy yourself.  Leave town if you need to.”

Brock let out a little chortle and shook his head before looking at Roman from the side of his eyes.

“That’s hardly a dare, darlin’.” He smirked.  Then he licked his lips and thought about it for a moment before scooting closer to Roman, looking him in the eyes before speaking.

“Fine. Then I dare you’t come wit’ me.” He said, a little less unsure of himself, a little more of a demand and a request at the same time.  He realized he hadn’t felt this at ease in months and was looking forward to more of it if he could have it.  

“Hey - I didn't even…” His will the argue collapsed quickly under the weight of wanting to get Brock back with a dare. “I dare you to kiss me, “ before he even had time to catch up with himself.

“I di’nt ask…” Brock interjected to the boy with a firm look and a smile.  But then he quickly shot back with a dare of his own that made Brock stop and blink.  He chewed on his lip and looked away for a moment, thinking on it.  But his thoughts were stupid and stopped quickly as he turned back to him and leaned forward and pressed his lips against Roman’s, thumb resting against the boy’s chin.  It wasn’t aggressive or sexual like their desperate trysts in the past.  It was a slower, softer pace because neither one of them were probably ready to jump to that yet with all the hurt they’d been through.  After a moment, he pulled away.

“....truth’r dare?”

Roman returned the kiss easily,  but the softer pace almost hurt more than something hot or hungry.  It stirred all those feelings he'd been failing to stifle,  and all those worries attached to things like his soul -- he'd given part of it away already,  which he never wanted to tell Brock. Looking back,  maybe it was a rash choice made out of hurt and spite,  but his mother was there to capitalize either way, intending to cement her son to his demonic roots,  not the human limbo he seemed to struggle with. But the kiss was so nice, having Brock close again was so nice.

“Truth…?” he answered in a small voice.

Brock felt so many things after the kiss.  Butterflies. Knots. A hint of sadness because he knew how shitty he’d been to Roman and that he didn’t deserve to even have Roman’s kindness but this happened.  And for the first time in months he felt like he wasn’t scum for once.  It was a small reprieve, but it helped.

He searched his mind for a question, but he figured they were being honest, so he’d stick with that theme.

“I… do you…” He struggled to find the phrasing but everything sounded stupid.  “Do you… still feel… something?” He asked.  Yeah that was stupid.  

There was a small look of panic,  suddenly, as the words were voiced.  In a way,  he'd already mentioned that he did earlier,  but the circumstances were different, less intimate. He might feel things now but for how long,  he had no idea.

“We should go to bed,” he practically jumped up while he spoke.

Brock was both surprised and half expecting that reaction, and he knew it was stupid and sensitive when he said it but he’d always been blunt, so… he just let it out.  But Roman jumped up and ran to his own bed and he nodded for a moment before clicking out the lamp on the nightstand between them, laying back as the moonlight cascaded through the blinds and cast a blue glow on his shirtless form.  After a few moments of silence, he spoke.

“Yeah… I do too.” He said, answering his own question before rolling over and leaving him alone.  

---

Roman awoke in the same position he’d forcibly fallen asleep in, on his side, back facing Brock’s direction. It had been shitty sleep, though. Memories of time spent with his mother, of hasty decisions he was now coming to regret. Anxiety ridden dreams that walked just the side of reality, to the point where his waking just felt like a momentary extension of his slumber. Life was easier when he was just the bitchy drama student who hit people a little too hard on the football field. How had this happened to him?

“Mmph,” was the rather unceremonious noise he produced when he sat up, looking around the room. It was a bright morning, even with the curtains drawn he could see that. He wasn’t ready for the sunshine and cheer.

Brock slept okay.  In fact it was one of the few nights he slept sound.  Because he wasn’t stressing about the same things.  Because despite how Roman felt about the situation, Brock was just happy to have it out. To at least have brought some sort of sense of catharsis to the situation.  Of course this wasn’t his first tango.  He admitted his feelings last night and he knew Roman was freaked, so he’d play the ‘let’s ignore last night until we can’t’ game as long as it was going.  

He’d woken up a bit before him and was trying to slip out before he woke up so Roman wouldn’t have to feel so awkward.  He fumbled on the dresser in his bag making sure everything was in it, jacket and beanie cap on for the cool fall air.  He heard him rustle behind him and debated whether it would be good or not to say anything.  But he was always garish and blunt so why not.

“Mornin’ sleepyhead.” He said over his shoulder.  

“Was just bout’t step out.  Got a date wit’ Connor.  And by date I mean suspicion and possible punching.  Or maybe actual fucking, I donno, I’ll feel it out.” He joked, peeking over his shoulder to see if he was okay.

“...do you need anythin’? I uh… I can stop by the store an’ getcha… somethin’.  I donno…”

Roman just gave a sleepy smile and shrug. “If you fuck him, let me know how he looks without a shirt.” He stood, stretching and looking for his own bag.

“Nah, I’m fine. I’ll go… Wander. See if I can find the kids or something.”

Brock raised an eyebrow.  He wasn’t serious about fucking Connor.  Well… Maybe… he was cute but still, Brock’s mind was elsewhere.  Still he turned and slung his bag over his shoulder and looked over the other boy for a moment.  After tapping his crucifix necklace thoughtfully against his lips for a second, he placed his hand on Roman’s shoulder.

“Uh… be careful, okay?  Call me’f ya need me.  OR just… if ya find somethin’.  Whatever.” He said, tapping his shoulder, giving him a bright smile before moving to the door.  

“I’ll come runnin’. Jus’ say the word.”  Now he was babbling.  

Roman almost leaned into the touch. Almost. But he did offer a smile, seeming much less tense and awkward than he had the previous evening. Truthfully, he was just too tired to feel that way, so the sleepiness let him coast on autopilot.

“Yeah, you too. I could rip his arms off for you, no problem.” It was said in such a way that maybe he was joking(?), but he’d never fully displayed his demonic half to Brock out of fear and a lack of necessity. And besides, there were rules.

“If you don’t hear from me in a couple hours, there’s a problem.”

At the comment about ripping his arms off, Brock gave an amused smile. “I believe’t, killer.” He said, not in a crude manner.  Almost affectionately.  Actually affectionately probably.  Before he fully opened the door, he reached in his pocket and threw his keys to Roman.

“You can take my truck. I run fast. Jus’... like be careful wit’t.” He nodded, opening the door and nodding to Roman.  

“Since you’re prolly gon’ be coverin’ more ground lookin’ for the critters’n all.”

“Oh um,  okay…” He looked at the keys in his hand and watched Brock leave.  Guess it was time to get dressed and get moving.

--

Connor was back at the scene of the crime,  using the light of day to guide his eye,  hoping that without the distraction of the other hunter and whatever his companion was,  he might be able to find something.

But distraction he would get.  Brock was still unsure of what to think about this guy.  He was attractive and somewhat nice.  He paid for their meal the other day. But he’d known plenty of people to conceal their aggression with kindness.  Hell, even Brock used to be a pro at it, before the brigade of sad boys broke his feelings in the last year.  

Brock leaned against the door and lit up a cigarette before the other realized he was there, then loudly flicked his lighter shut before looking at him with slanted eyes.  

“You look like someone that ain’t had a lick’a luck here recently.” He said, offering a smile and a sincere change in tone from their last meeting.  He moved closer in the room and peered over his shoulder.  

“We’d be’n the same boat.  But at least this place looks different’n the daylight.  Might could find somethin’ lil better now.”

If Connor was surprised by the appearance of Brock, he had a good poker face.  Instead of jumping, he smiled and ruffled his hair.  “Yeah, that was my thought process,  but haven't seen much yet that a cell phone flashlight wouldn't show.”

He sighed and almost deflated some,  looking curious. “Where’s your friend? Or did he book it.  Doesn't quite seem cut out for this.’

Brock scrunched his nose at mention of Roman.  He wanted to defend him, but really what did he care what this guy thought of him.  He just took another quick drag of his cigarette and shrugged.  

“Rome isn’t full time like me. And he’s just having… a weird day I guess.” He said, looking over the other hunter with curious eyes.  A bystander would see the way he looked at him as if he were checking him out.  And in a way he was, he wasn’t a sore sight to look at.  But he was scanning him for weapons. Tools.  Things that were out of the ordinary.  Things that might have made the scuff marks on the floor of the very place they stood.  When he was sure Connor had seen him, he made a blush face and looked away.

“Sorry, it’s been a weird day for all’f us I guess.” He shrugged, taking a final puff of his cigarette before flicking it out the cracked open door.  

“Look, I should prolly apologize for bein’ such a dick the other day.  I’m just very serious bout my work.”

Connor shrugged, easily, but his face didn’t exactly have a readable expression, even as he accepted the apology. “That makes two of us.”

He was quiet for a moment, feigning a continued search, but he doubled back smoothly and tossed a glance back Brock’s way, gaze lingering longer than just assessing where he was in the room. “You don’t seem the type to blush easily,” he mumbled, turning his attention back to the strange shape on the wall where Roman had said a portal was previously.

Hook line and sinker.  He hadn’t completely forgotten how to play on someone’s emotions for selfish reasons.  How else would he have slept with half the Junior class by the beginning of the school year last year if he hadn’t been a good actor?  Still, he offered a smile and a little shrug.

“I don’t but… I donno.  It’s been a long time since someone caught me checkin’ em out.  Forgot how to act.” He nodded coyly, letting it sit in the air for a moment before he looked at where his line of sight went.  He approached him and closed the gap between their shoulders, leaning in just a tad closer than he should and asked about his thoughts.

“What ya reckon came outta there? Demonic entity? Ghost? Giant snake? Cuz I’ve fought all three ‘fore and can’t say I like any’f em.”

“Definitely a demon,” Connor said with a weird sort of sureness. “I wasn’t here when it came out or anything but… I was hunting some. Chased them here. I don’t know what the fuck they were calling though.” He leaned against the wall, frowning.

Then, he tried his own hand at coy. “Was hoping you could tell me. You seem more experienced and all…”

Brock gave a sly grin and looked at Connor through mischievous eyes, then gave him a little tap on the shoulder.

“You have no idea, mister.” He said, a devious little lilt in his voice.  All the while he was mentally taking note of things.  He was chasing demons to this location? Could it be that those people killed were the demons? If they were summoning protection then they were scared… of him.  But maybe he had his reasons.  Maybe they were murderous demons.  Maybe they were doing something genuinely evil.  That was the life of a hunter.  You were boogeyman to the boogeymen.  He’d have to find out more before he made a judgement, even if pieces were starting to come together a little easier.  

“These uh… runes here…” He said, approaching the wall and running his fingertip across an ashy emblem underneath the burn marks.  “I seen’em before.  They’s usually protection.  Wiccan stuff. Whoever did this was scared.  Summoned a boogeyman’t help out.” He mused, pulling some truths and mixing it with some Wicca mumbo jumbo he remembered from Lincoln.  He turned his attention back to Connor and thought over his words carefully before smiling and continuing.

“If ya pump me anymore ya gon’ haveta buy me a drink.  For information that is.”

Connor laughed and looked down like he’d been caught, but really, he was amused by the similarities between this hunter and his companion. Both had said virtually the same thing to him now, but why not take a little bit advantage if he needed to.

“Yeah, huh,” he replied, smirking. “For information.”

His gaze dipped back toward the wall, rolling over Brock’s words in his mind, before his attention turned back to the other hunter and he shrugged. “Sure, I can do that. Unless you wanna skip that.” He smiled.

Brock just let a little smirk cross his face.  For a moment he actually truly considered it, for real.  He hadn’t had sex for months and he was a former addict gone cold turkey.  But at the same time, he had a terrible habit of sleeping with would-be enemies, and now he had a tangled mess of feelings that came with that.  But still, this was an angle he had to work with so he would push it where he needed it to go.  

He approached the other hunter and placed a firm hand on his chest, piercing blue eyes looking up at him (Brock is still short, after all).  He chuckled and looked back down at the floor, kicking at the dust in a manner that could be considered shyly.  “Sorry, I ain’t been touched’n a while. Makes me come off’s desperate…” He said, clenching his shirt, free hand travelling underneath and tracing along the contours of Connor’s surprisingly chiseled abs.

“I hate it.” He said sternly, letting the hand fall down to the backside of Connor’s jeans, pressing and grabbing firmly, what looked like groping actually a frisk.  The hunter had a knife on him, he could tell, and he wanted to see if it matched the marks on the floor.  

“That’s fine,” Connor replied lowly, softly. Brock didn’t have to apologize, and despite the fact he probably should’ve been aware of it, he didn’t consider that the other boy might be frisking him and he let Brock’s hands roam freely as his own shot out to Brock’s hips.

He didn’t kiss him, though, not on the lips. Connor’s head dipped downward toward the side of Brock’s neck as he pulled him a little closer. It felt nice to have another hunter around, even if they barely knew each other. It was a lonely, thankless job. This guy seemed like he understood.

“They were a fucked up family, you know,” he mumbled against the skin of Brock’s neck, confiding in him about the so-called innocent family that had been living here.

Brock continued his search disguised as groping, though honestly a fair amount of real groping was had. Brock certainly wasn’t innocent.  Luckily he found the shaft of a blade in one of Connor’s back pockets.  That was down, great.  Now…

“Fuck.” Connor pulled him in and nipped at his neck, one of his weakest spots, and suddenly his seduction game was turned and very real.  He went a little limp against him for a moment, just losing himself for a second as his hands crept back up under his shirt.  Then he started talking, and it knocked him out of it, luckily.  And piqued his interest.

“Mmm, how so?” He asked in a silky tone, his own mouth tracing the side of the other hunter’s ear.  This was going well.  Though the deeper it got, even if it was an act, the more… guilty he felt? Mainly because if he took this part too far he didn’t want to tell Roman.  Because that somehow felt wrong.  

He’d stop it before it happened. He had control again.

Connor had leaned back just a little to catch Brock’s gaze, but that didn’t last long either as his hands slid up from the other boy’s hips and up underneath his shirt, locking onto him as if satisfied with the removal of anything else between them. He didn’t seem to be too focused on answers at the moment, because now he was getting distracted enough to lose focus of the conversation a little as he dipped back in to continue the path he’d started from Brock’s neck to his jaw.

The question eventually caught up to him, or he to it, and his tone implied he thought Brock ought to have figured it out by now -- “They were demons too. Trying to pose as good people, but I saw through it. And they’re all terrible anyway. They tried to summon help but…”

Connor shrugged, his lips finally meeting Brock’s and he seemed about done with talking.

And as soon as Brock thought he had control, hands slid up his shirt, removing it, leaving them chest to chest.  Lips nuzzled up his neck. He gasped for air, his fingertips tugging at the top of Connor’s jeans.  It was lucky for him that Connor remembered to answer his question before it got too much further.  It would seem Brock’s control still needed a little work.

But the way he described it.  Demons that were… just trying to be good people? Live lives? Demons like… Roman.  It made his blood boil.  Not just for Roman, but for every non human he’d made friends with over the last few years.  

So he settled into the kiss, kissing back intensely, furiously as he took the moment to slip the knife from Connor’s back pocket to his own.  Then he pushed him back on the hard floor and mounted him, kissing back more as his hands moved up each side of Connor’s arms, pulling them above his head and holding them to the floor with one hand.

“Mmmm… this where you did it?” He asked in a sexual tone, his hand slipping into his own back pocket, slowly pulling out the knife.

“Think they was scared?” He said, a little more aggressive before pulling the knife out and stabbing it into the floor next to his head, right into one of the marks on the floor.

“Huh.  Perfect fit.” He said, retracting it then holding it to Connor’s throat.

“So they literally did nothin’ cept live? Did they even do anythin’ to you? To anyone?”

Connor was blinded by several emotions the moment Brock climbed onto him, but things went south too quickly to have to discern between them. With his hands pinned, he was only left to growl, looking none too remorseful. The nice guy act slipped quickly enough in the face of being threatened, but with a knife to the throat, there was only so much that could be done.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” he asked, darkly, the sting of being threatened with his own weapon burning just underneath his skin. “Are you really defending them? Isn’t this your job? Who cares if they did anything or not - it was a matter of time.”

At his core, yes… technically that was his job.  If he were ever to give completely in to the Redeemer inside him, then maybe he would see things the way Connor did.  But Brock had more honor than that.  Brock grew up feeling like an outcast, and he knew that many of his inhuman friends felt the same.  It wasn’t his job to annihilate them just for existing.  It was his job to deal with horrors that the law of man could not.  There was a difference.

“It’s not my job’t kill blindly.  It’s my job’t protect those who can’t protect themselves.  Just cuz they ain’t like you’n me don’t mean they deserve’t.  If they was eatin’ people then I could understand.  But you don’ sound like you care.” He said, blade pressing against his neck, shaking a bit as Brock wasn’t sure what to do.  He’d never been in this situation before.  Connor was human.  But the demons he hunted were innocent.  If he let him go, he’d kill again.  But if he killed him, he’d be a murderer.  He hesitated.  If Connor was any kind of fighter worth his salt he’d take advantage of it.  

“Bullshit,” Connor spat, noticing the shaking, the hesitation, and exacerbating it enough to agitate Brock’s grip. Then it was a matter of knocking him back -- off -- and getting that fucking knife away from his throat. He saw the opportunity presented in Brock’s eyes and he took it, one daring roll to put their position nearly reverse and brought one quick, hard punch down to Brock’s jaw before getting up.

He hook his head, looking a little disappointed. “Thought I could learn from you. But you’re not any good at this. Now give me my fucking knife.”

Brock fell back to the floor, head spinning as the punch rattled his brain.  He’d never been hit by another hunter before.  Monsters were all claws, didn’t fight much.  And the school tussles with the trailer park boys were never rowdy enough, they weren’t that strong.  But this guy was a studied fighter, and probably mystically strong like him as well.  He’d have to fight smart.  

He looked up at him, blood dripping from a split lip, and laughed a bit.  Then with a sarcastic look, he replied. “....Okay.” And with that he stabbed his knife through Connor’s boot and shot up to his feet to deliver him an uppercut to his jaw as payback for his own.  

Connor saw red and swore loudly, the stab and punch colliding all at once and shoving Brock back, hard, into something -- ANYTHING -- a shelf, a table, a wall -- whatever the fuck he could and with all his strength was about all he could manage just to give some distance, buy himself some time and … retrieve his knife with a pained grunt.

He steeled through the pain shooting up through his body, least he had his weapon back, and rushed toward Brock, fully intending to return the kindness. It was a rabid swing, but guided with clear skill, and the knife drove right into the other boy’s thigh, grip twisting just slightly.

“I bet you fuck them too, don’t you,” Connor sounded disgusted with Brock, shaking his head. He couldn’t imagine letting something inhuman touch him. “Since you care about them so much.”

Brock flew backward and smashed into a shelf, books and trinkets flying everywhere as the boards cracked beneath his body.  Before he had a chance to react, the other hunter lunged and stabbed into his leg.  Brock cried out, his hand shooting out on reflex and grabbing one of the boards behind him, snapping it off just as Connor twisted the blade.  He began to breath fast, trying not to focus on the pain as Connor made his smart comments to him.  He just laughed.

“Someone sounds jealous.” He said, bring the board down over his head with a crack.  When the other hunter stumbled he swung it again, smashing it across his face once more.

“As a matter of fact, they were the best fuckin’ lays’f my life.” He said, sweeping the other boy under the legs with the board and pressing the edge against his neck when he hit the floor.  He limped a bit as he pulled the knife from his leg and threw it to the floor.

Connor once again hit the floor and was effectively, for the moment, rendered useless. But he refuse to surrender completely, so he fought verbally where he could not immediately physically respond.

“You gonna kill me now?”

Goddammit.  Here he was again, not moments later, unable to kill someone who would probably have no reservations killing him.  It was just too against his moral code.  Brock just glared at him for a moment, blood boiling as he thought of his next move.  Then without a second to spare, he snapped back the board and slammed it across Connor’s face harder than he’d done before, knocking him unconscious.  

“No.” He said, throwing the board to the floor as he limped away.  If Connor was a true hunter, he’d live through this.  Brock would find a way to deal with him when he had a clearer mind later.  

“Not yet…”  He said, slipping on his shirt painfully now that he was covered in bruises and scratches before grabbing his bag and limping out the door.  

*****

Ron was hardly a perfect husband.  In fact, he was a terrible one.  One that openly beat his wife outside of bars in front of sorority girls.  One that shouldn’t be tolerated.  So after he was done causing the spectacle, he walked around back behind the Tap Room, a little hole in the wall bar on the bad side of town, to light up a cigarette.  But as soon as he struck the flint on his lighter, he felt a sharp pain in his chest.  He looked down in the dim light of his lighter to see blood pouring from his chest, a dark, bloody, yet perfectly manicured hand holding… his slowly beating heart.  Blood poured from his mouth as he fell forward, the hand pulling back through the hole as he did so.  As he hit the ground, his last vision was of the sorority girl.  The pretty, dark skinned one with the braids, looking at him with nary an emotion on her face.  Before he succumbed, he heard her girlish yet monotone voice.

“You are not the one.” She said eerily, squishing the heart and throwing it to the ground beside him.  He was not her intended target.  She must continue to roam until she found it.  She walked down the opposite end of the alleyway, shaking her hand as the blood seemed to evaporate from it.  She would find the target.  She would return home.

Roman almost walked right into her, nearly walking by her, in fact, until he felt a familiar tug of something not quite human and paused, glancing over to the girl, and then down the alleyway. His eyes widened a bit at the heap of human forms left at the other end, and he gave a resounding, “Oh,” before turning back toward her.

She felt the shoulder tumble against hers.  She would have kept walking, caring not for the human world, but the spark of energy in that little fumble stopped her.  She turned her head slow, looking at him in dead, unblinking eyes for a moment, as if she was reading his very soul or lack thereof with a look.  Then with a single word, rude and inhumanly crass, she spoke.

“Mutt.” She said.  To him it may have sounded like a demonic/speciest comment but in her mind it made all the sense in the world.  She was pureblood, older than this earth, from the origins of hell.  This child was demon, but mixed breed, part of his soul missing but the stink of human emotions remaining.  He was interesting, but he also mattered not.  So she turned back on her way and tried to keep walking.

Roman nearly rolled his eyes at the comment; it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it, and likely not the last, but it was still grating in ways he supposed the oldest of them didn’t understand. His mother even used it, though her connotation was also different. She was old too much older than his father he didn’t get the terminology of the lower world at all.

“Looking for something?” was all he shot back, just a hint of knowing in his tone. “You might wanna try blinking, if you’re going to fit in here, Old One.” It was just this side of respectful, the way he used the title.

The halfbreed asked if she was looking for something.  She turned, full body at once as if she had a purpose.  Eyes still unblinking, face lacking any sense of humor.  

“I look for one that does us harm.  I must destroy it so that I may return to my realm. I grow tired of this conversation.” She said, staring through him again.

“If you do not have the answers I seek then remove yourself from my presence.” The more irritated she got, the more a low rumble accompanied her voice, like a demonic echo.  Really, it was more of a party trick to scare the lower beings into cooperating.

Roman squinted at her for a moment,  listening to what she had to say,  anything she'd give. “Oh, yeah.  Thought you are here for something else…” he turned,  intending to let her go on her way as he grew increasingly concerned about Brock’s safety now.  She was Old but he would definitely want to stop her from killing anyone else.

Hopefully the prayer circle gave specifics,  because if not,  she might end up hunting Brock too.

The boy’s heart started to race.  He was nervous.  She could hear his blood pumping faster, smell the fear secreting from his pores.  She stimulated a reaction from him.

Not one to beat around the bush, as many Old Ones were not, she snatched him by the shoulder and pushed him against the brick wall behind them, pretty manicured nails wrapping tightly around his neck. She leaned in, nose sniffing along his lips for a moment before pulling back and gazing into his eyes.

“You are intimate with one that would do us harm.” She said, tightening her grip a little.  She gazed into his eyes, as if telepathically searching for answers. Maybe literally.  After a moment, she released him.  

“He is not the one.  Curious hunter that would take the blade of a sword for the love of a demon.” She said, casually dismissing their strange relationship in a few words.

“Have you any more for me or are we done?”

Roman frowned when he was pinned to the wall,  but he didn't struggle.  It would've only made things worse to do so,  so he let her take what she needed for the moment,  not meeting her gaze when he didn't have to.

“That's all,” he practically ground out. “He's not that one,  like you said.”

“So there is more than one in this village?” She asked, again cold and emotionless, her terminology dated much since the last time she was in this plane.  She cocked her head to the side, eyes still unblinking, like a snake, before stepping back toward him.

“Do you know where this one is? I tire of this world.  It reeks of human filth and everyone keeps asking me if I have seen tiny monsters on their magic bricks.  It is strange and I despise it.” She said, making a strange prehistoric reference to everyone’s recent obsession with Pokemon Go.  

“I have no idea,” he answered honestly.  Where Connor could be right now was anyone's guess,  and Roman didn't know the town well enough to speculate. It was getting close to time to let Brock know he was alive,  but also,  he needed to make sure he was going to stay that way first.

At the dated reference, he smiled a little,  biting back a laugh now that she was so close. “It's a game…” The information was useless though,  he knew.

“Games are for putrid tiny humans.” She said, searching the boy’s face for anything else she could get from him.  When she decided nothing else could be gained, she turned.

“Your cooperation is appreciated, halfling. I will find the one and I will destroy it.”

“Yeah, um …. Enjoy that then,” he said awkwardly,  not having much of an opinion on poor Connor’s fate.  With her dismissal,  he slid from the wall and turned to leave again. Hopefully she'd let him this time.

* * *

Brock had limped all the way to the motel.  Being a Redeemer, his body took more punishment than your average human.  He could make it, it just wouldn’t feel good.  By the time he’d reached the room, blood had caked his jeans.  His lip was swollen and his jaw was purple.  His back underneath his shirt was covered in cuts and scratches from being thrown about and into things.  It was an average day at the office, but it was also a fight against someone with the same strength and skill he had so it hurt possibly a little more.

He just fell back onto the bed when he got there, too weak to move any more.  He just needed to rest in a safe space for a moment before anything else.  When he finally mustered up the energy, he stripped off his clothes and left them, bloody and torn, at the foot of the bed, before standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom and staring at himself, beaten and bruised once more.  He winced as he pressed at his lip, then at his leg.  Great.  New scars.  

He ran a bath and lay down in it, letting the warm water soothe his wounds.  It wasn’t long before he dozed off, letting the stress of the day overtake him as the water of the tub turned a rusty color from all the blood that washed off his body.  He wouldn’t be in his best fighting condition with his leg like this for at least two or three days, until his healing caught up a little, and even then it would still be strained.  He just hoped he’d be a match for Connor the next time they met.

Roman let himself into the room and it felt like only then had he let out a real breath. He pressed his back against the door and shut his eyes, sighing heavily and trying to calm down. It’d be so easy to find Connor and just lead him to the Old One, but Brock would probably be mad at him and he just had this feeling that she wasn’t letting him (or Brock) off as easily as it seemed.

When he opened his eyes, he spotted the blood. Then his oversensitive senses picked up the scent; how had he not noticed that before??

“...Brock?” he asked, a little panicking, following the trail to the bathroom and then, upon seeing Brock passed out in the tub, yelled louder as he rushed over, “Brock!!”

Really he wasn’t that far gone.  Just tired.  Relaxed.  Letting the pain fade away in the warm water, something he’d learned to appreciate the longer he lived with this job.  He heard the screaming, felt Roman’s hands grip his shoulders as they started to shake a little.  With eyes still shut, his hand shot out of the water and gripped him by the wrist, then peered up through a half lidded stare.

“I’m fine.” He said, words a little muted as he slowly woke back from his very short nap.  He rolled his head back before completely opening his eyes, then looked back over at Roman with a weak grin.

“Just lil sore’s all.”

“Uh huh….” Roman said, trying to cover up some of his initial panic.  He let go of the other boy's shoulders and leaned away some,  biting his lip and trying not to look too awkward about what was perhaps a drastic overreaction.

“...What happened to you?”

Brock sat up in the tub and ran his hands through his wet, blond locks, squeezing out water as he pressed down.  He looked down and remembered he was naked, it was the tub after all.  But mostly, he didn’t care.  Roman had seen it.  They’d been intimate before.  Brock was never really bashful about nudity.  So he sat and looked up at him in a very laissez faire attitude and shrugged.

“Was right bout Connor.” He said with a nod.

“Those people was demons.  But not like… evil ones.  Jus’ plain ol’ workin’ class livin’ the American dream people.  That were, y’know, demons.  An’ he killed’m cuz they was different.” He said, very aware of how much danger Roman would be in if he were found out.  Brock wouldn’t let that happen.  

“He uh… let his guard down. It… we... “ This part was oddly the one he dreaded, but it was just part of the job.  He exploited an opening for the greater good.  And Roman seemed like their kiss freaked him out anyway so he shouldn’t have felt some type of way about it, but he did.  

“...I kissed’m.  Made a distraction so he’d relax.  An’ so I could swipe his knife, which… I got acquainted wit’ anyway…” He said, nodding down to the open wound on his thigh.  

“When I found out what he did to them.  What he could do to you… I snapped.  Tried’t kill’m.  But… couldn’t.  I’m just not built that way.  Monsters are easy but… when it has a face lookin’ back at me like that, I couldn’t.” He said, feeling as if it made him a shit hunter.  But Connor was human.  The human world had laws for people like him.  But then, the human law didn’t protect inhuman people.  It was a judgement call he wasn’t yet ready to make.

Still, with an exasperated sigh, he stood, clumsily and hobbly on one leg, and nodded at the towel behind Roman.  “Can ya hand me that?”

Roman frowned, listening to Brock, quelling the thumping he felt in his chest when Brock said he’d nearly killed Connor because he was thinking about Roman. That shouldn’t be right - ...right? It wasn’t human to find that appealing.

“Brock…” But there wasn’t much to say about it, was there? There was a time when Brock didn’t seem that different from Connor to him. Cruel and insensitive, misunderstanding of demon lives, like he’d rather just be rid of them all than deal with their grievances. Instead of continuing, he nodded and turned, grabbing the towel and hold it out to him.

“Do you need me to look at that? Not that I know what I’m doing but,” he shrugged uselessly, trying to distract himself from well of upset he felt knowing Brock and Connor had kissed. That wasn’t fair, was it?

It was very true. When his powers first activated, he had no remorse, didn’t differentiate the difference between evil demons and demons that were just trying to get by.  He didn’t know there was a moral grey area.  He saw things in black and white.  It wasn’t until he’d established a friendship with a werewolf that he started to think maybe they weren’t all that bad.  It started to grow more when he was with Adam, and realized that monsters weren’t evil, just complicated.  Hell, even Roman he was evil to during their first few encounters.  Not that Roman was all that innocent.  He used that to his advantage to seduce him on the regular.  Memories that while troubling sometimes, were fond.  He had to admit, he had a chemistry with Roman that he really didn’t have with anyone else.

Brock took the towel and dried off for a moment before wrapping it around his waist, smirking a bit and shaking his head.

“I was in a coma this time last year.  I seen’t worse.  I’ll live.  But… thank ya.” He said with a smile.  Now came the hard part.  The walking.  He moved to get out of the bed and put pressure on his bad leg and must have pinched a nerve or something, because tumbling forward he went, plowing into Roman’s chest and knocking him against the sink.  But he was able to steady himself against his chest, realizing his face was right up against Roman’s.  His big blue eyes looked up at him, then looked down for a moment, trying to catch his towel.  

“O’course I open my mouth just’t insert my foot.”

Roman actually laughed as his back hit the sink, and he put hands to Brock’s chest and shoulder to steady him, smile remaining on his face even after the laugh faded. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “You’re a mess,” he teased, lightly, moving to stand beside Brock and pull his arm up around Roman’s shoulder so he could help him out to the bed.

“...Maybe we should just go back, Brock. What are we even doing here?” The levity was brief as his mind dipped back to his encounter with the demon, worrying for Brock’s safety again. If they just left, the demon would eventually find what she came there for, and she’d have no reason to come looking for them so far. It was the perfect plan.

Brock let himself be helped, despite how much he used to fight it.  Clearly his leg still needed some time to heal before he could do anything with it.  Still, it was… nice to even have the fleeting contact with him.  He fell to the bed and sat upright on the edge as Roman went on about leaving.  Brock shook his head.  That wasn’t right to him either.

“Connor said he was a traveler the first day we met him. What happens’f he makes his way to O’cock? Finds out bout your family? Your brother? An’ we didn’t stop him when we had the chance?” He said, looking up at him with empathetic eyes.

“If anythin’ happens to you… I mean… you all…” But especially him.  “Plus those kids’r still in town.  They’ve been clean since ya talked’t them.  We gotta protect them too.” He reached up and grabbed his arm, giving it a squeeze for a moment before dropping his hand and looking down at the floor.

“I gotta stop him. He’s a killer.”

Roman looked thoroughly unimpressed and momentarily irritated by Brock’s nobility, but even that, he supposed, had been part of the draw in the end. What had started out as an attempt just to ruin a hot-headed hunter had developed into more as he discovered the person underneath. So instead, his lips pressed into a frown and he squinted at Brock for a moment, green eyes narrowed in assessment.

“Ugh - Fine. ...But maybe I should do it. He’s… Human. That has to be hard for you, right? Killing him?” It was only a guess. He couldn’t exactly relate to this particular sentiment, and it showed.

“I… don’t know…” Brock licked his lips as he thought about it.  Maybe he had a point, but he couldn’t let him do it.  It was a burden he had to bear, because it was part of his job.  Redeemers had killed humans in the past if they had to.  It just wasn’t something they liked to do.

“My job’s to protect people from things they can’t protect themselves from. Connor is human yeah.  But he’s also a hunter, like me.  Maybe gifted like me.  Meaning he still technically falls underneath the whole supernatural threat thing.  So… I jus’ gotta man up’n do it.”

He laid back on the bed and placed an arm over his forehead and gave a little shrug.  “I also don’ want to put that on ya. Ya got ‘nuff on ya plate tryna convince the world you a good guy wit’ all the demony stuff.  An I believe you’re a good person now… for real.  So I can’t letcha do it.”

“Honestly I could do without my brother…” Roman replied, and seemed completely serious until he realized that might not have sold Brock on thinking he was a decent creature. Not that he should care what Brock thought of him, except for the fact that if Brock didn’t think that, he might try to kill him one day.

“At least let me help, then,” he pried, with every intention of trying to completely bypass having to do it period. “He declared war on all of us with his behavior. We deserve to fight back.”

Brock snickered at the comment about his brother.

“And yet despite how good ya are, you’re still a jerk.” He said, but affectionately and jokingly.  He looked at the other boy for a moment, watching his lips move as he talked and had to catch himself from staring.  Still, he couldn’t help but speak his mind.

“...You’re a lot braver’n I gave ya credit for.” He said, paying the other boy a compliment.  Before, he just thought of him as a lowly, cowardly demon that was probably just vile and evil.  Back when he thought like Connor.  But that melted away the more time he’d spent with him, getting to know a very real person with wants and dreams, even if he was a demon.  

“Okay.  Just… don’ jump’n the line of fire. Let me do the stupid things.” He said with a nod.  “I wan’ ya to make’t out of here in one piece.  I prefer ya that way.”

“Oh my god, stop with the deep compliments, you’ll make me blush,” Roman said with a grin. He could take compliments of his appearance for days, because, well, he knew what he looked like. But the meaningful little reassurances made him skittish. Being told he was good almost made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

“Deal,” he said, sitting down beside Brock. “Because as it so happens, I like myself in one piece too.”

Brock chuckled a bit, feeling a strange warmth in his chest.  The realization that he liked making Roman smile and blush.  That he would go out of his way to do it more.  It was a weird situation but… he was used to weird situations.  

Brock scooted back until he laid alongside the other, wincing a bit when pressure went back on his knife wound.  At least it wasn’t bleeding anymore.  Perk of healing quicker than your average bear.  Still, he leaned on his hand and looked up at the other while they sat for a few moments.  Not saying much.  He wasn’t sure if he should talk about what else happened with Connor, because if he wasn’t such a sociopath Brock probably wouldn’t have stopped, which was shameful to himself but… whatever.

“...So we know what happened on my day wit’ the gaping wounds’n stuff.  Ya find them kids?”

Roman glanced down at him while he repositioned himself into a more comfortable arrangement, a tiny, fond smile playing on his lips.

“I didn’t find much of anything,” he lied, barely with any guilt. Brock had never dealt with an Old One, he was certain. Not many people did, really, demon, hunter or otherwise. Conjuring one was a tough feat, and dangerous; only the most desperate of sorts even bothered, especially for protection. If things went wrong, as this one had… Well, the results were chaotic and destructive. Roman didn’t want Brock near any of that, he had a feeling this was one fight even a hunter couldn’t win.

“I think the kids might’ve moved on. And it makes sense, if Connor’s just murdering whatever demons he can find…”’’

Brock scrunched his lips in a slight frown.  It was the likeliest answer, that they’d moved on.  But it would still be nice to know for certain what their fate had been.  He nodded and laid his head down on the bed as he looked back up at the other boy, once again finding himself staring at the perfect dimpled corners of his lips.  Dammit.  He needed to stop that.

“Well I suppose no news’s good news.” Brock said, trying to draw his attention away from staring at Roman.  The last few days had made it very apparent to him that it wasn’t just sex as he’d so violently, adamantly insisted before.  Maybe they needed to wrap this story up before either one of them got their feelings twisted up again.

“Fine.  I guess we’re at the end’f the road then.  Tomorrow I… I’ll find Connor.  And we end it.”

Roman could practically taste the hesitation;  the weight,  and he frowned but nodded.  He wouldn’t say this was something that didn't need to be fine,  because he definitely believed Connor deserved to die,  but he knew that wound hurt Brock and he felt bad for that.

“Yeah, maybe we should rest then.” And then,  as if to be a shit and break the tension,  he grinned and offered,  “Do you want me to tuck you in?”

Brock sat up and quirked an eyebrow at his comment, then gave a little half smirk.  

“You’re so… weird.” He said, unsure of what else to say.  But it was coupled with a completely charmed, daresay, smitten laugh.  He patted his shoulder and left it there for a moment, shaking his head.

“Whatever ya wan’ do, Ro.” He said with a sincere smile before scooting to the edge of the bed again, trying to stand up without enraging his leg wound.  He contemplated finding shorts but figured… fuck it.  He hurt, Roman had seen him naked before.  Who cared?  So he raised the blanket and slid in as the towel fell.  

And as promised, Roman leaned over him, tucking him in gently and cooing softly, “Goodnight Brock.”

Brock just gave a little smile and nod, reaching over and gripping the hand that tucked the blanket over him.  This was weird, but it was nice in a way.  He gave the hand a squeeze, reluctant to let it go for a moment but reluctant to hold on longer than he needed to.  So he released it for a moment and peaked up at Roman.

“Yeah… er… night.” He said, rolling over and facing away from Roman as he went over all the confusing shit that ran through his brain the last few days.

----

It wasn’t hard to find her again, he just had to follow the scent of blood and the otherworldly pull of destruction. She wasn’t hiding, but it was strange that she hadn’t found her target yet. Connor must’ve been hiding; Roman briefly wondered if he’d left town, but he didn’t seem the type to abandon his post, especially not with a grudge against Brock that was likely brewing.

“Still haven’t found what you were looking for?” he asked, keeping a healthy, cautious distance between them this time. Not that it would help. She was faster than him, he knew, but it made him feel better anyway.

It was strange that a being as powerful as she had not been able to find what she was looking for.  But truly, she did have her limitations.  She had power beyond measure but she didn’t have knowledge of all things.  That was a gift for another Old One.  Instead she just remained attracted to violence, leaving a path of mauled criminals in her wake, always the same.  She’d kill them and the blood would dissipate as if it were never on her skin in the first place.  The one she sought would slip up and cause terror again.  Had the ritual completed maybe she would know who it was she was looking for, but it stopped short and she emerged when her acolytes had already been killed, hours after the fact. For now she just had to hunt those whose behavior matched her target until she found a match.  

She walked along the dark streets when the familiar voice spoke up behind her.  Much like an animal with a purpose, she turned her entire body around, face unblinking in response.  

“Mutt.  You have returned.” She said, stony faced as always.  “Your presence annoys me.”

“I get that a lot,” Roman admitted, and it sounded like a joke, but then he thought about it and… He really did. But he supposed he was irritating, defensively. Grating even. He liked to get under people’s skin, it was just an effect of being what he was.

“Anyway… I want to make a deal with you. In exchange for my help.”

The Old One just stared at Roman, unimpressed and uncaring.

“I fail to see how making a deal with a lower being is prudent to my desires.” She said, as if she would roll her eyes were she human.  But she cocked her head to the side, much like a snake, still unblinking as she studied him.  As if she was reading him.  His mind.  His scents.  His body language.

“This is about your filthy hunter.  The one you experience lowly human emotions for.” She was still unimpressed.  But strangely intrigued.  Humans were like insignificant ants to her, but there was something so strange about a mutt, who came from a lineage that just reeked of fire and brimstone, who seemed to have given at least part of his soul, to have such conflicting emotions about a creature thats sole purpose was to kill him.  Maybe he could entertain her after all. This was a disaster she would love to see.

“Speak now.”

He breathed out an irritated sounded, but calmed himself. “Yeah, it’s about him. Brock - my hunter -” Strange to say, with the double meaning, “I want to… Make sure you don’t come for him. He’s not like the others. I want to make sure he’s safe.” Despite how much power she had against him, Roman’s voice was loud and clear, unwavering. He wasn’t afraid of striking a deal with her, not for Brock. Not when it came to protecting him.

“And in exchange, when I see what you’re looking for. I’ll call you. I have your spell. Won’t be hard.” He shrugged. “Then you get to go home, and everyone’s happy except the piece of shit that you’re hunting.”

The mutt was amusing to her.  Giving her orders? Making it sound like a request but still demanding she not kill as she wished.  She walked closer to him, the echo starting in her voice again.

“I’ve destroyed cities.  Murdered humans by the thousands with my bare hands because it pleased me.  Your tiny hunter means nothing to me.  If I wish to kill him I shall.” She said with the demonic lull in her voice even if the expression on her face never changed.  But then it melted away and she had her feminine, albeit monotone voice again.  

“I can smell him on you.  His scent does not match the one that I was summoned for.  I have no quarrel with your hunter. Until he has quarrel with me, that is.” She said, making sure he knew that she didn’t care about his hunter, but she didn’t seek him either.  Only that she’d tear him apart were he to stop her.  

It was an act of defiance that he rarely suppressed, the eyeroll, but he thought it best not to, so Roman simple swallowed his annoyance at her speech. He’d heard similar things before, and while he undoubtedly believed them -- why else would he be making deals on Brock’s behalf if he didn’t -- there was just something so old world about the lecturing…

“Fine.” He didn’t meet her gaze, not this time. “Then we’re fine. When I find who you’re looking for, you’ll know.” Because he wanted her to.

“I will know.” She said, looking over him again with her unwavering expression.  Eyes glinting as if she was reading something off of him.

“You have my talisman.  Wear it.  I will know when you find what I seek.” She said.  Undoubtedly confusing Roman in the process.  She was of course referencing the old pentagram necklace Brock had found under the couch the first night at the crime scene.  It had the same symbols engraved on it as were on the paper.  

“Tis easier than trying to summon me again.”  It would seem days in a human body was already attuning her to how the creatures favored practicality.  

“Right…” Roman was obviously confused, but he’d figure it out. If she said he had it, then he must’ve at least had access to it. Maybe it was something Brock had, in which case, it would not be difficult to attain.

“I guess we’re done then.” There were no goodbyes, but he didn’t think she’d mind that. Just him turning to walk back from the direction he’d come.

And she didn’t care.  Goodbyes were for humans.  She as well turned and went on her way.

*****

Brock had been dreaming.  Shitty, terrible dreams about how he was a failure at being a hero.  He’d failed to save Logan.  He’d failed in Lincoln’s eyes and he just left town without another word.  He’d failed to be Adam’s hero for vastly different reasons.  And something in him kept telling him that he would get Roman killed, and that made him feel worse.  

He shot up, covered in a thin layer of sweat and looked over, seeing his bed empty.

“Fuck fuck fuck…” He hobbled out of bed and grabbed an old pair of shorts, trying not to disturb his wound too much when he slipped them on.

“Roman?” He called out to the bathroom in case he was in there.

“Uh… demon kids?” He asked aloud as well, because this was eerily similar to a few nights ago.

“Anyone?” Fuck what if Connor came and took him? He’d never forgive himself.

None the wiser to Brock’s worries,  Roman let himself in feeling both on edge but also incredibly relieved.  He paused just in the doorway,  seeing the concern on the other's face.  “Hey - You alright?”

Brock looked at the door as it opened and blinked for a few moments. He had a weird habit of waking up just in time for these types of things.  Maybe it was some sort of link to his intuition as the Redeemer, he didn’t know.  All he knew was he was relieved when the other walked through the door safely.

“You go out lookin’ again?” He asked, eyebrow raised as his body relaxed knowing he was at least okay.  

“Ya really shouldn’t go ‘lone anymore.  It ain’t safe now that we got Hannibal the hunter out there.”

“I know,  but I didn't want to wake you.  You need to heal,” he replied, almost pleasantly. “Besides,” the pleasantness extended into something a little more musical; dangerous. “I'm not as helpless as he thinks.”

Roman lifted his hands and the fingers into into long,  thin claws,  dark and reflective like obsidian. He had a number of things he wanted to do to Connor,  but handing him down to a powerful demon seemed on.

Brock was about to protest, about how he knew but he wanted to make sure Roman stayed safe.  But then Roman did something he didn’t expect. He revealed his claws, giving Brock perhaps the best look of at least part of Roman’s demonic heritage the entire time he’d known him.  He’s seen the flashes of his razor-like teeth every now and then, but only for a brief moment in what seemed like a party trick for Roman.  This new look piqued his curiosity.  It was strange that the things he was supposed to kill he was so intimately fascinated by.  Just like he’d been with Logan in his werewolf form, or Adam in his serpentine form.  He was a monster slayer and somehow a monster groupie at the same time.  He had… issues.  But he still found them fascinating.

Without much of a thought, he moved forward and held his own hand up to Roman’s, studying how much longer his fingers were, how much darker his skin now was now that their palms were pressed together.  He offered a genuine, lopsided smile as he stared at their hands.  

“Sorry.  You never let me see ya like this.” He said, still studying their differences.  “It’s just cool’s all.”

Strangely, letting even the tiniest piece of his other side out nearly had him instinctively recoiling as Brock moved closer, but he steeled himself. This was Brock, not just anyone. Brock who was learning to defend the creatures he hunted just as much as he was hunting them. Brock wouldn’t hurt him, not unless he had to, but always, the lingering unless…

Roman couldn’t help but wonder sometimes when that unless would come. When he’d do something so unforgivable that Brock would turn against him. It was only a matter of time, wasn’t it?

Still, he smiled, a little tentatively and let the reflective skin travel up to his forearms, revealing more of himself, skin darker with little plays of deep reds and purples as the it caught the light at the right angles. It was like looking at a rock, almost, and his hands were cool in Brock’s. “I hardly let anyone see me like this.”

“Why not?” Brock asked.  The answer was probably obvious.  The supernatural code was to live in the shadows so you didn’t get hurt, or people didn’t suspect you would hurt them, depending on the creature.  And of course there was the hunter/demon dynamic that he was sure still played in the back of Roman’s mind.  It played in the back of his own occasionally too, but then Brock felt like he wouldn’t let it get to that point.  He was hopefully optimistic that way, which was saying a lot because at his lowest points he could be the worst kind of glass completely empty guy.  

He felt Roman try to recoil and somehow, as if on instinct, his fingers interlocked with Roman’s so he couldn’t pull away.  He wasn’t done studying.  And he wasn’t going to harm him.  He just wanted to know more.  

“It’s kinda pretty in a way.  Ya got the color’f a glass’o wine or somethin’.  I’m surprised.  From the way ya made it out ya were haggard and terrible but it’s kinda… beautiful really.” He said.  The more he studied the more his own hidden side came out.  The Brock he didn’t let other people know.  The one that watched every episode of Ancient Aliens, the one that checked out every book in the library on Medieval Architecture.  The one that just wanted to know things, even if his curiosity took him too far sometimes.  

“Brock…” Roman said in a tone that suggested it should’ve been the most obvious reason in the world. Inevitably, if Roman showed himself to someone, he’d have to kill them to keep them quiet, wouldn’t he? Besides, his demonic form, while physically power, was not his preferred method of attacking people. He liked the subtle turn of rocks that his mother tended toward; removing one stone at a time from the walls.

“My dad’s like a … Mountain demon. They are haggard. Like… Mossy and bloody and rocky most of the time. But my mother was made from radiation, so… I guess this skin is like a split difference.” Truthfully, it was tough and interesting trying to navigate his physiological differences between the two creatures that made him, and how those differences combined to make him. What he got from them, and what he didn’t.

“But… Thanks. For the compliment.”

Brock listened. Really listened.  Yeah he was a hunter.  Yeah his job was to kill the things that went bump in the night.  It didn’t mean he didn’t find them interesting, that he didn’t want to understand them better.  Plus, he felt like for the first time.... Ever really, Roman was actually opening up. Not playing stupid games or pretending to be something he wasn’t for attention.  Just being real.  

“I think that’s… the most ya’ve ever talked about yourself truthfully.  I mean… in a non-egotistical manner.” Brock said in jest, but a smile creeping at the corner of his lips.  

“Who knew you had layers?” He chided him again.  He suddenly remembered he was basically holding his hand, but he didn’t immediately let it go.  Just gave it a squeeze, letting his thumb brush over the back of Roman’s knuckle.  

“Sorry I don’ mean’t talk your arm off, I just thought ya should know that I like this… honest side’f ya.” He said with a nod before letting go of his hand.  

“I should letcha out of this doorway.” He chuckled as he turned and hobbled back toward the bed.

Roman didn't quite know what to say,  but he didn't think the truth would be very productive. That he kept these sort of tidbits on his life quiet for a reason, to make it harder to pinpoint where came from or what he was.

“Very well,” Roman heaved or in mock exasperation,  like he was being asked to do something beneath him,  but he was only teasing. “I suppose I could be a little more honest.” His hand faded back to the normal flesh of his human form and he walked inside.

“How's your thigh?”

“Sore.  But don’t bleed no more.  Give’t a few hours and it will be at least tolerable.  I heal pretty fast, and that’s without the sexy time healing.” He said with a nod as he fell back on the bed, resting on his elbows.  

“I’ll be okay.  Certainly ain’t the worst thing that’s happened to me.  What’s a little knife in the leg anyway?” He joked.  Honestly he was quite proud of his new collection of scars and this leg wound would only be one more badge of honor.  

“...thanks for askin’ though.”

Roman rolled his eyes at the casual way in which Brock took pain, but then, physical pain was standable compared to others, he supposed. Brock was still hurting emotionally, he could see it in his eyes, taste it in his presence. It was the sort of thing Roman fed off, in a way; betrayal, chaos, the hurt that resulted from sliding in just between that delicate cavern of what you wanted and what you needed.

“Yeah, uh huh. I know you can take pain, sunshine.” He smiled pleasantly. Their sex was usually not sweet and gentle in the past.

“Hey... Do you have a talisman or something? From the crime scene or whatever.” Roman shrugged like it was no big deal.

Brock did hide his emotional pain sometimes.  He’d only recently come to the terms that Adam would never love him again.  He still heard the hateful words Logan said to him before his death. And every day he dealt with the fact that Nan found him to be a disappointment.  So he had wanted to keep everyone at arms length because he didn’t want to hurt anymore.  And yet this trip with Roman only made him want to be around him more, even though he knew it couldn’t and shouldn’t end well.  He just wanted to be wanted.  But he’d always been lost like that.  

He grinned and shrugged at the playful suggestive tone Roman took when he mentioned he knew he could take pain.  “You really don’t know at all.” He said sheepishly.  There was another even more deviant side to Brock he’d not shown Roman because he wasn’t comfortable enough with him, but then who knows. Maybe one day?  

“Uh… that pentagram necklace?” He nodded at the nightstand the little necklace he’d discarded after that first night.  If only because it was a minor clue in a mystery he’d already mostly solved.  

“Why?”

“I don’t?” Roman wondered, looking mildly curious as his eyes dragged up Brock’s body, inch by inch. Nothing much would shock him; he’d be a shitty demon of his species if it did, but still, he wondered what particular brand of deviance haunted Brock.

“Oh yeah, that!” He smiled and walked over, reaching for it and pretending to look overly fond of it. “I remember thinking it was cute,” came the easy lie, even as he hooked it around his neck, it didn’t seem to suit it. Because it didn’t, really. His world had no relation to it, but he had to keep it as close as possible, so he tucked it into his shirt.

“So… Are we going hunter-hunting tonight? After we give your thigh more time.”

“Not yet.” Was Brock’s only response to Roman asking for sure if he didn’t know the depths of his deviance, leaving it open ended for the young demon to take it as he may.  Instead the conversation shifted to something more mundane (as it always did).

“Uh huh…” Brock raised an eyebrow and nodded.  Roman seemed like he was trying too hard with that but he also figured maybe it was something demonic he didn’t want to share with Brock right now.  Maybe it was some sort of heirloom or whatever.  He nodded and watched as he put it on and it just looked strange, even for a demon.  Maybe because it was too tongue in cheek or something.  

“Yeah.  I don’t think he’ll be’s easy to distract this time though so… we’ll see what happens.” He nodded, looking over at Roman as he rubbed said thigh gently with his thumb.  

“Jus’ gotta find’m first.”

“Yeahhh and as nice of a picture as it is to think about you two making out, I’m not interested in watching you try to distract him again.” Roman frowned a little at Brock, but he mostly tried to pretend it didn’t bother him because… Why should it?

“I’m sure he won’t be too hard to track down, anyway. Not with the grudge match you two have.” He didn’t really know what sort of person Connor was; whether he held grudges or let things slide, but the latter just seemed unlikely, so he speculated on the first.

“How about I go snag us some food from across the street while you rest? And then we’ll make a gameplan for how to take him down.” Roman had fought people before, but admittedly… Never a hunter. Not even Brock, not really. It was always relatively playful, even at their worst moments. But he was a demon, he could handle it, right? And besides… Idly, his hand raised to touch the necklace. “I’ll be back in like ten minutes, tops.”

Brock watched Roman’s face as he mentioned Brock making out with Connor, then a little smirk crossed his face as he cocked his head to the side.  Roman was jealous.  And he was pretty shitty at hiding it. It was sweet for a moment there.  

“Jealousy is kind of a cute look for you, Ro.” He said in a joking manner.

“Eh if anythin’ he’s holding a grudge for it’s that I stabbed him ‘nstead of actually sleepin’ with him.  But I guess that’s valid.” He shrugged.  Who knows, maybe Connor would have some jealousy issues of his own, in which case Brock would feel SUPER awesome about himself for two seconds before he… y’know… had to kill him for being a psychotic murderer.

Brock raised an eyebrow to Roman when he suggested he leave to get food.  He kept leaving.  He was definitely up to something.  Maybe he should follow him?  He’d be a shitty hunter if he didn’t follow his gut.

But at the same time it could just be Roman being sweet and trying to take care of him, so he was unsure of which path to follow.  

“Uh… yeah. That’d be nice.” He nodded, reaching out and grabbing him by the wrist,  giving him a gentle little tug for a moment.  

“Be careful? I know I keep sayin’ that just… yeah…” He nodded.  He didn’t have to repeat his fears for Roman now that he had to worry about Connor.

“Kinda, yeah,” Roman teased, smiling. He’d probably be mad too if someone stabbed him instead of fucked him, but he couldn’t really imagine he was in the minority on that one.

And then a laugh, A too loud laugh. A ‘ha that’s obviously true but whatever’ sort of laugh. “Oh please, I’m not jealous.” It was nearly a huff; just a glimmer of his own egotistical self in school. That shallow little gossip who thought he was the best thing in the universe.

He paused when his wrist was grabbed and glanced to Brock, smile fading slightly.

“I will. It’s just across the street, okay?” One hand reached out to pat Brock’s shoulder reassuringly, but he didn’t linger. He had a hunter to get killed and he really didn’t want Brock getting in the way of the Old One just in case he had some last minute bout of a conscience. With a new sort of resolve, he moved toward the door. “Be right back!”

And out he went, heading across the street to at least check out the menu.

Brock gave a little smile and watched him walk out the door, before clicking off the lamp and hobbling over to the window, watching the boy walk across the street like he said he would.  Not that he didn’t trust him.  He just wanted to make sure he was okay.  And also maybe he did suspect something else strange was up, but he let it slide.  Brock was being crazy, so he shrugged to himself and closed the curtain before hobbling back over to the bed and switching on the tv.

But there was something else.  Once the scene had played out, he emerged from the shadows and slipped around the corner.  Connor had seen everything, the intimate touches after that boy, Roman, transformed his hand into some sort of a claw.  That’s what he was hiding.  Roman was one of them. He had to die, but he could also be used to hurt Brock.  Connor felt like he’d been handed a gift, and now he just had to find the time to strike.  

Roman waited at the restaurant just long enough that he figured Brock might no longer be watching him, though he was vaguely curious if Brock would follow him or not. If he did, well… That might put a wrench in his plan a little, but in the meantime, he wanted to see how this talisman thing worked in anticipation of Connor.

So, he dipped out of line for food, even though he was starting to get a little hungry, and wandered just around the corner, pulling out the necklace and examining it thoughtfully. Maybe it was activated by blood?

“Should’ve come with instructions,” he grumbled to himself, and then nothing.

When he woke up, it was with a start, his head hurt and his vision took a moment to adjust. This was not the room he’d been staying in with Brock, but it was familiar…

He was back at that house. Roman blinked and sat up a little straighter. “...Brock?”

Connor flipped a chair around and sat backwards in it in front of Roman, cocking his head to the side.  

“You’d like that, I’m sure.” He laughed, reaching forward and giving him a little slap on the cheek. He remained seated and pulled out his infamous knife and scratched it lazily along the back of the chair as he looked over him with a predatory stare.

“Don’t worry though.  He’ll come for ya.  In fact the only reason he wouldn’t fuck me… well… aside from our obvious difference in opinion on things… is because he’s so goddamn smitten  with you. And THAT… I just don’t get, you know?” He said, his fist clasping harshly around the handle of the knife.

“Cuz you’re a demon.” He said, moving the knife over to Roman’s neck, letting the cold metal gently kiss the flesh it found there.

“A filthy, evil, piece of shit demon that doesn’t deserve the time it would take me to slit your throat.” He said with a hiss.  Then he gave a little shrug and sat back.  

“But that will come.  First we wait for Brock.   This will all be so much more fun when he’s here.”

Roman leaned away from the knife a little, looking wary, but his gaze was a little more telling Connor to chill than actually afraid. There was a point when he had been, when he thought Connor might sway Brock against him, but now… He had a better alliance. If only he knew how it worked.

When the knife went away, though, that’s when he opened his mouth, not even trying to hide his cockiness that Brock ‘chose’ him. “Wow, you don’t have to be a sore loser.”

“Oh, what you think this is about him? No, he was a convenience at that point.  It was just nice to have someone like me around, sex would have been a bonus.  What I don’t get is why he denies who he is for what? You? Because I get the feeling you weren’t always the ‘winner.’ At least if I remember correctly from our conversation the other day you were nestled comfortable barely making second place, right?” He smirked to himself.

“I just wanted someone to learn from. Who I could understand. Instead I get a bleeding heart liberal who sympathizes with the bastards that took my family.”

As intended, Roman was sure, the words struck a nerve. His expression darkened -- really darkened -- just for a moment as the green of his eyes faded into the same glassy black his skin had.

“Cry me a fucking river, your parents are dead. Get over it. You’re the one ruining families now so I don’t give a shit about your sob story, and neither does anyone else.” Roman smirked, inhaling a whiff of the sins dripping off Connor.

“Oh, but you like it don’t you? All the killing. Makes you feel powerful because you’re just a tiny speck of a human with daddy issues. Using your parents as a guise to be a serial killer,” he tisked, kicking the chair out from under Connor, laughing. “You’re no better than us just because you kill us, sweet little Connor.”

Connor watched the eyes change color and gave an amused expression on his face. As if that were the first time he’d ever seen a spooky monster face before.  And when the boy started talking, Connor began to laugh, maniacally and uncontrollably for a few moments.  

‘Families? Is that what we call a group of your kind, festering together like a group of goddamn maggots? You’re supposed to be the family now? That’s hilarious. Tell another one.” Connor chuckled.  The chair was kicked from underneath him and he fell back for a moment before standing, brushing off his pants as he circled back around Roman.

“As a matter of fact, I AM.” He said in a stern voice as he backhanded Roman so violently the chair he was stuck in fell over, the force of his own supernatural strength knocking him back.  He crawled on the floor and caressed Roman’s hair condescendingly before he pulled the chair back up.

“”Because every one of you I take out I save another little boy or girl from having to go what I went through. I’m possibly literally doing God’s work here.”

As he was set up straight again, he leaned away from Connor’s touch again, looking amused. “God’s work. I’d think you were precious if you weren’t such an idiot.” Behind him, his claw was extending, the sharp edges of his own hand cutting through the rope that fastened him to the chair.

“Let me see if I can help you work some of your issues, hm?” Roman breathed in deep, channeling one of his ancestors to reach out and see if they could deliver a voice to him. Connor’s father’s filtered through Roman’s own mouth, very distinctly. “Connor, you should be ashamed.”

It was a distraction while he finished cutting though, and as soon as he did, Roman was standing and swinging the chair around hard into Connor’s side, his own strength nearly a match for the inhuman strength of a hunter. But he didn’t stop for a fight, just used the opportunity to run and try to get a moment alone with this talisman.

Connor clenched his teeth, jaw muscles flexing as he became enraged.  It was not okay that this filthy fucking demon was talking as his father.  His father was a great man. A hero to him.  And furthermore, he would think his father would be just fine with his actions.  His fist tightened and he swung, but was surprised by the chair slamming into him, knocking him over and shattering to pieces as he hit the ground.  He lifted his shirt and already saw his ribs turning purple from the impact.  

The boy ran.  He flipped to his feet and gave chase, though his rage got the better of him and he swung too early, lodging his fist into the wall, slowing him down once more.  When he turned the corner, it was a dead end hallway with five doors, all closed.  No Roman.  He grunted and shook his head.

“So we’re gonna play this game, are we?” He said, slowly pacing down the hall.  

“I don’t know why you run.  I mean, what good are you hoping to come by anyway? Planning on settling down in a quaint little house with Brock?” He mocked him, kicking open the first door.  One of the bedrooms.  Empty.  He clicked his jaw and looked around to see if anything was moving in the dark.  It was not.  

“Guy like Brock don’t settle down.  He’s broken.  Just like me.  He fucks what he wants when he wants and casts you aside when you are no longer useful…” Another kick.  Another empty room.  “...sounds like from our little diner talk you already knew that though.  Your usefulness has run out before.  How much more time you think your lil’ demonic magic tricks gonna buy you before you’re boring again?”

He paced further down the hall, pulling his knife back out, scratching it along the walls loudly as he walked.  “And then there’s that.  You’re always gonna be a demon.  Eventually he’s going to have to kill you if I don’t.  Because you may think you’re harmless now, but you’ll turn…” Kicked in another door.  Walk in closet. Empty.

“All of you turn eventually…”

Roman bit his lip,  forcing himself not to listen to the all too true words ringing down the hallway. They were thoughts that he'd considered before,  here and there, but they weighed on him. Especially the last.

“Fuck, how does this -” He blinked, realizing something.  “I need his blood.” Roman glanced down at the necklace,  frowning hoping that whatever he had to do now was done by the time Brock found them.  He didn't want Brock to see him like this… teeth sharpening, claws extending and very slowly,  the blackened skin from his hands would spread over his body of he didn't hurry.

Silently,  he waited for Connor to kick open his door and then immediately lunged at him as he did,  slamming him back into the wall of the hallway and punching him with a fist that felt like sharp, jagged rocks.

Connor approached the last two doors, one on each side of the hallway and gazed back and forth at each one all the while whistling that song from Kill Bill in a slowed down, eerie fashion.  He had him cornered now.  All he had to do was play with him. He moved the knife to one door, scratching little patterns against it as he held his ear to it before finally shaking his head to himself.

“No no… must be behind…” As he kicked in the door. But what he did not expect was a hulking form of Roman fully transformed knocking him back with a powerful fist, punching him in the ribs in a way that made a crack and caused him to cough a little, maybe the faintest bit of blood.  He growled and started stabbing furiously as he was held against the wall, wherever he could, though it was tough and his knife felt like it was barely going in, as if he was stabbing a slab of rock.  But he still felt it go in, it still stabbed, just not as effectively as he wanted.  He’d have to think of another way.  

Desperate to get out of the hold, he went for the sissy move and kicked him in the balls before hobbling away, putting some distance between them before turning.  He needed to go for the soft parts.  The eyes, the mouth…

Angry that Connor had gotten away from him didn’t even begin to sum up this other Roman’s reaction, one hand sinking easily into the wall and pulling with it a chunk of the interior of the house. He hurled it at Connor, bearing his sharp teeth, dark eyes narrowed to see if it landed its mark or not.

His chest was singing to him, but not enough to impede his movements. They were cuts that currently didn’t bleed; they’d sting far more later than they did right now. But even more importantly, Connor had coughed up blood onto his shoulder. Roman lifted a hand to wipe it off, sucking some off his fingers (hunters tasted so sweet) and wiping the rest over the talisman.

“I suggest you run,” he warned, but only because he knew that would disgust the Old One that much more.

Connor saw the chunk of drywall flying in his direction and quickly performed a roundhouse kick, smashing it midair.

“Running is for pussies.” He scoffed, rearing his knife back and throwing it, aiming for Roman’s eye. It would have hit, impaling through his socket into his brain too, if it weren’t for the other object flying through the air.  A glint of silver in the moonlight. A clang of metal hitting metal as the knife flew into the floorboard and stuck up while another knife stuck out of the wall.  A silver dagger.

“For once, gotta say I agree.” A deep, boyish southern voice came from behind. Connor turned to see the golden blond hair and deep blue eyes shimmering in the light of the moon. Brock was there, shit eating grin on his face.  He looked over Connor’s shoulder to see the hulking demon skulking around the shadows, but he could tell with just one look into his eyes who it was.  It was who he came to protect after all.

“It’s one thing to mess with me.  It’s a whole nother thing’t mess with the people I care bout.” He said, moving into a defensive stance as he approached Connor.

“So whaddya say, Con? Want that dance?”

Connor looked smug enough, pleased that his plan worked because for a moment, he was thinking he might not get two birds for one stone. “Took you long enough. Still limping?”

He didn’t wait for a response, though, as he hurled two more knives in Brock’s direction and rushed toward him, arm drawn back, swinging a wild arching haymaker in his direction. One of these was bound to hit the mark, and Connor didn’t care which.

Roman shifted back once the hunters seemed invested enough in each other, slinking back into the room he’d been hiding in and lifting his shirt to check the cuts along his stomach.

Brock narrowly jumped out of the way of the daggers, both hitting the wall behind him, though one sliced open his arm.  He winced before seeing Connor’s arms swinging toward him, and was met with a powerful thrust backward as he flew against the wall, feeling it crack underneath his back.  Connor approached and had him pinned against the wall, so Brock just brought his thick legs up and gripped him on either side like a vice and launched off the wall, pinning him to the floor.

“Fancy bein’n this position again, lover.” He said in a sinister tone as he reared his fist back and punched him one, two, three times in the face, each time pulling back a bloodier hand.  He pulled back for a fourth, but found he was unable to release another.  He felt a hand grip the back of his neck as well as his fist and lift him off the ground.  

“You are not the one.” She said, smelling his hair before tossing him to the ground.  The Old One looked down at Connor and scanned him much like a Lioness would watch over a gazelle before attacking.  

“He is the one.” She said.  Brock wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, or what he should do.  Save Connor? Let him go?  He thought first and asked questions later as he launched forward to attack the new contender.  But he was stopped midair in what seemed like a telekinetic force.  She turned and looked at him, as if she were bored of him.  

“I said you are not the one, dog.  Tend to your mutt.” She said in a deadpan tone before flicking her wrist, sending Brock crashing through the drywall and sliding to Roman’s feet the next room over.

“Now time for your judgement, small one.”

Roman jumped at first when Brock came crashing through the wall,  but quickly scrambled to his side, putting a hand to his arm to see if he was okay,  but of course he was.  It was Brock.

“Just… Let her,” he said lowly to the other boy. “I did this.  So you wouldn't have to…” It was a demons sort of gesture of affection,  anyway,  that calling someone else or killing another person so that the object of their affection didn't have to might mean something.  He didn't see what might seem off about it.

Connor, though,  had clearly never seen anything like the Old  One,  but still reeling from the punches, he could barely see much.  He propped himself up a little,  grabbing at the last knife in his holster. “Who the fuck are you,” he sputtered, bloodily.

The Old One cocked her head to the other side, still staring at the wounded hunter in a dead, unblinking stare.  It was always so refreshing when the young ones didn’t know her.  Hadn’t heard of her even. Still, explaining who she was was truly the fun part.

“I am a god from the darkest dimensions of hell.  I am the mother of all of the damned.  Oldest of Hell Gods in the Outer Pantheon. And I can assure you, my natural state is not as pleasant to your human eyes.” She said as she reached down and scooped Connor up by the neck, gazing deeply into his eyes.  The room flashed, as if lightning had struck nearby but there was no storm that night.  In each flash of light, Connor was given a vision of her true self.  A tall mass of writhing tentacles, towering several stories in the air, dripping slime over a barren wasteland.  Giant, gaping, fanged mouths, dozens littered across her torso.  Giant, putrid, rotting goats legs supporting her from the bottom. Random eyes of every shape and color buried underneath the tentacles.  It was a cloudy mess that was confusing and horrifying for a simple human to comprehend and yet she forced the visions into his brain.

“I have been summoned to have you judged by the Outer Gods of hell…” She said as the floorboards beneath her feet began to buck and crack, an eerie orange glow coming from below.  Chains shot out of the walls and the floor and wrapped around his limbs, hoisting him into the air.  She still remained emotionless as she watched.

“You’ve strayed from your righteous path.  Murdered dozens of innocents.  You’ve surrendered your soul to us, and now we will tear it apart.” She hissed as the chains began to tighten and pull, stretching his muscles thin, glowing orange as they slowly started to sear his skin.

“Any last words before you leave this realm?”

Brock could hear the ruckus, the swirling winds, the buckling of the floor, and for the first time in his life… he was terrified. He’d never experienced an Old One either, and her mere presence made his gut sink.  Roman said he did it for him, and he didn’t know whether to thank him or… Well he didn’t care at this moment.  In a rare change of character, he wrapped his arms around Roman and buried his head against his shoulder as if to hide when the wind began to swirl and the room began to glow.  

Connor yelled, his outbursts stemming from so many channels he couldn’t even fathom which depths they pulled from. He was angry, he was hurting, he was in pain and ashamed; he wanted to ask forgiveness but was too stubborn and disgusted to do so. As the burning and stretching continued, he just yelled out louder, and in a final act of defiance mustered out a “FUCK YOU,” to the Old One that was basically just a whimper as he felt his limbs sever from his body slowly, drawing agonizing screams as they did.

Roman didn’t seem bothered by the screaming, but he realized, in hindsight, with the usually strong hunter curling into him, that perhaps the human might’ve been. He wrapped one arm around him and lowered his voice very gently, “Just look at me, Brock,” as if it keep his attention, catching his gaze, but it wasn’t his gaze that would help lull Brock into a feeling of safety, it was his voice, something deeper, and melodic coating the underside of every word like a poisoned dart. “Right in my eyes.”

The twisting of chains and tearing of limbs littered the surrounding room with blood and viscera, a splash of blood streaking the Old One’s face as she remained unblinking.  

“Unimpressive.” She reacted to his ‘final words.’ But even in his demise, the Outer Pantheon would not forgive the loss of even a pound of flesh, a droplet of blood.  Every part of Connor belonged to them now.  So as the room grew brighter and the chains dragged the attached parts into the cracks of the Earth from whence they came, the splatters of blood started to swirl and dissipate, cleaning it’s own mess as if they were never there.  

Brock shook.  He could hear the chains.  The screaming.  Smell the burning flesh of the other hunter.  All things he should be used to.  And yet there was an otherworldly aura to the air that shook him to his core, that he just couldn’t get past.  It reminded him of his place in the universe.  He was only a small soldier on the frontline. Whatever that… thing was in the other room was something more.  Something that he could never hope to grasp.  But he felt a hand cup his face, Roman’s voice comforting him. Him. Who was supposed to be a mystical superhero that was now just a skittish poodle.  

“O-ok….” He drew in a breath and looked into Roman’s green eyes and let himself be comforted by the warmth he found there.  The sound, the swirling stopped.  He could feel the being staring at the back of his neck, his hair standing on end. The Old One just offered what could be interpreted as some sort of demonic smile before throwing her head back and screeching.  Not in pain, like an otherworldly battlecry.  And it faded into nothing.  She was gone for now.  Brock’s shoulders relaxed as he still looked into his eyes.

“That was… crazy…”

“Yeah…” Roman agreed, the otherworldly feel of his voice dissipating as he no longer needed to hold Brock’s attention. The Old One was gone, and hopefully that was the last he’d see of her, but he did offer a tiny smile at Brock, hoping the hunter wasn’t upset with him for what he’d done.

“Are you okay?”

Brock turned around and looked about, hand still nervously clenching Roman’s shirt.  The holes in the walls from their battle was still there, loose drywall flapping as the air dissipated from the supernatural disturbance moments before.  Brock’s heart still beat heavy.  He’d fought monsters before but this was the first being that really made him question his mortality, and she barely did anything but look at him in a frightening manner.

He turned back to Roman to try and respond to his question.  He had so many things he wanted to say.  Why did you not tell me about this? How long did you know? You could have been killed! Amongst other things swirled about in his head.  But instead his body reacted in a knee-jerk response and did something that he felt would get his annoyance, concern, and worriedness across without much explanation.  

He pulled him in and kissed him.  A little more harsh than in the motel a few nights ago, but enough desperation to let him know he was glad he was safe.  And after a moment, he pulled away and patted his chest, not acknowledging the kiss.

“Let’s go home.”

The kiss surprised him enough that he barely returned it, and was left blinking and catching up when Brock pulled away like it was nothing. Roman cleared his throat, brushing it off the same way and scrambled to get up from the spot in the increasingly destroyed house.

Home though, while he’d missed it, brought up a few worries. Maybe this was it for them now? This little moonlight adventure was over, and when they got home, maybe Brock would just go back to trying to win Adam back or just -

Connor’s words echoed in his mind and Roman glanced away from Brock. “Yeah, let’s go.

*****

They arrived back at the motel, because if they were leaving they might as well get their stuff.  Brock contemplated just taking the rest of the night off and driving back in the morning, but he wasn’t sure how much longer either of them wanted to be in this town.

Also the drive was super silent because of reasons he supposed.  Ever since he impulsively kissed him.  But that’s what he’d wanted to do in that moment.  He was happy he was safe. And Brock was… impulsive.  

They’d gotten back and Brock started shoveling clothes into his bag with absolutely no grace.  He traveled light so it didn’t make a difference.  He just silently watched Roman out of the corner of his eye for a few moments before snapping his bag closed and leaning back against the dresser.

“You… gon’ be alright?”

Roman wasn’t packing with much more grace, though he was moving slower because he was lost in his thoughts. Thoughts drifting from Brock to his parents; they’d smell her on him, he was sure. Or the char of skin, at least. His mother would. She’d smell Brock too, likely, even if there wasn’t actually as much there to report as she might figure - or was there? It wasn’t the carnal things that bothered her, really. It was the stuff he shouldn’t be doing, like glancing over him now, or caring about him, or hoping Brock would still talk to him when they got back to town.

“Yeah,” he lied. “I’ll be fine. I was just thinking about -” a less easy lie, and he shrugged. “Just thinking about home. My brother’s probably loved having it all to himself.”

Brock smirked and gave a little nod, knowing he was probably half lying.  He still moved over and picked up a few things for Roman and helped him pack.  

“His loss then.” He said sincerely.  It’d been really nice spending this time together.  They made a great team, even without the underlying tension.  He was thankful to have had someone to talk to for the first time in months.  

“So… what ya gon’ do when we get back home?” He asked, making small talk, really just wanting to help Roman talk through whatever was on his mind.  He knew he was a stubborn man, not unlike Brock himself.  Sometimes a little trickery and a kind ear was necessary.  Of course, he had ideas about some of the things that bothered him, but the last time that was openly on the table, Roman stopped talking for the night.  He’d wait until he decided to bring it up.  

At the comments of his brother, Roman just gave a quiet smile, and they quickly finished shoving all his stuff into his back fast enough with both of them helping.

“Not sure,” he replied, shrugging. “Apologize to coach, probably. Get chewed out. Hit the gym a lot.” They were passive, boring answers Roman knew but the truth was, he had no idea where they stood and he wasn’t about to beg Brock to keep him around, even if he wanted to stay around. Honestly, it was probably best if they did stop speaking after this…

“And you’re supposed to take that vacation, right?” Roman smirked, having not forgotten his dare.

Brock just gave a little shrug and chewed on his lip at the suggestion that he had the vacation to take. “I dunno, I should prolly show’p to school for at least a few weeks.” He said with a nod.  Then with a little smirk, he playfully slug Roman on the arm.  

“I did mean it when I said you should come.  I uh… I know this trip has been filled with awkwardness’n terror but… it’s the most fun I’ve had in a while.” He smiled, taking a moment for Roman to respond.  Of course, there was awkwardness, but… he was being honest.  He was happy to have someone around to talk to.  

Roman considered it with a laugh. “What would we even do, Brock?” He was almost waving it off, but not cruelly, just… Obviously hesitant. He’d been enjoying himself here, but reality was settling in quickly.

“I’d just get you into trouble. I’ve a talent for it, don’t I?” Roman grinned, as if they both didn’t have a talent for trouble in general. He swung his bag over one shoulder, ready to go.

“I donno, go to a beach? Drive round the country? Act like a couple’a normal guys for once ‘stead of two people wit’ destinies over they heads they not sure how to control?” Brock said with a shrug. It wasn’t exactly the first time he’d thought about these things.  At his further comments, he just snickered and shrugged.

“I’m always in some kinda trouble, I ain’t never minded it.” He said, giving Roman’s shoe a playful little kick.

“Half the school still thinks I OD’d on meth last year when I was in the hospital.  Do I really care bout bein’ in any kinda trouble, ya think?”

“Apparently not,” Roman teased back with a smile. “You’re hanging out with a demon and asking him to go on vacation with you.” The beach sounded nice, though. Or a drive. Or… Anywhere that was far away, but not too far.

“Even if I am a mutt,” he grumbled, thinking about the Old One’s way of referring to him. He wasn’t exactly insulted - it made him relatively unique. But there was still the sighs of tension he could feel at the family reunions and all.

“So are we leaving?”

“Yeah. And?” Brock responded to Roman mentioning asking a demon to go on vacation with him, as if it were a bad thing.  Demons were just people honestly.  Maybe not human, but people nonetheless.  Brock was many things, but bigoted he was not, or at least tried not to be.

“You don’ haveta say yes right now but… just know it’s a serious offer if’n you want.” He said with a shrug.  

“I… I donno.  Paid for the night, might’s well leave in the mornin’.  Make’t an even day, be home by tomorrow night.”

“Oh,” Roman said, pausing to look at his rushed packing job. “I guess that makes more sense.” But he was packed now,  so he just discarded the bag beside his bed and sat down,  looking up at Brock from the new angle he'd placed him in.

Quietly, he promised, “...I'll think about it.”

Brock offered a little half smile, pleased with the other boy’s answer.

“Good. I’ll need someone’t drive the getaway car.” He joked as he gave Roman a small, playful kick. He looked at him for a few moments before speaking up again.

“All things aside, are ya okay? I mean… looked like ya guys were rumblin’ by the time I got there.” He said, noting all the smashed in walls that he’d seen.

Roman snorted.  “Planning to get into trouble,  Brock?” he teased,  as if trouble wasn't Brock's specialty by this point.

“Yeah, I'm fine -” Physically.  “- He mostly monologues and tried to play mind games,  but we all know I'm the kind of those,  so.” Roman shrugged,  not quite meeting Brock's eye, slipping into silence again until he blurted out: “Do you think you'll try to win Adam back?  ...I know I'm probably the last person you want to talk to about him but… you were happy.”

Brock took a deep breath for a moment. Yeah, he was happy, but he was also naive. There were a lot of impossible things keeping him and Adam apart even when they were together. Adam’s family made sure of making the relationship difficult every chance they got because they thought of Brock as a gross distraction more than anything.

“I already tried.” He shrugged. “He broke my nose first’f all. Threw a chair at my face. Said every hateful thing I’ve thought bout myself.  Then he went’t prom and slept wit that Jessica chick. After that I just kinda ‘cepted it.” He shrugged once more and sat next to Roman.

“I told him I was sorry, but thing is… I donno’f I am really.” He looked down at his kicking feet and chewed on his lower lip. “I didn’t sleep witcha just cuz. I did it because I felt somethin’. Even if me’n Adam were to magically get back together, I would still feel somethin’. It’s better this way really. Less complicated for everybody.”

Roman watched Brock carefully, wondering if now was even the right time to bring something like that up. It hurt him to listen to what had happened after everything, and for once, Roman didn’t like hearing the chain reaction of negative events that he’d had a hand in causing. There wasn’t a satisfaction there that would normally have fed some darker part of himself. Instead, he felt a little more hungry; hopeful, maybe, but that was dangerous, wasn’t it?

Less complicated? He didn’t know if he agreed with that, but maybe he did believe that Adam and Brock weren’t best suited for each other. Roman reached out hesitantly and patted Brock’s thigh, the gesture meant to be comforting but it came out stunted and broken, like a stiff hug from someone who wasn’t used to comforting someone. Not untrue, but he knew he was capable when he felt there was less pressure to do so.

“I’m sorry,” he said with a sigh, and Roman cracked a smiled that wasn’t exactly pleasant so much as understanding. “There’s not a lot of happily ever afters for people like you. Or me.” That was a reality. His parents were lucky, but rarities.

“Maybe not. But then ‘gain, life’s short. Mine is anyway if’n I’m gonna be huntin’ monsters the rest my days. So if ya get a lil bit’a happiness, even if it don’t end well, ya gotta take it ya know?” He said with a nod. He didn’t regret his time with Adam. It helped him grow as a person and taught him a lot about himself he didn’t know. Truly he had done a 180 from who he was before.

He reached down and placed his hand on top of Roman’s that rested on his thigh. “For instance, I never realized how happy I was’t know you was alive until tonight. So… little things.”

Roman didn't pull away but he did laugh out a sad little noise, muffled and maybe a little panicked as he tipped over to bump Brock's shoulder playfully. “Why do you have to be so sweet,  hm?”

It was easier when Brock was an asshole.

“Oh I’m not sweet really. I’m still’n asshole. Just wit’ more experience. A worldly asshole, ya might say.” He chuckled as he looked over at the other boy, a little half smile on his face.

“I’m glad ya came ‘long, hellspawn.” He said in a sincere tone, the hellspawn sounding more like a term of endearment now than it used to.

“Worldly asshole,” Roman snorted.  “You're full of shit. That's what you are.” But it was a tease,  his sly little grin said as much as he turned to regard Brock more closely,  expression unbearable.

“Me too. It was nice to get it of house and stuff. I know you didn't ask me because you wanted to but,  thanks anyway.”

“Honestly?” Brock gave a sheepish look and shrugged a bit as he spoke.

“When I thought’t was those kids an’ I knew I’d need your help, I was lookin’ forward to havin’ a reason to talk to you again. So much shit happened an’ things were awkward and it was nice to be able to break the ice like that again.”  That sounded so strange, Brock being mean and telling him he had to help kill these demon kids was an ice breaker? But it was true. He still thought about Roman a lot, was sad about how things went down.  He didn’t know how to talk to him before.  But now things seemed better.

“I mean, I invited ya out again, didn’t I? Don’t be so tough on yaself.”

Roman looked increasingly amused as Brock spoke, but he stayed quiet up until the last bit,  then laughed.  “Invited me out again?” That sounded so odd with the context.  “This was quite possibly the weirdest date I've ever been on. In that case.” Another tease,  but he smirked this time.

Brock gave a grin and leaned forward, tapping his finger against Roman’s nose as he called his bluff.

“Fine. Then I’ll take ya out on a real one.” He said in a tone that said he was teasing but also completely serious.  “Flowers, shitty movie, cheap food.  Less ya wanna go monster huntin’ again cuz I mean… that’s my job so no shortage there.”

“No,  no,  I want to hear more about this apparent wooing I'm getting now,” it was said playfully but Roman was entirely serious,  the vain side of him unable to resist any chance to preen. “The right kind of flowers might just get you blown in the back of the theater.” That was a tease - mostly.  They both knew Roman was not beyond such things.

“A hunter wooing a demon.  We're a shitty YA novel.” It was probably the closest,  most definitive answer he'd given to thoughts of a future with Brock so far,  to either of them.

“Well I guess that begs the question’t what ya favorite flowers are?” He chuckled a bit, biting his lip as he looked at him.  It seemed they’d both loosened up a bit for the first time in a while.

“So what you’re sayin’ is… it’s working?” He teased, reaching down once more and squeezing his hand.

“Seriously though… I’m actually one hundred percent askin’ ya out for real. Weird I know.” He smiled for a moment, thumb grazing over the back of Roman’s hand. Then after a bit of hesitation, he leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth, not trying to force anything. But at the same time, he meant what he said about his life being too short. He was done dancing around things. Both of them nearly died tonight. And he couldn’t feel sorry for himself about Adam forever.

Roman flashed an evil little smile and shook his head,  indicative enough that he wasn't giving it knowledge of his favorite flower so easily.  Truthfully,  he didn't have one.  Any flowers might earn Brock the same reward;  it was all about the gesture now.

Feeling a little more like himself,  suddenly confident in Brock's affection maybe,  Roman actually turned enough to kiss him fully,  hand sliding teasingly slow up his thigh.  It was bit of a burning gesture,  he knew,  since it was doubtful Brock had been with anyone recently and that was probably hard as fuck for him,  but still,  Roman wouldn't be Roman without a little bit of a game attached.

So,  he broke the kiss and his hand stopped just short of its obvious destination, and in a weird agreement to the date he leaned forward,  placing both their foreheads together and said,  “You can have the rest if it's a good date.” Which was silly,  really.  He knew it would be,  his tiny little smile said as much.

Brock felt the hand slide up his thigh and he felt the blood rush down below. Before long an obvious bulge would appear, but Roman suddenly stopped and broke the kiss. Brock just rolled his eyes, but not before grabbing Roman by the collar and stealing one more not as innocent kiss.  

“An’ this’s why I should slay you.” He teased, but didn’t mean it. Truthfully, he was looking forward to a date. One that didn’t come with the stipulation that they had to hide or drive to a restaurant three towns over just in case somebody saw.  Still, he fell back on the bed and covered his face with his arm.

“Well’f we try now we can still catch a nap for a few hours ‘fore we make’t back to O’cock.” He said with a little grunt, kicking off his shoes.

“Now you're in trouble because I definitely know you'd miss me,” Roman said with a snicker,  but he did flop down beside Brock and then roll over to kiss his forehead,  apparently so pleased with the decision to be open with his affection that he felt the need to partake in simple gestures almost immediately.

“Goodnight Brock.”

“Yeah yeah…” Brock chuckled. He was right. Brock had affection for the boy. He should have known this for a while now.  Still when the other curled up next to him and kissed him on the forehead, his heart jumped. It was exciting and new and familiar all at the same time.  So he leaned over and turned off the lamp and then pulled the blanket over the both of them before wrapping one of his large arms around Roman, kissing his cheek just below his ear.

“Night Hellspawn.” He said as he nuzzled against him.

* * *

It had been a few days since they’d returned home, returned to school. Things were… normalish? Except for now they texted and talked online in a playful way. Things weren’t so angry or bleak. It was… fun. They were allowing themselves to be teenagers and not hunters and demons for once.

It was a Friday night when Brock pulled up to his house. He texted Roman beforehand and let him know he was there, and he got out of his truck and produced a small bunch of flowers. He promised him he’d give him the whole cheesy date experience and he kept his word. They were Blue Stargazer Lilies, because roses were extremely dull and at least these flowers were colorful and weird like Roman.

God, they were really doing this. He was dating Roman. Or at least going on a date with Roman. It seemed Brock had a type, which was bratty guys he used to despise. But he was excited to say the least.  So he perched on his front step and waited for him to come to the door.

It has felt like the longest week ever leading up to their date, but Roman had supplemented himself with stupid texts to Brock, staying up way too late and getting a nice little slice of life teenager feeling that was so new and tempting to him.

When Brock text him, he rushed to the door, only to stop just short of throwing it open to promptly find some chill and pretend like he hadn’t been rushing. Roman calmed himself, exhaled a little breath, and then opened the door. Despite finding a better sense of self, however, he could not help but grin when he saw the other boy.

And then… Nothing? He had nothing to say, even as his eyes lit up at the flowers (ha, Brock actually brought him flowers!), and just the general idea of the whole evening. Roman couldn’t have imagined this ever happening, let alone wanting it to, let alone it being with Brock. The thoughts caught up with him and culminated in the cheesiest, “Fancy seeing you here,” he teased, reaching for the flowers. “They’re very pretty.”

“I mean… I told ya. I rarely break a promise.” Brock shrugged with a chuckle, handing them over. ‘I picked them cuz… they strange and pretty. Fit you pretty well. Also roses are for borin’ people.”

It was strange that Brock felt a little bashful and unsure of himself. Were this a year or so ago he’d throw Roman against the wall and start taking advantage of him, but that was when they didn’t care for each other beyond the physical. It seemed they were actually trying for something else here and that was weird and strange and new and so it elicited a different response from him. Not many people got to see the shy yet romantic side of Brock Hewitt.  Roman started to crack that open the day he hit him off guard with a game of tic tac toe and the floodgates just never closed.

“So uh… movie? Dinner? Night is young’n alla that.”

“Strange and pretty,” Roman repeated thoughtfully, “That’s sweet.” Maybe not a great compliment for most, but Roman seemed exceptionally pleased with the selection and the description. He did notice Brock’s nerves, but he had them as well, so for once, he spare the other boy a little ball bust and just let them both enjoy a little moment of butterflies. How often did they get those?

“Dinner, maybe. I can’t talk to you during a movie…” Well, he could, but that was Frowned Upon. “And then we’ll see?”

“Okay. Dinner’t is then.” He nodded, turning to lead him to his truck. After half a step, he swiveled back around and leaned in and stole a kiss. Because why not? Then he turned again and led him out once more.

After driving for a while, they finally pulled into a quaint little diner. It was Onancock, there weren’t lots of options, and even the nearest McDonalds was a twenty minute drive. Brock figured they’d keep it close for tonight after their out of state adventure in the previous week. They went in and slid into a booth, Brock sat across from him and peered into the menu. All the standards were there, burgers and chicken and apple pie. All the basic food groups he needed anyway.

“So…” He chuckled a bit, glancing up over the menu and catching Roman’s always mischievous eyes with his own. “I’m sure this weren’t at all what you was expectin’ last year after all that post bunny murder sex.” He joked a bit but it was true. That night was full of anger and disgust and insults and uh… also shamefully good times as well. But they weren’t so shameful these days it would seem.

Roman snickered from behind his menu, clearly feeling no shame or sorrow over what he’d done to that poor little bunny just for the sake of getting Brock’s attention. It probably should’ve been a sign; the fake ritual he was performing was not that problem, but rather his determination for attention marked by his willingness to do most things to get it. He’d expect to win, of course, and he supposed he had… But what Roman certainly didn’t expect was all the damage he felt along the way. How the win had felt empty at first, but not it suddenly didn’t!

But he lied - “No, it wasn’t. But you bring that night up a lot, sunshine.” Roman smirked.

Brock blushed and shook his head and looked back down at the menu for a moment with a shrug. “I guess cuz I feel bad for havin’ a good time at the expense’f a poor woodland creature.” He nodded. That was the truth. It disgusted him when he saw the rabbit. But then Roman enchanted him with his eyes and his smile and even though he continued to say awful things to him that night, it was over and Roman won and even he knew that. On the one hand he’d almost wished Roman would have just been more honest about his feelings and not opted to murder an animal for attention, but on the other hand Brock was still a jerk and an asshole at that point that hadn’t really come out of his hardened shell quite yet, so maybe that was truly the only way to break through it.

In any case they were on a date over a year and a half later now so... progress.

The waitress came over and took their orders. Brock just ordered a burger and fries (which was conservative for him but hey) and let Roman order what he wanted. Once she left, he tapped his fingers against the table as he looked across at the other boy.

“It’s weird bein’ out’n not havin’ to talk bout monsters.” Of course by saying that he was talking about them, but you can’t take the hunter out of him completely he supposed.

“What should we talk about, then?” Roman prompted him playfully, actually looking a bit eager for his food to make it to them. He hadn’t really ordered dinner, instead opting for a few slices of pie. The demon had a sweet tooth, if that wasn’t completely obvious by now. Brock had been satisfying that need lately, too. He wondered, briefly, if that would ever change, but he let that thought die right where it was had spawned - no doom and gloom tonight, just enjoying his well earned prize.

“I think I’ve for certain got the lead in the play. Forest swears he can kiss better than me, and that’s why he should be chosen? - Since there’s a kiss, which really only needs to be a peck but you know, hungry theater nerds,” Roman said, shrugging. “Anyway, I told him that’s absolutely not true and that I could show him if he wanted. He got really red and shut the fuck up.” He ran the theater with an iron fist, on his best days.

Brock watched Roman talk with a piqued eyebrow. There were times when the other boy spoke that reminded him of exactly how much of a brat he was, and this was no exception. Brock wouldn’t claim to know anything about the theater department. The last extracurricular he participated in was wrestling, and he got kicked off for wrestling too hard and breaking Robbie’s arm. They were a weird pair.

“Uh wow… congrats?” He chuckled, playing with the straw in his water. It was then that he realized that he had no idea how to be a normal teenager anymore. At least that was something that Roman had up on him. He had school experiences to talk about. All Brock wanted to talk about was battle tactics and exorcisms. He truly was an outcast 90% of the time. Still, Roman’s enthusiasm for his drama was cute, even if he was a little shit that was full of himself.

“Sides, he kisses like a guppy anyway.” He shrugged. “I been ‘round, you know this.” At least nowadays he tried to be a little more choosy with who he slept with. But especially sophomore year… when those powers first kicked in it was like he had to have sex with everyone in sight. Which he kind of did. There was a time you couldn’t walk down the hall at the high school without bumping into someone he’d at least made out with.

Their food came quickly, Brock tried to eat slowly but it was totally against his nature. Plus being the big strong hunter he was, he constantly burned off the calories. He eyed Roman and his pie and just chuckled.

“You’re a weird one.” He teased, but he was totally fine with his date’s pie eating preference.

“Thank you,” he took the compliment easily,  because of course he did.  It was Roman. “And yeah,  he looks like he would.  Most theater kids don't kiss that well,  honestly,  it's really a shame.” As if on cue,  he gave a dramatic sigh.  No one could match him in his own house,  apparently,  but even he seemed to recognize how full of himself he was being,  because he just grinned at Brock.

“You like it,” Roman shot back, eating his first bite of pie and sucking on the fork thoughtfully. It felt nice to be able to tease Brock about him liking Roman and know that it was true.  It felt almost as nice as this pie tasted good. “Oh, this is good.” He went for another piece.

“Yeah well… I guess it’s safe’t admit I do a lil bit. Even though you’re super arrogant’n fulla yourself.” Brock smirked raising an eyebrow. But he teased, despite how honest it was, it was all in good fun. If you couldn’t be honest with each other then what was the point.  Brock went back to munching on a few of his fries when suddenly he felt a dip in the pit of his stomach. Like someone had punched the air right out of him. It seemed like everything got colder. But nothing in the room changed. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Other diners went on with their meals. The wait staff happily refilled drinks and served pie. Everything was calm. And yet… he turned and looked out the window, beyond the trees. He saw nothing, but he felt something.

“...somethings coming…” He said under his breath, not trying to alarm Roman. His duty called at the worst times. But this was different. Brock was… afraid.  He wouldn’t go out to investigate.  He would wait. Instead he went back and shuffled some more fries into his mouth to distract himself.

“Like you aren’t?” Roman very nearly stuck out his tongue, but he supposed that would’ve just proved Brock’s point and he couldn’t allow that willingly. So instead he went back to his pie, but he felt it too, in a different sort of way, like cold fingers tickling step by step up his spine and Roman shivered just a little.

“Yeah…” He said, frowning and glancing out the window, but unlock Brock, he didn’t look afraid and he didn’t seek to distract himself. Roman watched impassively, waiting it out. It felt familiar, but he had no reason to think she’d seek them out again.

After a while, the feeling started to fade lightly, but there was still an unease in the air for Brock. He wondered if normal people could sense these things, or if he was just hypersensitive because of his Redeemer abilities. But as he looked around the room, nobody else seemed alarmed. Maybe it was just him.  But still, one thing he knew was that something big just rolled into town, and he had an idea what. Why was a different question altogether. Still, he hated how it made him feel. Scared and powerless. Like he needed to jump across the table and hide behind Roman. Hunters weren’t supposed to be like that. It messed with his ego as well as his mind.

“I uh… I’m sorry. That was weird.” He said out loud. But the chill in the air got to him, and he found himself unconsciously sliding over into Roman’s side of the booth. It was weird to feel this way, but there he was. He was sure Roman would get a kick out of it later.

Roman slid a hand over Brock’s knee, taking in the rare moment of vulnerability that he’d not witnessed twice in this big, strong hunter of his. It made him feel protective in a way he didn’t normally - if something scared Brock, Roman innately wanted to scare it. Of course, he couldn’t scare what he sensed this might be. Not directly. He was only wily, so if the time came, he’d manipulate his chances in any ways he could against her. He paused, realizing that he’d essentially just vowed some weird sort of self sacrifice, and felt a little sick to his stomach over it. Roman pushed that thought aside.

“Don’t worry,” he said slowly, rubbing Brock’s knee with a thumb comfortingly. “I’ve got you.”

Brock couldn’t help but feel so touched by that. It was beyond weird that Roman, who if possible seemed at times to be even more selfish than Brock had been, would be so protective of him. It was even kind of sweet that Roman thought he could protect him from whatever was out there. But Brock could feel it in his gut that if it wanted him dead, there was no stopping it. It would require more creative thinking if he had to take it down. Still, he was lost in a moment, and despite being in the middle of a diner in rural O’cock, he leaned over and placed a soft kiss against Roman’s lips. They were two built guys anyway, and there were plenty of rumors that circulated about the both of them of people who’d crossed them and barely lived to tell about it. No one would speak ill of them to their faces.

Still, the rumbling made him hungry, so he swiftly finished off his burger afterwards.  While they were mulling over the check (which Brock took care of because he was the one taking Roman out as promised) Brock had ordered them milkshakes to buy some more time because he really didn’t want to go out there yet.  And yet the bottom of the glass started coming too soon. He chewed on his lip and looked over at the other boy for a moment with a little unsure look on his face.

“Should we still do tha movie? Or… go elsewhere?” He asked, because he had a sinking feeling duty was going to crash the evening sooner rather than later.

Roman shrugged heavily, smiling. “Yeah sure! We can go see that one that’s supposed to have a lot of blood …. Or that one about the … dragons?” He didn’t go to the movies much. He didn’t go on dates much. Not like this anyway, but that was likely becoming apparent with every word he said.

“...Are you okay?”

Brock pursed his lips and gave a little half shrug then looked out across the parking lot again.  

“I uh… y’know how Spiderman has like… spider sense?” He asked as he chewed on his lip.

“I just got this sense’t somethin’s gon go really wrong. Not you… some thing.” He said in an exasperated tone.

“It’s stupid but… I dunno. If somethin’ happens I’ll just be super annoyed is all.” Because can’t a superhero have any night off?

“Hey,” Roman said, nudging him out of the booth and grabbing his hand to tug him the rest of the way to the counter. “I can take care of myself. And if something does go wrong, we can take care of it together,” he replied, shrugging. It was a great deal more nonchalant than he actually felt, but Roman was anything if not stubbornly optimistic about his odds of getting out of something.

“Still considered a date, right? If we’re doing it together?” He gave a sly smile.

Brock let the boy grip his hand and drag him toward the door and he strolled along a little more confidently. “If we usin’ that logic then we done been on like half a dozen dates already.” He said in a joking manner, but that was weirdly the truth. Even their hunting outings when things were weird were oddly intimate.

They made their way to the truck and Brock pushed Roman against the car door and pressed his nose against the other’s. “I jus’ wan’ feel like a real boy for once.” He said, leaning in to close the gap.  But of course that was when he let out a gasp as he was lifted into the air.

Brock looked down at the petite dark skinned girl and his stomach was on fire from the unsettling fear in his stomach. It was her. But this time something was different.  Not only did she seem frazzled; her clothing torn and her braids loose, but her eyes were not the same orbs devoid of emotion anymore.  There was rage and fear there.  

“Are you the one!?” She asked, almost as if panicked and pleading as she tightened her grip around his neck. She stared into his eyes, fiery and cold and he heard a ringing in his head as blood began to trickle out of his eyes and nose.

“What do I have to DO?! I will rip his bones from his flesh if it means to complete my mission!” She yelled at the sky in a crazed manner.  People in the diner heard and were staring out the window, but none dared come.  He figured that sense of dread was working on them now too.

Within seconds, Roman’s face went from lit up by a smile to sheer panic. He felt her before he saw her, but that was too late as Brock was pulled away from him. “Brock!!” He yelled, and then turned on the Old One. She looked so different, almost frantic, but that didn’t currently matter to him. He needed to get Brock away from her before they had a repeat of Connor’s fate.

Roman rushed over to her, not hesitating to grab her despite the fact she was much older than him. “He’s not the one - You got him already, put him down!” Just by fate alone, he supposed, he had started wearing the stupid talisman he’d acquired on their hunt, so he quickly pulled it from his shirt to get her attention. “Do you remember me,” he demanded.

She remained unyielding for a few moments. But she could not call the Outer Gods for the chains of judgement. They would not listen. They haven’t listened in weeks.  An inconvenience that would normally be a blip on her emotional radar that now angered and confused her.  It wasn’t until the talisman was brandished that she let go, letting Brock hit the concrete with a thud before grabbing her ears in pain as if she heard a sort of screeching in her ears. Brock backed up against his tire and wiped at the blood coming out of his face as he looked up in confusion.  This woman was that powerful presence, but she didn’t seem to know it herself.  

The Old One collapsed to her knees and ran her hands through her hair for a moment before looking up at Roman.  

“I know I killed him.  It wasn’t enough.” She hissed.  “They stopped listening they… they won’t let me IN! The longer I’m tied to this mortal coil the more afflicted I become with your filth. Your… emotions.” She punched the ground and a crack formed that traveled to Roman’s feet.

“I used to destroy worlds. Create them. And now I can’t get past a lowly portal to the Outer Realm. There has to be something I haven’t done. A creature I haven’t killed.” She side eyed Brock once more.

“THAT one was the only other one present. He has to be the key!” She balled her fist. Were she in her emotionless terminator state, Brock would be dead. But as she’d said, this dimension seemed to affect her negatively.  Turn her more human.  He wondered if all demons were like that.  If Roman’s family had been that way once.  Confused and angry before ultimately succumbing to their lives here.

Roman didn't step away,  just watched her curiously,  though when Brock fell he did glance back to see that he was fine.  Scared, but fine.  He gaze turned back to this broken Old One,frowning.

“It's not him,” Roman repeated sternly, subconsciously channeling the darker energy of his mother than the rigid demonic form of his father. “Leave him be,  I'll help you find your way back.”

He moved so he was between her and Brock,  despite the fact that he knew if she wanted to move him,  she would.

It didn’t matter that he moved between them. She could do little now. When a demon of her nature stayed too long here, their powers dimmed, weakened. She would retain them, but nowhere near where they would normally be. And now she was tired. There was a reason the Old Ones stayed in their realm. If this were the old days, her followers would keep her strong with sacrifices and twisted prayer. In this age, nobody knew their names anymore. They just manipulated from afar. Man had taken over Earth like a cancer. So she stayed, peering down at the concrete in a pitiful manner.  

Brock attempted to stand but had to lean back against the truck. He could tell she was weakening too, as his gut didn’t feel as heavy as it had moments ago. But he was still hellishly woozy. Whatever last mojo she spent attempting to almost melt his brain just left him crazy dizzy.

“She ain’t a threat no more…” He nodded, wiping the blood from his nose. “Somethin’ happened’t her.” He hobbled over to Roman and collapsed against his shoulder.

“Also I think you should drive now.”

Roman was hardly listening, just staring down at the Old One looking pitiful at their feet, frowning, wondering if this is what his mom looked like when first confined to a mortal form. He wanted to reach out to her, but he stayed where he was, the sudden heavy weight of Brock against his shoulder drawing him out of his thoughts.

“We have to help her, Brock, look at her.”

Brock steadied himself against Roman and nodded, the ringing in his head still faint. He didn’t care what Roman did at this point. He just needed to rest a minute. Or a day.

“If ya think ya should then… I mean sure, do what ya want. We can take her somewhere.” Brock nodded once more.

“I’m jus’ glad she ran outta juice ‘fore she melted my brain.”

At that,  Roman's concern shifted to Brock and he turned and smiled softly,  leaning over to kiss him briefly. “Let me help you to the truck so you can rest and then I'll … see.  What she wants to do.”

His gaze shifted just slightly to the other demon. But she seemed so far unresponsive even though they were clearly referring to her.  Roman took Brock's arm to guide him to the car, and once the other boy was sitting,  he gave him another kiss.  This one longer,  almost like it was a promise for something better in the future.

Brock settled into the car and blushed a little after the kiss, looking up at Roman with mischievous, or at least as mischievous as he could muster, eyes. “Y’know maybe later ya can help me wit’ this headache. If ya want.” He teased, leaving that up to him. Still he leaned back and closed his eyes as the other boy turned his attention to the demon.

The Old One just sat there, moving her fingertips in circular motions on the concrete, as if she was drawing things in the dust. She was clearly going some kind of mad, unable to contain herself in this new human vessel.

“If I am stuck here, I do not wish to live. I’ll allow you to kill me. That would leave you feared amongst the lesser demons. It would be good for you. Consider it a parting gift.” She said calmly, but her tone of voice implying that she was begging Roman to assist her suicide.

Strangely compassionate,  Roman's eyes betrayed almost everything he felt for her currently.  The wasn't pity,  but understanding, disappointment, and a myriad of other things. “I'm not killing you,” he said with a laugh.  “Aren't you a great being?  You're giving up so easily.” The disappointment shone most of all then.

“I'll help you figure out what you need,  as I said.  And then you can leave Brock and I alone and go home.”

“I am.” She said without hesitation. But she just brought her hands up to her face and looked at them, watched them quiver momentarily before looking at the young demon.

“I have never been this weak. It’s not something I wish to be. I’d sooner die than be lower than a human cow.” She hissed.

“I hate these emotions.  I hate that I HATE anything. I am not supposed to feel. I’m not supposed to have anything driving me beyond the need to keep balance in this universe.” She looked back up at him.

“What would you do for me then?”

“I…” Roman hesitated, not having a plan beyond his promise. “Give me time. I’ll ask my ancestors… They’ll know how to help you.” Or at least, they’d never failed him so far.

“I still have your pendant. I can call you when I know more.”

She just laughed, unhinged in a way. Devoid of hope but still strangely psychotic.

“I am your ancestors, boy. Or at least close enough. I probably knew of them. I can’t see what a bunch of ghosts will do to help.” She sneered. But alas, she hobbled to her feet, pulling her braids out of her face.

“This body is growing weak. It’s tired. I’ve never had to rest before. I hate it.”

Roman felt bad for her, but he didn’t let it betray his expression, which he kept muted, biting the inside of his cheek. “Rest up, Old One. I’m going to take care of my boyfriend that you nearly killed now.”

He turned away from her, content that she was stubbornly set aside from suicide, and returned to Brock, smiling. “Let’s tend to those wounds, shall we? Boyfriend.” He just liked the sound of the word in reference to Brock.

The Old One watched as he approached the truck, then looked down at the ground, defeated. It was a sad sight, to see such a great being trapped and hopeless. She turned and shuffled off in the opposite direction, not looking back. But rest assured, it wasn’t the last they’d seen of her.

Brock weakly turned his head, which was throbbing at this point, when Roman climbed into the driver’s seat. He licked his lips because they’d dried from whatever trauma the Old One caused with her… mind squish thing she did, but he developed a little half smile.

“You really wan’ be my boyfriend?” He asked, looking up at the demon with a tiny smirk. “I’ve been kind’f a dick to you for… well… ever.”

Roman turned on the car and then flashed a wicked little smile at Brock. He hadn’t forgotten. Of course, he’d had his fair share of terrible moments in relation to Brock too, but no sense in addressing them if the hunter wasn’t making him. Instead, he just leaned over to kiss his cheek in a small concession of victory.

“Just don’t be a dick to me now.”

“So you don’t want my dick, okay.” He teased, followed by a laugh, followed by a wince. Because pain.

“Sorry. I’m like a little girl right now.” He smirked, watching Roman’s face. Watching the way the moonlight kissed the curves of his lip and cheekbones.

“I couldn’t say it before but…” Brock started to say, then looked away for a moment.

“Okay don’t make fun’a me but, you’re kinda beautiful.” He said, moving his hand over to grab Roman’s.

Roman scoffed, shooting Brock a look, but if that’s how he wanted to play, well… Roman wouldn’t deny it. He just smiled knowingly and shrugged. Sure, he didn’t want it.

The compliment garnered another look, but this one was different, one eyebrow raised as his attention drifted slightly from the road as he started to pull out of the parking lot. It was a little strange to hear something like that come from Brock, even if Roman wasn’t unaware that he could be both genuine and sweet when the moment struck him. Hell, compliments on their own weren’t rare for him. The look said as much, a partial ‘duh’ mixed in with the confusion (borderline suspicion), but he didn’t really know how to deal with any of it so he only said: “Um, yeah. Are you only just now realizing that?” Roman narrowed his eyes playfully.

For the first time in a long while, Brock felt almost embarrassed, having said something… dumb and juvenile, even if it was a compliment. He used to be so suave. Maybe that suave guy was the one Roman fell for, but it truly wasn’t who he was. It was a persona he forced on to deal with pain, loneliness, and newfound responsibility. Now he was just… himself. No matter how vanilla it could sometimes be.

“No, I just… I didn’t know how complicated things were before. An’ y’know… I had the complicated stuff goin’ on. I had Adam. But I was feelin’ things for you. It was complicated…” He said, thumb caressing the back of his hand. He looked over to Roman and cupped his chin, then gave him a kiss.

“It’s jus’ nice’t be able to say how I really feel now is all.” He whispered against his lips. Then another pulse in his head, another wince. He stopped for a moment, then smirked.

“I totally don’t want you’t think I’m using you, so you don’t have to heal me if you don’ wan’. But if you do choose to, just know it’s not healing me so much as it would be me makin’ love’t my boyfriend.” He smiled before pulling back and laying against the back of the chair, though still holding his hand.

[certifiedskywalker]

Identity - A Star Wars Story - Part 5

This is it my friends, the final part of Identity. I would like to thank my dear friend @miss-skymidala  for requesting this story in the first place! I hope I ended it well and if you want more Star Wars related writings send in some requests! Thanks for sticking with me on this wild ride. Now finally, I give you Identity - A Star Wars Story - Part 5...

Taggeed : @lust-for-pan @princeofsassgard (sorry if I forgot anyone)

“Have hope Y/N, always.” He retracted his hand, sad brown eyes watching you. And as the space closed you shouted, “Cassian I lov-” You were cut off by the clang of metal as the ramp shut completely. You pounded your fists against the metal, screaming for Cassian and Jyn.

Aben pulled you off the floor, but you were to overpowered by anger and pain. You threw yourself on the floor and you could hear the ship break through the atmosphere of Scarif.

“Y/N, if we’re going into the heart of Imperial command, we need to be ready to attack.” Aben’s voice barely broke through to you as you grasped the kyber necklace and closed your eyes. Aben walked away, prepping the weapon you did have. You just sat on the floor, quietly weeping, praying.

“Rogue One; May the Force be with you.”

“We’re approaching the Death Star,” Aben said, her voice cold, “grab your blaster.” You looked up at your friend from your spot on the ground. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her lips were set in a hard line. You didn’t need to use the Force to tell what she was planning. Darkness clouded around her like a swarm of flies. You remembered what Chirrut had said about Cassian on Eadu and felt sick to your stomach. You stood and turned to look out of a window back to Scarif. Hardly anything remained; pieces of the planet flying high above the site where the Death Star’s laser struck. You felt the pain, immense heart ache of a hurting planet, a dead planet. Tears stung at your eyes, but you pushed them down.

“What’s the point?” You murmured, but Aben heard you. Her head spun to face you, her eyes ablaze. She marched towards you, meeting your eyes. “The point!?” She asked, furious. “We take out as many of those monsters as we can and go down fighting. Like Chirrut, like Jyn and Cassian. Like Bodhi. We don’t give up, because they wouldn’t,” she paused, sadness becoming more apparent in her features, “they didn’t.” A loud thump and hissing sound interrupted the moment, causing both you and Aben to turn around.

“We docked.” She whispered, turning back to face you. You nodded at her and picked up your blaster. You and Aben quickly found defensive positions and readied your weapons. The ship door opened and a cold breeze blew into the star cruiser.  Before you or Aben could fire a single shot, both of your blasters flew to the ground. You gasped, but Aben remained composed as she pulled a grenade from her belt. Before she could pull the pin, she was lifted off her feet. She dropped the bomb to the floor and clawed at her neck with her hands. You leapt to her side, pulling her down with the Force. She let out a gasp for air and fell to the ground.

“You.” The voice was robotic, as if it came from a new branding of droid, but when you turned, it was not a droid you saw. A tall figure, dressed in all black, stood in the doorway of the ship. Behind it, the Death Star’s hallway was filled with a multitude of stormtroopers. The Empire knew of your arrival, and felt so compelled by it, they sent troops and a masked creature.

You felt as if you should cry and your head grew muddled with fear; but you felt the warmth of the kyber crystal against your chest and found a renewed strength. You glanced at Aben, who was still on the ground regaining her breath, and closed your eyes. Your hand shot out and with a pull, a cold piece of metal fell into your hand. As if it was an instinct, born into your blood from years ago, you pressed the activator switch. With a buzz, red light flooded your face and the dark creature shouted in anger. “Fire!”

The stormtroopers barged into the ship, unleashing a reign of heavy fire. Using the lightsaber, stolen from the cloaked being, you returned their fire with aimed ricochets. They fell in front of the figure, who remained silent as you sliced through the flood of white armor. What felt like minutes passed, when you had made your way to stand near the creature. With all of his guards slain, he stood quietly. He took a loud breath, “Next time, ask before you take things that do not belong to you.”

You almost laughed at the nerve of the man. You just stared at it’s masked face, and raised the red lightsaber above your head, ready to strike it down.

“Y/N! No!” You heard Aben shout, but it was too late. Before the blade could hit him, the creature raised a gloved hand and everything around you went dark.

“Y/N! Y/N please wake up,” you heard her panicked voice before you saw her face. Your eyelids fluttered open and you were met with a harsh light. You squinted, sitting up to study your surroundings. “Where are we?” Your voice came out more rough than you thought it would sound, but Aben only shook her head. “On the prison deck of the Death Star,” she murmured but she didn’t seem entirely sure, “but all I know for sure is that you went bantha shit on those troopers.”

You rocked off the ledge you were lying on to stand. “What was that thing with them,” you asked, rubbing your aching head. Aben turned to face you, her eyes wide in fear. “Death himself,” she whispered, the terror in her being more apparent than ever. You walked towards her, leading her to sit on the ledge, “Don’t worry Y/N, I’ll get us out of here.” As your friend slept on the ledge, you looked around your cell, seeing only grey walls and a single door. You knew the only chance of escape would come with enemies entering the cell or rebels freeing you. You felt your heart lurch at the thought of the rebels, hoping they got the plans to destroy the Death Star. Now, you and Aben just had to escape before the rebel fleet blew you up.

You weren't sure exactly how much time had passed since Scarif, since your capture. You busied yourself with mediation and trying to comfort Aben. She was a mess, so emotionally broken, most of the time she would only stare off into space. You were both fed through a slot in the door, which troopers would shove the smallest portions of food. It had felt like weeks until something happened.

One day you heard the uniform stomping of boots against tiled floor. You stood and Aben shakily followed. The footfalls stopped suddenly, but you could feel their presence outside the door, mixed with something more. The door flew open and you stared straight into the red eyes of the creature in black. It's breathing was so loud as it echoed against the close walls of your cell, that Aben shrunk and sunk to the floor. Her fear was so overwhelmingly strong that, not only you could sense it, but the creature could as well. It let out an evil, mechanical, laugh that shook you to your core. “Who are you?” You voice was strong, but you knew the dark figure could sense your unease. It took a large step towards you and you felt violated; sharing the same air with it made your skin crawl. “I am Darth Vader, one of the leaders of the glorious Empire,” he took in one more loud breath before continuing, “and you are Y/N Erso.”

Despite the voice being altered by the suit he was wearing, you could hear what sounded like the remains of a man speaking to you. You felt his emotions through the Force, dark with sadness and red with fury. “But you know that your identity is a lie,” his voice echoed in your skull and you could sense him probing your mind with the Force, just as you had done. You pushed him out, taking a daring step towards him. “I am aware,” you hissed, finding your fight again. You felt shivers crawl down your spine, it felt as if you were suddenly standing on the edge of a great divide, about to fall for the last time.

“So aware you are, yet you don’t know that you stand in the presence of your true father.” You could almost feel the bone shattering collision as you fell into the dark, ominous ravine that had become your life ever since Jyn told you that Galen wasn’t your biological father. “No…” your voice was barely above a whisper when you spoke and your hand was pressed to your chest. Your true father was the very being that was willing to destroy entire planets for the Empire; the very being that sent Cassian to his death. “You were taken from me by those I trusted, to hide you away. They feared I would harm you.” Tears fell down you cheeks before you could stop them. “Don’t cry my child,” his voice boomed, “for you will soon met your brother.” You glanced up from the floor, looking into the bug-like eyes of the mask. He hesitated before he spun on his heels and walked out of the cell, the door closing shut behind him. The urge to vomit, to purge your body of all the evil words and things you had heard was overwhelming. Despite the truth, the pit in your stomach untightened for a moment; you had a brother. You turned to face Aben, who, now knowing your true identity, looked at you with determination. “You’re nothing like him Y/N, you’re far stronger and better.” You walked over and helped her stand  “We’re getting out of here.” She gave you a nod, “we’re going to find your brother, even if it kills me.” Her voice was like is was before Scarif, strong and ready to face anything the galaxy could throw at her. You smiled and for the first time, since you arrived, you felt that sense of hope Cassian would want you to have.

“Alright,” you said as you turned to face the door, “let’s do this.” You reached out your hand, straining the Force to move the door. It jiggled slightly, but with a gasp, you dropped your hand. Before you could try again, blaster fire rang in the hallway outside the door. You and Aben looked at each other and then the door. Aben rushed towards it, banging his fists against it, “Hey! Hey! There’s rebels in here,” she shouted, “Help us!” You were about to stop her, tell her it might be a trap, when the door opened to reveal a man and a huge furry creature.

Aben suddenly stopped yelling and the man looked at her in surprise. “Han Solo! Fancy meeting you here!” The man smiled and the creature behind him yelled. “I could say the same for you!” The man said, but was interrupted by more blaster fire. He ducked in the doorway, returning fire at the troopers. You walked over the Aben, “who’s this?” Aben smiled at you, “Remember I said I met a smuggler? Well this is him, and his co-pilot Chewbacca.” The Wookiee roared, firing back at the enemy.  When the blasts stopped, Han turned towards you, “Han Solo,” he said holding out his hand, which you shook. Chewbacca roared and Han nodded, “We should get going, we have to meet back at the ship.” The four of you ran through the halls, evading stormtroopers as you went.

“So why are you here?” Aben asked Han while you all ran. The smuggler laughed, “Damned suicide mission to save a princess, what about you?” You looked towards Aben and saw fear flash in her eyes, “We were fighting alongside some Rebels, on Scarif.” Her voice was quiet, but Han still heard her. “I heard about..” he just shook his head and didn’t finish his sentence. As the four of you rounded the last corner to the hangar, you almost ran into a young looking farm boy and a girl in a white dress. “Luke!” Han shouted, looking to him then the girl, “You must be the princess.” The girl nodded, looking at him then you and Aben, Luke did the same. “I’m Princess Leia Organa, now can we get out of here!?” Han nodded, “Who are these two,” Luke asked, his blue eyes peering briefly at you then staying on Aben. “This is Aben Bodni and...um..”

You stepped forward, “I’m Y/N,” you said, “Y/N Erso.” You felt Aben’s gaze on your and you turned to see her smile. “I hate to break up the meeting but can we go?!” Han yelled, darting towards his ship. When you got to the deck, you made sure Leia, Han and Chewie were on board before Luke shouted suddenly. You ran down the ramp to see what had happened and you saw him. Darth Vader, your father, standing over a mess of cloaks on the floor. Aben grabbed Luke’s hand and you all ran inside the ship.

“Who did he,” Aben started, but she stopped when she say the look on Luke’s face. You stood across from them, silently recounting all that had happened. You thought of Cassian briefly, but forced yourself to think of over things to stop yourself from crying. So you joined Aben and Luke’s conversation. “His name was Obi Wan Kenobi, or Ben. He told me about the Force, how my father had it.” Your ears pricked up at his words, “Your father?” He nodded, “I never knew him, but that thing killed him. Just like Ben.” He grew quiet once more, but you and Aben looked at each other with understanding. Luke was your brother, you could feel it in your soul and through the Force. “I’m sorry, Luke.” Aben said, squeezing his hand gently. You smiled to yourself, at Aben’s affection, you had hope that maybe your brother would heal her broken spirit. “Where did you say you were from? You asked, and Luke looked up at you, “Tatooine.” The look on Aben’s face was priceless as you let out a little giggle. You were about to speak up about your past conversation with her, which involved her saying no one from Tatooine was attractive, when a golden droid and an R2 unit walked in. “Captain Solo is requesting your presence Y/N.” You got up, walking past the eerily familiar droids, and to the cockpit.

“Easy princess, we’ll get to your precious base soon enough.” Han said to Leia who looked very annoyed. “You don’t understand the importance of my mission! That R2 unit it invaluable to the Rebel cause!” Han rolled his eyes as you spoke up, “Why is that?” Leia turned to face you, her lips set in a firm line. “That droid is carrying the plans the Death Star, sent to us by rebels on the planet Scarif.” You just stared at her, “What?” She asked and you remained quiet for a moment longer. “I knew Rogue One, I was there,” you murmured and Leia let out a gasp. She leaned over a hugged you tightly, “the galaxy will be forever grateful for you and those lost.” When the hug broke off, Han looked over his shoulder at you. “You’re one brave kid, Erso” he said, “I’m glad to have you on my ship.” You thanked him for his kindness and walked to a secluded section of the ship. You looked out the window there, your hand clutching the kyber crystal. The stars shown brightly as the ship moved through space and you felt a wave of peace wash over you as you closed your tired eyes. 

The rebels got the plans, your friends, your sister and your Cassian did not die in vain. You opened your eyes and for a split moment, you could see the blue outline of your fallen comrades before you. You saw Cassian, reaching out towards your face, his ghostly hand leaving a feeling of warmth on your cheek. You turned away, to try to get rid of their Force ghosts, You had a Rebellion to lead, Cassian would understand if you didn’t want the distraction; and he did, his ghost faded away with the rest of Rogue One, leaving behind one last figure. He was an older man, someone you had never seen before, but you felt his strength through the Force. “Kenobi,” you murmured and the man smiled. The Force ghost of the newly fallen Jedi stepped towards you, and with him you felt your destiny weigh in your heart. “You are strong with the Force, Y/N Skywalker, you are the New Hope.”