#take care of yourselves please there's already so much violence and harm directed at us don't contribute to it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wingsofkpop · 3 years

Text

Hiraeth - I.X: Was it Worth it in the End? Part Two

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatual!AU, Dark Magic!AU, very heavy Angst, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, violence, explicit descriptions of fighting and injury, weapons, blood and gore, brief mention of a mutilated animal corpse, minor character death, description of trauma and mental illness, brief mention of suicide, mentions of murder, satanic themes and ritual, etc.

Trigger Warning: This chapter does contain graphic and explicit themes regarding violence, trauma, and death. Please do not read if this will harm you. This is your final warning.

word count: 10,6k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

The nighttime is hushed, almost anxious as Minho maneuvers his way past gravestones and overgrown shrubbery. It’s almost like nature itself is too afraid of accidentally provoking the witch, sensing the torpedo of dark magic and violent sorrow stirring through his veins. He peers up at the crimson moon, grateful for the illumination it provides, and continues down his path—ignorant of the cold air bleeding into his flesh.

Minho knows this is probably not the best time for a visit, aware that his ex-covenmates are likely plotting some sort of mission to overthrow him, but he doesn’t care—he can’t care anymore. A part of him, the shameful, guilty part of his mind. actually hopes they will succeed, at least then, he would no longer have to endure the pain that comes with bearing this black magic. He can feel its poison rushing through his veins, seering his body from the inside out, killing his soul over and over and over again…

But isn’t this what he wanted? Revenge? Retribution? Minho performed that spell to hurt the very friends that hurt him—to hurt Mark, and he got his wish… so why does it feel like the world is caving in around him, swallowing him whole?

Once he reaches his destination, Minho collapses to his knees, unable to bear the weight of his burdens. His eyes burn with tears, but he doesn’t allow himself to cry. A silent gust of wind strokes his cheeks, painting his skin red with bitterness and anger. He welcomes the cold air, accepting the punishment, before lifting his hand to splay his fingers against the even colder surface of the headstone.

“I’m sorry…” Minho whimpers, “It didn’t have to be like this…”

The silence heightens his anguish—deepens the wounds in his heart.

If he could take it all back, he would… but he can’t.

“I wish you were here, noona…”

His murmur is lost to the wind, but it doesn’t matter. He climbs back to his feet before sparing one final glance at the burial place of his lost friend. After a deep inhale and a wordless goodbye, Minho turns and hastily begins back toward the mausoleum.

He was allowed this one moment of weakness—now he must get back to the horrible reality he manifested for himself.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“Can you be any more obvious…?”

Mark quickly awakens from his mindless trance, discovering, to his dismay, Dahyun looking down at him with a single raised, all-knowing eyebrow. He fakes a cough into his elbow before shrugging his shoulders, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re kidding me, right?... You literally haven’t taken your eyes off of her since we met up in the forest.”

Heat immediately rises to Mark’s cheeks. As if on instinct, his eyes trail back to his subject of interest, watching as you wipe the sweat from Jaebeom’s girlfriend’s forehead and neck before shifting to do the same to Felix. It’s such a simple action, but you somehow look so ethereal—almost like an angel sent from heaven.

He curses himself for his own cheesiness, then releases a defeated sigh.

“We got into a pretty big fight earlier.”

“Then don’t you think you should—I don’t know—talk to her instead of staring her down like a creep?”

“I think the last thing she wants to do is talk to me.” Mark drags a hand through his hair. “I… said some really stupid shit in the heat of the moment. She probably hates me.”

Dahyun scoffs, “God, you are such a fucking idiot.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you need to get your ass over there and apologize to that girl.”

Her harsh tone doesn’t falter beneath his glare, nor does her tenacious expression as the two proceed with their silent staring contest. After a minute or two, Dahyun breaks off the competition with a long, heavy sigh. Her eyes are soft when she looks back at him, and suddenly Mark finds the dried mud on his shoes a lot more interesting.

“Mark, anyone can see how much you care about her—how much she cares about you.” Even when a gentle hand caresses his shoulder, the witch keeps his attention to the floor. “(Y/N) could never hate you—no matter how much stupid shit you pull.” She snickers, “And you pull a lot of stupid shit, so that has to account for something.”

He can’t help the amused chuckle that falls from his own lips.

“Thanks, Dubu.” Mark says, tilting his head to finally meet the warmth of her gaze.

“She’s a good one—a really good one, Mark.” The wolf hums, “Don’t let it be your fear that pushes her away.” She doesn’t give him a chance to reply further, pacing to a nearby corner to join a conversing Bang Chan and Yugyeom.

Sparing the wolf trio one final glance, Mark musters up the remaining courage he has left and pushes from his perch against the kitchen countertop. He forces himself to walk in your direction—each step releasing more butterflies into the confines of his stomach. Once he reaches you, close enough to touch your turned back, he almost chickens out, content with spending the rest of the night watching you like hawk, but the sound of Felix’s breathy voice locks him in place:

“—Channie-hyung and I have always wanted to go to Chicago… Is-Is it as windy as they say?”

“Even windier.” You say with a laugh. “I can’t tell you how many scarves I lost, and don’t get me started on how freaking cold the winters are.”

Felix laughs too, although it resonates as more of a wheeze than anything.

You shrug, “It’s a gorgeous city though—probably my most favorite place I’ve ever lived.”

“Then why did you leave? If you loved it so much?”

Mark’s interest piques when he notices how your figure grows tense at the young boy’s croak. He’s heard his fair share of stories of your heartfelt time in the Windy City, but he never quite figured out why you ultimately decided to move to Moon Dye Bay. You’ve always been reluctant to reveal certain details from your past, especially regarding your time in the foster system, but even then Mark has been able to pry the worst memories from your brain.

This subject, however, has been a brick wall.

“Because I couldn’t stay.” You finally answer, “It’s complicated, but something happened and basically I—”

“(Y/N)?”

He silently cusses as Felix interrupts your explanation, but his annoyance dissipates at the panicked expression etched along the teenager’s sweaty face.

“What is it, Felix?” You shift your position on his bedside to better face the boy, leaning forward to place a gentle hand on his forehead. Mark can only imagine how hot the skin is to the touch.

Felix’s words crack as they leave his lips, slicing at the witch’s heart like a dagger:

“Am… Am I gonna die?”

“Of course not.” You immediately say, but Mark can sense the uneasiness in your tone. “Everyone is doing everything they can to help you, okay?... You’re gonna get through this, and one day you and your brother are gonna go see Chicago yourselves and try not to get blown away into the next century.”

Felix sleepily chuckles, “Thanks, (Y/N).”

“You should get some sleep.” The moment the command leaves your lips, Felix is already closing his eyes and diving headfirst into dreamland. Not wanting to startle you, Mark waits a couple seconds—partly to give you time to regain your composure, and partly to give himself time to think of what to say. However, he doesn’t have much of a choice when you suddenly turn, growing aware of his presence. A frown overtakes your face, and he instantly regrets ever leaving his countertop.

“Did you need something?”

“No—yes, I mean—shit.” Mark buries a hand in his tresses to tug at his roots, attempting to juggle between putting together the right spoken words and reminding his body to breathe. “(Y/N), I—”

“If you came to apologize, I don’t want to hear it.” He helplessly watches as you rise from the bed before tossing your used rag on a nearby table. “I think you made yourself pretty clear back at my apartment.”

“I shouldn’t have said what I said—” Before you can storm away, Mark latches his fingers around your wrist. “—please. Just give me a chance to explain.”

Your shoulders rise and fall in a heavy sigh, but you make no move to tear away from his grip and he takes it as a chance to continue:

“After my mom died, I was so fucking angry…” Mark notices your surprised gaze when you lift your head, but he doesn’t meet your eyes. “I was angry at the world, at her, at myself… and when my magic began to show up, things got a whole lot worse.” He shakes his head, “I thought about just ending it—jump into the bay or maybe drink myself to death—but then I met…”

“Then you met Jackson.”

“He taught me how to deal with the anger—to use it as a tool, not a weapon.” His eyes begin to burn at the countless memories that reel through his mind. “It was because of him I learned how to control my powers, and I was able to bring the coven together—hell, he was the one who told them to nominate me as Regent, which right now, seemed like the worst fucking decision on the planet.”

Mark takes a moment to blink away his tears before taking a seat on an empty cot. He still can’t find it in himself to glance at your face, keeping his eyes trained to the wooden flooring.

“But when Jackson had an idea, there was no stopping him.” He chuckles sarcastically, “The bastard was as stubborn as a goddamn mule.”

“What happened to Jackson, Mark?” Your voice is both a sweet lullaby and a screeching siren against his ears. “How did he die? Really?”

“The initial plan was to infuse enough magic into Jackson’s werewolf form so his venom would be lethal to the Primes, or at the very least, to Jinyoung. It all went smoothly in the beginning, I was able to channel enough power to complete the transformation… but something went wrong—

“—Jackson was different when he shifted. He was ruthless… He didn’t want to just kill the Primes—he wanted to slaughter every vampire along with those who protect the secrets of their existence… no matter if they were witch, werewolf, human—they all deserved to die…

“The combination of his determination and the bloodlust drove him fucking mad… If Jaebeom hadn’t ripped out his heart, there’s telling what he would have done—who he would have killed…”

Mark leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, attempting to hide his shame beneath the curl of his bangs. “—Jaebeom may have dealt the final blow, but Jackson died because the dark magic I used turned him into a monster—he’s dead because of me…”

Silence encompasses the room like a vice grip to the throat. For a moment, Mark believes you left him, too disgusted and ashamed to even breathe the same air as him, but the entrance of your worn boots into his vision proves otherwise. The image is replaced by your face when you kneel in front of his broken figure, laying your hands over each bicep. He notices your touch is gentle, but not hesitant, and warm—always so warm.

“You can’t blame yourself for his death, Mark.” Mark doesn’t realize he’s crying until you wipe a tear from his cheek. “How could you have known what that spell would do? You couldn’t have—”

“Magic always comes with price—especially dark magic.” He whispers, unable to hold back more liquid sadness as it trails down his skin. “(Y/N), if I ever lost you the same way I lost Jackson, my mom, I—”

Mark’s voice cuts out into a sob, and once your arms wind around his form, he completely breaks, releasing every ounce of repressed sadness and despair and pain into the crook of your neck. He knows he’s selfish for melting into your embrace—for consuming your comfort like a demon expelled from the heavens—but he doesn’t care.

When you guide his eyes to meet your own, Mark can spot the glassiness of your own orbs in the artificial light—along with enough compassion and ardor to send another flood of tears down his face.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay?” You affirm, your tone unwavering and stern. “I’m here—and no matter how many times you fall, I’m gonna be here to pick you up…

“I’m here, Mark… Do you understand me?”

He nods with a sniffle, tightly squeezing your hands between his own.

“I’m sorry.”

You smile at his apology.

“I’m sorry too… for everything.”

“Just… No more secrets. For real, this time.”

“For real, this time.” Mark’s heart rate picks up when he suddenly notices how close his face is to yours. From this angle, he can count the constellations glistening within your eyes and map the delicate curves of your facial features. If he were to lean just an inch closer, just one tiny inch, his lips would be on your own—

“Sorry to interrupt, but we have an issue.” At Yugyeom’s statement, you and Mark immediately wrench away from one another, almost as if having been caught engaging in forbidden territory. Mark pretends he doesn’t miss the weight of your hands inside his own as he rises from the cot, making sure to put an appropriate amount of distance between his and your shoulders.

He clears his throat before humming, “What’s going on?”

“Chan wants to go and find Chaeyoung’s body.” Although Yugyeom’s face remains neutral, Mark can see the sadness lingering within his eyes at the mention of his fallen packmate. “He doesn’t remember exactly where she was, so him, Dahyun, and I are going to search the forest.”

You immediately shake your head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Sunrise isn’t for at least another hour, and we have no way of knowing Youngjae broke the curse yet.”

“I’m with (Y/N) on this one, Gyeom.” Mark agrees, “We’re safest here in the bunker.”

“We can’t just leave her out there. I mean, she—” Yugyeom cuts himself off with a heavy sigh, before continuing in a softer tone, “You know how it feels to lose someone, hyung… Chaeyoung is—was… our family.”

Mark takes a moment of silence to ponder, conflicted between his common sense and Yugyeom’s pleading gaze. As you said, sunrise is an hour away—but Youngjae, the coven and the Primes should have overthrown Minho by now, right? Plus, he literally blew Changbin’s head off with that shotgun. There’s no way his body could regenerate that quickly…

“We’re all staying together.” He finally says, moving toward the kitchenette to grab his weapon from its perch on the counter. “And if anything seems shady, it’s an immediate retreat.”

Yugyeom delivers a nod before heading off to gather the other wolves. Mark moves toward the bunker exit, but is stopped by your form. A heavy sigh cascades from his lips—just from your expression, he knows this conversation isn’t going to go his way.

“(Y/N)—”

“If you’re gonna tell me I can’t go with you, don’t even bother.”

He shakes his head, “It’s too dangerous…”

“If someone tells me that one more goddamn time—” He can’t help the tiny smile that spreads across his face at the sassy way you roll your eyes. And he doesn’t protest when you move to follow Dahyun up the ladder.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Youngjae inhales a deep breath, taking the moment to feel his lungs expand, before releasing the air in an even deeper exhale. Even with the relaxation attempt, his body remains tense and his thoughts disorderly. He can’t help but feel as if Minho is waiting somewhere in the darkness of the crypt, ready to pounce on him like a predator to its prey.

Would he toy with his catch first? Or would he skip the pleasantries and go right in for the kill?

A hand appears on his shoulder, wrenching Youngjae from his morbid daydream. He angles his head to meet Lia’s concerned gaze and immediately tries to mask his fear beneath an expression of indifference. Unsurprisingly, the female witch sees right through his facade:

“I’ve known you practically my whole life, Youngjae. Whatever it is, you can’t hide it from me.”

His shoulders sag in defeat as a sigh blows past his lips.

“I’m just… worried about Mark-hyung. He’s powerless out there.”

“Mark is smart—he’ll know what to do if he finds himself in trouble.”

“And if he doesn’t?... I-I mean, what if Minho or Changbin found him before he could warn the pack? He could be dead for all we know—”

Lia silences his desperate quip with a shake of her head, “You shouldn’t think like that right now—”

“What else am I supposed to do?” Youngjae runs a frustrated hand through his hair before gesturing toward the main exit of their underground penitentiary. “Even with yours and Jisung’s energy, I don’t have enough power to take down the barrier spell.”

“Help is on the way—”

“How do you know that for sure?”

Lia remains silent, simply continuing to stare at Youngjae. He feels almost uncomfortable beneath her gaze, resisting the urge to shrink back and become one with the shadows.

“I don’t know… but I have faith.” She murmurs after a brief moment. “We’ve lost a lot, but I still believe that we’ll all somehow manage to come out of this alive. You should try doing the same.”

With that, Lia leaves to speak with a dangerously quiet Jisung. Youngjae spares the pair a single glance before heading toward the crypt entryway. A single beam of moonlight illuminates the exit stairway, almost as if mocking him about his inability to escape the dingy prison.

Youngjae knows Lia is right—of course she’s right. Worrying about the possible pitfalls of this plan won’t help him, or Mark, or anyone. He can only pray that his mentor safely found his way out of the cemetery and is sending backup right this very moment.

He needs to have hope, if nothing else.

“What if we somehow lure Minho down here?” Youngjae’s thoughts quiet at Lia’s suggestion, angling his head to meet her gaze. “Technically Youngjae just needs to touch him to siphon his magic… so why don’t we bring him to us?”

“Minho-hyung won’t step past the barrier.” Jisung dissents, dragging his fingers through his already tousled hair. “He probably knows we’re planning something against him, so there’s no way he’ll believe whatever ruse we try to pull.”

“Then we have no choice. Youngjae, are you sure you can’t take down the spell?”

Youngjae sullenly shakes his head.

“Is there something else you can siphon? Maybe the crypt itself?”

“The crypt was built by humans.” He answers, “I can only draw power from the supernatural—”

“Then it’s a good thing my dear brother and I weren’t turned into superwolf bait.”

Youngjae, along with the other witches, nearly leaps a foot in the air at the sudden voice. He whirls around to face the stairwell, which to his surprise, is now occupied by the last person he ever expected to see:

Im Jaebeom.

Jisung chokes, scurrying backward into the shadows as the hybrid approaches the trio. After taking purchase against the doorway, he offers his signature sly smirk.

“Evening, Harry Potter and friends… Funny meeting you down here.”

“Now is not the time for games, hyung.” Youngjae breathes a sigh of relief as Jinyoung’s voice echoes throughout the stone walls. Seconds later, he comes hustling down the staircase before shoving Jaebeom out of the way. The vampire then peers into the crypt, his gaze burning with the determination of a man at war. “Is anyone hurt?”

“No. We’re okay.” Lia steps forward. “If you’re here, I’m guessing Mark reached the wolf pack?”

“Your guess is correct.” Jinyoung nods, placing a hand against the invisible doorway. “My brother and I will do everything we can to help disarm the rogue, but I think it’d be best to free you all first.”

Youngjae joins the conversation. “I can take down the barrier spell, but I’ll need to draw energy from one of you to do so.”

“Let’s do this quickly then.” Jinyoung goes to roll up the sleeve of his white shirt, but is halted by his immortal companion. Surprise filters through Youngjae’s veins as Jaebeom shrugs the leather jacket from his shoulders with a huff:

“With my luck, he’ll drain you dry and I’ll have to deal with this voodoo fucker myself. I think it’s best we use my energy—sorry not sorry.”

“Alright, then.” Youngjae hums, “I’ll need you to push through the barrier just enough that I can touch you… It’s gonna hurt. A lot.”

“Good thing I’m a sadomasochist.” Jaebeom snickers at his brother’s unamused expression, “Too much?”

“Move your hand through that goddamn barrier before I throw you to the superwolf myself.”

The hybrid rolls his eyes, but follows Jinyoung’s instructions and proceeds to force his limb past the invisible blockade. He remains silent, but Youngjae can spy the uncomfortable twitch of his eyebrow and the tension along his stone-cold features. Blood begins to bud along his knuckles like a patch of blooming roses before flowing down his pale skin the more he presses against the barrier.

The siphoner raises his hand in preparation. “Just a bit more.”

A mere couple seconds later, Youngjae feels Jaebeom’s bloody flesh brush against his own. The skin-to-skin contact is slight, but enough, allowing the hybrid’s energy to spread through his veins like wildfire. Youngjae almost cries in relief as the magic conquers his entire body—a new kind of hope sparking somewhere within his chest.

“Phasmatos Siprum… Emnis Abortum…” Youngjae murmurs, positioning both hands against the invisible wall. He feels it crumbling beneath his fingertips, unable to withstand the power flowing through his figure. “Fasila Quisa Exilum San… Fasila Quisa Exilum San…”

A proud grin stretches along his features as the barrier buckles, then completely shatters. With Lia and Jisung in tow, Youngjae beelines out of the crypt and into the stairwell where Jaebeom, who’s cleaning the crimson from his knuckles, and Jinyoung reside. The latter nods, which Youngjae is quick to return.

“‘Kay, they’re free… Now what?”

“Now we find Minho and end this once and for all.” Lia answers, not sparing the hybrid a glance as she dashes up the stairs. Youngjae and the rest of the group try to keep up with the female witch as best as they can, not faltering until they reach the surface. The cemetery is quiet when they emerge from the crypt, Youngjae notices—almost too quiet.

He takes a short moment to breathe in the fresh night air before turning to a tense Jinyoung, “I need to get close enough to siphon Minho’s magic to perform the counterspell. You think you and your brother can find me a way in?”

Jinyoung nods. “You can count on us.”

“Stay close…” Lia warns with a sigh, “I wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard already knows we’re free—”

Lightning suddenly strikes a mere few feet from where Lia is standing, earning a chorus of screams and surprised gasps from the witch trio. Youngjae watches as Jinyoung speeds forward, grabbing Lia just in time to avoid being burnt to a crisp by a second bolt. With Jisung at his side, Youngjae quickly takes shelter underneath the overhang of a nearby tomb as even more lightning bombards the earth. He surveys the area, searching for the perpetrator responsible for the weather abnormalities.

“Minho!...” Lia screeches from behind a large tree, her tone far less than friendly. “Quit being a fucking coward! Come out here and face us goddamnit!...”

Youngjae huddles closer to Jisung as the wind suddenly picks up, ripping at his hair and clothing like a vengeful spirit. He moves to speak to his younger companion, but his words die on his tongue as the subject of the hour waltzes into view. The heavy gusts don’t seem to affect him, though that’s no surprise since the wretched weather is his doing.

Minho smirks, “They say lightning never strikes one place twice… You must be really special then, Lia.”

“Oh fuck off! We’re tired of playing your stupid games!”

“This only ends one way, Minho—” Jinyoung says, cautiously moving from Lia’s side to approach the powerful witch. His steps, however, are halted by another vicious bolt of electricity. Youngjae attempts to make out Jaebeom’s form through the blurriness of his wind-induced tears, but the hybrid is nowhere to be found. “—so we can do it the easy way, or the hard way! The choice is yours!”

“Last I checked, this isn’t your fight, Prime.”

“It became my fight the moment you threatened my family and my friends!”

Minho snickers, “Trust me, I had every intention of ridding this town of you and your brother’s filth.”

“Was it also your intention to kill an innocent werewolf girl!?” Youngjae’s heart drops at the vampire’s following statement. “Son Chaeyoung is dead because of Changbin—because of you!”

“Every war has its casualties.”

“And what of Felix!? Will his death just be another trivial loss in your obsession for revenge!?”

This time, Youngjae notices the cockiness melt from Minho’s features into something akin to trepidation. The wailing of the wind picks up to a screech, nearly drowning out the dark-haired witch’s weak inquiry, “What are you talking about?”

“Felix was bitten… and is dying as we speak!” Jinyoung shakes his head frantically. “Do you believe he deserves this, Minho!? Do you believe Chaeyoung deserved to die!?... You can fix this—make this right!”

Minho remains silent, and for a moment, Youngjae wonders if the witch will actually come to his senses and call off this whole ordeal. But just as soon as it appeared, the pained look along his features transitions into something more sinister.

“We’re all gonna die someday, so what does it even fucking matter!?”

“Are you hearing yourself!?” Lia screams from behind a nearby tree, “Look what you’ve become, Minho! How would Nayeon see you right now!”

“Don’t bring her into this!” Minho’s hiss blends with the moans of the wind. Massive raindrops begin to pelt down against the earth, immediately soaking Youngjae to the bone. For the first time, he notices the dark witch’s position in relation to his own. Realistically, Youngjae can be at Minho’s side in mere milliseconds, before he has a chance to blink. If only he can get him to move a bit closer…

As if reading his thoughts, Jinyoung attempts to coax the witch another step forward.

“Please, Minho… I don’t wish to hurt you.”

The latter shakes his head with a chuckle. “It’s too fucking bad that you think you can.”

Minho raises his hand, harshly forcing the vampire down against the muddy earth. Youngjae watches in horror as Jinyoung’s limbs begin to contort and rearrange against his own will—the sound of cracking bones and the vampire’s pained groans filling his ears like a haunting melody. He forces his gaze away from the gruesome sight and prepares to advance on the dark witch, but Jisung stops him with a hand to his shoulder:

“Not yet, hyung.”

“But Jinyoung—”

“Trust me.” His eyes are wide with determination—Youngjae can’t remember a time he’s ever seen Jisung so fierce. “I have a plan. Wait here until my signal.”

Though filled with confusion, Youngjae does as the young witch requests and stays in place while Jisung himself carefully maneuvers his way through gravestones and buildings, attempting to remain out of sight. A sudden burst of lightning cracks through the atmosphere, and at first, Youngjae fears Jisung has been caught, but quickly realizes Minho has his sights set on another party:

“I was wondering when you’d join the fun—I looked forward to tearing your bitch-ass apart.”

“I would say I’m flattered, but I rather like my ass.” Jaebeom saunters across a nearby rooftop. In the midst of the storm, he almost reminds Youngjae of a superhero—or more likely in his case, the psychotic supervillain. “Look, you’ve had your fun, kid. Now I suggest you release my brother and cut out all this petty-teenage bullshit before I break your body in places you never thought possible.”

“That’s it?... And here I thought you’d want the antidote?”

Jaebeom’s face darkens.

“...So there is a cure?”

“Of course. Every spell has its loophole.” Minho finally lowers his hand, ceasing the painful reconstruction of Jinyoung’s skeleton. Youngjae watches in confusion as the former retracts something from his pocket—some sort of vial, it seems—and offers it toward the hybrid. “The blood which Changbin drank to turn—it’ll heal anyone fallen victim to his bite.”

“You better hand that over before I rip your teeth from your skull.” Jaebeom growls darkly, hopping down from his overhead perch.

The witch shakes his head, “Not so fast, Mr. Wolf… See, there was only so much left—enough to heal one lucky soul.”

“You’re a sick fucking bastard,” Jaebeom spits. “You wanted this to happen—”

“Your little bloodsucking girlfriend is dying, isn’t she?” Minho tosses the vial toward the hybrid, who effortlessly catches it between two trembling fingers. “If you want to save her life, then I suggest you go before the venom does its job.”

“Jaebeom-hyung, don’t—!” Jinyoung gasps, slithering across the muddy earth like an earthworm lost to the world.

“You know she doesn’t have much time—”

“We can’t do this without you—we need you!... I need you, hyung!”

Jaebeom, staring at the tiny container in his grasp, doesn’t reply to his incapacitated companion. Youngjae curses the smirk that spreads across Minho’s face—a sign of victory—and attempts to spot Jisung and Lia somewhere between the ferocious raindrops. He has no such luck, and instead decides to pray for a miracle instead.

“If you hadn’t fucked around with the few people I care about, I might have actually liked you.” Jaebeom murmurs with a sigh before tucking the vial into his pocket and sending the dark witch a malicious sneer. “Well isn’t that too fucking bad.”

Youngjae leaps almost ten feet in the air as lightning strikes for what seems like the millionth time, although this time, it’s inches from where Minho is standing. After searching the area, Youngjae discovers Lia and Jisung across the way, hands clasped, eyes bright with passion, uttering some sort of offensive charm. Minho attempts to sprint in the opposite direction, but Jaebeom easily tackles the witch before he can get far.

“Now Youngjae-hyung! Do it now!”

At Jisung’s cue, Youngjae takes off into the rain. The bitter feel of Mother Nature’s tears against his skin quickens his movements, wanting nothing more then to end this hurricane, both literally and figuratively, once and for all. He reaches Minho in what seems like hours and hurries to grab his wrist—but just like the tides during a storm, the tables quickly turn.

At the wave of Minho’s hand, Jaebeom goes flying across the cemetery, crashing into a stone statue and collapsing into the resulting rumble. White-hot pain spreads through Youngjae’s veins like a poison, freezing his muscles and immobilizing his limbs from any further movement. He collapses to the ground, where mud immediately clings to his clothing.

Minho rises to his feet before stepping on Youngjae’s hand with a cackle, “Don’t you fuckers get it!? I’m untouchable! You can’t fucking win!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Minho…” Youngjae chuckles, curling his fingers around the tread of the dark witch’s boot. Minho realizes his mistake as soon as the former’s hand begins to glow, foolishly attempting to squirm from his touch.

Thunder roars in the distance as Youngjae grins in triumph:

“Because unlike you… we’re not alone.”

The last thing Youngjae sees before he loses consciousness is a flash of white and the bewildered face of the dark witch as he collapses beside him.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I take it Mark apologized?...” You nearly leap out of your own skin at the sudden inquiry. With a less than agitated frown, you turn to acknowledge the culprit for your almost heart attack. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear some of these supernaturals have powers of teleportation or something…

“Goddamnit, Dahyun. Not all of us have superwolf hearing.”

“Sorry, dearie. Force of habit.” The she-wolf offers an apologetic smile, moving forward to hook her arm with your own. She allows Yugyeom, Chan and Mark to gain a bit of distance ahead before repeating again, “So Mark…?”

“We both talked it out and apologized… so everything’s okay now.” You hum—the tiny fib leaving a bitter taste in your mouth.

Truthfully, your encounter with Mark left you conflicted. Of course, you’re more than glad he finally opened up about his past, and even more glad that he trusts you enough to reveal his lingering feelings of trauma, but there’s still a pretty big fucking elephant in the room—one involving his dead best friend and the fact you can talk to him beyond the grave.

You should have told him then and there—right after you promised to abolish all secrets—but something inside you couldn’t do it… and you don’t know why.

“Why are you so interested in Mark and I’s relationship anyway?” You utilize your curiosity as a distraction from the guilt breathing down your neck, angling your neck to peer at Dahyun’s side profile. “Is there… history between you two?”

“No, no—nothing like that. Mark and I have just known each other since we were kids. Our moms were close friends, so Mark, Yugyeom and I pretty much grew up together.”

“He never told me that.”

“Don’t take it personal, sweetheart. Mark doesn’t like to talk about his past—” Dahyun sighs, “—too many bad memories between his dad and the bullshit that happened with his mom. He’ll come around eventually… he just needs more time.”

“I know his mom passed when he was a teenager, but Mark never actually mentioned how she died…” You bite your lip, sending a curious glance to your wolf companion. “It’s really not fair to ask you, but—”

“Mark found her in their own kitchen with her entire throat ripped open.” Dahyun’s blunt answer leaves your throat dry, unable to speak another word if you wanted to. “The sheriff ruled it as an animal attack, but I’m sure you’re smart enough to figure out what really happened.”

Your heart sinks, and you choose not to say anything further.

“Dahyun! (Y/N)! Don’t get too far behind!” Chan’s voice echoes from somewhere up ahead. With the black of night beginning to fade, you can just make out his, Yugyeom, and Mark’s silhouettes a couple dozen feet away. Dahyun gives your forearm a gentle squeeze before releasing your conjoined limbs to catch up with her packmates. You do the same, meeting an armed Mark about halfway.

His eyes glitter with concern underneath the fading starlight.

“Everything okay…?”

“Yeah, Dahyun and I were just catching up.” You inhale a deep breath before releasing it in an even heavier exhale. “But there is something I need to talk to you about—about Jackson and the whole resurrection thing.”

Mark shakes his head, “You have every right to make your own decisions, (Y/N), but I wish you and Youngjae would have come to me.”

“I know that, but it was more complicated than that—” You try to gather your thoughts while also attempting to make sense of your words. “I couldn’t tell you because, well—because Jackson told—”

“Mark-hyung! We’ve got an issue!” Yugyeom’s warning immediately cuts off your explanation. Mark shoots you an apologetic glance before hurrying the two of you forward to join the wolf trio. It only takes seconds for you to distinguish the cause of the beta’s distress.

A deer carcass lays precariously on the forest floor, and albeit it’s practically torn to shreds, you can just make out a single word carved into its bloody flesh:

Die.

“Shit—we need to go. Now.”

“We’ve already come this far. Chae should be around here somewhere.” Chan ignores Mark’s directive, stepping over the animal corpse to traverse further through the forest. He barely takes a step before the witch is grabbing his wrist. “Let me go, hyung.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“Don’t tell me what to—”

“Shut the fuck up. Both of you.” Dahyun quietly hisses, “Listen.”

You try to do as the she-wolf says, but all that meets your ears is the combination of your own labored breathing and uneven pulse. Judging by the confused expression along Mark’s face, he’s probably dealing with the same situation.

“What is it?”

“We’re being watched.” Yugyeom answers Mark’s inquiry in a whisper. “Mark, you and (Y/N) need to find somewhere to hide right now—Chan, Dubu, get ready to fight—”

As soon as the command leaves Yugyeom’s lips, Mark takes you by the arm and drags you behind a broad tree trunk. You fish Jinyoung’s pocket knife from your pocket while Mark cocks his shotgun in preparation. Who knew the day would come that you’d actually be grateful for the presence of two dangerous weapons…

“If anything goes wrong—you run like hell, got it?”

You shake your head at Mark’s demand. “I’m not just going to leave you—”

“Yugyeom! Above you!” At Chan’s warning, you’re suddenly shoved to the ground by the witch, watching in horror as a deranged Changbin descends from the treetops onto the beta himself. His skin is a sickly ashen shade, and his black veins so prominent it would make a nurse weep. There’s no human emotion left inside his dark eyes as he strikes Yugyeom over and over again with his lengthy sharp talons, tearing open his skin like a birthday present—he’s a complete animal.

“Bin, stop!” Chan throws his arms around Changbin’s shoulders in an attempt to pull him from Yugyeom, winding a tight arm around his throat before thrusting a knee against his spine. “Think about what you’re doing!”

With Dahyun’s assistance, the two wolves manage to separate the dark wolf from that of Yugyeom’s wounded self. Even so, Changbin clearly does not appreciate being stolen away from his prey. He easily escapes from Chan’s hold, landing a couple heavy hits against the latter’s nose before shoving him to the ground. Dahyun takes the moment to strike, bringing the dark wolf to kneel with a harsh kick to his knee, but the action does minimal damage. Changbin punts the she-wolf a dozen feet away as if she weighs nothing. You wince as Dahyun connects with a nearby tree trunk with a vocal thud before dropping to the ground with no movements of rejoining the fight.

“Shit…” You curse to yourself, “They won’t be able to take him down by themselves—he’s too fucking strong.”

“Watch your ears.” You notice Mark aiming his gun toward the dark wolf, waiting for an opportunity with his finger on the trigger. At his discretion, you cover your ears just in time for him to fire a first and second shot. A ferocious growl echoes through the trees, spreading goosebumps across your flesh like wildfire.

You watch both Chan and Yugyeom take advantage of Changbin’s distraction. The alpha delivers a swift, yet heavy hit against his wounded shoulder while the beta goes for his legs. Similar to Dahyun, they manage to pin Changbin to the forest floor. For a moment, you almost believe the fight has concluded in your team’s favor—but the tides shift. In the blink of an eye, Chan is impaled with a large jagged branch and sent tumbling into some foliage whereas Yugyeom is dealt punch after strike after kick, unable to escape the barrage of Changbin’s wrath. He eventually, like the former two, collapses to the earth and makes no move to rise.

Changbin cracks his neck before stalking toward where you and your companion stand.

“Mark—”

“I got it!” Mark quickly feeds another couple shells into the shotgun barrel, cocks the weapon, then aims down sight. He manages to sink a bullet into your target’s abdomen, followed by another in his bicep, but Changbin merely releases an annoyed snarl and continues charging forward.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—(Y/N), move!” You leap out of the way just in time to avoid a powerful strike. Changbin’s hand splinters the trunk of the tree, sending pieces of bark in every direction. A particular shard catches the bridge of your nose, causing blood to warmly cascade down your skin. You quickly wipe the liquid from your right eye, ignoring the nausea fluttering inside your gut, before focusing back on the situation at hand.

You look up in time to watch Mark swing his shotgun harshly against Changbin’s skull. Taking advantage of his disorientation, you rush forward to stab your pocket knife into the wolf’s back. Changbin practically roars in fury, angling backward to land a hit to your face before you have time to react. The force of his strike throws you to the ground, a sharp pain lingering in your left cheek.

“Don’t fucking touch her!” Mark throws himself against Changbin, delivering hit after hit to anything and anywhere. Still, Mark’s human strength does little to outbeat the dark wolf, and you watch in horror as Changbin effortlessly pins the witch against his chest with a bloody hand around his throat. You desperately search for something, anything, in hopes of saving Mark from whatever deadly fate awaits Changbin’s bloodlust, but fate doesn’t seem to be on your side.

“Changbin—please don’t do this!” You cry, praying to some type of deity that the wolf is sane enough to understand your words. Even so, your confidence is low, seeing as talking clearly had no effect during your last encounter, but you’re fresh out of options at this point. “You know this isn’t who you are!”

To your surprise, Changbin actually answers, “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Maybe not, but I know you don’t actually want to hurt anyone…” You cautiously rise to your feet with a shake of your head, wary of the tight hold Changbin currently has on Mark’s jugular. “Your thoughts are all sorts of fucked up right now because of the dark magic, so why don’t you just let Mark go and we can—”

“Don’t you fucking get it! This fucker—” He yanks at Mark with more force than necessary, “—took everything from me! He took my pack, my alpha—the only people I ever felt safe with!”

“I understand you—”

“No, you don’t!” Changbin wails, “You can’t even imagine how I feel! How fucking hard it is to wake up in a world you know you’ll never belong! How much it fucking hurts just to go on and pretend like everything’s normal when it’s fucking not!”

“Tell him it’s okay to feel angry—” You whirl your head around to find a seemingly exhausted, yet wild-eyed Jackson Wang at your side. “—but none of this was Mark’s fault.”

You’re mortified at first, having never encountered the ghost anywhere outside your bedroom—but whether it’s the desperation etched along his features, or the flush of purple that overtakes Mark’s complexion—you quickly transfer back to reality:

“Changbin, it’s perfectly normal to feel angry and cheated, but this wasn’t Mark’s fault—deep down, I think you know that.”

“What does it fucking matter anymore? I’m all alone anyways.” The pure agony etched along his face has your heart splitting in two.

You’ve never seen a creature so strong and so powerful look so… vulnerable.

“You said the exact same thing to me when we first met…” Jackson murmurs softly.

“You told Jackson you were alone at one point too…”

An obvious wave of tense silence washes through the forest, making the beat of your heart that much more prominent in your ears.

Changbin’s whisper is dark—dangerous. “How the fuck do you know that?”

“Because… Because he’s here, Changbin.” You say, your eyes meeting Mark’s as the words leave your tongue. “You’re not alone because Jackson is still here.”

You don’t know what kind of reaction you expected from your revelation, but it certainly is not the heinous laughter that spills from the dark wolf’s lips.

“You must have lost your goddamn mind… Jackson-hyung is dead!”

“Maybe physically, but his spirit still remains.”

“You mean—” You turn to discover a bewildered Yugyeom unsteadily leaning against a tree, “—his… ghost? You—You can see his ghost?”

You nod.

Changbin sneers with a low growl. “I don’t fucking believe you.”

“There’s a cliffside back along the bay about twenty miles from the lodge,” Jackson begins, his tone a blend of nostalgic and sorrowful. “Changbin and I used to go there to watch the full moon rise before we turned into our wolf forms… I-I’ve missed that so much…”

“You and Jackson would always watch the full moon rise on a cliff overlooking the bay before you transitioned,” You repeat. “He says he misses those moments with you…”

“Stop it!” Changbin frantically shakes his head, “You’re lying!”

“He’s here, Changbin… He’s really here.” You move forward again, more confidently this time, and raise your hands in a sympathetic gesture. “And the last thing he wants is for you to make the same mistakes he did, so please—let Mark go and let us help you…”

It’s as if time freezes for a moment. Changbin seems to fight a battle with himself—countless emotions rushing through his teary eyes. You watch the dark wolf glance toward an unconscious Dahyun and Chan, then to a silent Yugyeom, before finally setting his focus back to you. You can only pray your face reflects the hope swirling throughout your veins—pray that Changbin will do the right thing.

To your delight, the blackness of his veins gradually begin to fade and the sharp claws protruding from his fingertips recede. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until Changbin finally retracts his hold from Mark’s neck. You’re quick to take the unsteady witch in your own arms before sending the now normal wolf a thankful smile.

“Thank you, Changbin…”

He nods shyly before wiping a couple tears from his cheeks. You watch as Yugyeom cautiously makes his way toward the younger boy, murmurs something, then tugs the latter into a tight embrace that pulls even more liquid sadness from his eyes. The sight has your heart melting into a puddle of warmth—the emotion doesn’t last though, not when Mark’s dark croak enters your ears:

“You… can see Jackson…”

You shrug sheepishly, “I wanted to tell you, but he said not to… He didn’t want to hurt you anymore than he already had.”

Mark remains silent. You try to search for his features for some kind of anger or disappointment, but are only awarded with his surface level blank stare. Worry flooding through your veins, you look to Jackson for any possible guidance, but the ghost merely shakes his head.

After a couple tense seconds or so, Mark finally murmurs, “Jack… I—I’m so sorry. For everything.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Jackson says immediately, “If only I had listened to you, then maybe things would have played out different.”

“He says it wasn’t your fault—he should have listened to you.”

“We both made some pretty shitty mistakes.” Mark hums, “I miss you, man. So fucking much.”

You don’t wait for Jackson to reply, already knowing his answer.

“He misses you too, Mark. Just as much.”

“How is this even possible…?” You and Mark turn to find the shocked gaze of Yugyeom, who is closely followed by the despair of that belonging to Changbin. “Supernaturals can’t even see spirits, much less mortals…”

“We never exactly figured that out. Jackson said he felt drawn to me from the Other Side—he kind of just showed up in my bedroom the night after Mina and Momo died.”

“Any contact with the dead usually requires some sort of spell or medium.” Mark bites his lip in confusion. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, not even in any of my mother’s grimoires—”

“Jackson!” Your body grows rigid as Jackson suddenly collapses to the ground with a pained groan. You hurry forward, kneeling next to the man, and reach for his shoulder. The realization of his phantom existence hits you like a bag of bricks when your fingers phase through his form. You settle for calling his name again instead, “Jackson—what’s wrong?”

“What the hell is going on?” You hear Changbin stress from somewhere behind you, but your focus is completely on the ghost in question.

Jackson lifts his head with a gasp, revealing a line of blood dripping from his nose. “I-It’s the witches!... They know about our plans—they’re trying to force me back to the Other Side—”

“(Y/N)?”

You shake your head feverishly, “It’s, uh, it’s the witches on the Other Side—they don’t like Jackson crossing over, so they’re trying to bring him back…”

Mark nods. “Witches, dead or alive, will do anything to maintain the balance of nature.”

“(Y/N)—shit—I don’t have a lot of time—” Your chest tightens at the urgency behind Jackson’s words. “I know so much just went down, but—”

“Don’t worry, Jack. I won’t let you disappear again.” You affirm before climbing to your feet to face your new subject of interest. “Mark—I need you to perform the resurrection spell.”

“Woah, wait—” Mark shakes his head, “(Y/N), I can’ t—”

“If we don’t resurrect him now, then Jackson is gone forever!” Your warning spreads a new tension across the atmosphere, manifesting in the form of sullen and panicked expressions. “Please, Mark—we have a chance to bring him back!”

“I can’t do the spell because I don’t have any magic…” Your heart sinks at Mark’s revelation. “Minho absorbed all my magical energy back at the graveyard… I’m so sorry, Jackson…”

“Hold on, you told me that there’s different types of magic…” You push, “Can’t you draw energy from something? Like the forest, or the moon, or, or—”

“Or me.” You turn, discovering the speaker of the response to be none other than a determined Changbin. “Minho-hyung’s spell may be gone, but I can still feel the magical energy lingering through my body.”

Mark hesitates, “I-I don’t know if it will work… and if something goes wrong—”

“Do you want Jackson-hyung back or not?...”

A moment of silence passes after Changbin’s question. You keep an eye on a repeatedly wincing Jackson, and the other on the witch’s face, attempting to decipher his thoughts inside the glow of his gaze. For a moment, you wonder if Mark will even provide an answer, until the words finally leave his lips:

“Fuck the balance of nature. I’ll bring you back, Jackson—I promise.”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jinyoung stares at the sun as it gradually rises past the horizon, bathing his skin in a warm, celebratory light. His gaze wavers across the cemetery to the notorious mausoleum, where he watches Lia and Jisung carefully assist a barely conscious Youngjae past the doorway. After this crazy night, the siphoner definitely deserves a good, long rest. Then again, so does everyone else.

He releases a heavy sigh before shifting away from the witch trio. After sparing one final glance to the sunrise, Jinyoung allows his feet to carry him through the early morning glow, past countless tombstones and other structures, and settles beside a second figure in front of a particular burial site. He silently reads the engravings along the headstone before addressing his companion without so much as a glimpse:

“I assumed you would be halfway back to the bunker by now.”

Jaebeom doesn’t respond, not that Jinyoung really expects him to. He peers at the hybrid through the corner of his eye, attempting to seek meaning beyond his blank features. Centuries later, Jinyoung still can’t predict the workings of Jaebeom’s inner thoughts. Especially when it comes to the situation at hand.

“Mark called. Changbin is no longer affected by Minho’s spell.” He explains, “They’re also preparing a ritual to resurrect Jackson Wang—”

“Tzuyu…?”

Jinyoung’s chest tightens as the name falls from Jaebeom’s lips.

“Their youngest, Ryujin, is looking after both her and Felix.”

“So she’s still alive…?”

“It seems so.”

A brief moment of silence passes between the pair. The earth grows brighter and brighter as the seconds roll by, reminding Jinyoung that time is a friend to no one.

“Hyung, did you… truly switch off your humanity?”

“I did, at first.” Jaebeom’s answer is quiet, and Jinyoung can detect the subtle hint of vulnerability hidden beneath his gruff tone. “But I guess I can never completely turn it off.”

“It’s alright to feel, hyung—be it anger… or passion… or fear…”

Jinyoung notices Jaebeom shift uncomfortably before glancing down at the glass vial in the palm of his hand. For once, he can actually distinguish the emotions present within the hybrid’s dark eyes. The knowledge only jabs at his heart.

“Everything is taken care of, right?”

“The night has ended, and Minho is safely sealed away in the crypt.” Jinyoung nods, “We live to see another day.”

He watches his companion tuck the precious vial into the pocket of his jeans before turning away from the headstone. Jinyoung is not sure where the urge comes from, but he abandons his perch, grabbing Jaebeom’s shoulder before he can leave the cemetery. He ignores the hybrid’s confused expression and pulls him into a tight embrace.

“Thank you for staying, hyung…” Jinyoung’s murmur is slightly muffled against the fabric of his jacket, but he knows his companion heard them loud and clear.

Jaebeom hesitates for a moment, clearly taken aback by the sudden act, but eventually winds his arms loosely around Jinyoung’s back with a gentle murmur of his own:

“You will always be my family, Jinyoung… Always and forever…”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“I’ve never used magic like this before, so I can’t promise this will work.” Mark glances to where he assumes Jackson’s spirit is located inside the white circle makeshifted out of a bag of flour Dahyun managed to find in a bunker cabinet, before glancing to the companion at his side. “You sure you’re up for this? It’ll feel like I’m literally sucking the life force out of your body…”

Changbin nods, “If it means bringing Jackson-hyung back.”

“Okay, then.” Mark turns to the surrounding crowd next, “In order to do this, I’ll need to lower the veil to the Other Side. This will create a temporary door that Jackson can pass through to physically enter our realm. Once he crosses over, he should become mortal again.”

“Seems easy enough.” Dahyun snickers, although the sound is dry and forced. “Anything else we need to know?”

“Whatever happens, do not enter the circle.” His eyes drift from the she-wolf to your silent form. As if sensing the scrutiny, your gaze connects with his own, and knowing he has your attention, Mark continues in a darker tone, “Just as spirits can pass into our realm, we can cross to the Other Side… so for the love of god, don’t do anything stupid.”

Your and Mark’s staring contest ceases when your head snapes toward the circle. Seconds later, you break the tense silence with a soft murmur, “Jackson says it’s getting worse. He can feel the witches trying to drag him back.”

“Then I guess that’s our cue.” He sighs before nodding toward the circle one last time, “I’m gonna do my best, Jack. Just hold on.”

With one final glance to the grimoire you gave him earlier, Mark inhales a deep breath and takes Changbin’s outstretched hand into his own. He closes his eyes, focusing every part of his brain on the electrifying sensation of the magical energy coursing through the wolf’s body. Bit by bit, he feels Changbin’s power bleeding into his own veins, awakening the slumbering supernatural nature of his soul. Once he’s sure enough he’s acquired enough magic, Mark opens his eyes and begins the incantation:

“Vita mortem, mortem vita est… Partis inferioris velum, partis inferioris ante illum vetum…” Almost instantly, the wind picks up while the air grows uncomfortably cold. He ignores the violent shivers wracking through his limbs and proceeds to repeat the words as the temperature continues to drop. With each spoken syllable, Mark’s head becomes dizzy and his flesh feels as if it’s being scorched off, but he continues.

No amount of pain could ever dull the hope of seeing his best friend alive once more.

“Holy shit—it’s actually working!”

Mark doesn’t realize he had shut his eyes until he opens them, nearly yelping in delight when he discovers the image of said friend standing in the center of the white circle. Jackson looks no different than the day he last saw him, and he can’t decide if he wants to laugh out of irony or burst into tears.

“The veil is down! I’m gonna start the spell to cross you over!” Mark yells over the howling of the wind, clutching Changbin’s hand tighter as he transitions to the next phase of the spell. “Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet ohnaz eespalit… Ohto eestanay as vazat esvet—fuck!”

A brutal force comes down against his head, almost resembling that of a punch, before spreading hot fire down his neck and to the rest of his body. Mark doubles over with a wheeze, attempting to fight against the painful sensations by grounding himself in Changbin’s touch. However, as soon as the first wave concludes, a second, even more excruciating one follows. He feels as if someone is trying to crush his brain—to kill him from the inside out.

“Mark-hyung! What’s wrong!?”

“It’s the witches!...” Mark is thankful that Jackson answers Yugyeom’s panicked inquiry, “They’re trying to break the spell!”

“Like… hell they will…” Mark hisses, righting himself with a pained groan before grabbing Changbin’s other hand. “I’m not going down without a fight—hold on!...”

He jumps back into the spell, weakening the manipulated pain through the absorption of more of the wolf’s energy. Borderline high off the power, he pushes everything he has into the ritual, determined to see it through to the end. After a minute that passes like a decade, Mark detects a shift in the atmosphere, indicating the near completion of the spell, and shouts:

“Jackson—get out of the circle! Get out now!”

As if in slow motion, Mark watches Jackson quickly move to escape the white border. But just as soon as his toe brushes the edge, he is wrenched away and lifted from the ground.

Dahyun cries, “What the hell is happening!?”

“They won’t let me cross over!” Jackson squirms and writhes, attempting to escape whatever invisible grip is holding him hostage. His efforts are futile, and he continues to rise higher and higher off of the ground.

“Hang on, Jack!” Mark releases Changbin’s hands and raises his own palms in Jackson’s direction. However, the same torturous pain from before returns once more, hitting his nerves like a sledgehammer to a brick wall, and throws him to the earth. “Shit—no! H-He has to pass through the circle!”

“(Y/N)! Don’t!”

Mark raises his gaze at Dahyun’s shriek, only to watch in horror as you rush past the flour boundary and grab hold of Jackson’s hand. A blinding light immediately erupts from your clasped palms, expanding through the area until all Mark can see is white.

After a long moment, his vision eventually returns, and he finds the forest completely silent. The temperature is no longer frigid, he notices, and the strain within his brain is gone. For a moment, Mark is filled with prowess, victorious at the fact he successfully carried out an ancient resurrection ritual, however, his triumph is temporary, especially when he notices your form laid motionless in Dahyun’s arms.

“(Y/N)—fuck!” Mark hurries to where you lay, stealing your figure from the she-wolf to cradle you in his own hold. “Shit, shit, shit—she’s not breathing! Fucking goddamnit!”

His panic only grows tenfold when he hears the murmur cascade from Dahyun’s lips:

“Mark… where’s Jackson?”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Jaebeom scales the final rung of the ladder before making his way toward the corner where the snoozing trio resides. He moves cautiously, mindful not to awaken the young werewolf caretaker, yet eventually finds himself perched on the edge of a familiar cot. His heart thunders inside his chest, and he cannot tell if it’s out of anxiety or hope. Though at this moment, Jaebeom can really care less to find out.

“It’s about time you showed up…” He winces at the broken husk of his companion’s voice, attempting to keep his expression as neutral as possible. “I thought you were actually going to leave me to die in the hands of a neurotic teenage wolf…”

Jaebeom doesn’t respond to her quip—he can’t find it in himself to do so.

Tzuyu raises an eyebrow, “What’s with the face? Did you take down the witch or not?”

“We did.” He hums, “The spell is broken.”

“Good thing—” The vampire pauses to cough, and the sound is like broken glass against his ears. “—you and your brother are safe for the eternity to come.”

“Tzuyu… I found the cure.”

“What are you waiting for then? My consent?” She snickers playfully, “We fuck for over a century and this is the most gentlemanly behavior I’ve ever seen from you, Beomie.”

Again, Jaebeom remains silent.

Recognizing the obvious tension in the room, Tzuyu’s face falls. “But… I guess it’s more complicated than that, hm?”

“There’s only enough for…” He’s unable to finish his sentence, not when his companion’s eyes are gazing at him with such sullenness and sympathy. Jaebeom has to look away for a moment, though the action does little to relieve the tightness of his chest.

“Ah, I see.” Tzuyu hums, glancing across the way to a slumbering Felix. Her pale lips twitch, as if attempting to upturn to a smile, but it instead appears as a weak grimace. “You know, I really never meant to hurt (Y/N)… or you.”

“Tzuyu—”

“I’ve known you for decades… but I’ve never seen you look at someone the way you look at her.” Another violent cough wracks through her body, expelling a mass of dark blood past her lips. Jaebeom is quick to wipe the splotch from her skin with the blanket, trying not to dwell on the fact that her skin is ice cold. “I’ll admit, I was jealous at first… I’ve always wanted someone to look at me like that…

“I know you’re afraid to care—to love, Jaebeom.” Tzuyu murmurs sadly, lifting a hand to rest against the hybrid’s cheek. “Especially someone like (Y/N)… and you’re right to. She’s too good… too human.

“One misstep and you could lose her forever.”

“I want to be selfish…” Jaebeom whispers, “I want to be selfish so fucking bad—”

“But you can’t be, Beom. Not with her.”

“Then let me be selfish with you.”

Tzuyu smiles.

“I’ve lived over three lifetimes, and he is barely a ways into his one—so you’re going to give the cure to that damn kid, Im Jaebeom.” He leans further into her touch as she caresses the apple of his cheek. “Promise me that you’ll stay away from her—to keep her safe?”

He nods.

“Good… Can you hold me for a moment? I’m cold.”

“I’ll hold you as long as you want me to.”

And so Jaebeom takes Tzuyu into his arms. However, it’s not until the vampire grows still does he allow a single tear to cascade from his eye, staining the bloodied bed sheets with the agony of a heart that has been broken too many times to count.

58 notes · View notes

alexandrinav0605 · 3 years

Text

Talking to Strangers

Multi-Chapter 1/? LINK TO AO3

Penny Parker knew many things, one of them being that the foster system was shit. She also knew her social worker was stupid and useless doing her job, but nobody care, right?

After losing all her family and ending in foster care, Penny founds herself on mandatory group therapy, with some unusual companions. ----- TW: Mentions of rape (not graphic), Violence (not graphic, but mentions of the way of murder), Child Abuse.

English is not my first language, therefore, I'm not from US and I do not know how the foster system works, as well as group therapy.

-----

Penny didn’t know why she was there. Actually, she knew, but she didn’t understand it. When her social worker told her that group therapy would be needed, Penny thought she was joking. In which way talking about how shitty her life was to a group of strangers would help her? To be honest talking didn’t do anything, but this wasn’t really for her. Apparently, the government was forced to take care of all the children on the system that have been harmed because of their incompetence, not only physically but mentally. As it turns out there are many children that were harmed. The people in charge were surprised, I wasn’t. Most people fostering kids only do it for the money, and it was rare if they treated their foster kid correctly. Out of the 5 houses she had been, Penny was treated decently in only one and it was the bare minimum. Of course, there wasn’t money, they never had, so group therapy was cheaper, unhelpful, but cheaper, and that was all they care about.

She didn’t care, neither private therapy nor group therapy helped, talking in general didn’t help. No one understand what she was feeling. Her twin, Peter, did, but he was on her backpack, just ashes inside a cheap container. That was another thing of the many that existed in which Penny and her social worker disagree, her twin brother´s ashes being with her all the time. In reality Penny knew it wasn’t healthy, that she should let go and that her brother wasn’t really there, but it was hard. She was there when their foster father throw Peter to the wall, hitting Peter’s head. The noise alerted their neighbors, and they called the police, but it was late, Peter was already dead. She was placed in another home, with a man called Skip. That was something she could be glad about, Peter never had to live with that monster. Healthy or not, a year later she was still grieving, after all she was only 15 and she wasn’t in the mood to be order around by the person that had placed them in that house to begin with. It wasn’t like her life had to many healthy things anyway.

Entering the building, she wished she could run and pretend like she had attended, but she remembered the look of her social worker and her little warning that they will write who had attended. She wasn’t in the mood to endure a lecture, so she decided to go and ignore everything and everyone, how hard can it be?

As it turns out, very difficult. When she found the room where her group was supposed to be, the last people she hoped to find was the freaking Avengers. Everyone started at her while she made her way to the center of the room, and she felt uncomfortable. A part of her was jumping because she was in the same room as Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, that have always been her and Peter’s favorite scientist, but that was just in the inside, because that was the little part of her innocent that had managed to survive everything life had thrown at her.

What was worse was the man that turn out to be their mediator. The man in particular was someone she already knew and not a friendly one. He annoy her mainly because he liked to tell her who she should see the bright side. Well guess what asshole there is no good side.

“Hi, I’m Tyler and I will be your mediator while you are in this therapy program.” If glares could kill the man would be dead, but that didn’t stop him of talking. “So, as you may see we have a group that know each other and a person that doesn’t know anyone, personally of course.” He smiled at his bad joke and Penny just made an annoyed sound that got everyone’s attention. “Basic information we will see each other every Wednesday at the same hour in this same classroom. If you are wondering why of all things you are in the company of the Avengers,” He directed this to Penny. “We are required a minimum of 10 people per group and as you can see the Avengers are only 9, so using the resent stipulation of the government regarding the foster system, we thought it would be great to allow a child to meet the Avengers He looked around probably hoping for a reaction; the Avengers were indifferent, and Penny was straight up annoyed.

He made a long pause waiting for someone to say something, he was about to continue when Penny talked.

“Don’t you think that is dumb to make a child met the Avengers when they are talking about their problems and when said child is talking about his own problems not to mention how disrespectful it is for them to do so” Her tone was indifferent and bore, but her eyes reflected every emotion, anger being the main one, this man really annoyed her.

The Avengers and Tyler look at her surprised, and a little irritated in Tyler’s case. By now Tyler was used to her replications, so he just ignored it.

“I thought it may be nice to present yourselves and say why we are here before we do any other dynamic, Penny, why don’t you begin?” He looked around and began explaining why he knew her name. “Penny and I know each other from my days at the foster system.”

“I have many reasons why I don’t want to present myself the main want is that I think is kind of incoherent to begin with me, also unfair because it will lead to an unbalance position of information with me having less information about them as they already know each other, now I’m not saying I should go last because then it would be unfair for them” She smile at the end trying to appear innocent.

Tony Stork look amused as well as Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes. Captain Rogers has an annoyed expression on his face that probably had to do with the fact that he was a soldier who always followed orders, and her clear disdain for authority unnerve him. She didn’t care, she stopped caring a time ago.

Deciding against confrontation, Tyler asks for voluntaries. Being the leader he thinks he is, Captain Rogers offer to go first. The presentation was brief, he said his name and something about wanting to get over his dead ex-girlfriend and form a bond with his team. He was followed by Bucky Barens with something about HYDRA, and a certain Sam Wilson being a guilt survivor. Wanda Maximoff was something like a guilt and anger survivor, although Penny didn’t know if that even existed, if it did Wanda Maximoff was definitely one of them.

Natasha Romanoff was probably as reserved if not more than Penny was, the only thing Penny could gather was that that woman had a past even more dark that hers. Bruce Banner definitely had problems with his other self. Then it was Penny´s turn.

“I’m Penny Parker, I’m 15 years old” How much she hated this. “And I’m here because the people in charge rather put money in their pockets instead of helping me solve the problem their shitty system cause in the first place” When she finish, she look at Tyler, daring him to say something to her.

“Penelope,” Damn complete name. “Not here, please.” Tyler was definitely trying to do anything to keep appearances.

“Then where? At least here I have a public that can see how much bullshit the foster system is.” Penny was getting really tired of his hypocrisy now.

Tyler send her a look and Penny couldn’t feel worse. She knew how delicate her situation was right now, one misstep and she will be sent to a special group house for mentally unstable people, and she didn’t want that. People always called her smart, so using that so called intelligence she shut her mouth.

The session continued with Tony Stark and his enormous guilt complex hide by a god complex, followed by Thor and all his death family. Finally, there was Clint Barton, who said that he wanted to fix the relationship with his team members, but he couldn’t hide anything for Penny, he wanted to be here as much as Penny wanted, most of them look miserably, not that Penny blame them.

“Alright, now that we know each other,” Penny didn’t know how Tyler could be so infuriating. “I want to make a dynamic that consist of saying what would you do if you could do anything you want.” He stroll his gaze around the room. “Now, we do have one rule that is: It needs to be something realistic, many of you are trying to deal with grief, so I don’t want things like bringing back your love ones.”

As Penny didn’t know who to keep her mouth close, she speak: “How about killing Tyler?” Seeing his alarming expression, along with the Avengers was amusing, but she added “Don’t worry Tyler I’m not talking about you.”

“We cannot wish for someone’s death” His warning look didn’t stop her.

“Boohoo, I wanted to give Mr. Preachy a taste of his own medicine” As always, her voice revealed nothing besides amusement and sarcasm, but her eyes gave everything someone needed to know she was serious.

Tyler was definitely tired of her antics. Penny couldn’t care less. He let it go and began with someone else; Penny didn’t pay attention, too concentrated in returning the looks that Natasha Romanoff was sending her. When it was Romanoff’s turn, she broke the staring contest to answer. Finally, it was Penny’s turn, although she wanted nothing more than to say murder Skip or Mr. and Mrs. Preachy, she went for something more normal.

“I want to go back to London” Everyone stared at her, surprise written all over their faces. “Not the famous London, but the outskirt, where there are all the neighborhoods.” She wasn’t kidding; she misses London, since she put a foot in this place. “Also, their foster system is much better.” She couldn’t stop being the little shit she is, right?

“Well, I was hoping something less materialistic, so tell me, why London?” Because she wanted to, ass. She was about to say that, but decided against it, be smart.

“It isn’t materialistic, Tyler.” Sarcasm was definitely a copping mechanism. “If you had bother to look at my file, you would know that I’m from London, if it wasn’t obvious enough by my accent” And it was true, although she hadn’t been in London for 10 years, she still had a British accent. Peter die with his accent as well, she wondered if she will ever loss it.

Tyler mumbled a quiet thanks, and after some words Penny didn’t listen, he gave them permission to leave. Gathering her things, Penny waited for everyone to leave before she leave herself. Outside the building she heard some words.

“I just don’t understand why she has to be so rude, the guy did nothing wrong. And what was that thing of wishing to kill someone about, what was his name?” Penny recognized the voice from the videos of detention.

“Mr. Preachy.” That was Natasha Romanoff.

“Leave the kid alone, capsicle, you don’t know what happened between them.” Penny thought that at least an Avenger had a little bit of brain.

She cleared her throat, making jump everyone, except Black Widow, who blinked. Penny began her show to teach something to Captain I Know Everything.

“Oh, how lucky I catch the Avengers, my brother is a fan of yours” She tried to sound amiable and she succeed.

Rogers talk first, clearly knowing she had heard him. “Well, we can sigh something for your brother if you want” Captain certainly was trying, bad for him.

“Actually, he is right here” Penny tuck out the container that guarded her brother’s ages, please to see the alarming looks in the Avengers. “Poor thing didn’t know what hit him. Well, he knew, a wall and Mr. Preachy’s fist” She pause looking directly in the eyes at Steve Rogers, waiting for him to say something, but all she got was a small Oh.

Turning to Dr. Banner she began talking. “Dr. Banner is a pleasure to meet you. My brother and I were always fans of your paper about Gamma radiation, we read ai when we were 10. “Dr. Banner seemed surprised. “Really? I’m happy you like it.”

Penny giggle a little, putting her brother back in her backpack. “Pleasure to meet you” She look at Captain Rogers. “Most of you.” With that she turned around hearing a sound like hitting someone and a low Auch.

#spider man #peter parker #penny parker #female peter parker #Iron Man #tony stark #marvel #MCU #foster care #foster system #group therapy #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes #foster kids #child abuse #thor #sam wilson

4 notes · View notes

caelpictor · 4 years

Text

✊🏽 🌈 😷

Hello hello hello! Happy Pride, and a very happy Juneteenth to you all! For those of you who don’t know, Juneteenth is a holiday that commemorates the day the final group of enslaved people was freed in Texas in 1865 (which was two years after the Emancipation Proclamation was signed… but that’s beside the point). So I recently took about a month-long unplanned break from social media, because, as I’ve said before, I’ve been REALLY low energy these past few weeks, what with everything that’s been going on in the world. I am at the intersection of multiple marginalized groups, and that knowledge can be very heavy sometimes. But I wanted to make a post today in my own words, because I realized my staying silent doesn’t help me or anyone I care about; it only helps maintain the status quo. So now I’m here to check in with all of you and to put my thoughts and feelings on the record.

First of all, I’ve been doing a lot of drawing and writing and bingewatching and bingeplaying video games since quarantine started, and I’m having a great time with that! But I’ve also been staying up-to-date on the news, as any good person should, and what I’m seeing isn’t so good. More and more Black people, including children and the often overlooked women and trans folk, are being murdered every day. Speaking of trans folk, their basic human rights are being taken away before our very eyes. Brown immigrants continue to be abused by our government. Indigenous people continue to have their bodies, lands, and cultures violated. People who riot and loot are being condemned in the name of “respectability politics,” despite the fact that they’ve been systemically disenfranchised all their lives, and their anger is justified. People who oppose fascism are being dubbed terrorists. The pandemic isn’t getting any better, but people are acting like it’s over. Political leaders and celebrities who claim to be on our side are taking performative action that does nothing to foster actual progress. And that’s just in the United States! There are more crises going on in countries around the world than I can even think to name.

So right now I’m doing what I can to stay safe and sane and help out in whatever small ways I‘m able to. That means continuing to practice social distancing while also signing petitions, spreading information, supporting my fellow Black and Brown and LGBT+ artists/businesses/individuals, elevating our voices, and donating wherever I can. But Juneteenth is about education, and I’ve also been doing some reading. I have two really great books to recommend to you, if you haven’t read them already:

The first one is called The End of Policing, and it’s by Alex Vitale; it basically breaks down that phrase that seems to scare and confuse a lot of people: “Defund the police.” Vitale talks about how policing as an institution is ineffective at its best and harmful at its worst, how attempts at reforming the institution are also ineffective, how policing permeates every area of our society, including schools and politics and several other places where it doesn’t belong, and about the criminalization of homelessness, sex work, drugs, gangs, immigration, and more. The End of Policing is available as an ebook for free right here, for your convenience!

The second book is by the great political activist Angela Davis, and it’s called Are Prisons Obsolete? Like Vitale, Davis questions and critiques an institution which is often said to be in need of reform when it actually, she argues, needs to be done away with entirely. She talks about how the current system incorrectly values punishment and vengeance over reform and rehabilitation, how people of color are vastly overrepresented in the penal system, how the system treats people of color, women, the disabled, the mentally ill, the poor, and LGBT+ folk differently from well-off cishet white men, and how prisons have become an industrial complex that serves capitalistic desires over human needs. This one is also available for free, as a pdf right here, for your convenience!

Both authors discuss controversial, interconnected topics through thorough research, write in clear, concise, and fact-driven language, dive deep into the history of policing and prisons in America and around the world (including their shared origins in slave-catching), and finally offer alternatives, which are detailed, doable, and proven effective by precedent, such as decriminalization of certain acts and substances, and reallocation of bloated funds to areas that more effectively address crime at its source (as crime doesn’t happen in a vacuum, and mostly occurs as a direct result of people’s needs not being met!). I highly recommend these if you’re interested in reading. If not, there are lots of videos and infographics and articles that discuss these topics in much shorter, simpler ways, and a quick Google search will lead you in the right direction. 😉

In conclusion, coronavirus is alive and well, and so is racism. I urge my friends and followers not to be quiet about the injustices we have been facing every day for centuries, all over the world, and not to let the attention and momentum shift away from our movement. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you are or where you are. Keep wearing masks and socially distancing. Keep educating yourselves and each other. Keep protesting and contacting officials and donating and signing petitions. Keep supporting Black and Brown and Queer artists and businesses and individuals. Keep elevating our voices. Use your voice to call for an end to white supremacy, the patriarchy, and transphobia. Be careful with spreading images of violence (as they can be disturbing and disrespectful), as well as protestors’ faces (as they can be used to identify and track people down).

On a more personal level, respect and value the lives of people who look different from you. We don’t exist for you. We exist for ourselves. We are complete human beings, and we will not be broken down into parts for your easy consumption. And sure, voting is important, but direct action has proven to be much more effective at causing immediate change. I understand if you need a mental health break. As I said at the beginning, I needed a mental health break. But please do so quietly, safely, and respectfully, and don’t make this about you. I see some of you are still out here fighting the good fight daily, and I thank you for it. But I can’t begin to express how troubling it is to watch other people go about their lives as if all these crazy things aren’t happening. Remember, no voice is too small to be used as a platform of positive change! I realized that includes me. Now you need to realize that includes you!

Lastly: Black Lives STILL Matter, Black WOMEN’S Lives Matter, Black TRANS Lives Matter, Black DISABLED Lives Matter, Black MENTAL HEALTH Matters. Defund The Police. Abolish ICE. No One Is Illegal On Stolen Land. Eat The Rich. Pride Is A Protest. Be An Ally. We’re In This Together.

And once again, happy Juneteenth.

P.S: My book recs are free, and Google is free, but as my friend Javon so perfectly put it, “my emotional labor and racial education will only be free when I wish them to be.” So if you want to debate me on any of these topics, OR if you want me to do more research for you, I would be happy to accept payment via Venmo (@KyleBryant), PayPal (kylemb13), CashApp ($KyleMarcusBryant), et cetera! (I’m also accepting drawing/painting commissions, reparation payments, and general donations! Yes, I’m dead serious!)

✊🏽🌈😷

10 notes · View notes

bamby0304 · 5 years

Text

The Hart III- Secrets

Chapter Twelve- Or Treat

Series Masterlist

Summary: Three months… Dean was gone for three months and now he’s back. He’s back and he truly has no idea how much things have changed. Life moved on while Dean was in Hell, and now things are complicated. With new faces and troubles right around the corner, will the trio find a way to come back together? Or has all hope been lost?

Warnings: Angst. Violence.

Bamby

EPOV

"Excuse me?" I spoke up for the first time, looking to each angel. "So, what? Just because of this seal, this thing you might not be able to deal with in time... you decided to kill off everyone in the town?"

"We're out of time. This witch has to die, the seal must be saved," Castiel told us simply, as if that justified their plan, justified everything they've ever done.

"There are a thousand people here," Sam argued.

"One thousand, two hundred, fourteen," Uriel corrected, but the number seemed to have no effect on him what so ever.

Looking over at him, Sam frowned, confused- and if I wasn't mistaken... disappointed. "And you're willing to kill them all?"

"This isn't the first time I've… purified a city," Uriel told him matter-of-factly.

"Look, I understand this is regrettable," Castiel started, only to be cut off sharply by Dean.

"Regrettable?"

"We have to hold the line. Too many seals have broken already."

"So, you screw the pooch on some seals and this town has to pay the price?"

"It's the lives of one thousand against the lives of six billion," Castiel countered, not seeing how this might upset us. "There's a bigger picture here."

Dean shook his head, looking to both angels. "Right, cause you're 'bigger picture' kind of guys."

Castiel took a step closer to Dean, a sense of power radiating off him as he spoke. "Lucifer cannot rise. He does and hell rises with him. Is that something that you're willing to risk?"

The thing is, it didn't matter what Castiel, Uriel or any angel did or said. Sam, Dean and I... we cared about everyone. Including the one thousand two hundred and fourteen people in this town at this very moment. Their lives were worth just as much as anyone else's.

"We'll stop this witch before she summons anyone. Your seal won't be broken and no one has to die," Sam assured them, trying to convince them that their plan was not the only way to go.

Patience running on long, Uriel turned to Castiel. "We're wasting time with these mud monkeys."

"I'm sorry, but we have our orders," Castiel noted... though I couldn't help but noticed the fact that he'd directed the words to Uriel, and not to us...

Sam shook his head, still adamant about saving the town and its people. "No, you can't do this, you're angels, I mean aren't you supposed to- You're supposed to show mercy."

Uriel scoffed. "Says who?"

"We have no choice," Castiel added. It occurred to me then that he might not want to do this, he just had to. It was his job to do what he was told and not ask questions. He was a solider, not a saviour.

"Of course you have a choice." Dean didn't seem to see what I could. He just saw two emotionless angels who didn't care what happened to any of us humans. "I mean, come on, what? You've never questioned a crap order, huh? What are you both, just a couple of hammers?"

"Look, even if you can't understand it, have faith. The plan is just."

"How can you even say that?" Sam asked him.

"Because it comes from heaven, that makes it just."

"Oh, it must be nice, to be so sure of yourselves." The look Dean gave Castiel as he spoke, it was on the edge of pure hate and anger. He did not like the angels.

Stepping up at Dean once more, Castiel surprised me with what he said next, "Tell me something, Dean, when your father gave you an order, didn't you obey?"

It took a moment before Dean answered. He stood there, looking at Castiel, trying not to react as he thought it all over. When he finally did speak, there was no changing his mind, "Well sorry boys, looks like the plans have changed."

"You think you can stop us?" Uriel looked both amused and annoyed. As if we were children trying to do things on our own, but messing everything up as we went along.

Dean turned to the other angel, standing his ground. "No." He stepped over to Uriel. "But if you're gonna smite this whole town, then you're gonna have to smite us with it, because we are not leaving. See, you went to the trouble of busting me out of hell. I figure I'm worth something to the man upstairs. So you wanna waste me, go ahead, see how he digs that."

"I will drag you out of here myself," Uriel warned.

"Yeah, but you'll have to kill me, then we're back to the same problem. I mean, come on, you're gonna wipe out a whole town for one little witch. Sounds to me like you're compensating for something." Dean turned back to Castiel. "We can do this. We will find that witch and we will stop the summoning."

Standing there, looking at Dean, Castiel thought it over. That in itself was a big feat

"Castiel! I will not let these-"

Before Uriel could finish, Castiel raised his hand to cut him off. "Enough!" he ordered, stilling looking to Dean. "I suggest you move quickly," was all he had to say.

...

As we left the hotel room- both Uriel and Castiel now gone- Sam, Dean and I walked over to Baby... the hood now covered in smashed eggs.

I shook my head, stepping up to the hood. "You've got to be kidding me."

Sam didn't even stop, simply moved to the passenger seat and got in. But Dean? He was clearly pissed, and I had a feeling the angels weren't helping the situation. The fact it was his baby that had been hit was the worst of it. He loved this car more than anything, it was practically the brothers' home.

Looking around for the culprit, Dean yelled, "Astronaut!"

Sighing, I walked over to rest a hand on his arm in the hopes of calming him a little. "Come on. We don't have much time left, and we need to find this witch."

Taking a deep breath, he gave a short nod and followed me as we got into the car- him in the front and me in the middle of the back seat. Once we were in, he turned to Sam who was looking down at the hex bag that had been meant for us. I couldn't help but noticed the fact the younger Winchester seemed a little upset.

"What?" Dean asked him.

Sam shook his head. "Nothing." He took a breath, smiling lightly even though we all knew he wasn't amused. "I thought they'd be different."

Dean looked at him confused. "Who, the angels?"

"Yeah," Sam answered simply.

It had been the first time Sam had met the angels, but Dean and I had encountered Castiel on more than one occasion now. Each time I met the angel he was as emotionless and robot like as every other time. There was nothing there. Like he was a perfectly made machine that did as it was told and felt nothing. All he saw was the mission. All he thought about was how to please the people- or beings- above him. There was nothing there. Just a soldier ready to be put to work.

I can understand why Sam might be disappointed. I remembered the case we were on a few years back, when we thought we were dealing with an angel when it had really been the spirit of a priest who had been killed and was trying the write the wrongs of his community. Sam had confessed that he prayed, and that he wanted to believe. That he did believe.

As some stage, I had too. Growing up, after my father had died, my mum had turned to religion. She'd practically dived head first into it. Church and prayers were cemented into my upbringing, and there was honestly nothing wrong with that. It didn't do me any harm.

But at some point in my life, I think I just gave up. In believing in the good. Now that I'd met some angels, I didn't regret my decision. Sure, they might be real. But were they good?

"Well, I tried to tell ya," Dean noted. He had tried to tell Sam. But his brother had been hopeful that he was wrong.

"I just..." shaking his head, Sam looked down at the hex bag in his hand, "I mean, I thought they'd be righteous."

"Well," Dean shrugged, "they are righteous. I mean, that's kinda the problem." When Sam looked to him, he explained what he meant, "Of course there's nothing more dangerous than some a-hole who thinks he's on a holy mission."

"But, I mean, this is God? And Heaven? This is what I've been praying to?" Sam sounded utterly disappointed.

"Look man, I know you're into the whole God thing, you know, Jesus on a tortilla and stuff like that. But just because there's a couple of bad apples doesn't mean the whole barrel's rotten. I mean, for all we know, God hates these jerks. Don't give up on this stuff, is all I'm saying. Babe Ruth was a dick but baseball's still a beautiful game."

I reached over and gave Dean a pat on the shoulder. "Such beautiful words."

Dean rolled his eyes, starting the ignition. "Shut up," he mumbled.

Sam chuckled lightly, looking back down at the hex bag to open it up and fiddle with the bone that had sat inside it and was now between his two fingers.

Putting the car in reverse, Dean turned to his brother for a moment. "Well, are you gonna figure out a way to find this witch, or are you just gonna sit there fingering your bone?"

"You know how much heat it would take to char a bone like this, Dean?"

"No."

Something in me clicked at Sam's question. It was like I'd just figured something out, but I just didn't know what that was exactly.

Frowning, I leaned closer to grab the bone from Sam to get a better look. "No oven could do this. The heat would have to be extreme."

"Exactly." Sam nodded.

Dean looked between the two of us. "Okay, Betty Crocker one and two, so what does that mean?"

Sam grabbed the bone from me again as he turned to his brother once more. "It means we make a stop."

DPOV

Back at the high school and in the art room, I walked over to one of the kilns while Liz and Sam headed over to Don's desk. The two seemed to have an idea of what the hell was going on, while I was still wondering why we were here exactly.

"So, Tracy used the kiln to char the bone, what's the big deal?" I asked, looking inside the kiln before moving over to join them at the desk.

The two of them while rifling through the desk drawers, but it was Sam who answered. "Dean, that hex bag turned up in our room, not after we talked to Tracy-"

I cut him off, nodding now that I understood. "After we talked to the teacher."

"Hey." Sam gestured to a locked drawer.

"I got it." Liz only had to look at the lock before it unlocked.

She's getting stronger...

Opening the drawer, Sam paused the moment we all looked down at the bowl of bones sitting there. One of them were charred while the others weren't, but they were all small. Just like the ones from the hex bags.

"My God." Sam stood up. "Those are all from children."

I sighed, looking down at them. "And I'm guessing he's not saving them for the dog."

EPOV

Dean, Sam and I lifted our guns and shot at Don right before he had the chance to stab Tracy. We'd found the two in Don's basement. He was chanting an incantation while Tracy struggled against the binds around the wrist as they kept her on her feet and unable to escape. The gag on her mouth had stopped her from calling out for help. Luckily, we'd made it in time to keep Don from finishing the ritual, and killing her.

I guess we were wrong... Tracy isn't the witch. I thought as I put my gun away.

Dean- his gun now away as well- moved to cut the rope tied around her wrists, setting her free. Sam checked Don to make sure he really was dead, while I moved over to take a look at the ritual table. I didn't touch anything- I wasn't sure what it might do- I simple looked.

Tracy ripped the gag off. "Thank you, he was gonna kill me! Ugh, that sick son of a bitch." She looked down at Don. "I mean, did you see what he was doing? Did you hear him? How sloppy his incantation was?" I froze, turning to her. "My brother-"

Dean, Sam and I all reacted at once. The brothers moving for their guns while I went to throw Tracy across the room.

Unfortunately, she was powerful. With a few quick witchy words and a wave of her hand, she had the brothers flying back and hitting the ground hard. This was all done in the mere seconds it took before I had her shoved to the ground as well.

Looking up at me, stunned, a small smirk played on her lips as she pulled herself back to her feet. "Well, look what we have here."

She must have seen that I was about to do something else to her, because before I could actually do it, I found myself been thrown to the floor by the brothers, face down, the strength of the hold keeping me there almost enough to crush my spine.

The brother's struggled and groaned, both of them watching me with worried and protective eyes.

DPOV

Sam and I couldn't move. Well, we could barely move. We could wriggle and struggle, but that was it. But we both wanted to move. Not only to kill this witch, but to help Liz. I knew she still had a lot of fight in her, but with the hold Tracy had on her... there was nothing Liz could do at this stage. She was as helpless and stuck as both Sam and I.

"Silly girl." Tracy shook her head, looking down at Liz as if she was simply annoying. Sighing, she turned to Don. "Now, you." She glared at his body. "He was gonna make me the final sacrifice," she told us. "His idea. But now, that honour goes to him. Our master's return? The spell-work's a two-man job you understand, so for six hundred years I had to deal with that pompous son of a bitch.

"Planning, preparing, unbearable." She knelt down, grabbing the chalice and knife he'd dropped, while Sam and I continued to groan in pain as she held up down. "The whole time I wanted to rip his face off." Digging into the bullet wound in Don's chest so the blood would pour into the chalice, she chuckled lightly. "And you get him with a gun, uh, love that." Standing, she moved over to the altar table. "You know, back in the day, this was the one day you kept your children inside. Well tonight you'll all see what Halloween really is."

She began to chant something in what I guessed was Latin, but my attention wasn't on her. Instead I watched as Sam fought against her hold enough so that he could reach his hand over to the blood pooling under Don, and then wipe the blood on his face.

"What are you doing?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"Just follow my lead," Sam muttered as he reached over to Liz and spread the blood on her face- seeing that the hold on her was stronger and she couldn't reach the blood.

Taking a deep breath, I did as Sam suggested and reached for the blood as well, rubbing it on my face so it was covered just like his and Liz's.

Just then, Tracy finished the incantation.

The ground began to shake and crack as thick black smoke emerged for the damaged concrete. It flew into the air and then dived into Don's mouth as if knowing exactly where it belonged.

As Don- who I guess was now Samhain- rose, I noticed that Sam and Liz had closed their eyes as if they were playing dead. Once again, I followed Sam's lead, hoping that this plan of his was actually gone to keep us alive.

There was a moment before Tracy spoke. "My love."

"You've aged." Don's voice had changed slightly, now that Samhain had taken over his body. It was deeper. Darker.

"This face… I can't fool you."

"Your beauty is beyond time." Once again, there was a silence before I heard the indistinctive sound of something snapping and then a body dropping to the floor. In that instant, the hold on me broke. Samhain had just killed Tracy. "Whore."

Listening, I waited into I heard him go up the stairs and close the door behind him before I opened my eyes to check that he really was gone. Once I was sure he was gone, and wouldn't be back, I reached over to check Liz.

"You okay?" I asked her as I helped sit her up.

Groaning, she rubbed at her head which had hit the ground pretty hard. "Fine."

Looking over at Sam as he moved to sit as well, I asked, "What the hell was that?"

"Halloween lore. People used to wear masks to hide from him." He shrugged. "So I gave it a shot."

"You gave it a shot?!"

EPOV

Dean was being his usual over protective self as we walked to Baby. He was right beside me, a gentle hand on my back as if he thought I was going to fall unconscious right then and there. Sure, I'd hit the ground a lot harder than then, and sure Tracy's hold on my had been stronger than her hold on them. But I was fine...

Just in case, I pulled out my pills and took two, hoping they would help.

"Where the hell are we gonna find this mook?" Dean asked Sam as his hand that wasn't pressed to my back used a rug to clean the blood off his face.

Sam had a rag of his own to clean the blood of his face as he responded. "Where would you go to raise other dark forces of the night?"

"The cemetery," Dean answered as we reached the car. He opened the door for me and made sure I was in before he got into his own seat and started the engine, driving down the street as fast as he could while still being safe so he wouldn't hit any trick-or-treaters.

SPOV

"So, this demon's pretty powerful," I noted as Dean continued down the road and towards the cemetery.

He gave a short now. "Yeah."

"Might take more than the usual weapons." I glanced over at him, wondering if he understood what I was hinting at... he did.

"Sam, no, you're not using your psychic whatever. Don't even think about it. Ruby's knife is enough."

"Why?"

"Well because the angels said so for one-"

I cut him off, "I thought you said they were a bunch of fanatics."

"Well they happen to be right about this one," he argued, sounding like a complete hypocrite.

"Dean," Lizzie sighed from the back seat. "Sam may have a point. If things get bad... we might need-"

"No," Dean cut her off sharply as he turned to me. "You said yourself, these powers, it's like playing with fire." Reaching into his jacket, he pulled out the demon knife. "Please."

Without a word, I took the knife, knowing there was no way I could change his mind.

DPOV

We heard the screams and what sounded like a metal door rattling, before we'd even entered the crypt. Rushing down the stairs, we found a bunch of teenaged kids dressed up for Halloween, completely freaked and locked on the other side of some locked metal doors.

As we reached the bottom stair, Sam turned to me. "Help them."

I could see it in his eyes, he was going to go find Samhain. "Dude, you're not going off alone."

But there was nothing I could do to stop him. "Do it!" he yelled before he ran off.

I watched him for a moment until Liz pulled my attention back to the kids as they continued to freak out.

"Dean! Come on!"

Hating the fact that my brother was on his own, dealing with one of the strongest demons we'd ever come across, I took a deep breath and turned my attention to the task at hand knowing it was the right thing to do.

"Stand back!" I warned, pulling out my gun. "Stand back!" The kids did as I said, allowing me to shoot at the locks.

The moment the doors flung open, Liz ushered the kids out, making sure they got to safety as I entered the space they were in, seeing the graves in the walls shake as the fronts of them dropped off, opening them.

Liz rushed back in, only to come to a halt as a zombie crawled out of one of the graves. Suddenly a grave on the other side of the room cracked and crumbled, opening up for another zombie to crawl out.

"Dean..."

Dropping my bag on the ground, I looked over at my shoulder to Liz for the briefest moment. "Back to back."

Nodding, she came over to stand behind me, reaching into my bag to pull out two silver stakes quickly. Once she handed one to me, we both turned to a wall each, getting ready as a few more zombies crawled out.

I tightened my grip on the stake. "Bring it on, stinky."

SPOV

I was deeper in the crypt now, looking for Samhain. I was sure Dean and Lizzie had everything sorted back there. I knew they didn't need me right now, not when there were more pressing things to deal with. Like the demon bring Hell to this town.

Walking down the corridor a little more, I found him tucked away in a room, facing the far wall. I tried sneaking up to him, but he suddenly turned around, lifting his hand to shoot me with the same bright white light Lilith tried on Lizzie and I.

Now in the room, I came to a stop. "Yeah, that demon ray gun stuff? It doesn't work on me."

Pissed, Samhain ran towards me. Before he could do anything, I managed to get the upper hand by making the first move by punching his right in the face. That's all it took before a fight broke out, the two of us throwing hits at each other... until he managed to push me to the wall and wrap his hand around my throat.

EPOV

Dean and I had managed to take down a few zombies now. But right when we thought we could take a breather, a ghost showed up... and boy was she strong. She'd managed to throw both of us across the room before we'd barely had a chance to register her presence. Then, she was gone again.

"Zombie-ghost orgy huh? Well, that's it, I'm torching everybody," Dean muttered as he got to his feet.

But see, the fact ghosts were showing up now told me one thing. Samhain was still alive. That was not good. That meant Sam hadn't dealt with him yet. It wasn't that I didn't have faith in him, but I was beginning to worry.

"You take care of these guys. I'm gonna go help Sam." Without giving Dean the chance to argue or stop me, I rushed out of the room.

SPOV

I'd managed to pull the demon knife out of my jacket. As I went to stab him though, Samhain blocked me with his arm. The blade was pretty close to touching his skin, which then glowed as if sensing the danger.

Snarling, Samhain shoved at my arm roughly, in order to knock the weapon from my grasp. I was now helpless.

There was still some hope, but the chances of me getting out of this on my own, without my powers... with those chances were pretty much non-existent now. I knew Dean and the angels didn't want me to use them, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and seeing as there was no other way for me to get out of this...

"Sam!"

Lizzie caught both Samhain and I off guard as she lifted her hand and tossed him away from me.

I fell back to my feet, taking a deep breath, taking a small moment to recover as Lizzie came to stand beside me. The second I stood straight again and saw Samhain standing in the corner a few feet from us, ready to attack, I knew what I had to do. Not only to save the town, but to save myself and Lizzie.

Lifting my hand, I began to concentrate on him, on pulling the demon out of the body.

He resisted. He struggled and fought, and actually started to slowly and eventually move towards us, still desperately wanting to rip both Lizzie and I apart. Try as I might, I couldn't seem to hold him back and draw him out.

My head began to feel like it was ready to explode. I felt the familiar dripping of blood coming out of my nose as I struggled and fought as best as I could to destroy this demon.

That's when I felt her hand slide into mine.

In that moment, I hadn't had the chance to be surprised or grateful, but for a second I was both, seeing Lizzie raise her own hand as she helped me pull Samhain from Don's body.

It still took a moment, seeing as he was strong and this was the first time she'd done this- that i knew of at least. But sure enough, we managed to pull him out of the vessel, before we finished the job and sent him straight back to hell.

The moment the smoke disappeared into the ground, and we relax, Lizzie goes slack beside me, almost falling to the ground in a pile. I reacted quickly, wrapping an arm around her to make sure she stayed on her feet.

She'd been about to say something when she froze, her eyes on her left, focussing on the entrance to the room... right where Dean stood watching us.

...

After dealing with Samhain last night, none of us had said a single word. None of us even looked at each other. We'd simply come back to the hotel. I guess it had all been too much, because Lizzie had left early this morning. While Dean had been out at a bar or something, and I'd been in the bathroom, she'd packed her things and left... without writing a note this time.

Dean had asked where she was, clearly worried about her even after what he'd watched both her and I do. But I had no answer, and she wasn't responding to any of our calls or messages. I was actually beginning to wonder if she'd come back this time...

Standing by my bed, I packed up my things, ready to get out of here. There was tension between Dean and me, but not enough to change things. The job was done and it was time for us to move on to the next.

"Tomorrow."

I jumped at the sound of a voice. Turning around, I found Uriel sitting on the couch.

"November second, it's an anniversary for you, right?"

"What are you doing here?"

Instead of answering my question, he went on. "It's the day Azazel killed your mother, and twenty-two years later your girlfriend too. It must be difficult to bear, yet you so brazenly use the power he gave you. His profane blood pumping through your veins."

"Excuse me?"

"You were told not to use your abilities."

"And what was I supposed to do? That demon would have killed me, and Lizzie, and my brother and everyone."

"You were told not to."

"If Samhain had gotten loose in this town-"

He cut me off, clearly not caring what I had to say, "You've been warned. Twice now."

"If Lizzie and I-"

"Let me make one thing clear. You were told not to use your powers. Next time we while make you. And that whore you and your brother cart around, she means nothing to us. So, I suggest she stop using her abilities as well. Or you'll both suffer the consequences."

I shook my head at him, wanting nothing more than to hurt him after what he'd just called Lizzie. "You know… my brother was right about you. You are dicks."

Looking to me again, he got up and was suddenly right in front of me. "The only reason you're still alive, Sam Winchester, is because you've been useful. But the moment that ceases to be true, the second you become more trouble than you're worth, one word. One, and I will turn you to dust." Backing off, he went on, "As for your brother, tell him that maybe he should climb off that high horse of his. Ask Dean what he remembers from hell."

Just as quickly as he'd appeared in front of me, he was gone with the sound of heavy wings fluttering behind him. I was left on my own again, left to think about what he'd just told me and what it meant.

DPOV

I sat on a park bench, looking out at some kids and their parents as they played on the swings and ran around. I didn't even have to look over to know Castiel was sitting next to me. I'd heard his wings. I knew he was there.

"Let me guess you're here for the 'I told you so'?" I asked, though had a feeling I knew the answer.

"No."

Or maybe I didn't have the answer. "Well, good, cause I'm really not that interested."

"I am not here to judge you, Dean."

"Then why are you here?"

"Our orders-"

I cut him off, not really in the mood to hear this speech for the millionth time. "Yeah, you know, I've had about enough of these orders of yours-"

It was his turn to cut me off. "Our orders were not to stop the summoning of Samhain, they were to do whatever you told us to do."

I frowned, confused. "Your orders were to follow my orders?"

"It was a test, to see how you would perform under... battlefield conditions, you might say."

"It was a witch, not the Tet Offensive," I noted. "So I, uh, failed your test, huh? I get it. But you know what? If you would have waved that magic time-traveling wand of yours and we had to do it all over again, I'd make the same call. 'Cause see, I don't know what's gonna happen when these seals are broken. Hell, I don't even know what's gonna happen tomorrow. But what I do know is, that this, here?" I gestured around us. "These kids, the swings, the trees, all of it is still here because of Liz, my brother and me."

"You misunderstand me, Dean, I'm not like you think. I was praying that you would choose to save the town."

That was a surprise. "You were?"

"These people," he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, "they're all my father's creations. They're works of art, and yet, even though you stopped Samhain, the seal was broken and we are one step closer to hell on earth, for all creation. Now that's not an expression, Dean, it's literal. You of all people should appreciate what that means."

He was right. I did appreciate what that meant. Which is why I'd wanted to save this people last night. Saving the world was great, sure, but not if the wrong choices had been made along the way. If I listened to the angels last night, then I'd deserve to be sent back to hell.

Speaking up again, Castiel pulled my attention to him. "Can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?"

"Okay."

"I'm not a... hammer as you say. I have questions. I... I have doubts." He sighed. "I don't know what is right and what is wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here. But in the coming months you will have more decisions to make. I don't envy the weight that's on your shoulders, Dean. I truly don't."

We shared a look for a moment and I could see he meant it. Turning away, I wondered what that might mean for me. What it might mean for Sam and Liz... for everyone else. But before I could ask, I looked over to see he was gone, and once again, I was alone.

Bamby

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester x oc #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fic #elizabeth rose hart #the hart #the hart iii: secrets

29 notes · View notes

lady-thor-foster · 7 years

Text

Run To You // Sam Wilson x Reader P3

Pairing: Sam Wilson x POC Reader Word Count: 2k+ Warning: fluff, language, angst, abuse mentions, violence (justice) , FEELINGS

Summary: Andrew finally gets what he deserves. Steve makes a mistake. Healing from psychological trauma is always a lot easier said than done, but your newfound family makes sure you know you’re not alone.

A/N: Holy hell! You guys are absolutely fantastic with your feedback! I can’t believe you like this so much! This is probably going to end up have way more than 4 parts lmao. I cannae be stopped.

Inspiration: “In Repair” ~ John Mayer

“Too many corners in my mind, So much to do to set my heart right. Oh, it’s taking so long, I could be wrong, I could be ready. Oh, but if I take my heart’s advice, I should assume it’s still unsteady. I am in repair…I’m not together but I’m getting there…”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER // NEXT CHAPTER

Andrew got the surprise of his life when two Avengers showed up at his front door. He’d never felt so lucky or terrified.

“Can I help you gentlemen?”

“We’re here for [Y/N]’s things,” Bucky all but snarled. Andrew dropped his façade immediately.

“Is she fucking both of you too? You should probably get yourselves checked she’s always been a who—.” Andrew didn’t have a chance to finish his vile sentence before Bucky sucker punched him square in the jaw. Stumbling backwards in shock, Andrew balled up his fists to retaliate but the murderous glint in not just Bucky’s eyes made him reconsider.

“What the hell was that for, you fucking psycho?!” he screamed. Bucky moved to punch him again but Steve stepped in, grabbing the appalling man by the throat and slamming him into the wall.

“Listen here and listen well, asshole,” Steve hissed, “You’re not to ever call [Y/N] or any other woman that word again. In fact, you’re not allowed to even breath in [Y/N]’s general fucking direction. If she gets so much as a papercut in your vicinity I will hunt you down and put you in the ground myself. I won’t even need a metal arm to do it. Is that clear?” Andrew didn’t even have the dignity to keep from wetting himself out of fear. Steve released the atrocious man with disgust.

“Where are [Y/N]’s belongings?” Bucky demanded. Andrew pointed to a pile of three messily packed boxes next to the front door. Steve and Bucky grabbed them hastily, not wanting to stand in the same room as this cowardly reject of man any longer than necessary. On the way out the door, Bucky turned around and leveled Andrew with his gaze.

“You better pray I don’t ever hear your name again or I’ll find you and show you exactly how HYDRA turned me into the Winter Soldier.” Andrew’s eyes widened in absolute terror as he wet himself even further; Bucky rolled his eyes in revulsion and stalked out of the house. Absolutely pathetic, he thought to himself.

You woke up exceptionally warm. Your face was smushed into a familiar broad chest which made breathing just a tad difficult. Sam had always been a full body snuggler and last night was no exception.

“Oof, Sammy!” you whined into his chest while simultaneously trying to separate your limbs from his.

“Wha-What?” Sam mumbled, still half asleep, “[Y/N], what’s wrong?” Your determined movements pulled him into consciousness.

“I can’t breathe!” you complained.

“Oh shit. Sorry, Tink,” he laughed. Rolling your eyes, you rubbed feeling back into your aching limbs. You’d never get used to just how heavy he was.

This was the first time Sam had woken up next to you in his own room. He always loved how adorable you looked with sleep mussed hair and a cranky disposition. You disappeared into the bathroom. Despite everything that transpired yesterday, last night was the best night’s sleep he could ever remember having. A plume of hope flared in his chest at the idea of being able to wake up next to you for the rest of his life. He shook that thought from his head immediately; you weren’t his. You were never his.

You still couldn’t bring yourself to meet your reflection. Seeing your hands clearly for the first time terrified the hell out of you. You turned your back on the mirror; some things you just weren’t ready for yet. Peeling off your shirt, you forced yourself to look at the finger shaped bruised that angrily decorated your harms. Anger boiled inside of you. How dare he?! How dare he think himself so mighty that you were a plaything for him to toss around? Looking down at your protruding ribs, your anger melted into shame. How dare you allow yourself to become this way just to please someone else? Hot tears spilled from your eyes as you wrenched your shirt back on. How would anyone be able to love you now?

A soft knock came at the door. Sam groaned inwardly; he had hoped he’d get you all to himself just for a little while longer. Apparently life had other plans. Pushing himself to leave the warmth and comfort of his bed, he stalked grumpily to answer the door. It was a a bit of a shock to find Natasha and Wanda standing on the other side.

“Uh…hey... What’s up?” Natasha revealed a small bundle of clothing, she’d been concealing behind her back. Wanda held up hair supplies. Sam couldn’t help but grin at them, one of these days he’d finally be used to the never ending kindness of his teammates.

“Is she here?” Natasha whispered gently. Sam nodded and stepped backwards, allowing the women to enter his room. You heard faint voices and poked your head out of the bathroom in curiosity.

“Hey, Tink?” Sam called. Rolling your eyes, you stepped back into the room. Gesturing to the unfamiliar women, Sam introduced you.

“Nat, Wanda, this is [Y/N]. Or as I like to call her: TinkerBell.”

“Saaaaaam,” you whined, “you know how much I hate that nickname.”

“I can’t help it; you’re as cute as a Disney fairy.” You rolled your eyes and stuck out your tongue; you would never admit it but you actually really loved it when Sam called you that. It was something sweet shared just between the two of you. Both Wanda and Natasha snorted at the two of you. Suddenly you remembered your manners.

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry! It’s really lovely to meet the both of you! I promise I’m not usually this rude. Life has a way of demanding my full attention 10 minutes after I wake up,” you babbled.

Natasha waved your apologies away, “It’s perfectly okay. You should see Bucky or Barton in the morning. They’re real assholes before coffee.” You giggled.

“You laugh but she’s being completely serious, Tink. I’d face a thousand Chitauri armies before I faced Barton or Barnes without coffee in the morning,” Sam said.

“So,” Wanda interjected, “Nat and I thought you might be in dire need of some fresh clothes and maybe a hairbrush or two?”

Their sudden kindness stunned the hell out of you. Truth be told, you weren’t sure how the other Avengers would take to your presence on the Compound, especially after they found out what you’d been through. You’d never tell Sam, but you were absolutely terrified that Earth’s Mightiest Heroes would turn you away to deal with your own problems. Your self-worth had dwindled so much that you wouldn’t have even blamed them if they did. You were overwhelmed with their unprecedented compassion that you couldn’t help but burst into tears. That wasn’t the reaction anyone was expecting.

“Hey, hey sweetheart, please don’t cry,” Wanda rushed to you, doing her best to soothe you with her soft words. Natasha and Sam were close behind. Wanda wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with her touch so used her powers to send feelings of calm to you. The pain of your broken psyche was so severe that her gentle attempt to soothe you had no effect. Her eyes widened in shock; there’s only been one other person whose pain was so horrific that Wanda’s first attempts to soothe them failed. Bucky.

The exquisitely mammoth pain you carried around was enough to nearly bring Wanda to her knees. She was impressed you even had the strength to still stand upright. Wanda was no stranger to pain herself; she understood the mask you wore. She didn’t need her powers to see through you were now and who you had the capacity to be. The two of you had just met but Wanda already loved you. You were hers now; no one else would hurt you so long as she loved you.

“Nat,” Wanda pushed into the older woman’s mind while Sam pulled you into a bear hug. Natasha’s eyes narrowed at the mental intrusion.

“Yes?” she pushed back.

“She’s just like Bucky. I tried to calm her down and it didn’t work,” Wanda admitted ashamedly. Natasha’s eyes narrowed even further. It took every ounce of self-control she could muster not to leave the Compound, hunt down that abomination of a man and rip him to shreds. It was one thing to be abused and trained into a weapon for use; it took a special kind of civilian monster to do this just because they could.

“She’s under our protection. No matter what the cost.” Natasha pushed into Wanda’s mind. She didn’t have to be a telepath to know Wanda felt the same. No one else would hurt you as long as they had a say about it. Never again.

Sam and the women were more than understanding through your outburst. It was such a foreign feeling, having someone look at you with care instead of malice in their eyes. You kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. You kept waiting for the tables to turn.

Natasha and Wanda were right about how good a fresh change of clothes would feel on your battered body. They even managed to scare up cleansing conditioner and helped you return some life to your once bouncy curls. Two pairs of gentle fingers gently massaged your scalp, carefully working out the knots and kinks of your thick hair. The three of you bonded easily over everything; you found yourself becoming enamored with them. Two strong and fierce women that life snatched nearly everything from stood before you just as loving and empathetic as you could have ever dreamed. It gave you hope. You weren’t together yet, you probably wouldn’t be for a long time but with the love and care of your newfound family, you’d get there.

Sam stood in the doorway of the kitchen watched contentedly as Natasha and Wanda coaxed you into eating. Seeing two of the women he had become so fond of caring for the one he loved most in the world was a sight to behold. He wasn’t sure what he did to deserve this kind of love in his life but he damn sure wouldn’t question it. He was so enraptured with the sight he almost didn’t notice when Bucky and Steve walked up behind him.

“Hey Sam,” they greeted him. He grinned in response. Steve beckoned them to the living room. Sam and Bucky followed close behind and made themselves comfortable in nearby chairs.

“What’s up, Steve?” asked Sam.

“We’ve retrieved all of her belongings,” Steve said firmly. Sam looked back and forth between Steve and Bucky. He wasn’t sure how to properly react to the fact that his teammates had stepped up in such a monumental way. His shoulders sagged as he exhaled in relief.

“You—you don’t know what this means to me guys. Thank you, seriously.”

“She won’t ever have to worry about him bothering her or anyone else again,” Bucky growled.

“Wait—you didn’t…?”

“No,” Steve reassured Sam, “but you don’t know just how close I came. How anyone could treat someone they claimed to love with such abhorrence is beyond me.”

“He doesn’t deserve to live,” Bucky stated. His metal fist clenched and unclenched as he fought to keep his rage under control.

“We don’t get to make that choice, Buck.”

“But he—!”

“No!” Steve half shouted. Your head snapped up at the sound of Steve’s raised voice. Cowering into yourself, you pushed away the soup Nat and Wanda had spent the last 30 minutes trying to convince you to eat. Suddenly the prospect of food was no longer appealing. Wanda pulled you into a gentle hug and pressed a soft kiss into your hair. Patting your shoulder gently, Natasha stood up from the table and stalked into the living room where the men were currently residing.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about in here but that girl in there is terrified for her life and she doesn’t need you three assholes going and making things worse for her. You make one more wrong move and I will end you myself, is that clear?” she hissed venomously.

“I’m sorry for shouting, you’re right. She doesn’t deserve this, she deserves so much more.”

“It’s not me you need to apologize to, Rogers.” Nodding, Steve took steadying breath. He couldn’t believe he allowed himself to lose his temper like that with you in the next room. Natasha was right; he owed you an apology. Standing up and straightening his slacks, he made his way to the kitchen humbly.

“[Y/N]?” he called. Wanda’s grip around you tightened at Steve’s cautious approach. You lifted your head from her shoulder to meet his sorrowful gaze.

“Hello, Captain,” you murmured. He winced at your distinctly formal greeting. He owed you so much more than a simple apology.

“Call me Steve, please,” he implored you. You gave him a small smile at his request.

“I need to apologize for my actions, [Y/N]. I should not have lost my temper like that; I should have been more considerate of your feelings. I am sincerely sorry and if you would allow me to, I would be more than happy to make it up to you.”

Steve’s genuine apology was absolutely foreign to you. You’d been so conditioned by Andrew that you were half expecting Steve to force you apologize for making him yell. Logically you knew it wasn’t your fault and there was no reason for you to apologize but there’s nothing logical about an abused psyche.

“…make it up to me? Why would you want to make it up to me?” you asked. Both Steve and Wanda’s eyes widened in sheer confusion. Just when they thought their hearts couldn’t break for you anymore, you go and prove them wrong.

“That’s what you do when you apologize to someone,” Wanda said into your hair, “you apologize with your actions as well as your words.”

“Oh.” It only took one word for Steve and the rest of the Avengers to realize they had their work cut out for them when it came to helping you undo all the damage Andrew had done to you. Just one word.

“Will you allow me to make it up to you, [Y/N]?” Steve asked softly. You had to give him credit; he was trying. That was more than Andrew had ever done. He stood there in front of you radiating such pure honesty and goodness that you couldn’t help but smile. Pulling yourself from Wanda’s loving arms, you stood up and offered your hand to Steve.

“Tell you what, Steve. You introduce me to Thor and Doctor Banner and convince Mr. Stark to show me his lab and I’ll consider us even,” you said with a grin. Steve’s answering grin was brighter than sunshine.

You weren’t together yet but you were getting there.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER // NEXT CHAPTER