#who was threatening me and stealing from me and outright pushing me around & g was best friends with this girl’s sister who abetted her

[fingertipsmp3]

Realising I maybe don’t actually like my supposed ‘best’ friend

[plumoh]

[SK8] whirlwind

Rating: G

Word count: 2341

Summary: Three times Kaoru gets into a fight; Kojirou is never too far away. / high school era.

Note: AO3 link. As usual, high school era means pre-relationship and Kaoru being a little bit oblivious to Kojirou’s feelings haha.

i.

Kaoru didn’t mean to punch him.

Well. That’s not exactly true. He did want to punch that smug smile off the bastard’s face, but he didn’t mean to knock him out. It’s not his fault that his punch landed exactly at an angle that made the guy’s head twist on the side and bang on the streetlamp, before collapsing on the ground and invoking a silence so loud everyone’s breathing felt like an entire storm.

And then all the guy’s goons start screaming and yelling for blood, pointing accusing fingers at Kaoru like Kaoru just killed someone (their boss isn’t dead, not yet), and most of them also start crowding around him with a palpable vengeful intent. As if that will ever intimidate him.

Nobody thinks that Kaoru is built to fight, which propels them into a state of shock and complete disbelief when he attacks first and manages to strike down two people by smashing their heads together and kicking them in the stomach for good measure. He doesn’t stop moving, always ready to spring back and to collide his fist with something breakable or crouching low to dodge and literally sweep them off their feet. He’s like a volcano being poked until it swallows everything around him.

His impulsiveness means he gets hurt too, mostly from his own moves that use more strength than necessary, but also from attacks he decides to go up against instead of avoiding, simply to get closer to his opponent. He ends up with scratches on his face and bruises on his legs or cuts on his arms, in a way that undeniably adds to his overall appearance of a troublemaker. He doesn’t give a shit; the messier and more dangerous he looks, the better.

It’s when most of the guys have fled, leaving Kaoru breathing hard and leaning forward with his hands on his knees, that Kojirou materializes next to him.

“What the hell, Kaoru?” Kojirou yells, not knowing if touching Kaoru will be a wise idea. “Did you pick a fight with random people again?”

“I didn’t pick a fight with them, they provoked me,” Kaoru growls, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. It comes away with a little blood. “Why do you always assume I’m the one instigating?”

“Maybe because two times out of three you’re the one who throws the first punch,” Kojirou mumbles.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence.”

“Am I wrong, though?”

Kaoru makes a poor attempt at shoving Kojirou in the shoulder but he misses by a large margin and ends up swatting at his chest, which does nothing to abate Kojirou’s annoyance.

“Shut up,” Kaoru says.

Kojirou shakes his head and takes Kaoru’s arm to steady him, dragging him towards a less crowded and more luminous place to get a look at his injuries with supplies that seem to have appeared from nowhere.

ii.

Kojirou nearly lands on his face after failing a trick, all graceless and devoid of finesse, which makes Kaoru double over in laughter.

“That was really stupid,” Kaoru snorts.

“Yeah, I didn’t see you try doing that trick,” Kojirou scoffs.

“At least I don’t look like a limp caterpillar when I’m on the ground like you are.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Kojirou picks himself up from the ground and dusts off his pants, looking back at the track that he just descended from. Kaoru watches the way Kojirou is considering the path again, eyes focused on the last meters of the bumpy pavement. They chose this part of the track specifically because it isn’t well-maintained, full of holes and uneven ground that forces them to work on their stability. Kojirou, like the brainless ape he is, wanted to show off by doing some fancy trick that only served as evidence of his stupidity.

“Hey, you’re Sakurayashiki, right?”

Kaoru turns around and raises en eyebrow. He has no idea who the guy talking to him is.

“Get out of our turf,” the guy says on a tone that’s supposed to be menacing. “Or you’ll regret it.”

“Your turf?” Kaoru repeats, unimpressed. “The hell are you on?”

“You thought you could swing by after sending some of our guys to the hospital?”

The words go in Kaoru’s ear and make a swift exit in the other. He blinks.

“I didn’t send anyone in the hospital,” he says, tone raising like a question as he turns around to address Kojirou.

Kojirou lifts his hands in sign of innocence. “I don’t know, I’m not there to watch you fight every single person in this city.”

“You would remember if I did anything like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I just said I don’t know!”

“Stop ignoring me!”

Kojirou shouts wordlessly and yanks Kaoru by the arm, saving him from a well-aimed kick that would have sent Kaoru sprawling, and suddenly it’s like a switch has been flipped.

People say that Kaoru has a bad temper, an accusation that’s not totally unfounded. He’s quick to anger and he doesn’t mince his words—when he’s having a casual conversation with someone, many wrinkle their nose at his lack of proper forms of address, and others outright say he shouldn’t be so aggressive in his choice of words. One can only imagine how vulgar and straightforward he is when he’s insulting someone or spitting out a string of curses that are probably not yet in the dictionary.

Kojirou, of course, has a deep knowledge of the ways Kaoru can react before a taunt, a physical threat or a low blow to his ego. He’s not exactly a saint either, since he will without a doubt get into a fight if he’s provoked enough, or throw back cruel words when the situation calls for it, but between the two, Kojirou has less difficulty keeping his bad mood in check.

Kaoru twists around and is ready to swing his fist at full speed, but Kojirou is already scolding him while having a grip of iron on his arm. He’s also trying to drag him back, stopping him from making even one step towards their opponent who is, quite frankly, looking too fucking pleased with himself.

“What, too chicken to fight me?” the guy snickers. “Too scared of hurting your little hands?”

“I’m gonna punch a hole through your skull, you absolute buffoon,” Kaoru hisses, struggling against Kojirou’s grip. “Let me go, Kojirou!”

“Stop getting into fights, damn it!” Kojirou yells.

“He asked for it!”

“Same difference, you idiot!”

Kojirou loops his arms under Kaoru’s armpits and keeps him still, pressed against his torso, even when Kaoru is trying to pull forward with the sheer force of his will. Kojirou’s stronger than Kaoru, but Kaoru doesn’t give a shit when he is moved by rage alone, stomping and wriggling and squirming in the hopes of getting away.

The guy is watching them with the most self-satisfied smirk ever, as if Kaoru’s inaction is proof of his victory over a petty squabble that Kaoru himself doesn’t remember. It pisses him off.

He usually wouldn’t resort to such dirty tactics. In a fight, the more they use their fists and feet and entire bodies, the more gratifying it is. Sporting injuries and scars are simply a natural consequence of it, and everyone should wear them proudly—like real battle scars, resembling a physical history of their hard-won fights.

Kaoru’s skateboard is within leg reach. He has long legs, Kojirou keeps reminding him, so might as well make use of them. He makes one big step forward, grunting when he’s met with resistance due to Kojirou holding him back, but he manages to have his foot on the tail-end of the deck and brings the skateboard at his feet. He can feel Kojirou’s and the bastard’s confused and intrigued gazes on him; all he does is offer a grin, the sunlight catching on his lip ring like some wicked gleam of mischievousness.

Kaoru gives a harsh kick into his skateboard that goes straight towards the guy, hitting his ankle at full speed and tearing a cry of pain and surprise out of his throat. He puts all his weight on his other foot and cradles his injured ankle, glaring at Kaoru with burning anger. Kaoru isn’t sorry in the least.

“I’ll end you,” the man threatens, visibly shaking with fury.

“Good luck with that ankle,” Kaoru replies smugly. “You’ll fall over before you can land a single hit on me.”

Kojirou audibly sighs and shakes his head. And then, two things happen at once.

The first is that their friend bends down with difficulty, not wishing to put strain on his ankle, and picks up the skateboard. He gives it a long contemplative look, like he’s wondering if this object is worth his interest, before dropping it back on the ground and getting on it.

The second is Kaoru watching this with mounting irritation and rage, and he decides that stomping on Kojirou’s foot to let him go is less aggravating than letting some random prick steal his skateboard. So he does just that with minimal hesitation, causing Kojirou to loudly yelp as his grip loosens enough for Kaoru to slip out.

Skating all day doesn’t mean they can’t run with their feet. Kaoru pushes on his feet like his life depends on it and in a few large strides he catches up to the guy just as he starts skating away, and Kaoru, without a second thought, decks him.

Skateboard back in hand, a broad smile splitting his face in two, Kaoru leaves the track with a victorious fist lifted in the air, to Kojirou’s growing exasperation.

iii.

Kaoru presses his lips together and remains stubbornly silent.

“Kaoru.”

Arms crossed and a frown deeper than usual on his face, Kojirou is staring at him with disappointment so clear that Kaoru actually feels bad, for once. He shrugs.

“You’re lucky that it didn’t rip off your lip,” Kojirou continues. “Why did you get piercings if you know you’ll never resist fighting people? Do you want to risk permanent damage just because your brain is filled with a useless need to fight?”

“Shut up, Kojirou,” Kaoru mutters.

Kaoru winces when Kojirou presses something cold on his mouth, gently dabbing at it and being careful about the lip ring, whose presence alone did a number on his face. Having his head smashed into the ground would do that, he supposes.

Kojirou is silently working on cleaning and bandaging his various cuts and bruises on his face. Kaoru glances up, noticing that the tense line of Kojirou’s shoulders is heavier than usual, a bit more worried, as if today’s encounter could have ended in a disaster. It wasn’t any worse than the previous times. Maybe Kaoru got roughed up a bit more and maybe he got kicked in the ribs more times than necessary and yes, maybe he should have taken off his earrings and lip ring before going skating, but these are all possible factors disrupting his routine he always considers before doing anything. And it’s not like he knows in advance that someone will pick a fight with him. He just got unlucky this time.

Kaoru watches Kojirou’s brows knit together in concentration. This isn’t a rare expression on his face, but Kaoru has never noticed the way Kojirou’s focus is single-minded when he does this kind of detail-oriented tasks, or the way he purses his lips like he does when he’s trying to solve a complicated math problem. It’s the face he makes when something requires his entire attention, unperturbed and going at the pace he needs to finish what he started.

“Hm,” Kaoru says, partly because he’s thinking and partly because he shouldn’t open his still bleeding mouth.

“What?” Kojirou’s gaze never strays from Kaoru’s injury.

Kojirou takes Kaoru’s hand and guides it towards the compress placed on the corner of his mouth, and makes him apply pressure while the cleaning shifts to his ear. Kaoru’s lip isn’t bleeding as much as before, judging by the color of the compress that didn’t become completely red in five seconds, so he supposes talking shouldn’t make matters worse.

“Your precision is a bit surprising,” he admits, laughter in his voice. “I didn’t think you could be so calm while handling things that need careful maneuvering.”

“I’m not the one who can’t break eggs without dropping pieces of shell in them,” Kojirou snipes back.

Kaoru rolls his eyes. “Breaking eggs needs practicing, and I can still pick out the shell pieces if I really need to. If you poke someone in the wrong place while tending to their injuries then you’ll make it worse, moron.”

Kojirou is visibly putting all his efforts into remaining focused on his task, trying not to get riled up by Kaoru’s comments. It would be funny to watch, actually, if Kaoru wasn’t the one receiving treatment.

“I haven’t let you down yet, have I?” Kojirou asks.

And Kaoru can’t find anything scathing as an answer, staring at Kojirou’s bright eyes that never hide what he’s feeling.

“I suppose you haven’t, no,” Kaoru says lowly.

“You’re so much trouble, you know that?” Kojirou sighs.

But he finally meets Kaoru’s gaze and Kaoru is almost taken aback by the sincerity and raw emotion shining in it, like Kojirou is looking at a treasure he has locked behind a chest and kept the key close to his heart. Kaoru swallows.

“Not as much as you,” he replies with less bite than he intended.

“Says the one who is covered in bandages and band-aids.”

“I have to put up with your nonsense every day!”

“And I have to drag your ass back from whatever scuffle you get involved in!”

Kaoru shoves his hand in Kojirou’s face, and they start jostling each other, as if they weren’t being as still and cautious as possible to avoid complicating the process of patching Kaoru up. This familiarity, too, is something that will never change, no matter what happens—Kojirou has Kaoru’s back.

[setaripendragon]

Trapped in the Amber - 1x04

Book 1 :: 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 So this has always been one of my favourite episodes. Charlie (SPN has such a problem with reusing names, oh well) is an amazing character, and she’s going to get a recurring role in this story, because I said so. Also, for once, I get to make the (dis)claimer that the opinions expressed herein by the characters (specifically about Charlie’s ‘secret’) are absolutely the views of the author, and I projected like hell all over this chapter ^^” (Some things really needed to be said outright and just weren’t in this episode and I’m still mad about it.)

Toledo, Ohio – Saturday 14th January 2006

“Now, the newspapers said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding.” Sam says.

“More than that.” The assistant replies with an indecent level of glee as he drew the sheet back away from the corpse. “They practically liquefied.”

Meira has to fight not to pull a face at the state the man’s face is in. If it weren’t for the lack of scorch marks, she would have thought… Well. There are no scorch marks. She’s honestly completely stumped by this, which doesn’t happen to her often. Angelic memory means she doesn’t really forget things, but unlike the angels that were created before time began, she does have to experience them first. And this? This is brand new to her.

“Any sign of a struggle? Like maybe somebody did it to him?” Dean asks.

“Nope. Besides the daughter he was all alone.” The assistant replies.

Which doesn’t really mean much when a good half of what they hunt is incorporeal, but it does at least rule out the other half. Maybe. She doesn’t think she’s going to be much help here. She lets the conversation about skulls full of blood and exploding eyeballs pass her by, and valiantly restrains a snort when the assistant makes them bribe him again.

She can’t really complain about his morals when their next stop is crashing a funeral. It’s the eeriest thing Meira’s ever seen, and she almost freezes in the doorway. She thought she was getting used to having her grace bound, to not being able to see people’s souls, to not knowing who they are, but this is just not something she’s prepared for. There’s no emotion here.

She knows there is, of course, knows that these people are feeling just as deeply as those at any other funeral she’s ever seen, but she can’t feel it, eddies of grief and sorrow heavy around her. It’s just air, hollow and empty and sickening. Swallowing hard, she follows Sam and Dean into the house, and then out back when a helpful old man points out the daughters. Meira hovers, watching Sam and Dean reassure the younger daughter that her father’s death wasn’t her fault.

Meira decides to stay downstairs while Sam and Dean go to poke around where the guy actually died. It’s a little easier for two people to be inconspicuous than three, after all, and she wants to talk to Donna and Lily a little more. She knows what it’s like to lose a parent suddenly, after all, even if hers aren’t dead. She coaxes Lily out of her guilt and gets her talking about school and her friends, and Donna gives her a painfully grateful look that Meira returns with an understanding smile.

Toledo, Ohio – Sunday 15th January 2006

Meira foregoes sleep to help with the research, but even after Sam passes out, they get nowhere. “Here’s something- Never mind.” Dean says. “Her name was Laura.” He rolls his eyes.

“Middle name?” Meira asks, because at this point, she’s grasping at straws.

Dean makes a thoughtful face and checks. “Middle name Nichole.” He reports, throwing the papers down with disgust. He stares at them for long enough that Meira goes back to ploughing through her own stack of records, so she’s startled when he asks “Hey, is Meira some sort of derivative of Mary?”

“No, actually.” Meira answers slowly, a little confused. “It’s Hebrew. It means ‘god’s light’ or ‘one who illuminates’. Mary is English, although it comes from the Hebrew name Miriam, which means ‘bitterness’.”

“Huh.” Dean grunts, and then, at her continuing look of confusion, shrugs. “Just curious. Never heard that name before.” He points out.

“Qaada picked it.” Meira tells him on impulse, and then wishes she’d just kept her mouth shut. She’s still not sure how much of her life she ought to share with him, really. It feels a little like she’s stealing from him somehow. One day, he’s going to be holding a baby in his arms, and he’s not going to tell Qaada to name her because it just feels like the right thing to do, he’s going to do it because he knows that’s how it’s supposed to happen.

Dean blinks. “Is Qaada Hebrew for ‘dad’ or something?” He asks.

“Close enough.” Meira agrees, which is as close as she can get to saying yes without outright lying.

Dean is distracted from questioning her further when Sam wakes up with a gasp. “Why’d you let me fall asleep?” He asks, voice raspy and hollowed out.

“Cause I’m an awesome brother.” Dean retorts. “So what’d you dream about?”

“Lollipops and candy canes.” Sam answers, completely flat.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Sure.”

“You find anything?” Sam asks, when Dean doesn’t offer up an alternative topic of conversation. Dean catches him up on their complete lack of anything substantial, and Meira looks back down at her stack of papers.

“Whatever’s happening here, maybe it just ain’t Mary.” Dean suggests.

“Or maybe it’s new.” Meira offers, only to be interrupted by Sam’s phone ringing. Dean arches an eyebrow at her while Sam locates his phone, and Meira shrugs. “Look, you said yourself that this myth isn’t particularly rigid. There’s a lot of variations.” She points out as Sam answers his phone. Dean nods. “Well, then, maybe this is just another variation. Maybe her spirit went dormant for some reason, and we don’t have records far enough back? Maybe she’s not actually dead, she’s in a coma, or she’s a potential psychic with a fuck-tonne of issues?” Meira gestures vaguely in the air to indicate an entire world of possibilities, and Dean pulls a duck-face of annoyed acceptance.

“That was Charlie.” Sam says, flipping his phone closed. “She said there’s something she thinks we need to hear about.”

“Charlie?” Meira asks, although she’s already putting the records aside and grabbing up her coat.

“One of Donna’s friends.” Dean tells her, grabbing his keys and starting for the door. “She caught us checking out the bathroom and threatened to scream if we didn’t tell her the truth about who we are and what we were doing there.”

“Oh, awesome. I like her.” Meira announces in delight.

Dean snorts. “Yeah, she was pretty freaking ballsy.”

“I told her to call us if she saw or heard anything weird or unusual.” Sam adds as they climb into the Impala. “She sounded really freaked out on the phone.”

The meet Charlie on a public green, and she tells them about Jill’s death in between trying not to cry. About half way through the explanation, Meira gives in, sits down beside her, and puts an arm around her shoulders. Charlie glances at her, tries for a smile that doesn’t really work, and finishes up her explanation. “And they found her on the bathroom floor, and, uh- her- her eyes, they were- g-gone.”

“I’m sorry.” Sam murmurs.

“And she said it.” Charlie adds in a rush, as though pushing herself to get the words out before she falters. “I heard her say it. But it couldn’t be because of that. I’m- insane, right?” It’s almost a plea.

Meira remembers what happened last time she dropped that bomb on someone, and looks to Sam, eyebrows raised. This time, she’s leaving it up to him so he can’t bite her head off later. Sam looks back, lips pursed and resignation written all over his face.

“No, you’re not insane.” Dean says, when neither Meira or Sam move to actually reassure the girl.

“Oh, god.” Charlie breathes. “That makes me feel so much worse.”

Meira gives her a comforting squeeze. “At least now you know there is an explanation.” She points out, and Charlie looks at her with her brow all crumpled up in distress and confusion. “People aren’t just dropping dead for no reason. Something is doing this, and we can stop it.” Charlie does seem to take some comfort in that, sniffling and nodding.

“We could use your help with that.” Dean adds, and after a moment of wide-eyed staring, Charlie nods again.

Then she helps them break into a teenage girl’s room. A dead teenage girl’s room, but still. Ballsy as hell. Sam asks her how she managed to get the room to herself, and she explains the lie she spun for Jill’s mom. “I hate lying to her.” She mutters.

“But you’re good at it.” Meira comments, and Charlie shoots her a stricken look. Meira winces. “That was meant to be a compliment, I swear. You’re confident, not just ‘you know how to act confident’, but you knew what you needed to do, and you did it, no matter how distasteful. Takes a strong person to hold onto that sort of conviction.”

“Oh, I guess.” Charlie hedges, shrinking in on herself a little. “I just don’t want anybody else to get hurt, that’s all.” Meira gives her a pointed smile, and waits for her to realise all by herself exactly what she just said. Charlie blushes when she catches up.

“So I don’t get it.” Sam says suddenly while checking the mirror for ectoplasmic residue. “I mean, the first victim didn’t summon Mary, and the second victim did. How’s she choosing them?”

“Beats me.” Dean replies, then glances at Charlie. “I want to know why Jill said it in the first place.”

“It was just a joke.” Charlie says, uncomfortable and defensive.

“A joke?” Meira echoes incredulously.

Charlie looks at her and then away. “We were talking on the phone, and she- I don’t know, she thought it was funny that I was… that I thought it might have been something…” She trails off uncomfortably.

“She was mocking you.” Meira realises, unimpressed.

“No!” Charlie says at once, and then falters. “Well, maybe a little, but… God, it would have been kind of funny if it wasn’t real.” She complains, wrapping her arms around herself and looking miserable.

Meira has her doubts about that, but she doesn’t voice them. “Yeah, well,” Dean sounds sceptical too, but he doesn’t push the subject either, “somebody’s going to say it again, it’s just a matter of time.” He points out ominously.

“Hey.” Sam says, leaning out of the bathroom. “There’s a blacklight in the trunk, right?”

They get the blacklight, and find a name written on the back of the bathroom mirror. Meira’s going to go out on a limb here and say that’s probably a clue. So then it’s off to the library to research the name, and Charlie tags along. This turns out to be a good thing when she figures out the connection between Jill and the name Mary had written on the girl’s mirror.

“We need to go back to your friend Donna’s house.” Dean says, and off they go.

Finding the man’s wife’s name on the back of the mirror is kind of sickening, and Donna clearly doesn’t like the implications of their questions, either. “Yeah, Linda’s my mom, okay? And she overdosed on sleeping pills. It was an accident and that’s it.” She insists. The silence following that pronouncement is damning, and Donna can hear it too. “I think you should leave.”

“Do you really believe that?” Meira asks, before she can push the issue.

Donna rounds on her, furious and scared. “What are you trying to say?!”

“I’m saying that even if you’re right, and she took those pills herself, I’d really like to know why she was taking enough to risk an overdose.” Meira points out calmly.

Donna blanches. “No.” She insists. “No, stop it. My dad’s dead, and you-”

“Sins don’t get erased by death.” Meira counters. Donna lets out a choked sob, shaking her head in denial, but Meira holds her gaze and refuses to let her. After a brief struggle with herself, Donna breaks down into tears, and Meira carefully draws her into a hug, checking every step of the way that Donna wants the comfort.

After several awkward minutes, Dean clears his throat. “You gonna be okay here if we head back to the motel?” He asks Meira. “I think we’ve got some research to do.”

“Yeah.” Meira assures him. Dean and Sam linger awkwardly a moment longer, then go.

Meira and Charlie eventually manage to herd Donna into the living room, get her sitting down with a glass of water and some tissues, and let her cry it out. “My dad wouldn’t-!” comes out several times, followed by more tears. Meira doesn’t bother to point out that if Donna had been certain of that, she wouldn’t be this upset by the notion.

Eventually, she cries herself out, and Charlie suggests putting on a movie. Donna nods listlessly, so Charlie bounds up and sticks on a cartoon that Donna gives her a judging look for. Charlie looks away. “I didn’t think a rom-com would be the best idea right now.” She points out quietly, and Donna looks away, something caught between rage and grief on her face.

Five minutes into the movie, Donna curls up around a cushion and falls asleep, obviously worn out by her grief. Meira and Charlie share a look over her, and then stay right where they are. Donna’s alone enough already, they’re not going to leave her to wake up alone, too. Charlie goes to get a blanket, and Meira refills the glass of water, ready for when Donna wakes up.

The movie is almost over when Meira’s phone rings, and she fishes it out, expecting it to be Sam or Dean. It’s not, it’s Haley. Eyebrows rising, Meira answers. “Hey, what’s up?” She asks lightly.

“Hey.” Haley answers, weirdly hesitant. Meira’s just about to ask what’s wrong more seriously, when Haley abruptly blurts out “How do you tell if a house is haunted?”

Ah. Meira has to grin a little, and gets up to wander into the kitchen so that she’s not interrupting the movie for Charlie. “My first stop would be checking for EMF. Get a reader, scan the place, and if it goes off like you’re standing next to a wireless router when you’re not, you’ve probably got a ghost. Why?”

“A friend of mine, she’s just moved into this new house, and… things keep moving about on their own, and she keeps getting into accidents. She’s a gymnast, she’s not that clumsy.” Haley insists.

“Sounds like it could maybe be a poltergeist.” Meira tells her, grimacing.

“Poltergeist? That’s different from a ghost?” Haley asks, sounding a touch incredulous.

“Yeah. Ghosts are people who refused to move on for one reason or another, but since human souls aren’t meant to linger without a body to protect them, they tend to… degrade over time, even if they’re not vengeful to start with. Poltergeists are… accumulations of energy. Usually negative, but I did find a poltergeist in a hospital, once, that manifested because of a bunch of miraculous recoveries. It went around healing people.”

“Oh, wow.” Haley says, and she sounds like she’s smiling, just a little bit. “So, how do I tell the difference, and what do I do about it once I know?” She asks, getting back to the practical issues without missing a beat. Meira really wishes she’d gotten the chance to kiss her.

“It can be a bit hit and miss telling the difference.” Meira admits with a grimace. “If it’s a ghost, it’s probably someone who died there, or who lived there for a really long time. You’ll have to find out who, and then salt and burn their bones.”

There’s an indrawn breath, and then Haley lets the breath out slowly. “That’s disgusting.” She announces, sounding more matter-of-fact than outright disgusted.

Meira snorts. “Yeah, it is.” She agrees, then sobers up a little. “Look, we’re in the middle of a job right now, but if you want we can come by once we’ve sorted this out and see if we can help?” She offers.

“No. It’s fine.” Haley assures her. “There’s no reason I can’t do it myself. I’m not that squeamish.” She announces, and Meira’s fond grin is back. “So, if it’s a ghost, salt and burn the bones, but if it’s a poltergeist?” Haley challenges.

“Poltergeists are more difficult. You’ll need a purification ritual, or a hell of a lot of the exact opposite kind of metaphysical energy to cancel it out, but that’s basically impossible unless you have a psychic about to tell you what kind of poltergeist it is. If you’ve got a pen, I can give you a basic recipe.”  She offers.

“Hang on a minute,” Haley says, and then, once she’s presumably found herself a pen, “go on.” So Meira does, listing out the herbs and other ingredients needed, and adding in the instructions of how to purify a house. “Okay, thanks.” Haley says once she’s done. “Now how do I figure out which it is?”

“Best guess?” Meira offers, and Haley makes an annoyed sound. “Uh, poltergeists don’t tend to cause cold spots. If you ever see a human-like apparition, it’s a ghost. If it is a poltergeist, and it’s already trying to hurt someone, there will be some sort of atrocity in the history of the place to cause it.”

“Alright.” Haley agrees. “I’ll figure it out.”

“You took on a wendigo. Poltergeists aren’t gonna phase you.” Meira reminds her fondly.

Haley laughs. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

They say quick goodbyes, and then Meira hangs up and turns to go back into the living room, only to find Charlie leaning in the doorway, her eyes a bit wide. “All that stuff is really out there, isn’t it?” Charlie asks, sounding dazed.

Meira nods. “Yeah. And a hell of a lot more, besides.”

“God.” Charlie breathes, closing her eyes. “That’s terrifying.”

“It’s the same world you were living in yesterday.” Meira reminds her. Charlie gives her a look, and Meira shrugs. “Look, if you want someone to pretend it’s all a ghost story and there’s no monsters under the bed, you’ve got the wrong girl. Try giving Sam a call.” She advises dryly.

“I don’t want that.” Charlie insists straight away, and then sighs. “It’s just scary, that’s all.”

“Yeah.” Meira agrees.

“And you just… go around looking for it?” Charlie asks abruptly, incredulous. Meira shrugs and nods, and Charlie gapes at her. “Why?”

It’s a good question. Meira’s never lived the true hunter lifestyle before. Sure, she’s gone on the occasional hunt with her dad, and she’s run into more than her fair share of monsters, but that wasn’t because she’d gone looking for them. They’d all come looking for her. And now she’s only tagging along with Sam and Dean because she has nowhere else in the world to belong. So instead of answering for herself, she thinks about some of the things her dad has said about why he hunts. “Because someone has to.” She settles on finally. “There are monsters out there, Charlie, and someone needs to stop them before they hurt any more people. Most people don’t even believe they’re real, and so they don’t know how to protect themselves. So we protect them.”

Charlie nods slowly, staring at the floor and chewing on her lower lip. Meira gives her the time she needs to process, and is impressed when she suddenly looks up, steel in her eyes. “Teach me.” She says. “That’s what you were doing, wasn’t it? With whoever was on the phone. Teaching them how to protect themselves. I don’t want to die because I didn’t know better than to avoid something.”

Meira beams at her, inordinately proud of her for even thinking of it, never mind outright asking. “Sure. I probably won’t be sticking around long enough to do more than give you the bare basics, but if you give me your number, you can text me any questions you have.” She offers, and Charlie nods. So they exchange numbers, and then they sit down to talk about the most basic protections, the most common supernatural problems, and what to do about them.

Toledo, Ohio – Monday 16th January 2006

They’re on the way back from Fort Wayne when Charlie calls Meira. She’s expecting questions about what they talked about yesterday, what she gets instead is a desperate sob and a whispered “Oh, God, she’s here,” that sends a chill down her spine.

“Charlie?” Meira calls, sitting bolt upright in the back seat.

“Bloody Mary, she’s- Donna said it, and- and she’s coming for me.” Charlie blurts out in a rush, voice shaking, followed by a whimper.

“What’s going on?” Dean demands.

“Okay, Charlie, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to sit down, take a breath, and close your eyes.” Meira orders, keeping her voice as calm as she can. In the front, Dean swears, and floors the gas pedal. “Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yeah.” Charlie stammers.

“Good. Now, tell me where you are, and we’ll come get you.” Meira instructs.

“Outside school.” Charlie breathes. “I- I saw her in- she’s everywhere. In- in windows and the t-teacher’s glasses.”

Well, that’s not terrifying at all. Jesus.  “That’s why you’re keeping your eyes closed, okay.” Meira soothes. “Now, are you somewhere public? Will other people see you and try to move you?”

“N-no. There’s a- an alley, between two of the houses across the street. No windows, so I-”

“Good, that was smart.” Meira compliments. “Do you think you can tell me how this happened? Why on earth did Donna say it?”

She hears Charlie take a deep, shuddering breath. “She- she was asking about… about why- why you guys were asking about- about her mom, and she- I tried to explain, but she got so mad, she said- said that you’d ‘made her think all that awful stuff’ for no reason, and how dare I go along with-” Charlie cuts off her explanation with a sob, and Meira murmurs a few soothing encouragements. “I told her it wasn’t for no reason, that- that she had gone after her dad instead of Lily for a reason, and she scoffed, and- and then she said it, like-”

“Like she was proving it wasn’t real.” Meira concludes, thinking, uncharitably, that Donna Shoemaker deserves a trickster’s attention for that. Grief or no grief, it’s a shitty thing to risk a friend’s life just to maintain your own blissfully ignorant illusion. And of course, they’re going to make damn sure Mary doesn’t kill Charlie, and so Donna is going to go on thinking she’s vindicated herself. Oh, yeah, Meira really wants to set Pabbi on her.

Biting back her anger, Meira puts her hand over the bottom of her phone to ask Dean “How long?”

“Fifteen minutes.” Dean says grimly.

Meira nods, and goes back to reassuring Charlie. She keeps her on the phone the whole time, talking her through the panic. Once they get back to Toledo, she alternates between reassurances to Charlie and directions to Dean. They pick Charlie up, and Meira guides her into the car while making sure she keeps her eyes closed. Then they take her back to the motel and do their best to cover up every reflective surface in Meira’s room.

Sam sits next to Charlie on the bed while Dean throws a towel over the TV, and Meira tacks up a sheet over the stupid frosted glass divider that serves absolutely no purpose but to be annoying in a situation like this. Meira honestly contemplated just smashing it. “Hey.” Sam says once Meira’s done. “Hey, it’s okay. You can open up your eyes, Charlie. It’s okay. Alright. Now listen. You’re going to stay right here, on this bed, and you’re not going to look at glass, or anything else that has a reflection, okay? Now, as long as you do that, she cannot get you.”

“But I can’t keep that up forever.” Charlie retorts, quiet but certain. “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”

“No.” Sam insists. “No, not anytime soon.”

Meira goes to sit next to Charlie, crawling right into the middle of the bed and putting an arm around her. “We’re going to stop her, Charlie.” She adds, and when Charlie looks at her imploringly, she gives her a reassuring smile. “Remember? This is what we do.” Swallowing hard, Charlie nods, and sits a little straighter.

“Alright, Charlie.” Dean says, perching on the end of the bed. “We need to know what happened.”

“We were in the bathroom, Donna said-” Charlie begins.

“That’s not what we’re talking about.” Dean interrupts. “Something happened, didn’t it? In your life. A secret. Someone got hurt.” Charlie blinks and sends tears cascading down onto her cheeks. Dean shares a look with Sam before pressing on, gentler than before. “Can you tell us about it?”

Charlie’s lip starts trembling, but when she starts talking, her voice is strong. “I had this boyfriend. I loved him, but he kinda scared me too, you know? And, one night, at his house, we got in this fight. And I broke up with him. And he got upset, and he said he needed me, and he loved me. And he said ‘Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I’m going to kill myself.’ And do you know what I said? I said ‘go ahead’ and I left.”

“Good.” Meira says it before she can stop herself, and is aware of everyone’s eyes snapping to her in shock. God, she’s actually a little glad, for once, that Jace isn’t here, because if she’s this angry, Jace probably would go and find Charlie’s ex’s soul, and if he isn’t there already, deliver him directly to Hell, personally.

“What?” Charlie breathes.

Meira looks at her, and sees all the pain and guilt she’s been carrying around because of some asshole who tried to make his own life and his own choices her responsibility. “Charlie, his life was not your responsibility, and he had no right to lay that on you.”

“But I-” Charlie begins, and then falters.

“No, listen to me.” Meira insists, kneeling up and turning Charlie to face her fully. “That was his choice to make, not yours. He tried to chain you to him by making you feel responsible for his life and his actions, and you were right to do what you needed to, to free yourself. Just because his threat was aimed at himself, instead of someone else you love, doesn’t make it any less a threat. The fact that he followed through because you didn’t give him what he wanted is on him, not on you.”

“I-” Charlie says again, and then her expression crumples, and she starts to cry in earnest. “I didn’t want him to die.” She says, desperate.

Meira pulls her into her arms. “I know. It’s not your fault.”

“She’s right, it’s not.” Dean adds. Then he clears his throat, a hard, almost angry look on his face, and gets up. “Right, let’s go gank this bitch already.” He says, and Sam gets up immediately. Dean glances at Meira when she doesn’t move. “Meira?”

“I’ll stay here with Charlie.” Meira replies. “Keep her safe.”

“No.” Charlie says quietly, voice ragged. “You should go. It’s not like there’s anything you can- can really do here, anyway.”

Meira looks at her, impressed again by the strength in her. “I can keep you company.” She points out. “That’s important, too. Sam and Dean can handle this bitch, no problem.” She points out, and Charlie almost manages a smile, ducking her head in a way that’s not quite a nod, but that Meira takes as agreement anyway. She’s not leaving Charlie to sit here, alone in a dark room, with nothing to do but contemplate her douchebag ex and her impending death. No way.

“Hell yeah we can.” Dean agrees before heading out the door with Sam on his heels.

Toledo, Ohio – Tuesday 17th January 2006

Once it’s all over, Meira takes Charlie shopping. She tells Sam and Dean she wants to do something nice for her after the last few days, and Sam and Dean agree to leave that evening, instead of in the morning. They don’t have another hunt lined up yet anyway, so there’s no trouble with taking a day of down-time. She doesn’t tell them that it’s not clothes they’re shopping for. Well, not just clothes. They do get Charlie a nice leather jacket and some jeans that are easier to move in than her usual.

They go to a jewellery store and commission an anti-possession charm. Charlie will have to pick it up herself in a couple of weeks time, but it’s on its way, and that seems to make her feel better. They buy meters and meters of plastic tubing and a giant bag of rock-salt from a hardware store, along with a pocket knife, and then go poking around a dozen antique stores until they find a pure iron fire poker and a sterling silver cutlery set. They also buy her a rosary, along with a bottle of water that Meira blesses for her.

“I thought you needed to be ordained to make holy water.” Charlie remarks as they’re leaving the store, considering her new rosary with a slightly pinched expression.

“You might.” Meira acknowledges with a shrug. She honestly has no idea if just her blessing, without her grace being able to reach out and touch Charlie’s soul, would be enough, but Charlie certainly has it. “But best to have a rosary on hand anyway, just in case. Besides, as long as you’re careful, that bottle could last you forever.” Charlie looks at the simple one litre bottle, and then arches a sceptical eyebrow at Meira. “No, really.” Meira assures her, grinning. “Add more water and it becomes holy water, too. As long as you have some left, you can make it last forever.”

While they’re searching thrift stores for a decent rug with a pentacle on it, Charlie’s phone rings. She takes one look at the display, and her expression closes off. “Who-?” Meira asks softly.

“Donna.” Charlie answers, then takes a breath, and answers it, but doesn’t speak first.

Meira unashamedly boosts her hearing to eavesdrop. “…Charlie?”

“Yeah?” Charlie answers, level, not cold, but not overly warm, either.

“Oh, thank god.” Donna sighs. “Your mom called, she said you didn’t come home last night, and I heard that you’d freaked out at school yesterday.” She explains. “You’re okay, right?” Charlie’s lips thin and her jaw works as she tries several times to speak, and fails each time. “Charlie?” Donna prompts, voice going high with worry.

“Why do you care?” Charlie suddenly bursts out.

“What?” Donna replies, and then, after a beat. “Oh my god, Charlie, just because we had a fight yesterday doesn’t mean I want you to- to have some sort of episode and throw yourself in front of a car or something! Jesus!”

“You nearly got me killed yesterday!” Charlie retorts loudly, and then casts an embarrassed look around. Thankfully, there’s no one else in the store except the clerk, and they’re studiously pretending not to be able to hear anything.

“No, I didn’t. It’s not real, Charlie.” Donna retorts scornfully.

“The only reason I’m not lying in a pool of my own blood with my eyes gouged out just like your dad-” Donna sucks in a sharp breath. “-is because those ‘freaks’ risked their lives to save me. You-” Charlie cuts herself off and closes her eyes.

Donna scoffs. “If that’s true, who did you kill?” She bites out.

Charlie flinches, like she was no doubt meant to. Meira puts a hand on her arm, and when Charlie’s eyes flick up to meet hers, she says quietly “It doesn’t need to be a secret. You didn’t do anything wrong. But you don’t owe her anything, either.”

Charlie nods once, takes a shaking breath, and says “Did you know that Mark threatened to kill himself if I broke up with him?” in a surprisingly even tone, even though her eyes have gone glassy with unshed tears. “I broke up with him anyway.”

Donna is silent for a very, very long time. “Wow, what a dick.” She says finally, and Charlie laughs like it’s been startled out of her. She sniffs once and wipes at her eyes. There’s another, shorter silence. “I suppose you think this means that Lily is to blame for our dad’s death, then, huh?” She asks, bitterly angry and scared underneath.

“Oh my god, Donna, no. Lily was playing a stupid game with her friends, she didn’t know it was dangerous.” There’s a pause, and then Charlie adds, viciously, “You did. I told you it was dangerous, and you did it anyway, even though you knew it wasn’t just your own life on the line.”

Another silence. “What do you want me to say?” Donna asks resentfully.

“That you’re sorry?!” Charlie bursts out. “That you won’t do it again?! That you understand that, oh my god, even if you still don’t believe me, I believe it, and it’s a shitty thing to do to scare me just to, what? I don’t even know. And that if I tell you ‘hey, maybe don’t do that, it’s dangerous’ again, next time, you’ll listen?!”

“Yeah. Okay.” Donna says quietly.

Charlie waits. Donna doesn’t say anything else. “Well?!” Charlie snaps.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry, okay?!” Donna snaps back.

Meira wonders if maybe now would be a good opportunity to test out manifesting her wings. Perhaps a little solid proof would go a long way to improving Donna’s attitude. She’s still debating whether it’s a good idea or not when Charlie sighs. “Yeah, okay.” She says tiredly. “See you Monday, Donna.”

“Yeah, see you.” Donna agrees, and then Charlie hangs up on her. She stands there, staring at her phone for several minutes, looking torn and upset.

“I could probably show her proof, if you want.” Meira offers.

Charlie visibly thinks about it, but then shakes her head. “No. I don’t know. She’s made it pretty clear she doesn’t want to know, hasn’t she?”

Meira tips her head in acknowledgement of that, and then lets the subject drop. “Come on, Buffy, we’ve got rugs to buy.” She says instead, and Charlie snorts at the nickname, but she looks pleased, too, and Meira takes that as a win.