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mossygardenstone · 3 years

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Run Away With Us

Sal and Larry x reader hurt/comfort one shot

TW: Abusive parents, panic attack, angst, crappy writing

Relationships: Platonic with hints at a crush on Larry

Wanted to do a little fanfic for my feels after being inspired by this playlist! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FGOuYP0x88 _____________________________________________________________ You tapped your pencil anxiously on your desk, watching the clock. You could never understand how you were so ready to leave, but not to go home. School was awful, but home.. Was even worse. You don't know what you even wanted anymore, and it tears you apart inside. But there was someone noticed the taps, two someones actually. Two classmates on either side of the room, ever since the teacher separated them. Both of them were your friends, and both were very much trouble, well mostly the tall one. The shorter blue haired boy was still trouble, but the kinda of trouble that you just know he didn't bring on himself. But they were your friends, and they you loved them, even with all the weird stories they told you about their "ghost hunting". Ghosts you believed, but cults? Demons? It all seemed too far fetched to truly believe, but you supported them. You listened to their stories all night over the phone, and wished more than anything, that you could go with them. To call your parents protective, would be a offensive at this point. They smothered you, painfully so, and your relationship with them, was rocky, on the good days. The thoughts of home and the tense there, swirled dangerously in your mind, as you watch the clock. It wasn't even lunch, but you were worried about going home already, and your pencil showed this, when it wasn't tapping, thanks to the dirty looks you got, it was between your teeth, taking the brunt of your emotions.

Sal was the first to notice this, as Larry was too busy doodling. Once the teacher turned to the board scratching the assignment loudly, Sal lobbed a paper ball across the room at the taller teen, nailing him in the head and making it nestle into his long and greasy hair. The teen looked up with a start, remembering the world outside of his little doodle page. He picked the paper ball from his head, and read it, knowing Sal's hand writing right away, and peaked at the other, before he read: "Are they alright today?" Larry looked from the paper, to Sal, who nodded toward you. You had already laid your head down to keep from snapping the pencil in your teeth, taking to staring at the desk in the darkness your arms created around your head. Larry looked at you, furrowing his brow, then looked to Sal again, who gave a soft head tilt as Larry turned back to his paper, flipping a page, and quietly ripping it out, scribbling, and yeeting it to Sal at the earliest possibility. By now, you could hear them, you know the sound of paper balls smashing the two boys in the face from a mile away, but you didn't lift your head, simply looked at through the little crack in your arm where you could see Sal's desk and hands moving to read a new note. But you were too anxious to really think of anything else, other than they were plotting a hunt or a smoke sesh after school, so you shut your eye's again.

Sal folded out the note, smoothing it with his large hands, wondering why Larry always had to crumble it to death like that, the pencil was smudged and the wrinkles were over the top, but he still could read it, he had learned to read Lar's awful hand writing ages ago, a skill you had yet to pick up. Once he straightened the paper out, and read the very simple, and unnecessarily small text of "ditch x3?" Sal lifted his head and looked at Lar, you, the clock, and then back to Lar, tapping his wrist like it had a watch and gave a shrug, to ask him “when”. Larry smirked and leaned back into his chair some, looking up to the teacher, she had long fell asleep at her desk after writing the pages to read on the board, she pretended she was simply reading her own book, but the faint snore wasn't missed. The other kids had either gone to sleep too, or was fucking off more than them. Lar gave a glance back to Sal and his smirk turned into a shit eating grin, as he mouthed "Now." to the other teen, and nodded toward the window next to Sal. Sal's eyes widened behind his mask, they usually would ditch between classes, not DURING them. But he worried for you, he knew you wouldn't tell them about your home anymore, last time, Larry and you argued. It was like you didn't know what they did to you was abuse, or if you did, you didn't want to hear it. So you started to clam up about it, despite Larry prying till you both fought again. You two were often compared to a married couple, you bickered over things, but everyone figured it was cause you both we're just as stubborn as the other. Sal came back from his thoughts, glancing from Larry to the window. Larry still smiling, leaning forward again, motioning his hand to open the window, trying to encourage the bad deeds.

Sal was a bit panicked at the idea, but caved, turning to the window next to him, and leaned over his desk to very softly push on it, begging it to be silent. It slid up with a little pop of air coming through, which caught the attention of a few people, including you, but thankfully, not the teacher, who just snored louder. Sal put a finger to his mask as the class looked at him. Some rolled their eyes, others snickered softly, but they all went back to their lives, but not you, you popped your head up and looked at him, with questioning eyes, before turning to Larry and raising a brow. Larry was practically out of his chair already, his stuff gathered to his side as Sal very anxiously slipped the window up enough to fit a person. You turned you attention to the window again, seeing Sal's things kicked toward the window as well, and gave a chuckle, along with a couple other students that were gawking, but you had to stop yourself from making a noise as a paper ball smacked the back of your head. You rolled your eyes before grabbing it and laying it out flat, squinting at the shitty hand writing on the mangled paper. "come with?" read the small text with a little ghost drawn other it.

Your eyes searched it frantically, looking for the joke, but when you whipped your head up to look to Larry, he was standing above you, bag over his shoulder, waiting for your answer right next to you. You wanted to speak but you didn't even know what to say if you were going to. Larry simply gave a breathy chuckle and mouthed "scared?" at you. Your eyes narrowed at him, a challenge? Fuck it then. You stuffed your stuff in your bag as fast as you could while being quiet, and slung it over your shoulder and joined Sal next to the window, with Larry not far behind you. But you could feel eyes on you, eyes filled with anger, and not "what are these chuckle fucks doing now?" like the others, you looked up to see Travis, the local homophobic homo. Once your eyes met, he glared daggers at you, and whipped his head around, looking toward the teacher. Larry's half lidded eyes widened, and his head went back a little in shock. Sal had gathered his bag and swung a leg out the window, and before he could fully hop out, he heard the boys voice ring out loudly. "They're skipping class again!" he screamed, his voice cracking, causing students to snicker, as the teacher woke with a start.

"Aw, shit, fucking Travis." Larry grumbled out, and turned to the window, where Sal had already hopped out and waited, but you were stuck stunned as the teacher rose from their desk and looked at you both. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING, GET IN YOUR SEATS!" Larry snagged your arm, giving a soft shake and leaned down to you. "Come on, we gotta go now, or not at all." He said in your ear, before ducking his lanky limbs out the window and rolling out next to Sal with a laugh. Both looked up at you, the teacher closing in on you. "Back in your seat!" She screamed as she moved closer, reaching for you. Sal took a couple steps back, trying to put distance between the window, and get a head start, but Larry didn't budge, he watched you, with half lidded eyes. You glanced from the teacher to the window again, before sucking in air, and just straight up jumped out, like you were about to take a nice slide down a slip n slide, but instead of a nice slide, you just belly flopped out with a pathetic little slide, earing a laugh from Larry who helped scoop you up, and the three of you started to run from the grounds, hearing the teachers screams fade till all that was left was the sounds of your shoes padding away quickly.

Once you reached the fence at the end of the school's property, the two teens, easily hopped it, tossing their things over to the first over, which was Sal, who caught them and tossed them to the ground. You could tell they did this, like a lot. Once Larry was over, he turned to look at you, as you were sizing the fence up. "Heh, come on, you can't hop a window, OR a fence?" you narrowed your eyes again, this man could really push your buttons. "Not all of us can just step over it, you long legged ass." You grumbled scaling it, biting back your nerves. Once at the top, you swung your legs over, and sat at the top railing for a moment, looking at the ground. You were hardly higher than Larry, but something about being higher than the tall bastard was sending you for a loop. "Come onnnn, I'll catch you!" Larry finally said with a smirk, holding out his arms. Oh that was it, he's gonna catch you alright, with his fucking face. You hefted yourself off the rail and straight at the other teen, expecting his little lanky ass to crumble like his paper balls under your weight from that height. But instead the wind was knocked from you for a second time, as you were easily caught by the boy. His arms pressed hard around you with the catch, and he stumbled a tiny bit, but you were still safe, feet but a foot or two off the ground, dangling in his arms, like a rag doll as you tried to figure out what even happened.

You looked up, the boy's nose painfully close to your face, that was now heating up at the closeness. "I told you I would catch you." He said with a chuckle, not helping your embarrassment. You gave a weak wiggle in the boys arms, trying to signal to just drop you already from the bear hug. "Jesus...Fuck. How did you even catch me, noodle arms?" Larry was about to release you, before that comment, but instead his grin widened and he squeezed you tightly to his chest, showing off just how much more strength he had. You let out a breathy squeak, caught off guard by the pressure, before you heard a loud pop, and your eyes widened a little. He had popped your back in the most amazing way, and you both looked at each other, questioning if that just happened, before all three of you bust into laughter, Larry finally putting you down. "If the married couple is ready, we're not too far from school, and uhhh." Sal said, pointing up to the security guards, huffing as they ran to the fence, starting to yell for them to stop. "Oh shit, let's go." Larry said, grabbing his bag, and then yours, hefting both over his shoulders and taking off first. You and Sal quickly joined them, the sound of feet and backpacks shuffling away as you all left behind the guards.

"When you gonna carry my bag, dude?" Sal huffed and puffed behind his mask, adjusting the bag filled with most of their ghost hunting things, he turned to look at the tall teen, hefting the two bags. "When you belly flop out a window then get your spine cracked in a bear hug, I guess." He snickered and looked back to you, who tried your best to keep up, but again, they seem to do this, a lot, and had you beat in the running department... and the jumping.. actually let's stop thinking about that. Sal snickered and as the three of you ran till your were far enough to not worry anymore, so you all slowed down to a nice walk, which you welcomed. As you three walked Sal pulled out his phone and started to send a text, you trotted to walk beside him and smiled. "Texting Todd?" You questioned, which gained a smile from the boy that you could see in his eyes, even behind the mask. "Yeah, he's probably not going to ditch, but I like to let him know at least." Larry sighed, his usual slouch ruined by the two bags, forcing him to actually stand straight. "He never ditches, but it's cool, we just do small snooping without him." Sal gave a nod and stuffed the phone back in his pocket. "Yeah, he's got grades to keep up, so he doesn't like ditching."

Larry laughed, shifting the backpacks on his back, with a shake of his head. "Yeah, I'm glad I don't have to worry about that." You rolled your eyes, giving a tug to your bag to take it from him. "Ever think, maybe you should?" You teased, looking him up and down. He simply rolled his eyes and let the bag drop into your hands with the tug and shruged. "I make Cs, that's good enough for mom, it's good enough for me." Sal chuckled and looked over his shoulder at him "What about the F in chem Lisa was just yelling at you about this morning?" Larry frowned and groaned, "I forgot about that honestly." he said, his smirk coming back, earning a laugh from you both. A silence washed over you three as you walked, once the teasing and questions were aside, but you enjoyed the nice silence as they lead you into the woods. "Sooo," you finally interrupted the silence, wiping sweat from your brow. "Where are we even going?" You looked from one teen to the other, before Sal spoke. "There's this weird little house out here." Larry nodded and raised his hands, wiggling his fingers in a "spooky" fashion. "Yeah it's fucking creepy as hell. No one remembers it ever being there, no address for it or anything." he dropped his arms, and rolled his shoulders in an exaggerated shrug. "And it's completely empty." Sal added, pulling his phone back out as it vibrated. "Other than some like, really, really old, dusty furniture." Larry continued, watching the other tapping away on the flip phone, before pocketing it again.

"Todd said the whole school is freaking out about us." Sal looked at the two of you, a smile behind his mask. Larry threw back his head with a laugh, "Oh man, were so boned." Sal hummed in agreement, but you stopped in your tracks. You couldn't take another step, as panic took over you. Gripping the straps of your bag, you looked at the ground, completely zoned, thinking about what would happen when you went home. You'd never be allowed to do basically anything, ever again. You'd be surprised if they didn't padlock you out of your room...again. Larry and Sally came to a stop as well, looking at you. "Y/N?" Sal asked, worry in his tone, but you didn't respond, your brain was going a mile a minute and didn't even hear him. Larry started snapping his fingers to bring you back, "Y/N? Come on dude, I can't have you both starting this zoning out thing." You looked at Larry with a start. "Hu-huh? Oh.. sorry I just uh..." You trailed off, eyes falling back to the ground, the thoughts trying to close back in. You wondered if you'd have a room left when you came back, would it be all thrown outside? All your things, your sketch books, your clothes, your bed, your cat? You shook your head and shut your eyes tight, wincing at the thought.

Sal put an oversized hand on your shoulder, while Larry slipped his fingers around yours and held your hand so tenderly, you could feel it through your freak out. You looked at them both, trying to pretend you didn't have tears in your eyes, knowing it was a lie. Sal finally spoke again, rubbing the hand on your shoulder for a moment. "You're worried about your folks, huh?" his voice was comforting, like the one you'd hear from someone that loved you dearly, it was almost strange for you to hear that from someone, did you really never get to hear that tone from anymore else? "Yeah, don't worry about it tho-" Larry squeezed your hand, you could see he was upset, you knew the look he had when he was upset, his brows would knit together, and he couldn't stop from frowning, almost looking like a pouting child. But you saw restraint in his eyes, like he was, for once, biting his tongue. "Y/N just-" He started but sighed and looked away, his hand never leaving yours though. You felt bad, you knew what he wanted to say, and you didn't know if you could fight this time.

You came from this train of thoughts as well, when Sal slid his hand down your arm, to catch your free hand in his, like Larry. The both of them, on either side of you, holding you hands gently, their love pouring through their palms. It reminded you of those cute pictures you've seen, where parents hold the hands of their kids as they walk. It was then, that you were absolutely certain, no one had shown you love like this. Love that you didn't question, that you didn't fear. Love that you can actually feel. It felt really nice, you couldn't help it anymore, your eyes dropped to the ground, as tears ran down your cheeks, a small sob escaping your lips. Sal's hand seemed to hold yours even more gently, where Larry's tightened, you could truly feel their emotions, and how they handled yours differently. It was beautiful, and grounding, but still the tears fell.

Larry was steaming mad, but he wouldn't let you know, he hated your parents, he was so pissed about how they treated you. If they weren't abusing you emotionally and mentally, they were neglecting you to go do whatever they wanted and left you alone. And when they weren't doing either of those, they had the nerve to gaslight you, till you wouldn't listen to your friends, even though they loved you. He wanted to speak, say what he wanted to for weeks now, but he knew there would be venom in his voice that he couldn't stop, so it was Sal that broke the silence. "Y/N... Me and Lar have been talking." He glanced to the taller teen, before looking back to you, as you stared a hole into the grass. "And we've been talking to our parents..." He continued, but this time Larry spoke up, more aggressively than he meant to, "Yeah and-" he lowered his tone when he noticed you flinch, sadness creeped into his heart when he saw that, and he vowed, he'd never make you do that again. But he continued his sentence, with the softest and most loving tone his anger allowed. "An-And we want you to move in with us." He finally got it out, but why did he feel his cheeks heating up? Why was he suddenly so nervous? It was his idea, he brought it up to Sal weeks ago, and after talking, and getting the evidence he needed to show both their parents, they agreed without a hesitation. Their parents had already started to make their relationship more serious, talking about marriage, but even then, they couldn't stand what they heard about your parents. Sal's dad and Larry's mom had reactions, similar to their sons. Soft pitty, and bitter anger. Lisa even talked about fighting their parents, but they decided that instead, taking them in was the best option.

You looked up quickly when he told you, looking between the two of them. They we're joking right? They had to be. But it wasn't a bad idea, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't think about it. Late at night, when your parents fought, you put your headphones on, to drown them out, thinking about what it'd be like to live in the apartments with Sal, Larry, and Todd. You never really said it, but you wanted to move into them when you were able to, and well, you just kind of forgot, you would be able to do that soon. You were only months from your 18th birthday, Larry was even closer, where Sal had already hit his. It made sense for them to even think about this, and you you realized, you could just, never go back. But you couldn't stop staring at them, you just knew it was a lie. Why would they want to live with you? Who even were you living with? They lived in two different apartments.

Larry finally broke the silence again, "Well? Aren't you even going to answer?" He sounded hurt, was it from your pause? Was it because you seemed like you didn't want to? But you finally spoke, "Why?" was all you managed out of the many questions in your head. They both stared at you blinking, they didn't really expect that question you guessed, but you felt Larry's hand grip tighter, and he tugged it, just enough to fully obtain your attention. "What the hell do you mean 'why'? Your parents suck, Y/N. You're fucking scared to even go home." He spoke bluntly but with a calm tone, worried of freaking you out again, and knew this topic never had gone well before. But you softly sighed, you gave both boys a soft squeeze to their hands, catching them both off guard, from the limp fish they felt they were holding earlier. Now, you held their hands back, even stroking a finger over each boys hand, but never looking up. "I know..." your words were flat, and you barely realized you said them. They were true, weren't they? You knew they were, you didn't want them to be, but they were. You didn't want to go home, ever fucking again. You didn't want to hear them yell at you, to belittle you, to use you for a therapist or maid. You wanted to be free.

The boys looked at you for a long time, both caught off guard by the response, but before they could even collect a sentence, you spoke again. "Which of you would I live with?" You finally looked up, Sal smiled behind his mask, his eyes showing it plainly again, but Larry thought his heart was melting still from the way you held his hand back. He never understood how someone who went through something so hard, had such a soft grip. But he had to shake his thoughts from his head, a smile creeping on his face. "Me, of course." He chirped happily, earning a brow raise from you. Sal rolled his eyes, "Neil got a house, it's right down the road from the apartments, and Todd's going to live with him of course, and he invited me to come along." Larry pipped up to finish for his bro, "And I'm hanging back for a bit, I'm not gonna move out just yet, I still haven't figured out if I'm going to college, like these nerds have." he said smirking at Sally, earning an eyeroll. You looked from Sal to Larry for a minute, before looking back to Sal again. "So how shit of a roomie is he?" you question, making Sal chuckle loudly, and earning a scowl from Larry. "The worst." Sally teased, raising a hand to his face and waving it in front of his nose. "His room smells like pot and paint all the time, and he loses everything he touches." Larry narrowed his eyes at the other, "And your mask stinks." He retorted with a smirk. Sal raised a finger and waved it at him, "It's a prosthetic thank you, very much." Larry rolled his eyes and mumbled "A stinky one."

You all laughed and your smile could warm these entire cold, dark woods. You felt so safe and happy with them, and you never even noticed. "Alright." You said with a shrug, dragging both their hands up with it. Larry looked almost shocked, like he never thought you'd agree, but Sal just smiled at you both. "Wait, really?" Larry questioned, still stunned. But you simply looked at him, and gave him the biggest smile you've ever had in your life, tracing a finger over the ring on the boy's finger. "Yeah Larry, I'd love to live with you guys. I really would." It was their turn to join in on the tears, and they finally let go of your hand, before closing in around you, the two of them wrapping their arms around you and each other. You beamed and let out an embarrassed giggle as you hugged their arms to your chest, enjoying the group hug, more than you ever thought you would. You all held each other for a moment, enjoying the comfort of the group hug, you all had a place, and it was together.

But all things come to an end, including the cuddle puddle. Which was rudely interrupted by the loud blaring of your ringer, Sanity Falls, poorly recorded off Larry's stereo on your flip phone. You pulled the phone out, as the boys finally released you, but they didn't move far from your side, peaking at the caller ID on the front. It was your mother. Your stomach bounced from your feet to your throat, and back again, eyes scanning the phone, your hands starting to shake. Sal's eye's grew sad, seeing you so upset. Larry was trying to control his anger, his want to just- Before he could finish his thought, you opened the flip phone up, accepting the call, stunning both boys, not only did they think you'd ignore it, but you always skittered off to answer it when you did. But instead, you just flipped it open, your fingers trembling against it. Your mother's voice blared through the phone, as if it was on speaker, the loud bitch always did have some lungs on her. "Y/N? Where the fuck are you? Why did you leave school? You are in so-" you turned the phone, taking each side of the flip phone in your hands, and snapping it in half, the voice spotting short as you broke it. Larry was stunned, and upset, that's just what he wanted to do. You looked at the halves of the phone, and threw them to the dirt, stomping them in a little, feeling a wave of euphoria wash over you. You looked back up to the boys, almost looking for approval. But before your face could even turn to Larry's, he had scooped you up in another bear hug. "That was fucking metal, Y/N!" He spun you, nearly side swiping Sal with you dangling legs, but he jumped back and pumped a fist in the air. "Hell yeah it was!" He cheered, as the lanky boy finally finished spinning you, put your feet on the ground. You head was spinning, but you couldn't tell if it was the twirl or joy anymore, laughter spilling past your lips, even though tears still formed in your eyes. But for once, the tears weren't painful. But you looked up to Larry, as he put his hands on both sides for you shoulders, looking in your eyes. "I'm proud of you, Y/N." your lip quivered, but you jumped a little when you felt Sal hand on your back. "I am too." his voice was calm and gentle, just like the hug Larry pulled you into, as Sal rested his mask against your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you from behind. You laid your face against Larry's chest, the two of them felt warm and comforting against you, and you smiled as you sobbed softly. "Thank you." You finally choked out. You were finally home.

#Sally Face #Sally Face Fanfic #Larry Johnson #Sally Face x Reader #Larry Johnson x Reader #x Reader #hurt/comfort #tws in post

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floating-mid-air · 3 years

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The Princess Of All Saiyans

Masterlist

Hey guys! Chapter nine is here. And this one is a fun one. As always, I hope you enjoy. And if you have any comments or questions regarding this fic, feel free to let me know.

Also if you've been following this story for a while, then you'd know how inconsistent I am when I post chapters of this story. Sometimes it takes me two weeks to write another chapter, and other times it takes me an entire month. So if you're interested in being notified whenever I post a new chapter, you can join my tag list here.

Chapter 9

Vegeta and Raditz land simultaneously, both Saiyans carefully observing their surroundings. All of the Dragon Balls have remained in place, but that provides very little relief. There isn't a trace of your presence, not a footprint, not even a stray hair. "Y/N!" Raditz shouts at the top of his lungs. This was a severe mistake on his part. For his own sake, Raditz better hope the Ginyu force hasn't heard all of his commotion.

Vegeta paces back and forth, his hands knotted through his hair. "Relax, Vegeta. She couldn't have gotten far." Despite Raditz's calm words, his tone gives him away completely. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out that he's just as anxious as Vegeta.

Raditz's advice doesn't seem to calm down the prince even a little. In fact, he only seems to grow more distraught. "Raditz, you don't understand. I never disclosed the location of the Dragon Balls to her."

Raditz furrows his brows at the smaller Saiyan. "What the hell, Vegeta!" Never in his wildest dreams did Raditz ever imagine himself shouting at the prince. He didn't even notice that Gohan and Krillin had joined them. Hopefully, they've picked up bits and pieces of the conversation because neither Saiyan has the patience to deal with their idiocy at the moment. "Just--- What the fuck were you thinking?" Raditz doesn't understand. How can Vegeta go from ordering someone to stay glued to your side at all times to leaving you to fend for yourself on a foreign planet? It's only been a few weeks. How can he have gone through such a drastic change in such a short amount of time?

"If I knew the Ginyu Force was coming, do you think I would've left her alone!" Their bickering is doing nothing to help. In fact, it's probably making the situation worse.

"Alright. How about you both calm down." Krillin decides to jump in and play peacemaker. "Y/N seems more than capable of taking care of herself. We need to focus on the threat. We need to get this over with and summon the dragon before something bad happens."

Both Saiyans turn to the smaller earthling, glaring daggers at him. "Who gives a damn about immortality right now! You don't know the first thing about my sister! So don't stand there all high and mighty and act like you do." Krillin hit a nerve, but it wasn't just in Vegeta.

The earthling wants to revive his friends, but there is something he doesn't understand about Raditz. You've been the faint speck of light in his otherwise shitty world, the only friend the Saiyan has ever had. Even though he stood with his brother, you're still a priority over the resurrection of a handful of puny earthlings.

"Interesting to see where your priorities lie, Geta!" Your legs have been sticking out of your handcrafted shelter the entire time. It's funny to see what details people miss while they're in a state of panic. You lean forward, revealing yourself to the abnormal group. Now your entire body hangs off the mountain.

Four sets of eyes look up at you, all with varying responses present on their features. "Oh, thank god," Vegeta whispers, at an octave low enough only for him to hear. Raditz places a hand on his chest, sighing in relief as Vegeta's features contort in displeasure. "What did I tell you about pulling shit like this? Get your ass down here!"

You jump down, landing in front of the Dragon Balls. This ensures that you maintain a safe distance away from your brother just in case he decides to kill you. "Don't get your panties in a twist."

Vegeta's nostrils flare, complemented with his entire body shaking with rage. "You scared me half to death." You expected a lecture, but he's not even raising his voice. You may have freaked him out more than you originally intended.

Your lips curve upwards. "That sounds like a you problem, big brother." Something is particularly satisfying about throwing his own words in his face.

"I suppose I deserved that." His features soften. "I'm just relieved that you're alright."

Raditz walks over to you, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "Well, what did I do to deserve that scare?"

"Collateral damage Raditz. Call it a happy accident."

"Enough of the chit-chat. Now let's---" Vegeta cuts himself off as you all lookup. You can sense the Ginyu Force, and they're heading straight for you. You grab Raditz, pulling him into the homemade cave. The others were facing the Dragon Balls. There would've been no time for them to get up here as well. Your higher altitude could be used to your advantage since you'll have the element of surprise.

It's a bit cramped, but when you created the cave. You never expected to share the space with a Saiyan of Raditz's size. He takes up more space than you and Vegeta combined. You both watch the Ginyu Force land in front of a trembling Gohan, a frozen Krillin, and an aloof Vegeta. You really hope the Genius Force doesn't do those god-awful poses. You've already been traumatized enough for the week.

You decide to keep a close eye on Captain Ginyu, who is currently exchanging pleasantries with your brother. Well, as pleasant as it can get for two beings who are about to murder each other in cold blood. Followed by murmurings from various members of the Ginyu Force and Recoome's delayed laughter. "Just hand over the Dragon Balls, Vegeta. No need to make this any harder than it has to be." Vegeta's posture remains stiff. It's clear your brother isn't going to budge. Their little group is going to have to pry that orb from his dead body. "Come on, Vegeta, be a sport. We already have five." He gestures to the spheres behind him. That means Frieza will have five. Can you really trust those neanderthals to hold onto their Dragon Balls? No, you were raised to trust no one's capabilities but your own, not even Vegeta's.

Jeice looks around, his green eyes scanning around the area. "Where's that gorgeous sister of yours, Vegeta?"

Vegeta glares at the red man. "Even if my sister was here. I doubt she'd be interested, Jeice. I mean, she never has been." Oh, your brother knows all about your history with the mutant Brench-seijin. He's overly flirty, and you reject him. It was a vicious never-ending cycle. If Vegeta had no self-control, he would've murdered him years ago for even looking in your direction. In his eyes, Jeice is unworthy of a woman of your status.

"Well, with Raditz out of the picture, there's no chance for Saiyan offspring. So I figured I'd shoot my shot." You cringe. You're not sure which idea is more repulsive, a relationship with Jeice or procreating with Raditz.

"Even if you were the last man in the universe. My sister wouldn't so much as glance in your direction." Vegeta and Jeice continue going back and forth as an idea pops in your head. This may be your only opportunity to get your hands on a Dragon Ball. You're only chance to put a fork in Frieza's plans for immortality.

You silently climb out of the cave, dropping to the ground. The others can unmistakably see you, but they make no expressions alerting the Ginyu Force of your presence. You grab the closest orb before promptly flying back to the cave. Call this your insurance policy for when Krillin and Vegeta ultimately screw up. You escaped that entirely undetected. Is the term elite just thrown around loosely in the Frieza Force? Because that's what you're starting to think.

You hand the Dragon Ball to Raditz, directing your gaze back outside. "Those scouters of yours can't detect Dragon Balls, can they?" It was a rhetorical question. Vegeta knows they don't have that type of technology yet. You know how your brother thinks, and this is a faulty plan on his part. "Then you lose!" Vegeta pivots, launching the ball at an alarming speed. It would be a fatal blow to the head if it hit someone.

Burter takes off, chasing after the orb. He flips in the air, catching the ball with ease. You swear, Vegeta can be such a dumbass sometimes. He knows Burter rivals you in speed. He may even be a bit faster than you.

You shake your head, turning to Raditz, lowering your voice to a whisper. "Here's the plan. When I formulate a distraction, you're going to take the Dragon Ball and get the hell out of here. And Raditz, go hide the damn thing, somewhere no one will find it." He grins from ear to ear, causing you to glare at him. You know how this moron thinks by now. "And do not hide it with that Earth woman. That will just get her killed."

"What if that's my intention?"

"I don't think little brother Kakarot would be very pleased with you, but it's your call." You stand in silence for a moment, your piercing gaze lingering on the Saiyan. "Though, I can assure you. If Frieza gets his hands on that Dragon Ball. I'll kill you. In the most graphic and painful way, I can imagine." He gulps nervously, rapidly shaking his head in understanding. To Raditz, you're the only life form that can still sound menacing while whispering.

You revert your vision back to the little gathering outside. And as you assumed, Krillin lost his Dragon Ball as well. Ginyu decides to take Vegeta for himself, which doesn't go over well with his team. They're acting like a bunch of children. It's almost comical. "Fine." The Captain sighs. "I'll take the Dragon Balls back to Lord Frieza. You all can sort this out amongst yourselves." They chant Ginyu's name a few times. They kinda remind you of a cult.

The four lower members of the Ginyu force move to stand in a circle. "So the winner gets Vegeta. And for second place---" Guldo is cut off by Recoome.

"The rest. Make the two runts a set. Together they'll be more equal to Vegeta." Oh, that can't be going over well with your brother. The fact that Recoome would declare that those two are his equals must be sending his blood pressure through the roof.

They begin playing rock paper scissors. This must be how they decide their battles. It's like a game to them. Every single match ends in a draw. At this rate, you could be stuck up here forever.

You doze off until you hear Recoome cheering. The endless match must have finally ceased. "Ya! I get Vegeta!" Fate can be an amusing thing sometimes. Vegeta must be ecstatic, getting to show the moron just how much stronger he is than those pathetic runts.

"Of course, I'm stuck with the runts." Guldo wines. He's the last creature who should be referring to anyone as a runt. You could squash that little freak like a bug.

Ginyu approaches the Dragon Balls, picking them up with his telekinesis. He counts them before snapping his head toward the dumbest member of the Ginyu Force. "Recoome! There's only four here!"

Recoome scratches the back of his neck, that classic confused look on his face. "I'm sorry, Captain Ginyu. I thought I counted five."

Jeice turns to his superior. "I told you we shouldn't have trusted him with counting the Dragon Balls."

The Captain takes a deep breath, attempting to keep his composure. "It doesn't matter. I'll search for the missing Dragon Ball. It's probably with Y/N anyway." He takes off, heading in the direction of Frieza's ship. Well, that takes out your major concern. The others are child's play compared to Ginyu.

You pay minimum attention to Guldo's battle with Krillin and Gohan. You're more focused on finding an opening for a distraction. You begin to notice significant holes in their fight. Guldo will be in one area and then magically appear in another, and he's not teleporting. If he was, you would've been able to track his movements. Could the rumors about that green freak be true? Can he really pause time? They must be. That's the only feasible explanation. So under the assumption that Guldo can stop time, the earthlings don't even stand a chance. No matter what they do, that four-eyed freak will always remain one step ahead of them.

You do, however, pick up on something. Guldo appears to hold his breath before every skip in time. That must be a limitation in his abilities to pause time. So if those two can somehow prevent him from holding his breath, they should be able to best him. You know what, scratch that. Those two probably haven't picked up on his abnormal behaviors.

Though, the earthlings do appear to have the advantage at the moment. And the rest of the Ginyu Force won't let Guldo forget it. They're heckling him so loud that you can hear them clearly from all the way up here. Guldo's kinda like the Raditz of the group, just a lot less respected.

Guldo tosses the pair up into the air as a strange yellow light surrounds them. He's claiming it's a paralysis attack. That doesn't sound good for the earthlings.

Krillin and Gohan struggle almost as if they were trapped in invisible bindings. As far as you can tell, they're immobile. If Guldo felt the need to resort to such dire tactics, he must think that he can't take out the pair any other way. So when the earthling and the half-breed combine their strength, they're mightier than Guldo. That's quite impressive considering how weak they were back on Earth.

"Now I'm gonna show you what happens when you embarrass me in front of the boys." You clench your fists, your nails digging into your palms, as you watch Guldo intently. As much as you hate to admit it, you're going to need those two runts. So if Guldo were to kill them, it would be very unfavorable. He uses another mind trick to pull a tree from the ground, using the bottom end as a makeshift spear. He points the weapon at the pair, taunting them. He's gonna impale them with a fucking stick. What a pathetic way to go.

You do wonder why Vegeta hasn't intervened yet. He's never played by their rules before. So what's stopping him now? Your brother may simply believe that Gohan and Krillin deserve to die. For not adhering to his warning regarding the weakest link of the Ginyu Force. It's not below Vegeta to be that petty. You can't blame him though, those two fools have no sense of self-control.

The slimy green creature's obnoxious cackling invades your ears. Honestly, Guldo's just pissing you off more than he was before.

Amidst the chaos, you jump out of the cave, flying a bit to distance yourself from suspicion. You shoot a purple beam at Guldo, efficiently decapitating him. Raditz seems to have gotten the message since he checked out with the Dragon Ball sometime during the commotion. He better hide that thing somewhere safe because his life depends on it.

"Did you really think I'd let a creature as pathetic as Guldo kill anything with a drop of Saiyan blood!" Your voice booms causing all eyes to land on you. You place a hand on your chest, fixating your gaze on the Ginyu Force. "I'm hurt that you didn't include me in your little game."

"Oh, our apologies Y/N." Jeice's thick accent invades your ears. "We should have assumed. Wherever Vegeta is, you're always somewhere nearby."

You swear you can hear faint grumbling. You just can't quite locate the source. Your eyes scan over the ground until you discover the origin of the sound. Long story short, it was Guldo's severed head. So his species can survive decapitation, good to know. "Defeated by a damn Saiyan. And the weaker one at that." You could run circles around that little freak. If you went head to head, he wouldn't even be considered a challenge. Guldo's giving himself far too much credit.

Vegeta chuckles darkly. "Well, don't worry." He strides over to the talking head. "You won't have to deal with that shame for long." Vegeta finishes the job, eliminating that embarrassment of the group of supposed elite warriors.

The three remaining members complain about Guldo's demise, but it's not for the reason you may think. They're more upset about the impact his absence will have on their ridiculous pose. You wish you could say you were surprised, but you've known those idiots far too long to believe anything else.

The half-breed and earthling walk over to you, identical expressions of gratitude apparent on their faces. "We owe you one, Y/N." You roll your eyes at Krillin. It was a simple business decision. And it was nothing more than that.

Gohan nods in agreement. "Ya, thanks." You cringe at his gratitude. Why are they thanking you? You killed Guldo for your own selfish reasons.

"Your lives had nothing to do with it." Well, at least Krillin's. If Guldo did kill the half-breed, it would've been an embarrassment to your entire race in hell. "I needed a distraction. I saw an opportunity."

"She's right, so pull yourselves together. Your lives are incredibly insignificant to us." Vegeta's lying. Your brother knows you need them. He's just far too prideful to admit it.

Burter turns to Jeice, morphing his hands to prepare for another excruciating match of rock paper scissors. "Alright, Jeice. Winner gets the Princess, and the loser gets stuck with the two runts."

Jeice shakes his head. "No, Y/N's all yours." He turns to you, his green eyes meeting your own. "I could never lay a hand on a lady as fine as the Princess." You suppress a gag, deciding to keep your mouth shut. If you were to respond, there's a good chance you could end up fighting both of them.

Burter furrows his brows at his comrade. "Are you sure?"

"Ya, go crazy, Burter." It's actually a reasonable match-up. You and Burter both have incredible speed. I guess you'll finally find out who's faster.

Now with Guldo out of the picture, it's Recoome's turn to fight Vegeta. He reminds you a bit of Nappa. Since he lacks any form of self-control. His punches at your brother are erratic. He even almost hits you, Krillin, and Gohan several times. If Recoome were to hit Krillin with that kind of force, there's no doubt in your mind that it would be a fatal blow.

"Don't go killin them all yourself!" Jeice is second in command to Ginyu, so his authority over Recoome makes sense. "I get the two runts, and Burter get's the Princess of the monkeys." One minute Jeice is flirting with you. The next, he's demeaning you. Talk about mixed signals.

You watch Recoome and Vegeta trade punches, and it's starting to lack any value of entertainment. Vegeta's covered in blood while Recoome's armor is chipped, and he's now missing tufts of hair.

You begin to grow impatient. This will be the first time you've been challenged in a while. "Yo, Burter! Let's just get this over with now. We'll make this battle a double feature."

"Fine with me." The two of you distance yourselves from Recoome and Vegeta, commencing your battle as well.

Their gazes flicker back and forth between both battles. They were so enthralled in the action that neither Gohan nor Krillin noticed that Raditz had joined them.

Gohan and Krillin stick to the sidelines. They're in no hurry to fight Jeice. Even though he's significantly smaller than Recoome and Burter, Krillin doesn't think Jeice's smaller size will give them any sort of advantage.

"Raditz?" Jeice looks far from pleased. He's always been jealous of the Saiyan. Not for his strength, rather the envy stems from Raditz's luscious mane of hair. It took Jeice several years to grow his hair to an adequate length, while that fool was born with that full head of hair. Raditz meets his gaze, an arrogant smirk overtaking his features. As he waves at the green-eyed man mockingly. "But--- Y/N said you ran off!"

Mid-battle, you turn to Jeice. Without even looking, you still manage to keep up with Burter. "I'm a compulsive liar, Jeice! It's a nasty habit."

Jeice huffs, crossing his arms at the largest Saiyan. "Raditz is mine. I'm throwing him in with the two runts." A chuckle escapes your lips. He's underestimating what the three of them could accomplish together. Jeice is letting his own petty feelings cloud his judgment. How arrogant.

Krillin's brows furrow as his eyes linger on you. There's something that isn't quite adding up. He turns to Raditz and Gohan, lowering his voice to a whisper. "Hey, guys. I've been thinking about something. Remember back on Earth how Vegeta said that Saiyans get stronger after battle. Well, Vegeta's gotten stronger after several fights, but do you see Y/N? She's still able to effortlessly keep up. Even though she's barely lifted a finger. How is that possible?" The earthling's eyes widen as the gears begin to shift in his head. "Unless. Is she stronger---"

Raditz's hand covers Krillin's mouth, lowering his voice to a deadly whisper. "Silence, you earthling. Keep that big mouth of yours shut."

Krillin's teeth sink into his captor's hand, successfully freeing himself from the Saiyan's clutches. Several muffled phrases of obscenity escape Raditz's lips as he rapidly shakes his hand in an attempt to soothe the pain. "She is. Isn't she?" The look on Raditz's face told Krillin all he needed to know. "But you knew that already, and I bet you know why too. I wonder how Vegeta would feel about this?" His last sentence was clearly a passive-aggressive threat toward both you and Raditz. The earthling wouldn't be dumb enough to follow through with that threat, would he?

Raditz scowls at Krillin. How dare this pathetic little weasel attempt to threaten him. "Not a word to Vegeta. If you value your life. I'd stop talking now. Vegeta doesn't know, and it would be very unfavorable if he found out, for all of us." His tone shifts, his eyes flashing with vulnerability. "Something bad happened to us as children, and Vegeta still doesn't know about it." He returns to his menacing demeanor, your shared childhood trauma getting pushed to the back of his mind becoming yet again a distant memory. "So you will stop your absurd thoughts now. Or I can assure you. The second you resurrect your feeble friends, I will single-handedly slaughter them, and then you will follow." Krillin gulps, nodding in fear. He better pray Vegeta heard none of their conversations because he has a feeling Raditz will stick to his word.

Raditz thinks he knows all your secrets, but he's only aware of the tip of the iceberg. Below the surface lies pain and suffering the older Saiyan could never imagine from you. You keep these secrets to protect him, to protect Vegeta, and most importantly, to protect yourself. But if either of them were to find out the truth, your life as you know it would come crashing down. If they were to find out your greatest shame, your pride would be in shambles, and they would know the truth. You're just a weak Saiyan who's an embarrassment to her family name.

You're not exactly sure how much time has passed. You've completely blocked out the entirety of your surroundings, remaining focused on your battle with Burter. You can't joke around as you did back on Earth. There's no room for error today.

The two of you take turns beating the absolute hell out of each other. If you keep this up, there will be no end to this anytime soon. You shriek, spiking up your energy substantially. Burter's eyes bug out as his scouter explodes. Those pieces of junk are really no match to this energy-sensing technique.

Even though you've blocked out your surroundings, you know the two of you have moved a significant distance away from the others. You could even be on the other side of the planet by now. In the back of your mind, you can't help but worry about your brother especially, now that you're so far away. Recoome may be an idiot, but he's a strong one. You have to remain focused. You can't help Vegeta if you don't help yourself first.

You begin to get the edge over Burter. Now he's attempting to block your attacks, but due to his large size, he's failing horribly. A couple more blows, and you'll finally be able to knock him down. You've taken down guys much larger than Burter, creatures who were triple his size.

Over the years, you've learned to use your smaller size to your advantage. Making your opponent's sheer size more of a nuisance than a strength. Burter begins to struggle further. He's now barely able to keep up with you. "I'm the fastest being in the universe! How can one of you monkeys be faster than me?" You scowl at him, finding no humor in his statement as rage boils inside of you.

Unknown to you, you and Burter aren't alone. Goku has been watching your battle in awe for quite some time now. He knows he should've left to find the others, but he just couldn't help it. He can't take his eyes off of you. This is the first time he's seen you fight, and you're much stronger than the Earthbound Saiyan believed.

Your fists clench as your entire body convulses in rage. It's not often you'll lose your temper like this. Goku swears that he saw your irises flash a shade of red. He rubs his eyes, glancing back at you. Your eyes have returned to normal. Maybe Goku is just seeing things. If you knew someone was watching, you would've kept your temper in check.

Burter sends a blast of your energy your way. Which you dodge by teleporting behind him. You use all of your body weight to knock him down to the ground. You won't mock him like you typically do after defeating a foe. You won't take the chance of giving him an opening to strike back. In the palm of your hand, you create an orb of energy, disintegrating his head. Successfully, taking out your second member of the great Ginyu Force.

You fall to your knees, desperately gasping for air, before grabbing your side, wincing in excruciating pain. Damn, Burter must have nicked you good. You look to your side, noticing just how much blood has leaked through your armor. This is gonna be an issue, though you've fought through worse. You stand back up to check your body for any further damage. There seems to be no other physical damage to your form. Your armor is a bit ripped, though.

"Wow! You're really strong." You gasp, moving your fist, aiming it at whoever is in front of you. They swiftly catch your fist, preventing you from attacking. Their grip is secure enough to stop you from escaping, yet at the same time pleasantly gentle.

You move your gaze upwards, finally gathering the courage to look them in the eye. Your brows furrow as Goku's dumb face enters your field of vision. "God, Kakarot! When the hell did you get here?" You shake yourself out of his grasp, taking a few steps back, putting some distance between you two.

"A while ago." He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. "I got distracted by your fight." So he was observing you the whole time. Why does that make you feel incredibly self-conscious?

"Of course you did." You sigh, moving several strands of hair out of your face. Goku steps closer to you, bringing his hand to meet your forehead. It's so big that it takes up the entirety of your forehead and even the top of your head. "Kakarot. What the hell are you doing?"

"Just be quiet for a second." It's official. Goku has lost what was left of his mind. "So it is true. You guys are working together. And that Frieza guy is a much bigger deal than I thought." How does he know about all of that? And why is he still touching you?

You slap his arm, convincing him to remove his hand. "And why's that?"

"Because you're afraid of him."

Your face flushes. "I'm not scared of Frieza. I'm not afraid of anything." Your cross your arm, averting his gaze.

"Yes, you are." He pouts. "I saw it." Kakarot saw it? How the hell--- Did Kakarot acquire the ability to read thoughts? Is that even possible?

You decide to divert his mind from his accusations. Knowing Kakaort, that shouldn't be hard at all. "Since when can you read minds?"

He rubs his chin, lost deep in thought. "I don't know--- I just had a feeling."

"Well, let's go. And new rule." You bring your hand up, pointing your index finger at the buffoon. "Stay out of my thoughts!"

He holds up his hands in surrender, nodding. "Are we gonna go find that Captain Ginyu guy?"

"No. We have to go make sure that Recoome and Jeice haven't killed the others first. Don't bite off more than you can chew." Goku has this aura around him. You can tell he's gotten stronger. He just needs to learn how to get his priorities in order.

Okay. All you have to do is pin down someone's energy. There are at least four sources to choose from, so this should be fairly simple. You shut your eyes. This should help you concentrate adequately.

"Ohh, what's that?"

Your head snaps toward Goku. "What?" You swear the man has an attention span equivalent of an insect.

He bends down, observing the ground intently. "It's like a green string."

"A green--- Kakarot! Don't!" But you were too late. He's already yanked the tripwire.

The ground concaves beneath you, causing you to lose your footing as the two of you fall down into the pit. You fall on top of Goku. Unintentionally straddling the Saiyan. And if you thought this situation couldn't get any more awkward, you'd be wrong. Goku's arms are wrapped securely around your waist, holding you in place. Your heart feels like it's beating out of your chest. And your face feels like it's been set aflame. As your eyes lock, your face only turns a deeper shade of crimson. "D-Don't touch me!" You're stuttering. What the hell is happening to you?

His brows furrow. "You're the one who fell on top of me!"

"It's not my fault." His classic pout spreads across his lips. "How was I supposed to know that the ground would collapse?"

"W-Well, you're the reason we're in this mess!" You stand up, wanting to get as far away from Goku as possible. You don't like the way you feel around him. The only time your pulse should be racing like this is during combat.

"Well, it wouldn't be called a trap if you could see it!"

"I don't get why you're so mad. Can't we just fly out?"

You snicker as your lips curve upward. "Give it a shot, Kakarot." You know it won't work, but at least his failures will provide you with some quality entertainment. It would be a pretty pathetic trap if you could simply fly out. Goku flies up, slamming his head on the invisible barrier. You break out into a fit of laughter as he falls back down. Goku jumps back up, rubbing the back of his head. "Ouch. Did you know that would happen?" Your giggling dies down as Goku begins looking around the hole. "How did this place even get here? Is this Frieza's work?"

"No. It's definitely the work of the Namekians. Frieza wouldn't be able to formulate something so elaborate in the amount of time he's had. Besides that dictator never does any of his own dirty work."

"Well, let's just sit back and relax. I'm sure we'll be fine. Someone will have to find us eventually." He has such a laid-back attitude. Maybe another alien baby crash-landed on Earth. Because with every second that passes, you're finding it harder to believe that Goku has Saiyan ancestry.

"Oh, ya, let's just relax." You mock him. "While the others are probably getting chopped up into little pieces by the remnants of the Ginyu Force as we speak!"

"Why are you always so negative?" Is he serious? Do you have to spell out why this is potentially a very dire situation? You'd think he would show more concern for his son.

Your hands meet the sides of your head. You're practically yanking your hair out at this point. To say you're frustrated would be an understatement. "God, why am I constantly getting trapped in enclosed spaces with your idiotic bloodline! First, it was your spawn, then it was your moronic brother, and now I'm stuck with you. And you're somehow the worst of them all!" Goku just stands in front of you like a statue with that goofy smile plastered on his face. "And stop smiling when I yell at you!"

Being stuck down here with Kakarot will be the ultimate test of your willpower----

Will the others make it to Y/N and Goku in time? Or will Y/N kill Goku before they even get the chance? Find out in the next chapter of The Princess of All Saiyans!

#goku #goku x reader #saiyan reader #vegeta #vegeta's sister #dbz fanfiction #dbz x reader #dragon ball x reader #dragon ball z #The Princess of All Sayians

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babineni · 3 years

Text

A Night Out in Dyrford

A little something something about a certain farmer becoming a mayor and how that complicated his relationship with his best friend.

Roughly 2500 words, cw for violence ending in beheading

"Dear Gaura"

Edér read the words over and over. Something didn't feel right about them, and he didn't even write anything worth writing yet. A single drop of ink dripped off his quill while he pondered how to continue. He sighed as he ripped a strip off the top of the page. He didn't have a whole lot of blank sheets of paper and he had no idea where to get any in Dyrford. Yet. It's only been a day since he arrived after all.

The Watcher was so much better at this, he mused. Edér looked at the page again.

"Miss having you around. I'll see you soon, I promise."

Now, he ruined the page. The farmer crumpled the sheet as if he could squeeze the thought out of his head. Not that there was anything wrong with such thoughts, he reassured himself, but he couldn't just put something like that on paper and have it sent to a friend. She might get the wrong idea. Edér tossed the tiny ball of paper over his shoulder. A second later he groaned as he stood up to clear it up. He couldn't just mess up a rented room like that.

A rented room. That was a decent place to start, he thought as he sat down again and took out a new, empty page.

"Gaura,

Just letting you know, I didn't go back to Gilded Vale so don't send any letters there. I'm in Dyrford now, I'm thinking about moving here. I got the sense I could help out around here, be of use, all that. And folks around here have been real friendly towards me so far. Reckon they remember us passing through. The mayor invited me over for dinner."

Me, he thought to himself and a chuckle bubbled up from him. He wasn't sure what to make of his situation. He wasn't used to being wanted around. At least not by anyone other than the Watcher. He liked the feeling.

"Willing to bet he'll try to get me to stick around. I'm thinking I'll play hard to get, but I do want to stay. We'll be basically neighbors. So don't think you're rid of me, just 'cause I left. I'm still around, I'll visit as soon as I'm able. And you better come over too."

Edér nodded at the letter in satisfaction. That will do.

"See you, when I see you,

Edér"

The farmer folded the page and a moment later he realized he didn't have any sealing wax. He shrugged. It's not like he could send it before morning, anyway, so it became a problem for tomorrow. That night's problem was the dinner. Edér wasn't sure how to present himself, not that he had a lot of options on that front. He didn't take most of the things the Watcher pampered him with. He could only hope she didn't take it as an offense that he left her gifts behind. It's bad enough he walked away from her. But what was he supposed to do? She became the Lady of Caed Nua, and Caed Nua became one suffocatingly fancy place. It was just like Gilded Vale - a home turning into... something else - something alien - right before his eyes. Except no one would have hurt him in Caed Nua, and knowing the Watcher, she would have let him live there however he wished to live. And he had a purpose now, one that lead him away from Caed Nua. He just wished he could've gone about his departure in a way that wasn't unfair to Gaura. She deserved better.

His old armor would do, he came to the conclusion. It always was lucky in a way, not that he needed luck, but it couldn't hurt. Edér lit his pipe and opened his windows, once he felt ready to go. He watched the smoke leave through the window and be carried away by a breeze. It was blowing towards Caed Nua. He glanced at the letter on his desk and made a mental note to ask around for messengers, as he put the pipe away a few minutes later.

By the time Edér left the Dracogen Inn, the sun was already setting. The mayor didn't live far from the town square, luckily, and the farmer got there in no time, and yet his host was already waiting for him by the door. He looked pale and a little anxious.

'Sorry for being late,' Edér couldn't help but apologize seeing the mayor's sorry state.

He, however, only blinked in confusion. 'No need, you're just in time,' he offered his hand with a strained smile.

'Happy to be here, if that's the case,' Edér shook the mayor's hand. He had quite the grip, he noted. His eyes probably just played tricks on hím.

'It will be just the two of us, if you don't mind,' the mayor said as he ushered him in. 'Wife's visiting relatives in Eina's Rest, dragged the kids along. So you'll have to bear with my cooking.'

Edér chuckled. 'Can't be worse than my own cooking and I've been eating that crap for years.'

The mayor's house was more spacious than Edér expected. It had an upper floor and there were no rooms on the ground floor, just a kitchen, the hearth and a rather long table with plates prepared on each end. And yet there was also something about the place that made the farmer feel like the walls would close around him if he stayed in there too long. Still, he took the seat the mayor pointed to and said nothing when the mayor came to fill his cup with beer that had a strangely red-ish hue.

'It's from Dengler's reserves, beer made of strawberries and wheat'

'That's real kind of you, thanks,' Edér shuffled awkwardly in his seat. He didn't expect any sort of fuss around him and could only hope things wouldn't escalate beyond the fancy beer and the Pearlwood chicken on his plate.

'The last time you were here, you helped out quite a lot around here. This is the least I could do to welcome you back,' the mayor made his way to the end of the table and sat down as well. He poured himself a drink as well, and drank it in a few gulps. 'Sorry, cooking got me feeling real parched.'

Edér drank from the beer for courtesy's sake. 'Don't be. There was really no need for your trouble. I'm really just here looking for work and lodging. Like most folk coming here, I assume.'

'Most folk coming here didn't take part in ending Waidwen's Legacy. Really, the honor is mine.'

'Mine was a pretty small part,' Edér's fingers lightly drummed by the fork in front of him. 'The Watcher did all the important bits, I just stood between her and everyone coming at her mostly.'

'I imagine she had quite a few folk coming at her. I heard some... troubling things about her last visit here.'

The farmer tried to forget about that particular memory. He emptied his cup, hoping that the beer going down his throat would drown the disgust turning into nausea in his belly. The shadows in the room seemed suddenly very long in the last rays of the sun.

'Yeah, she's got a knack for tangling with cults,' Edér chuckled. 'Remind me to tell you about our trip to the White March.'

'You really make it sound like standing between her and her enemies was quite the part to play,' the mayor let out a vaguely bitter laugh. 'Sure hope you got paid handsomely.'

'It ain't ever been about the money,' Edér picked up the utensils and was about to cut into the chicken when he realized he wasn't really hungry. He noticed the mayor hasn't touched his dish either. It was already dark outside and the room looked a lot smaller than when he entered it. At the other end of the table his host gave him a knowing nod.

'And yet you're here, looking for work and lodging.'

'Reckoned I'd be more useful here than in Caed Nua,' the knife in Edér's hand felt almost comforting to him.

'So there's no bad blood between you two, that is good to know. Good on you, son,' the mayor filled his cup again and raised it to Edér, a grin growing wide on his face. 'To your friendship with the Watcher.'

At that moment, the farmer realized why the room felt as crammed as it did: as he looked over the mayor's shoulder, he noticed an axe by the hearth; as he looked to the window, he noticed a garden hoe resting against the windowsill; and of course there was the pitchfork right by the door, just waiting to find its proper place in someone's chest. Completely ordinary things in a completely ordinary house in a completely ordinary village. Dyrford already felt like home. Edér let out a hearty laugh as he stood up.

'Can't really drink to that,' he said. 'My cup's running dry.'

'Well, why didn't you say so?' The mayor stayed seated. If Edér had to guess, he was going to grab the axe the moment he turned his back to him.

'Guess our conversation was just that godsdamned riveting.'

For a moment he and the mayor eyed each other in silence. Then the moment passed, and Edér dashed for the door. He grabbed the pitchfork and without looking, he ducked. He heard a swing going for the spot where his head was a fraction of a moment before. Edér turned around just in time to block the second swing coming at him - and the garden hoe got stuck between the tines of the fork. Edér couldn't help but scoff in surprise. He pulled the pitchfork to the side, dragging the hoe and the mayor at its end along, creating the perfect opening. The farmer landed a blow on the mayor's ribs, drawing a stifled grunt out of him but just as he lifted his fist for a second hit, the mayor dropped their interlocked weapons and lunged straight for Edér's throat. His momentum pushed the farmer against the door. Dull pain bloomed on the back of his head where it hit the door, fuelling a rage burning in Edér's veins. He twisted the hands off his neck until he heard joints cracking and cries of pain, then he slammed his head in the mayor's. The force of his strike sent the mayor staggering back against the table.

Edér could've turned and ran. The mayor could've grabbed a knife from the table and lunged at him again. And yet, both their gazes darted to the axe by the hearth. If only the Watcher were there, Edér thought just as he ran towards his goal, she could've made him faster. But as it were, the mayor threw himself at the axe, and while he may have been on the floor he held on to it firmly. Edér got there a moment later and barely stopped himself from crashing into the weapon held out at him. The farmer grabbed it instead and pulled. Then pulled again. But the mayor held on to the axe for dear life. Edér then twisted the axe downwards instead, leveraging every muscle in his body, and pushed with all the strength he had.

The next thing he knew, he was covered in the mayor's blood. The axe went right through his neck.

'Shit,' Edér muttered as the realization dawned on him: he just murdered the mayor of his would-be new hometown. His legs shook as he made his way to the table and emptied the mayor's glass that he raised to his friendship with Gaura. If only she were there, she would know just the right thing to say to save him from this mess. He sighed. As he walked to the door it felt awfully far away.

Edér wasn't sure what he expected when he opened the door. He certainly didn't expect a crowd gathering in front of the house, staring at him wide-eyed. It was only then that he realized he was still holding the axe. He dropped it hurriedly as he raised his palms.

'I can explain.'

But before he could say anything, Dengler, the innkeeper pushed past the crowd and looked him over. When he saw the blood wasn't his, he pushed past the farmer as well, and into the house. He came back out with the mayor's head.

'The mayor's dead!' He held up the head and Edér was almost certain he was doomed. But in the next moment he saw something completely unexpected: relief washing over the crowd.

'The Twinned God blessed us today!' He heard a voice cry out in joy.

'Bless you, stranger, bless you!'

More and more voices joined into one bizarre, celebratory cacophony, that Edér couldn't process, but it became clearer with every passing moment that these people were terrified of their cultist neighbors and that he was needed here.

'Wait, who will lead the town now?' A question arose in the joyful chaos, and it quickly silenced the crowd. Edér stood stunned as gradually more and more gazes fell upon him, questioning him, pleading to him...

'If you want... Uh... I could give it a go.'

A moment of silence followed his offer, then another question came.

'What's your name?'

An awkward laugh burst out of Edér. What was he thinking? These people didn't know him, they may be grateful but who would trust a stranger with the responsibility of running their hometown?

'I'm Edér,' he answered regardless.

'Gods bless Mayor Edér!'

And the celebrations continued. Edér felt Dengler's hand on his back guiding him away from the mayor's - former mayor's - house and towards the inn.

'Needless to say, your room is on me until we get you a proper house,' he said as he opened the inn for the crowd and for the new guest of honor.

Edér muttered a thanks and did his best to slip away to his room quietly. He left his window open, he realized and the evening breeze was now caressing the letter he wrote not so long ago. It ended up on the floor while he was away and it was now bathed in the moonlight streaming in through the windows.

"See you, when I see you"

It felt like a lifetime ago that he wrote those words. The excitement he felt then felt foolish now. The mayor was awfully interested in the Watcher and the relationship he had with her. Edér knew he wasn't his real target. All those months ago when they first came to Dyrford, that girl they saved wasn't the Skeanites' real target either. He sighed as he reached for the letter and took it to his desk. He lit a candle and fed the sheet of paper to the tiny flame. The smoke stung his eyes.

It took him some time to finally clean up and go to bed, but when he did, Edér was overcome with a sense of loneliness he hasn't felt in a long time. He fell asleep holding onto a crumpled piece of paper that he couldn't bring himself to burn. He liked the thoughts it contained.

"Miss having you around. I'll see you soon, I promise."

#pillars of eternity #edér teylecg #Wrytinge™#i couldn't sleep until i finished this idk what spelling is anymore

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teenwolffanclub-me · 4 years

Text

First Full Moon

(Isaac Lahey x Reader)

Request: Could u maybe do an Isaac Lahey imagine with some angst but a happy ending

Word count: 2,425

Warnings: angst, fluff

Notes: okay Stiles is obviously my fav but I have such a soft spot for Isaac 🥺 so thanks to whoever sent this one in!!

———————————————————————

“What’s going on with you?”

Isaac continued ignoring you as he stared straight ahead, shoving books inside his locker forcefully. His jaw clenched as your eyes flickered over his face, wondering if you’d done something wrong. He’d barely even acknowledged your existence for the last three days. It was so sudden, it left you reeling and confused.

“Is it your dad? I’m trying to give you space, but...” You had to learn about his fathers passing from the local obituary. The fact that he hadn’t told you himself hurt, but you knew grief could make people act in strange ways.

He suddenly slammed his locker shut, and you jumped at the loud noise beside your ear. “Will you just stop, Y/N? Clearly, I don’t want to talk to you.”

Your shoulders stiffened as he barked the harsh words before brushing past you like you weren’t his best friend just last week. Tears prickled behind your eyes as you turned to watch him catch up with Scott, who was waiting for him at the end of the hall.

Your heart fell into your stomach as a heavy realization washed over you. You were losing him, and you didn’t even know why.

“It’s okay to tell her, you know.” Scott glanced at the place you stood before he rounded the corner.

Isaac listened to the sound of your quick heartbeat for as long as he could, but within seconds you were out of range, even for his newly heightened senses. He wouldn’t be surprised if you hated him after what he just said. He sure as hell already hated himself.

“I can’t.” He muttered, shaking his head with a frown.

He’d barely been a werewolf for twenty four hours when his dad was killed. He knew the supernatural world was a dangerous one—Derek had told him as much—but he could admit now that he didn’t fully understand what he was getting himself into when he accepted the bite.

But how could he say no?

He wanted to be...more. He wanted everything that came with being a werewolf. The strength, the speed, but most importantly, he didn’t want to be scared anymore. He wanted to be able to protect himself and the people he loved. He wanted to be able to protect you.

If anything ever happened to you, he would lose his fucking mind.

You’d been his rock almost his entire life. When he and his dad had particularly bad fights, he’d sneak out to stay at your house. You’d usually bandage him up and try to convince him into running away for good, but he never listened. You were there for him even when he was stupid. You supported him endlessly, going to every single one of his lacrosse games even when you had other things going on.

You were more than a bestfriend. More than family. You were everything.

It’s why he had to push you away. If you ended up hurt because of his rash decision to become a werewolf, he would never forgive himself. It broke his heart, seeing the way your face crumbled when he snapped at you, but it was for your own good.

He had to go through with this, no matter how much it hurt.

——————————

You raised a tightly clenched fist and banged on the door in front of you rapidly. After a brief moment of silence, you pressed your ear against the painted wood. Your lips pulled into a frown as you heard muffled voices and shuffling from inside.

“I know you’re home, McCall!” You shouted, irritated that he was trying to avoid you.

A few seconds later the door was shoved open and, to your surprise, Stiles leaned against it with a sheepish smile. “Hey there, Y/N. How’s it goin’? What are you up to on this fine—and you’re just gonna walk right past me. Okay.”

You stomped your way inside the house and looked around quickly. Scott suddenly came barreling toward the entryway, but skidded to a halt with wide eyes as he saw you. He took a moment to glare at Stiles, who just shrugged, before giving you a tight lipped smile.

“Where is he?” You huffed, eyes still flickering around the space.

It’d been two days since your conversation with Isaac at school, and you’d barely even seen him, let alone had a chance to talk to him. He was even going so far as to ignore you in the hallways now, passing you by as if you were a stranger. At this point, you were beyond over his childish behavior. You wanted answers.

“Who?” Scott tried playing dumb and you glowered at him before stalking into his living room.

He instantly followed you, his footsteps on the hardwood floors echoing through the quiet house. When you accepted that he wasn’t in there either, you spun around to face Scott and Stiles again. “I know Isaac is here.”

“He’s not.” Stiles quickly insisted. “You wanna search the whole house? Go ahead. You can even check the base...ment.”

He stuttered over the word, visibly cringing. Scott sighed from beside him and pinched his eyes shut tightly. You didn’t waste any time in shoving past them to get to the basement door. You ignored them as they called your name, throwing it open so you could run down the stairs.

You nearly tripped over your own feet as you caught sight of him, managing to catch yourself on the railing at the last second. You took a moment to stare at him, eyes wide and mouth agape with shock. You didn’t know what you’d find down here, but you weren’t expecting this.

Isaac sat in the middle of the room, his arms tied tightly behind the support beam he was leaning against. There was a thick length of metal chains wrapped around his chest and hips, holding him in place. His head was bowed against his chest, which was heaving as if he couldn’t catch his breath. The metal binds clanked loudly with each jerk of his tense muscles.

You snapped out of your shocked stupor and rushed to his side, wide eyes flickering over his tense frame. “Isaac, what the hell is this?”

Your hands hovered over him, not sure what to do. Your mind started racing as you tried coming up with justifiable reasons he was chained up in Scott’s basement.

“You can’t be here.” His voice was deeper and more rough than you’d ever heard it as he continued avoiding your wandering eyes.

You scoffed in exasperation, dropping your hands into your lap. You hadn’t spoken to him in nearly a week and that’s all he has to say?

“What did they do to you? Are you all part of a cult or something? Because I really want to help you, but that’s kind of a lot.”

The words came out in a rush as you started panicking. You didn’t know Scott or Stiles well. They could easily be crazy, something that seemed exceedingly likely based on the sight in front of you. You didn’t have a way to get him or yourself out of here in one piece, and that was terrifying.

“Y/N.” Isaac snapped harshly, clenching his jaw painfully tight to keep himself in check. “You need to leave.”

“Are you kidding me right now? You’re literally chained up and—will you at least fucking look at me?” Your voice grew louder with your rising frustration.

How could he expect you to leave him when he was like this? When you still had no idea what was going on?

His head suddenly snapped upward, and you gasped at the sight of him. His usually crystal blue eyes were glowing a bright yellow color, and his teeth were sharp as they protruded past his lips.

You scrambled back several feet, your heart lurching your chest. He watched every one of your movements with surgical focus, his jaw clenching at the way your heart skipped a beat once you settled into place.

You blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of what you were seeing. It was your Isaac in front of you, but he wasn’t fully himself. He looked like a...monster.

Isaac let out a pained groan as he tried desperately not to shift. It was his first full moon since being bitten and, despite Scott’s warnings, he wasn’t the least bit prepared. He was overcome with rage, the only thing on his mind killing anything and everything that came even close to him.

At least, until you showed up.

As he observed your clearly terrified state, he was fighting against the primal urge begging him to hurt you. For the first time since the full moon rose, he felt like he had a tiny sliver of breathing room. But it wasn’t enough. He knew if he got free, it wouldn’t be pretty.

“Wha—I...I don’t understand.” You stammered, still frozen in place on the floor in front of him.

“Just go! You’re making it worse!” He forced his eyes shut as he momentarily lost control, an intense surge of rage passing through him. He snarled and lunged forward, fighting against the overwhelming urge to kill you.

You fought to catch your breath as he struggled against his restraints for a few more long moments. All you could do was watch, and it broke your heart. You were beyond confused, and scared, but you were also worried. He was clearly not okay right now, and you had no idea how to help.

“Isaac...” Your voice was a breathy whisper as your eyes filled with tears.

Seeing him like this was freaking you the fuck out. Isaac was always so quiet and gentle. He’d never been this aggressive around you before. He was nothing like the beast you were looking at now. Your thoughts were racing with endless questions and possibilities, and you were feeling utterly overwhelmed by it all.

Just then, the clouds shifted outside the window beside you, sending a ray of moonlight into the room. It swept across Isaac’s face, momentarily illuminating his newly golden eyes. He only lasted a split second under the concentrated effects of the full moon.

You watched in stunned horror as his ears elongated into points and hair sprouted along the sides of his face. He doubled over as best he could in his restraints and groaned lowly. He was quickly losing control. He thrashed against the binds, growling in frustration.

After a few seconds, one of the chains shattered into pieces.

Neither of you moved a muscle. Your breath hitched as you watched his every move with wide eyes. His head tilted as he brought one of his arms out in front of him and turned it over, as if making sure it was actually free.

Within a split second he broke through the rest of the chains and had your back pressed firmly against one of the brick walls. All the air rushed from your lungs as you slammed against the hard surface, his clawed hands on your shoulders to hold you in place.

Your entire body began trembling as fear shot up your spine. You knew Isaac would never hurt you, but you weren’t even sure if there was any of him left inside the monster that stood only inches away. His golden eyes flickered over your face with a predatory gleam and you stiffened, pressing your head into the wall to get as much distance between you as possible.

He snarled and growled, but made no moves to kill you. He wanted to. Desperately. But there was a tiny voice in the back of his head, begging him to hold back. You could see the indecision raging behind his eyes. You knew that he if was going to hurt you, he would’ve done it already.

It’s what made you raise an arm slowly, despite the fear coursing through you.

A shaky hand came up between you, your heart racing as you tentatively brushed the curls away from his sweaty forehead. He may be part monster right now, but he was still your Isaac. He stared at you with wide eyes, and you could’ve sworn you saw them flicker back to blue for the briefest of moments.

One of his hands left you to clutch your wrist in an iron grip before wrenching it away from his face. Your breath caught in your throat and you winced, closing your eyes tightly as you waited for him to attack.

After several tense beats of silence, his hold on you slowly loosened. You peeled one eye open to see what he was doing, but instantly sprang forward as he sagged to the floor in front of you.

“I’m so sorry.” He rushed the words out, breathing heavily as his legs gave out beneath him. You wrapped your arms around him and let out a sigh of relief as you noticed that he looked like himself again. “Oh my God, Y/N. I’m so, so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to...”

You sat beside him on the concrete floor, relieved beyond words. You still had no idea what the hell was going on, but at least Isaac was back. His blue eyes were clouded by intense regret as they flickered over you quickly. He grabbed your arm and rubbed his fingers soothingly over the place where bruises were already forming.

His gaze swept back up to yours, his eyes brimming with tears. “Why didn’t you leave?”

He could’ve seriously injured you, or worse, and the thought made his stomach churn painfully. He’d only been able to reel himself back in at the last moment when he saw the way you recoiled from him in fear. It reminded him of all the times he’d done the same to his father. The last thing he ever wanted was to be anything like him, especially to you.

“Because I—” You swallowed, feeling your heart skip a beat in your chest. “I love you. And you don’t abandon the people you love.”

The edge of his lips twitched upward at your words. Truthfully, he’d loved you since the day he met you. At first, it was because you were his best—and only—friend, but it hadn’t taken long to evolve into something much more. Those three words didn’t even come close to describing how he felt about you. No words could.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

It was easiest sentence he’d ever spoken, and he planned to spend the rest of your lives proving it to you.

#isaac lahey #isaac lahey imagine #isaac lahey angst #teen wolf imagine #requests #isaac lahey request #teen wolf angst #isaac lahey fluff #isaac lahey fic #daniel sharman #teen wolf fluff #teen wolf request

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fr-jedicreed · 3 years

Text

The Beginning (pt.2)

Bukrett sighed, as he passed through the entrance into the Lower Tier. Thankfully, Xarles and her pet, Carnidine, didn’t give him too much trouble. Carnidine sniffed and growled at him, but otherwise kept his ground. The pair troubled him, but maybe it was just Xarles’ monstrous size, or how Carnidine was the prime example of a feral dragon from the Plague lands. Either way, they didn’t stop him, as he passed through. Flashing the symbol for the Top Tier seemed to do it.

Though, as he got deeper into the Lower Tier, he hid the symbol. No need to bring attention to himself. Those from the Top Tier were prime targets for robbery, here in the Lower Tier. A hive of scum and villainy, as many called it. Though Bukrett knew that not everyone that lived here was a criminal. Just…the majority. It was a risky place to live.

As he moved through the Lower Tier’s streets, he replayed what he had been told by Yomigami and his son, Seno. Imperials disappearing, being kidnapped. But why Imperials? It left a bad taste in his mouth. Something wasn’t right, and for it to be caught by even the Mid Tier security team…it had to be pretty wide-spread. Though, from what Bukrett could recall, no Imperials had gone missing in the Top Tier. Maybe some had disappeared here, or even were transported here… Something he hoped to find out.

As he went further, turning down an alleyway, a noise got his attention. It sounded like…giggling? High pitched, and definitely feminine. He ignored it, thinking it to be just someone having a…erm…good time. But as he went and turned a corner, the giggling sounded again, this time closer. Bukrett placed his hand on his sword, as he paused. He was being followed.

“What do we have here?” A feminine voice rang out, seemingly coming from all around him, “A lost lil’ Obelisk?”

“It seems that way, my darling.” Another voice came in, this one deeper and more masculine. Two people were following him. Great. But he was still a skilled warrior. Taking on two shouldn’t be a problem. They sounded smaller. Fae? Spiral? Something similar.

A crash got his attention, and he whirled around, sword drawn. Moving closer to the noise, he found it was just a trash can, that had been knocked over. He huffed, giving it a poke with is sword, before sheathing it. He turned around…

Only to be met with a hit to the side of the head, with something pretty hard and solid.

He was out, before he hit the ground.

***

A throbbing pain in his head was the first thing Bukrett was aware of. He groaned, trying to shift, but found he couldn’t. Being unable to move made him a lot more aware, as he slowly opened his eyes. The lights blinded him, and made his headache worse. Squeezing his eyes shut for a few moments, he tried again, with better results.

He was in some sort of room. No windows. He did his best to sit up, using his tail to help right himself, as he looked around. Where was he? He wasn’t on the streets anymore, so…

“Ah, you’re finally awake. And here I thought I’d have to punish the two for killing you.”

A tall Banescale came into view, spiked leather jacket covering her. She smirked at the bound Obelisk, as she took up place in a single chair in the room. Legs crossed, she leaned in, “How are we feeling, hm?”

“Thyl’la of the Torn Wings Mafia…” said Bukrett, putting two and two together, sitting up a little straighter, “Fine, aside from a big headache…”

Thyl’la chuckled, “You got hit pretty hard, but I can’t have anyone knowing where we keep our headquarters. Sorry for the rough treatment. But that aside…” She waved her hand, “What’re you doing, snooping around this area, hm? Especially you being of the Top Tier…”

Bukrett looked down at himself, seeing that his symbol was out in the open. Well, this made things more complicated. He hadn’t meant to get the mafia involved, but he had been found out pretty quickly. Then again, those from the Top Tier, coming to the Lower Tier? Pretty rare. He should’ve hid himself better…

“I need information.” Said Bukrett, looking up at her, “There’s something going on that I need to get answers for.”

“And what makes you think you’ll find them here, in my territory?” She leaned forward closer, fangs baring dangerously, “If you think you can just barge in here, and snoop around, you—”

“Darling!”

A large Gaoler came into the room, practically prancing, as she went over to Thyl’la and draped herself over her lap, smiling happily, “There you are, I’ve b-been looking for you!” The cybernetics along her body sparked slightly at her stutter, “I’m lonely, sweetie, and I—”

He looked over, seeing Bukrett, and paused. Her eyes went from the spot throbbing at his head, to himself, to the fact that he was tied up. She blinked, body twitching slightly as more sparks flew from her cybernetics, before looking up at Thyl’la, “You’re, ah…busy?”

“Unfortunately, my sweet.” Said Thyl’la with a strained smile, a blush creeping up on her cheeks, “I’ll play with you in a moment, okay? Let me finish up here, and we can have some time together.”

The Gaoler squealed, and kissed Thyl’la, before skipping out of the room, her tail hitting Bukrett with enough force to almost topple him over. Both him and Thyl’la watched her go, before he turned back towards her, a smirk on his lips.

“So the rumors were true, that you had a girlfriend…”

“Shut up, or I’ll rip your throat out.” Snarled Thyl’la, though the threat was lost, with the blush still on her cheeks. She shook her head, running a hand over it, before sighing, “…Well, that broke the mood. What information were you looking for, anyways?”

“Information about Imperials going missing, possibly being kidnapped.”

Thyl’la paused at that. She blinked twice, before getting up off of the chair, and pacing, “…So, even the Top Tier has heard about that?”

Well, that was surprising, “So you know what I’m talking about…”

Thyl’la nodded, “Imperials have been disappearing from here, too. Young, old, doesn’t matter. They just…disappear without a trace. Sometimes there’s a fight, sometime there isn’t. But I think I might know the name of the group that might have a connection…”

Bukrett perked up at that, sitting up a little straighter, “Tell me.”

The Banescale watched Bukrett for a moment, before pacing, “I’m only telling you, because I don’t want them doing this in my territory. We get enough of a bad rep down here, as it is. I don’t need some other group trying to make things worse.”

“Well?” Asked Bukrett, getting a little impatient, “Who are they?”

“They call themselves ‘Those Who Devour the Sun.’” Explained Thyl’la, “They’re some sort of cult-like group, from the rumors I keep hearing. But they’re a dangerous bunch. Why? Because they worship Emperors. Y’know, those monsters that Imperials turn into, when they die in a bunch?”

Bukrett shivered. He’d seen Luminax in the distance, from his place in the Top Tier. Such a monstrous creature… “Who in their right mind would worship those monsters?”

“No idea.” Shrugged Thyl’la, “But they do. Now, put in that they’re kidnapping Imperials…”

“They’re….” Bukrett sat up even more, eyes widening, “They’re…going to make their own Emperor…?!”

#Ilthorne Lore #c: Bukrett #c: Thyl’la #c: Spire #And now we’re into the thick of it~

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onecanonlife · 3 years

Text

careful son (you got dreamer's plans)

Wilbur gasps back to life with mud between his fingers and rain in his eyes.

Wilbur was dead. Now, he is not. He can't say that he's particularly happy about it.

Unfortunately, the server is still as tumultuous as ever, even with Dream locked away, so it seems that his involvement in things isn't a matter of if, but when.

(Alternatively: the prodigal son returns, and a broken family finally begins to heal. If, that is, the egg doesn't get them all killed first.)

Chapter Word Count: 7,499

Chapter Warnings: swearing, smoking mention, implied s.uicidal ideation, mentioned past s.uicide (c!Wilbur)

Chapter Summary: Technoblade arrives, finally putting all four of SBI in the same place at the same time. There’s too much bad blood for things to run smoothly.

(masterlist w/ ao3 links)

(first chapter) (previous chapter) (next chapter)

Chapter Ten: midnight wire

It’s a waiting game, from there.

Because Sam says that they’re likely to only have one shot at this, and Puffy seems inclined to agree with him, and they need to gather allies and make preparations and be as sure as they can be that all of them will come out the other end intact, which, when dealing with a giant egg that can mind control people, is never as certain as it sounds. So it’s a waiting game, and Wilbur finds that Puffy and Sam are spearheading everything, and he is left mostly out of the loop.

Were things different, he might protest. But he is a long way from his general days, and he’s not sure he has that in him anymore. Not sure he’s capable of that kind of leadership. Not sure he would deserve such a position, even if he could successfully execute it.

And then there’s the fact that Phil’s around, and everyone’s tiptoeing around everyone else, and Tommy is expressing his displeasure in glares and Tubbo makes himself scarce whenever Phil is in the vicinity, and Phil himself barely seems to know how to make any overtures, so they’re all at a standstill, an uneasy equilibrium that seems wont to fall apart at any minute. They are allies of necessity, of circumstance, but if it weren’t for their common enemy, they would be scattering to the winds.

He knew, of course. He knew that somewhere between countries forming and countries falling, between exiles and alliances and betrayals and destruction, that they had all come undone at the seams. But it is one thing to know it and quite another to be confronted with it, to be confronted with sons who no longer trust in their father and a father who does not know how to speak to his sons, and they all believe that they are right and the others are wrong, and there is truth in everyone’s perspective but that hardly matters if no one is willing to make the effort to understand.

So, here he is. On top of Tommy’s house, just sitting. Listening to what crows remain—there are fewer, now, but still plenty—and concentrating on the breeze in his hair, the fresh scent of the grass. Little things, things to ground him, things that will continue to exist whether he has a functional family or not,

(whether he is here or not, and he should not be left alone to his devices at the moment, perhaps, but he does not want company, because company means Tommy’s sullenness or Tubbo’s avoidance or Phil’s pained floundering, and he can’t, he can’t put up with it, and he’s not going to make them put up with him)

(though that’s not fair, it’s not fair and he knows it’s not, because they’re worried about him, they are, and all the preparations and rushing about that everyone seems to be doing doesn’t mean that Tommy hasn’t stopped trying to talk to him about it, awkward and so very sincere, or that Phil is not shooting him worried glances when he thinks he’s not looking)

and he wishes he had a cigarette. It’s a terrible vice, but there was comfort to be found in the smell of it, back then, in the curl of the smoke in the air and in his lungs. It was something he had control over. Something to prove he was alive. Something to seek refuge in.

But he has no cigarettes, and he knows that if he tries to go to find some, people will start being concerned over him, more than usual, and he’s tired of people treating him like he’s made of glass, like he’ll break if he hits the ground too hard or like he’ll break himself if he’s allowed to be alone for too long. Even now, he probably doesn’t have too long before someone seeks him out. He’d better enjoy the peace while it lasts.

(he’s still not being fair but it has been a bit longer, now, since his revival, and perhaps this bitterness has always been present, under the guilt and the grief and the determination to never unleash that side of himself again, perhaps it was there but masked, but whether it was or not, it is here now, and he has no idea whether he has the right to be angry but he is, he is, he is)

He has no cigarettes, and going through his inventory reveals nothing of note. He has the weapons that Tubbo gave him, though the longer he has possession of them, the more he dislikes them. He is more than capable of holding his own in a fight, but it is never his first choice, and the feel of the sword against the palm of his hand has begun to sicken him.

(or perhaps not the sword itself, but what he could do with it, the way he could paint the air with blood rather than words, because his words have gone dry and stale and he’s not sure he will ever recover them)

(you could defend yourself but you don’t like that much either you always liked a crossbow because if you failed to kill your enemy if your enemy reached you armorless as you were and your flesh ready for the blade’s bite it was over it was all over and that’s what you wanted and it is luck that you survived as long as you did survived to ruin it all and perhaps they would all have been better off for it if you were a little worse at aiming)

He doesn’t have any blocks. No building materials, nothing crafted. No one seems keen on giving him anything to do. He could take the initiative himself, but that invites the same problem as trying to go off on his own. People worrying, fretting, Tommy telling him not to stress himself out and Puffy telling him that they’ve got a good handle on things.

He’s still got those cornflowers. He pulls them out, turning them over in his hands, and experimentally crushes one. It takes so little effort to turn flowers into dye, and the petals stain his fingers and palm, streaks of blue standing out starkly against skin that is, perhaps, paler than it should be.

Blue. He likes the color. He crushes another flower. Breathes. Tries to just be for a little while. He never used to have much of an affinity for the color before,

(and there is a part of him that wants soft blue wool under his hands, warmth and safety and love unconditional and a friend that does not leave him, does not judge him, does not expect him to be anything other than what he is, but he pushes that part of himself down to suffocate because there is no time for that)

but some things linger, he supposes, even when he would rather they not. A liking for blue is not the worst thing rattling around in his brain.

A crow settles right next to him. He blinks, frowns, stares at it. It stares right back, almost accusatory.

He doesn’t remember Phil’s flock being so annoying in the past. But then, perhaps that’s just another thing he has to get used to. More irritating birds, and more of them in general.

He sighs. “I can’t say that I’m in the mood right now, Phil,” he says.

“Oh, my mistake. I’ll be sure to let Phil know.” A low drawl, almost monotone, coming from directly behind him, and he jerks, twisting around, and it is not Phil at all. The bird lets out a caw that sounds distinctly smug, and then flaps its wings rapidly and takes off, but he’s hardly paying attention, because of all the people to come looking for him up here, he didn’t anticipate Technoblade.

“When did you get here?” he asks, too surprised to say anything else.

Techno snorts. He is decked out in blue rather than red, and Wilbur is struck by the resemblance to earlier days, different times, another server entirely. That was his first brush with war, but it had all been in good fun, then, and when they’d had enough, they’d walked away. There is no walking away now, and there is something in Technoblade’s stance that says he is well aware of it; there is a harshness to him now that has never been there before, even with all of the voices and all of the blood and the way he has been called to violence every day of his life.

Was he like that, in the tundra, those first hours after Wilbur returned? He remembers thinking he looked tired. He’s not sure that he would have noticed anything else, then.

“As far as anyone else knows, I’m not yet,” Techno says. “Thanks for the welcome.”

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean—I was surprised. I wasn’t expecting to see you, is all.”

“Phil called,” Techno offers, as if that explains everything. Perhaps it does. But then, there is a sardonic twist to his lips, a discontent in his eyes. “Said somethin’ about an egg cult and makin’ omelets.” He shrugs. “If you’ve dragged Phil into this, might as well have me too.”

“I didn’t drag Phil into anything,” he says. “He showed up on his own. He didn’t have to.”

“And what did you expect?” Techno asks. “That he’d just sit down and take radio silence from you? After everything?”

Anger flares, white-hot. Irrational, maybe, that this should be what does it, but the dam that holds him back is strewn with rotting planks.

“He seems to be just fine taking radio silence from Tommy,” he snaps. “Why not me too? Why not me, after everything? After everything, what do you even mean, after everything? Do you mean after the two of you worked with Dream to destroy L’Manberg? Do you mean after you basically disowned Tommy for the high crime of standing by his best friend? Tell me what you mean, Techno, because honestly, I don’t think that Phil or you has the right to demand anything from me or Tommy.”

“I was talkin’ about how you used Phil to commit assisted suicide five minutes after he set foot in the server,” Techno replies evenly, “but sure, Wilbur, let’s get into it.” And to Wilbur’s consternation, he gathers his cape around himself and sits to his side, about a meter away. “I wasn’t going to talk about Tommy, but you want to talk about Tommy? Fine, let’s talk about Tommy. I have a whole list.”

“You have a—what?”

“I’m sick of bein’ used, Wilbur,” Technoblade says, and his voice is still even, still cool, still lacking even a trace of anger, and perhaps that is the scariest part. “That’s all you and Tommy ever seem to do, these days, is use me. I don’t know how many times I have to say that I’m not a weapon before people start to get it, but it hasn’t worked yet. I have to admit, I’m tired of tryin’.” He fixes him with a stare. Wilbur feels rooted to the spot. “So let’s talk about Tommy, Wilbur. Do I regret not bein’ there for him before? Sure. But I tried when I could, and he threw that away. And I wouldn’t have minded if he’d sided against me from the start. But I laid it all out in front of him, and he chose to join me, and then he chose to betray me. That’s a choice that he made.”

“You were destroying something that mattered to him!” he exclaims. “You were hurting his friends! What did you expect him to do?”

“I expected him not to turn on me. Again. That’s all you and he have done since you came to this server. You bring me in to deal with your messes, and then you get all shocked and outraged when I do what I said I was going to do the whole time.” He shakes his head. He’s still not angry. He’s still not angry, though from his words, he definitely should be. But instead, there is resignation. Perhaps some acerbity. But not anger. “I wasn’t going to get into this. I didn’t want to get into this. But I’m not here for you, Wilbur. I’m here because Phil asked me, and that’s all. I’ll help with your omelet, but that’s all. I’m finished. I tried to be finished a long time ago, but you all kept dragging me back in.”

“Does it not matter to you, then?” he asks. “Any of what came before? Any of the old days?”

Techno raises an eyebrow. “‘Course it does,” he says frankly. “Let me ask you something, Wilbur, when exactly did you stop seeing me as a person with feelings?”

It’s clear that he’s not expecting an answer. And still: that pervasive resignation. Wilbur feels his animosity draining away, replaced by numbness.

(this is on him, isn’t it? he brought Techno here, he recruited him into the first war, he promised him anarchy when he had no intention of delivering, he provoked the first rift, it was all him, him, him, and the worst part of all of it is that he cannot deny any of what Technoblade is saying)

(because they all have their truths, and the problem lies in the refusal to understand. wasn’t he just thinking about this?)

“That’s where I stand, then,” Techno says, turning his head away to face forward, toward the rest of the SMP. There are blood vines visible from this vantage, if you squint just enough. “I thought you should know.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t want to fight.”

“Neither did I,” Techno says. “But sayin’ ‘I didn’t want to’ never seems to accomplish much of anything.”

Wilbur doesn’t have anything to say to that. He flexes his fingers, stares down at his hands, still covered in blue. Blue, blue, blue. If he were Ghostbur, he would smile and chirp something untactful and naive, and perhaps it would not make Technoblade happy, but it would take away the resignation, at least, would distract him from—would distract him from what? The way he seems to expect his family members to treat him as a tool for their own ends? There is no distracting from that. And as much as Wilbur would like to deny it, he cannot say that Technoblade is wrong,

(a history: he and his brother sparring on the grass, he and his brother tormenting Tommy, he and his brother on opposite sides of a grand war, but having so much fun with it, every clash underlain by quick-flash smiles and inside jokes and the knowledge that despite it all, they are still there for each other)

(a different history: summoning the Blade to fight in their war, digging the Blade a pit to fight Tommy in, stringing the Blade along with promises of anarchy, of a tyrant toppled, knowing full well that the Blade will not like the end result, knowing full well that he intends to betray everyone in the end, knowing full well, knowing full well, knowing full well that he will not have to deal with any of the consequences at all because he intends to end his own story without regard for the people still living in it)

“I am sorry,” he says, and this time, he means something entirely different. “For what it’s worth.”

Technoblade sighs. “I am too,” he says. “For what it’s worth. Not for all of it. I’d do a lot of it again. But for the things that are worth bein’ sorry for?” He looks to the sky. Wilbur wonders if he’s counting the crows, as he has taken to doing himself. “I’ve got plenty of regrets. Don’t mistake me there.” He sighs again. “Maybe there’s somethin’ to be worked out, yet. But nobody’s ready for that. I’m not ready for that. I would be astounded if Tommy was ready for that. You don’t seem all that ready for that. So how about we make an omelet and save the rest for later?”

It’s not what he wants. But perhaps it’s not what Technoblade wants, either, and perhaps that is a good sign.

Prime, what a mess they all are.

“Alright,” he says. “Omelet.” And as if summoned by his words, he spots a figure coming down the path toward Tommy’s house. Or, wait—two figures. One is easily distinguishable as Puffy, but he’s not sure about the other, not from this distance. They have dark hair, and they’re wearing a lot of white, and—is that a headband?

Wait.

“Is that Sapnap?” Techno asks doubtfully.

“What the fuck,” he says.

Puffy better have a damn good reason for this.

----------

The reason is, apparently, this: Sapnap stands before all of them and says, with fire in his eyes and white-knuckled fists, that be barely recognizes the man that Bad has turned into, that the Egg has made him become. That he’s been busy at home, with his fiances—and how interesting it is, to learn that Sapnap and Karl, of all people, are Quackity’s fiances—and that he didn’t see a good opportunity to do anything about it before now, but if they’re taking the fight to the Egg, he wants in.

“The Bad I know would never have pulled any of this bullshit,” he declares. “He basically raised me. I know him better than to think this is him. So yeah, mark me down for whatever you’ve got planned.”

And isn’t that achingly familiar.? Except for Sapnap, the positions are reversed: he is the son trying to talk sense into the father, trying to save him, rather than the other way around. He conspicuously does not make eye contact with Phil, who is standing off to the side, Ranboo hovering near him—did he arrive with Techno?—hunched over and looking like he’d really rather be anywhere else.

They’re gathered on the Prime Path outside of Tommy’s house once again. It’s become a de facto meeting place, of sorts, which is strange to him. Tommy himself has always been central to events on the server, but his little dirt hut? Wilbur has never spent so much time here before, and he doesn’t think anyone else has, either. Regardless, they’re all here, Puffy next to Sapnap and Sam come down from the prison, Phil and Ranboo, Tommy and Tubbo both very obviously glaring at Technoblade, who has taken up most everyone’s attention by his sudden arrival. He doesn’t think Sapnap has spotted him yet, lurking around the edges of the conversation as he is, but if Sapnap’s going to be here, he might as well get this over with.

“And we should trust you why?” he asks, stepping forward smoothly, in the way he knows makes his coat flare out just so. If no one else is going to ask, he will.

(it’s not paranoia if it’s common sense, it’s not, he’s being careful, he’s watching himself, it’s easy to trip but he hasn’t yet)

Sapnap jerks, all the color draining from his face as he turns. His eyebrows furrow, his lips parting, and Wilbur can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to make sense of what he’s seeing, tries to make sense of a dead man walking.

“Holy shit,” he says. “You’re—”

Something settles. Old patterns emerge. Here is someone he doesn’t have to watch himself with. Perhaps not an enemy, not anymore, but no friend, no one he cares to keep close.

(he fought by Sapnap’s side once but that was a thin alliance and he was hardly concerned with just who had flocked to his banner, not anymore, not when he’d already made the decision to betray them all, to light the fuse no matter what)

“Yes, yes,” he says, airily waving a hand. “Hello, I’m alive, back by unpopular demand, all of that. I need a guarantee that you’re not under the influence. Being close to Bad gives you a good motive to come and help, I’ll grant you, but it also means that you could be infected through your proximity to him. I’m sure you understand my caution.”

(the words are back, dripping off his tongue like fine wine, like rich confidence)

“He’s—” Puffy starts, but Sapnap’s voice overlaps with hers.

“Wait, am I the only one who didn’t know about this?” he asks. “You’re just—back? Alive again? How the hell did that happen?”

“Not particularly relevant,” he says. “I assure you, it’s something we’re all grappling with at the moment. Would you answer the question?”

Sapnap is still gaping. “I—I guess, I mean, I’ve only been near the Egg once. Bad’s tried to get me to get close a couple of times, but I always give him an excuse. I don’t know how you want me to prove that.”

He lifts a shoulder, half a shrug. “And your fiances? They’re not here because—?”

“Karl hasn’t been feeling great lately,” he bites out. “Completely unrelated to the Egg. But Q’s staying with him for now. I also don’t want either of them anywhere near this thing. Can you blame me for that?”

Against his will, he glances at Tommy and Tubbo, the former of whom still glaring at Technoblade, shock and rage warring on his face, and the latter of whom seeming to want to look anywhere except at Technoblade.

(you want to keep them safe you want to keep them far away but they will not go because the fight is in their blood and this is what you have made them into and the battlefield is different but they still will not leave it and they were adventurous as children to be sure but you did the rest and you know it you cannot protect them and you have only yourself to blame)

“Alright, then,” he says. “I’m not the one to welcome you aboard. But welcome aboard.”

“Okay!” Puffy says, clapping her hands together. She’s scowling, slightly, and Wilbur realizes that they’ve pretty much been running roughshod all over her. “Thanks for that, Wilbur. As you can see, Sapnap, we’ve got a bunch of war criminals, former dead people, irritating little twerps, and Tubbo, but we’re all working together and not provoking anyone more than we need to, because taking down the evil mind control egg is what takes precedence here.” She shoots a glare at him as she speaks, which frankly, he feels isn’t entirely justified. He wasn’t provoking Sapnap. He would have said a lot worse if he was trying to provoke Sapnap.

“While I’m at it, hi, Technoblade,” Puffy adds. “Glad you could make it. Just, nobody blow up any city-states while we’re here and we’ll be fine, okay?”

“I will make no promises,” Technoblade says, “but as long as you’re not hiding a new one from me, we should be good.”

“Oh my god,” Tommy breaks in. Wilbur’s surprised he’s abstained this long. “Why the fuck are you like this? You can’t just barge in here and claim to be all about helping now and expect us all to go along with it. You blew up L’Manberg! You and him!” He jabs a finger at Phil. “You worked with Dream! You, with your stupid withers, over and over again! And you just think you can come back and butt in here like none of that happened? I mean, maybe you can, since I guess no one’s trying to lock you up over it, but that doesn’t mean it’s fair, and it doesn’t mean that you get to be so fucking, so fucking like that about it! Like none of it fucking matters.”

It’s curious to watch everyone’s reactions. They don’t all have a stake in it, not the way that Tommy does, not the way that Tubbo does, not the way that Wilbur does. Sapnap doesn’t seem to know how to react, and Sam’s fingers are clenched around his trident. Puffy just looks tired, which he supposes is fair. He doesn’t think she’s paid enough to put up with their bullshit. Because that’s what it is: their bullshit. To be sure, all of the things that Tommy is saying apply to everyone; he’s talking about general crimes, actions that Techno has taken that have affected the whole server. But Tommy’s not concerned about how they affected the whole server. He’s concerned about himself, and Tubbo. That’s all.

(he can’t blame him, not when he’s the exact same way. he wouldn’t be upset with them at all, wouldn’t care one whit about the ruin of the country that once was his, if it weren’t for the fact that Tommy and Tubbo were hurt over it)

He meets Puffy’s eyes. Jerks his head at her. Go, he says without saying it, and she nods.

“I’m going to show Sapnap some of the stuff we’ve been working on,” she says. “C’mon, Sam. Oh, Ranboo, you too, if you want.”

“Oh.” Ranboo sounds surprised to be addressed. Which is fair, considering that Wilbur forgot that he was there entirely. “Um, sure, I guess. Glad to uh, glad to help out.” He casts an uncertain glance at Phil, looking for cues, and that should tell him all he needs to know about their relationship right there,

(and he’s not jealous, he’s not jealous, he’s not, not jealous that Phil has picked up another kid because this is just how Phil is and there’s no need to be jealous and having another brother might be nice, actually, but why would he do this when Tommy is right here and so clearly in need of support, and why would he drag another child into the mess that is their family in the first place?)

because Phil nods at him reassuringly, and Ranboo follows along with Puffy and Sam and Sapnap as they leave the rest of them alone on the Prime Path in what has to be the least subtle statement of here’s some space so you guys can talk about your family issues that Wilbur has ever witnessed.

Techno was right. They’re not ready for this conversation. But they’re going to start it.

“So, what exactly is the problem here?” Techno asks, in exactly the tone of voice that will not help at all, lazy and unaffected. And Wilbur knows he knows better than that, so it has to be on purpose. “You rattled off a lot, there, and I wasn’t takin’ notes.”

Tommy lets out an inarticulate screech of rage and starts forward, hands clenched into fists. But Tubbo reaches out and grabs his shirt sleeve, and he stops in his tracks.

“You know what the fucking problem is,” he spits. “I fucking hate you. You’re terrible, and you’re the worst, and I want to never see your face again.”

“Oh, so I’ll just leave you to fight a bloodthirsty Egg cult by yourself?” Techno says. He raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, Tommy, no can do. I’ve been told they’re calling themselves the Eggpire. That’s right up my alley.”

“Yeah, maybe you fucking should!” Tommy yells. “Maybe you should leave! I don’t want you here! Tubbo doesn’t want you here! We don’t need you, either of you! We’ve been doing just fine all on our own, and now we’ve got Wil back, so we doubly don’t need you! We never have! You haven’t—you haven’t been here before, so why should you suddenly start being here now, huh? Why don’t you just fuck off back to your, your stupid snow fort and your stupid dogs and leave the rest of us alone?”

Phil closes his eyes. The picture of weariness.

Wilbur considers stepping in.

(not yet)

(Tommy needs this)

“I literally just told you why?” Techno says. “Have your listenin’ and comprehension skills gotten this bad? I’m not sure why you’re mad at me, Tommy, you’re the one who used me as a weapon and betrayed me. Again. Feels like I’m preachin’ to the choir, here.”

“I didn’t—” Tommy squawks. “I couldn’t just let you do that to everyone! Why don’t you fucking understand how shitty of a thing that was to do? You destroyed L’Manberg, Technoblade. That was people’s home. That was my home! That was the place, it was the place that Wilbur created, it was Wilbur’s country, and it mattered so much to all of us, and you fucking destroyed it like it was nothing.”

(he thinks you wanted it to be here why does he think that does he not remember what you did what you wanted you wanted it gone and if anything Technoblade fulfilled your greatest desire)

“Well, gee, Tommy, I don’t know,” Techno says, “maybe if L’Manberg didn’t want to get its ass kicked, L’Manberg should’ve left me in retirement, where I was completely content to live out the rest of my days in peace. Or maybe, and consider this, they shouldn’t have set up a corrupt and tyrannical dictatorship just like the last one was.”

Tubbo has gone pale. His face is blank. “I’m right here, you know,” he says.

“I see you,” Technoblade says. “I don’t see you arguin’.”

“Would it do any good?” Tubbo asks. “You’ve made up your mind. Not like it can make a difference now.”

“Of course he’s made up his mind!” Tommy says. “He’s a stubborn fucking pig. He thinks he knows everything, and he doesn’t give a shit when people tell him he’s wrong, because he’s the great Technoblade and Technoblade is never wrong, and he doesn’t care about people, he just cares about his stupid fucking anarchy and his stupid fucking fights, and nothing else matters to him.”

It is Wilbur’s turn to want to close his eyes. But he doesn’t let himself look away.

Technoblade’s face darkens.

(he understands, he understands how Tommy can accuse him of not caring, he understands, but at the same time, he doesn’t, because they grew up together, the three of them, so Tommy should know better, should know better than to think Techno an unfeeling creature, because Techno cares deeply and abidingly and desperately loyally, and that is why he despises betrayal so very much, because it is so rare for someone to grant him the same amount of regard and trust that he is prone to giving away. Tommy ought to know that, so how can it be possible that the events of this server have washed away years of shared history?)

“Okay, I think everyone needs to calm down,” Phil says, but Tommy wheels on him just as quickly.

“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down,” he snaps. “You don’t have the fucking right. You did all the same things that he did. All the same things, when I thought—” He cuts himself off suddenly, shaking his head, grimacing like he was about to give something away. “Nevermind what I thought. But I went through hell, and you weren’t there for me. Neither of you were there for me. In the end, I had to claw my way out myself, no thanks to either of you. So I don’t know where you get off coming around here and claiming to want to help when you’ve never done shit to help me before.”

“I let you—” Techno begins incredulously, but then Phil strides forward, closing the gap between them, and Techno falls silent.

“I’m sorry,” Phil says simply. “I’m sorry for a lot. I can’t say that I’m sorry for L’Manberg, because that, I’d do again. But I’m sorry for hurting you. And most of all, I’m sorry for not being there for you when you needed me. Either of you,” he adds, with a glance at Tubbo. Tubbo doesn’t react. “I honestly didn’t think you’d want to see me, after what I did to Wil. By the time I realized how badly I’d fucked up, it was a bit late to do anything about it.” His mouth twists. “I don’t have anything more to offer than that. I can’t change the past. But I’d like to start making it up to you, if you’ll let me.”

Tommy stares at him for a long moment. And then turns on his heel and marches off after Puffy and the rest.

Silence falls.

“For the record,” Tubbo says, “I’m not too mad anymore. But really, that’s just because he’s mad enough for both of us. And being angry all the time is really exhausting, you know?”

Tommy calls over his shoulder: “Tubbo, come on, let’s go make fun of Ranboo!”

Tubbo gives them all one last, searching stare. And then follows Tommy.

Silence again. Even the crows are quiet.

“That could have gone better,” Phil murmurs.

“Look on the bright side,” he offers, and Phil looks at him, eyes dark. “It could also have gone worse. He could have tried to kill you.”

“Couldn’t help but notice you not bein’ of any help,” Techno says.

“And who was I supposed to help?” he asks, and laughs, not bothering to hide the acidity. “You two? Maybe. I’m pissed at you, but that’s for Tommy’s sake, not L’Manberg’s. I probably should have helped him; Prime knows he needs the support. But at the same time, he’s hardly seeing things clearly either. None of us are. We’re all very fucked up, I’ve noticed.”

The last is supposed to be a joke, or at least, something to lighten the mood a little, because he can’t stand Phil looking so tired and old. But Phil just sighs, something miserable flashing in his gaze.

“And besides,” he continues, softening his tone a bit, “Tommy needed to be able to say all of that himself. He didn’t need me speaking for him or defending him. He needed to air all that out.”

“Do you think there’s hope?” Phil asks. He’s still standing stock still, gazing out over the path in front of him, though Tommy and Tubbo have both passed from sight.

“I really don’t think I’m the one to ask about that,” he says. “But you’re here, yeah? You’ve apologized, and you’re going to try to make things right? I’m not accepting anything on Tommy’s behalf, but it seems like a good first step.”

Phil doesn’t answer. Technoblade makes a low noise that is not quite a scoff, but when Wilbur glances at him, the expression on his face is contemplative rather than angry, rather than derisive. And it’s a start. It’s a start. It has to be a start.

(because if it isn’t if things carry on in this way you’re going to have to choose between them and you already know what your decision will be but it will hurt you will break you to tear out those connections at the roots and no one can be more important to you than Tommy is but you still want Phil you still want Techno no matter their faults no matter what they’ve done they are still your family and you don’t want to have to choose but brace yourself Icarus there is always a fall and the storm wall hasn’t blown through yet)

----------

The plan, in the end, is a simple one: they’re going to gear up, take a shit ton of weapons and firepower, and do their damnedest to crack the Egg’s shell wide open.

There are more complicated factors, of course. The Egg is not a natural thing, and they don’t know what kind of defenses it may have. They also don’t know whether harming the Egg will harm the people under its influence, so that is something to watch for; Puffy and Sam are both insistent that if that happens, they abort the attack immediately.

(though he and Phil meet each other’s eyes across the room, and he knows they are thinking the same thing, thinking about the nature of conflicts such as these and the necessity of sacrifices)

It’s not a particularly solid plan, but it’s the best they can come up with, under the circumstances, and they’re prepared as they’re going to be. Wilbur doesn’t object to it in theory.

But in practice—

“The fuck do you mean, I’m not coming?” he demands.

Puffy meets his gaze head on.

“We need someone on the outside, watching to see if they bring in reinforcements, or if any other weird stuff happens,” she says. “Sam volunteered, but Sam also needs to be at the prison to make sure no one takes advantage of this to try a prison break or something, and he can’t really afford to divide his time. That leaves you.”

“That leaves—what about one of the literal children?” he asks. “You’re fine with bringing the minors near the fucking mind control egg cult?”

“Obviously I’m not fine with it,” she says, “but if I told them to stay behind, they’d follow us in anyway, except I wouldn’t know where they were in order to protect them. This way, everyone knows exactly where everyone else is.”

“Damn straight we would,” Tommy mutters, and Wilbur wheels on him.

“And what the hell are you thinking?” he asks. “Why would you—”

Tommy glances away from him, and all at once, he understands. His chest goes cold.

(red in his mind and red in his heart and the world aflame and he raises his sword)

“You don’t want me to come,” he states.

“I—look, Wilbur? I don’t want to lose you, okay? And I can’t hear the fucking thing, and you can, and I don’t—I couldn’t stand it, if what happened last time happened again. I don’t want to go through that, and I especially don’t want you to go through that. Not again. So, yeah, I’d rather you be just outside, so that we can call you if we need you, or you can call if you need us, but I would feel a whole lot better if you didn’t go in there.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Phil open his mouth to ask something, and then shut it again, his brow furrowed.

The thing is—the thing is, he understands. He understands where Tommy is coming from. If their positions were reversed, he would want the same thing. But it stings, like splinters in his heart, and he tries to tell himself that Tommy is just worried about him, that Tommy just wants to keep him safe, but that is bad enough, because it should be the other way around, should be him protecting Tommy, should be him keeping Tommy safe, and it smarts to know that Tommy doesn’t think he’s capable of doing even that much.

(but he is right, of course, right to doubt him, right to keep him at arms’ length, because he has proven himself susceptible to the whispering and the enticement and Tommy is right to look him in the eyes and tell him to stay behind)

“We’re taking a whole lot of holy water with us, just in case,” Puffy says. “So in case of an emergency, it’ll probably be fine. But I agree with Tommy. I think for your sake, this is where you can do the most good.”

“Right,” he says, and his voice sounds hollow to his own ears. “Right, no, yeah, I get it. I can do lookout.”

(you were their general and how you have fallen)

(they do not trust you and they are right not to)

“Wil—” Tommy starts, but he shakes his head rapidly, cutting him off.

“No, I’m serious, it’s good. You’re probably right.” He smiles, or at least goes through the motions; his lips curve upward, at any rate. “Can’t say that I’m eager for a repeat either. But you’ve got to promise that you will call me in if you need me.”

“Course we will,” Tommy says, and he

(doesn’t believe him he’s lying he’s lying he’s lying)

nods. That’s the best he’s going to get.

There’s not much to say after that. Sam wishes them luck and returns to the prison. The rest of them head off toward the Egg, and he holds his head high and his back straight and pretends there is no shame curling in his gut, no wounded animal clawing at his chest, no hurt, no fear, no bitterness. And he pretends that he does not feel the weight of Phil’s gaze on his shoulders, curious and concerned. Phil has not been told about his encounter with the Egg, no details, at least, and he would like to keep it that way, if he can. So he pretends not to see, and he pretends that the growing density of the vines as they march forward does not strike a chord of

(longing)

dread in his heart.

There is no reason to worry, probably. Techno and Phil are armed to the teeth, and Puffy is no lightweight, and they will all work to keep the kids safe. And Tommy and Tubbo themselves are very capable, even though they shouldn’t have to be, and he doesn’t know Ranboo very well

(though there is something terribly eerie in his bearing, at the moment, in the way he almost seems to be taller, in the blank, glazed look in his eyes, in his almost mechanical movements, and it is very unsettling but perhaps the kid is just nervous)

but he lives with Techno and Phil, so he must have some measure of skill.

So it’ll be fine. It’s going to be fine.

He wishes he could persuade himself. But he can’t, not on the way there, and not after they arrive, not after they leave him at the top of the ladder with several bottles of holy water and a repeated promise to let him know if something goes wrong. Not after they all descend the ladder, out of sight.

He is alone.

He tries to breathe, tries to steady his nerves. He used to be better than this. He used to be able to go into battle without this anxiety clanging in his bones. But he can’t stop remembering

(red red red and don’t you want peace, brave heart, don’t you want to rest)

the previous ordeal, and they all took holy water with them, but what if that isn’t enough? What if the Egg worms its way inside their heads regardless of the precautions? What if the Egg takes Technoblade? What if the Egg takes Phil?

He takes to obsessively checking his communicator, only placing it down for a few seconds at a time before picking it up again and searching for new messages. There is nothing, and he tries to tell himself that radio silence is a good thing, that it means they’re not in danger, but before fifteen minutes pass, he’s about ready to jump down the ladder himself, regardless of the risk, regardless of the consequences.

It grates, being left up here on his own, like a child that can’t be trusted with his own safety, when the literal, actual children went down there, could be fighting for their lives right now.

(and it was one thing to be left out of planning, because he doesn’t want to be a general anymore, not really, doesn’t want to be a leader, not when it all brought him to such grief, but it is one thing to let others take charge and quite enough to be left out entirely)

(they’re pulling away they’re abandoning you they know what you are and this is just the excuse)

He sighs noisily, running a hand through his hair. Sets the communicator down. Picks it up again.

It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be—

There’s a message.

He reads it. Once, twice, three times, just to make sure he’s not hallucinating, that it’s real, that the words glaring up at him, swimming in front of his eyes, aren’t some error, some mistake, aren’t a glitch with the worst possible timing. He blinks, hard, but they remain the same, and terror reaches into his chest and stops his heart.

(there is something very wrong at the heart of this server the beating living heart is choked and stuttering staccato black with poison and clotted with misery and you can see it in the sky can smell it on the wind and in that cell that obsidian cell where the walls weep and the lava enters your nose and lingers you knew it you saw it there is poison creeping a monster waiting and the monster is loose and he is coming and death on his footstep and it is as the tide and the tide must always return and the tides are black and cold and they want you to drown)

The words are still there.

Awesamdude was slain by Dream.

Without a second thought, he grips the top rung of the ladder and vaults over the side.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #tommyinnit #tubbo #sapnap #ranboo #captain puffy #awesamdude #:)#alivebur #/rp #cat writes fic #long post

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hood-ex · 4 years

Note

if you‘re still taking requests, maybe wally, roy and donna being protective about Dick?

Roy can’t see shit, and for a reason that has nothing to do with the lack of light and has everything to do with the fact that Dick’s eyes are swelled shut, Dick can’t see either.

“Penlight,” Dick reminds him, and Roy winces. Dick’s voice is hoarse in a way that’s very telling of how much of his time in captivity was spent screaming.

Roy grits his teeth and curls his hands into fists. He suddenly wishes he’d volunteered to punch Brother Blood’s stupid face in instead of assigning himself to retrieval duty. But he’ll have to save the imaginary murder scenarios for later when he’s got Dick somewhere safe that isn’t this blacked out hellhole.

“Where?” he bites out a little too sharply. He can’t help it. He’s fucking angry, and if he can’t burn off his rage by beating someone’s head in, he’s gotta let it out in some other way.

He doesn’t apologize for it—knows he doesn’t have to—because Dick will understand.

“Straight ahead. In the top dr—”

Dick suddenly cries out as his legs buckle, and Roy immediately holds onto him tighter to keep him from slipping. The problem is that Dick’s barely got enough strength to hold himself up, and Roy has to tighten his arm around Dick’s naked waist to keep him from crumbling to the floor. The pressure from his grip on Dick’s sensitive skin makes Dick hiss in pain.

“Shit!” Roy says while carefully maneuvering himself away from Dick’s side so that he can lean Dick up against the wall of the cell. “Sorry, sorry!”

“S’okay,” Dick mumbles, and fuck, Roy doesn’t like how fragile he sounds. It reminds him that Dick’s in a lot more pain than he initially let on, and Roy’s not sure it’s such a good idea for him to try and move Dick by himself, especially when it’s so dark.

He slowly takes his hands away from Dick’s sweaty skin, satisfied that Dick doesn’t crash to the floor.

“Can you hold yourself up like that while I get the light real quick?”

Dick’s silence is a little too long for Roy’s liking.

“Yeah,” Dick finally says on a breath that sounds way too short, “hurry.”

Roy jumps into motion at the command just like he always does when Dick’s leading him. He keeps his hands braced in front of him as he quickly inches forward into the darkness, brain tricking him into thinking he’s seeing light when it’s really nothing.

It reminds him of all the times he spent helping Donna develop her 35mm film in the darkroom. Being in the dark then hadn’t bothered him so much since Donna always had music playing on the radio. The music coupled with their loud singing had distracted him and made the dark seem warm and comforting.

It’s hard to feel that way now when the only thing he can hear is Dick’s ragged breathing. It doesn’t help that it reminds Roy of horror movies where something creepy and haunted follows people around in the dark.

The thought makes shivers dance down his spine, and he hurries forward until his gloves brush something smooth and hard that has him stop in place. After he carefully runs his hands along it, he realizes that it’s a countertop. Score. Now he just needs to get the drawer open and find the penlight.

His glove is tacky with Dick’s blood, and it sticks a little to the drawer handle when he finds it and wrenches it open. There’s no time to be cautious about whatever the fuck else could be inside the drawer. He just dives right in and blindly touches everything until he finally finds something thin and weighted.

That’s exactly when the door is flung open, and because Roy’s been imagining poltergeist shit for the past few minutes, he shouts and immediately reaches for the knife strapped to his belt as if that’ll somehow protect him from a creature that’s already dead.

“Dude, chill,” Wally says, body illuminated by the light near the doorway. Vaguely, Roy realizes that Wally must have found the light switch that turned on the hallway lights because light is now flooding into the room. The sudden contrast between light and dark makes Roy’s eyes sting, and it takes a few blinks for him to get the little fuzzy black dots out of his vision.

When his eyes finally adjust, he realizes that Donna is there too, and she’s got Dick cradled in her arms in the way only someone with super strength can manage. Tears trail down her face as she presses her forehead against Dick’s temple and whispers his name.

Dick is... he looks bad. A lot worse than Roy was imagining. Every cut and bruise are on display since Dick’s wearing nothing but the tattered remains of his pants. It’s... frankly, it makes Roy want to kill something. Preferably Brother Blood and all his stupid cult members.

He can tell that blood has already been spilled on Dick’s behalf tonight. Donna and Wally’s fists are coated in red, and while Roy wishes he could do something to get the same satisfaction as them, he knows that his family needs him here right now.

Roy will be damned if he lets them down.

#Dick Grayson #Roy Harper #Wally West #Donna Troy #but aint nobody be fuckin w their fam ayeee #btw the lights were off bc they didn't want dick seeing where he was or what the fuck was going on #my fic #drabble #anon

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natakari-tash · 3 years

Text

More lies, more projecting..

Anons by their side, wow, doesn't sound familiar at all.

December 2019 has been a long time ago, I've been in the twitter GC when the "confrontation" happened. Been confused by the way it all exploded, I remember that clearly. This group chat has always been and meant to be a safe space, to vent, to discuss fandom things, talk about the show too. When misunderstandings happened they were either cleared up in chat or in messages or just given time to cool off. People clash sooner or later, you can't agree with everyone on everything, nothing wrong about that. No one is, will be nor was blamed for leaving the chat, even less for taking a break from the fandom. Also need to add that all fans are equal regardless the followers or whatever reason someone finds to assign as "qualifying" to be better than others. So, a group chat of fans that are friends, new people added here and there, new friendships made, fallouts happen here and there, friends talk again, life continues.

Except... This was never a problem to these two. Tink and Saz. They saw and seem to still see it the same way (if not worse) as back then. That Min is the problem. Guilty of always speaking condescendingly to other fans according to both, considering Tink an "idiot" which was pulled out of thin air (again, I happened to open the chat on those messages, closed it as I thought it has been cleared up to an extent).

How did Saz reply to my message where I reached out to her? "I'm sorry you feel that way"

See? No remorse. Claimed she wasn't uncomfortable with the whole gc but uncomfortable and scared of Min. Sell that bs to someone else.

According to Saz, the whole chat was okay with Min's horrible behavior that no one dared to speak about nor put a stop to it which had to be changed. When no one bit her bait she was clearly free to claim we're all horrible people that gang up on others and attack them relentlessly whenever they think differently. She's still saying it. Wow, standing up to hurting people, to lies, to other obvious bs makes you an awful person. Guess I shouldn't report anyone who attacks shippers solely for the ship and not behavior.

How dare friends vent for the past pain some fans inflicted on them and keep it contained in *gasp* a group chat that isn't public and everyone is free to be themselves?! The woooorst.

Okay, back to those memories.. Soon enough Saz was yet again defending Tink, claiming Min didn't stop but supposedly made subposts or sth and even threatened and blackmailed her.

Uh, wtf?? Way to twist words, wow, taking everything someone posts as personal. So healthy...

I've left them alone, so did my friends from chat and outside it. It's always the two that mention us in some way, add a lie etc. They do it in cycles they keep accusing us of.

Turn off that projector already, you two, move on, stop being vengeful spirits, c'monnn.

I'm not sure what happened before and what after, me messaging Saz or her messaging people from the chat she supposedly considered friends like Tink supposedly did too, I am sure that Saz went around trying to pull people with her and stand up to the massive threat that she clearly still sees Min as. I never messaged Tink. None of the people that have been contacted from the chat that have known Min for longer than me and also irl, none have agreed with Saz. What's even worse, Saz fed all that to another friend that I didn't see as being played by her, used this friend at the confrontation. That it indeed took me long to see.

At a point the two admitted that why they joined the chat for over a year, planning to leave it soon, that they regretted thinking it was a good idea, then both acted like that didn't happen- never said that, that no one saw that. Suuuure.

Hey, people have memory not just eyes. Your bs is not any less bs, Tink, Saz. Think we'll just ignore what we know know and ignore your maskless faces? Nah. Nice try.

Filp and flop, bitter then not and not then bitter again, contradicting selves again and again, taking every swing our way as an opportunity to add to it...

Like I mentioned already, it's cyclic. Feeling attacked so they let it out, then silence from them about it, bam, silence, more lies, silence, more slander, silence, new name for the horrible gc, silence and without doubt there's been bad mouthing in the months I moved on and didn't even remotely think of either of them.

When I expressed doubt to Saz about her words she took it as intimidation tactics, that this is what she gets or daring to disagree with Min and trying to call out Min. Her words. That I'm blind if I can't see the problem with Min, also that I'm bullying her.

Hello? Irony anyone? Self-awareness?? No one's home. Naturally. She's the frigging blind one. When it's more than one person that tells you you're wrong maybe take a step back and consider seeing where you're wrong and work on it. Saz and Tink have been around Min for less than others within the chat if I'm correct. Hell, I didn't know Min for as long as Chriss, Shea, Dot, Hikari, Sam and many others, yet still enough to see how Min is. A person, that like everyone can mess up, fight, apologize, stand up to inaccuracies, to bs and other things while doing their thing, living their life, having their views...

Saz and Shea talked, anyone that knows anything about Shea knows that she won't just nod to bs and . She knows how people can get, knows how to handle them, had a job like that. She can go from zero to murder cop if necessary. Being Min's partner she looked into the situation and guess what? The whole thing has been taken out of proportions, there was no condescending tone, and also no innocents she said. I'll never forget that. No innocents. No one was innocent. There have been mistakes made my Min, being condescending WASN'T one of them.

Yes, I've accused Saz of being okay with Yeshim because Drula is all buddy with Yeshim who Saz was (is?) friendly with, true, had to see the reaction. Did I believe that? Nope. That reaction along with the previous messaging told me enough on its own. Wasn't seeing her as a friend when I first messaged her already yet still being open to hear her side but nothing more cause it was clear to me she won't change her mind any soon nor will apologize to everyone she hurt. Her reply showed me she didn't and doesn't care about anyone in the chat but her and Tink.

I'll say it no matter how many times it needs to be said. If one of my friends does sth wrong and I see it I'll most likely contact them, reach out to them, tell them they did sth wrong, do it within a chat as it happens if needed.

My point? I don't manipulate the people I consider as friends.

And once again.. Not only I'd notice the superiority in tone if there was any, I'd frigging mention it and talk about it. Most likely in DMs.

It looked like a misunderstanding at first, handled poorly, it uncovered a whole mountain of yikes in the end, kept getting worse since then. I think Saz never truly saw anyone in chat as her friends, she wouldn't accuse us that fast and keeping it up so long if she did. Acting like we betrayed her not the other way around.

Now the cult thing, Polol Discord server, Min being the cult leader.. Saz is lying again. Tink too. Notice the pattern?

Min being guilty of sth. Them not able to see what's right infront of their noses. People supposedly fearing Min and afraid to disagree. Min being a mighty fearful cult leader for having certain knowledge & being specialized in their fields. Uh, not happening. Obsessed much?

Ask anyone in the server, I'm waiting.

Stop projecting your issues on people, Saz and Tink. Not anyone's fault around here you feel inferior, feel the need to save people from others, feeling threatened without being threatened, playing victim for who knows how long so far, assigning power and clout where it's not in play at all. Therapy is nothing shameful, moving on is necessary. Please.

#hop off already #life is meant to be lived #move tf on already #tink #saz

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five-rivers · 4 years

Text

Exile

Prompt by @halfaqueen. My goodness, this took forever to write. I have no idea how it got so long.

Danny hadn't realized that exile was still a thing, but when he and Jazz had gotten expelled, and their parents had been banned or barred from basically all public places, and all of them had gotten restraining orders of one sort or another, and dozens of lawsuits had been filed against Fentonworks... Well... Officially, it wasn't exile, but that was what Amity Park was clearly aiming for with this harassment campaign.

He watched his city, his haunt, disappear over the horizon from the back window of the GAV. It was all he could do not to cry out aloud. Leaving like this felt like tearing part of himself away.

"Don't worry, Danno!" said Jack, leaning over the back seat. He wasn't driving, as he had lost his license early on in the city's war against them. "Just give it a few weeks! They'll be begging for us to come back, what with all the ghost that'll attack!"

This did not make Danny feel better.

"Jack," said Maddie, drawing out her husband's name. As clear as day, her tone said, Don't get their hopes up.

"You betcha! Because nobody can catch a ghost better than the Fentons, that's for sure!"

Jack Fenton hadn't ever been good at reading things as abstract as tones.

"They think they can stop the ghosts by closing the portal? Please! If it was as easy as that, we'd have closed it ages ago!"

Danny cringed, and sunk lower in his seat. No. None of that made Danny feel better.

Amity Park had hired other ghost hunters, blatantly replacing the Fentons, but Danny didn't know how good they were. He didn't know how good he should hope they were, either. On one hand, he wanted them to be bad, so that Amity Park would drop the restraining orders and he could go home. On the other, he wanted them to be good, so that Amity Park would be safe, so that everyone would be safe and no one would be hurt. But, then, if they were good, and everything was fine, that meant that Amity Park didn't need him any more, that he wasn't helpful, and, even though it was selfish, part of him wanted to be needed.

But, worse, what if they were good enough to defeat the more common ghosts, but then someone powerful come through, someone big, and they couldn't handle it? What if the new hunters worked for the GIW and would send the ghosts they caught off to be experimented on?

Danny had warned away as many ghosts as he could about what was happening before they left, but it didn't seem to be enough. And what if that warning got to someone who would see it as an invitation? As an opportunity to strike, now that he, Phantom, was gone.

He'd been so worried, stressed, and paranoid that he'd made himself sick. He was probably going to make himself sick again before the day was out.

"Where are we going, anyway?" he mumbled.

"Didn't we tell you?" asked Maddie. Danny shrugged. "We're visiting some relatives of Jack's. They have an interest in the supernatural, and they offered to let us stay with them while we look for a more permanent solution."

"Yep!" said Jack. "My favorite cousin, Cory! She's not quite a ghost hunter, but she has that Fenton blood for sure!"

"Cordelia Nightingale," said Maddie. "I don't think that her branch of the family has been Fentons since the sixteen-hundreds."

Danny swallowed. He was not a fan of the name 'Nightingale,' all things considered. It reminded him too much of pain and Sam pushed up against a wooden stake.

He decided this, on top of everything else, was a bad omen. He bet that 'cousin Cordelia' was going to turn out to be a ghost or, somehow, something worse. Like a witch. Or she had something like Freakshows staff. Or she grew blood blossoms for fun. Or she was part of a cult.

Ugh, why did that sound like something that might happen? What was his life?

Half gone, that's what.

Jazz patted him on the knee. "Maybe it'll be nice?" she said, hopefully.

"Maybe," said Danny.

He didn't have high hopes.

Sam probably would have liked the house. Danny didn't. The Gothic architecture only accentuated his fears. He frowned up at the spikes on the railing and the darkly painted boards. No. He didn't like this house at all.

He wanted to go home.

But, at his mother's prodding, he bent and picked up his suitcase. Most of his things were still at home and, if this lasted longer than a week, would then be put into a storage locker along with the rest of the family's belongings, to await a time when they once again had a house of their own to live in.

Jack bounced up the steps and pressed the doorbell with his thumb. Almost at once, a thin woman with graying brown hair opened the door. She wore a black turtleneck and a dark, straight skirt that ended at her ankles. Somehow, she made the outfit look practically Victorian.

"Cory!" exclaimed Jack, giving her a trademark Jack Fenton hug.

Both Jazz and Danny cringed slightly. That felt a bit too familiar for someone who he hadn't seen for literally their entire lives. Danny just hoped this wouldn't be Vlad all over again.

But, to his surprise, Cordelia gave Jack a thin smile and hugged him back. She extracted herself and stepped away from the door, into the house.

"Please," she said, "come in. You must all be tired. Amity Park is hours away."

One by one, the Fentons passed through the door, Danny bringing up the suspicious and paranoid rear.

"You must be Jasmine and Daniel," said Cordelia, closing the door. It wasn't quite dark inside the house, but it did feel rather dim. It smelled sweet, but dusty. Like flowers. Old, dry flowers.

"Jazz and Danny, please, Ms. Nightingale," said Jazz.

"Call me Cordelia. We're family, after all."

Was that ominous, or was Danny just paranoid? Well, it wasn't paranoia if people really were out to get you, right?

His breath went cold in his mouth, and something moved out of the corner of his eye. He whirled, trying to trace it.

He couldn't see anything. His ghost sense hadn't gone off.

"Danny?" said Maddie. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I just thought I saw something."

"Probably my cat," said Cordelia, calmly. "She's a shy little thing, but curious. Don't be surprised if you don't see her again."

"Right," said Danny, doubtful, but not wanting to press the point.

"Now, I've cleaned out rooms for you upstairs," she gestured, and began to lead the way.

Danny started to follow, but another shadow moved at the edge of his sight, this one distinctly humanoid. He turned again, trying to find what cast it. There was nothing. He hurried to catch up with the others.

"Do you live here all alone?" he asked as they climbed the stairs.

"Oh, no," said Cordelia. "This place is much too large for one person. I let out rooms to some nice young ladies who work in town. None of them are here right now, of course, but I'll introduce all of you at dinner."

Well, there went that theory. He glanced back down the stairs. There was definitely a chill in this house.

"You didn't have to give us this much space," said Maddie, snapping Danny's attention back to the conversation. "We should pay you."

"Nonsense. You're family, and those rooms weren't being used anyway. Here, this one has a king mattress, so you two will want this one, even if it is a bit tight, and Daniel, Jasmine, you two take the ones on either side."

Danny and Jazz shared a look. It was a lot easier for Jazz to cover for Danny, or for Danny to sneak into her room for help, when they were next to each other. But there was nothing to be done. They shrugged.

It didn't matter who took which room. Jazz went left. Danny went right.

The room was a lot like the rest of the house. Old-fashioned and dark. It was also meticulously clean and decorated like something out of an old movie. It looked like a set piece. It really did.

Then again, Cordelia did say she had just cleaned the rooms. It wasn't anything to get nervous about, even if it did make Danny feel like he was the main character in a horror film.

He put down his suitcase.

"The bathroom is just down at the end of the hall. The schedule is posted next to it, make sure you write down when you want to shower, so you don't disrupt anyone," said Cordelia, still talking to Jack and Maddie in the hall. "The kitchen is downstairs and in the back. If you take the last of something from the refrigerator, write it down on the shopping list. Otherwise, go ahead and make yourselves at home. Freshen up, take a nap. Dinner is at six."

"Do you want any help with that?" asked Maddie. "You're cooking for an awful lot of people."

"No, no, I'm more than used to it."

"Alright. Did you catch all that, kids?"

"Yes," said Jazz.

"Yeah," said Danny. He wanted to look for whatever was giving him this chill. He didn't like the idea of something supernatural sneaking up on him or his family while he slept.

He couldn't find it, and it was driving him crazy.

There was something in this house, even if Danny couldn't see it as anything but a shadow in his peripheral vision. Jazz couldn't see it at all, but she believed him after that whole thing with Youngblood.

Even if they couldn't find the thing, however, they found lots of other... things. Creepy things. Dead-eyed porcelain dolls. Dusty portraits. Bundles of dried herbs. Weird sculpture things. Light fixtures that should have been updated before Danny was born. A stuffed cat. A closet full of brooms.

"You know what I haven't seen?" asked Danny, as it turned five o'clock.

"No," said Jazz. "What? Ghosts?"

"A litter box," said Danny.

"That doesn't really mean anything," said Jazz. "It could be in one of the bedrooms, or there's a cat door and the cat goes outside."

"Maybe," said Danny. "Let's check out the yard."

This far from the nearest town, the yard was big and cut into a forest that loomed darkly over them even in the bright sunlight. The yard itself was full of flowering plants, but...

"I think these are all poisonous," he said. "At least, a lot of them are."

"Isn't that normal for decorative plants?" asked Jazz. "They weren't bred to eat."

"Yeah, I guess," said Danny, frowning. "But would you necessarily want a cat out here with all this?"

"Cats are carnivores. They wouldn't eat the plants. Can you see the neighbors?"

"No. Too many trees."

"How far away are we, I wonder?"

"It can't be that far," said Danny. "Not if her boarders commute to town."

"That's true. We're not in the wilderness." Jazz scanned up and down the height of the trees. "Not really."

"Maybe a little bit," said Danny. He could imagine some of those trees being hundreds of years old. The ground might not have been untrod by human feet, but... "Does everything here just sort of feel... off? Or is that just me?"

"I don't know," said Jazz.

Gravel crunched in the driveway, audible even from the other side of the house. Jazz and Danny walked to the corner of the house so that they could see around the corner and watch what was happening.

A small white car was pulling into the driveway. It stopped next to the GAV. As they watched, three young women stepped out. One of them had long, dark hair and wore a red sweater and skirt, reminiscent of Cordelia's. The second had pale blond, almost white, hair and wore a deep brown shirt and skirt. The third had red hair, and wore white. All of them had wicked looking boots and matching leather purses.

"Okay," whispered Jazz, pulling Danny back around the corner. "I... Maybe they just like to match?"

"I hate this so much," said Danny. "I want to go home."

"Maybe whatever is going on here is friendly?"

"We are literally never that lucky," said Danny. "I hope it's just a ghost. I can deal with ghosts. It's probably a ghost."

"Really?"

"No. Let's go in. We're going to have to meet them eventually."

"This is Sofia," said Cordelia, indicating the dark haired woman. "This is Alison." She put her hand on the blonde's shoulder. "And this is Morgan." She nodded at the redhead. "Girls, these are my cousins, Jack, Maddie, Jazz, and Danny."

Three sets of eyes moved sequentially from Jack, to Maddie, to Jazz, to Danny. They stayed on Danny.

"It's nice to meet you," said Sofia, still looking at Danny.

He tried to hide his discomfort. Could they tell he was half-ghost? He hoped not. That was his trump card if everything turned out as badly as he feared and he had to get his family out in a hurry.

What he wouldn't give for a piece of concrete evidence right now. Without it, his parents would never listen to him. They hadn't with Vlad.

They were still looking at him. Jazz slipped in front of him.

"So!" she said, brightly. "Dinner?"

Danny pushed back in front of Jazz. "Yeah! It's six, right?"

"Well, it sounds like the kids have inherited that good old Fenton appetite! Huh, Cory?" added Jack

"Yes, yes, come along. Girls, why don't you go ahead and get the table started. No, Maddie, the girls know how I like it, I'll show you later. You just sit down and relax." Cordelia disappeared into the kitchen.

The three younger women moved smoothly around the room, pulling plates and silverware- real silver silverware- from a china cabinet. They set the long table in the middle of the room with rigorous formality. There were more kinds of forks at each place setting than Danny had seen even when having dinner at Sam's. They topped it off with two candelabras.

Cordelia emerged with a casserole dish. Whatever was in it was thick, roughly cylindrical, and covered with a thick red sauce.

"Wow! Is that a roast?" asked Jack.

"Yes," said Cordelia. "I always make this when new guests arrive. The girls have all had it."

The 'girls' nodded as one, and retreated to the opposite side of the table. They almost moved in sync with one another.

Cordelia put the roast on the table, and went back to get side dishes. This gave the three women more time to stare at Danny.

On occasion, Danny did want attention, acknowledgement, what have you, but this scrutiny would have been a bit much even when he was at the height of his 'look at me' phase. He kept a tight hold on his core to keep himself from flickering invisible.

Cordelia came back with two serving dishes full of green... things. Possibly vegetables, but Danny didn't recognize them. She then started to, with excruciating slowness, carve the roast.

The slow exposure of the meat under all that sauce was enough to make Danny vaguely ill. It was too... wet. Too vibrant and too gray all at once. He swallowed against the smell.

"Wow!" said Jack, as Cordelia dropped a slab of meat on his plate. "This looks great, Cory! What kind of meat is it?" He was already sawing away at the flesh. It was all Danny could do to keep himself from slapping it away from him.

"Beef," said Cordelia, smiling at him as she carved. "Locally grown and harvested. It's an old family recipe, from before our branches split and we were all Nightingales."

"You mean Fentons!" said Jack around a mouthful of meat.

Cordelia's smile turned brittle. "However you would like to put it, Jack." She went around the table, serving herself last.

Danny made no move to pick up his utensils. The women on the other side of the table ate while watching him, barely looking at their food. Jazz was the only one who seemed to notice, and when Danny caught her eye and shook his head, she put down the bite of meat she had picked up, turning her focus to the vegetables.

"So," Jazz said, "what do you three do?"

Sofia's eyes flicked briefly to Jazz. "Graphic design," she said.

"That must be interesting."

"It's a job."

Danny didn't eat that night.

"I have some granola bars," said Jazz, grabbing his arm before he entered his guest room. Not that he intended to sleep there. Or anywhere.

"You keep them," he said. "I'm fine. You didn't eat much, either."

"You didn't eat anything," said Jazz.

"I'll be okay." Danny flared his eyes. "I've got an extra reserve, remember?"

"If you say so," said Jazz. She was frowning. "Danny... Let's share a room tonight."

"What?"

"I don't like how those three were looking at you," she said. "I can't believe Mom and Dad didn't notice..."

"They don't notice anything," said Danny. He pulled Jazz into the dubious safety of his room. He didn't want to have this conversation out in the hallway. "Wait," he said, eyes flicking over the room. "Where's my suitcase?"

Jazz shrugged. "Kind of reminds me," she said, not quite whispering. "I was thinking about barricading the door."

Danny hissed through his teeth. "I put my thermos up here when we went to eat. It's gone, too."

"If this were a horror movie, this would be when we yelled at the screen for the characters to leave."

"Think we can convince Mom and Dad?"

"Maybe together?"

Danny shrugged. "Let's give it a try."

They left the bedroom, and knocked on their parents' door. There was no answer.

Jazz frowned. "Maybe they have their earplugs in already," she said. "Can you, you know." She made a gesture where her arms crossed each other.

"Let's see," he said, going back to the bedroom. He waited until Jazz shut the door to turn invisible and phase through the wall.

Passing through the wall felt... odd. Like walking through layers of cobwebs. He shook his head as if to clear it and surveyed the room. Jack and Maddie were already in bed. He made a face and stepped back into the other room, becoming visible and tangible for Jazz.

"They're asleep," he said, shaking his head.

"First thing tomorrow morning, then," Jazz said, wringing her hands. "Maybe- Do you think we should sleep in the GAV? Put up the ghost shield?"

"I'm not even sure that this is a ghost," said Danny. He walked around the bed, part of him still looking for his missing suitcase. "But you have a point, I just..." He glanced at the wall his room shared with his parents'. If he and Jazz slept in the GAV, Jazz would be very safe, but their parents would be vulnerable. If he stayed here, and Jazz slept in the GAV, she'd be safer than sleeping alone in the house, and his parents would be safer, but if something happened to her, he wouldn't be able to react to it, he wouldn't be able to protect her. "I don't know."

"Let's at least go down and look. Maybe you left your suitcase in there, after all?"

"I don't think so," said Danny.

"We can get the weapons locker."

Danny blinked. "I almost forgot about that. Yeah. Let's go."

They were halfway down the stairs when Jazz grabbed his shoulder. "What?" whispered Danny.

"I can't hear anything."

"Huh?"

"This house is old. These stairs creaked when we were walking on it before. Why isn't it now?"

Danny bit his lip. "Let's keep going." He put his hand on Jazz's and made them both invisible.

"I can't see my feet," said Jazz.

"Just be careful," said Danny, continuing down the stairs. "I'm going to phase us through the front door, okay?"

"Fine."

It was still twilight when they stepped outside, the first stars just beginning to show. It wasn't hard for them to navigate, slipping around the white car, but when they did, and finally got a good look at the GAV, they froze.

Jazz said something very un-Jazz-like. Danny let his invisibility fade.

"What happened?" asked Jazz, in shock.

"It looks like someone beat it with a crowbar," said Danny, almost reverently, touching the crumpled metal. "A really big, really fast crowbar."

"Danny, this glass is supposed to be bulletproof."

"And ghost-proof," agreed Danny. "Let's go barricade your room. Think it can get through a dresser?"

The thing about being under high levels of stress for long periods of time was that it was tiring. Exhausting, even. So, even though Danny didn't intend to sleep, he did.

He woke up unable to move, something heavy weighing down his chest. His eyes fluttered open. Something huge and dark, the shadow he'd only glimpsed before, loomed over him, pressed down on him. He could see Jazz's bright hair hanging off of the bed above him. He tried to call out, to warn her, to get her to run, but he couldn't speak.

He couldn't breathe-

When his eyes opened again, light was weakly streaming through the thick glass of the windows, making the dust in the room sparkle gold. He sat straight up, breathing hard. He was still in Jazz's room, the dresser pulled across the doorway. Why do that and then leave him here? It didn't make sense.

"What's wrong?" asked Jazz, voice deep and crackled with sleep. She yawned.

Danny told her.

"That sounds like sleep paralysis."

"Like what now?"

"Sleep paralysis," said Jazz. She yawned again. "Some people get it. They wake up, but they're still asleep and they can't move. And also they hallucinate."

"That sounds fake."

"You sound fake."

"You know what? That's fair. That's actually fair. This whole situation sounds fake, so why not add sleep paralysis to the whole thing? It's better than an actual literal demon." He took a deep breath. "What do we do now?"

Jazz licked her lips and ran a hand through her hair.

"We tell them that the GAV has been trashed, that those women were staring at you like they wanted to eat you all dinner, and that your clothes were stolen. And then I'll spell it out for them, if I have to."

"What, that this place is probably haunted or possessed and Dad's cousin is a witch?"

"No," said Jazz, making a face. "That'll probably only make them want to stay even more. That those three are probably pedophiles who stole your clothing and wrecked the GAV so we couldn't leave, and that neither of us felt safe sleeping alone. Sorry. Then we'll make them call a cab."

"No, no, that's fine. That's a better explanation than I could come up with. Let's do that. I would honestly rather stay at Vlad's than here."

"Yeah," Jazz dragged her hand through her hair again, and grimaced. "Let me get dressed, first. Do you see my brush over there?"

"No," said Danny.

Jazz looked around the room. "Actually... Where is my suitcase?"

"It was-" Danny stopped. "It was in that corner when we came in, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," said Jazz. "Okay, forget getting dressed. We're talking to Mom and Dad now." She swung out of bed and made her way to the door.

Danny phased through her, so he would reach the dresser first and easily pushed it out of the way. He stuck his head out the door, looking both ways for Cordelia and the borders.

The door to the room next to Jazz's, their parent's room, was open.

"Shoot," said Danny. He walked over. "They're not here."

"Downstairs? Maybe they went to get breakfast." Jazz emerged from the room crossing her arms over her chest.

"Maybe," said Danny. He had a bad feeling about this.

Cautiously, they made their way down the stairs and peered into the kitchen. No one was there.

"Hello, children," said Cordelia, directly behind them.

They jumped, both trying to get away and spin at the same time. Jazz clipped her elbow on the doorway and almost fell. Danny caught her and pulled her back up.

"If you are looking for your parents, you just missed them."

"What do you mean?" asked Jazz, a little more sharply than she usually would.

"I mean, they just left," said Cordelia mildly. "They took that vehicle of yours to town to go shopping. Something about not eating me out of my house. It was very kind of them."

"But the GAV was wrecked..." said Jazz, even as Danny gave a tug on her arm.

"Was it?" asked Cordelia, smiling. "It seemed fine when they left. You should get dressed, though, Jasmine, and, Daniel, are those the clothes you were wearing yesterday?"

"Our clothes are gone," said Jazz.

"You left them in your car? Well, no wonder you're looking for your parents. I think I might have some old clothes that will fit you. Come along, now." She turned.

Possibilities tumbled through Danny's head. A large part of him wanted to just grab Jazz and fly away to find their parents in town, but he estimated that there was a pretty good chance that they weren't in town, but trapped here somewhere. Jazz had apparently made that same calculation, because she was giving him the 'don't you dare use your powers' head shake.

Fine. Okay. Play along it was, then.

Cordelia lead them into a dusty ground floor room full of chests. She opened one, knocking free a number of cobwebs. "These are a little old fashioned, I'm afraid, Daniel, but it has been a while since a boy your age lived here." She handed him a small, neat stack of clothing. "And these are for you, Jasmine. I wore them when I was about your age. I grew a few inches, after that."

"Right," said Jazz, already backing away. "We'll just go... change... then. Right Danny?"

"Yeah," said Danny.

Jazz didn't speak to him until they were back upstairs. "What now?"

"Now," said Danny, "I go ghost and see if Mom and Dad are trapped in a dungeon under the house or something. If not, I take you and get the heck out of here. If they are, I rescue them, we get the heck out of here. We'll steal Cordelia's car or something."

"Not much of a plan."

"Don't kid yourself. We never have a plan. Do you want to get dressed, first, or...?"

"Pass."

"I'll have to bring you with me. I don't want to leave you alone up here while I'm searching," warned Danny.

"I know. I don't want to be alone here, either."

Danny took a breath and-

Did not go ghost. He doubled over, gasping for breath, transformation rings flickering to nothing around him as the shadows pressed inward, suffocating him. The huge fingers around his chest- The almost-human silhouette-

"Danny?" asked Jazz, alarmed, shaking his shoulder. "What's wrong? What's happening?"

"Not," wheezed Danny, "sleep paralysis."

The shadows crept up over his eyes and everything went dark.

When he woke up, he was wearing different clothes. Very different clothes. They were all white and loose. He wasn't sure if he should call them robes, but they had that kind of feeling. His shoes were gone. He was in his guest room, on the bed. Jazz was nowhere to be seen.

Danny should have taken his family and run as soon as he saw that not-ghost shadow. He swallowed, shaking, and clenched his fists. It was still here, watching him. He could feel it, even if he couldn't see it.

Okay. First step, get out of here.

He swung his feet off the bed. As soon as they touched the floor, something twined around his ankle and rapidly climbed up his leg. He gasped and yanked himself back, trying to free his knee from the shadow twisted around it. It held fast, firmly squeezing his thigh.

Danny growled. This wasn't the first shadow he had fought. He gathered ectoplasm in his hand and poured energy into it until it burned brighter than magnesium. The shadow retreated, and Danny scrambled to stand on the middle of the bed, ectoblast still in his fist.

"Now, now, no need for any of that."

Cordelia stood in the doorway, not the least bit surprised to see Danny wielding supernatural powers.

"Where's my family?" demanded Danny.

"Safe," said Cordelia, neutrally, "and they will continue to remain so."

Danny shifted, and the bed springs squealed. "What do you want?" he asked.

"My heritage. Come along. I will explain as we go." She turned in the doorway and looked over her shoulder. "Our shadow will not trouble you, should you follow now."

Danny clenched his jaw at the threat but gingerly climbed down from the bed and followed Cordelia across the frigid floor.

"Our last common ancestor was Elizabeth Nightingale," said Cordelia. "She was married to James Fenton. They had two children, John Fenton-Nightingale and Mary Fenton-Nightingale." She paused. "Elizabeth was knowledgeable in what would have been called witchcraft, and she was very, very good at it."

They climbed down the stairs to the first floor. All of the lights were off.

"But, as these things happen, she died. A mistake with a summoning." Cordelia turned into a long hallway Danny had missed in his earlier explorations of the house. "John and Mary were divided on how to handle her legacy. John," the name was said with anger, "decided that Elizabeth's craft, her knowledge, was evil, and decided to destroy it. He burned generations of Nightingale knowledge in a single night. When Mary tried to stop him, to salvage her mother's legacy, he tried to burn her, too. He denounced her as a witch."

"I'm sorry about that," said Danny. "I really am." After all, he knew exactly what that felt like. "But I don't see what that has to do with us. That was hundreds of years ago. A bit late for revenge, don't you think?" A sufficiently disturbed ghost wouldn't, but Cordelia was, as far as Danny could tell, human.

"This isn't about revenge," said Cordelia. "Besides, it has everything to do with you. Of the two of us, you are the one who met the man, Phantom."

"What are you talking about?"

"There's no need for you to play coy with me, young man," said Cordelia. "Why else do you think I put so much time and effort into getting you here? The magics to turn your town against your parents weren't child's play, after all." She bent and seized the corner of a rug, pulling it up and back to reveal a trap door. "Neither was calling the shadow to keep you bound." She lifted the ring handle on the trap door, pulling it open. "After you."

Danny stared down the dark hole below. There was a metal ladder, but he couldn't tell where it ended. A very faint light from somewhere to the right reflected off of some of the rungs.

"Is this where you reveal you're a cannibal?" asked Danny, unimpressed. "Is that what horror movie this is?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Hardly. Although you and Jasmine refusing to eat with us last night made everything harder than it had to be."

That definitely wasn't Danny's stomach growling at the reminder that he hadn't eaten since lunchtime yesterday. "Drugged, was it?"

They stared at each other over the trap door.

"If you refuse to cooperate, we can always use Jack. Or Jasmine."

Danny's lips twitched as he held back a snarl. "Fine," he snapped, angrily climbing down, into the hole.

It turned out that the ladder wasn't terribly long after all. It descended into a basement of normal height.

That was, however, the only normal thing about the space. Far from simply being unfinished, the floor of the basement seemed to be stone. So were what little he could see of the walls. It was like the basement had been carved from one huge piece of bedrock, but that couldn't be possible. Danny didn't know, well, anything about geology, but he was pretty sure houses usually weren't built on stuff like this.

To the right, there was a small table with a single burning candle on it and two chairs, one on each side. Beyond that, Danny could make out a circle on the ground marked with chalk.

The cold feeling that had been plaguing Danny since yesterday was a hundred times stronger in this room. His core was alert, but the relief that his ghost sense usually brought just never came.

The strain was beginning to ache.

"Sit down," said Cordelia, indicating the chair closest to the chalk circle.

Danny complied, tense, and Cordelia moved the candle to one side, taking out a book and setting it on the table. The book was old and singed, the edges of the leather cover and several of the pages burnt and curled. Cordelia stroked it, reverently.

"This is all that Mary managed to salvage from the flames," she said. "Just this one book, out of so many. All that knowledge lost. Elizabeth was the last one to have it."

Danny heard movement in the dark corners of the room and turned his head to Sofia, Alison, and Morgan emerging, all of them in robes similar to his own, but in their own colors. They came close, and grabbed the back and arms of his chair.

"You asked me what I wanted. I want Elizabeth Nightingale."

A surprised laugh, almost a scoff, forced its way between Danny's lips. "Well, I'm sorry, but I don't exactly have her in my back pocket. Do these pants even have pockets?"

"You might not have her," said Cordelia, annoyance creeping into her otherwise level tone, "but you can get her. Bring her back from beyond."

"Uh, not sure what's in your book, but, contrary to popular belief, not all dead people know each other. She might not even be a ghost. She might have moved on."

"She hasn't," said Cordelia, almost smiling. "Not with the summoning she was doing. We are going to send you to her, and you are going to bring her back." She tilted her head to one side. "We could do this with any blood relative. The original plan was to use Jack, but your condition makes you so much more open to this kind of thing. Your chances of success are much higher."

Danny crossed his arms. "And if I don't succeed, you'll make Dad and Jazz try."

"That's right."

"Why don't you do it?" asked Danny. "You're a blood relative, aren't you?"

"Sadly, the ritual requires four people."

"Yeah, that's the only reason, huh?" said Danny, because he liked to antagonize people he couldn't strike back against in other ways, and also because he was an idiot.

"As I said, we can always use one of the others if you do not cooperate."

"And you'll let us all go if I do?"

"If you bring back Elizabeth, yes."

"Fine," said Danny. "What do I need to do?"

"Very little," said Cordelia. "Give me your hand. Your right hand."

Reluctantly, Danny held out his hand. Cordelia took it and wrapped a thin, white cord around it.

"That will lead you to her."

"I thought you were sending me to her," said Danny.

"You won't be in exactly the same spot," said Cordelia.

Then she whipped a knife out from under the table and sliced deeply into Danny's hand. He pushed back, away, holding his bleeding hand close to his chest. The only reason the chair didn't tip back was because the other three witches were holding on to it.

"Go stand in the circle," ordered Cordelia.

In a fit of pique, Danny phased backwards through the three women holding the chair, not bothering to wait for them to move away to let him go. The shadow pushed uncomfortably against his shoulders, but did not otherwise protest.

The circle was simple, no runes or symbols, just a single line of white chalk on the dark stone. Danny stared at it for a long moment, before stepping over it and standing at the center, his elbow dripping blood as it ran down his arm from his hand.

"Alright, girls, you know what we need to do," said Cordelia.

Danny stood in a field of washed-out red grass. Overhead, the sky billowed with rolling, boiling gray clouds. They seemed too close. The air smelled of smoke. The horizon was blurred and warped, as if Danny were looking at it through thick, wavy glass, or as if in a dream.

This wasn't the Ghost Zone.

He took a deep breath, the smoke washing through him. Okay. He was here. Now he needed to find Elizabeth Nightingale.

He looked down at his hand. The white cord had been turned red with his blood, and it had grown longer, reaching back over his shoulder.

"Eat your hear out, Ariadne," muttered Danny. He looked over his shoulder.

A forest was on fire.

The tall, straight, slender trees burned from their tops, like candles. Their trunks were bare, entirely free of leaves, needles, or branches. Danny should have felt the heat, even at this distance. He didn't.

The bloody cord led between the trees.

"Right," muttered Danny, "because nothing can be easy."

Resigned, he started walking towards the trees and discovered that the 'grass' on the ground actually consisted of thin-walled ceramic-like tubes. Fragile ceramic tubes. The ones he stepped on shattered and cut into his bare feet. He hissed, resisting the urge to hop around and get even more shards stuck into him. The bottoms of his feet felt wet and hot. He tried to phase the shards out and couldn't.

"Is this hell?" asked Danny, aloud. "This has to be hell. Ancients."

He couldn't feel the shadow near him anymore, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. Despite the 'grass,' he hesitated to try and go ghost to fly over it. He didn't want to pass out onto the tubes and break them even more. He didn't want those shards in his face or hands.

The squelching of his blood as he shifted his weight decided it for him. He couldn't walk over all of this.

He sent one last look around him for the shadow and summoned his rings. He was relieved when they flowed smoothly over him, transforming him into a ghost, into Phantom.

His normal hazmat suit did not appear, however. Instead, the white robes he had been dressed in turned black. Danny frowned at this. He was not a fan. He wanted his hazmat back.

Whatever. There were more important things to focus on. For example, both his blood and the cord had turned a lurid, ectoplasmic green. Much easier to see against the red-hued backdrop of this world.

He lifted up off the ground and flew on, occasionally pausing to pull shards out of his feet. His accelerated healing made the wounds scab over quickly. The cut on his hand, however, continued to bleed freely. This was beginning to concern him. He didn't have an infinite supply of blood. Or ectoplasm. Whatever.

As he approached the burning forest, he expected to start feeling heat, but even when he was right at the treeline, hovering midway up the impossibly tall, thin tree trunks, he couldn't feel anything. It wasn't hot. It wasn't cold. The smoke didn't smell any stronger.

Even so, he knew fire didn't have to be hot to burn. Fire was a chemical reaction, and Danny had no intention of being one of the reactants.

That was, if this place obeyed anything like normal physical laws. Since the trees hadn't actually burned down at all, the fire staying at the same height, he had to conclude that they didn't.

Still. He was going to stay away from the fire. Briefly, he considered flying over the forest, but the cord angled ever so slightly down, and he didn't know how the cord would fare trailing through the fire. Nothing the witches had said made him think it was indestructible.

He flew under the fires. It was bright underneath the trees, in a sort of inverse of a real forest. Bright, dry, and somehow brittle. Danny flew cautiously. This might nor be the Ghost Zone, but he didn't trust it not to have carnivorous landscape features, and even Earthly forests had their dangers. Lions and tigers and bears.

Oh my.

The angle on the cord began to point down more sharply. Danny was getting closer. The forest was also becoming stranger. The tree trunks bled, and glowing eight-legged flies licked at the ichor. Flowers of sickly fire bloomed from the ground in intricate geometric patterns.

Then, amid the burning brightness, Danny saw a house. A big house. A castle, even, its sides built into the burning trees, its pennants alight with flame, smaller fires moving, no, patrolling the battlements.

Danny quickly went invisible. He had a horrible suspicion that Elizabeth would be in the dungeons of that castle. The cord was going to make him hilariously easy to see, not to mention that he was still dripping blood. This was going to suck so much.

But as Danny approached, the fire creatures did not appear to have noticed the cord at all. Some of them even passed through it without slowing down.

Okay. So, as shocking as it was, Danny had actually caught a break.

Slowly, relying on the fire creatures to open the doors, Danny made his way through the castle and down. Down. Down.

The walls down here glowed, as if with heat, but it was a dull, old, tired glow. A rosy cherry color that burned Danny's eyes and made his head pound. Doors in the walls were made of wood that burned from the inside, veins of embers streaking their surface. The bars set in them glowed white-orange.

The green cord snaked across the floor and wove in between the bars of one of these doors.

Danny stopped. He was quite sure Elizabeth was behind that door. But...

Was freeing her the right thing to do? He had gotten the impression that she was dangerous. At least as dangerous as those witches. Even to save his family, should he set someone like that loose on the world?

But Danny had made this decision and all decisions like it the moment he died in the portal. That was the essence of an Obsession.

Besides. Elizabeth was family, too.

He held out his hands, letting frost form on his fingers and palms and pressed them against the door. Once again, he wondered why he couldn't feel any heat. He should. His ice should at least be registering the pressure, the power drain, of something trying to melt it. It didn't.

Ice spread over the door, extinguishing the light and making the metal creak. Feathery tendrils wound up the bars and encased the hinges. The wood began to fall into ash, as if the fire had been the only thing holding it together, and the bars clattered to the ground.

The inside of the cell was incandescent white. The only dark spot was a huddled, burnt black figure in the corner. The cord let straight to it.

Danny, very emphatically, did not want to go into that room. He hovered at the threshold.

"Elizabeth Nightingale?" he called, softly. If the falling bars hadn't alerted the fire creatures to his presence, he wasn't going to ruin that luck by speaking too loud. "Elizabeth?"

The figure abruptly lurched sideways and fell. Danny flinched. Bit by bit, the figure clawed their way towards the door, dragging itself onward.

Danny could hardly bring himself to watch. Part of him wanted to help. Part of him wanted to run far, far away and never come back.

But, at last, the ruined and horrible body made it to the threshold. It reached up with a claw-like hand and grasped Danny's ankle. He cringed at the feeling of the flaking burnt flesh, but didn't try to shake off the hand. He bent slightly, unsure if he should try to help the figure up.

"You," rasped the figure, ash falling from its jaw, "not from here."

"Um," said Danny. "No. I'm not."

The figure began to pull itself up. As it did so, it sort of began to piece itself back together. Danny had seen similar things before, with ghosts returning to their base form, healing, after an unusually devastating attack. Usually, though, it was slower and usually-

Danny abruptly pulled away. Usually ghosts who were doing that were draining his energy to do it. He glared.

"One of mine?" asked the figure, that was now decidedly feminine. It finally drew itself to its knees. Her knees. "One of my," she coughed, "grandchildren?"

"I'm a descendant of yours, I guess," said Danny, cautiously. He wasn't quite pressed up against the far wall, but he was close.

"You came for me," she said. Her voice was still too rough and dry for Danny to detect any emotion in it.

"I was sent," said Danny, flatly. "If I pick you up, are you going to start draining me again?"

She didn't respond for a long time. "No," she said, finally.

"Great," said Danny. "Let's go."

Elizabeth wasn't hard to carry. She wasn't much larger than Jazz, and he flew her around all the time. The problem was, he couldn't seem to extend his invisibility to her. Any power he sent to cover her was simply absorbed.

"Okay," he said, finally. "We'll just have to be fast, then." Mentally, he began to map out the path he would have to take, and how many doors he would have to blow down. It made for a discouraging picture.

"They can't harm you," croaked Elizabeth.

"What?"

"Pure soul. They can't harm you." She reached up to trace his chin and cheek with her still-charred fingers. "You don't feel the heat. You can't. You can't be harmed."

"Uh. Yeah. I don't think that's how it works. I stepped on some sharp stuff when I first got here, and, let me tell you, it hurt."

"The fires can't burn you. Sending you was clever." Elizabeth seemed to have exhausted herself at that; her hand fell back into her lap.

Right. Well. Whatever. The fires hadn't burnt him yet, but he had stayed well away from them. He was going to continue to do so.

He took a deep breath and flew out of the dungeons as quickly as he could. As expected, the fire creatures spotted him quickly, and they began to shout and shriek in a language Danny couldn't even begin to understand.

They also threw fireballs. And fire spears. And fire chains. Just, a lot of things made out of fire.

It was a good thing Danny had ice powers. Otherwise he would have had a hard time combating all this. A few fireballs passed far too close to his head for comfort. His ice also seemed to be unusually effective on doors.

Finally, Danny was able to get above ground, and, no longer constrained to follow the cord around his wrist, he escaped through a window. He spiraled up, almost high enough to hit the underside of the flames licking at the trees, and then dove away.

"So," he said, "what now?"

"You don't know?" Elizabeth looked a lot better now. Almost human.

"I wasn't given a whole lot of information when they coerced me into doing this. They just said to follow the cord to you, and I did that." Speaking of which, what had happened to the cord? It had just vanished, without Danny even noticing. "I was half-expecting to just get zapped back the moment I found you."

"Coerced?"

"They said they'd make my dad or my sister do this, if I didn't, and they can't fly."

"They're alive."

"Yeah."

There was something like a frown on Elizabeth's face. "They shouldn't have done that."

"Yeah. You don't have to tell me that." More shrieks were approaching from the direction of the castle. "They did this with one of your books. Please tell me you know how to get out of here."

Elizabeth licked her lips. Her tongue was pink. "We go out where you came in," she said.

Danny looked at the trees around him. He only knew where the castle was because of the noises coming from that direction. Otherwise, everything looked the same in every direction. He was pretty sure that even if he went back to the castle, he wouldn't be able to tell which direction he had approached it from, and after that...

They were screwed.

"Follow the blood," said Elizabeth.

It was better than nothing, Danny supposed. His green blood did stand out against the red, but he's been high in the air when he shed it. Following that trail was going to suck, and it still required going back to the castle and avoiding all the fire creatures.

Some of this must have shown on his face, because Elizabeth said, "Not like that, boy, look." She pointed to the small puddle of ectoplasm that had dripped from his hand while they had been talking.

Flowers and vines were growing from it. Ghostly green and blue flowers and vines. As he watched, the vines grew longer, the flowers opened wider.

"Oh," Danny said. "I guess that makes things easier."

Easier was, of course, a relative term. Was following the trail left by ghostly plants growing out of Danny's blood easier than stumbling blindly around the burning forest? Yes. Was it easy? No. No it was not. Especially not with the fire creatures hunting them through the trees and how far apart the blood spatters could be.

Still. Danny was able to follow the trail for an hour before the fire creatures caught up to him.

When they did, they seemed almost, confused. They didn't attack. It was like they were waiting for something.

Danny would have run, but he was worried that he'd lose the trail if he tried to do that, and he didn't think he'd be able to find it again. He and the fire creatures stared each other down. Every few seconds, one of them would make a noise and another would answer.

Rapidly, Danny was becoming surrounded. He would have to make his move soon. He really didn't want to lose the trail, but he didn't think he could win this fight.

Too many enemies. Too much fire. Maybe if he flew straight up, he-

The fire creatures attacked. Danny ducked, wove, and conjured shields of ice and ectoenergy, but there was a limit to what he could do against this many attackers, especially while carrying Elizabeth.

He saw a ball of fire coming that he couldn't dodge and instinctively twisted to spare Elizabeth.

It splashed against him harmlessly.

Everything stopped. The fire creatures froze, even their flames going still, as though they were videos that had been paused. One began to wail, and then they all fled, disappearing into the brightness of the forest.

"A pure soul," said Elizabeth again. She patted his shoulder. Her skin was a burnt red, now. Her eyes were as blue as his were when he was human. Her frown was deeper, more obvious. "It was clever to send you... but they shouldn't have."

"Sure," said Danny, a little surprised. He scanned the trees, trying to see if any of the fire creatures were waiting in ambush. Seeing none, he continued.

They reached the field of tubes, and Danny followed his blood trail back to where he had lacerated his feet.

"Now what," he said.

"Land," said Elizabeth.

Danny grimaced, remembering what had happened to his feet the last time he had tried to walk here. He landed carefully on what looked like the thickest part of the vine growing from his blood-

-and was abruptly back in the chalk circle in Cordelia's basement.

The shadow pounced on him. Unprepared, Danny dropped Elizabeth and fell. Pain sparkled along his limbs as the shadow pulled at his ghost form. It was too much. The lack of sleep, the hunger, the stress, the energy he had spent finding Elizabeth and bringing her back, the blood loss and pain from the wound in his hand, his inability to protect his family, and now this attack. He curled up, trying to protect his head and hand, and abandoned his ghost form.

"Stop this at once!"

"Grandmother, I-"

"Call off this shadow."

A beat. "Very well." The shadow stopped its assault, and Danny stumbled up and out of the circle, scuffing the lines beyond all recognition. Cordelia and Elizabeth were the only women standing. The boarders were all kneeling, faces hidden.

"Grandmother, many times great grandmother, I greet you. I am Cordelia, the last descendant of your daughter, Mary, and I have labored long to bring you back to this world, so that your works will not be lost."

Elizabeth, Danny noted, was standing very straight, her skin sunburn-pink in all but a few places, her arms crossed over the burnt rags of what might have once been a shirt. She did not look pleased.

"So my works won't be lost," repeated Elizabeth.

"Your son betrayed you," said Cordelia. "He burned all your books, all your magics. This is all that survived." Cordelia held up the singed book.

Elizabeth pressed her eyelids together briefly. "And so, you forced your cousin, a child, into that place after me, rather than coming on your own?"

"There was no choice-"

"There is always a choice," said Elizabeth, cutting her off with a sharp gesture. "Better that book should have burned as well, and I was imprisoned forever. You were lucky in my captors. Others would have delighted in taking a pure soul as an ornament for their court, even if they couldn't have harmed him."

"You can't mean that-"

"I do. Is it true you have imprisoned the other members of this boy's family?"

"He would never have agreed, otherwise. Please, this is all we have left of our heritage. We need you. This was all necessary. I beg of you, teach us."

Danny began to back away, to the ladder. Maybe if he got out fast enough, he could trap them in the basement and look for Jazz and his parents.

"Do you know how I wound up there? In that place?" asked Elizabeth. "I went too far, and I ignored the rules. What's your name?"

"Cordelia."

"Cordelia. Cordelia Nightingale-Fenton?"

"Just Nightingale."

"I begin to see," said Elizabeth.

Danny was almost to the ladder. Maybe he could tap into his ghost powers a little bit and float up, quietly.

"If you had come to get me yourself, if you had even asked him-" Elizabeth gestured to where Danny had been. Both women did a double-take, and then their eyes traced up to where Danny currently was.

"What are you doing?" hissed Cordelia. This was the first time Danny had seen her visibly angry.

"Stop," said Elizabeth, grabbing Cordelia's shoulder. "What is your name, boy?"

"It's Daniel Fenton," said Cordelia, when Danny didn't answer.

Elizabeth considered Danny for a moment. "Go to your family, Daniel. Whatever curses or enchantments Cordelia cast on them should be lifted. Including that hate curse." She ran her fingers down Cordelia's arm. "Why on earth did you cast that?" Her eyes flicked back up. "Expect to receive my correspondence, Daniel Fenton."

Danny found Jazz and his parents in the attic. Their luggage was there, too, and Danny and Jazz's missing clothing. Maddie's cell phone was going off. Danny ignored it. He started shaking them. Slowly, they came awake.

"Danny?" said Jazz. She scrubbed at her eyes. "Ugh, what's that sound?"

"Mom's phone is going off."

"What?" said Maddie, groggily. "My phone?" She fumbled at her pocket. "Yes, what is it? Yes, this is Doctor Fenton. What? Well," this last word was a bit snide. "It's about time. We'll be there before the end of the day." She snapped the phone closed. "Jack, sweetheart, wake up, we're going back home. All the charges against us have been dropped, and they want us to look into a ghost attack. Apparently, Phantom didn't show up. As we knew he wouldn't."

"Huh? Ghost? Where?"

"In Amity Park, Jack."

"In Amity Park! Alright!" said Jack, jumping to his feet, and grabbing most of the luggage. "I knew they wouldn't last two days without us! Let's go, kids!"

He ran down the stairs. Maddie took a moment to look around, pursing her lips. "How did we get up here?" she asked. She shook her head, dismissing the question. "Do either of you kids know where Cordelia is?"

"She went out," said Danny. "To town. She won't be back 'til later."

"We'll have to leave a note, then. You two should get dressed before we go, or you'll have to try and do it in the GAV bathroom."

"So what really happened?" asked Jazz, after Maddie went down the stairs.

"Long story," said Danny, throwing on a pair of jeans, "and we really do need to leave. Fast." He took his luggage and rushed down the stairs.

Danny watched Cordelia's house shrink in the rear-view mirror of the GAV, right up until it shimmered out of existence like a mirage. He clenched his teeth. He had seen worse.

He turned in his seat and put his hands in his pockets, intending to brood over what had happened, but his hand encountered a stiff piece of paper that had definitely, absolutely, not been there before. Well. Elizabeth had said to expect her correspondence.

He pulled a crisp white envelope out of his pocket. On the front, in spidery cursive, was his name. He turned it over. On the back flap was written the name Elizabeth NF.

She was family. Distantly. He put his thumb under the back flap, and began to open the letter.

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2020

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thewnchstrs · 3 years

Text

No Exit

Pairing: Winchester!Sister(OC)

Summary: Sam, Dean and Ellie investigate the brutal slayings of blonde women from the same apartment building.

Disclaimers: kidnapping, cursing, mentions of death

Word Count: 9.3K

S E R I E S M A S T E R L I S T

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After what we’d learned about our now non-existent leads on these other psychics, Ellen insisted we stay, making up the beds in the back of the Roadhouse for us. However, even tucked away in the warm bed, I couldn’t even think about sleeping. It wasn’t because sleeping in a bed by myself was strange, even though it was. It wasn’t Dean’s snoring from across the room or Sam’s constant movements under his covers. It wasn’t even the blaring music that vibrated the wall connected to Ash’s room that kept me up. I tossed and turned, my mind racing with the thoughts about what the hell we were going to do now.

I rolled my head from side to side, my neck lightly cracking as Sam, Dean and I made our way back to the Impala parked just outside of the Roadhouse.

“Los Angeles, California,” I said as I waited for Dean to unlock the car.

Dean cocked an eyebrow as he glanced over to me, “What's in L.A.?”

“Young girl's been kidnapped by an evil cult.”

“Yeah?” Sam asked. “Girl got a name?”

I nodded, “Katie Holmes.”

Sam laughed, shaking his head, “That's funny. And for you, so bitchy.”

Our laughter was cut short when all of a sudden, the sound of shouting followed by a heavy object being thrown inside the Roadhouse made the three of us look back from where we came.

“Of course, on the other hand — catfight,” Dean said. We made our way back inside where Ellen was furiously grabbing overturned chairs and throwing them half-hazardously under the tables with Jo close on her heels

“I am your mother, I don't have to be reasonable!” Ellen shouted, the veins in her forehead popping as she stormed from one table to the next.

“You can't keep me here!”

“Oh, don't you bet on that, sweetie.”

Jo’s face was red hot with anger, her arms held out, “What are you going to do, are you going to chain me up in the basement?”

“You know what, you've had worse ideas than that recently!” Ellen yelled before finally turning to her daughter. I’d never seen either of them like this. My eyes widened slightly at the women who always seemed to have their heads twisted on straight now slowly coming unraveled. “Hey, you don't wanna stay, don't stay! Go back to school!”

“I didn't belong there! I was a freak with a knife collection,” Jo shot back furiously.

“Yeah, and getting yourself killed on some dusty back road, that's where you belong?!” She shouted and for the first time, noticed our presence. Ellen grimaced, clenching her jaw. “Guys, bad time.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Sam said instantly.

“Yeah, we rarely drink before ten anyway,” Dean said, the three of us turning back to leave when we were stopped.

“Wait,” Jo called, my hand hovering over the door handle. “I wanna know what they think about this.”

“I don't care what they think!”

As if the universe wanted to rip a poorly-timed joke, the door behind us opened as a man and a woman stepped inside, each of them balancing a child on their hip. They all wore matching bright yellow t-shirts: Nebraska is for Lovers!

“Are you guys open?” The man asked, smiling.

“No!”

“Yes!”

Jo and Ellen glanced at each other before the woman reached for the door, the family backing out slowly, “We'll just...check out the Arby's down the road.”

Silence suffocated the room after the door shut behind them, the five of us watched each other, waiting for someone to make a move. I held my breath, worried that if I made any sudden movements, I’d be met with a bar stool to the head. When the phone on the wall began to ring, the tension in my shoulders released slightly. Ellen and Jo watched each other as if daring the other to pick it up first. My eyes bounced between the two of them before Ellen shook her head and took the phone, “Harvelle's…yeah, Preacher.”

“Three weeks ago, a young girl disappears from a Philadelphia apartment,” Jo began immediately now that her mom was occupied. She held out a folder to Dean who just looked at it, refusing to take it. Jo raised her eyebrows, shaking it in front of him. “Take it, it won't bite.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow, “No, but your mom might.” Jo stood her ground, thrusting it toward him again until Dean finally snatched it from her hands. He flipped it open, its contents filled with newspaper clippings, articles, copies of pages from old books and obituaries.

“And this girl wasn't the first,” Jo went on. “Over the past eighty years, six women have vanished. All from the same building, all young blondes. Only happens every decade or two so cops never eyeball the pattern. So, we're either dealing with one very old serial killer, or —”

“Who put this together?” Dean interrupted as he glanced up at her. “Ash?”

“I did it myself.”

“Hmm,” Dean nodded, impressed.

“I gotta admit,” I said. “We hit the road for a lot less.”

“Good,” Ellen injected as she came back to us. “You like the case so much, you take it.”

Jo sighed, turning to her, “Mom-”

“Joanna Beth, this family has lost enough. And I won't lose you too,” she said, much calmer now. She was shaking her head. “I just won't.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

The apartment building was nestled downtown between the surrounding tall buildings, but this one stuck out like a sore thumb. The paint was peeling, windows with gaping holes in them, crumbling bricks. The place was falling apart.

Sam quickly lock picked the apartment door where the last victim disappeared from, a resounding click coming from the lock before he pushed it open. We stepped into the open floor plan, glancing around at its tall walls. “I feel kind of bad, snaking Jo's case.”

“Yeah, she put together a good file,” Dean said, closing the door behind us. “But could you see her out here working one of these things? I don't think so.” He turned to me as I held out the EMF meter, scanning it over the room. “You getting anything?”

I shook my head, watching the lights sit still, unmoving, “No, not yet.”

I walked around the room a little bit more before Sam stopped next to the far wall, “What's that?”

I followed them, inspecting the hole in the wall where a light switch used to be. I narrowed my eyes at Sam, confused, “What? An OSHA violation?”

Sam rolled his eyes, “No, that.” He pointed to a small pool of black ooze that’d settled just inside the wall. I reached forward, dipping the tip of my finger into it. “Holy crap.”

“That's ectoplasm,” Dean observed. “Well, I think I know what we're dealing with here.” Sam and I looked to him. “It's the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man.”

This time, I was the one rolling my eyes, “Dean, we’ve only seen this stuff, like, twice. I mean, to make this stuff you have to be one majorly pissed off spirit.”

Dean nodded, “Alright, let's find this badass before he snags any more girls.”

We nodded in unison as we continued weaving our way through the apartment hallways until we heard two voices coming from the opposite end of the building. Sam, Dean and I instantly flattened ourselves up against the wall next to us, watching from around the corner.

“It's so convenient,” a woman said, her voice echoing off the walls.

Then, there was a man’s voice, “Yeah, it's a great building, fixed it up real nice. All the apartments come furnished, too.”

“It is so spacious. You know, my friend told me I absolutely have to come check it out, and I have to admit, she was right,” the woman chimed happily, her voice striking something familiar inside me. Sam, Dean and I looked to each other and I knew they were thinking the same thing. “You did a really good job with this place.”

Sure enough, as the voices came closer from the opposite end of the hallway, Jo walked toe in toe with the landlord. We stepped away from the wall, eyebrows furrowed.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Dean asked.

“There you are, honey,” Jo beamed as she snaked herself under Dean’s arm. Sam and I watched them in confusion. “This is my boyfriend Dean and his buddies, Ellie and Sam.”

“Good to meetcha,” the landlord said before motioning to Jo. “Quite a gal you've got here.”

“Oh yeah, she's a pistol,” Dean said, smacking her butt and Jo’s fake smile only widened as she patted his chest. My eyes bounced to the landlord who didn’t seem to think anything was out of the ordinary.

“So, did you already check out that apartment?” Jo asked, looking up at Dean. “The one for rent.”

“Yeah. Yes. Loved it,” he told the landlord who nodded slowly. Dean chuckled nervously. “Great flow.”

The landlord furrowed an eyebrow suspiciously, “How'd you get in?”

Dean thought fast, making up any lie he could, “It was open.”

“Now, Ed, um, when did the last tenant move out?” Jo asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Oh, about a month ago. Cut and run, too. Stick me for the rent,” he remarked, looking to Sam and I, shaking his head.

Jo smiled, “Well. Her loss, our gain! 'Cause if Dean-o loves it, it's good enough for me!”

“Oh, sweetie,” Dean gripped her upper arm tightly, pressing his lips together.

I hid my laugh behind my hand but my jaw went slack as I watched Jo pull a wad of money from her coat pocket, handing it to the landlord, “We'll take it.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam and I sat at the apartment’s kitchen table as we assembled the guns in front of us. Dean leaned against the table across from Jo who looked through the file in her hands before flicking her eyes up to Dean, “I'll flip you for the sofa.”

“Does your mother even know you're here?” Dean questioned as he slid the gun back. He didn’t sound too happy about her being here.

Jo shrugged, “Told her I was going to Vegas.”

Dean cocked an eyebrow, “You think she's gonna buy that?”

“I'm not an idiot,” she shot back. “I got Ash to lay a credit card trail all the way to the casinos.”

Dean shook his head, “You know, you shouldn't lie to your mom. Shouldn't be here either.”

“Well, I am. So untwist your boxers and deal with it.”

Sam set the gun down, “Where'd you get all that money from, anyways?”

“Working, at the Roadhouse.”

Dean eyed her doubtfully, “Hunters don't tip that well.”

“Well, they aren't that good at poker, either.”

I let out a soft laugh, my jaw quickly snapping shut when Sam and Dean gave me deadly glares. I wasn’t exactly helping the situation. I shrugged, “Listen, if she wants in on the hunt…I don’t see why not.”

“Thank you!”

As if she’d heard me across state lines, Dean’s phone began to ring. We watched as he flipped it open, putting it on speaker, Ellen’s worried voice on the other end immediately coming through, “Is she with you?”

“Oh, hi Ellen,” Dean said. At her mom’s voice, Jo quickly rounded the table until her and Dean were inches from each other.

“She left a note she's in Vegas,” Ellen began. “I don't believe it for a second.”

“I'm telling her,” Dean whispered, his hand over the speaker as him and Jo bickered before she threatened to kill him if he told.

“Dean?” Ellen called to him.

“I haven't seen her,” he said, clenching his jaw at Jo.

Ellen sounded suspicious, “You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I'm sure.”

“Well, please. If she shows up, you'll drag her butt right back here, won't you?”

Dean nodded, “Absolutely.”

“Okay. Thanks, honey.” Dean ended the call, shaking his head at Jo who smiled widely.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“This place was built in 1924. It was originally a warehouse, converted into apartments a few months ago,” I read. We were drowning in research, desperately trying to work out what the hell was going on here.

Dean paced the floor of the apartment behind the table that me, Sam and Jo were sitting at, “Yeah? What was here before 1924?”

“Nothing,” Jo sighed, flipping the short knife in her hand over and over. “Empty field.”

“So, most likely scenario, someone died bloody in the building, and now he's back and raising hell,” Sam said.

“I already checked. In the past eighty two years, zero violent deaths. Unless you count a janitor who slipped on a wet floor. Would you sit down, please?” Jo said, shooting a glance over her shoulder to Dean. Sam and I shared a glance as Dean slowly came back to the table, plopping down in the chair next to Jo.

He tapped the pads of his fingers against the wood, gesturing to her file, “So, have you checked police reports, county death records...”

“Obituaries, mortuary reports and seven other sources,” Jo finished. “I know what I'm doing.”

“This is the best reality TV,” I whispered to Sam as I kicked back.

“I think the jury's still out on that one,” Dean said. “Could you put the knife down?” Jo smirked, stopping her movements as she set the knife back onto the table.

“Okay! So, uh, it's something else, then,” Sam stated, turning the conversation back to the case. “Maybe some kind of cursed object that brought a spirit with it.”

I nodded, “Well, we've got to scan the whole building. Everywhere we can get to, right?”

“Right,” Dean agreed before looking to Jo. “So, you and me, we'll take the top two floors. Sam and Ellie can take care of the rest.”

“We'd move faster if we split up,” Jo began but Dean was already shaking his head.

“Oh, this isn't negotiable.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ellie’s POV

“How long before Dean and Jo hook up?” Sam asked as we walked the halls.

“Don’t wanna think about it,” I grimaced, scrunching my nose. “But I give it another day and a half if they don’t kill each other first.”

Sam laughed, nodding in agreement, “You getting anything on that side?”

I sighed as I looked down at the EMF meter in my hands that still hadn’t made so much as a sound, “Nada. You?”

“Nope.”

We continued walking until I spotted a framed picture hanging between two elevators. It was an old picture, one of tall, lanky man in a tattered suit. His hair was disheveled on top of his head and tangled just over his eyes. His shoulders were hunched forward as if he’s had to duck through every doorway he’s ever come across. I smirked, nudging Sam as I motioned to it, “Hey Sam, they’ve got a picture of you hanging up here.”

Sam gave me an f you face, “Well if that’s me…then that’s definitely you.”

I looked to where he was pointing with the EMF meter to the picture on the opposite wall: an old woman sitting on the edge of a wall in a hideous bright flowery hat, birds resting on her shoulders and perched on her hands. Sam laughed and I ground my teeth, “I’ll break your other wrist.”

It didn’t seem like we were going to get much from the first few floors of the apartment building. So far, there was nothing popping up on our radar. After a little longer of quietly walking the halls, Sam suddenly stopped. I glanced back at him, thinking he’d found something, “What?”

Sam jutted his thumb toward a glass door, smiling, “Check out that pool!”

I glanced into the indoor pool area, smiling, watching children canon ball inside, their laughter echoing off of the tile walls. From here, I could smell the overwhelming scent of chlorine even behind the glass door. “God, it’s been years since I’ve been in a pool.”

Sam nodded, “Hey, remember that time Bobby took us swimming at that lake? You had to have been like six and you wouldn’t stop jumping off the deck even after Bobby told you to stop. Even told you the Loch Ness Monster lived in the lake and that she takes kids who don’t listen.”

I smiled as I remembered it. It was the hottest day of the year, the middle of July. Dad had dropped us off with Bobby while he worked what seemed like a pretty nasty hunt – it had to have been, if it meant he wasn’t dragging us along with him. I remember how we drove Bobby crazy in that little house. Three kids crammed in a house without air conditioning that trapped heat like an oven was a recipe for disaster.

“I remember,” I said as we continued walking, stepping in time with each other. “He’d get so mad because I couldn’t swim but every time he’d turn his back, you and Dean would push me back up onto the deck so I could jump in again.”

Sam smiled, nodding as it came back to him, “You were a terrible swimmer.”

I laughed, “Yeah, I was. I’m much better now. Got a state championship to prove it.”

Sam stopped, holding his arm out in front of me, narrowing his eyes, “A state what now?”

“Championship, Sam…you know, athletes, competition. The whole nine.”

“I know what a-” he paused, and I noticed something shift inside him. “When?”

I looked down the long hallway in front of us, not meeting his eyes, “My junior year…yeah, Dean, dad and I had worked a case in North Carolina which turned into a months long thing. I started at a school there and when I found out we’d be staying for longer than a week I decided to join something to…I don’t know, feel normal, I guess.”

Sam nodded slowly as we started down the hallway again, “So, swimming, huh?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It felt good, you know, to be part of something like that. I actually remember when I first started to understand why you’d left for school. I mean, that freedom…being able to do what you wanted – to be part of something bigger, I mean…who wouldn’t want that.”

We stayed silent for a little longer, only the sounds of our heavy boots across the carpeted floor before Sam finally broke the silence, “I’m sorry I missed it.”

“What?”

“Your meets,” he said and this time, I looked over to him. “I wish I could’ve been there to see that.”

“You didn’t miss much. I kicked ass, that’s all you need to know,” I smiled softly, making Sam chuckle. I patted him lightly on the shoulder, a silent gesture letting him know that it was okay. I didn’t hold that against him – I never would. “At least you’re here now.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean’s POV

We walked in silence for most of the time that we walked around the upper hallways, scanning each wall with the EMF meter. It wasn’t until we had rounded a third corner when Jo finally spoke, “So. You gonna buy me dinner?”

I narrowed my eyes, glancing at her, “What are you talking about?”

“It's just if you're gonna ride me this close it's only decent you buy me dinner.”

“Oh, that's hilarious,” I scoffed in annoyance. “You know, it's bad enough I lied to your mom, but if you think I'm letting you out of my sight...I don't know if you've noticed, but you're kind of the spirit's type.”

“Exactly.”

I raised my eyebrows, “You wanna be bait?”

“Quickest way to draw it out and you know it,” she said. I couldn’t help but let out an unamused laugh at her words. Jo stopped in the middle of the hallway. “What?”

“I'm so regretting this.”

“You know, I've had it up to here with your crap,” she fumed.

“Excuse me?”

Jo crossed her arms over her chest, her jaw set, “Your chauvinist crap. You think women can't do the job.”

“Sweetheart, this ain't gender studies. Did you forget I have a sister? Women can do the job fine. Amateurs can't. You’ve got no experience. What you do have is a bunch of half-baked romantic notions that some barflies put in your head.”

My words made Jo shift her hard gaze away from me and to the wall behind me. “Now you sound like my mother.”

“Oh, and that's a bad thing? Because let me tell you...” I stopped myself, shaking my head. At this point, it felt like trying to show Jo how reckless she was being was like talking to a brick wall.

“What?”

“Forget it,” I said, starting off down the hallway again but Jo pulled me back.

“No, you started this.”

“Jo, you've got options,” I said. “No one in their right mind chooses this life. My dad started me in this when I was so young...I wish I could do something else.”

“You love the job.”

I laughed lightly, “Yeah, but I'm a little twisted.”

Jo cocked an eyebrow, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips, “You don't think I'm a little twisted too?”

I brought my lower lip under my teeth, “Jo, you've got a mother that worries about you. Who wants something more for you.” I could tell by the look on her face that I may have struck a chord. She glanced down at her shoes. “Those are good things. You don't throw things like that away. Might be hard to find later.”

For the first time since this hunt began, Jo didn’t seem like she had anything to say. I took this as an opportunity to keep walking down the hallway. We couldn’t waste anymore time on things that could be settled after this major creep was killed.

I heard Jo’s EMF meter whirr to life again from behind me as we continued scanning the walls. I had just made it around another hallway corner when I heard Jo gasp. I quickly turned to where she was looking down at a vent grate at the bottom of the wall. “What?”

“I'm not sure,” Jo said, quickly composing herself.

Suddenly, a strong scent filled the hallways. I took a step toward her, it was familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was, “You smell that?”

Jo sniffed, “What is that? A gas leak?”

“No. Something else. I know it. I just can't put my finger on it.” I watched as Jo slowly bent down, guiding the EMF meter down the wall until it was over the grate, the lights beginning to go crazy. I raised my eyebrows, impressed. “Mazel Tov. You just found your first spirit.”

I lowered the antenna on my own EMF meter, shoving it in my pocket as I pulled my flashlight out. I crouched down next to her, clicking it on as I glanced around the vent through the holes of the grate. I grabbed a small screwdriver from the inside of my jacket pocket, handing my flashlight to Jo. “Here.”

The grate came off easily. I set it aside, taking the flashlight back and shined it into the vent, glancing around the small opening until I spotted something, just above the opening. “There's something in there.”

I handed the flashlight back to Jo as I laid flush against the wall until my entire arm was inside the vent. I felt around the inner walls, searching for what I’d seen until I felt something thin and wiry wrapping around my fingers. I grimaced, pulling it from the wall and bringing it out of the vent in front of the flashlight Jo was holding out.

We stared at the clump of tangled blonde hair, still attached to a piece of bloody scalp. “Somebody's keeping souvenirs.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When I woke up the next morning, I was face down in the recliner, my arms bent at odd angles behind and under me. I slowly pulled back the eyelid that wasn’t smushed up against the leather before slowly rolling to my back, groaning at the stiffness in my joints.

“Morning, princess,” Jo smiled from behind me at the dining table. I craned my neck to look back at her before falling back against the chair.

“Where's Sam and Ellie?”

“Went to get coffee.”

I winced, pulling myself up, “Ugh. My back. How'd you sleep on that big soft bed?”

“I didn't,” she said, making me scrunch my eyebrows, wondering why she fought so hard for it. “Just been going over everything.”

Jo flipped the tiny blade in her hand over and over again like he had the day before. I watched it before grabbing my duffel bag, digging around for a long blade. I unbuttoned the sheath, pulling the knife out as I handed the hilted end to her, “Here.”

Jo’s eyes danced over it before flicking them back up to me, “What's this for?”

“Work a hell of a lot better than that little pig-sticker you're twirling around.”

She hesitated before taking it, examining the blade before handing her old one to me. I plucked it from her hands, turning it over when I spotted the engraving on the blade, just along its base: W.A.H

“William Anthony Harvelle,” she said.

Suddenly I felt like the biggest dick in the world. I handed it back to her, taking back my blade she held out to me, “I'm sorry. My mistake.”

Silence settled over us as I refastened the sheath onto the knife, throwing it back into the duffle bag. I could tell she was watching me, she sure as hell wasn’t looking down at the file in front of her like she wanted me to think she was.

“What do you…what do you remember about your dad? I mean, what's the first thing that pops into your head?” She asked suddenly. My movement ceased as I watched her. “Come on, tell me.”

I debated it in my head. Why would I tell Jo anything about dad? But as I looked at her, her eyes expectant, waiting, I gave in. I glanced at the apartment door before sliding into the chair adjacent to hers. It wasn’t hard to come up with the memory of him.

“I was six or seven, and uh, he took me shooting for the first time. You know, bottles on a fence, that kind of thing.” I glanced up at her where she was listening intently. “Bulls-eyed every one of 'em. He gave me this smile, like...” I ran my tongue over my teeth, shaking my head. “I don't know.”

“He must have been proud.”

I drew my eyes away from hers, clearing my throat, “What about your dad?”

Just the mention of him made her smile softly. She glanced down at the knife she balanced between her fingers, “I was still in pigtails when my dad died, but I remember him coming home from a hunt. He'd burst through that door like…like Steve McQueen or something. And he'd sweep me up in his arms, and I'd breathe in that old leather jacket of his. And my mom, who was sour and pissed from the minute he left, she started smiling again. And we were...we were a family.” She seemed to trail off in thought before looking up at me. “You wanna know why I want to do the job? For him. It's my way of being close to him. Now tell me what's wrong with that.”

“Nothing,” I said instantly. Then, the door to the apartment burst open, Sam and Ellie quickly coming inside. I sat up straighter. “Where's the coffee?”

“There are cops outside,” Ellie panted. “Another girl disappeared.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ellie’s POV

I shoved the door open with my shoulder, Sam, Dean and Jo looking up at me from the table they were hunched over, examining the notes on the case. I began relaying the information I’d gotten from the cops who were investigating, “Teresa Ellis, Apartment 2F. Boyfriend reported her missing around dawn.”

“And her apartment?” Sam asked.

“Cracks all over the plaster, walls, ceiling,” I said, coming to stand next to Dean at the table, hands on my hips. “There was ectoplasm, too.”

“Well, between that and that tuft of hair I'd say this sucker's coming from the walls,” Dean said.

“But who is it?” Sam asked. “Building's history is totally clean.”

Jo was examining a picture, her palms flat on the table, “Well, maybe we're looking in the wrong place.”

I leaned forward, “What do you mean?”

Jo handed Sam an old black and white picture. Dean and I craned our necks to look at it: an empty plot of land surrounded on three sides by other, equally creepy, buildings.

“An empty field?” Dean questioned.

“It's where this building was built,” Jo pointed out. “Take a look at the one next door. The windows.”

My eyes scanned the building to the left of the empty plot, slowly beginning to understand where Jo could be going with this, “Barred windows.”

Dean glanced up from the picture, eyebrows cinched, “We're next door to a prison?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Thanks, Ash,” Jo said into her phone. “And if you breathe a word of this to my mom...that's right. I will. With pliers.” She quickly ended the call, a pep in her step as she picked up the picture we’d been looking at. “Okay. Moyamensing prison. Built in 1835, torn down in 1963. And get this. They used to execute people by hanging them in the empty field next door.”

“Well, then, we need a list,” I said. “All the people executed there.”

“Ash is already on it.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

We crowded around Sam who sat in front of his laptop, opening the file Ash had sent him. However, the information wasn’t exactly a bright white light at the end of the tunnel. I watched as Sam scrolled through the document, name after name after name looking back at us.

I raised my eyebrows, “A hundred fifty seven names?”

“We've gotta narrow that down or else we're gonna be digging up a hell of a lot of stiffs,” Dean said.

Sam continued to scroll until he hesitated, his mouse hovering over a name. He squinted, “Herman Webster Mudgett?”

“Yeah?” Jo said.

Sam looked from Dean and then to me, “Wasn't that H. H. Holmes' real name?”

Realization dawned on me, shaking my head at our newest target, “You've gotta be kidding me.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Yep. Holmes was executed at Moyamensing, May 7, 1896,” Dean confirmed, reading from a newspaper article he’d found in the town’s library archives.

“H. H. Holmes himself,” Sam said in disbelief. “Come on, I mean, what are the odds?”

Jo’s eyes bounced between the three of us, her arms crossed over her chest, “Who is this guy?”

“The term ‘multi-murderer’, they coined it to describe Holmes,” Sam shook his head. “He was America's first serial killer, before anybody knew what a serial killer was.”

“Yeah, he confessed to twenty seven murders,” I said, making Jo look to me now, “but some put the death toll at over a hundred.”

“And his victim flavor of choice? Pretty petite blondes,” Dean finished, making Jo grimace. “He, uh, he used chloroform to kill them, which is what I smelled in the hallway last night. At his place, cops found human remains, bone fragments, and long locks of bloody blonde hair.” Dean shook his head as he looked to Jo. “Boy, you sure know how to pick 'em.”

“Well, we just find the bones, salt 'em and burn 'em, right?” Jo asked.

“Well, it's not that easy. His body is buried in town, but it's encased in a couple tons of concrete,” Sam said.

“What? Why?”

“The story goes that he didn't want anybody mutilating his corpse,” I said, and this time, I grimaced. “'Cause, you know, that's what he used to do.”

Sam pushed off from the kitchen counter he’d been leaning against, coming toward the table, “You know somethin'. We might have an even bigger problem than that.”

Jo’s eyes widened slightly, “How does this get bigger?”

“Holmes built an apartment building in Chicago. He called it the Murder Castle. The whole place was a death factory, they had, uh, trap doors, acid vats, quick line pits...” Sam moved around the pictures on the table, gesturing to the outline of a hand-drawn floor plan. “He built these secret chambers inside the walls. He'd lock his victims in, keep them alive for days.” He picked up a black and white autopsy picture of a woman, dark marks littering her neck. “Some he'd suffocate, others he'd let starve to death.”

“So, Teresa could still be alive,” I breathed out, glancing around the apartment. “She could be inside these walls.”

Dean stood from the table, “We need sledgehammers, crowbars. We've got to smash these walls, anywhere thick enough to hide a girl.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam and I navigated through the first floor walls, but not finding anything out of the ordinary. I followed close behind him, dodging cobwebs and sliding through narrow spaces between the walls. “You know, I’ve never been more grateful to be a brunette. You might wanna be careful, though. Sounds like you’re his type.

“Ha-ha,” Sam said dryly.

We continued to walk through the walls when my phone rang. I slid it from my pocket, Jo’s name popping up on the little screen. I flipped it open, “Hey, how’s it going?”

“No luck, what about you guys?”

“Yeah, us either.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jo’s POV

“Okay. Call us after you check the southeast wall,” I said to Ellie before ending the call. “Ellie and Sam are almost done with the first floor. Haven’t found jack squat either.” Dean’s movements through the walls suddenly stopped. I peeked around him, glancing toward where he was shining his flashlight. I glanced up to him. “What is it?”

“It's too narrow,” he said, beginning to turn back around. “Can't go any further.”

“Let me see.”

“What are you-” I shoved past him, getting caught between him and the wall directly in front of me, my back pushed up against him. He groaned. “Shoulda cleaned the pipes.”

I squinted back at him, “What?”

“I, uh,” he hesitated, looking to the pipes on the walls. “I wish the pipes were cleaner.”

“Shut up!” I said, glancing ahead into the narrow walkway. “I can fit in there.”

“You're not going in there by yourself.”

“You got a better idea?”

Dean opened and closed his mouth before I nodded, pushing myself forward. He let out a final groan as I finally made it into the narrow space between the two walls. I shuffled forward, glancing back to where Dean was examining the map of the walls in his hands.

It was creepy as shit in here, that was for sure. I held my flashlight close and with every rounded corner I was reminded just how far I was getting from Dean. I pulled out my phone that vibrated in my pocket, Dean’s voice coming in on the other end, oddly comforting me, “Where are you?”

“On the north wall.” I was beginning to feel that maybe we wouldn’t find anything, just like Sam and Ellie hadn’t. However, as I rounded one last corner, I spotted three long pipes that ran from the ceiling and down through a hole in the floor. I slowly inched toward it, carefully lowering myself down into it. "I'm heading down some kind of air duct.”

“No, no, no, no, stay up here.”

“Look, we've gotta find this girl, don't we?” For some reason, for just a split second, I pictured my dad. How he’d be doing the same thing for the same reasons. A newfound confidence filled me. “I'm okay.”

“Alright. I'm heading to you.”

I dropped down onto the floor, adjusting the phone on my shoulder. It was colder on this floor and much narrower. I pulled myself through a series of pipes before groaning when I realized I’d come to a dead end. I sighed into the phone, feeling as if this whole thing was for nothing. Then, in front of me, between the slates of wood on the walls a thick black ooze began to pool outward. It dripped in thick globs onto the floor at my feet.

My eyes widened, my grip becoming tighter on the phone, “Oh god.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean’s POV

“What is it?” I said into the phone before she let out an unearthly scream before the line went dead. “Jo? Jo!”

I raced toward the north wall, calling her name. When I didn’t get an answer, I swung my axe over my shoulder, bringing it slicing through the walls. I pulled the loose slats away, sticking my head inside. I clicked the flashlight on, noticing her phone still open on the ground. “Jo!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I flew around the corner of the fourth floor, now at a jog when my shoulder forcefully collided with another. Ellie watched me with wide eyes with Sam just behind her.

“He's got Jo,” I managed, breathless. I forced myself down the hallway.

“What?” Sam asked, the two of them now jogging to catch up with me. “How'd that happen?”

“I wasn't with her; I left her alone,” I huffed. How could I have let her go alone? I knew it was a bad idea from the start. “Dammit!”

“Hey, hey, look, we'll find her, alright?” Sam tried but I only shook my head.

“Where?”

“Inside the walls,” Ellie suggested.

“We've been inside the walls all night! None of the other girls were there, she won't be either!” I shouted as we made our way back to the apartment we’d been staying in.

Sam pushed the door open, Ellie and him instantly going back to the table, “Look. We've just gotta take a beat and think about this. Maybe we got Holmes' M.O. wrong.”

“Yeah, well, we'd better friggin' think fast,” I said as my phone began to ring. I didn’t even think to check the caller ID before flipping it open. “Yeah?”

“You lied to me – she’s there,” an angry voice said on the other line.

My heart sank as I turned back to Sam and Ellie, “Ellen.” The two of them quickly glanced up at me.

“No - Ash told me everything. Man's a genius, but he folds like a cheap suit. Now you put my damn daughter on the phone.”

“She's gonna have to call you back, she's taking care of, uh…” I hesitated, “feminine business.”

“Yeah, right. Where is she?” Ellen demanded. I closed my eyes as I clenched my jaw, gripping the phone tighter. “Where is she?!”

“Look, we'll get her back.”

“Get her back?” Her voice came out in a whisper. I could feel her fear radiating off of her through the phone. Guilt tore at my insides. “Back from what?”

“The spirit we're hunting…it took her.”

“Oh my god.”

“She'll be okay, I promise,” I said quickly.

“You promise,” Ellen scoffed. “That is not the first time I've heard that from a Winchester.”

I wrinkled my eyebrows, “What?”

“If anything happens to her...”

“It won't. I won't let it,” I shot the thought down instantly. The spirit took Jo because of me, I’d be damned if I didn’t get her back from him. “Ellen, I'm sorry, I really am.”

“I'm taking the first flight out. I'll be there in a few hours.”

The line suddenly clicked as she hung up. I looked down at my phone, gritting my teeth, “Damn it!”

“Don't beat yourself up, Dean,” Sam said. “There's nothing you could have done.”

I knew he was saying it to make me feel better, but I knew the truth. This is my fault. “Tell me you've got something.”

“Uh, maybe,” Ellie said, twisting around the blueprint in front of her so it was facing me. “Look. You look at the layout of the Holmes murder castle, there's all the torture chambers inside the walls, right?”

“Right.”

“But there's one we haven't considered yet,” she said. I raised my eyebrows. “The one in this basement.”

“This building doesn't have a basement.”

Sam nodded, “You're right, it doesn't. But we just noticed this. Beneath the foundation, it looks like part of an old sewer system that hasn't been used for —”

“Let's go,” I said instantly. It was enough for me. I grabbed my jacket, Sam and Ellie following close behind on my heels.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jo’s POV

It was dark when I opened my eyes, my body shaking slightly against the cold stone slab I was laying on. I dragged my heavy eyes over the small, enclosed area I felt around myself, feeling the butt of the flashlight against my hand. I clicked it on, glancing around what looked unsettlingly like a coffin.

My heart began to race, becoming even faster when I flashed the light over the concrete just over my face. It was coated in dark blood, white lines of nail scratches over the stone.

I felt tears well up in my eyes, my throat constricting. I clenched my jaw, thinking about how I should’ve just listened to Dean – how we should’ve just turned around. I thought about how mom was right, she was always right even when I couldn’t see it. I brought my hand up over my eyes, letting out an unsteady breath. I gave myself ten seconds to absolute freak out, my entire body nearly vibrating. When I reached zero, I pulled my hand away, taking in a deep breath, pulling myself together.

I glanced around me, spotting a small slit in the wall to my right. I rolled, glancing around the room I was in. It was a circular room encased in stone, two large, grated doors on each end. I dragged my eyes from the doors and to the wall that was straight ahead of me where I could see what looked like the faintest outline of a slit in the wall. I squinted, praying some of the other girls were down here, too, alive.

“Hello?” I called. I waited, thinking maybe we’d been too late.

Then, there was a quiet rustling from across the room followed by a small voice, “Is - is anybody there?”

I let out a sigh of relief, “Your name's Teresa?”

“Yes,” she cried.

“This won't make you feel better,” I began, hesitating, “but I'm here to rescue you.”

“Oh god,” Teresa muttered as she sobbed. “He's out there, he's gonna kill us!”

“No, he won't. We're getting out. My friends are looking for us, they'll find us.”

The sound of footsteps came from behind the grated doors, Teresa’s high-pitched shriek echoed off of the stone walls, “Oh god, he's here!”

“Shh! Just be quiet!” I hushed, Teresa’s cries quieting.

I rolled closer to the opening, my breathing quickening as the sound of heavy footfalls came closer until suddenly, they stopped. I held my breath, searching quickly around the room when a hand jutted into the hole, grabbing a hold of my hair. The hands forcefully pulling me against the wall. I screamed as he ripped a chunk of hair from my head, twirling it around his fingers.

I gripped my scalp, desperately getting as far away from the wall as I could, his dirty hand still out in front of me. I continued to scream, praying that the Winchesters would find us in time.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ellie’s POV

We walked in time, the metal detector in Sam’s hand rhythmically humming as we rounded behind the apartment building. I glanced down at the blueprint in my hands, balancing my shovel against my shoulder.

“It should be around here somewhere,” I said, glancing at the empty plot of land we’d seen in the old pictures from earlier. Then, a high-pitched beeping began to come from the metal detector. We glanced at each other, making our way over the empty land, the beeping becoming louder and louder until it was one long, continuous noise.

“Here,” Sam said. Dean shrugged the duffle bag off his shoulder and I threw the folded blueprint on top of it. We pierced our shovels into the earth, throwing the dirt behind us as we dug, and dug and dug.

My sweat made the material of my shirt cling to my back, sighing in relief when my shovel hit something solid. I looked up to Dean as we dropped to our knees, wiping the dirt from the metal door. We each grabbed a handle, pulling the metal door open.

The smell that burst from the sewer made me turn away, my nose wrinkling. Sam shined his flashlight down into the sewer, large bugs quickly scurrying away from the sudden light. I looked to Dean, motioning down into the hole, “After you.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jo’s POV

I slammed my foot against the wall over and over, trying anything to knock something loose. Sweat beaded off my forehead as I kicked until finally, I was gasping for air. My head spun, the air feeling like it was getting thicker inside the confines.

“You're so pretty,” a voice whispered. I whipped my head up, my eyes widened at the man who stood just on the other side, only his bearded mouth visible. “So beautiful.”

“Go to hell!” I yelled at him, trying to sound strong but I was trembling on the inside.

He continued to watch me, breathing deeply before reaching his hand inside again. I turned away from the wall, scooting as far away from his touch as I could. However, there was only so far I could go. I groaned in disgust as his hand snaked its way to the side of my face, running down my neck and shoulder, his long nails scraping over my skin.

I gripped the blade in my hand tightly, waiting for his hand as I travelled lower and lower under it was at my forearm. I quickly rolled, stabbing the blade through his hand. He screamed, retreating away from the wall.

“How do you like that?!” I yelled at him. “Pure iron, you creepy-ass son of a bitch!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ellie’s POV

We pulled ourselves through the sewers on our stomachs, army crawling in the dirty water. I kept my distance behind Dean, his books kicking up water as he pushed himself forward. I glanced around the grimy tunnels, shining my flashlight toward the beacon we could finally see a few hundred yards in the distance: a large, barred door.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jo’s POV

“Is he gone?” Teresa asked.

I slowly sat up, keeping the blade close to my chest as I scanned the room, “I don't know. I-”

His hands jutted through again, cupping his hand tightly over my mouth, slamming my head back against the stone. My vision swam in front of me, his nails digging into my cheeks.

“Shhh,” he said. His hands smelled like something familiar, my stomach sinking as I remembered the scent from the hallway when Dean and I were together: chloroform. I stopped struggling, my eyes suddenly becoming heavier and heavier.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ellie’s POV

“Hey!” Dean yelled to the spirit who hovered in front of the stone wall. He whipped his head toward us, Dean blasting him with rock salt, the spirit momentarily disappearing. He pushed the door open, the three of us running into the room. “Jo?!”

“I'm here!” Her voice called from inside the walls. Dean grabbed a metal bar from the floor, prying the door open.

Sam and I checked the other doors, shining our flashlights inside. The first one I looked into only held the remains of a woman, her skeleton laying inside. I looked to Sam, shaking my head, the woman in the wall Sam was looking into had met the same fate.

I was sure we were too late to save anyone but Jo when I noticed one last door. I crouched in front of it, a woman’s face coming into the light of my flashlight. I widened my eyes as her fingers curled around the opening.

“We're gonna get you out of here, alright?” I reassured. The woman nodded quietly.

“Sam!” Dean called to him, tossing the metal bar and Sam made quick work of the locks on the woman’s door. Sam gently guided her out, supporting her weight as she stood.

I watched as Dean lifted the door open on the far wall, Jo slowly pulling herself out of it. “Are you okay?”

“Been better,” she coughed. “Let's get the hell out of here before he comes back.”

Dean glanced to me before looking back to Jo, “Actually, I don't think you're leaving here just yet.”

Jo’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly, “What?”

“Remember when I said you being bait was a bad plan?” He asked. “Now it's kind of the only one we got.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

We watched as Jo sat in the middle of the circular room, her knees close to her chest. We hid behind the barred door, Sam and Dean’s backs pressed up against the sewer’s walls while I kept watch, waiting for the spirit to return.

Jo began to tremble, a steady film of smoke rolling from her mouth as the temperature in the room plummeted. I watched as Holmes reappeared behind Jo, slowly stalking toward her, Jo’s eyes wide on mine.

“Now!” I shouted. Jo lurched forward, scrambling away from the spirit as Sam and Dean turned, shooting at the walls, bags of salt emptying into a circle on the floor. The spirit watched, wide eyed. He was trapped.

Dean pushed the door open, pulling Jo up into the tunnels as the spirit began to scream in agony. Sam pulled the grate shut as we watched him.

“Scream all you want you dick, but there's no way you're stepping over that salt!” Jo yelled, his screams only becoming louder and louder.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam, Jo and I stood around the opening of the sewer. I glanced up at Jo, squinting, “So…this job as glamorous as you thought it would be?”

“Well, except for all the pee-your-pants terror, yeah. Sure,” she said, making Sam and I chuckle. “But that Teresa girl's gonna live a life because of us. It's worth it, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Yeah it is.”

“Hey, what if somebody finds that sewer down there, or a storm washes the salt away?” Jo asked.

Sam nodded, “Both very fine points. Which is why we're waiting here.”

Jo cocked an eyebrow, “For what?”

The sound of high pitched beeping from behind us made me smirk, “For that.”

We turned to where Dean was backing a cement truck onto the property until Sam signaled for him to stop. Dean jumped from the driver’s seat, unlatching the funnel, resting it just above the sewer’s opening. His hand rested on the release lever.

Jo smirked in amusement, crossing her arms as she eyed Dean, “You ripped off a cement truck?”

“I'll give it back,” he smirked back, pulling down hard on the lever. We watched as cement began to pour from the large truck and down into the hole in the ground. Dean nodded, smiling in triumph. “Well, that oughta keep him down there till hell freezes over.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The drive back to the Roadhouse was the most uncomfortable hours of my life. I shifted in the backseat between Sam and Jo, glancing uneasily at them before looking to Dean who side-eyed our guest who joined us at the end of the hunt. Ellen sat motionless in the passenger seat, her silence much scarier than if she were to be yelling and screaming.

“Boy, you, you really weren't kidding about flying out, were you?” Dean said, looking to Ellen who didn’t so much as look over to him. Me, Sam and Jo shared another concerned look. Dean let out a long breath of air, reaching for the radio that’d been untouched the entire ride. “How about we listen to some music?”

Foreigner’s Cold as Ice blared through the speakers, the chorus the only thing the radio was able to sputter out before Ellen jabbed her finger onto the volume knob, muting the song. Dean looked startled, and usually, would reprimand anyone who turned off any song in Baby. However, he didn’t question her actions, just clenched his jaw, shifting in his seat, “This is gonna be a long drive.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was morning by the time we made it back to the Roadhouse. Ellen practically dragged Jo by her arm, pulling her inside. We followed close behind, standing halfway in the doorway in case we needed a quick exit as to ensure minimal bodily harm inflicted by Ellen.

“Ellen,” Dean said, making Ellen whip around to him. “This is my fault. Okay? I lied to you and I'm sorry. But Jo did good out there, I think her dad would be proud-”

“Don't you dare say that. Not you,” she scolded, anger lacing her voice like I’d never heard before. Dean looked confused. “I need a moment with my daughter. Alone.” Dean and Jo’s eyes lingered before she nodded and the three of us backed out of the bar.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Jo’s POV

I watched as the screen door shut quietly behind them, waiting for them to be at least a few feet away before turning back to mom, “You're angry. I understand.”

“Angry? Angry doesn't begin to touch it,” she fumed, rounding the bar and throwing my duffle to the ground.

“Let's just think about this. Everything's okay, I'm alive...”

“Not after I'm through with you!”

I tried to remind myself to stay calm – she had a right to be upset after what I pulled, but something inside me told me there was more to it. “Is this about me hunting, or something else?”

“You let those them use you as bait!”

“They were right there, backing me up the whole time.”

Mom laughed humorlessly, shaking her head, “That is why you do not have the sense to do this job, you're trusting your life to them.”

I cinched my eyebrows, “What are you talking about?”

“The apple doesn’t fall far from their daddy’s tree, that’s what I’m talking about,” she said, the words tumbling from her mouth. I watched as she closed her eyes, bringing her fingers to her lips as if she wished she could take back what she’d said.

“John?” I asked, confused. “I thought you and John were friends.”

She nodded, her anger quickly being replaced with tears, “Yeah, we were, I'm sorry, I didn't mean...”

“Mom?” I said, stopping her. I searched her face; unspoken words were sitting there. “What aren't you telling me?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Dean’s POV

We leaned up against the car, waiting for Jo and Ellen to hash it out. I prepared myself for the inevitable: Ellen wasn’t gonna want to see us for a long time after this.

The sound of a door slamming made the three of us look toward where Jo was bounding out of the Roadhouse, veering off to the left of the building at the sight of me. I took a few long strides, keeping up with her fast pace, “That bad, huh?”

“Not right now.”

“What happened?” I asked, but when she continued to ignore me, I rested a hand on her arm. “Hey, talk to me.”

“Get off me!” She yelled, yanking herself from under my touch.

“Sorry,” I said instantly before turning back to the car. “See you around.”

I made it nearly three steps back to the car when she said my name, beckoning me back. I turned, and for the first time I could see the tears that were beginning to well up in her eyes. “It turns out my dad had a partner on his last hunt. Funny, he usually worked alone; this guy did too, but...I guess my father figured he could trust him.” Her voice became angry as she took a few steps toward me. “Mistake. Guy screwed up, got my dad killed.”

“What does this have to do with—”

“It was your father, Dean.”

I paused, watching her in confusion, “What?”

“Why do you think John never came back? Never told you about us?” She asked and suddenly, everything started to slowly click into place. “Because he couldn't look my mom in the eye after that, that's why.”

My heart sank, “Jo-”

“Just...just get out of here,” she choked out, her voice cracking as she turned on her heels. “Please, just leave.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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misha-moose-dean-burger-lover · 4 years

Note

hey if it's not too much difficulty you're the only person i trust with this so would you mind writing me a super angsty fic based on 15x09 Dean burying MOC!Cas in a Ma'lak box?

Of course I don’t mind. It came out angsty, alright. Tell me what you think, Dean. Here you go:

***

Dean remembers how it used to be.

He remembers the warmth enveloping all of him, and the room imploding with such power that glass shatters, and the wind roars. The sky gets dark, but the seraph brings forth his wings and lights up the world, for a second right there - like a star in its death; a star breathing its last.

Squinting, cowering and incredibly alive, Dean’s been a witness to the all-powerful grace of the angel of the lord, before.

All of those times, he’s been terrified - yes, but never afraid. When Castiel had declared he could throw Dean back to Hell, that night, Dean didn’t doubt it. Of course he could. But he wouldn’t. For some strange reason, still undeciphered, he’d never meant to hurt Dean.

There was something in the air, whenever they were together. Respect, and a sliver of misplaced faith. Reassurance. A tug at his chest which just screamed Safe. Strength, from Cas’s end - and love.

He remembers how Castiel used to make him feel.

“There’s no other way.” Sam lets out, head bowed, in a voice more miserable than his stare focused on the book suggests. The lights in the bunker are dim; it’s just a little past midnight, and Dean has his head in his hands.

“Sam, we can’t -”

“I know.” He sounds like he’s trying to scrape the bottom of his soul-shaped barrel for the courage to say it out loud - hoping that’ll make it easier. “But we have to do something, Dean.”

There’s silence.

“I don’t care.” Dean mutters, but everything except his words claims that he does.

Sam knows he does.

“Nobody else’s around.” He says, instead. “No God, or hell, gods. No angel or reaper will help us with this.” He breathes in shakily. “They’re all afraid of him.”

He’s a Seraph of Heaven carrying the Mark of Cain. An Angel of the Lord, now claimed by Hell. Of course, everybody’s terrified, and rightly so.

There’s probably no one in their world right now, who’s stronger.

“But the Ma'lak box?” Dean cries out, lifting his head. Sam meets his eyes, looking pained. “Locked away in a living grave, for eternity?” Neither of them blink. “It’s Cas, Sammy! We can’t just -” His voice breaks mid-sentence, lips pursed and twisted to a side, eyes screwed shut. He takes in a breath, with some effort.

Sam waits. His brother clearly isn’t done yet.

Finally, Dean exhales - with a shudder. “Why does it have to be me?”

Sam’s face contorts in sympathy, and anguish. In a hoarse, earnest whisper, he answers Dean’s question as truthfully as he could ever.

“Because it’s him.”

Dean remembers the first time he saw Castiel, after he ran away from home.

They hadn’t needed a tip, so much as a peek at the internet to come to know of a pissed-off-looking middle-aged man was singlehandedly finishing off the members of a now-uncovered human-sacrificial cult.

And he wore a trenchcoat.

Sam and he were on the road, in minutes. All through the drive, his heart thudded in his chest - hoping, begging, praying that it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.

It had turned out worse.

When Sam set off for the police station, hurrying into a disguise, Dean started scoping out churches and barns. And sure enough, he found Castiel - and the twelve dead men, with their eyes scorched out of gaping, black sockets.

The air was still seething with remnants of a smiting - but the heat wasn’t the kind which used to gloved him whole, and render awestruck. Instead, it wanted to melt the skin off of his bones, and make him want to tear out his insides.

“Hello Dean.” Castiel slowly turned towards him. The wind howled, and the barn was slowly falling to pieces. Dean’s world, and his heart with it, was falling apart. This wasn’t the Cas he knew - not with the empty blue eyes, and a blank thin-lipped smile.

When Castiel’s eyes met his - it was nothing like before. Fear thrummed in his veins - and his neck felt constricted. Dean wondered if that had something to do with Cas, as he involuntarily backed a step.

Every fibre of his being had begged him to run.

“What if the box can’t contain him?”

Dean drags himself to Sam, doubt weighing on his shoulders, and lands in the kitchen chair opposite his brother’s.

“I did think about that.” Sam confesses, frowning. “But do you really think he’ll try to get out?”

Dean stops.

Cas might not try to get out.

Maybe he won’t fight it. Maybe he won’t even try to get back to Dean -

He scrubs his face with a hand. After all the hours Dean’s spent, beating himself up over it, there’s a real chance that Cas wouldn’t be against the idea of being locked away by eternity as much as he’s being.

It’s a sadder thought than many.

“Dean?” Sam calls, uncertainly.

“Y-yeah.” Dean gathers himself in his head, returning to the present. “Sorry. You were saying?”

“I was saying,” Sam restarts, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes concerned. Dean hates that look on his brother’s face. “That’s half of the reason that the plan’s to drop the box in the Pacific.” Sam rambles on, not realizing the change of colors on Dean’s face. “I mean, Cas is an angel too; we know for sure he won’t drown, but I’m guessing it’ll hold his powers back -”

“The box isn’t going anywhere.” Dean declares, cutting him off. The glare in his eyes is definite. “No oceans, no nothing.”

“You want it to stay here?” Sam straightens, clearly taken aback.

Dean has no idea why. “I want him to stay here.” Sam opens his mouth in protest, albeit it’s a decidedly weak attempt, but Dean interrupts again. “This isn’t open for debate, Sammy.”

Sam shifts in his seat, not resigned to the idea of arguing, but trying to convince himself. “I suppose we could construct a permanent ring of holy oil in the dungeon, or -”

“Okay.” Dean lets out a breath he doesn’t know when he started to hold. “Yeah, good. See? We’ll figure something out. We’ll do that.”

An uncomfortable silence ensues, which irritates him because Sam still seems to be deep in thought. He doesn’t blame him - the underwater-forever idea had been his own, but that was Michael - and Dean. This is Cas.

He tries to speed up Sam’s processing of the new plan. “I’ll put up containment sigils. I’ll even read the containment-sigil book, Sam, I -”

“Dean.” Sam blinks at him. “Aside from that, how can we be sure that we won’t go get him out if he calls? Will you be able to ignore it if he cries out for help, since he’s right here?”

Dean knows Sam’s trying to go for a general ‘you’, but that feels extremely pointed at him.

If he calls out for help - if he as much as says my name, I’ll go to him.

Sam’s patient, as a rule, when it comes to Dean these days - but even his cool is running thin. His point makes more and more sense, as seconds pass, and before it can get too final, Dean knows he has to interject.

“If that happens?” Dean clenches his jaw, stubbornly. “Then so be it.”

Sam leans back in his chair, rolling his eyes. But under his breath, just barely loud enough, he says, “Fine. So be it.”

Dean remembers the last time he saw Castiel’s wings.

They were looking for him, and it wasn’t hard. When the aliases couldn’t help any further, the atrocious skies led the way to him.

Dean had guessed that the Mark would have been replenishing his grace, but bringing back his wings? He’d had no idea - right up until he and Sam stumbled onto a scene of impending crime and witnessed it themselves - for the grand display always preceded the blast of grace; Castiel’s apparent go-to move.

“Down!” Sam yelled, pushing Dean down with a hand on his back, as he too fell to the ground. “Close your eyes!”

Dean did - but before that, he looked.

They were huge, no longer sparse - and nothing less than magnificent. When Castiel glowered at the evildoers, the shadowed feathers flexed, and threatened as well. When he pulled himself to his full height, they arched, glorious and full of life - creating a perfect sight. Castiel was the embodiment of powerful, and his black wings, overpowering devices of conquer. In that moment, it felt ridiculous to ever have doubted Castiel could fly - his wings mighty, boundless and free.

And Dean Winchester was set out to convince him, to trap himself in a box.

Dean doesn’t know where he finds the courage to step ahead - but he associates it mostly with Sam moving forwards, because he’s immediately pushing him back and walking himself.

Castiel looks at him, just fucking looks at him. “Dean.”

“Hey Cas,” Dean clears his throat, and keeps on walking until his feet carry him - ending up inches away from the angel. “Uh -”

He hesitates.

“The last time,” Castiel fills the silence, speaking in a disappointed tone. “You left, Dean. I wondered for ages why you didn’t talk to me.”

“Well, we need to talk, alright.” Dean swallows, trying to avoid Castiel’s eyes. “Cas, uh. Can we talk?”

“Of course.”

That’s all the warning he gets, before he feels his eyes close like he’s feeling himself blink and when he opens his eyes, they’re no longer in the abandoned shack with his brother on the sidelines, or the bodies.

The first thought that comes to Dean’s head isn’t fear, since now he’s just by himself - and he’s grateful for that. But it is concern for his own stomach, though he thinks he feel alright despite the being zapped.

Castiel is sitting, with his arms folded on the table, on a red seat. In front of him is an unimportant Biggerson’s menu. Dean’s still standing in the same stance as before.

“Sit down.” Castiel suggests, and he does.

“Cas.” Dean lets out, putting his own elbows on the table as well. “I need to -” He stops, and exhales frustratedly.

He’s planned this out. He knows what he’s going to say; he’s practised this in front of the mirror - Hell, he’s practised this with Sam. He should at least be saying words that aren’t Cas.

“What is it?” The angel frowns - and he still doesn’t feel like himself to Dean, but at least now he looks like it. The squint, the pursed lips, the jutted out chin.

He looks so much like Cas, that it hurts even as Dean forces the words - any words he finds in himself, to come out.

“There’s no other way,” Dean blurts, in his brother’s words, and as the words sink in, Castiel’s brow clears. As Dean’s head hurts - Castiel smiles smally at him.

“I was wondering when you’d ask.” The smile spreads on the angel’s face, divine.

“You what?”

“I knew this would happen, Dean. You have something that’ll rid the World of me - it was only a matter of time before you gave in to the fact that there’s nothing else you can do, but use it.” Castiel answers, and there’s a tinge of sadness in his voice Dean hates. But his tone is detached.

Dean clears his throat again. “There isn’t.”

Tell me you want us to keep looking.

“Tell me.” As Dean’s tongue battles to get the truth out with his mind, Castiel takes off on a tangent. “How many have I killed?”

“Low hundreds.”

“And that’s just the people.” Castiel shakes his head sadly, looking so dejected that Dean wishes he can put an arm around him. Of course, he’s too far away, and probably doesn’t want that.

“Cas -” Dean tries, but Castiel cuts him off.

“Does it help that they’d all done very wrong things?” Castiel asks, a little hope in his eyes.

Dean hates himself. “It always starts off like that, buddy. I wasn’t killing innocent people either, but -”

“I know.”

There’s a pause - a heavy one, and at least the words were in his mouth before. Now they don’t make it out of his heart. And Castiel’s painfully quiet - looking thoughtful.

“I’m sorry I let you take the Mark.” Dean crumbles, finally, putting his hand on Castiel’s - because it’s right there, just right there.

“There wasn’t a choice.” Castiel sighs, and looks down at their hands. Dean wonders if he wants him to undo that reckless, impatient move - he’s already regretting it. Castiel’s hand is warm under his, and only serves to remind him of his wrath from before, and the searing heat.

This looks like Cas and sounds like Cas, but he’s not completely Cas.

Or even if he were now - sated, after the killings, as Dean remembers being - he isn’t always going to remain like his pensive, understanding friend. Dean knows he should make use of this window, but he just can’t do it.

So Castiel, like all the other times, sprinkled across their life together, helps. “And just so, there isn’t a choice now.”

Dean stares at him.

“So, alright.” Castiel declares, steady of manner. “You win. I’ll go into the Ma'lak box, Dean.”

Dean’s never lost more.

Fight this, Cas! We won’t push you if you resist this - we’d never force you in the box, so tell me I’m wrong. Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you wouldn’t leave me.

Tell me to go away - fuck off and leave you alone.

“Take me with you.” Cas stands up, blankly, and decides to proclaim. And all of Dean’s most obscure hopes drift away, as he struggles to even plaster the false grin on his face.

“After you, feathers.”

Dean remembers the day Castiel got into the goddamn box.

Nothing mattered, as he stared at a wooden-faced Castiel hug Sam, except for the fact that he was next, and this was it. This was the last time he’d get to be this close to Castiel - ever.

When he pulled away from Sam, Dean noticed he sported a twitchy, nervous smile. Kid was trying not to break down - and that was brave, because Dean had given up.

“I - fuck, Cas. I’m sorry.” Tears pricked his eyes, as Castiel draped himself over him, arms crossed around Dean’s shoulders. Dean’s hands lay still on his back - holding him there. “Sorry.” He choked, closing his eyes and holding on.

Castiel clung on too, though not uttering a word. For him, this was the last touch he’d get - from Dean, from anyone, until the end of time. The thought seemed to strike him hard, and he held on tighter.

Dean, in return, pulled him closer.

He could feel Castiel’s heart beat - and he could feel his grace right there. He couldn’t feel a trace of the darkness of the Mark, and for the millionth time, he argued in his head that they were making a mistake.

“It’s risky keeping me out.” Cas muttered, pulling away, somehow knowing exactly what Dean needed to hear. He always did.

“You’re going in willingly, for the good of the world. For it’s safety or whatever.” Dean threw back. “The Mark’s clearly not gotten to you that bad. Maybe it never -”

“No, Dean.” Castiel shook his head, and a tear fell from his left eye. Dean’s brain stuttered into the realization that Cas, in spite of all his pretense, wasn’t doing this willingly. And then he made it even clearer.

He stared into Dean’s eyes - and for the last time, Dean fixed his own stare on those unbelievably blue eyes, blinking through the tears. And then, not looking away for a single moment, Cas confessed.

“I’m doing this for you.”

Don’t.

Please.

Dean’s mouth fell open, but he had no words.

Castiel didn’t wait for any, either. He stepped back from Dean, for good - for he’d never be in Dean’s personal space like that, crowding up against him like he always did - and glanced at Sam. And then again at Dean.

“It’s been a privilege to be family, Winchesters.” He utters, slowly, grandly - and Sam lets out an injured sound. Tears are streaming down Dean’s face now.

And with that, he turned to his eternal prison. Sam shuffled forward to give him a hand - now crying silent tears as well - and Castiel lay down inside.

Dean scrambled ahead, gripping the edges of the box. There was so much left to say. There was so much left to clear, and clarify, and reason through and object to - but Castiel would not return.

Cas would never return.

“Goodbye Sam. Goodbye, Dean.”

The lid fell.

The first few days were the hardest. Dean would wander around the bunker, feeling nothing but loss, grieving into expensive bottles of Men-Of-Letters whiskey and cheap glasses of rundown beer.

Then, one evening, there’s a knock on his door. Dean alerts immediately - eyes darting around, before he realizes where the sound came from. Instantly, his heart sings in a harsh, disdainful key of hope, and he pays attention.

“Dean?”

It’s Sam.

“Uh-huh?” He grunts back, failing to keep the unjustified disappointment out of his voice.

“I’m coming in.” Sam declares, and he does. He finds his brother buried on the right side of the bed, bottle in hand, and more of them around. Sam scrunches his nose in disapproval. “Dude.” He starts, only a hint of humor in his tone. “Your room stinks.”

“Your face stinks.” Dean returns, eloquently, and Sam lets out a breath shortly.

“No, I meant it like - your room smells.”

“Your face -”

“Shut up, jerk.” Sam chastises, cutting him off. “I, uh.” The impatience fades to worry, within moments. “I’ve been thinking, Dean.”

Dean keeps quiet, though he could easily have pointed out that his face has been thinking.

“We should start hunting again.” Sam finishes, sounding like he’s run these words over in his head a lot.

“What?” Dean sits up.

“You know, like we always did. Salt and burns at the start, maybe. We work our way to full-fledged hubs or nests again.” Sam explains, earnestly. “We’re hunters, Dean. And it’ll only do us good.”

Dean wonders how long he can hold in the prize question, but then gives up. “And you just want to leave Cas here?”

“Hey, it was your idea to keep him in the bunker.” Sam defends. “And I’m all for it now, but did you assume we’d never go out again?”

“Hunting’s different, Sammy.” Dean sighs, because of course Sam doesn’t get it. “What if - I mean, what if we don’t make it? Who tells Cas?”

Sam nets his eyebrows together in a frown. “Worst case scenario, he understands when we stop showing up.” He suggests, looking a little unconvinced himself, but Dean swears out loud, startling him mid-sentence.

“What the fuck does that mean?” He glares, standing up - or trying to. He feels a rush of dizziness hit him, and falls back to sitting position.

“So,” Sam frowns. “You haven’t been talking to him?” He looks genuinely confused, and Dean doesn’t know if he wants to clock him one, or hug him.

“I -” Dean’s positively aghast, and completely speechless.

Sam waits for his senses to return, arms folded across his chest.

“No!”

Dean remembers the day he moved a kitchen chair to the dungeon.

Longer talks, he reasoned.

It had been hard for him to listen to Cas’s replies from outside the ring of oil, so now he sits right next to him. Every night, he drags the chair past the ring, and settles next to where Cas’s head must be.

And every morning, he returns it to where it was.

They talk about useless things, in the beginning. It’s easier. Dean describes dinner once, and proceeds to thoughtlessly tell Cas that he’d be proud of Dean if he just tasted the burger. There’s a pause, and then Castiel answers that he’s sure he would, he doesn’t even need to taste it - and everything returns to normal.

Then, unspeakably, they move towards heavier topics. Dean tells Cas about hunts. In a reassuring way, it feels like the past. Cas asks questions and manages to make him feel heard, even through a wooden box with a breathe-hole in it - but Dean tries not to think about that bit.

There’s always a lot to think about, when Cas is involved, so it works out.

One time, after a particularly long hunt, Dean returns home to Cas. Even though he calls for him, loud, Cas doesn’t respond. With each passing moment, Dean worries more.

Finally, in a whim of panic, he raps his knuckles on the lid.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice rumbles through then, deep as always, but roughened with what Dean’s first guess is, sleep. “Sam?”

“You got it right in one.” Dean relaxes a little, but remains mostly tensed because Cas isn’t even supposed to sleep. “What have you been doing, Cas?”

“I’ve been asleep.” His voice sounds heavy. “I’m tired, Dean.”

“Tired?” Dean repeats, surprised.

“I can’t come up with more words for this feeling, so yeah. I’m tired.” Cas lets out, breathy and broken - and Dean wants to unlatch the box and wrap his arms around Cas and tell him it’s okay.

But he can’t, so instead he listens to Cas telling him about his life - all of those billions of years he’s lived, and never gotten to talk about.

Cas talks about his garrison, and their battles, and his brothers and sisters. He talks about archangels and demons and Hell and the Cage and Lucifer and God.

When he talks about the Mark, there’s a shiver down Dean’s spine. He talks about the exhausting thirst for violence, and unsuppressible hunger for killing - and he talks like he’s scared of it, and Dean hangs onto every word.

“Sometimes it gets so overpowering,” Castiel admits, quietly. “And this box so ridiculously limiting, that I must claw at my own hands so my fingertips at least touch blood.”

“Cas!” Dean cries out, shocked. Cas hurts himself in there? The thought’s so disturbing, Dean’s head reels. “You can’t -”

“It’s the only way I can keep myself under control.” Cas states, complacently. And his detached tone just further provokes the bile rising in Dean’s gut - at the idea of Castiel making himself bleed so he doesn’t try to break out of the box. “Don’t forget, I can heal myself too.”

Dean puts his hand on the box, still shivering.

“Since I’ll never have any use for it again,” Cas adds, dryly. “I might as well use up my grace doing this.”

He puts his forehead on it too.

“Maybe then I could die.”

He knows Cas can hear him breathe like this - which is the only way he can tell that Dean’s there, because he doesn’t have anything else in himself that night. He feels empty and awful and guilty.

When he sleeps, he sees Castiel inside the Ma'lak Box, burying his fingernails in his sides and tearing himself apart, to quench the horrific bloodlust the Mark causes.

He wakes up to Castiel snoring softly, and almost loses it all over again.

To be fair, things are better than what he’d imagined, because he gets to actually speak with Cas. Be it about Jack, from before, or Claire - Cas thinks about the kids a lot these days - or about millenia-old battles he lead, or week-old skirmishes Dean was involved in, at least they’re talking.

But ironically, it’s still too good to be true.

As the nights pass by, Cas gets more withdrawn. It’s not just the sleep in his voice - it’s the way he speaks. Like it hurts him to. Like everything hurts, and Dean knows how that feels, because he’s been there; he knows how it feels when the Mark takes over, slow but unpreventable, despite your better judgement - which dulls too, by the day.

Dean can feel Cas go through it all - try to suppress the constant anger, the need for action, and urges to harm. He wants to believe that his being there helps, his checking-in matters, but he knows he had had people who’d have listened to him too.

Because he hadn’t been in a goddamn box, in the first place.

One night, Dean tells Sam to get his overworked ass to bed because it’s been a long fucking hunt, and trudges along to the dungeon.

There’s an eerie kind of quiet, but Dean forgets his worries when he’s coming to Cas. He just carries them on his back when he’s going back.

At the scrape of the legs of Dean’s chair against the floor, Cas breaks down.

“I’m lonely.”

It’s a couple of fairly simple, untwisted words - but Cas sounds so pathetic and frightened and devastated, that Dean’s stomach falls to the ground.

“I’m so lonely, Dean.” Cas repeats, and he sounds like he’s crying silently.

Dean’s heart breaks in a million pieces and he hopes they seep in through the horrible fucking lid of his own creation, this Ma'lak box, so that Cas knows.

In a wrecked voice, he pushes out. “Cas, I’m right here.”

There’s a sound - a thud of something falling inside the box, and it feels like Castiel’s hand. Which means he’d been trying to push the lid before, and Dean has no idea what that means.

Get me out.

“You won’t always be,” Cas cries out.

They’ve talked about this before.

“I know you think that cause I’m a hunter - and cause I’ve always been, I’m going to keep running after these monsters forever. But I’m not.” Dean forces out, closing his eyes because this is hard enough without him having to address the angel’s grave. “I swear, I’m going to take this up with Sammy soon - it’s just been a lot of hunts lately. I just want to be done, for fuck’s sake. I want it all to stop. Cas, I want to be here.”

Cas doesn’t say a thing.

Dean braves on, his voice shaking shamefully with promises. “And after I’ve quit, trust me, I’ll be around so much more - don’t you dare tell me to get a life after, because -”

You’re it.

You’re my life.

“I wasn’t talking about that.” Cas says, painfully, and Dean freezes. “I’m immortal - every day should be a blink of an eye for me, though it isn’t because I’m weak and too attached.” Dean wants to protest, but Cas doesn’t give him a chance. “But you’re human, Dean. You won’t live, with me or without, forever.”

Time stops.

And it’s a goddamn good thing it does, because Cas just reminded him he’s dying, and it feels like it’s happening already.

It’s happening right here.

“Cas, I -”

There’s a thudding sound again, accompanied by a breathless sob from within which pierces through Dean, impaling him with guilt. His own tears start to fall.

“No, Dean. What will I do?” Cas keeps going. “What about me after you’re gone?”

Dean wakes up, sweating.

It’s three am.

He grunts, getting out of bed, and travels to the door on socked feet. The cold seems to completely disregard the woollen socks, and shoots straight to his head - weirder still, because he basically sweated himself awake, a minute ago.

Dean slowly moves to the kitchen, and pulls a beer from the fridge. His mind lands inevitably on Castiel.

He’d started visiting less after that night - for it’d more or less been an instruction for him, to stop. Didn’t Cas call it getting attached? And it makes sense too. If he spends the next - what, twenty years or so, next to Cas, he’d just be getting him up before the fall.

Because of course he’d be gone, and of course Cas would not, and of course it made perfect sense to visit Cas less until it started feeling off and they didn’t have things to talk about and then he visited even less, and now of course it’s been weeks that he’s not been there, with him, at the one place it all felt okay, and of course -

Dean’s crying into a bottle, at three in the night.

Everything hurts - every angle of this mishappening, but what’s overpowering most of the time is how much he misses his best friend, and his angel, and the love of his life, and Cas. All of him.

There’s too many tears clouding his vision, so he closes his eyes.

He’s lost Cas before - but it’s never been like this. He’s never felt so directly causatory, and fuck that feeling which shatters him inside - he’s the reason Cas took on the Mark, and he’s the reason Cas got in the box.

He’s the entire fucking reason Cas suffers, every time, and he’s the reason Cas was crying that day.

And yet - Dean can’t hold back the loud gasp, as he inhales forcefully - yet, more than guilty, as be should, he feels lost.

Because he’s not just lost somebody. He’s lost something he believes in, and the destination of all his prayers.

He’s lost his faith.

And for the first time in a very long time, Dean feels utterly, terrifyingly alone.

Sam’s woken by the sounds in the kitchen, and a foreboding of something awful tugging at his soul - and he dashes out of bed to see what’s wrong.

Immediately, when he sees Dean on the floor, shivering and breathing erratically through uncontrollable sobs, he wraps his his shirt around him and pulls him up on the first stool he finds.

“He’s not okay, Sammy!” Dean whimpers, clutching onto the shirt. Sam’s trying not to freak out himself, because it’s been a while since Dean’s had such a bad panic attack. “I can feel it - Cas is hurting -”

“Dean,” Sam pleads. “Stop thinking about him for a moment. Stop thinking about -”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Dean lets out, anguished. “When I had the Mark, Cas promised that after all that I’d do, after everyone that I’d kill, he’d still be there. He swore he’d always be there - but I cannot even say the same, and -”

“Calm down, Dean!” Sam repeats, anxiously. His brother doesn’t seem to be doing any better. “Just, please, don’t think -”

“You know I can’t stop thinking about him!” Dean throws back, frustratedly. “I need to - fuck, I need him, and I -”

Sam takes Dean’s hand in his, to stop Dean from rambling, and stares him straight in his eyes. “Do you want me to remind you that he can probably hear you right now?”

Dean shortcircuits for a second time.

Of course, Cas was an angel. Was Dean thinking about this, and thinking out loud, all going to make Cas hurt more? Was Dean adding to his pain and suffering again by -

“No.” Sam interjects, sounding sure. He’s always somehow been able to know exactly where Dean’s head’s at, in situations like this. “But I guarantee, he wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself like this.”

“Sam, I -”

“It’s okay.” Sam cuts him off, and helps hoist Dean up to his feet. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. You’re putting the beer away right now, and going back to sleep.”

Once he’s steadier, Dean immediately pulls his brother in for a hug, grabbing the back of his neck. There’s no words for how grateful he is for him. But even more so, he needs to confess something - for both their sakes.

“I want to start hunting again, Sammy.”

Because if he’s not ending up next to Cas, if he isn’t getting his happy ending or peace, why would he hang the gloves up? Screw tired - he’s going to hunt to his last breath.

Fuck quitting.

And Sam smiles back - knowing it’s probably going to take more convincing in the morning, but Dean’s in again. Like Sam, he’ll keep on hunting until he can’t - take down every monster before it, even though God’s gone and it keeps feeling like they can’t win.

They have to keep trying - because now there’s nothing for either of them to come back to.

“Well, so be it.”

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