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narutogwriting · 3 years

Note

Greetings! It I. Whomever the f*ck that is!

I don't know if anyone's every told you, but your writing is absolute Grade A Quality. And I, as in me, happen to nurse quite the interest for said A Grade writing. Shocking, is it not? Foolish! Of course it is not! Surprising. That is. It IS the best writing afterall! I- Hm... ఠ_ఠ

Okay, I'll stop horsing around, sorry,,,

I have come to make a request if that is alright with you and you do not have too many already!

I recently discovered the song "Heart Attack" by Deni Lovato and would really love a little story with boisterous and playful reader that's had the second longest-standing crush(after Hinata's, cuse, MAN, that girl be the inventor of pinning no jutsu) known to everyone, but Lee, where the crew could be out throwing one of those rare party where a majority of them can be present, eventually ending in a karaoke where the fuzzy warmth of what little alcohol the reader drank gives them the little bit of missing courage(or sensibility) to, just, climb on a table and spill all their feelings, love and frustration into this one song before loudly announcing that This One's For Lee, like a challenge.

If you would have the space/kindness to add the aftermath where the reader immediately sobers up after comfessing and just, absconds through a window, I would be the most grateful gal alive,,, >v<

I'll venmo you a goat.

Okay this was seriously WAY too fun to right Naruto is my one true love but Rock Lee was my first Naruto crush<3

HEART ATTACK

Pairing: Rock Lee x Reader

CW: good old fluff

Length: 3.6+

Summary: Rock Lee has been your not so secret crush for as long as you can remember. You’re determined to take it to your grave, but what happens when you’re drunk at a karaoke bar doesn’t stay at the karaoke bar...

The music was loud, the room was dark, and everyone was there. How long had it last been since everyone was able to get together?

The life of a shinobi was a busy, dangerous one. There was little time for laugh and play, especially as you all got older. It was easier when you’d just graduated from the academy. All of the missions given to new genin were level D to C, little things like gardening or finding lost pets that didn’t take much time or require you to even leave the village. It was easy for everyone to find time to get together and hang out.

But as time passed, things changed. Everyone’s ranks were different, some people like Shikamaru took up more political roles in the village. It was easy to drift apart without even realizing it.

So tonight was one of those rare moments where the stars aligned and the old group was able to get together to hang out.

The venue of choice; a karaoke bar.

It was the first time you were all able to drink together… Well, legally at least.

“Thanks, Kiba.” You giggled, giving him a flirtatious wink as you took the drink he’d just bought you, sipping it. Did you like Kiba? No. But was he fun to flirt with? Absolutely. And if that flirting led to him wanting to buy your drinks for you, well, who were you to deny him?

Kiba was cute; that wasn’t the problem. Heck, most of the guys from the Leaf were cute and way too easy to get along with. You’d known them practically your whole life, grown up together even, but despite all their great qualities, it was only one shinobi who had your heart, and he didn’t even know it.

The first time you’d seen Lee was before the first test in the Chunin exams. He had easily taken on Naruto and Sasuke without batting an eye. He was so swift, so smooth, you’d watched him in awe. He was a bit eccentric, but had a focus and prowess you’d never experienced before. You thought he was amazing.

You were content to watch him from afar until the preliminaries. During his fight with Gaara, you’d held your breath, watched in horror and amazement as he took on the demon of the sand. You didn’t think you breathed once during that battle.

Lee lost, was almost killed by Gaara before Guy stopped him, but it was the best you’d ever seen someone fight in your life.

Timidly and nervously, you visited Lee in the hospital that day. He was unconscious, but in stable condition. You didn’t know what motivated you, but you began to visit every day, leaving flowers and small treats for Lee to wake up to.

When he finally had woken, you were trying to slink out of the room quietly when you heard him speaking, causing you to freeze in your tracks.

“Who are you?”

Apprehensively, you turned to face Lee with a small smile. You’d never been shy, but there was something about Lee that made you weak-kneed.

After introducing yourself, you went back to his bedside. “I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re very strong. You’re so skilled and quick; I think you’re the best ninja I’ve ever seen…”

You were only thirteen, didn’t have much experience in the ninja world, so the words you spoke were true. You didn’t know if telling him that, as a total stranger, would make him think you were weird.

Imagine your shock when Lee burst out in happy tears.

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

You supported Lee in his recovery, and even when he couldn’t go on missions himself, he cheered you on from the sideline.

From the very beginning, it was evident to everyone in the village that you were head-over-heels for Lee. Your quiet bashfulness when Lee was around was a stark contrast to your usual loud and confident self. Everyone knew about your crush.

Everyone except for Lee.

“Why don’t you just tell him?” Tenten asked you once. “You never know.”

But you’d only shaken your head. “He loves Sakura. Everyone knows that.” You told her. “Besides. We’re friends. I don’t want to ruin that friendship.”

So despite your friendliness, your flirtatious nature, and the fact that you could have just about any of the rookie nine wrapped around your finger if you so pleased, you weren’t interested in any of them.

Rock Lee was the only one that had your heart and he didn’t even know it. He never would.

Instead of focusing on that, or the cute way Lee’s cheeks went red after he took a shot, or how Lee spent a lot of time that night talking to Sakura, you took shots with Ino and Tenten and let Kiba buy you drinks and danced with Choji when he asked.

Overall, the night was going great. Everyone was having a good time and getting along and so far only Naruto had gotten just a little too drunk; everyone else was riding a nice buzz.

Shikamaru had just finished a less than enthusiastic rendition of “The Lazy Song” that had left everyone doubled over laughing at the irony. “Who should go next!?” Naruto yelled, looking around to see who still hadn’t sung a song.

And okay, maybe Naruto wasn’t the only one who had drank just a little too much. Watching Lee sit and laugh with Sakura the past hour had left you feeling just a tad bit jealous, leading you to drink more than you normally would. He’d barely said anything to you that, and the two of you were supposed to be friends.

“What’s so good about Sakura anyways? She’s really not that great.” You swished the liquid in your cup, mumbling the words you knew you would regret the next morning. Sakura had never been anything but nice to you; you knew she didn’t deserve to be the target of your jealousy.

Ino snickered. “Geez you’ve got it bad.” She commented with a roll of her eyes before hearing Naruto’s question. Her eyes lit up, and, grinning, she hurried to the microphone, looking through the book of songs available to sing. She flipped through for a moment or two before turning to Naruto and whispering something to him.

All of this escaped your attention as you were drowning in the misery of your own thoughts before you realized: everyone was chanting your name. You blinked, looking around to see everyone staring at you, pounding on tables and counters as they encouraged you to get up and sing.

Laughing, you shook your head nervously, not wanting to go embarrass yourself before Lee caught your eye. Even he was encouraging you to go up and perform. Well, if he wanted you to, then you would sing your heart out!

You downed two more shots before pushing to your feet, which was an obvious mistake.

The alcohol always hit hardest after you stood up.

“Woah, there.” Tenten laughed, standing to help you. Somehow, you made it to the stage. Naruto snickered as he passed you the microphone. He couldn’t wait to see this.

You held the microphone tightly in your hands as your eyes scanned the room with all your friends staring expectantly at you and cheering you on. You felt good. Really good. Your vision was blurry, head dizzy, stomach warm, and everything about you was giddy. It was your turn, and you were ready to make a statement.

Glancing at the screen, you saw the name of the song appear. Heart Attack by Demi Lovato.

“I’m gonna dedicate this song to someone very special to me,” You slurred into the microphone, giggling. Your friends in the crowd whooped and cheered as the music began.

“This one’s for you Lee!”

With that, you closed your eyes to block out the reactions of everyone and everything, and you sang. You sang your little heart out, put on the drunken performance of a lifetime. Your years of pent up feelings and nerves and fears surrounding Lee all went into that song.

As you sang the last word, you opened your eyes again, taking in everyone’s reaction. Glee, surprise, happiness. You were grinning; you’d killed it.

That was when your eyes landed on Lee. It was hard for you to gage his reaction. More than anything he looked… confused. And that was when the weight of what you’d just done settled on you. Oh shit.

You’d all but confessed your feelings for Lee… Drunkenly… In front of everyone.

The realization was all it took for you to sober up. Quickly, you shoved the microphone back into Naruto’s hands and fled the karaoke bar.

You weren’t really sure how you’d even made it home. Everything was kind of blurry. You remember running from the karaoke bar, a girl’s voice, probably Tenten’s, calling after you. You remember vomiting. A lot. That’s actually what you were doing now. You’d woken up with your head basically in the toilet.

You could have gone for some blissful moments where you didn’t remember what had caused you to sprint home from the bar, but alas, you couldn’t forget.

You’d confessed your years long crush through song.

How were you ever going to face Lee again?

You wouldn’t, you decided. You would spend the rest of your life in that house. You could have your groceries delivered, you weren’t going to need new clothes if you never went outside. You would just lay in your bed until you withered away into nothingness.

“You can’t stay in here forever,” Tenten rolled her eyes, tugging the blanket that you were hiding under off the bed.

“Watch me,” you whined in reply, holding a pillow over your head. “I totally embarrassed myself! He probably thinks I’m so lame!”

Tenten could only snicker at that. “Lee? Thinking you’re lame? Right.”

It took a bit of convincing, and you were basically kicking and screaming, but Tenten was able to drag you out of your home back into the real world. “No one’s going to care,” She assured you as the two of you walked. “We were all plastered. I’m sure no one will even remember!”

If only that were true.

“Hey!” Kiba called as he and Naruto approached you and Tenten. “Have you guys seen Lady Tsunade around here? I have this pain in my chest…”

Naruto grabbed Kiba’s arm in mock fear. “Oh no! Kiba, are you having a heart attack!?”

The two of them doubled over in hysterics; tears were even streaming down their faces. You could feel your face burning red in embarrassment. You’d never wanted to disappear so badly.

“Beat it you two!” Tenten snapped, grabbing your arm and pulling you away. “Ignore them! They’re idiots!”

Head buried in your hands, you shook your head. “God! How am I ever going to live this down! I’m going home!” You pulled out of Tenten’s grip. “I’m going to move villages, change my name, and make sure Lee never sees my face again!”

“Uh, well, if that’s the case you better run…” Tenten said awkwardly, nudging you. “Because Lee’s coming this way…”

And there he was. In his green jumpsuit, bowlcut and all, Lee was heading straight for you. God you were sure you were going to vomit again.

“Good morning Tenten,” Lee greeted, though nowhere near in his usual upbeat tone. “Would you mind giving us a moment alone?” He asked. Tenten glanced over at you nervously.

“Yeah… Sure Lee…”

“I do not understand it, Sakura.” Lee sighed, toying with the drink in his hands as his eyes were locked on you drinking and laughing with Tenten and Ino. “I have never had any issue telling you that I think you are beautiful. But with her… It is different.”

Sakura giggled, feeling the drink in her own veins. “Because, Lee. You like her like her. You should just tell her!” Even drunk, Sakura would never betray your trust by telling Lee the obvious; that you liked him as much as he liked you. But it was infuriating to sit on both sides listening to the two of you cry over your feelings day after day and not tell you!

Lee shook his head, taking a gulp from his drink. “I cannot. I am not like Guy Sensei, as much as I try to be. I am not cool or good looking. I do not think I am smooth. I do not know how to talk to a girl I like.”

It took everything in Sakura not to burst out laughing. Guy Sensei? Cool? Good looking? Smooth?

“This is ridiculous. How much longer do I have to hear about how great you think she is before you finally tell her?!”

Rock Lee could barely hear Sakura; he was zoned in on you. Everything about you entranced Lee from the very first time he saw you trying to sneak out of his hospital room. You were beautiful, of course. Your hair always seemed to fall just right. Your smile brightened up a room. The kindness in your heart radiated from you. He loved how confident and outgoing you were and that you had an energy that could match his.

It wasn’t like Lee hadn’t tried to tell you before. There were plenty of times when it was just the two of you that he was tempted, but he could never get it out. There just weren’t many people that he connected so easily with. Guy Sensei was his idol; he wanted to be just like his sensei! But that wasn’t the same as having a friend. Even with his teammates, there was a level of professionalism to it all--maybe thanks to Neji--that kept him from feeling like he could truly be understood.

But with you, everything was so easy. Laughing came easily, talking and opening up about the things he struggled with… There was a naturalness to it he’d never experienced before. He was terrified to lose it.

So that night at the karaoke bar, he sat with Sakura whining about the same thing he had been for months now instead of doing something about it. That wasn’t like Lee at all, but that was what you did to him. You made him so nervous he couldn’t even be him.

He was sure you knew his eyes were locked on you all night, ogling like a total weirdo. He’d barely even talked to you. He had hoped that the alcohol would loosen him up and spur him into action, but he’d just shut down even more, causing him to wallow in his own self pity.

Why couldn’t he be more like Kiba? He was over there, so smooth and cool, grinning and chatting you up and buying you drinks. Lee wanted to be that guy to you!

“Oh, look! She’s gonna sing next!” Sakura nudged Lee, nodding at the stage where you were grasping the microphone. You were clearly inebriated, and the redness in your cheeks just made you look all the cuter to him.

“I’m gonna dedicate this song to someone very special to me!” Lee’s heart dropped into his stomach. He couldn’t even hope that he would be the one that you would devote a song to. So when it was his name that had left your mouth, he sat in there in a state of shock. It wasn’t even dawning on him. Sakura shook his shoulder excitedly as you belt out the lyrics to Heart Attack.

“Lee, she’s singing to you!”

It just couldn’t process. Was it the alcohol? Was it the absolute surprise at what was happening? Whatever it was, by the time you had finished, Lee had continued to stare at you, open mouthed. It was only when you’d sprinted out of the bar that Lee had come to his senses.

He’d done his best to follow you, but he was drunker than he thought and had stumbled around just a little too long. By the time he’d gotten himself straightened out, you were long gone.

He’d stayed up all night long thinking about it, thinking about you.

The whole night, he turned it over and over again in his mind; what else could that have meant other than you liked him back? It was too good to be true! But it was true? Lee drove himself mad.

The goal with his walk wasn’t necessarily to find you. Moreso, he had just wanted to clear his head, maybe get advice from Guy Sensei. But he’d ran into you and Tenten before he could do any of that.

As Tenten gave the two of you space, he stared at you bashfully. The longer the silence went on, the redder his cheeks became. Just as he was getting up the courage to say something, you broke the ice.

“Lee, look. About last night… I’m sorry. That was so embarrassing! I was just so drunk and… I wasn't thinking straight.” You were rambling on nervously, scratching the back of your head and avoiding his gaze, acting like you wanted to laugh the whole thing off.

Lee nodded slowly, letting your words sink in. So… He had misread the whole thing, then? The thought hit him like a blow to the stomach, taking the breath straight out of him. That sucked. “Right, of course!” He said quickly. “It is okay, really. I had drunk a lot as well!”

How did he get out of here? Lee was tempted to drop the weights from his ankles and take off running as fast as he could.

The discomfort was plain on his face, though. You knew Lee well; you could tell something was wrong.

You had to drop your playful facade. You felt like you’d really screwed things up. “Are… Are you mad at me?” You finally asked him quietly.

The question startled Lee. He frowned, tilting his head. “Why would I be upset with you? You are my friend.” You could only shrug helplessly. You were sad and embarrassed and confused, and now Lee was upset. Of course you thought it was your fault. You didn’t know that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

The silence was heavy, making you sigh and shake your head. “Well, uh, I should go meet up with Tenten again…” You mumbled, staring at the floor. After this, she definitely couldn’t drag you out of your bedroom again.

You lifted your hand, waving goodbye before turning away. You didn’t get more than a step away before Lee was grabbing your arm, his body reacting quicker than his mind. “Wait. Please.”

Of course you stopped, turning back to face him. You were too fearful to be hopeful, unwilling to get excited for something that wouldn’t happen, but you held your breath anyways as you stared up at him.

“I was not completely honest. I am upset, it is just not with you…” When you didn’t respond, only continued to stare at him with those earnest eyes, he had no choice but continue. He dropped your arm, his hand going to nervously rub at the back of his neck instead. He didn’t know how to do this, but he had the feeling it was now or never.

“The truth is, yesterday when you sang that song, and you said you were dedicating it to me, I believed it was because you had feelings for me. So just now, when you said you were not thinking straight, it made me upset because I have feelings for you. I was hoping that you would tell me that you felt the same…”

You didn’t think you’d ever seen Lee so red before. It was like a cartoon, the way it creeped up from his chin all the way to his forehead, shooting up like a thermometer. You could only imagine that you looked the same. Your face felt like it was on fire.

It took a moment for it all to sink in. There was a pause before it dawned on you; Lee just confessed that he had feelings for you! He liked you! The giddiness sent trembles through you as you broke out into a huge grin that you couldn’t stop.

“Lee, you idiot!” You laughed, smacking his arm. “I do like you! That’s the whole reason I humiliated myself in front of everyone yesterday!”

You know that look that Lee gets when he’s happy? His pupils dilate, glistening like googly eyes. The blush dusts the tops of his cheeks, he even gets a bit teary eyed.

All classic Lee and exactly what you got after your confession.

“I cannot believe it!” He cried, pulling you into a hug and twirling you around without hesitation. Now that he had confirmation about how you felt, any inhibitions he had been harboring were gone just like that. He wasn’t going to waste another moment not showing you exactly how he felt. “I have wanted to tell you for so long! I just did not think you felt the same way! This is fantastic!”

Lee’s enthusiasm was as contagious as ever. It didn’t take long before you were hugging Lee back and laughing along with him. When he finally calmed down, Lee released you, taking your hands in his instead and grinning at you.

“So does this mean you will go on a date with me?”

“Is that you asking me?” You giggled. Lee nodded enthusiastically. “Then yes; of course I will.”

Lee pulled you into another hug. “Would you like to know something?” He questioned, giggling childishly, so of course you nodded. “I almost had a heart attack asking you that question!”

The groan was immediate as you pulled away, smacking your forehead. “Lee!” You whined, cringing in embarrassment. “I am also having a heart attack trying to work up the nerve to do this…” For a guy that was so fast, he moved agonizingly slow as he leaned down to press his lips to yours. A heart attack, huh? Yeah, you were never going to live that down. But if this was the price to pay, well then, you didn’t mind all that much.

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alch3mic · 3 years

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Beast or Prince's darling discovering their yandere tendencies? I'd love to see some drama go down

Strange how the twisting shadows of night made the estate halls feel so.. unfamiliar.

Those once pristine and well decorated walls that lured you into the estate so long ago now looked tainted by the darkness scrawled upon their surface, while the tile flooring felt even colder beneath your bare feet as you traversed the dim halls with nothing but a cellphone flashlight and the rain to keep you company.

Thunder and lightning crackled outside distantly, enlightening the hallways briefly in brilliant white flashes before plunging them back into the depths of obscurity. It, along with the deafening sounds of rain pattering against the windows, was enough to make your heart nearly pound right out of your poor chest.

.....

Was this some kind of classic horror movie set up or what?

Sheesh!

Talk about cliché! The only thing that was missing from this scene was some kind of terrible scary monster or knife wielding psycho lurking around the corner, and then you’d be the star of the next box office thriller!

At least the thought was funny enough to make you chuckle before another flash of lightning and crackling of thunder made you nearly jump out of your own skin.

...

.....Maybe.. you should’ve stayed in bed..

The thought of turning your butt right back around and just returning to your room was rather tempting.. but..

You had three burning questions in your mind that you just knew would keep you up all night if you turned back now.

Number one, what was that loud crashing sound that had woken you out of your dreams? You’re at least very certain it wasn’t thunder because the storm only started a few minutes after you left your bed.

Number two, why was the power out? Never, in all of your time of staying here, had the lights ever gone out like this. Papyrus once told you they ran on their own line out here on the estate with their own generators, separate from the city grid just so they could keep things on in case of a city wide power outage. So.. why? Why was the power out, even before this crazy storm even started? What happened?

And lastly.. number three..

....Where was Sans?

He had bunked with you in your room today after a late night of playing some video games together, but when you suddenly awoke he was... gone.

That had concerned you, because he wasn’t there when the crashing sound happened, which meant he left sometime before the storm started. It wasn't until you found his phone still placed upon your nightstand that your worries grew. He always kept his phone on him..

Now straddled with anxiety you gathered yourself before heading out in search of your boyfriend.

Just where in the world did he go?

.....

You checked your cell phone again.

...Still no service.

Dammit.

Great.. juuuust great.

...Maybe Sans' would..?

Nope.

That was a bust too.

You let out a huff of annoyance, even trying to wave his phone above your head in the hopes of getting a single bar of service, but it was to no avail.

There was another moment where you looked back to the hall you had just been wandering through, wondering if you really should just head back.. but..

It was foreign now.

You in all honesty had no idea where you were.

Like, you weren't even sure if you were in the west wing anymore, the once bright halls becoming like an endless labyrinth or darkness and spooky noises.

....

..Well, looks like your only choice now was to press on in hopes you’d find one of the brothers. The estate really was big, but they had to be somewhere..!

...Right..?

.........Right.

So onward you walked.

......

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Even the soft steps of your bare feet made eerie echoes that resounded with the quiet hum or rain.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Another flash of lightning and crackle of thunder, another small scare.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

A left..? Or maybe a right? Well that flower pot looked familiar at least. ...Maybe..? K-kind of?

.....

Alright maybe you were a little scared now.

How could you not be!?

Everything felt tense and haunting, your anxiety spiraling the more you wandered around in the dark! Maybe this was just a dream.. a weirdly realistic dream.. and you’d wake up to find yourself still nicely snuggled in bed with your bone friend all safe and soun-

Wait.

.....That was..

Oh! You recognized those doors! They led out to the garden!

That sinking feeling in your chest was replaced with a sense of hope as you finally gained a sense of your surroundings, taking a few hopeful steps forward.

BANG.

You nearly screamed as the double doors out to the garden swung open accompanied by a flash of lightning. Thankfully the light faded just in time for you to see..

"Sans!" you called out as your skeletal boyfriend stepped inside and shut the doors behind him.

You quickly approached, stopping just a few feet away.

"You're...!" you inhaled sharply, gazing upon him. "...Soaking wet!"

And also dressed.

No longer was he adorned in one of his cute sets of pajamas, but a clean white button up, dark pants, heavy boots and thick work gloves, all now sticking to his bones from being soaked by the rain.

A deep sigh came out from your boyfriend and he shook his head, drops of water twinkling as they caught the light before splattering to the floor, while other droplets were just encouraged to finish their run down his face.

"HEH. IT'S REALLY IS RAINING SOMETHING FIERCE," he muttered lightly. "I'M THANKFUL TO SEE THAT DAMNED SKY TUCKED AWAY SINCE IT'S BEEN SO SUNNY THESE PAST FEW WEEKS BUT.. WHAT TERRIBLE TIMING."

You closed the distance between you two, stopping once more right before him and looked up and down in worry.

"Are you-" you began, but he merely reached out to gently catch your chin in his gloved hand.

It felt wet and cold, sending shivers down your spine.

"I'M ALRIGHT DEAREST," Sans chuckled, his eyelights roaming over your face.

"..Really?"

The ever so familiar hearts in his eyelights seemed to grow a bit bigger as he looked at you, his hand leaving your chin to carefully brush a few strands of hair.

"REALLY," he confirmed.

You found yourself shivering once more as his cold gloved fingers lightly lingered on your cheek before he fully retracted his hand and began pulling his gloves off.

"AND WHAT ABOUT YOU MY DEAR? ARE YOU ALRIGHT? IT'S QUITE DANGEROUS TO BE WANDERING AROUND SO LATE ESPECIALLY IN THE DARK."

"..I'm fine," you said, your hand reaching inside your pocket to pull out his phone. "I just.. woke up to a crashing noise and you weren't there. Then I saw your phone and it started raining like crazy and the lights wouldn't turn on so I got.."

You flushed a bit when he smiled at your ramblings.

"..Worried."

"HEH. THOUGHT I DO APPRECIATE YOUR CONCERNS MY SWEET, YOU SHOULD NEVER WORRY ABOUT ME," he chuckled, taking his phone. "I'M HERE TO PROTECT YOU, ALWAYS."

He didn't even give the device a look over before stashing it into his wet pocket, shoving his gloves into another one and began rolling up his sleeves and loosening his collar.

A strange silence fell for a moment as you both stood there, a small flame being ignited in your chest as you watched him move.

"..Sans?"

"YES, DEAREST?"

"Is everything really okay?" you asked quietly, your hand scrunching up the fabric at the end of your pajama t-shirt.

"OF COURSE!" he said, giving you one heck of a cute smile. "...WELL, I MEAN.. THE POWER IS STILL OUT AND I AM SOAKED TO THE BONE, BUT YES EVERYTHING IS FINE MY LOVE."

....

"...You're lying to me, aren't you..?"

....

Sans didn't say another word, instead just keeping that impossibly sweet smile swept over his features as he stopped unbuttoning his collar and looked at you for a moment.

His silence was calculated, just like his expression and his movements. For he knew that if he spoke anything more, you'd catch on more to the underlying anger in his tone.

It was the exact kind of anger that always stuck around after something happened.

You've.. gotten better at hearing it over the months that you've become closer to him.

At picking up the emotions he hid behind that princely charm and smiles.

It's how you could tell that things were absolutely not alright.

That he was lying to you.

...Again.

Once again you were being kept in the dark about something.

Once again Sans was covering your eyes from seeing clearly.

Why..?

Even though the two of you had grown so close. Even though you've swore to him to the moon and back that he could trust you. Even though you promised..!

Why does he still..!?

.....

He offered his hand to you, catching your eye before you looking back up at him. That smile of his turned just a bit fonder, and he merely tilted his head in a quiet encouragement for you to take his offer.

Stand your ground.

Don't let him do this!

Not again!

....

Quietly you took his hand, the feeling of his bones damp and clammy against your warmed skin from having your fists clenched so tightly before.

He bent in, and placed a tender kiss upon your check, making you shiver from the cold water that trickled on to your neck and shoulder.

Then he pulled back out, giving you one more loving smile before taking a step, and then another..

And you did the same, following as he led you away from those double doors out to the garden and back into the blackened halls from whence you came.

His boots squeaked against the marbled floorings and loose raindrops continued to descend down his skull, followed by the soft patter of your feet as he led you without another word.

...Again.

Again you were.. too afraid to say anything. The words came bubbling up your throat, threatening to break free at any moment.

But you kept your mouth shut tight.

You were afraid....

Of what the truth might be.

Of this fairytale that you so desperately sought and now finally had.. falling to pieces.

Of who your Prince Charming might really be.

Was he really the soft, sweet and lonely skeleton you saw beyond all of the make believe? Or was he..?

.....

Another distant flash and strike of thunder, and once again the halls were enlightened.

Your gaze dipped only for a second from Sans' back, enough to catch a bare glimpse of something before it became dark once more.

....

That..

Couldn't have been right..

..Right?

Something like that... shouldn't be...

.....

..No..

Your eyes were certainly not deceiving you.

You know what you saw.. without question, even in the passing light.

For at the very edges of Prince's dampened white shirt.

...Was red.

"DEAREST."

"Y-yes?"

"JUST REMEMBER, I LOVE YOU VERY, VERY MUCH... AND THAT EVERYTHING WILL BE ALRIGHT."

check out my other writings | feel free to drop me a ko-fi!

#you should've known better #to leave your room so late at night #but sometimes your curiosity and concern get the better of you #it'll be alright #prince!sans #sans #undertale #underswap #underswap sans #us sans #sans x reader #reader insert #undertale au #drabble #yandere #yandere sans #wickedtale #alch!writes #anon

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swan-of-sunrise · 3 years

Text

Specs and the Flyboy (Chapter Nineteen-Part Three)

Summary: (Y/N), Jack and their friends finally face off against Leviathan and the Secret Empire.

Pairing: Jack Thompson X Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: Ya girl wrote this while dealing with sleep deprivation, cramps and the after effects of the vaccine, so I hope it’s good ‘cause at this point I can’t even tell lol Thank you all so much for reading! I hope that you enjoy!

Chapter Nineteen (Part III) Leviathan’s Weapons Facility, Lithuanian Soviet Socialist Republic (Previous Chapter)

While the two of them were ushered down the staircase that led into the crate-filled warehouse by Michael and Dottie, (Y/N)’s mind raced as she struggled to think of a way out of their current conundrum. I’ve been in plenty of tough scrapes before but even I’ll admit that this one’s the toughest one yet, she thought to herself, her eyes rapidly scanning the large room; there were large, frost-covered windows towards the ceiling, several boarded-up skylights and the two metal doors she spotted were both guarded by Leviathan soldiers. By the time they reached the base of the stairs, (Y/N) had counted a total of twenty armed enemy operatives – seventeen Leviathan guards, Attwell, Underwood and Michael Carter – and from the brief glimpse she’d gotten of their friends hidden behind a stack of crates, it looked as though both Pinkerton and Sawyer were badly injured and the others were trying to bandage their blood-soaked wounds. So, we’re out-gunned and out-numbered, she concluded with a sinking feeling as she bit her lip in worry.

“So, Chief Thompson did survive his daring escape!” Attwell grinned, walking out into the empty space amidst the crates and standing before the two of them. “Truth be told, I was hoping that we’d meet again; I detest leaving loose ends, and killing the SSR’s golden boy once and for all would’ve been a genuine pleasure.”

Beside (Y/N), Jack’s shoulders tensed but he tilted his head to the side in mock contemplation. “What, you couldn’t do it without your Leviathan goons backing you up? What a real tough guy.”

Attwell’s fist quickly connected with Jack’s stomach and when he doubled over in pain, the man struck him across the face and sent him sprawling to the ground. “Stop it!” (Y/N) started towards her partner but the sudden feeling of a pistol barrel against the back of her neck stopped her cold; tearing her eyes away from Jack, she met Attwell’s gaze and struggled to keep her voice steady as she spoke, “He’s not the one who’s screwing up your deal with Leviathan, I am.”

“Of course, of course, the infamous codebreaker.” Attwell stepped closer but she held her ground, raising her chin in defiance and refusing to look away despite how uncomfortable his stare made her feel. After a tension-filled moment, his face broke out into a stomach-churning smirk. “It’s a shame that such promising talent’s being squandered by the SSR, by those who dismiss and condescend you at every turn. I was very much like you before joining Hydra; I was overshadowed at Cambridge by my perfect older brother and his two brilliant flatmates; while William, Michael and Adam flourished in their respective fields of study, I floundered and was subsequently expelled but as luck would have it, I was approached by Hydra and offered a chance to unlock my true potential; and here I stand before you, Agent (Y/L/N), to offer you that very-same chance. With the new Leviathan, your immeasurable skills would not only be recognized but they’d also be celebrated. You and Michael could work side-by-side in our efforts to break through as the world’s leading superpower and once we achieve our goal of fully weaponizing Zodiac, Agent (Y/L/N), you’ll have everything you’ve ever truly desired.”

Out of the corner of her eye, (Y/N) noticed Jack’s hand resting on his waist and while Attwell talked, her partner’s index finger had tapped away. It only took her seconds to realize he was sending out a message in Morse Code on the walkie-talkie still clipped onto his belt and once she did, she knew exactly what she needed to do.

“You know, it’s a good thing you’re decent at codebreaking, Specs, ‘cause you’d make a pretty shit spy. You fidget too much.”

If Jack can think up an off-the-cuff plan to get us out of this mess then I can buy us all a little time by being a good spy, she thought with resolve just as Attwell finished up his speech. Taking a page out of her partner’s book, (Y/N) raised an incredulous brow at the man as the corner of her mouth curled into a humorless smile. “There was a time when I would’ve given just about anything for people to recognize me and my skills, to appreciate just how hard I’ve worked to get where I am today. But then I grew up and realized that the only person whose appreciation I needed was my own. Mr. Attwell, I don’t need to be celebrated or appreciated by anyone, but especially not by a pathetic imitation of the Red Skull.”

The man’s expression instantly grew cold at the comparison. “Then it would seem that you’re of no use to us.” His gaze shifted to look at whoever was holding her at gunpoint and he nodded. “Shoot her, Michael.”

“Stop!” All of them looked over just as Peggy jumped out from behind their makeshift barricade with her rifle pointed directly at Attwell. “I’ll give you the key.”

“Peggy, no!” The barrel of the pistol pressed harder into (Y/N)’s neck and she winced in pain. However, her horror was quickly replaced with dawning comprehension when Peggy flashed her a pointed look before briefly glancing in Jack’s direction. She knows about whatever Jack’s planning, she silently realized, playing along with her old friend’s ruse by rearranging her features into a look of righteous indignation.

Moving to stand beside Attwell, Dottie raised the hand that wasn’t holding her rifle and gave the younger woman a small wave. “Hiya, Peggy. You know, you really should’ve listened to me back in New York; I told you there were currencies in the world stronger than money. I practically spelled all of this out for you! But the great Peggy Carter couldn’t figure it all out on her own, so she needed the help of…” Dottie turned to (Y/N) with a frown. “What’re those revolting nicknames you call each-? Oh, never mind, I don’t want to know.” Turning back to Peggy, the spy shrugged. “Well, I suppose not everyone’s perfect, are they?”

“No, they’re certainly not.” Attwell agreed, gesturing with his head for Peggy to lower her weapon and holding out his hand once she’d set it on the ground. “No tricks, Agent Carter. The key, and you and your friends are free to go; it appears that at least one of them is in need of medical attention, so I’d be quick about it if I were you.” When Peggy’s eyes flicked over to where Michael was standing behind (Y/N), Attwell chuckled darkly and shook his head. “No, I don’t think dear old Michael’s going anywhere but by all means, Agent, go ahead and ask him if you don’t believe me.”

For the first time since they were ushered into the warehouse, Peggy looked directly at her older brother. Her hardened expression slipped and for the briefest of moments, (Y/N) recognized the vulnerable young woman she’d known all those years ago at Bletchley Park who mourned her beloved brother’s death. While her lower lip trembled, Peggy finally addressed Michael. “Not too long ago, I had a dream about you and you told me that you’d be right alongside me if you could. I didn’t believe it was possible, even when (Y/N) and Jack told me it was, but now we have a second chance at being a family again. Michael, you can finally come home.” She blinked away her tears and gave him the ghost of an encouraging smile. “Please, Michael, come home with me.”

(Y/N) could feel the pressure on her neck ease up but just as she was beginning to think that Peggy had succeeded in getting through to him, Michael coolly replied, “This is my family, Agent, the only family I have in this world.”

Peggy’s face crumpled as Attwell laughed in amusement. “I told you so! Now, the key for your friends.”

God, I hope that whatever Jack’s planning happens sooner rather than later, (Y/N) silently prayed, sucking in a breath while the younger woman approached Attwell. Once Peggy reached into her pocket and withdrew the familiar Arena Club pin, the man looked over at Dottie and gave her a nod; the spy slung the strap of her rifle over her shoulder and made her way over to one of the many wooden crates near them, kicking the lid off of it and lifting a small metal box out of the loose excelsior. The box looked innocent enough but as Dottie walked it over to Attwell, (Y/N)’s blood ran cold and she knew that the moment Peggy handed over that key, Leviathan would possess one of the world’s deadliest weapons and they’ll have lost.

“Get up, Chief Thompson,” Michael barked and while Jack got to his feet, (Y/N) was roughly pushed towards him. “And you, stand over there with him.”

(Y/N) did as he said, standing beside Jack and keeping her eyes on the scene unfolding before them as she murmured, “You okay?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Peachy-keen.” She watched Dottie hand the metal box over to Attwell, her anxiety steadily building within her while he examined the box’s intricate lock. “Are you going to fill me in on the plan or what?”

The corner of Jack’s mouth curled upwards and he quietly replied, “Patience is a virtue, Specs, just be ready for it.”

“Be ready for wha-?”

Just then as Peggy’s hand stretched out to give Attwell the Arena Club pin, the warehouse wall opposite them exploded. Rubble and splintered pieces of crates flew through the air but before (Y/N) could fully react, gunfire broke out all around them. Amidst the chaos, Jack latched onto (Y/N)’s hand and ran, yanking her behind the nearest tower of crates as bullets whizzed past their heads; both of them crouched on the ground and peeked around the wooden crates, and her eyes widened in amazement at what she saw. The explosion that had knocked down part of the warehouse wall hadn’t been an explosion at all but rather one of the Howlies’ trucks and as (Y/N) watched, Daniel and Henry used the truck’s doors as barriers while they exchanged fire with the Leviathan guards. Moments later, she spotted Peggy dart out from one of the aisles to join her boyfriend behind the open truck door.

“Wa-Hoo!”

Dugan’s deafening war cry from across the warehouse was punctuated by a fresh barrage of gunfire, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but revel at the familiarity of it all; her eyes were suddenly drawn to two men sprinting down the aisle towards her and Jack, and it took her a tense moment to recognize them through all the chaos.

“There you guys are!” Howard exclaimed before ducking down beside them, followed closely by an anxious-looking Edwin Jarvis. Reaching into the satchel that was slung over his shoulders, the inventor withdrew two handguns and offered the weapons to them. “You know, you two’ve got a real habit of gettin’ into trouble…”

Jack rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Says the man who was mind-controlled into almost gassing all of New York last year.” Springing up, he fired off several shots before ducking back down. “How’re we looking, Jarvis?”

“Well, Chief Sousa’s dramatic entrance provided enough of a distraction for Mr. Fieldman to escort Mr. Pinkerton and Mr. Sawyer out the front; their wounds aren’t life-threatening, but Mr. Fieldman promised he’d help treat them once they reach the clearing.” The butler set another satchel on the ground in front of them. “And we’ve brought more guns and ammunition, as per your request.”

“You know, Thompson, you said in your message that you needed a big diversion, but that whole entrance was my idea; I actually took it from one of my studio’s newest scripts, where a gangster steals-”

“Of course, Mr. Stark, your genius knows no bounds.” Edwin hurriedly interrupted the inventor’s rambling, glancing over at (Y/N) with his brow furrowed in worry. “And have you broken Mr. Carter out of his brainwashing? Where is he?”

Looking around the edge of the crate, (Y/N)’s heart dropped when noticed that several important people were missing from the gunfight. “Where the hell did they go, Jack?”

Jack craned his neck to see what she was looking at and swore loudly. “Shit, I-wait, they’re on the stairs!” By the time (Y/N) spotted them, Attwell, Dottie and Michael had reached the top of the stairs and had disappeared around the corner. “Jarvis, stay here with Stark and cover us, then go help the others.” Edwin nodded and her partner turned towards her, his blue eyes scanning her face for any signs of trepidation as he asked, “Are you ready, Specs?”

“As I’ll ever be,” (Y/N) pulled an extra ammunition magazine out of the satchel and tucked it into her pocket before giving Jack a determined nod. “Let’s finish this once and for all, Flyboy.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Compared to the chaotic warehouse they’d come from, the rest of the facility was eerily silent and it wasn’t at-all difficult to follow the footsteps of the fleeing trio through the deserted hallways.

“You know that this is probably a trap, right?”

“Naturally.”

“Good. Just wanted to make sure that we’re both on the same page.”

Before (Y/N) could get another word in, a figure she soon recognized as Dottie dropped down from above them and began attacking; the spy kicked the guns out of their hands, ramming her knee into (Y/N)’s stomach and knocking the wind out of her before spinning and using her leg to slam Jack into the wall beside them. (Y/N) took advantage of Dottie’s momentary distraction and aimed a side-kick at her thigh, but the spy merely turned her sharp fall into a somersault; she stood and threw a punch that (Y/N) was quick to duck, and then she grabbed the spy’s extended arm with the intent of wrenching it behind her back. Dottie predicted the move, yanking her arm free only to wrap her hand around her throat and roughly shove her back against the wall.

The back of (Y/N)’s head erupted into a sharp pain while Dottie flashed her a condescending smile. “I already told you, you’re too easy! It’s almost pathetic to see you try so hard to be as good as Peggy.”

“Don’t need to be as good as Peggy,” (Y/N) choked out as the fingers around her throat tightened. “Just…just good enough to keep you distracted.”

Dottie frowned in confusion and that’s when Jack slammed the butt of his gun against the back of her head. The spy tumbled to the ground in an unconscious heap and (Y/N) doubled over, her hands firmly clutching her knees as she coughed and gasped for air. “(Y/N), you okay?” She nodded and allowed Jack to take hold of her shoulders, his soothing encouragements helping her finally regain her breath; once he was sure that she was fine, her partner handed over her dropped gun and rested his hand against the small of her back to urge her forward. “C’mon, let’s go…”

They left the motionless spy behind and continued down the hallway, turning the corner and finding themselves at the entrance of a dimly-lit boiler room. Beside (Y/N), Jack shuddered and she recalled the story he’d told her of the mission he and Peggy had conducted to investigate one of Leviathan’s training facilities; she nudged him with her elbow and gave him a brief smile, wishing that she could offer him more comfort but not wanting to distract them both from their mission. Jack nodded as if to say he was fine, but his shoulders remained tense while he silently gestured for her to go left into the room while he went right.

(Y/N) crept behind the various boilers and pipes, careful not to slip on the slick ground as she did. If I end up surviving all this, I think I’m going to sleep for a week straight, she thought to herself, her heart rate steadily increasing with each step she took. While she edged herself around another heavy piece of industrial furnacing, she found herself trying to think of how to break Michael out of his mind-control long enough to save him; Jack insisted that cognitive re-calibration was the only way but after being present for Peggy and Michael’s reunion, she wondered if reminding him of his past or even recent actions would also do the trick. But a sharp skid noise right behind her made her forget her train of thought and turn, dodging the knife just in time.

“You really should’ve taken my offer, Agent (Y/L/N),” Attwell spat out, slashing at her with the knife again and forcing her to stumble back into the center aisle of the boiler room; the blade sliced against her forearm and she stifled her cry of pain, dropping her gun and leaping out of the way as he aimed for her again. “Soon, you and your foolish friends will be dead and Leviathan will have more power than you could possibly imagine!”

“Don’t you ever get tired of hearing your own damn voice?” (Y/N) retorted, her hand shooting out and twisting the red-colored knob beside them; a pipe next to Attwell spewed out pressurized steam and he let out a shriek of pain as the steam enveloped the right side of his face. Not wanting to stick around, she turned and sprinted further into the vast room, a part of her hoping that she’d bought herself enough time to save Michael. Skidding around a corner, she was immediately met with the sight of Jack and Michael engaged in a vicious fight on the floor; her partner was trying to wrestle something out of the other man’s closed fist, but he was so preoccupied with his task that he didn’t see Michael’s other hand brush the handle of a nearby gun. (Y/N) kicked the gun away from him, pinning his shoulder to the ground with her knee and spoke the first thing that came to mind. “Visions, light, cheered, night, dream!”

As she finished reciting the five words he’d used to encode his final message to Peggy, something shifted in Michael’s dark eyes and his clenched fist relaxed, allowing Jack to snatch the Arena Club pin from him. Before any of them could say or do anything more, a fiery ache erupted along her shoulder blade and she cried out in pain as she pitched forward. “(Y/N)!” Jack looped his arms underneath hers and dragged her over to half-lean against a pipe; her vision was partially clouded by the pain, but she could still make out the bloody knife he’d just pulled out of her upper back and tossed onto the ground beside them. “No, no, don’t look at that, just keep your eyes on me!” He pressed his trembling hand tight against the wound and when she nearly whimpered, he held the side of her face with the other and frantically nodded, his blue eyes steadily filling with panic that he struggled to control. “I-I know it hurts, baby, but I have to keep pressure on it; it’s not very deep, but I can’t have you fainting right now so keep your eyes on me, c’mon-”

“How touching,” Both of them looked up to see Attwell and Michael standing before them, the former with a self-satisfied smirk on his half-seared face and the latter staring stonily down at them. “Let’s make a new deal, Chief Thompson: Give me the key, and I won’t let Agent (Y/L/N) slowly bleed out on the floor of this boiler room.”

“Bastard.” Jack spat back, but his hand left (Y/N)’s face long enough to retrieve the Arena Club pin from his pocket and throw it into Attwell’s waiting hand. “You better start lookin�� over your shoulder now, Attwell, ‘cause I won’t rest until I kill you myself.”

Attwell shrugged and ran his fingers over the pin, twisting it sharply to convert it into a key. “Such fiery attitude in the face of doom was precisely why I was looking forward to killing you. But then I realized, forcing a man like you to live with your mistakes is a far worse punishment than death; and to make this victory sweeter, I plan on unlocking Zodiac in front of you both, so you can see just how spectacularly you failed yourselves, your agency and your country.” He turned to Michael with his brow raised in expectation. “Are you ready to make history, old chap?”

Michael nodded. “Of course…” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the metal box containing Zodiac; (Y/N) tried getting up, unwilling to sit back and let Leviathan win, but Jack’s strong arms held her in place against him. When she met his gaze, he gave her a barely-discernible head shake and with her jaw clenched tight, she watched Attwell push the key into the lock and turn it clockwise; the lid popped open and the man breathed a sigh of relief, reaching into the slightly-smoking box and holding an electric-blue colored vial with strange etchings carved into the glass.

“Beautiful, isn’t it? So much potential for war and destruction, and it fits within the palm of my hand.” Attwell looked up at Michael and continued, “My brother never appreciated such things, you know. He never truly appreciated you, either; once you were found out to be a deep-cover spy for the SOE, I saw an opportunity to mold you into the person you were always meant to be. Do you remember the first thing I told you after you came out of Hydra’s operating room?”

Michael’s hardened expression faltered, almost as if he was struggling to control his actions, and in an instant, he drew his gun and shot Attwell directly in the chest. There were tears in his eyes as he finally replied, “‘Michael, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’”

The box and the vial slipped out of the dying man’s hands and as he began to sway dangerously on his feet, (Y/N) lunged forward and caught both in her hands before they could hit the ground. While Attwell’s lifeless body collapsed to the ground in a heap, she and Jack hurriedly placed the deadly Zodiac back into the box and slammed the lid closed; she let out a shaky breath, unable to grasp everything that had just happened. Michael dropped to his knees, tossing his gun to the side and rubbing his head with one hand; still mindful of her now-oozing wound, Jack held her a little closer as they both warily watched the unsteady man turn away from Attwell’s body to look at them. “I-It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Agent (Y/L/N). I’m Michael Carter, SOE.”

A smile slowly stretched across (Y/N)’s face and a sense of relief was beginning to wash over her as a familiar voice called throughout the boiler room. “(Y/N)? Jack?”

“We’re back here, (Y/N) needs some medical attention but we’re okay!” Jack called back, meeting (Y/N)’s gaze and flashing her a lopsided grin. “You’re gonna be fine, Specs, you hear me?” With a relieved chuckle, Jack leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her sweat-covered brow before resting his cheek on the top of her head. “We’re all gonna be fine.”

“Hey!” The first person who rounded the corner was Daniel, whose gun was already at the ready when he pointed it at Michael. “Hey, get the hell away from them!”

Jack held out a placating hand to the chief. “Easy, Danny Boy, he’s good right now; he’s the one who killed Attwell.”

Lowering his gun, Daniel limped over to where they sat against the pipe and knelt down as best he could to examine her knife wound. “Looks like the knife missed everything important, thank goodness. What the hell happened down here?”

Jack detailed everything they’d dealt with after hurrying out of the warehouse as their friends joined them; Edwin began treating her various wounds with Henry’s assistance, Howard carefully stowed the box containing Zodiac and its key into a satchel and Dugan worked on locating a weak point in the wall to blow a quick exit for them. There was a flurry of voices and activity surrounding (Y/N), but all her attention was on Peggy and Michael; they were talking to each other in low tones, Michael looking heartbreakingly unsure and Peggy trying her hardest not to cry, until they both surged forward and hugged one another. For the second time that day, (Y/N) was reminded of Freddie but while she watched the Carter siblings finally reunite, she didn’t feel sadness or envy, but rather pride. She was proud of herself, for having helped stop Leviathan’s plans and for having made-do on her promise to reunite her oldest and dearest friend with her beloved brother. If anyone deserves a second chance at happiness it’s those two, she thought to herself, taking a deep breath and resting her head against Jack’s strong shoulder.

They did it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Only one more chapter left!! Like I said, idk how I feel about this chapter as a whole so I’m sorry if there’s mistakes/it’s bad, but next week’s is gonna be great! Thank you guys so much for reading! If you haven’t checked it out yet, I created a Spotify playlist for this series and it’s linked down below!

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21pWY7OiMFj8LaYpxhtVtW

Chapter Twenty

“Specs and the Flyboy” Masterlist

Tagging: @nnon-it-up @fluffymadamina @remmyswritings @ourstarsailor @darkusangelus @josis-teacup @marvel-jackt-loki-buck @yeetyeetchickenmeat @sameoldbaby @theserenityspace @seeing-but-not-observing @supervoldejaygent @momc95 @brooke0297 @kinda-c0nfused @outoftheregular

#jack thompson x reader #agent carter #jack thompson #peggy carter #daniel sousa #howard stark #edwin jarvis #dum dum dugan #pinky pinkerton #happy sam sawyer #the howling commandos #michael carter #dottie underwood #marvel cinematic universe #strategic scientific reserve

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clareguilty · 3 years

Text

In Vino Sacrificium

Read it here on the AO3!

Thanks to Stella for helping me with the Latin! Lady Alcina Dimitrescu/Unnamed Maiden Rating: Explicit | Warnings: dubcon, drugging, erotic horror, power imbalance, the works Word Count: ~2400

The summons came late at night. Just as they had the night she left home. The heavy sound of heels on stone like an echo of the pounding on the wooden door in the dead of winter. It was past midnight, and the other girls had all gone to sleep, but she was awake, waiting.

Her time at the castle had been short -- for surely tonight would be her last. Spring had not even yet come, and she had only arrived in the darkest days of winter. It was not uncommon for the young women of the village to be summoned to Castle Dimitrescu in service of the Mistress, and it was not uncommon for them to never be heard from again.

She had not wanted to go. The castle was unwelcoming, dark and foreboding, with endless spires that disappeared into the mist. Every girl that had entered the castle had disappeared, and no amount of pleading from the village would give them answers.

But there was no denying the Lady Dimitrescu. She had sent men in the night, through the wind and snow, just to take her from her bed and bring her to the castle.

Louder and louder the footsteps approached. The door opened, heavy wood scraping across the stone floor. A few of the other girls stirred in their sleep as candlelight flickered from the hall.

Lady Daniela. Her painted black lips curled into a wicked gleam when she found exactly who she was searching for sitting on the side of the bed. Waiting.

“Mother wants to speak with you,” she said.

The Mistress of Dimitrescu herself. The maiden’s blood turned to ice in her veins. It was as bad as she feared. She had been berated on many occasions by the young ladies of the house for her missteps. Among all of the girls who worked at Dimitrescu Castle, she was among the weakest, frail and clumsy. Her frequent mistakes had made her an easy target for the sisters and their wicked punishments.

But she had never been brought before Mistress Dimitrescu before. And now she knew her fate.

Those bottles. Those damn bottles. Dark glass gleaming in the firelight. The kegs and decanters. The sly smiles of the ladies as they brought their goblets to their lips. Underneath the thick, sweet aroma there was no masking the metallic smell.

Sanguis Virginis. She had uncovered their secret. It wasn’t very well hidden to begin with, but she had refused to see that which was right in front of her until she had no other choice.

And when the Mistress had demanded a drink, asked her to fetch a glass, her hands had shook so badly with the knowledge of just what she was serving.

The bottle had crashed against the tile. Red spilling across the floor. She had cut herself on the glass trying to clean it, and could not even see where her blood had mixed with the wine.

And now she was to die. There was no forgiveness for wasting The Mistress’s precious wine. She would make up for what she had spilled by becoming the next harvest.

Numbly, she followed Lady Daniela up to the Mistress’s private chambers. The stone and wood of the servants wing gave way to dark wood and smooth tile and then to gilded filigree. Lady Daniela was quiet, but she did not bother to hide her gleeful expression. She would delight in whatever torment awaited the young maiden. Among all of the sisters, she was always the cruelest.

She pushed open the double doors to the Mistress’s chamber, and the maiden took a few tentative steps inside.

Mistress Dimitrescu was sitting in front of the fire. Even sitting on the sofa, she was eye level to the maiden. She remembered the first time she had seen the Mistress after coming to the castle, the fear and awe she had felt. Tall enough that she had to kneel to pass through any door. Pale, white skin. Her senses were more keen than anyone the maiden had ever met. She couldn’t be mortal, but that was impossible. Just like everything else at the castle.

Lady Dimitrescu stood as the maiden entered; her white silk dressing gown looked much softer than the stiff fabric of the maidservant’s dress. She was breathtaking, silky black hair curling around her jaw, bright golden eyes. Skin like porcelain, smooth as the silk she wore. Even without her dark makeup and painted lips, she was powerful, intimidating.

“Mistress,” the maiden bowed low. Surely the racing of her heart was audible to the Mistress, who seemed to hear and see everything that happened on the castle grounds.

“Little one,” Mistress Dimitrescu’s voice was melodic and saccharine, pitying. Far from the shrill, gleeful giggles of her daughters.

“Leave us, My Daughter, I would like a word with our little one here.” Her words surprised the maiden, who was sure that her punishment would be a public affair.

Lady Daniela huffed. Clearly she was anticipating the same. Still, she obeyed the orders of her mother.

The door clicked shut, and Mistress Dimitrescu sat back on the white sofa. She delicately patted the seat next to her. “Come sit.”

The maiden did as she was told, carefully sitting on the edge of the cushion, stiff and awkward as she kept her eyes to the floor.

“The girls tell me you’ve had a hard time adjusting to life in the castle,” she said.

There was nothing the maiden could do but nod, her voice was trapped in her throat. She was certain the Mistress was going to kill her. Whatever terrible process created that horrible elixir, she was soon to find out.

“It can be hard to get used to such a change, but you have shown a lot of potential.” She recrossed her legs, silk swishing with the motion. “You’ve made a few mistakes, and that has cost us, but you can always repay the damage.”

The maiden shuddered. She didn’t want to know how much that bottle was worth. The acrid smell still burned in the back of her throat. It had taken hours to scrub the stains from her skin.

“Worry not,” Mistress Dimitrescu cooed. “You have everything you need.” She plucked a bottle from the side table, it looked so small in her hands. The sight made the maiden wince.

“Don’t be afraid.” She insisted again. She set two crystal goblets on the low table before the sofa. The pop of the cork did little to ease the maiden’s nerves, nor did the sound of the thick liquid pouring into the glasses. “It’s hard to know just how wonderful it is until you’ve had a taste.”

She picked up her own glass, swirling the dark liquid before taking a drink. Her dark eyes watched the maiden over the rim of the glass.

“Come, my dear. You do remember you have to make up for the bottle that you broke.” She leaned in closer, pale lips now stained with red. “Do as I say, and drink. It’s a rare honor for one such as you to taste the pride of the Dimitrescu name.”

The maiden nodded, but still didn’t reach for the glass. Her eyes were wide, fingers pressed into her thighs. Mistress Dimitrescu tapped her tongue to the back of her teeth. “I see,” she mused. She brought the glass to her lips once more, and reached forward for the young maiden. She wrapped her fingers over the back of her neck and tilted her head back, squeezing her jaw until her lips parted.

The Mistress leaned in, pressing her lips to the maiden’s and licking into her mouth. Her tongue was still coated in the damned drink. The young maiden had no choice but to drink from the kiss, moaning and struggling gently against her hold. She knew it was futile.

The drink was potent, heady. The flavor burned on her tongue and in her throat, thick and sticky. Mistress Dimitrescu moaned soft and low. “That’s a good girl,” she crooned as she pulled away. “Isn’t it wonderful? My pride and joy -- aside from the girls of course.” She watched the maiden’s eyes, watched her cheeks flush and her pupils widen. A drop of wine slipped from the corner of her lips and The Mistress licked it up carefully.

Not releasing her hold on the girl, she brought her own glass to the maiden’s lips. “Don’t spill, little one.”

Unable to do anything else, the maiden drank. Her eyes fluttered shut as the liquid burned through her. It was terrifying -- how quickly the wine took its hold. When The Mistress finally pulled away she was breathless and dizzy.

“That’s a good girl.” The words only heated her blood more, and she gazed at Lady Dimitrescu with adoration and want.

“Mistress…” she whispered, “may I have some more?”

Mistress Dimitrescu chuckled, low and warm. “Not just yet.” She pulled the maiden to her, practically lifting her off the sofa so she could bring their lips together. This time, the maiden was eager, seeking out that strange flavor on her Mistress’s tongue.

She let the maiden succumb to the drink, running her hands over her skin and digging her fingers into her hips. When the poor girl finally pulled away for breath she was panting and flushed, desperate for anything The Mistress would give her.

“Now, now,” The Mistress soothed her, stroking her face gently with her long, delicate fingers. “It’s time you began your repayment.”

She gently lowered the young girl so she was on the floor before her, kneeling at her feet. Slowly, she untied the fasten of her dressing gown, delighting in how the maiden’s eyes stayed transfixed on the motion of her hands. The silk parted, revealing the soft expanse of her breasts and stomach. She was a venus of the underworld.

The mistress pulled the dressing gown aside, uncrossing her legs and parting her thighs. She was completely bare. Wet. She had been aroused from the moment she decided the poor maiden’s fate.

“Go on,” she encouraged, winding her fingers in the maiden’s hair and pulling her in close.

The maiden leaned forward tentatively, already drunk off the wine and even more intoxicated by the woman before her. She pressed a gentle kiss to the inside of her thigh. The skin was so soft. Inch by inch, she trailed soft, wet kisses towards where The Mistress needed her most.

Without the effects of the wine, the poor maiden would be paralyzed with fear. She knew the danger she was in, but a burning desire had taken hold of her, and she wanted nothing more than to do everything Mistress Dimitrescu asked of her.

Desperate to please, she pressed her lips and tongue against The Mistress’s pussy. It was clumsy at first, as she kissed and sucked experimentally, searching for praise and low moans of pleasure.

The Mistress did not hesitate to guide her, holding her in place with her strong grip and whispering instruction. The maiden herself let out small, pleased sounds in response to every gasp or moan. She wanted to please, wanted to serve.

Her own desire was aching, like nothing she had ever known before. Still, she pushed past her own need in favour of her Mistress.

“Such a good girl.” She was rewarded with a soft caress and sweet words. “Make me come. That’s it little one.”

So the maiden doubled her efforts, she dragged her tongue through the wet heat of her Mistress. Every shake of her thighs and roll of her hips and hitch of her breath was an encouragement.

And when she came, she pulled on the maiden’s hair and held her firmly in place and took her own pleasure until she was satisfied.

The maiden sat back on her heels, lips and chin dripping and glistening in the firelight. She gasped for air, eyes glassy and unfocused.

The Mistress composed herself much quicker, pulling her dressing gown closed and tying it once more. “You did very well, little one,” she said with a softer smile than the maiden had ever seen before.

“Please,” the maiden begged, not even entirely sure what she was asking for. “Please, Mistress.”

She was more desperate than ever before in her life, blood thrumming with arousal and shaking with want. Beneath her skirts her thighs were soaked.

“Oh come here,” The Mistress lifted the young girl back to the sofa, delicately wiping her lips with an embroidered linen square. “Have another drink,” she pressed one of the crystal goblets into her hands, eyes shining and eager as the young girl quickly drained it all.

But that wouldn’t sate her. The drink made her dizzy, and tired, but she still wanted. “Mistress,” she tried again. “I need- I need…” she trailed off unsure how to ask. She had never known desire like this before. And it would be improper of the Mistress. And her thoughts were so cloudy from the wine.

The Mistress tsked and grabbed the maiden’s hand where it was unconsciously reaching for the hem of her skirt. “I know what you want,” she said, voice dripping with pity, “but you must stay pure. We can’t have you sullied and dirty. Your blood is perfect just like this. You smell so sweet.”

The words sparked fear somewhere underneath the haze in her mind, but all she could think of was the Mistress’s strong grip on her wrist. She needed her touch.

“Here,” the Mistress pulled her close, nearly on her lap. The closeness didn’t erase her desire, but it soothed the ache. “Lay back just a bit, why don’t you drink some more? Won’t that help?”

Of course. More wine. The maiden let the liquid flow past her lips, held against her Mistress’s bosom and drinking from her glass.

The room spun, and then fell into darkness.

When she woke, it was to the sound of low voices. The Mistress. Lady Daniela. She couldn’t open her eyes, nor move her limbs, but she strained to hear their conversation.

“You can take her downstairs. She’s so ripe, so precious.” The Mistress sounded overjoyed. “I can’t wait to taste her.

“Yes, Mother.” Lady Daniela did not sound as enthusiastic. There was the sound of footsteps, and then the maiden was being lifted, carried through the halls. The gentle sway lulled her back to sleep. She wondered if she would ever wake again.

Part 2

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#re8 village #re8 #resident evil #resident evil 8 #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu/reader #kinda #its in 3rd person tho #lady dimitrescu/maiden #smut #lemons #in vino sacrificium

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nerevar-quote-and-star · 3 years

Note

do you think the companions have a closet of like. flea and tick preventing stuff/medicine somewhere

Imagine someone opens that closet and they don’t know about the werewolf thing and they ask someone “hey why do we have all this dog stuff??? Where are the dogs???”

Hey, not only do I think that, I think it's entirely possible that they have their own mini veterinary closet, including the dog treats. The dog treats are the most important.

I'd like to thank you, though, because as soon as I read this ask, my mind start buzzing, or yipping, as the little dogs, might, and, well. . .

Chasing Tails, or Why is the Circle Like This?

Lucia's sure taking a long time . . .

Lars fidgeted in his seat at the end of the table, casting his eyes once again to the stairwell that led down to the Companions' living quarters. It wasn't the first time he'd sat around their hearth to wait on his best friend and it definitely wouldn't be the last, he was sure, but he always felt a little nervous sitting by himself as large warriors with huge blades went about their business around him. Eating, drinking, laughing . . . wrestling. The first time he'd seen Lucia's papa and uncle get into an all out brawl there on the hearth stones, he'd had the shakes until long after his grandma tucked him into bed.

A thud on the table startled the boy from his thoughts. "Here, kid, watch this for me, will you?" Lars stared wide-eyed as Ria, who was generally the nicest out of all the Companions — aside from Lucia, who insisted she was one despite only being ten — darted back up the steps and out the double doors to the Winds District. Not a moment later, the doors from the training yard banged open as Njada Stonearm — who was definitely the meanest Companion — barged in, eyes aflame like the hearth. Lars shrank back in his seat.

"Ria!" her voice echoed above the crack of the fire and the murmur of a few others talking across the room.

"Not here," called Athis, snickering.

"Jus' missed 'er," slurred Torvar.

A growl left the Nord woman's throat as her eyes swivelled round and landed on Lars, who was peaking out from behind the large satchel Ria'd left on the table. The boy's eyes bulged in horror as she took three long strides and arrived beside him, arms crossed under a face painted with a harsh scowl.

(Sometimes, a lot of times, Lars wished he was brave enough to ask Njada Stonearm to beat up Braith, but he had the feeling she'd either laugh him off — or worse, encourage the Redguard girl to redouble her efforts to kick his—)

"—dumped this here, huh?"

"W-wha—"

A hand, large and strong enough to crush his skull, shook the bag in front of him. "Ria left this here, didn't she?"

"Ye-yeah—"

"Quit mumbling!"

"Y-yes sir, I, I mean ma'am!"

If anyone ever looked absolutely done with the world, it was Njada Stonearm in that moment. Lars squirmed under her glare, but said no more, and the Nord woman grumbled under her breath. "I've gotta hunt down that rabbit brained . . ." she trailed off, eyeing Lars with a cold interest. "You. Take this downstairs and put it in the Circles' supply closet."

Lars tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry, and he let out a strangled cough instead. He choked a gasp when Njada Stonearm thumped him on the back. "Get going, kid," she said as she turned on her heel and marched out the same doors Ria fled through earlier.

With shaking legs, Lars got to his feet and hefted the satchel into his arms. There was a faint clink! clink! of glass, and he wondered if it was some kind of fancy reserve just for the Circle. He knew Lucia's mama was fond of Imperial brandies, so maybe that was it?

He crossed the hall, an easy task as Athis and Torvar promptly went back into their cups once Njada Stonearm had redirected her ire to Lars and so they didn't bother him. It was when he got to the stairs that the wobble in his knees became a full shake. Braith often told him he was infected with the Rattles and no one bothered telling him because it was more fun to watch him convulse like a half dead draugr. Sometimes, like right now for instance, he almost believed her.

One of the men barked a laugh, Lars wasn't sure which, but it jarred his limbs into motion; he eased his way down the wooden stairs, scared every moment that he'd trip, fall, and anger not only Njada Stonearm, but the whole Circle as well. His heart lodged in his throat. If he broke the bottles and made a mess of their contents, would he ever be allowed back in Jorrvaskr? Would he ever get to play with Lucia again?

The heavy door into the basement quarters was an almost reassuring barrier to the boy as he aligned his back with it, arms full of the satchel's awkward bulk. With a grunt, he thrust back, and the door creaked slowly open. When it was wide enough, he slipped around the dense oak, and once again hesitated. Now where? He didn't actually know where the Circles' supply closet was. Though, he thought, shifting from foot to foot with the wide hall empty before him, it might be down near the Circles' private quarters.

The supply closet wasn't really the difficult to find, being one of the few closed doors at the end. The other was the door to the Harbinger's room, but that'd been shut for months since . . . Lars swallowed, coughed again, and with the bag balanced precariously in one arm under his chin, he opened the door.

"What're you doing?"

"Gah!" Lars teetered forward, and if it weren't for Lucia's hand clenching the back of his shirt, he'd have fallen face first into—

"Um, better question: why do your parents' have a closet full of pet care products?" Lars asked, once he was steady on his feet and able to take in the concents of the supply closet.

Beside him, Lucia's face scrunched in clear confusion. Shelves on shelves of bottles, bright yellow and each marked with a label depicting some kind of nasty insect underneath a vivid red X, filled the majority of their vision. Lars' arms almost went slack under the weight of the bag. Was he carrying more of that stuff? Flea and tick repellent? Below the shelves was a stack of huge sacks that smelled a little too strongly of dried meat. Was that—?

"What's all this for?"

Lars gaped at Lucia. "You mean, you don't know?"

She shook her head, teeth gnawing her lip.

"Lucia? Lass, what are you doing in the closet?"

The two kids whirled around to find Lucia's uncle striding down the hall toward them. In a blur, Lucia sprinted to him, and, grabbing at his gauntlet clad arm, hung on for dear life. "Uncle Vilkas! Uncle Vilkas! Did you know about the pet medicine? Are those bags full of doggy treats? Oh! Is Mama getting me a puppy? Is that why she left for Markarth yesterday? Is she getting me a war dog so I can take him with me when I'm doing contracts? I've always wanted a puppy! The Circle always goes and visits the Jarl's kennels and I never get to go!"

"What—"

"I mean, why else do Mama and Papa always smell like they've been rolling around in a dog bed whenever they come back in before breakfast? Or when they're sneaking in during the middle of the night? Or when—"

"Lucia! What are you talking about, lass?" Vilkas, at last, cut in.

"Oh! Well, I was consalt— consulk—"

"Consulting," her uncle supplied.

"Yeah, consulting my beasty, beast, uh, animal guide before I came looking for Lars 'cause we're gonna go hunt goblins in his mom's vegetable garden when I found him in the Circles' closet, which I thought was weird because I thought this was where Papa was hiding Mama's New Life present — so maybe Papa is getting Mama the puppy? — but I didn't get to ask Lars why 'cause he was about to crash into the shelves, and then I'd have had to help him clean up the mess, and I'd rather go hunt the goblins than do chores, so . . ." Lucia rambled on, fast as a dartwing. All the while Vilkas nodded along to what she said, before at length raising a hand to hush her, his pale eyes resting on Lars. The young boy felt his knees start to wobble again.

"What's this, then?" Vilkas gestured to the bag.

"Uh, Njada Stonearm sent me down with it, sir. She um, she said to bring it to the Circles' supply closet . . ." By the end, Lars could barely hear his own voice, but whatever he heard seemed to placate Vilkas. The man took the satchel from Lars', the boy's thin arms falling limp with relief.

"I'll take care of this, Battle-Born. Lucia, you two run along," he said, holding the bag as easy in one hand as one might hold an apple. Lars couldn't help but feel a little envy at the dark warrior's ease and strength.

"Wait," Lucia's fingers twisted together around the hilt of her wooden sword. Lars hadn't even noticed she'd brought it. "I don't understand though! Is it a puppy? Is it Mama's? Will she share him? Uncle—"

Vilkas laughed. Lars never really heard the man laugh before. It was different from his brother's: deeper, richer, almost wolfish, whereas Farkas' laughter was a booming bark. The boy's brow creased at the comparisons, his eyes traveling to the inside of the closet again. There was more in there beside pet medicine and dog food, but before he could read anymore labels, Lucia's uncle shut the door and was ushering them down the hall a moment later.

"You'll know soon enough, lass. One day, when you're in the Circle yourself," he was saying.

"In the Circle? Myself?" Lucia's eyes glittered.

"Aye," Vilkas nodded. He pulled the basement door open and waved them up the stairs. "Then, and not a moment before. And lass?"

"Yes, Uncle?"

"While you're out hunting goblins, keep the little Battle-Born out of too much trouble, will you? Lad needs someone looking out for him." Lucia was already halfway up the stairs, but Vilkas could still reach to ruffle her dark ashy hair, and the girl preened under the attention.

Lars shifted about in embarrassment, but the Companion ignored him.

The two were halfway to his mother's garden, Lucia delivering a flash lecture on the nature of goblins, when a thought struck Lars, hitting him right between the eyes like Braith often did.

If the Companions didn't have any dogs, then why did he hear howling echo from Jorrvaskr at night?

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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

Text

Artistic Instinct: Chapter 6

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6200 (yup, the words ran away from me!)

Warnings: Language, mention of death.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

To an untrained eye, need and love are as easily mistaken for each other as the real master's painting and a forgery.

Deb Caletti

Chapter 6

A low lit room- more fitting of an old jail than an art lock up- surrounds you with cool air that tickles the tiny hairs on the back of your bare neck, as you bend over double, digging through the equipment in the abyss of your bag. A gap forms between the waist of your jeans and t-shirt, revealing the tiniest bit of the lace edging from your bra band- a tantalising fact that catches Marcus’ breath, alerting you to his presence, “Hey, you ok?” you ask straightening up, “Did you find something?”

“Yeah, uh sorry. Think I just had a bit of dust in my throat,” Marcus stammers, utterly thrown by that glimpse of your underwear, as he tries to clear his throat and remember the reason he was standing in front of you, “So, uh, yeah, um- we found a couple of signatures from Paul Guillaume and Albert C Barnes- weren’t they the guys we had to look out for?”

Looking over the papers with your cotton gloves still on, you pour over the shaping of the letters that made up the signatures of the possible previous owners, “I dunno. I’m not convinced- the positioning of the letters seem odd- like a crude rendition of someone’s signature. Almost like someone’s faking their mum’s signature to get out of PE class. Only the thing is, you know the movement of your mum’s hand as she signs something because you’ve watched her do it a million times before. Those signatures do not seem real to me, personally.”

Marcus’ eyebrows raise as he crosses his arms, desperately trying to hide the smile that was creeping across his face. “You faked your mom’s signature a lot?”

“Poacher turned gamekeeper,” Élodie remarks as she crosses between the two of you, straightening your t-shirt up where it has caught upon the back of your jeans.

Marcus tries not to let his disappointment show. Calm down, Pike, you’re hardly a horny seventeen year old. But that was how you made him feel and certainly the uncomfortable pressure building in his jeans might prove otherwise.

“I don’t think we will necessarily manage to get this solved today,” you begin, “The section that Élodie looked at dates it reasonably within the time period but those signatures are now tingling my spidey senses. It’s probably going to need to be sent for further investigations at a proper lab. I’m about to look at it using the stereomicroscope- do you want to have a look with me?”

Marcus nods eagerly, earning a grin from you, and you start setting up the pieces you need- ensuring that the video camera is linked to your iPad so Marcus can see everything you are looking at in real time along with you.

Marcus drifts closer to the painting. You haven’t seemed to notice his closeness yet, and he half hopes you don't, as from where he’s standing the aromatically pleasing scent of your shampoo wafts dreamily from the dark shimmer of your hair.

“So tell me more about this piece. I love listening to you speaking about art. You make it seem like I’m looking over the artist’s shoulder as they’re painting it.” Marcus remarks, smiling when he notices the flush creeping over your cheeks that his words bring.

Impressed by your decision to play into his words rather than focus on how awkward you feel at the compliment, he loves how you fan yourself and flutter your eyelashes at him, “Monsieur, you flatter me! Well, looking at this piece it’s not difficult to imagine that Soutine may have had a longstanding beef with food. Though he was fascinated by food and frequently painted these edible arrangements, this stands as one of his most memorable and dare I say, raw interpretations.”

At these terrible puns, Marcus pretends to drum, “Ba da boom tish!”

“Do not encourage her!” Jacques shouts from the other side of the room where he is labeling the bags for the slide samples that Élodie had been collecting, “Once you acknowledge one pun, she’ll ensure that everything she says has one. Queen Nush of the dad jokes!”

“So at the meat of Soutine’s obsession,” Marcus half-snorts, half-groans, intending to encourage you as you add, “You find that a combination of not having anything to eat due to extreme poverty and using what food the family did have to practice Kosher traditions is largely to blame for his playing with his food rather than eating it.”

Marcus watches you flick through your phone so as not to interrupt the finally clear feed from the stereomicroscope focussing on how you bite your lip. You quickly google the Rembrandt that you want him to look at. “The remains of this omnivorous…”

“Oh you’re still gonna continue with that theme, yeah?” Marcus’ feels his lips curve at your humour, shaking his head at the ridiculous word play.

“Oh, I can keep this going all day,” you say with the cheekiest of winks, and Marcus hopes you will.

*****

“Omnivorous obsession,” you continue, “was based on his adoration of Rembrandt whose 1655 Flayed Ox was frequently salivated over by Soutine on his regular visits to the Louvre. Rembrandt’s carcass is noted for its vivid colors but when compared to Soutine’s, which was coated almost daily with fresh buckets of blood by his assistant, Rembrandt seems downright dull. The smell of rotting beef and fresh blood became so oppressive that neighbours called the police, who almost threw away the fermenting flesh before, what I can only assume was the Frankenstein-esque assistant, shooed them away like so many flies covering a carcass.”

“Always with the focus on the graphic elements of art,” Jacques calls out with a snort at your zombie-like impression before receiving a sharp nudge to his ribs to focus on the job Élodie has asked him to complete.

“Art is just a reflection of the things that humanity finds interesting and what can be more interesting to a temporal being than their own mortality or that of the creatures and objects that surround it?” At this statement, you tug Marcus’ coat sleeve away from the piece to come and look at the feed you have set up for him, “Come on you, we’d better focus or Élodie will have my guts for garters for not concentrating on what I should be doing!”

Marcus allows you to lead him over to a black metal folding chair to look at the feed, “So what are we looking for, Mademoiselle Pathologist?”

“Hah, did you just call her mademoiselle? She’s too old for that!” Élodie shouts in your direction.

Refusing to respond verbally to Élodie’s rudeness, you flick a finger up at her and turn back to Marcus, “Madame Pathologist will do- I am comfortable with my age. So what we are looking for are any bits of difficult to detect damage, fading, repairs and the ways paints and other coatings are distributed. Also if there are any strange fibres that we can spot using the double lens.”

Hovering the microscope over the bottom left hand corner, you start to scan the piece, “So what we’re looking for are any irregularities that we might not have picked up on a first scan that Élodie did to take the samples. The stereomicroscope helps us to understand the art in more 3D terms- so we can see something that generally looks flat becomes a landscape of hills and valleys.”

“Why’ve you chosen that corner to start?” Marcus probed inquisitively, wondering as to whether there’s method in your madness.

“Just felt like it!” You shrug and snort at his look of mock horror. “Nah, it’s where the signature is and ‘cos I’m not sure about the signatures on those documents you found, I want to take a closer look at Soutine’s over here. Kinda feels like a sensible place to start.” Your eyes squint as you drink in the images in front of you, snapping up when you hear a small grunt of consternation from your boss, “Have you found something, Marcus?”

“That’s weird. It kind of looks like the signature has been scratched into the art,” Marcus squints at the signature on the screen, reaching over to the table where the possible documents with Guillaume and Barnes’ scrawls lie, “Also, I am not an expert in graphology but the letter e looks consistent across the three names- they all arch at the same point.”

“Waouh- that’s a good catch,” Élodie agrees, pulling Jacques with her to look over Marcus’ shoulder at the finds upon the feed.

Jacques escapes Élodie’s clutch and starts to flit back and forth, checking between the painting and the feed with a mild look of confusion on his face, “This is preposterous. Why have they done the signature in a different medium to the one used to paint it? It’s almost like they want to be caught.”

“It looks like it has been lacerated by a needle,” Marcus scratches at his patchy beard in astonishment, “Spot on Jacques, it’s like they can’t even be bothered to hide their tracks.”

“Ok, I think we may have found one of our fakes,” a smile slowly creeps across your face, “Obviously, we can’t be definite -there are still so many tests that need to be done but I don’t think this is an original,” you shake your head with a half smile, “Élodie, I think we need to organise for this to be couriered back to the labs.”

An excited squeal from Élodie and a soft oof from Jacques puncture the cool air as she flies into his arms, squeezing him in sheer delight. As the pair embrace with joy, you and Marcus are left there- Marcus on the fold out chair, gripping the iPad tighter than necessary- I swear that man never quite knows what do with his hands- and you sitting cross legged on the floor with the stereomicroscope lying in your lap- grinning like idiots at each other.

✪✪✪✪✪

More coffee and cakes are devoured in the aftermath whilst you await a courier to come and pick up the likely forgery- you are not entirely sure that the blood in your body hasn’t entirely transformed into sugar and caffeine at this point. After checking alongside Élodie that the painting had been carefully loaded into a van, you sit next to her on the pavement outside the auction house.

“Do you know where Marcus and Jacques are?” you question as you sink onto the dusty ground next to her.

“Yeah, they’re inside taking an informal statement from the auction house owner before the local police quiz her properly,” Élodie rests her temple to your shoulder, “Today has been wonderful. I really like Marcus - from what I have seen of him. I think this will be a good move for you.”

“I do miss having you here though. Today feels like the first time I have had both of my arms. Since you returned to London, it has felt like a part of me has been missing.”

Hauling a deep breath into your lungs to try to quell that gnawing ache in your belly, you turn to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, “I am sorry, El. To be honest, I don’t even know where to start explaining what happened or even truly understand how everything fell apart so badly.”

The mountain wind decides to blow an icy gust that cuts through your clothes to the bones of you, “It was a normal undercover job- we’d been watching the comings and goings of the gang from a inside a local greasy spoon for ages-just trying to get a clear idea of what their patterns of behaviour were and it just all went South so quickly.

“Being a tiny caff on an industrial estate by the Thames, it was open 24 hours and the day it happened, it was during the middle of a night shift when the gang decided to up the ante. They’d obviously clocked that we weren’t exactly who we said we were,” you snort softly at the memory, “I mean Jas’ accent was a bit sus for being a short order cook but still.

“The gang openly marched the illegal immigrants out of the container and made them kneel in front of the caff as a lure to us, trying to get us to drop our cover. These fucking innocents just trying to find a better life and the evil fuckers just started executing them- one after the other. Jas just ran out there straight away- dropping his cover without any proper back up, a flak jacket or anything. His stupid, kind self trying to save at least one of them without a backward glance.

“I said the code word so we could have armed back up within minutes but I knew it wouldn’t be there quickly enough,” your voice starts to falter as your throat tightens over the words.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me, chouchou,” Élodie squeezes the thigh nearest to her.

“I know but I should tell someone, somewhen. You’re probably one of the few who would understand.”

You pause, squeezing your eyes tight shut as you allow that stagnant, putrid box of memories to reopen, flooding your senses with the foul gangrenous smell of the past.

Having called in backup, you make the decision to slip out of the back door of the caff and run for cover behind the large communal bins. The incessant rain was giving zero sign of stopping and the noise was deafening as it bounced off the metal sides and drummed upon the tarmacked surface. You could barely hear the desperate negotiations that Jasper was trying to make for the lives of these poor, exploited humans.

From here, hiding amongst the shadows, you could catch the eye of one of the kneeling men and signal to him as to when he should try to make a run over to you. He’d reached his little finger out to the person to his right to alert them to the plan. Achingly slowly, tiny gestures had passed down the line of five remaining fellows, from person to person, notifying them of your presence and how you were attempting to save them.

You counted them down and then screamed for them to run. Gunshots rang throughout the air as they made a break for the supposed safety of the bins by you as blue lights and sirens swirled, announcing their arrival between the shipping containers. You counted them as they ran for their lives past you.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

But the gunshots…

Jasper.

As you ran to your former partner’s lifeless form, three more shots rang through the air, taking out the associates who’d been ruthlessly gunning down their illegal chattel. Jasper lay there in the harsh headlight of the armed response unit car, his apron and chef’s jacket were no longer the starchy white that glowed under the strip lighting of the kitchen but his skin had taken on a similar pallid tone as his life force pooled around him, staining the oily surface with a bloody bloom. Knelt there with the grit from the floor biting into the skin of your knees, you held his head in your lap, stroking his cold cheek as a shadow cast across you both.

“He’s gone, Nush.”

Tears course down your face in tiny rivulets and spill into Élodie’s hair, “If I had said yes at Fourvière. If I had accepted the position St Vincent had offered me, he’d still be here. He would still be here.”

After putting a hand on each cheek, Élodie then taps you upon the nose making your red-rimmed, watery eyes look into hers, “You didn’t shoot the gun. You didn’t kill him,” she says so matter of fact that you almost feel an inclination to believe her, “You have to stop blaming yourself at some point.”

“He made the decision to go out there without back up or any protection. If I remember correctly, it was Jas’ decision to head back to London too, effectively ending the freedom you had out here,” she adds gravely, “Everyone has to make decisions, Nush. Ours just tend to have more life or death outcomes and remember, the choice you made- you saved five people.

“As for marrying him, you didn’t want to and I don’t know quite how to clearly say this but you don’t have to marry someone because they ask you. Or because you think it’s the right thing to do. You saying no to him, had zero implications in how his life ended,” Élodie smooths a tendril of hair that has escaped your plait behind your ear, “Your relationship didn’t have a true balance because you spent so long trying to hide it- everything feels so much more amplified if you are constantly watching your coattails.”

Rubbing the exhaustion from the onslaught of emotions from your eyes, you turn to face Élodie, “What if that’s it? What if that was my chance of happiness?”

“Okay so you’re now fully in the ridiculous territory, idiot! So bloody naive,” Élodie rolls her eyes and slaps your knee, “ There’s no one person out there- nobody is perfect for you. There are just people who enter your life at different times and there is a certain compatibility…”

“Like you might want to jump their bones,” you giggle through the snot.

“Yep, that definitely helps! But after a while, other stuff comes up and again, you have to make those decisions whether you want to move to the next one or work at the relationship you have,” Élodie says frankly, “ Your first proper grown up relationship wasn’t ever truly allowed to develop into something normal and healthy but please don’t ever think for a second that is all you deserve or will ever get.”

“More happened than just Jasper’s death,” you confide in your ally.

“I know sweetheart. You tell me when you are ready,” Élodie pats your leg, “You will always have Jacques and I here for you. And I reckon Pierre would take you back in a heartbeat if you ever need to escape Marcus, not that I think you will.” You feel a little confused by Élodie’s last statement but don’t have time to swell upon it as the door to the auction house swings open.

Noticing two figures- one wiry and talking rapidly with his hands, the other broad and showing great interest in what the other has to say- walking towards you, you offer Élodie a hand up from your pavement seat. You feel a gentle hand brushing over your bottom and crane your neck to see who it belongs to, “Well, I’d hate for you to make my car any dirtier,” Élodie winks at you.

✪✪✪✪✪

The trip back to Lyon didn’t allow for any more rest for tired eyes against cool car windows. Excited chatter filled the car as between the four of you, you were all busily beavering away from making shouted calls to the science laboratories in Interpol- calling in favours to get your samples tested first- to fingers tapping on screens, flinging emails back to offices trying to inform everyone who needed to know. Although the journey was far longer, it felt as though five minutes had passed from the moment you’d left the auction house- the exhaustion from your disclosure to Élodie giving way to the adrenaline pumping through your veins with the excitement of having found a piece of the puzzle.

Jacques quickly parks in the Interpol car park, where you all pile out of the car, heading back towards the offices. As you walk together, you hear Marcus answer the phone to Andy back in London, filling him in on the events of the day- thankfully leaving out the parts where he’d talked you through a panic attack or accidentally held hands with him.

You didn’t need anyone else in the London offices thinking you were unprofessional. There were enough of those already.

Marcus. So much of the fear has ebbed away about the new role, and in such little time, thanks to your new boss. This straight-speaking American, who makes you speak up and want to stand up a bit taller. For the first time in what felt like forever, work doesn’t feel like a chore to pay the bills for a small, damp flat in South London. It isn’t so much the work as you know that like the back of your hand- it was that feeling of appreciation.

That feeling that someone sees what you can offer and values your contributions- not just as some rookie in an established office but as an equal. You know you are lucky- you get to use all the knowledge from your art history degree (oh how your family had groaned in consternation- doctor or lawyer- those were the proper options. Y’know, a proper career path not something seen as being so wishy-washy) and use it to protect the beauty of art from the shadier underbelly. Not that you could ever explain that part to your mum or her sisters, who just thought you were in some IT job with ridiculous hours.

In fact, it was the first time. You’d worked your way up from being a rookie with Stephens and although you'd got to work in a field with which you had a borderline obsession, you were still always seen as the new kid, even though others came and went after you’d joined and that got a bit wearing, especially when you’d hit your thirties and as you edged ever closer to your forties, it had bordered on the ridiculous.

But Marcus. He didn’t just listen to what you had to say, he positively encouraged you to speak- never expecting you to hold your tongue or wait for the “grown ups” to stop talking.

“Hey, Earth to Anushka,” those ridiculously warm eyes try to call your attention into focus.

“Sorry, heard you on the phone to Andy and took the opportunity to disappear with my thoughts for a bit. It’s been a bit of a day, hasn’t it?” you mutter as the knuckles of your hands almost rub holes in your eye sockets.

“Yeah, I thought we’d find zip on our first check as a team but that was something else,” Marcus nods, pouting his lips in thought, “I honestly thought it was an authentic piece when I found those signatures- just shows how careful we have to be with these crooks.

“You look about ready to collapse- that sleep on the way over, not help? I was about to ask if you fancied grabbing some dinner together but you’re dead on your feet.”

“Didn’t really get much sleep last night. Was kind of dreading what today would bring but,” your hand extends to squeeze Marcus’ forearm, “But you’ve made today far less painful than it could have been.” You feel a warmth creep through you, blooming from the spot where Marcus has placed his hand on top of yours, his thumb unconsciously tracing small circles upon your skin.

“How about a slow walk back to the hotel, we grab some pizza on the way back and sit and watch Sharknado 4 this evening?” you suggest, still not removing your hand from his arm, ”I need to eat something other than breakfast pastries today.”

“Hmmm, I would say that dinner is the best time for breakfast food but yeah, probably best that we find something a bit more substantial,” Marcus relents reluctantly like a petulant child as Élodie and Jacques turn towards you both.

“Oh, why the sad eyes, Marcus? Has she been mean to you? ” Élodie teases, “We have contacts- we can make her disappear…”

Jacques shoots you a despairing look from under his arched eyebrow. The aching sadness returns in your tummy- you’ve missed them so much and missed out on so many special moments with them, “Oof, hey Nush! This isn’t goodbye- no matter the threats Élodie makes upon your life!”

Élodie leans in to sandwich you between the pair of them, “No, Marcus has given me your phone number and your email address- and he has promised me that even if you don’t respond to my communications, that he will send regular updates.” You look over at Marcus, who sends you a sheepish grin and a slight shrug of his shoulders, flashing that goddamn dimple in his right cheek.

“Élodie, are you going upstairs to get everything ready?” Jacques questions his wife, “ There’s only twenty minutes before I need to pick up Xavier from my parents so I’d probably better head off. Can you grab a taxi home afterwards? Nush, I love you and I will see you soon.

“Marcus, it has been a pleasure. I will ensure that all the details are shared with you in London. Let’s keep the lines of communication open between us, oui?” A firm handshake was not the only thing to pass between the men, as Jacques pats Marcus on the back and they wordlessly share a thought, Marcus’ eyes flickering back to you with a small smile.

“Come on, let’s find food and a film before we collapse,” Marcus beckons you towards him with a wave back to Élodie and Jacques before they head off in their respective directions, Élodie’s hand stroking yours as she walks away.

✪✪✪✪✪

Half an hour later, you find yourself standing barefoot outside Marcus’ hotel room door, oddly nervous about knocking. Your hair hangs in waves around your shoulders, still holding some of the twisted kinks that the plaits you wore it in had formed over the course of the day, face scrubbed but you are second guessing your choice of wearing pjs to your new boss’ room. Not that they were in any way indecent- just a good old pair of cotton jammies from M&S and you’d kept your bra on underneath, because not even the worst war criminal deserves to be tortured by the sight of you with your bra off. Just as you were about to head back for a hoodie to perhaps offer an ounce more decency, the door swung open and a slightly surprised look adorns Marcus’ face.

“Hey, I was just about to check where you were. Pizza’s getting cold and you should probably have something warm in your belly that isn’t coffee today!”

“Oh, I was just going to swing back to my room for a hoodie,” you awkwardly mutter in the direction of the deliciously soft looking man, wearing grey joggers and a white t-shirt in front of you.

A small pout crosses Marcus’ lips, “Come on, if you’re chilly, the pizza’ll warm you up but if you’re still cold after eating, you can grab one of mine- that is if it doesn’t make you uncomfortable,” he checks by lowering his eyes and gently lifting your chin.

Deciding not to keep the pizza waiting, you nod and shuffle past Marcus, the plush carpet deliciously soft underfoot, “I haven’t forgotten that we were halfway through a conversation this morning when El and Jacques arrived to pick us up. You want to tell me why you don’t feel like you are where you feel you should be?” you don’t look at Marcus as you ask him, picking the olives off the top of your pizza.

“I thought you said you like olives?” Marcus questions confusedly as he grabs a slice himself.

“Oh I do, but I’ll eat them afterwards as I like to savour them by themselves,” you giggle at your weird pizza eating habits, “Was that a wish to evade the question? Would you prefer to put on a film?”

“Hah, no! You’re full of quirks, y’know? It’s cute,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food.

“Cute?” you raise an eyebrow at this affectionate comment, “Eh, I dunno. I don’t think you can get to almost forty without embracing your quirks at some point.”

“I just hoped that by this point I’d be married with 2.4 kids, a dog and a nice house. Y’know, settled- never taking it for granted, obviously but comfortable with a family,” there’s a flicker of pain that passes through Marcus’ eyes as he speaks and it cuts through you like a knife.

“How on Earth are you not in a long term relationship with a lucky person? From what you’ve shown me over the past two days, you’re kind, considerate and thoughtful- although you should never tease a woman about her supposed snoring,” you pull an ugly face at him, sticking your tongue out and wrinkling your nose to diffuse the tension in his forehead, forcing him to laugh.

“Oh, I was married once and had long term relationships but neither worked out, sadly,” Marcus shrugs, focussing intently on his next pizza slice, “Can’t the same thing be said about you? You’re a beautiful, funny and intelligent woman and although you are a menace to yourself and those around you with a coffee cup in your hands, I don’t get why you haven’t been snapped up.”

Grabbing the pizza box and Marcus’ hand- pulling them both towards your room, you say, “Come with me.”

Thrusting the pizza box towards his hands, you put the keycard in the door and the light flickers to green. Guiding Marcus by the food container through the room to the balcony, you swing the French doors open to be greeted by a stiff Alpine air and the twinkling lights of Lyon spreading towards you.

“As you know from today, I was here in Lyon before. My partner and I were seconded here to work alongside Interpol on an art smuggling case- that’s how I knew El, Jacques, Pierre and everyone else from this morning’s meeting. We weren’t just work partners, we’d been hiding a romantic relationship for just over a decade in London as we knew that our supervisors wouldn’t allow us to continue to work together,” you clear your throat and see a flash of concern from Marcus seeing how much your hands were trembling.

He reaches for your hand with the lightest of touches grazing your ring and little fingers but not letting go.

Drawing a deep breath, you continue, “You see the beautiful cathedral up there- Fourviere?” you catch Marcus giving a gentle nod as he looks in the direction of your hand, the one he’s not holding, “Jasper asked me to marry him up there. And I, um… I said no.” Your eyes guiltily shift to the left after owning up to your shoddy track record.

“I mean, I did love him but I couldn’t offer him what he wanted or needed from life or from me. We’d hidden too long in the shadows and the thought of trying to explain everything to our families, to our friends, to our workplace was just too overwhelming. I had a lot more to lose than him.

“As you said earlier, our work is very much an old boys network and as a mixed race woman against a white man- who’d got his position due to a bit of nepotism as his uncle was our London boss- I stood to lose so much more. I have always had to work harder and to be a more impressive candidate to be taken as seriously as any white man in the room.”

“Had we returned to London as a married couple, there would have been so many unspoken questions about when we would think about having babies so there’d never be a chance of going any higher for me. And although seeing El and Jacques today- they have it so balanced. El was telling me that they split her maternity leave equally and that even now their baby is one, they have flexi working times so although they have such a little one and such intense jobs, they can still be there for bedtimes and neither of them be sidelined. But I know that’s not how it would have worked with us. Jas would have worked full time and I would have been a simmering pot of resentment.”

You notice that despite your confession that Marcus still hasn’t stopped holding your hand and regardless of the evening chill, warmth spreads through you at the thought that you haven’t entirely repulsed him with your actions.

“Where is he now? DId he ask for a transfer when you headed back?” Marcus gently questions.

“He took the ultimate transfer. We were working together undercover and he was shot multiple times trying to save some people from being murdered,” with a small shrug, you take your hand back from Marcus despite the comfort it is bringing you and cover your face. As you do so, he pulls you towards him, holding you tightly into his chest, resting his chin on top of your head.

With a gentle push back from his broad chest but without leaving his arms completely, you tilt your face up at him, “In fact, other than Jas’ death the bitterest pill was me being transferred out of the department. As you can probably imagine, a lot of shit went down after that night and a lot of the blame from it was laid at my door. Whilst it was all happening, I wasn’t allowed to have any contact with work colleagues and of course, your family can only know so much of what’s going on when you follow our line of work.

“So, I spent eight months in a stupid kind of limbo- being paid full whack whilst sitting at home, mourning a man who I’d been with for a quarter of my life but didn’t want to marry.” Shaking your head slowly, you continue, “That’s why I was a bit of a mess today- I kind of dreaded seeing everyone and how they might blame me for everything that happened with Jas.”

“Shit, I’m sorry sweetheart,” with that affectionate nickname confidently trickling from Marcus’ lips, you look up and smile broadly at him, “I am sorry that you went through all that. I have to be honest, as I am a terrible liar- there is a part of me that is glad that our paths have overlapped- I just wish it could be under happier circumstances.”

“No,” you pat him upon his chest, “You don’t get to our age without some kind of baggage and in our occupation, it’s hard for most people to understand our commitment to our job.”

“Hah, you can say that again- that’s what ended my marriage. That and her new partner,” you scrunch your face in consideration of Marcus’ pain, your thumbs rubbing back and forth, “And the failed engagement is what brought me to London- kept seeing her and the man she left me for around the DC offices.”

“Let’s go toast to those ghosts and our converging paths with what will be now a very warm bottle of white wine and cold pizza,” with eyes widening in amusement you smile at him, your hands still on his chest and his hands on your back, “But indoors as it is fucking freezing out here, no matter how pretty it is.”

“Agreed,” Marcus chuckles deeply, moving his hands to rub some warmth back into your arms.

“Just going to grab a hoodie,” you call over your shoulder as you go back into your bedroom. As you rummage through your bag, you miss the flicker of disappointment on Marcus’s face that he wouldn’t get to smell your perfume on his clothes.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Hey,” that beautifully soft baritone meltingly drifted up from the sofa in Marcus’ room, “Comfy now? I hope you don’t mind but I chose Casablanca instead of Sharknado 4.”

As you cross the floor in socked feet to try and thaw them out from your balcony adventure, you shake your head with a lopsided smile, “Not ok,” but to put Marcus’ raised eyebrow at ease, you add, “It’s my favourite - but you’d better have tissues at the ready as it will make me a snotty mess.”

“Already prepared,” he holds a tissue box aloft, “It does the same to me too.”

Instead of sitting at the other end of the sofa, you grab a glass of wine from the table and slide into Marcus’ side- half sitting up, half leaning against him. He reaches over, pulling your head onto his shoulder, stroking your hair away from your face and there you stay, comfortably curled into his side. Not for the hour and three quarters of the film, but until rays of spring sunshine filter through the blinds the following morning.

Tag list of glory: If you’d like to be added or dropped from the tag list or have any thoughts, thots or suggestions, please do get in touch! I don’t bite hard 🥰

@astroboots @silverwolf319 @lunaserenade @danniburgh @leonieb @mrsparknuts @sirowsky @yespolkadotkitty @agirllovespancakes @tardisfangurl @zukoyonce @absurdthirst @green-socks @pedropascalito @disgruntledspacedad @mouthymandalorian @the-ginger-hedge-witch @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

#josé pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal#ppascaledit #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfic #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x oc reader

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 3 years

Text

I’m Ready

Summary: “I can’t...I can’t take my forever if you’re not in it.”

Picks up right where the show left off. Not technically a fix-it, as I didn’t change anything, but I promise it gets better.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of (canon) child abuse and neglect, mentions of past trauma, working through trauma, denial, bit of pining (but, like, in a denial sort of way), some fluff, some angst (but not as much as there is fluff)

Author’s Note: So many thanks to @there-must-be-a-lock for endless suggestions, fixes, and beautiful images (header AND dividers!!!). Thanks to all my friends for cheering me on, especially @thoughtslikeaminefield ; I probably wouldn’t have kept going with the story without you.

This is my first Destiel story and my first time posting in a while. Please be kind.

Word Count: 7704

In case you missed it: ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

Dean isn’t sure how long he’s been in heaven, at least not by heaven’s timeframe. Probably years, maybe even a couple of decades. He doesn’t age in heaven, and time works differently, running fast and stretching slow.

For Dean, heaven is a chance to rest, catch up with his massive found family, and just breathe for the first time since he was a kid. No worrying about Sam, no waiting for the next monster to pop out, no prepping for the next apocalypse.

Nothing like heaven to give a guy time to kick his boots off and just relax.

Unfortunately, relaxing has never come easy to Dean. Sure, he can go through the motions (binge watching horror movies, binge drinking, hell, just bingeing in general), but relaxing is an entirely different matter.

Relaxing means letting his guard down. It means giving up his hypervigilance. It means sleeping hard and staying asleep until he wakes naturally and unassisted by attackers. It means spending long moments reminding himself the monster at the end of the book is really gone.

Sam is safe. Everyone he’s ever loved is safe and close, where he can reach them.

Almost everyone.

...

Jake Walker is born on the ninth of July at twenty-one seconds past 9:14 AM. His mother Samantha is exhausted after a two-weeks-early delivery, but both she and the baby are strong and steady. Her wife didn’t faint, none of the medical team ever sounded the least worried, and she heard her son’s first shocked wail as he came into the world. Exhausted, but definitely good.

His mom Betty, on the other hand, is an absolute wreck. She’s been anxious the entire pregnancy, despite good news from the doctor at every visit, and she is terrified that the unexpected early arrival of their son means her worst fears are just beginning.

Betty takes slow, calming breaths, focusing on not clamping down too hard on Sam’s hand. She has to stay strong, calm, for her new family. She has to keep her head on straight, in case—in case —

“Your son is absolutely fine, seems he just had a real particular time he wanted to arrive. Here he is.”

Betty opens her eyes to find a delivery nurse beaming at her, proffering a small, swaddled bundle.

“Never seen such a calm baby. Here, he’s been waiting for you.”

Betty looks down into the startlingly clear, mossy green eyes gazing up at her from the squashed, serene little face, and she feels something click into place in the middle of her chest. Samantha leans her head back against her pillow, letting out a long slow breath as she smiles, and Betty’s pulse slowly finds its way back to something like normal.

“We’ve been waiting for you, too, big guy.”

...

Trauma doesn’t heal in a day, not even in heaven. All the shit Dean remembers — all the shit he tried to forget — everything he ever managed to suppress — drives him from his bed at night, leaving him sleepless on his front porch, staring blankly into the night, or tinkering on Baby in the garage, digging into the perfect engine, determined to distract himself from his spiraling thoughts.

Dean has never been an idiot, no matter how many times he played the fool in life. The people he and Sam couldn’t save, the people he let down, none of those deaths are on him. Dean isn’t responsible for the pain and suffering, but he’s haunted by it all the same.

The problem is, haunts don’t go away on their own. Every hunter knows that.

It’s not that he wants forgiveness; how can he be forgiven for something he isn’t responsible for? He needs to see those people, though, see that they’re okay and at peace. He has to make sure everyone is where they should be, safe and at least content. And even if he ultimately isn’t their killer, didn’t want their deaths, would have done anything to prevent them, he still needs them to know...to know everything.

He needs absolution.

And if the person who needs to hear those things the most is MIA, well, they’ve got a history of not saying a lot of things face to face. There’s always prayer, right?

Dean starts by visiting a couple of people he hadn’t been able to save along the way, feeling strangely like someone following a twelve step program. Objectively, (ie, according to the people he talks to), he’s got nothing to apologize for. He did his best; he made tough decisions in situations forced upon him. They don’t blame him in the least, and most are truly and obviously thankful for his intervention.

Their words don’t make much of a dent in the mountain of guilt Dean carries on his shoulders, but it’s a start.

Once or twice, Dean finds himself looking up at the sky, so far from empty, opening his mouth to call out — an action so common on earth it nearly became reflex —but he stops himself both times. He’s not ready for that conversation.

But he needs to talk to someone closer to him, a deeper connection than the monster victims he’s been visiting.

He’s restless, needs to move a little, needs to talk to…

Someone. He needs to talk to someone. But he can’t. Hell, he can’t even say the name.

Pacing the garage turns to a wandering ramble down the road, past Sam and his family’s house, past Mom and Dad’s house (there’s a conversation or fifty that he’s not ready for), until he finds himself in front of what can only be described as a hobbit hole. He shakes his head, not for the first time, the corner of his mouth tilted up as he knocks on the circular front door.

He’s greeted by bright red hair, a surprisingly crushing hug, and one of the brightest smiles Dean has ever seen.

“Hey, Charlie. Can we, uh...You up for a walk? I was hopin we could talk for a while.”

...

Jake grows quickly and steadily, always near the top of all his growth charts but never alarmingly so. He’s bright, quick to anger and quick to laugh, and fiercely loving. He is both his mothers’ boy, always up for a cuddle or a wrestle, and he loves to build block towers and demolish them with equal abandon.

He makes his displeasure with vegetables known early on. On this particular morning, he introduces his strained peas to the kitchen wall with surprising velocity. Betty knows better than to encourage this attitude, so she hides her smile behind calm, controlled admonition as she offers another spoonful.

Jake looks her straight in the eyes, his smile dazzling and laughter bright, and she knows she hasn’t fooled him one bit. She sighs and lets her own smile match his. He won her over the day he was born; there’s not much point trying to fight it now.

“Come on, babe, eat your peas and we’ll see about some of those stewed apples left over from Mommy’s pie filling. Deal?”

She scrunches her nose and wiggles her eyebrows. Jake’s little eyes widen at her expression, and he tries to imitate it before dissolving into giggles. Betty takes the opportunity to poke a spoonful of peas into his open mouth.

She’s not spent much time around kids before this, but Betty swears she’s never seen a baby look so resigned and exasperated in real life. But she’s played her trump card. He’s too young for the crust, but a couple of spoonfuls of smashed up fruit (apple is his favorite), and Jake is guaranteed to eat just about anything she presents.

“Pie?” she asks.

Jake smiles and opens his mouth wider.

...

“SURPRISE!!!”

The last time he was shocked this badly, Sam didn’t let him forget that fucking cat for years. Or ever, really. Seems like everyone he ever knew is stuffed into his living room, barely leaving room for the balloon bouquets and a massive… That’s not a cake, it’s…

That’s the most beautiful apple pie Dean has ever seen in his entire life.

Dean is engulfed by arms, hugging and patting and slapping his back (was that a pinch on his ass?), everyone eager to get their turn with him, wishing him a happy birthday, saying they can’t wait until he opens his presents, it’s so good to see him, he’s looking so rested!

He manages to extract himself from the wellwishers, citing parental obligations, and finally makes his way over to Mary, smiling warmly and offering him a knife and a plate. His eyes flick anxious from his mom to the golden brown circle of perfection before him, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Mary’s smile widens.

“I didn’t lay a hand on it except to take it out of the box. Happy Birthday, Dean.”

Six plates of pie later, Dean reclines on his couch, letting the relaxed atmosphere of the party sink into his bones. The excitement and crowd of early have begun to wind down, leaving a double handful of family, both blood and found, all telling the most embarrassing, terrible Dean stories they can think of.

It’s possible Dean’s never laughed this hard in his entire life.

He heaves a deep sigh of contentment and props his feet ponderously on the coffee table, draping an arm across the back of the couch and surveying the room.

Donna, one of the apparent party conspirators, tosses him a sparkling grin over her shoulder before turning back to a rather animated conversation with Charlie about the length of Dean’s wig at the LARPing battle. Sam and Kevin are recounting Dean’s worst cooking disasters to Garth’s wife, and Bobby is entertaining Mary with Dean’s disastrous attempt to flirt with the pizza delivery girl who delivered to Bobby’s house most weekends when Sam and Dean would stay with him.

If Dean had to describe one perfect day, this would be just about it, down to the flakiness of the pie crust and the amazing collection of horror movies and original vinyls he’s been gifted. Almost every single person he could possibly want present is there, and since he isn’t dwelling on absence today, Dean decides to push his wandering thoughts out of his head and just soak it all in.

Every muscle in his body hums contentedly, and Dean feels strangely warm and peaceful, but excited, all at once. It’s weird, just sitting here and enjoying the moment, not worrying about the next minute or hour or day or even year. He’s full of pie, he’s got great tunes to look forward to, and there’s nothing to worry about.

He’s happy.

Naturally, that’s when the panic sets in. This won’t last; it never does. Happiness can’t last. He learned that a long time ago.

Sure, it’s heaven, but he doesn’t deserve to be here, so something is going to spoil it for him, for everyone. Probably Dean himself, he thinks as his eyes dart from his mom to his dad. Dean always seems to find a way to fuck things up, couldn’t take care of Sam, couldn’t keep himself alive, couldn’t even keep the Empty from—

“Hey, birthday boy.” Jody’s voice somehow reaches Dean through his darkening thoughts, and he comes back to himself in stages, focusing on the warmth of her hands on his shoulders. She stands behind the couch, leaning down to squeeze his shoulders. “Wanna get some air?”

He nods blindly and climbs numbly to his feet. Jody guides him efficiently out the door and points Dean in an arbitrary direction. They walk for what could be moments or hours as Dean plows through the morass in his mind.

“I get it,” Jody finally says.

Dean glances sharply at her.

“I still have random panic attacks sometimes, wondering if Alex is safe at the hospital, if this is going to be the hunt that gets Claire.” Her eyes are fixed on some point in the distance, and he gets the feeling she’s deliberately not meeting his eyes. “I check on Owen every thirty minutes on my bad nights, and I have to lay hands and eyes on Sean to convince myself he’s really there before I can calm down. It always takes me a minute or sixty to make myself remember where we are, where everyone is, and that there isn’t some big or even small bad waiting around the corner or under the bed.”

Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets, stuffing down his automatic reassurances. The first half of his life was spent avoiding conversations like this, and it took him a long time to unlearn the knee-jerk reaction to brush off people’s concerns with some variation of “Everything’s fine.”

Jody, with an awareness born of decades of hunting and parenthood, senses his discomfort. She slows her steps and catches Dean’s elbow, turning him gently to face her.

“That feeling in your gut when the happiness comes, the panic, that knowledge deep, deep down that everything good is bound to turn to shit.” Jody reaches out and wipes a trickle of moisture from Dean’s face.

It’s not raining, he thinks, frowning. Where the hell did that come from?

“You're going to unlearn it. You’re the toughest bastard I’ve ever met, Dean, and you've been through literal hell. If anyone has earned their happiness up here, it’s you. You’re allowed to be happy, and someday you’ll know it.”

Dean would love to reply right now, to contradict Jody. He’d love to remind her of all the bad calls he made, of all the torturing he did in hell, of all the lies he told...

But this knot in his throat is choking him. And still Jody persists.

“I know how goddamned stubborn you are, but you’re not stupid either. We have nothing to forgive you for. Maybe once you’ve talked to everyone on your list, you’ll see that, too. But in the meantime, take a deep breath, give me a hug, and at least say in your head that you’re allowed to enjoy yourself at your own damned birthday party, even if you can’t admit it out loud.”

And if the damp patch on Jody’s shoulder bothers her as they stroll back to Dean’s house to grab a couple of beers, at least she’s tactful enough to not mention it.

...

Jake takes care of his family. He’s a fairly serious, empathetic toddler, quick to kiss other’s ouchies. After receiving his first Elmo bandage, Jake insists on bandaging his stuffed puppy’s tail, his tyrannosaurus rex’s left eye (“He fight with stegosaurus,” Jake solemnly informs Samantha as he presses the adhesive strip in place), and then an old, almost-healed shaving cut on Betty’s left knee.

“Mama better now?” Jake asks, somehow managing to sound strictly professional and absurdly adorable at the same time. He looks up to Betty for approval, and she wonders how she manages to let him touch the ground at all with how much she just wants to hold him all day long.

“Mama so much better now,” she informs him, careful to stay serious. He rewards her with the golden smile that is the highlight of her days before rushing off to find someone else he can fix up.

Both Betty and Samantha marvel in his quickness to share his snacks. They never refuse an offered Cheerio from him, no matter how damp or sticky (though a few of those disappear quickly when Jake’s attention wanders).

The discussion over a first pet is fairly quick and decisive. Everyone agrees the pet must be something fluffy that can be cuddled. Betty vetoes anything smaller than a cantaloupe, citing her clumsiness and tendency to step on things that should never be trod upon. Jake vetoes cats, saying he just doesn’t trust them, and Mommy and Mama share one of their silent conversations before Samantha speaks up.

“A puppy it is, then, Jakey. Let’s go look up some good breeds.”

Their first pet is a rescue named Garth, at Jake’s adamant insistence, though they're still not sure where he learned that name in the first place. Garth is clumsy, awkward, easy-going, and the most spoiled and cared for pet in the neighborhood.

Jake’s little sister Tabitha comes along shortly before his fourth birthday, and he takes to big brotherhood with an authority and self-assurance that delights every stranger the family meets. When she eventually starts walking, Jake is right by her side, guiding each one of her toddling little steps while a beaming Mommy and Mama follow close behind.

No one is even a little surprised when Tabby’s first whole word is “Hake.” She masters the letter j eventually, but continues to refer to his big brother by the name she gave him for most of the rest of their lives. Jake doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed.

“It was just a matter of time,” Samantha says one night, as she and Betty are getting ready for bed one night not long after Tabby has given Jake his new moniker. “You know what I mean?”

Betty, who has known exactly what Sam means since the day she literally tripped over her future wife at university, smiles and turns down the covers on her side of the bed.

“That’s Jake,” she says. They’ve spent hours, discussing their son’s odd, charming quirks long into the night, offering up phrases like “old soul” and “wise,” and eventually realized nothing they said could ever completely encompass the loving little person they somehow managed to bring into the world.

“That’s Jake,” Sam agrees, and turns her version of Jake’s golden smile on her wife. Mischief sparkles in her eyes, and Betty wonders how she ended up with three people in her life that she absolutely cannot win against.

“Ready to get sweaty, Betty?”

Betty groans but can’t hold back her grin. “You are the absolute worst, and that is exactly why I love you.”

…

Sam manages to shock Dean when he insists on a big family Christmas. His extra years on earth apparently helped the younger Winchester warm to the idea of holidays, finally getting to enjoy them with his son as he never did during his own childhood.

Sam doesn’t have to try very hard to talk everyone into celebrating. Things have been calm and serene, more than a little on the uneventful side, and Dean figures it will add some variety to his afterlife. Something to plan, something to look forward to that won’t be crashed by murderous Elder Gods or various other supernatural entities.

Probably.

Dean secretly loves that feeling of finding the perfect present for someone, something he was never really in a position to do back on earth. He takes a deep breath, proactively reminding himself that this is okay, this is allowed, this is good, that everything is not only okay but actually kind of great, really.

He can be happy. He can. He can do this.

The shade of red Sam’s face turns before he finally dissolves into laughter is a thousand percent worth the degradation of actually gifting someone a signed vinyl copy of Celine Dion’s first solo album.

“It’s perfect, Dean. Thanks, man.” Sam pulls his brother into a hug, and his giant paw slapping Dean in the middle of the back literally knocks the panic right out of him. Deans huffs, at a loss for words, and hugs Sam back perhaps just a smidge too forcefully before letting him go.

“You’ll never top Sapphire Barbie for best Christmas present, but this runs a close second.” Sam shakes his head, still grinning as he reads over the back cover of the album while Mary and John look on, varying levels of confusion and amusement on their faces.

“What’s he talking about, Dean?” John asks. He takes a long drink of his whiskey. “Sapphire Barbie? Some kinda code word or something?”

Sam and Dean glance at each other, their shoulders tensing automatically. For a moment, Dean can actually feel the phantom hunger pains transposed over the current fullness of his belly, and he can see a tiny Sam (still way more hair than necessary), huddled despondent and hungry under a shitty, moth-eaten motel blanket, convinced there would be no Christmas.

“Dean, uh...accidentally got me a Barbie for Christmas one year, it was — a, uh — yeah, he wanted to make sure I got a present, so he grabbed it, and…” Sam trails off.

John huffs a confused laugh, and Dean’s hackles rise at the scoff, so like Sam’s and yet so much more...condescending. John rises from the couch and goes to refill his glass. Sam seems content to let the moment pass, but something in Dean’s gut, something latent and ignored since his heavenly ascension, sparks and smolders bitterly.

“How the hell do you ‘accidentally’ get somebody a Barbie?” John asks, still chuckling, and Dean suddenly realizes he’s real fucking tired of biting his tongue.

“I stole the Barbie. Stole a couple of other things, too. A Christmas tree, some decorations, a baton.”

Mary glances between her sons, confused, before turning to John. “Where were you while this happened?”

A parade of emotions march over John’s face: confusion is followed by slow recognition. Guilt makes a quick appearance only to be chased away by dull, ashamed anger.

Dean can practically see John’s mind flashing through the scenario, recalling more about the hunt than his own sons on that cold, nasty Christmas Eve. He knows the instant his dad reverts to default setting of laying the blame on his eldest son. Dean braces himself automatically, his body viscerally reacting to the familiar storm on his father’s face.

Dean has the fleeting thought that at least his dad is drinking from a glass now; ought to hurt a lot less than being hit with a whole bottle.

“You left your brother to go steal from somebody else’s home on Christmas? After what happened with the shtriga?”

Dean knows true anger, near rage, for the first time in heaven, and the bitter wash of it through him is cutting and all too familiar.

“Pretty stupid thing to do, I know, but I wasn’t even twelve yet, so I wasn’t making the wisest of decisions.”

“Not even twelve?” Mary cuts in. “Sam? Does anybody feel like explaining this to me?”

“What the hell were you thinking, Dean, anything could have—”

But Dean had a lifetime of being plowed under by his dad’s inability to take responsibility, has had way more than enough of shouldering the blame for shit he should never have been left with in the first place.

“I was thinking that somebody should get a seven-year-old something for Christmas, should make sure he has enough to eat. Where were you, Dad? What were you thinking? Because you sure as hell weren’t thinking about us.”

That knot starts up in Dean’s throat again, the muscles tightening against the fear that blossoms in his chest, echoed from decades of training. Sam’s hand finds Dean’s arm, and Dean looks to him. Instead of the caution or reproach he’s expecting, though, all Sam simply nods.

“Say it, Dean.”

Dean stands slowly, facing John Winchester with every bit of strength he’s built, every bit of courage he’s earned from a lifetime of terror, and realizes that the angry, bitter man before him is no more a threat to him anymore than Chuck is. And without looking, he knows Sam stands behind him, solid and resolute.

“I wasn’t even twelve. It was Christmas, and you abandoned us. Yeah, I stole Sam a Barbie doll. You know what I got for Christmas that year? The year before? Every fucking year before that for almost as long as I can remember?”

John opens his mouth, even now unable to admit his faults, but Dean barrels on before his dad can get a word out.

“Not a damn thing from you. Not one damn thing. Not presents, not food, not a warm place to sleep or a word of thanks or approval. Not even a fucking phone call to say Merry Goddamn Christmas.” Dean pauses one last time, and it suddenly feels like he’s towering over the man whose shadow always felt too dark, too large, too suffocating; the man whose respect he used to crave more than food and water.

“What about me, Dad? Huh? What about me?”

Dean doesn’t recall leaving his parents’ house, doesn’t remember driving home, but he finds himself on his own front porch, leaning forward in his rocking chair. He takes in a long, deep breath before scrubbing his hands through hair and leaning against the back of the chair.

A breeze rifles the leaves of a nearby tree, ruffling Dean’s hair. He taps his thumb against the arm of the chair and takes a long moment to breathe in the night air.

Dean lets his thoughts roll around for a while. The stars creep slowly across the black, the crickets chirp, and the breeze continues to tickle through Dean’s mussed hair.

“You and I could write the book on shitty dads, am I right, kid?”

He’s not sure why he decides to talk to Jack. Just nice to have someone to talk to, knowing they’re not going to talk right back.

“Could just cut him out. Dunno how that’d work in heaven.” He thinks a moment, then grins to himself. “Not sure Mom’d let me get away with that. Sam would back me up, though.” Dean grins into the somehow not-empty night. “I would be the guy that brings a family feud into paradise, huh?”

Dean takes in the wilderness around him, the empty house at his back, the extra rocking chair for...a visitor, he supposes. He has learned today that heaven, as perfect as it is, still holds anger and bitterness and loneliness, and he figures that’s to be expected.

“You still did good, kid. You and me, we did good even with our shitty old men in and outta our lives. Glad we cut yours out for good. Guess I’ll figure out how to deal with mine eventually. All I’ve got now is time, anyway.”

Dean pushes up slowly, still surprised at the lack of cricks, pops, and aches that accompanied the action his last couple of years on earth.

“Night, Jack,” he says into the wind. He glances over at the empty rocking chair one last time. “If you see him, tell him —just tell him—”

Dean frowns, shakes his head, and turns his back on the night.

…

Jake’s not a crier, not really. There are inevitable tears that come with bad falls, but Jake sheds tears like it’s a physical reaction that he’s getting out of the way so he can move on.

So when Betty goes to change the sheets in her son’s room, only to find him silently crying on the floor, she panics. Sheets flop forgotten to the side as she drops next to his, reaching instinctively for his still-plump cheeks.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“Nothing happened, Mama, I’m sorry I scared you,” he sniffles, his eyebrows down low on his small forehead.

Jake has never lied in his entire young life, and Betty is torn because he is obviously upset about something, but his face is full of nothing but truth and confusion.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Jakey,” she says, settling on the floor next to him and opening her arms. He instantly climbs into her lap, hooking his own arms around her neck and nuzzling under her chin. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Can you tell me what made you cry?”

“I...I don’t know,” he says, his little voice quiet and heavily confused. “I was playing with Tabby, she was helping me build a tower with my blocks, and then Mommy came to get Tabby for her snack.”

Betty is stumped. Jake has never had any kind of separation anxiety, as far as she can tell. He’s spent nights with both sets of grandparents, even a couple of weekends with aunts, uncles, and cousins, and never shed so much as a single tear.

“You...are you crying because you miss Tabby? She’s right in the next room, baby, you can go with her for snack time, you know that.”

“No, Mama, I —I don’t know why I’m crying. Tabby hugged me, she said she loved me, then she went with Mommy, and I felt...really happy. Like —the happiest ever, and...it was too much happy?”

The last part comes out as a question, and honestly Betty isn’t sure how to answer it.

“Well, baby,” she starts hesitantly, not sure where to lead this particular discussion. “Can you explain what you mean when you say ‘too much happy’?”

He snuggles closer against her chest, his forehead pressing along her jaw. “I dunno. I think...maybe I’m not supposed to be that happy? Is that why the tears came out? Because I got more happy than I’m supposed to get? Was I wrong, Mama?”

Betty breathes slowly, tightening her hold on the little boy in her arms. “You weren’t wrong, Jake. You can be as happy as you want. There’s never too much happy, I promise.”

She feels him shift, and she looks down to meet his clear, green gaze. He studies her carefully, scrutinizing her expression, and she’s reminded why she’s always been so very careful to tell her children the truth, albeit on levels they can understand.

“You pinky promise?”

The proffered pinky is smudged, pudgy, and absolutely perfect. Betty hooks her pinky finger with her son’s, bumping his nose gently with her own.

“Jakey, you have my eternal permission to be as happy as you are capable of feeling. And no one is ever allowed to take that from you. Good?” He nods, and she carefully brushes the tear tracks from his cheeks. “Sometimes feelings are really big, and they’re just a little too big for your body. They have to find a way out, and that’s why the tears come out.”

“Is that why you cry when you watch the kissy movies?” he asks, suddenly smiling. “Your feelings are too big, too?”

“Yup. We’ve got big feelings in this family, Jakey. Better get used to it, kiddo.”

...

More time passes. Dean walks, he talks, he goes through the motions. He heals a little with every conversation, every time he reaches out, and even though some of the wounds feel as fresh as the day he got them, eventually all that’s left are faint scars. He’d never willingly erase the scars, anyway. He earned them, and he’ll be damned if something like a little death and talk therapy could just wipe them away.

Gradually — so gradually Dean doesn’t realize it until Donna makes a comment one night after their regular poker game — Dean learns to not only let his guard down but drop it entirely. He’s shocked to realize the loss of his emotional armor doesn’t even bother him.

Dean works on Baby, drinks with Bobby, teaches Mary how to make an apple pie from scratch, and even manages to have a couple of honest, semi-civil conversations with his father. They don’t exactly reach Andy and Opie levels of father-son bonding, but John does eventually manage to grudgingly admit he fucked up some (a lot). Dean supposes anyone can make progress in heaven if they try hard enough.

He’s talked to everyone he can think of, settled scores, smoothed ruffles, filled himself to bursting with absolution. Dean is so absolved he thinks he might punch the next person who pats him on the back and tells him how much good he’s done for the world.

And still, he comes home every night to that extra rocking chair.

He waits now, waits while he talks with Sam, waits while he walks through the woods, waits while he changes Baby’s oil. He can’t shake the feeling that something is coming. He can feel it around himself, like a suit of armor or a second skin. Nothing terrible, nothing ominous, but something. Which is weird because nothing ever seems to happen in heaven, not really.

Could be he’s just bored, but Dean doesn’t think that’s it. Not entirely.

He talks to Jack nightly now. It’s a habit, something to help Dean talk through and untangle his thoughts into something he can understand. He looks forward to their talks, being able to get his feelings out without being either validated or rebuffed. Just letting some steam off.

He’s done it for so long that he can barely remember the night he started. Dean knows Jack can hear him, but the kid’s been true to his word, stayed hands off and radio silent. He lets mortals deal with their own issues, keeping himself and the supernatural world well away. Even the angels leave people alone in heaven.

Especially the angels, Dean grudgingly admits to himself, late one night after leaving Sam’s house. Instead of going home to that extra rocking chair, he drives Baby slowly, aimlessly, yet somehow ends up back on that same bridge where he met up Sam all those years ago.

He parks right at the end (no traffic in heaven) and strolls out to the middle, scuffing his boots and sending little puffs of dust in the air. His hands are stuffed deep in his pockets, out of habit more than anything else, and he lifts his gaze from the ground up to the full moon in the sky.

“Hey, kid,” he says softly. “Hope it’s goin good for you.Things are pretty good here. I know you know, you’re everywhere and all that,” Dean waves his hand vaguely, then continues, “Just wanted to let you know, I guess. I didn’t tell you enough, but we—I —really appreciated you. Appreciate you. You, uh...you did real good, kid. Then and now.” He pauses, then takes a breath, standing straight and letting all pretense go.“Please tell Cas...he did good, and...I miss him. And I know you’re all taking the hands-off approach, but —I dunno, maybe...he could —stop by? Or…”

The silence around Dean is heavy, comforting like a thick blanket.

Or a tan trenchcoat, he thinks.

“Jack —“

He cuts himself off, though. He spent all this time in heaven working through rivers of bullshit, wearing down mountains of lies and self-loathing until he can finally be honest and open with everyone. And if he’s going to be honest with himself tonight, Jack isn’t who he needs to talk to.

“Sorry kid, I gotta put you on hold.”

Purgatory flashes before his eyes, that sense of loss and being lost, the desperation and certainty that he’d never see his best friend again.

I can’t do this anymore, he thinks. I can’t pretend anymore. And I’m done lying to myself.

“Cas. Castiel. I hope you can hear me. I miss you. I don’t know where you are. Bobby said you were here, that you helped remake this place into something pretty damned awesome, but I never see you. I can feel you sometimes, can tell some things are up here just because you put ‘em there. Someone will tell a story, and I swear I can feel you standing right beside me, can almost hear you frowning and not understanding the joke. I…”

He knows there’s something left —knows he hasn’t found the right words yet. He has no idea what that right thing is, or even what he’s still waiting for, but he figures if he just barrels on, it’ll come to him.

“There was too much in the way, back on earth, in Purgatory. Too much always coming after us, trying to kill us or worse. I got in my own damned way, never knew what to say or how to say it. Didn’t think I deserved...I should’ve…”

He’s not sure what’s more bizarre, that he’s praying to someone who probably won’t respond — probably can’t even hear him — or that he’s doing so in a place wildly opposite from that last time he prayed like this.

Dean isn’t sure how he keeps ending up in this situation, but here he is, gasping out his feelings to the night air, barely able to squeeze the words past that perpetual knot in his throat.

“It’s a lot clearer up here, more room to breathe and think. This heaven you and Jack made...it’s great. Hell, it’s damn near perfect. But there’s no you. And I just can’t see my heaven as right without you. I can’t...I can’t take my forever if you’re not in it.”

A wispy cloud, silver in the moonlight, drifts across an otherwise flawless sky. Dean stares upwards for several minutes, wondering if Cas can see the same stars tonight, wherever he is.

“Maybe...I don’t know if you can come back. Or if you even left. I don’t know how any of it works.”

He’s on the cusp. He can almost taste the next step.

Dean’s at a loss, though. He could be brave: he could say everything he should’ve said in that last moment, everything he should have told Cas.

Or he could take the comfortable path, revert to being a dick and tell Cas exactly how he feels about all this silent treatment, about the no-show in heaven or not telling him about his deal with the Empty until it was too late, about waiting until the last second so Dean would have no time—

Or he could do both.

Both is good.

Metal railings squeak under Dean’s punishing grip. He’s not sure when he grabbed hold of the bridge itself, but right now he needs all the support he can get.

“You left me! You should have told me, given me a chance. Another chance, just one more. I’m sorry, Cas, I knew but I didn’t. I— I should’ve told you, should’ve held you, I could have—“

The tears flow unimpeded, the air squeezed from his lungs in convulsive gasps, but Dean can’t stop now.

“I should have told you everything I felt, every day. I should have trusted you more, and I’m so sorry. You were always family, you were always there for me when I needed you. We both fucked up so many times, lost so much time together. I was so angry at you, at me, at everyone and everything, and I let it get in the way.”

The silence around him is maddening. Here he is, ripping his guts out in the middle of the bridge, and all he gets back is crickets and evening breezes. Dean shoves off the railing, too frantic to stay still.

“Gimme something, Cas, anything! I’m pouring my heart out! I fucked up, and I’m sorry, and I swear I’m gonna do better, but you’ve gotta give me the chance! Just...just give me some sort of answer, please? Let me know you’re there!”

The silence persists.

Just as quickly as Dean’s rage crescendos, it fizzles suddenly. He drops to the ground, back and head slamming hard against the side of the bridge as he lets out a roar of helpless rage. His fists grip his hair, teeth grinding against the wave of helplessness that threatens to overwhelm him.

“I missed my chance, I waited too long, I should’ve said— I should have—“

And then it comes to him.

His hands draw down from his hair, scrubbing his face before steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. He can’t believe it’s taken him this long to realize.

“I’m an idiot.” His voice is barely audible, even to his own ears, but he has no doubt his words will reach their intended destination. “This place you built, you and Jack, it’s as good as it gets. I deserve it, I earned it. I got my family, I got the easy life for a while. I got my family. I had my rest. There’s only one thing left in the universe I need, only one person I want.”

Dean stands, dusting himself off and turning his face back up to the stars.

“I’m ready, Cas. I— I love you. And I’m ready for the next thing. Whatever that is. However that is. As long as—”

One last pause.

“As long as you’re there, that’s all I need.”

...

The inevitable day of separation comes: Jake’s first day of kindergarten. Samantha is proud of her guardian warrior, knows he’s going to succeed at everything he puts his little bullheaded mind to. Betty hopes very hard that he won’t be too lonely without Tabitha there with him. Tabitha only knows that Jake’s finger tastes good and makes her gums feel better when she chews on it.

Jake, as always, approaches this monumental step with aplomb and logic.

“I’ll give it a shot,” he says casually as his little sister gnaws on his thumb. “An’ if I don’t like it, I’ll just stay here and take care of Tabby. You an’ Mommy can go to work, then, ‘kay, Mama? I can make nut butter n’ jelly sammiches. But I’ll try it out.”

...

School isn’t so bad, Jake decides on his second day. His teacher Mrs. Harris seems to know what she’s doing (she already knows who she can trust with scissors and glue), and the other kids are nice enough. There’s different toys (“learning tools”, Mrs. Harris calls them), so that’s interesting enough, but—

Something is missing.

“Can you tell me what you mean, Jakey?” Betty asks at dinner that night. “Are there supplies you need? We got everything on the list.” She wipes a smear of sweet potato off Tabitha’s face before looking back to her son. His mouth is turned down in a frown of concentration, like he’s trying to remember something.

“I don’t need anything, Mama, just...someone. I need someone. My friend hasn’t come to school yet.”

“It takes time to make friends, baby,” Samantha says. “It’s only the second day of school. Have you tried asking anyone to play yet?”

“Yeah, and they’re fun and all, but they aren’t my friend. My friend isn’t here yet,” Jake says. Then his frown vanishes with the sudden mood change of a five-year-old, and he turns beseeching eyes on Betty, aiming unerringly at the softer target. “I finished my green beans. That means dessert now, right, Mama?”

Jake decides on the third day that the best place to wait for his friend (he just knows he’s going to show up any day now) is the playground.

“My friend likes the playground,” he murmurs. “That’s good, I like the playground, too.” He eats his lunch slowly, watching the other kids wolf down their food so they can have extra playtime. He’s barely finished his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, though, when he’s distracted by movement on the other side of the play yard. The door to the school opens and the school secretary steps out. Then she turns and gently pulls someone out from behind her.

A small boy stands in the doorway, white shirt tucked neatly into black slacks. His blue tie is a little loose, as if he’s been tugging on it, and his tan jacket is a little too big, hanging loosely around his small frame. His hair looks like someone was in too much of a rush to comb it properly. He clutches a pink piece of paper in one hand and, in the other, a backpack inexplicably decorated with flying, winged slices of pizza.

“Late drop-off, parent had to run,” the secretary tells Mrs. Harris before tiptoeing out of the room.

With an anxious glance at the other children, the boy scuttles forward and immediately trips over his own untied shoelaces.

Jake is at the little boy’s side before anyone else can react, kneeling down to check on him. The prone child is too shocked to cry, both by the fall and by the sudden appearance of this unknown factor. Jake checks him over, then nudges him until he sits up.

“You gotta keep ‘em double tied,” Jake says seriously. “Or else that’ll happen all the time.” Without waiting for an answer, Jake sets about the laborious task of looping each set of laces in turn, rabbits chasing each other around trees and down holes until the shoes are secure.

Jake climbs to his feet and reaches down, gripping the other boy’s shoulders and helping him stand. A dark smear of jelly stains the shoulder of the coat in the shape of a smudged purple handprint.

“Thank...thank you,” the smaller boys whispers. He lifts his eyes hesitantly, and clear blue meets olive green for the first time. “I’m Chris.”

“I’m Jake.” He thinks for a long moment, frowning. Something is settling in his chest, something big and permanent and scary; at first he thinks it’s too much.

Then he thinks back to what Mama told him: you can be as happy as you want.

He smiles at Chris. “You’re with me. You’re the one I was waiting for.”

Hope and just a bit of delight flicker across Chris’s eager face.

“I am? You mean it?”

Jake nods and grabs his new friend’s hand. “Yep. Now you’re here, that’s all I need. And nobody's allowed to take you from me, Mama said so. C’mon, let’s play cars.”

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witchygirl99 · 3 years

Text

Hi @fantasizingmyfantasies, I’m your Secret Santa for the @inusecretsanta! Hope you enjoy :)

Pairing: InuKag

Rated: G

Summary: Professor Naraku, in a fit of rage over Inuyasha’s insolence, has given every House an assignment on a nearly impossible undetectable poison. Two Gryffindors and two Hufflepuffs solve it anyways, with interesting results.

Note Regarding Witchy Banner Below: Shoutout to @neutronstarchild for making this for me :) She’s the absolute best. Inspiration for the banner comes from @dangerouspompadour and her wonderful creative to let you all know to keep reading ;)

“Are you sure?” Jinenji asked, tugging his long, swirling robes tighter around him as they bustled through the arched hallways of the castle. Students were everywhere, both fleeing into and out of the library. With O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s so close, wizards and witches at Hogwarts had settled into an almost zombie-like state of mania, complete with the muttering of enchantments and funny hand twitches as they fake-casted spells. As a third year, Jinenji was thankful he still didn’t have to worry about those. At least, not yet.

“Have some faith in me,” his best friend, Kagome, argued. Her dark brown eyes looked up at him, somehow glimmering off the yellow inner lining of her robe, peeking out while they hurried to their destination. Jinenji had met Kagome back when they were both first years, both assigned by the Sorting Hat to Hufflepuff. They had become fast friends and for the most part, the two of them managed to partner on most important projects. “Miroku already finished the assignment. Apparently, his guardian was always going on about different poisons, especially those that could be hidden in a drink.”

Jinenji hummed, believing her. He had never talked to Miroku before but Kagome was a good judge of character. If she trusted the Ravenclaw, then he did, too. “I’m surprised we were given this assignment at all. Aren’t we supposed to discuss undetectable poisons, not create them for homework?”

“Well, we have Gryffindor to thank for that.” His best friend pushed through the grand wooden door of Hogwarts’s library, a hush befalling them, like the outside noise of the castle was cast away. Immediately, they could feel eyes on them, though no one visible stood behind a desk. That was likely because the library was ruled with an iron fist by Mister Myoga, the head librarian and also a flea demon. He used his virtually non-existent height to sneak around and ensure students were treating the books with care or remaining quiet. “I heard,” Kagome whispered now, “that Professor Naraku was so angry that he kicked some Gryffindor out of the classroom and then proceeded to make three Slytherins who cheered cry.”

“You’d think he’d have enjoyed that,” Jinenji mumbled back, trying his best to keep quiet. “Professor Naraku is kind to the Slytherins.” His friend hummed at him, leading them further and further back into the library. Jinenji trusted her to know where they were going, and exactly what they were looking for. “Seems unnecessary that this is our assignment, too. Gryffindor and Slytherin had class yesterday. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw today. Why give it to us, too?”

“It’s Professor Naraku, who knows?”

That, at least, was a fair point that Jinenji couldn’t argue with. Not that he was one to argue much at all.

“Come on,” Kagome whispered, hand tugging on his robe. “There’s a potions book – almost like an encyclopedia – by the greatest potioneer ever, Mukotsu Inada. Terrible wizard. I’m pretty sure he’s been in Azkaban for the last ten years. But!” She waved a hand at Jinenji’s look of horror. “The greatest potioneer ever. If there’s no details on this undetectable itching poison in there, then it’s nowhere.”

Jinenji hid his expression, knowing Kagome was right. At this point in the library, he was completely lost, but his friend had no such issues. They turned a corner at one stack of books before zagging in the other direction, muffled voices coming from not too far away. He watched as Kagome frowned, dragging him still, and when they came to what was clearly supposed to be the right spot, he spotted two other students scouring the shelves: Gryffindors.

“You!” Kagome exclaimed, surprised.

Jinenji blinked, surprised by the outburst, and then finally took a good look at the wizard and witch before them.

It was Inuyasha and Shiori. The Troublesome Twosome of Gryffindor.

Oh no.

X+X+X

Inuyasha Taisho was already in a sulking mood, not that he would ever admit as such to Shiori. “Are you sure it’s here?”

“Where else would it be?” Shiori snapped at him, violet eyes a little crazy. She’d been looking that way ever since Inuyasha and Professor Naraku had it out in yesterday’s Potions class, and Shiori had been saddled with taking down the notes for their joint assignment on undetectable poisons without him. Potions was already the bane of Shiori’s existence; she was far more about actions and spell work, leading the Defense Against the Dark Arts grades. Inuyasha’s snarling outburst at Professor Naraku’s stupidity, followed by his dismissal only twenty minutes into class made Shiori have to do double the work. He owed her.

Still. “And you swear you heard the name correctly? You’re not just making shit up?”

“For the love of Merlin, Inuyasha, shush,” Shiori hissed. He was lucky her wand wasn’t out, or he was sure she’d have cast something on him by now. A silencing spell, if nothing else. “I overheard your Hufflepuff girl in the hall. I’m sure it’s correct.”

Inuyasha couldn’t help himself. He turned unimpressed golden eyes at her. “She’s not my Hufflepuff girl!” Ever since their first year, the two of them had been having this argument. Inuyasha didn’t understand why Shiori couldn’t let this go. So what if he thought the Hufflepuff girl was cute? That was normal. She was quick to smile and friendly and basically the opposite of Inuyasha’s entire existence. But it wasn’t like they had spoken or anything, which meant that there was no way Kagome Higurashi, Hufflepuff darling, could be considered in any way ‘his.’

“Whatever,” Shiori replied, kicking him lightly in the leg. “I guess your forlorn staring at her in the Great Hall every evening at dinner means nothing. Fine. Help me find this book!”

Inuyasha sighed. Best friend or not, Shiori was quick to call him out on anything deemed bullshit.

“You!”

Immediately, Inuyasha glared at the intruders to their little library stack, hating being surprised. It was only then that he realized, like some kind of nightmare, that the exact person they were talking about was standing before them. Kagome stared at them in shock, Hufflepuff robes fluttering around her, with another hulking Hufflepuff wizard right behind her looking rather uncomfortable. “What?” he asked, the question coming out far ruder than he meant to.

“Oh, just—” Kagome frowned a little, brow furrowing as she looked between both him and Shiori. Her dark gaze landed on his friend, curiosity taking over her features. “You were listening in earlier!”

“No,” Shiori argued immediately, shaking her head. It didn’t help that the book she was shielding herself with was, in fact, the Great Book of Potions by Mukotsu Inada.

“Just because we’re not in Ravenclaw doesn’t mean we’re stupid,” Inuyasha barked, crossing his arms defensively. “We go to the library for research, too.” He knew that he had a reputation at Hogwarts, and that by association, Shiori did too. Very few witches and wizards ever dared to challenge them at anything. This was almost refreshing.

The Hufflepuff wizard stepped forward then, looking between them and his friend before trying for a smile. He was so tall, his head was the same height as the top of the stacks. If he wasn’t in Hufflepuff and known around Hogwarts as a gentle giant, Inuyasha probably would have been worried about a fight. “We don’t think that at all,” the wizard said quietly, voice shockingly small. “It’s good that you found it. I’m Jinenji and this is Kagome. You’re looking for the itching poison too, right?”

Inuyasha couldn’t help but look at Kagome, swallowing down the words that he already knew her name a long time ago. She smiled back at him despite his unwavering scowl. Inuyasha was begrudgingly endeared even more than before. Shiori could never find out.

“We have Potions class tomorrow and if we don’t complete the assignment tonight, Professor Naraku will have our heads,” Shiori said then. “Specifically Inuyasha’s.”

“Hey!”

“Where’s the lie?”

Inuyasha scowled and looked away. “Whatever. We need the book more. We can give you back the book when we’re done.”

“No way,” Kagome argued, smile slipping. “We have far too many other assignments and this is hard enough that doing it last minute would be terrible.”

“Well then you can copy the book right now.”

Kagome plastered on a smile. “Since I was the one that led you here, you should copy the book.”

Inuyasha eyed Jinenji, the giant Hufflepuff, watching him deflate. “No,” he retorted, just to see what Kagome could do. How far could a Hufflepuff go in friendliness? “We got here first.”

“I have an idea,” Kagome interjected, still friendly but oddly firm. “Since we all want to do the same assignment tonight, why don’t we do it together? That way, we get all the information we need, we all complete the assignment on time and everyone is happy.” Inuyasha opened his mouth but she shot him a sharp look, smile gaining an edge and quelling his argument. “This is the best plan.”

“That’s fine for me,” Jinenji replied quietly. Inuyasha noticed that despite his size, he almost shifted behind Kagome, as if hiding from the confrontation. “Where will we do it? We can’t practice in one of the classrooms at this hour or we’ll be caught for sure.”

“The girls’ Gryffindor bathroom,” Shiori said suddenly, finally speaking up. “No one goes in there, not even the prefects.”

“That’s perfect,” Kagome encouraged, nodding. “Great idea.”

Too nice. She was far too fucking nice. At least she wasn’t smiling anymore, menacingly or sweetly.

Jinenji hummed. “Should we go now, then? Meet up in ten minutes so we can get our scrolls?”

“Works for me,” Shiori answered, her elbow digging into Inuyasha’s side.

He huffed. “Yeah, whatever.”

“Wonderful,” Kagome concluded.

Inuyasha watched her and the giant Hufflepuff walk away, mouthing the word wonderful incredulously. Who even said things like that?

X+X+X

The Gryffindor bathroom was haunted. This was very likely why no one came in it, Kagome thought, staring up at the ghost floating in front of her.

“You must be the Hufflepuffs,” the ghost whispered, eyeing her and Jinenji in turn. He was a squat little thing, a toad demon with massive eyes and a permanent frown. While non-corporeal and clearly transparent, the ghost still took off the hat on his head and scratched, assessing them. “You shouldn’t be here,” the ghost warned.

“Leave them be, Jaken! You’re never supposed to be in here anyways, and yet.” It sounded like the Gryffindor girl Kagome had caught hanging around her in the hall earlier that day, right after the disastrous Potions class with Professor Naraku. Kagome wasn’t the suspicious kind, but she had noticed the way the girl had stopped and fiddled with her bag for an overly long time, those violet eyes looking up every once and a while like Kagome wouldn’t notice.

Well, she had. Kagome didn’t mind that she was being listened to, but wouldn’t it have been so much easier if the Gryffindor had just…come to her outright and asked?

Suddenly, Shiori poked her head around the corner and flashed them a smile. “This way! There’s enough room by the stalls for us all to sit.” She eyed Jinenji as she said it, only a brief glance, but Kagome was grateful that the two of them had at least considered her friend’s bulk. Jinenji was too kind-hearted to ever complain and it drove Kagome nuts every once and a while.

A cauldron sat in the middle with numerous jars and bags surrounding it. Seated on the far side was Inuyasha, glowering at it. Kagome tried for a smile, sitting down beside him. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out so Professor Naraku can’t pick on you.”

Inuyasha blinked at her, looking confused for all of a moment before his nose scrunched up. “Pretty sure we could get perfect on this and he would still pick on me.”

“He is, after all, the reason we were even assigned this horrible homework,” Shiori grumbled, sitting across from Kagome. She elbowed Inuyasha and shot him a sympathetic glance. “In fairness, Naraku was being a huge jerk.”

“Whatever,” Inuyasha grumbled, and Kagome watched as he peeked at her quickly before returning his glower to the cauldron. “Let’s just get this over with. If we miss curfew and I get caught again, I’m fucked.”

“We wouldn’t want that,” Kagome agreed.

“I can read out the ingredients,” Shiori offered then, holding the book. “Inuyasha can do the cutting—”

“Actually,” Kagome interjected, smiling to soften the blow of her interruption. “Jinenji is the best with preparing the ingredients. He’s saved so many of our potions I can’t even keep count.”

Inuyasha shrugged, looking like he didn’t particularly care. Jinenji, as expected, turned red at the praise, big hands fidgeting with each other. Kagome knew this would make him the most comfortable though, and pushed over the various ingredients already collected. “That’s fine with me.”

“We can work on the potion itself,” she said, reaching out to get Inuyasha’s attention back. He startled again and Kagome felt helpless but to do anything other than smile reassuringly. “What’s first?”

Shiori gave Jinenji the proper instructions for the ingredients. Some things were quite simple, like pouring in a certain amount of the powdered porcupine quills, but other ingredients required some finessing. Kagome was pleased when Inuyasha and Shiori watched, entranced, as Jinenji deftly prepared the aconite flowers, big hands somehow managing to cut up the petals while only touching the safe stems. He gave Kagome the tiny board he had brought filled with the sliced petals, prepared as always, and Kagome carefully held it over the cauldron while Inuyasha transferred them into the mixture.

They let it heat for a minute, the four of them quietly watching the ingredients mix together. Jinenji, smart as always, started to crush a few of the remaining herbs using a pestle.

Inuyasha tapped on the floor of the bathroom, golden eyes seeking Kagome’s the moment time was up. “Now what?”

Shiori, leading them all, was the one to answer. “The effectiveness of the poison is determined by the length of brew. Great Potions tells us what the consistency is supposed to be, so I think as long as we record it on our scrolls, we’ll just have to hope that by tomorrow morning we’ll have the right result. I can bottle it up first thing, one for each of us to deliver in class.”

“Here’s the last of it,” Jinenji interrupted softly, offering what was in the pestle.

Kagome took it and just like their usual routine, Inuyasha made sure it carefully was put in. She nudged gently at his knee, gesturing towards her own wand. “You do the honours and then I’ll stir?”

The Gryffindor blinked at her for a moment before shrugging, grabbing his wand. Inuyasha waved it above the cauldron, and the deep purple mixture bubbled into a dark blue.

“That’s it,” Shiori exclaimed, excited. “Matches the book exactly.”

“Thank god,” Inuyasha groaned, making Kagome laugh. She double-checked with Shiori before putting in the long spoon and stirring seven times exactly, watching the blue liquid swirl around. It was bubbling quite rapidly, despite the low heat, and when she removed the spoon there was a tiny burst of it, popping out of the cauldron and landing right on the chest of Inuyasha’s clothes.

For a long moment, the four of them were silent, staring in disbelief.

“The itching poison—” Jinenji started, but was cut off immediately by Inuyasha’s heavy sigh.

“Why does this always happen to me?” he grumbled, undoing the tie of his outer robe. The problem was that the blue liquid could clearly be seen on the shirt underneath, closest to his skin. The itching poison was supposed to be quite horrible and she really didn’t want to have to take them down to St. Mungo’s.

“Hurry,” Kagome insisted, getting worried. If Jinenji had started to bring up the itching poison, it could only mean that things would go bad quickly.

The Gryffindor scowled at her. “I am hurrying!”

“No, not—” And then Kagome was forcing her way in front of him, pushing at his robe before grabbing onto the buttons of his shirt underneath. “If this touches your skin, you’ll be itching for a month, at least, and you’ll never be able to make it through class tomorrow—”

“I have it!” Inuyasha argued, even as Shiori tugged the robe from behind him. “It’s fine, it won’t—” But then he got somehow impossibly tangled. Shiori wasn’t letting go, pulling even harder, and Inuyasha flailed backwards.

“Oof!” Kagome, her hands on his shirt still, was dragged down with him. It was an ungainly sprawl with Kagome embarrassingly ending up straddled above his prone form, lying on the ground.

She stared at him for a second, horrified, while Inuyasha looked at her with something akin to fear.

And then she saw the blue liquid on the collar, having moved from the fall, and it was so close to his skin. “Off!” she yelled, tugging furiously.

“You’re not undressing me!” Inuyasha shouted back, even though he, too, was trying to avoid the poison.

“You have to!”

“No!”

“Inuyasha!”

“Kagome!”

“Inuyasha!”

X+X+X

Behind them, Shiori crawled over until she was side-by-side with Jinenji. She stared up at him with big violet eyes, trying and failing to suppress her smile. “Should we tell them?”

Jinenji sighed but he looked just as amused as she was. “That the effectiveness of the itching poison doesn’t begin until at least an hour of brewing?”

“Yeah.” Shiori nodded and then stared at Inuyasha and Kagome, yelling at each other and somehow both trying to accomplish the same task. “That.”

“I already tried.” Jinenji shrugged. “It’s not like they can actually get hurt.”

But just as he had spoken, Kagome had finally managed to successfully tug at Inuyasha’s shirt, hauling him up into a sitting position and whipping off the material from the side. They both twisted, and Shiori could only watch, like a train about to crash, as Inuyasha’s and Kagome’s faces collided.

To call it a kiss would have been excessive. Both turned extremely red anyways.

“What are you doing?” Inuyasha yelled.

“Me? What about you? Why would you lean so far forward?!”

“It was that or you were going to dislocate my shoulder!”

“No, I wouldn’t have,” Kagome argued.

Shiori nudged Jinenji, even though her elbow barely made it past his huge legs. “If you and I are going to have to watch this play out for the next four years, we better get an Outstanding on this stupid assignment.”

The giant Hufflepuff smiled down at her. “I’m sure we will.”

#IFY #witchy writes #inusecretsanta #fantasizingmyfantasies #inuyasha fanfiction #inukag fanfiction #harry potter AU #inuyasha #kagome #jinenji #shiori #iyfss

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giggles-and-freckles · 3 years

Note

anakin comforting obi wan with ✓: waking up either adorably confused or painfully scared and ✘: forehead kisses!

[¿por qué no los dos? and also HAHA at this one being closer to 2k+ words than 1k HAHA I HAVE A PROBLEM]

Anakin flipped over in the bed again.

He hadn’t managed to get a truly good night of sleep since being at the temple, but this was excessive. One side of his bed was burning hot, the other was freezing cold. His pillow was too flat, but he would fluff it and then he would feel like it was too thick. His sheets were tangling around his feet and the light from Coruscanti traffic poured through his window in an aggressive assault on his consciousness.

But more than the physical feelings was that strange something pressing down on his chest.

He’d only been at the temple for a couple months, but he’d already learned a lot. Obi-Wan had encouraged him to jump right into classes instead of waiting to ‘adjust’ like some of the other masters around the temple had suggested. So far, Anakin was thankful Obi-Wan was his master and not those other Jedi. He liked his classes and had learned more about what he now knew to be the Force.

He was confident it was what was keeping him up, more than the uncomfortable bed and Coruscanti traffic.

Anakin slipped out of his bed, finally giving up on the sleep that seemed determined to elude him. He rubbed at his eyes and padded into the common area. It was pitch dark, as he knew it would be, but the feeling in his chest deepened, pulling him toward–

“Master Obi-Wan?” Anakin called, rushing toward the older Jedi’s room.

There was another crash, then, followed by a groan.

Anakin slid open the door, not even pausing to marvel at the way the door obeyed the instinctual move of his hand in front of it. Obi-Wan was in trouble.

“Obi?” he called into the dark room, blinking at the empty bed.

Another groan and then– “You.”

Anakin’s eyes widened as he took in his Master’s crumpled form on the floor. The lights from the city caught on his face and the eyes that Anakin had found comfort and peace in these past few months now gleamed with danger and hate.

“M–master?” said Anakin with uncertainty.

“You killed him!” Obi-Wan screamed, lunging toward Anakin. The younger boy managed to jump out of the way and Obi-Wan collapsed onto the floor in front of him, a pathetic, heaving pile of anger. Anakin briefly wondered whether he should flee or hide or something, but then Obi-Wan’s shoulders began to shake with sobs and Anakin found that there was no question what he needed to do.

“Master Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispered timidly, crouching to the floor and putting a light hand on Obi-Wan’s back, like his mother had done so many times before.

“Get away from me,” Obi-Wan croaked. “You killed him.”

“I–I’ve never killed...anyone,” Anakin swallowed, begging Obi-Wan to see him.

“You killed him and I’ll kill you!” Obi-Wan’s voice rose again and he pulled his face from the floor, fixing Anakin with a glare of absolute malice. For the first time since being at the temple and since meeting Obi-Wan, Anakin felt...scared.

He took a step back, watching Obi-Wan crumple back into himself, the way worms on Tatooine would if they hadn’t found shade by double noon. The sobs started back up and Anakin, once again, found himself torn. He should get help or a healer or maybe a weapon if he needed to defend himself should Obi-Wan try to–

A vice-like grip encircled Anakin’s ankle and he barely managed not to scream from the surprise of it. Obi-Wan pulled himself toward Anakin and fell back on his face in front of the padawan. “Qui-Gon...he’s...and you–”

Anakin’s eyes widened in horror. This was about Qui-Gon and––Obi-Wan blamed him. It hadn’t been on purpose! Master Jinn had promised to take Anakin on as a padawan but he hadn’t meant for the Sith to find out or for Master Jinn to fight him. If Anakin had only followed directions; if he’d stayed put like Qui-Gon had asked, maybe he would have been there to help the former Jedi or–

“Maul,” Obi-Wan croaked to the floor, his hands twisting at the bottoms of Anakin’s sleep-trousers. “Maul, please don’t do this…”

Anakin released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Obi-Wan wasn’t blaming Anakin...he didn’t even know Anakin was there. He thought he was the Sith from Naboo!

“Obi,” said Anakin softly, suddenly feeling brave, “it’s me, Anakin. Your...your padawan.”

The word felt clumsy in his mouth, but he didn’t know what else he was supposed to say or do to bring his master back.

“You killed him and–” Obi-Wan broke off into another sob and Anakin dropped to the floor, crouching in front of his master.

He wasn’t experienced in this sort of thing; he’d never seen someone have a nightmare. But he’d had his fair share and his mom was the absolute best at this sort of thing.

“You’re dreaming, Obi,” said Anakin, trying to make his voice as soft as his mom’s, “it’s not real.”

Obi-Wan didn’t respond, his hands still ringing Anakin’s pajama pants in anguish.

“It’s not real,” the younger Jedi repeated, placing a tentative hand on his master’s shoulder. “You’re real. And I’m real, too.” He squeezed Obi-Wan’s shoulder just like his mother had done. “See? Real.”

Still no response from Obi-Wan.

Anakin moved his hands down the older Jedi’s forearms and stopped above his wrists, lightly squeezing there, too. After that, he gently pulled Obi-Wan’s hands from his trousers and gripped them with his own smaller hands. “Real,” said Anakin, giving his hands a squeeze.

“Real?” Obi-Wan managed.

The beat of Anakin’s heart sped up. Obi-Wan.

“Real,” Anakin nodded fervently, squeezing Obi-Wan’s hands again.

Slowly, Obi-Wan looked up from the floor, blinking at the boy in front of him. The traffic lights dancing across his face looked less harsh now, though they still highlighted the shimmery tears dotting his cheeks.

“Anakin?” he asked with a confused frown. “What are you–how did you…?”

“You were having a nightmare,” Anakin offered, not willing to let go of Obi-Wan’s hands just yet. Obi-Wan didn’t seem ready, either.

“Jedi don’t have nightmares,” Obi-Wan’s frown deepened.

“Well,” Anakin shrugged, “you just did. You were talking about…” Anakin trailed off before finally muttering, “Maul. And...Master Qui-Gon.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and shuddered momentarily. Anakin felt his master’s grip tighten around his hands and he wondered how many times this had happened before.

“I’m sorry if I woke you, padawan,” said Obi-Wan, casting his eyes to the floor. He seemed to finally notice that he was still holding his student’s hands and dropped them quickly.

Anakin tilted his head and reached a hand up, pushing the fallen bits of Obi-Wan’s hair out of his eyes. The older Jedi looked up with a start, his eyes flashing in surprise. “It’s okay,” said Anakin, lightly resting his hand on top of Obi-Wan’s head. He wondered if he’d always looked as lost as Obi-Wan when his mother had sat up with him after a bad dream. “Sometimes at night, it’s hard to tell what’s real and what’s not.”

Obi-Wan sighed shakily.

“My mom used to always tell me to remember two things; no matter what was in my nightmares, I was real and so was she.”

“That’s true enough, I suppose,” the ghost of a smile flickered across Obi-Wan’s lips.

And then, because his mom had always done it and he felt like it was the real game-changer of this exercise, he leaned toward his master and gave him a light kiss on the forehead, where Anakin’s hand was still pushing his hair back.

Obi-Wan jolted backwards with a start. “What–what was...that?”

Anakin’s eyes widened and his cheeks reddened. “I...it’s what my mom always did.” He could feel his lip quivering and he pleaded with his tears to stay back because Obi-Wan could not see him cry. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t...I didn’t mean to–”

“Hey,” Obi-Wan interrupted softly. It was him who laid a hand on Anakin’s shoulder this time. “It’s all right. It just...surprised me is all. Jedi don’t typically...show affection. Not like...that.”

“I’m sorry,” Anakin hug his head, feeling so stupid. What was he thinking? Of course Jedi didn’t kiss each other on the forehead. They carried lightsabers and had perfect fighting form and drank completely black caf.

He was such an idiot.

“Anakin,” said Obi-Wan, and it suddenly occurred to Anakin that they’d been whispering for this entire exchange. “Look at me.”

With a sniff and a deep breath, Anakin looked up at the older Jedi. Obi-Wan was smiling warmly at him, his eyes finally, finally focused. “I’m glad you’re real,” he said, still whispering.

Then, with the tiniest bit of uncertainty, he leaned forward and grazed Anakin’s forehead with his lips.

#my fic #whump prompts #forehead kisses #waking up either adorably confused or painfully scared #obi & ani #I'm new to this but I read that drabbles historically mean exactly 100 words and that made me CHOKE #HOW DO PEOPLE DO THAT #the fic writers of ancient history are so so strong #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #star wars fanfic

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unlocktxt · 3 years

Text

Game Over

choi yeonjun

genre: horror, yeonjun x reader

word count: 2k

warnings!!!: THIS INCLUDES BLOOD AND GORE! there is mentions of murder, drinking, and cursing. it is also a bit suggestive. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

note: I tried writing this really quickly and it is unedited, so it may be pretty bad.

every halloween... a girl goes missing. every halloween a certain family moves. for every person celebrating halloween, there is another mourning.

“babe! please! you know how much i love halloween.” a frown adorns your face as you stare at the boring boy infront of you. you had a whole day planned in spirit of this one time of the year!

“y/n i already told you... i don’t feel comfortable celebrating halloween anymore.” yeonjun sighed as he rubbed his neck. anytime you brought up halloween he’d just get jumpy and ignore all your ideas.

you huffed before thinking, “okay... since we can’t come to an agreement... why don’t we compromise?” you were upset that he was being a debby downer on Halloween, but you assumed he had his reasoning.

he was one of the sweetest boys you’ve ever met, honestly he could do no wrong... but with that came his fear. you met him almost a whole year ago and around that time he would jump at everything... the first time you met him he was crying with some dead flowers in his hand. he had gotten better over the months that you two have been together, but there were certain moments when he would have a breakdown... and he never told you why. you only assumed that halloween was one of those days that brought back bad memories for him because these past few days he’s been extremely paranoid.

“i don’t know y/n... i really don’t feel like going out tonight.” he didn’t look at you this time, just looking down while playing with his fingers.

you walked over to him- who looked more fragile than ever, and took his hands in yours. “we don’t have to go out to celebrate halloween. how about we play some classic halloween movies- that are not scary- and carve some pumpkins.” you stated into his hesitant sparkly eyes that always managed to calm you down. you could only help you could do the same to him and as his stiff body relaxed a bit, you knew that you had.

“and... there’s no going outside right? we can just stay in the house- with the doors and windows locked.” yeonjun raised a brow, wanting to confirm before he would let his guard down.

“yes yeonjun we can stay inside and lock the doors and windows.” you smiled softly at his cute paranoia. who knew people could get this scared over halloween?

yeonjun instantly enveloped you in a hug, “thank you baby.” you could only let out a small laugh at his behavior, “of course.”

you had gotten the pumpkins and all of the supplies to carve them, while yeonjun was busy locking everything. he even made sure to close the blinds.

“okay baby can you turn on hocus pocus? i’ve already secured the pumpkins.”

after yeonjun turned on the movie, the two of you started your carving.

“babe... babe. i think i’m gonna throw up. the inside of the pumpkin feels disgusting!” yeonjun quickly took his pumpkin juice hand out of the pumpkin, looking at it in disgust.

“you’re such a baby, you’ve done worse things than emptying a pumpkin.” you chuckled as you looked in between him and the pumpkin. now wearing a smirk, you grabbed a handful of the pumpkin insides and threw it at his face.

he sat for a few seconds in disbelief before swiping the plant off of his face. he could only stare at your hunched over figure, while plotting his revenge. while you were too busy laughing he put himself to work, carving an even bigger hole before speeding through the gutting.

having seen his fast at work arms, you stopped laughing only to realize he was going to finish before you.

“oh so we’re racing now?” you grinned, unaware of his intentions, and started to get to work yourself.

your arms were getting tired and before you could tell the boy that he won, a cold orange pumpkin blocked your vision.

“yeonjun! that’s so disgusting!” you took the giant thing off of your head only to witness your boyfriend dying from his laughter. it was a major contrast to the frightened boy before. it warmed your heart, and you wanted to see more of it.

“oh so you think that’s funny huh?” his laughter only became more intense as a response. you rolled your eyes playfully before putting his pumpkin down.

before you could say or do anything else there was a crash coming from upstairs. yeonjun’s laughter instantly subsided, replacing with his trembling hands.

“i’ll go check it out.” you decided, quite spooked yourself, but you didn’t want yeonjun to have to deal with it.

“no!” his sudden shout caused you to jump and look at him in awe. “i’m sure it’s nothing... i’ll go check it out.”

he walked up the stairs slowly with his hands in a fist. time seemed to go by slow. the eerie silence didn’t calm you nerves. it had only been a few minutes, but yeonjun hadn’t said anything.

“yeonjun! is everything okay?” you hollar, preparing yourself by grabbing the knife from carving.

“yeah! sorry babe, but a few kids broke out window.” your stiff shoulders finally relaxed as you put the knife down.

“ok! we will have to get someone to fix it, but for now let’s finish carving our pumpkins.” your racing heart started to slow while waiting on your boyfriend to come back down the stairs.

“actually... i was thinking... you bought these hot couples costumes for us, so maybe we should put them to use.” he was walking down the stairs, but his suggestion had you in awe.

“what are you implying mister?” your cheeks were flushed as you wondered what had gotten into him.

“well i know you planned for us to go to eunjin’s party, so i thought why not? it should be fun because i’ll be with you.” yeonjun was already wearing his fake bloodied doctors outfit. he looked good in it just like you predicted.

“go on, put yours on.” he threw the bloodied nurses outfit at you while grinning. his aura was completely different, but you couldn’t complain... it was attractive.

you hurriedly put your costume on in front of him before excitingly grabbing the car keys.

“hurry we’re already late yeonjun!” you jumped around in excitement before yeonjun smacked your ass from behind you. your eyes widened at his sudden action. you were taken aback because he never did that.

“sorry your ass just looked too good not to slap.” yeonjun pulled you and your red face closer to him as the two of you walked out of the house.

the halloween music was blasting in your ears, the party lights only adding to your party spirit.

“go have fun babe, i’ll wait for you.” yeonjun looked around, his hooded eyes scanning everyone in the room.

“or... we could both go and get a few drinks.” you smirked at yeonjun as you grabbed his hand, leading him to the kitchen. he was smirking along with you as you found the alcohol.

you didn’t know what you were drinking, but you managed to drink a cup full. with yeonjun’s encouragement you managed to be on your fourth before he dragged you outside where everyone was dancing.

it had gotten a little hard to dance once the alcohol kicked in, but yeonjun managed to keep you afloat. eventually he leaned in, kissing you deeply. his plump lips moved against yours in a rough manner, but you managed to replicate it. He bit your lip, causing a spark within you to ignite. your mind may be hazy, but you knew what this feeling was.

yeonjun pulled away first, seeming to read your mind. “fuck this party I have something better in store for you at home.” his words excited you and you rushed with him driving.

“okay y/n put this on.” yeonjun placed the blindfold in your hand, looking at you with expectancy.

“oooooh... kinky.” your slurred words didn’t help the sentence, but you managed to put on the blindfold before he guided you up the stairs. the two of you were silent as he sat you in a chair before using a belt to tie your hands and feet. ‘this is a completely new yeonjun.’

“and... surprise!” yeonjun ripped the blindfold off of you and you were met with him sitting across from you- his mouth clothed and his hands and feet just like yours. what was going on?

it wasn’t until the same man that tied you down walked over to what you thought was yeonjun. you must be seeing double after whatever the hell you drank.

“poor y/n looks confused yeonjun. whatever shall we do?” he confirmed that the one sitting was yeonjun, but then who was he and why was he looking at you with fake sympathy.

“i kissed your sweet little girl friend yeonjun... it was nice to actually get in some of the action... now i know that we don’t need you. i can have all the fun myself. you failed your job, so i had to come in and do it for you. you’ve always been a sucker.” yeonjun- or whoever this man was- twirled the knife in his hands before walking over to you.

“now y/n... you made this too easy. you were so thirsty for me that... i almost feel bad for you. we can’t have you running your little mouth though can we?” the man- yeonjun’s twin- reached for your tongue as you screamed. in attempt to get the man away from you, you bit down hard- managed to get him to pull away.

“you bitch!” your heart was racing now. he was going to kill you. you hopped in the chair, trying desperately to get out. you wish you could remember all of those defense videos you had watched.

“oh... i’m going to enjoy your slow and painful death. your blood will decorate this house very nicely.” he glared at you with a sinister smile. you fumbled with the belt, but the actual yeonjun tackled the evil twin. you don’t know how he got out, but he was buying you time and that’s all you needed.

“leave her alone! you’re fucked up you know that!” yeonjun yelled as he punched his brother. you continued to struggle underneath your restraints as yeonjun continued to pound the sicko.

yeonjun stopped after a few minutes and walked up to you. he also terrified you. you don’t know if this was all some game to him. he failed his job? what does that mean?

“don’t worry y/n... i’m not gonna hurt you. in fact, after we call the police you can run as far away as possible.” he sighed, sadness in his voice. was this the yeonjun you knew? was it all an act?

“w-what did he mean by your failed job?” you asked as he started to unbuckle you.

“well... i’m apart of this family who kills people every year. i never wanted to be apart of it...” he choked on his words as he started to sob, “but... i didn’t know a way out until now. i plan on turning them all in thanks to you.” you felt awful. he disgusted you, absolutely disgusted you. he’s the reason so many people have died... he’s the reason you could’ve died... yet you loved him.

“i’ve never killed someone with my own hands... here’s the phone you can call the cops. make the decision you would like.” you got up quickly and grabbed the phone, dialing 911. you reported the crime as quickly as possible, knowing this was going to be a lot to explain...but at least you had yeonjun.

once you put the phone down you walked over to yeonjun, hugging him as the emotions bombarded you. it was a lot to take in.

“thank you y/n.” yeonjun sighed, hugging you tightly.

“for what?” you asked, almost pulling away until a sharp pain came from your lower back.

yeonjun pushed you off of him, “for helping me kill my brother.” the yeonjun who always looked fragile looked different now. he was emotionless, worse than his twin. you fell to the floor, trying to get your legs to work to no avail. yeonjun grabbed your hair as you teared up.

“plea-” a slit to the throat. that was how all of their victims died, but this time... the other twin was tainted with the blood of an innocent.

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chiseler · 3 years

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Hammett Made It Easy

To put it bluntly, it is simply, humanly impossible to watch Roy Del Ruth’s original 1931 film version of The Maltese Falcon without drawing comparisons and parallels with John Huston’s much more popular (if not exactly “timeless”) version from a decade later. After all, in many fundamental ways the films are a nearly identical match, scene for scene and line for line. Almost, anyway. Enough so that you’d notice.

The fault for this lies squarely on the shoulders of author Dashiell Hammett. whose 1930 novel made straying from the original source material extremely difficult. The sharp dialogue, the snappy pacing, and the already cinematic scene structure are all so very good that there was little reason to go messing with it. In fact, as the story goes, when screenwriter John Huston made the decision to move into directing, Howard Hawks gave him a copy of the book as a potential first project shortly before Huston left on a vacation. Huston handed the book to his secretary and told her to type it up in script format. She did, and it was that initial version straight from the book that was green-lighted by the studio—even before Huston had had a chance to read it.

Huston later made a few minor changes and additions, but one has to wonder if ten years earlier screenwriters Maude Fulton and Brown Holmes didn’t work much the same way, given how much of the 1931 film’s dialogue reappears verbatim in Huston’s—with the notable exception of the Shakespeare quote that closes the latter (a line supposedly suggested by Humphrey Bogart).

Granted, Huston’s film runs twenty minutes longer than Del Ruth’s spiffy 80-minute number (for a number of reasons, including a much larger role for the hapless gunsel Wilmer and an extended final sequence), but nevertheless if you remove the script from the equation, comparing the two films becomes much easier. At that point the remaining important factors are the directors and their styles, and the casts and their performances.

By 1931, Del Ruth was already well underway in a directing career that would find him making comedies, musicals, dramas, Westerns, and even the occasional horror film. Although comedies were his real forte (he would soon direct Lee Tracy in Blessed Event), taking on something like the Hammett novel was not that unusual. He was not a particularly remarkable director, and stylistically his films resembled most other standard films of the day. The scenes were quick, the camera was static, he didn’t have much time for pizzazz. As was the case of so many of the films of the era, his pictures often resembled filmed stage plays. He was on a tight schedule, and as soon as he finished one he had to be on to the next in a couple days. In the end he crafted an entertaining, well-told story, and that’s all the studio and audiences were looking for.

Meanwhile, The Maltese Falcon was going to be Huston’s directorial debut after having solidly established himself as a respected screenwriter. Some of the suits at Warner Brothers were hesitant to let him make the leap, so he had to prove to them he could do it, and approached the film with the kind of energy and big ideas you find with so many first-time directors. Although the film wasn’t as flashy and inventive as Citizen Kane, Huston did pull out a few tricks, like the famed seven-minute take, and the camera work was fluid and energetic. Even if audiences didn’t notice a number of his little flourishes, it was still a very confident film. More importantly, it was an entertaining, well-told story—and that’s what the studio and audiences were really looking for.

(It’s worth noting, however, that Huston’s version was much tamer than Del Ruth’s—perhaps for obvious reasons. In Del Ruth’s version there’s no pussyfooting around the fact that Sam Spade really is having an affair with his partner’s wife. Nor is there any question what happens after Spade accuses Ruth Wonderly/ Brigid O'Shaughnessy of only using money to buy his allegiance.)

What Huston really had on his side was, if not star power exactly, then at least a handful of familiar faces. It might have been Sydney Greenstreet’s film debut, but audiences certainly recognized Mary Astor, Peter Lorre, Elisha Cook, and Bogart. Up until this point of course Bogart had only been a character player, but his star was definitely on the rise, and broke with this film.

Del Ruth, on the other hand, was working with an armload of good, available B actors. Most of them worked regularly, but they weren’t exactly Joan Blondell or Douglas Fairbanks.

It’s in looking at the performances of the two groups that the real differences between the films arises. Take the character of Sam Spade, for instance. Bogart’s performance as the womanizing, sharp tongued private dick always struck me as stiff and stagey—you can almost hear him thinking of each gesture before he makes it, and each line before he speaks it. There’s something tangibly artificial in his performance, the feeling that we really are watching an actor, and moreover one who’s not trying very hard. Or maybe one who’s letting his stage training get the better of him, thinking the dialogue alone will carry the day. I of course love Bogart, just not here, particularly.

Ricardo Cortez (in reality the NYC-born son of Austrian immigrants) portrayed a much looser, more easy-going Spade, always ready with a quip and forever chasing skirts. He gives a much more relaxed performance that often borders on the straight comic. In spite of the fact that Cortez is much more comfortable in the role, it seems, his Spade is almost out of place here, smirking his way through a double murder investigation.

Seen today, Greenstreet’s Gutman seems so unique a performance that it immediately became iconic, and a character and performing style he would go on to recreate for the rest of his career. It seems unique anyway, until you see Dudley Digges Gutman from a decade earlier. The similarities between the two performances are shocking. The intonation, vocal tones, the side mutterings, the laughter, the gestures, even the facial expressions are so nearly identical it’s almost as if Greenstreet studied Digges’ performance closely and decided to recreate it for the remake. Strange thing is, for American character actor Digges, it was a unique role quite unlike anything else he’d played before or would play again. Unless you care to argue that the spirit of the true Kasper Gutman inhabited both actors (and then stayed in Greenstreet), it’s a mighty remarkable coincidence.

One of the more interesting distinctions can be seen in the character of Spade’s secretary, Effie Perine, and more specifically it boils down to a single line reading.

In one of the first and most famous lines of the film, Effie informs Spade that a new client is waiting to see him. In the Huston version, bubbly Lee Patrick says, “You’ll wan to see this one anyway—she’s a knockout!” She seems awfully enthusiastic about it, happy to encourage her boss’s assorted flings. It seems a little odd, but then she spends the rest of the film running errands for Spade and we never give her another thought.

In Del Ruth’s version, Una Merkel’s Effie does not smile and does not chirp when she says dourly, “You’ll want to see this one anyway. She’s a knockout.” There’s so much stifled bitterness, frustration, and jealousy in the line that we can read her entire character—almost her whole life—in those few words. And for the rest of the film, whenever Spade asks her to run another errand or do another favor, we know what she’s thinking when she agrees. Thanks to Merkel, Effie becomes the one honestly tragic figure in the entire story, with the possible exception of Wilmer.

As Gutman’s henchman and punk, far be it from me to compare anyone with the great Elisha Cook, Jr.—unless of course it’s the equally great Dwight Frye. Sadly Frye has been given very little to do here except look sullen and angry. In fact he’s only been given a single line of dialogue (“I’ll fog him”). Still, he’s always fun to watch—though admittedly not as much fun here as Cook, who gets to give Bogart a vicious kick in the head.

In the end and over time, the choice of which, if either, version is superior is a simple matter of taste. It does become easier to understand, though, why in the 1950s Del Ruth’s version was redubbed Dangerous Female in order to distinguish it from Huston’s.

by Jim Knipfel

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 123: Snape's Worst Memory

It finally happened, as it was bound to do. One of them took these continuous bad falls just a bit to hard.

Lily yelped in surprise to find herself on a branch, couldn't latch onto the trunk let alone another one for stability, and went crashing down so fast she couldn't guess at what was below. Her face was dunked into water, while her arm crashed into something much more solid, sending a white-hot shot of pain in all directions from her elbow.

She came up spluttering and gasping in pain, her hair plastered to her eyes leaving her blind, her wand arm throbbing so bad she couldn't have done anything even if her mind wasn't frozen in shock.

Only when she began whimpering at the movement but forced herself to use her other arm to push her hair aside did she suddenly realize she'd also lost her wand during the fall and she'd have no way to fix herself up, but then her eyes adjusted to see Potter was already leaning over her.

Even if she would have had the presence of mind to tell him to piss off she wouldn't have, her arm just hurt too bad and she'd be grateful for anyone to fix it. His wand tapped her arm so fast and lightly she didn't even feel it, and just like that the pain was reduced to a dull throb in seconds, and then a cool tingling replaced that, before she was flexing her fingers and rolling her shoulder like nothing had happened.

"I'm sure Madam Pomfrey would have you in the hospital wing overnight just to make sure it went perfectly," he told her with pure sincerity, "but it's not at that crooked angle anymore, so I think you'll live."

He just smiled at her. Not a grin, not a smirk, just a friendly smile as he offered both hands to help her up in a gentlemanly fashion.

She took a deep breath, and he was already lowering his hands in surrender, before she surprised them both by grabbing hold and hauling herself to her feet. Since he'd already started to pull back she barely had a good grip on his fingers as she did so, but she got back upright and released him all the same. His hands hovered for only a moment around her shoulders to make sure she was going to stay upright before he dropped them and took a step back, now with that familiar smug look firmly set in place.

For some reason it wasn't as grating as she remembered it should be.

She looked just as quickly away, and felt a swarm of feelings for recognizing every inch of this place. The little pond she'd landed in was ringed with four smooth stone pebbles that had broken her elbow, each had a different-sized handprint on them in a different color, the koi were all at the other end still. The rainbow awning gave shade to half the backyard, the sandbox on the opposite side of the tree nobody had looked at in years, and the kites left out, though long weather-damaged, gave a friendly enough sense of life. She was all too familiar with the tree she'd just fallen out of, because Petunia had once done the very same thing when she was seven and her collarbone had broken in three places. Lily had run over to help, placing her hands on her sobbing sister and easing her crying for only a moment, and her older sister had actually smiled at her in thanks, one of the very few times she'd seemed in awe of her magic rather than hating it.

She'd spotted that cat weather-vane from the roof of Snape's home. They were at her house. That tree had a direct view right up to her window, and while the branches didn't extend far enough for him to crawl over, he'd scaled it countless times with pebbles in hand to get her attention, and she'd ease open the window and bounce dangerously on the awning before bunching up the material and sliding the rest of the way down, landing just so over the table and the two ran free of the yard.

It seemed Potter may have done something of the same affect. Her window wasn't open, but the table was overturned like someone had landed on it, the glass surface had a crack down the middle.

A thrill of horror shot through her, the number of times they had shown up at someone's house was not a good omen for what was to come, and that was before she heard the chapter title, 'Snape's Worst Memory.'

Potter snorted and looked back towards the house where Frank's voice was coming from in surprise.

He spoke without thinking, "what would that be, his first bath?" Then he winced as he realized who he'd said it in front of, reminding himself too late she still wouldn't find that funny, and turning back to see her infuriated face meant he was still a pretty good judge of her character. He was unsurprised when she stormed into the house and slammed the backdoor behind her, and he sighed and gave her a few moments before following.

Walking in found a large, spacious living room. The ceiling was dark paneled wood and made it seem larger than he was sure it should be, and the floor was smooth marble tile in a wavy black and white pattern. There was an unlit fireplace with a brick hearth, with four different sofas along each wall. To his immediate right was an oblong table visible leading into the kitchen, across was the opposite front door, and to the far left was a hallway which probably led to stairs.

Longbottom was still reading, yet another ridiculous ministry decree, it was a miracle those weren't in the hundreds by now, and knowing he only had a fifty-fifty shot of avoiding whichever way she went and still trying to give her space, headed for the kitchen where he could hear his friends' voices coming from, she'd have more than likely avoided the same.

The kitchen was much more narrow, almost a hallway, with double doors at the end ajar. Longbottom was in there, leaning casually in a seat that squeaked in front of one of those machines that had electrocuted him last time. Alice wasn't anywhere to be seen, and it surprised him the guy was just apparently casually sitting around wherever he'd found the book to read, so close to Remus rummaging just feet away in one of those things that kept the food cold.

Sirius was unabashedly shoving cookies into his mouth and alternately flipping a noisy sounding device in the sink on and off for his own amusement, Remus holding his wrist protectively and James wasn't sure he wanted to know how close Padfoot had come to sticking his hand in that odd sounding machine before Moony stopped him. What would a Muggle even have blades down a sink for? Peter was at his back, presumably turning off whatever that thing was that made this whole place hot as an oven. It had four visible circles up top, each with little knobs above it, and though the door was closed, it seemed to be glowing on the inside.

Regulus was sitting on the counter beside Peter, looking around uneasily and chewing on his cheek as he eyed all of the available cupboards. If James had to guess, he'd almost say he was repressing the urge to open them all and have a look through, but something of this clearly Muggle house was still holding him back.

James had a very good idea whose home they were in, judging by Evans's face outside, and he was torn between encouraging this behavior to help loosen the kid up and giving her some privacy.

Lily went stamping up the carpeted stairs with so much frustration she expected dad to call after her any second to cool her temper. She was being ridiculous anyways, Potter's continued idiocies shouldn't surprise her any more than another fight with Petunia.

She reached the landing to see Alice holding a picture she'd very clearly knocked off the wall. It was the four of them on their first trip to the zoo.

She'd been sitting on her dad's shoulders, not even looking at the kind stranger as her eyes stayed trained on the multiple birds in the aviary. Mum had her arms wrapped around Petunia, who was giving a very posh smile that hid well how bored she'd been by that point and had been begging to go home.

"I bet your patronus would be that one," she told Lily as she glanced up, pointing at a red parrot, the blue and yellow plumage on its wings spread wide.

"I like to think it would be a bird," she agreed, "I've always loved them."

Alice immediately set the photo back on the wall, and looked to her in concern for the tone. She'd tried to sound happy about the easy topic, but it had clearly failed her.

"Want to talk about it?" She asked quietly, no judgement in her tone for whatever her answer.

Lily's automatic response wanted to be no, but that hadn't been doing her a lot of good recently, just bottling all this up. She still wanted to talk to Sev more than anyone, being back home only reinforced that. She hadn't come back during Christmas break this year, the two of them had stayed at Hogwarts to look after their newest pet project potion, claiming it as studying for the coming Potions OWLs, though they really needed no such thing. They could brew whatever happened next week by their fourth year, the two of them spent so much time looking, studying, and perfecting Eileen Snape's book.

They hadn't been interrupted once by any of those other horrible friends of his, it was the last good memory she had of him before the semester had kicked back in. It was always just the two of them during the summers here.

The chapter title still bothered her greatly though, even as that tosh about the Inquisitorial Squad was dumped on them, and Umbridge dragged Harry up to her office to interrogate him. The two stayed quiet and Lily began leading the way to her room as this went on, her hand tense on the handle until a massive BOOM interrupted all of her questions about where Sirius Black was.

Finally releasing a breath she'd deny she was holding, she pushed the door open and answered her just as quietly. "That chapter title, I'm wondering if his worst memory is meeting me."

"Oh Lily," she immediately stepped forward and wrapped her in a hug. Her clothes were still slightly damp, and she didn't even seem to be taking in the room. The walls were zebra-striped green and pink, there were posters hung all around of places she'd like to visit in the world and an old stuffed owl sat on her lions, and tigers, and bears bed sheets.

"He hates me so much in this future," she sobbed, sure Alice couldn't understand a word, her voice shook so much. "I think I pushed him too far, made him choose, and-" was that what his worst memory would be? Was Harry going to use Protego on him again and she'd finally hear of what she did to make him be such an intolerable person to everyone?

The fascinating description of Weasley's Wizard Wiz-Bangs did not distract her as she finally cried herself out, Alice just holding tight and rubbing her back until finally she had no more tears to spare and just fell onto her bed in exhaustion. Her face felt itchy and hot still from the dried tears, but as she kept swallowing and finally breathing normally again, she convinced herself she had to stop this. She wouldn't cry over him anymore. Maybe she'd find out and maybe she never would, but surely it didn't happen until far into the future. Maybe her finally agreeing to date Potter for whatever reason had done it and she'd fix this by that never happening, there was still time, right?

Alice still remained affable at her side, just sitting there like Potter had, it amazed her both of them had just instinctively given her exactly what she hadn't even wanted to ask for. She was inquisitively eyeing the room now, and when finally she caught Lily's eye again and she smiled, Alice was quick to grin back and say, "it still amazes me how opposite you two are in literally every way. I poked my head into Petunia's room, I didn't even know there were different shades of white. Felt emptier than the closed ward."

Lily wrung out her borrowed shirt, watching a few last droplets patter on the brown carpet, but forced herself to meet Alice's eyes when she answered. "It looked a little more fun when she was younger, but I think she started doing it on purpose recently, throwing out everything in preparation to move out as soon as she could. We've always been total opposites growing up, a lot like Sirius and Regulus." She frowned and realized she'd never retrieved her wand and got up to do that immediately, lest it get lost before this chapter was over, Harry was having another dream of that room You-Know-Who wanted in so badly. In fact, it was more elaborate than ever, even more rooms were being described as You-Know-Who got closer to his prize. She swallowed a very dry throat and kept addressing Alice instead of dwelling on what that could be.

"At least I've noticed they have some things in common," she continued to Alice as she opened the window. "I don't know though, after hearing all this, I don't think I can ever make up with her."

"I really can't blame you," Alice nodded, following her to the window, and leaning out in concern as Lily went over the side. She watched as Lily easily slid down the cloth, caught the end with expert skills, and swung to the ground, rummaging for a bit under the shade of a tree before finding her wand. Then, as if she did it every day, she propped a glass table back upright, tapped it to fix a visible crack, and jumped slightly to catch the edge, clinging easily to the material as she scaled back up, and happily took Alice's outstretched hand as she crawled back in her window.

She used a quick charm to dry her clothes, and tensed in unease as Harry went down for another Occlumency lesson. It was going to happen, she could feel it, and happily looking to stall she offered, "want to tell the boys to cool it and use the showers here while we can?"

Alice was distracted from answering by Cho stopping Harry on the way to said lesson, and the two having a pretty bad fight over Marietta.

Lily had forgotten her own question by the end anyways, she could see both sides to that. Merlin knew she spent more than enough time defending Severus's bad decisions, but Harry had nearly been expelled for that shite, she couldn't blame her son for not being as forgiving.

Then Harry arrived in a foul temper to find Sev putting memories into a Pensieve again, and she took an uneasy breath but prepared herself as much as she could. She had a feeling it would do no more good than preparing herself every time they were thrown around these insane timelines.

Then Malfoy barged in with some concern about a fellow Slytherin turning up in a toilet.

The roaring laughter from downstairs almost hid Lily's huff of frustration. She just wanted to get it done with now!

"I suppose you don't want to go down there and join them," Alice guessed, misinterpreting that annoyed expression, she'd had to bite her lip to stop herself laughing at the image herself.

Lily didn't really want to, but she also knew she couldn't just keep hiding away. They were all going to hear regardless, may as well suck it up and be there for them to gawk at when it happened, they all thought her a shrew anyways except Alice, Frank, and Potter, though Merlin knew why with him.

"Yes, alright," she agreed, the two going back for the stairs, but Lily scowled and sprinted down the rest so that she could stomp into the kitchen and blame Potter at what Harry did in Sev's absence.

"That's all your fault you know, nosey twat, you've no privacy."

"Don't be ridiculous Evans," Potter seemed delighted to be the rotten apple of her eye once more. "Yours is just as curious a nature as mine, smart as you are, like you could resist doing such a thing!"

"Have you ever heard the words private property?" She demanded back.

The two just kept going like that and Frank looked from the book to Alice, wondering if he was supposed to keep going while she was at least mildly distracted. She hadn't even seemed to notice James had been sitting at the table, not encouraging, but not joining the others either as the two Blacks went snooping through all sorts of Muggle kitchen things. Sirius had at some point put a strainer on Regulus's head, but froze that way to watch the show.

Alice finally waved Frank on, hoping the blow would hurt slightly less if Lily was already venting when it happened, but sadly all attention was diverted anyways as Harry jumped into the memory, and it started how nobody would have predicted.

James busted out laughing in surprise to hear, "his worst memory's the DADA OWL? What, does he find out later he only gets an E?"

He watched in concern though as Evans turned pale in shock and took an uneasy step away from him, she'd been so close during the fight her skirt had been covering his shoes, their knees almost touching. He bit his lip and decided there wasn't even a point in getting her to laugh for this next bit, as Harry easily spotted first Snape, then him in that hall.

What were the odds he wasn't going to be featured in whatever happened next to upset Lily? Admittedly he was still drawing a blank as to what that was, surely him and Snape having yet another fight after this test couldn't be his worst memory, considering this had been a weekly occurrence for years now. His son should get the enjoyment fixating on him now, before Snape departed for whatever reason.

At least Harry was excited as he got a real chance to compare the two, and he swelled with pride at his boy being all but the spitting image of him except with the best part. She wouldn't meet his eyes, but he'd memorized the beautiful green color long ago.

Sirius, then Remus, and finally Peter were all spotted in quick succession, and James sighed uneasily as he imagined this time next week. They hadn't been given their schedules for their OWLs yet, they wouldn't get them until that Monday morning, but he knew the next full moon would have been that Sunday night. Harry wasn't the best descriptor, but even noticing how pale Remus was made it a pretty good guess this had to be only a day or so later.

He didn't seem to spot Evans at all, but James felt an extra pang in his soul he didn't even recognize his mother's initials he scribbled on his paper, and he flashed said woman an innocent smile as she scrutinized him for that.

"Better than LP, I suppose," she finally huffed.

He just beamed at her flippant dismissal to hide the rest of his unease. Would Sirius still be avoiding them then, and Harry would wonder what they were fighting about?

The opposite in fact happened, as the four casually met up to begin discussing the exam! His heart soared as he wondered what had happened to change it then, had they won the cup and Remus and Sirius finally made up!

He met their eyes though, and knew that whatever the answer, this way was arguably better, and worse. He didn't know if the four of them would ever be able to do something so casually as just walk out to the lake again when they got back and really hang out, that was still really in the air, but at least the other four let out surprised snorts of laughter at Moony's self-deprecating joke.

He easily met Evans's eyes again and put up a mock-hurt face as he cried, "you think he's funnier than me! I can make plenty of werewolf jokes!"

"Shut up you idiot," she just rolled her eyes again, but not hard enough to suppress her still present smile.

"At least you now know to study for that question beforehand this time, I feel like I should be taking notes," Regulus offered sympathetically to Peter for that test fatigue.

Peter grinned at him, before giving Prongs an aggrieved look for the book's insult on him. "I'm sure I was too busy helping you study for Arithmancy you ponce, excuse me if I don't fawn over every detail of Moony's arse like Padfoot does!"

James grinned in surprise for the shot back like he hadn't in the book and finally decided maybe Regulus was a good influence if Peter wasn't going to take it all in stride anymore. He opened his mouth to retaliate, but stopped quickly when Evans snorted in disgust about him having the Snitch on him.

"You took a whole ruddy test with that in your pocket?" Longbottom asked him in disbelief. "I'd have gone mad, that thing messing around, distracting me."

"Guess we all can't be natural multi-taskers," he jeered, but then stopped laughing in surprise when Longbottom kept going, and Harry wondered why he didn't tell Wormtail to knock off the attention. He'd never told anyone to stop that, why would he? It was fun!

Peter didn't go as pink at Sirius's next jib at him, but he still looked mildly embarrassed at how obviously he was envying them. It really was no wonder to him they thought him an idiot, he didn't exactly hide it.

The Marauders actually left this group's center of attention though, when they got the crowd's notice of catching sight of Snape, again. The following back-and-forth of curses was familiar to even first-years by that point, Potter's crude sneer, and Sirius Black's twitching hands made it very obvious they wished they could have been doing this the whole time for as pent up and frustrated as they'd been for so very long now.

Lily cringed as she finally did make an appearance, though she'd apparently been there the whole time, just watching. She wondered what Harry thought of her defending him. He was not like his father, he didn't go around cursing Malfoy for his own pleasure, but she wouldn't be surprised if her worries came true now and he'd be upset at his own mother stopping his father's form of fun.

Potter interrupted his own crass comment of why exactly he was cursing Snape, she'd heard that too many times anyways and was almost grateful when he asked her, "I noticed that took two curses longer than usual actually. You two must be really fighting an awful lot to take so long to step in by next week."

She met his eyes with a blazing scowl, she did not need him analyzing her decisions!

He raised his hands in surrender and turned back to the book with open curiosity like McGonagall had just snapped at him to pay attention, then he flinched in surprise and covered his cheek when Snape finally got a curse back, and a dark one at that. Blood apparently went splattering around!

Sirius snarled in disgust and crumbled the last cookie up in his fist in disgust at that display, but at least Prongs got retaliation by stringing Snivellus up by his pants, and Evans even laughed at that!

They all looked wildly at her for that display, but she was already trying to quickly smooth her face out and pretend no such thing would make her laugh, that she hadn't wanted to do the very same to him the amount of times he'd been ignoring her since before Easter break.

James leapt wildly to his feet now, beaming at her and raising his fist to start shouting in glee he'd actually gotten her to laugh- when Frank had kept going, and Snape said it.

The rushing noise in her ear sounded as loud as thunder, but she knew that was all in her head for how deadly silent her house had gotten. She wanted to accuse Frank of lying, but there was no mistaking that ghastly look on his face for even uttering the word, let alone who'd just really spat it at her. She wanted to run up to her room, curl up in a ball and cry until he came over to her window and apologized, but that just wasn't going to be good enough this time.

It only left one available emotion to pour down on her, to drown her in tidal waves, and she acted on it purely from impulse, if she stopped to consider it, she'd explode. She turned on her heel and walked calmly to the front door, and while it opened, she couldn't even take the one lone step off her stoop. She was trapped in here still, encased in this bubble, and she couldn't go burn down their spot.

Then she snapped, and she screamed. She shouted every spell she knew at this thing, and when they all vanished with no visible trace, she dropped her wand and beat her fists against it until she was sure they'd come away bloody and raw. She just wanted out!

Alice knew there weren't enough kind words in the world to soften this blow, and a part of her mind branched off to wonder just what Lily had gone off to destroy next week. She'd mentioned her and Snape often brewed secret potions together, and she wondered if that would have been thrown through a wall somewhere in school. Then she went forward to stop her suicidal boyfriend in concern as he finally couldn't take seeing her like that any more than she could, and he came forward to grab her.

She reared back with a vengeance, headbutting his nose so that he was bleeding again, but he barely flinched as he half picked her up, half dragged her back inside and sat down on the nearest couch with her still trembling in his arms.

Alice darted forward and grabbed her wand, quickly pocketing it while Frank promised her, "just breathe Lily, you're going to hurt yourself. I'll hold him down while you kill him when we get back, but you can't keep that up forever."

She seemed to disagree, still pushing feebly at his arms and shaking her head over and over, still uttering through a now hoarse throat she wanted out of here. Alice's heart broke as she imagined Lily, all alone in the dungeons like this, and wanted to kill Snape herself.

Somewhere in the background, Remus had picked up the book and kept reading, though neither of them really thought the next location would make this feel any better. Then Alice's eyes brightened as she remembered something, but she bit her lip before she could act on it when the adult Snape finally appeared to drag Harry away.

This had been called Snape's Worst Memory, but what about it was the worst part? She wanted to believe it's what he'd called his best friend, but had it simply been Potter's arrogance once more in front of everyone like that? It's certainly what was implied when he actually shook Harry, and threw him from the room.

She wasn't sure if Lily was going to hit her for it, but Alice went over and hugged her as well, noting with relief her shaking was finally slowing and she was watching the wall separating her from the book. Alice didn't quite get a chance to register that expression as Harry's last line shocked them all, and they were torn away.

HPHPHPHPHP

To Sanne (Guest):

"Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, "Let him down!"

A quote from the book none ever seem to acknowledge that always fascinated me, Lily does get some sort of petty relish out of Snape's torment in this scene but doesn't ever let anyone see. Her reaction in this chapter is admittedly a fanon answer to this moment, but one I stand by, she did find it justifiably funny he never listened to her to stop fighting and this was his comeuppance.

No, I don't think James was a bully, as that statement involves malicious intent of someone else's pain on a repeated basis on a vulnerable other. I never for once believed Snape was vulnerable, let alone never retaliated with just as many horrible things back. As Remus himself said, Snape never left an opportunity to curse him. I imagine all manor of unsavory retaliation, but individually to them if Snape found them alone. Did Snape laugh while he did that to them? I personally think so.

Fighting from both parties is not mutual bullying, it's a recurring battle that one side had to stop to make it right. James stopped first. Snape joined the Death Eater's.

This lone memory is Snape's worst because of what he said to Lily. What James was doing was Harry's focus, but not even Snape's, as confirmed in Prince's Tale when the memory replays in conjunction with his other times with Lily, not all of what happened between him and James.

Considering Snape is a bully to the entire student population the past years already as a teacher I don't believe for a second he wasn't the same in his youth, and don't tell me it was to keep his cover as a Death Eater. That is a bull excuse for his behavior when he could have just been a passive nobody and kept his nose down to be in Dumbledore's good graces, hell it would make more sense for him to try to be the best teacher ever if his 'plan' was to infiltrate Dumbledore's school on Voldemort's orders. James' entire character should not be based around this sole instance as so many people do. Snape had years to change his behavior both before and after what he did to Lily; instead of hating a child for his parentage and making Hermione, Neville, and likely countless others feel tormented.

As always if you disagree I encourage you to tell me, I have no problems discussing differences of opinion and I hope you enjoy the rest of the fic.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #OotP #Snape's Worst Memory #anti-snape #HP #Jilly #Wolfstar #James Potter #Lily Evans #Remus Lupin #siruis black #Frank Longbottom #Regulus Black #Peter Pettigrew #Alice Smith

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crystalninjaphoenix · 3 years

Text

Overnight Observation

A Horror Septic Story

(Why do all these stories end up so long? Seriously, they’re always my longest. Anyway, I wanted to return to Stacy and the boys and see what they’re up to. After all, they still have to meet a couple of our local horror shows ;) Remember to check the tags for any warnings, this one has some stuff that’s...sort of gorey? I don’t think it’s too intense but just to be sure, read with caution.)

—————

The world beyond the train windows was dark. It had been nothing but fields for a good while, but now buildings were starting to dot the landscape again, quickly gathering together. Soon they would be in the suburbs, then in a city. Meanwhile, the inside of the train was brightly lit, artificial white light chasing away all the shadows. There were passengers, not enough to cause a crowd but still enough to fill the train. Among these passengers were a young mom wearing a backpack and her two children, all looking tired and travel-worn.

Stacy stared out at the gathering buildings. Occasionally she managed to glimpse a street sign, but couldn’t read the language. Fighting back a yawn, she looked over at Mathew and Larkin, sitting in the seat across from her. Mathew had his head pressed against the window, eyes fixed on the outside. Larkin was leaning on his shoulder, fast asleep. They’d been travelling for a while now. Where were they going? She didn’t exactly know.

There was a slight whooshing sound as the door between train cars slid open. Stacy glanced towards it, just in time for the man who’d just entered to sit down on the seat next to her. Tensing slightly, she turned away. Maybe they shouldn’t have chosen the seats closest to the car door.

“Verzeihung, Fräulein,” the man said. “Können Sie mir sagen, was die nächste Station ist?”

Stacy glanced over at him. There was nothing strange about him at first glance. He wore a dark gray suit and carried a briefcase, his dark hair slicked back and his face unshaven. Surely anyone else wouldn’t have been suspicious. But after everything, she wasn’t about to let her guard down.

“Fräulein? Hast du mich gehört?” The man asked.

Maybe he’d go away if she answered. Stacy took out her phone and opened up the new app she’d downloaded, an English-German dictionary. She’d been trying to learn the language, but wasn’t making a lot of progress. At most, she could identify question words and things like occupations and body parts. You know, things they’d teach in a high school elective. But she plugged in what she thought she heard the man ask.

“Parlez-vous français?” The man continued. “¿O quizás hablas español? O italiano? Or English?”

“English, yes,” Stacy said quietly.

“Ah, English. So sorry.” The man smiled charmingly. “I was wondering if you knew the next stop for the train.”

“Um...it’s a city called Achmatze,” Stacy said slowly.

“Ah, perfect, thank you.” The man nodded. “You are American?”

“Yes.”

The man paused, as if waiting for a more in-depth response. “Well...what has brought you here? A vacation, perhaps? With your children?”

“Yes.”

He frowned. “So...are you passing through or stopping here?”

“Through.”

The man stared at her. She stared back. His eyes...was it just her being paranoid, or were they an odd color? She was suddenly very aware of the holster and handgun hidden beneath her jacket. Eventually, the man turned away. “You are a very special young lady,” he said under his breath.

Stacy didn’t respond, turning her attention back out the window. They were now solidly surrounded by buildings, and the train had slowed down considerably.

A few minutes later, it slowed to a stop, pulling into a station. The intercom announced this stop as the city of Achmatze. The man in the gray suit stood up and disappeared through the doors of the train car. Once he was gone, Stacy leaned over and began shaking Larkin. “Hey, Lark. Wake up, pumpkin.”

“Hmmm whha?” Larkin blinked, and stretched. “Wha’s it, Mom?”

“We’re going to get off here,” Stacy said gently.

Mathew finally broke contact with the window, looking over at Stacy. “I thought you told that guy we were passing through.”

“Well, I don’t think we should advertise where we’re really going, you know?” Internally, Stacy sighed. She wished that this wasn’t necessary, but she couldn’t help it. There was this feeling...this lingering voice told her to keep moving. Of course, that voice sounded a bit like John’s. Though they’d ended up leaving him behind, she knew how he would react in this situation. “So let’s go.”

They stepped out into the train station, a futuristic building with glass and steel going in an arch overhead as if they were inside a glass-and-steel tube. It was pretty empty, except for the departing passengers. Stacy glanced around, and saw the man in the gray suit had gotten off here, too. She stiffened, then grabbed Mathew and Larkin by the hands and steered them quickly out of the building.

Strangely, it looked more busy outside than inside. Stacy had to stop for a moment to take in the line of cars, each with one or more person standing outside and holding a sign, calling out. But the signs didn’t have names on them like she’d always pictured a rental car would have. These looked like business names, and the shouts of the people reminded her of someone trying to sell something. That was...odd. But maybe it was a cultural thing. “C’mon, guys,” she said, starting down the street. They had to find a place to stay.

Of course, once the people outside the cars saw her, the shouting only increased. It didn’t do any good, of course, since she didn’t know any of the words. Shaking her head, she continued on.

“Excuse me, miss! Miss! Are you new in town? Do you need a bed in the night?”

Stacy stopped, recognizing English. The shouter of this appeared to be a teenager, dark-haired and wearing glasses, standing outside a blue car and holding a sign reading “Süße Träume Hotel.” The moment he noticed he’d caught her attention, he doubled down. “Yes, you Miss! With the two children? We have good prices!”

“Um...so, are all these businesses for hotels?” Stacy asked.

“Yes, yes,” the teenager said. “We all offer deals to those new in town here. Ours is the first night free!”

Stacy hesitated. That...was tempting. Her savings were quickly running out, and it was clear the boys really needed a place to sleep quickly. “What do you two think?” she asked, looking at Mathew and Larkin.

“He’s nice,” Larkin mumbled, swaying on his feet.

“I guess it’s fine,” Mathew said reluctantly. “This is a bit weird, though.”

“It might just be a thing here,” Stacy said. She looked back at the teenager. “Alright, we’ll take that offer.”

“Good! Good good.” He nodded excitedly, then reached over to open the car door. “We will take you there soon! After we see if there is anyone else who wants this.”

“Mooom,” Mathew said in a low voice. “Isn’t this kind of sketchy?”

Stacy hesitated. “Well, if it was, why would there be so many people doing it, and nobody saying anything?” She squeezed Mathew’s hand. “Besides, we can handle anything they throw at us.”

“Well...okay,” Mathew took a deep breath. “Alright.”

Stacy gave him an encouraging smile, then climbed into the car.

It was actually very nice inside. The interior was clean, with a plastic window dividing the back from the driver’s area. In the front was an older lady, who looked back through the plastic and waved cheerfully. Stacy relaxed just a bit. This didn’t feel strange. Or at least, she didn’t get the same off feeling that the man in the gray suit had given her on the train.

A few minutes later, they were joined by a pair of younger women, talking to each other in what sounded like French, and then the teenage boy climbed into the passenger seat. The older woman started the car, and they drove off.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Süße Träume Hotel was also a nice-looking place. It was a building, about six or seven stories tall, surrounded by other similar buildings some ways into the city. The lobby was professional, with its color scheme being mostly blue. Once the car dropped off its passengers the teenage boy ran inside and got behind the front desk, shouting something that caused a teenage girl to appear from a back room. The girl quickly checked in the young women, then smiled at Stacy at the boys, gesturing for them to come talk to her at the desk.

Stacy paused, taking a moment to glance around the hotel lobby again. It really seemed perfectly normal, but she couldn’t fully trust anything anymore. Still, she stepped forward to the desk. After some fumbling with languages, they got checked in, and immediately headed to a room on the fourth floor.

And the hotel room was nice, too. Two beds with tidy sheets, a dresser with a television on top, and a clean bedroom. Stacy sighed and took off her backpack, unzipping it and dumping the contents on the nearest bed: a brush, toothpaste and toothbrushes, deodorant, a spare phone charger, and as many spare clothes as could fit in the remaining space, including pyjamas. “Alright, let’s get settled in,” she said, forcing a cheerful note into her voice.

Mathew and Larkin fell asleep quickly, but she stayed up for a while longer, staring around the hotel room and waiting for something to appear.

* * * * * * * * * *

The hotel served complimentary breakfast until nine o’clock, so Stacy and the boys woke up at eight and went down to the lobby to get food. Breakfast wasn’t anything extraordinary and they finished quickly. But the way back was different.

The two young women from last night were waiting at the elevator when Stacy and the boys arrived. One of them, short and blonde, waved at Stacy upon seeing her approach. “Hallo,” she said. “Er...Sprechen Sie Franzo—F-Franzö...sisch?”

Stacy blinked. “Um, I’m sorry, but—”

“Oh, English, much better!” The other woman said, taller and redheaded. “You were the family at the train last night?” Her French accent was thick, but not unrecognizable.

“Oh, um, yes.”

“Then we have a question to ask you. Those cars outside the station...is that normal?”

“Well...not where I’m from,” Stacy said. “And we’ve never been in this country before, so I wouldn’t know.”

“I see.” The taller woman looked at her friend and translated Stacy’s words into French.

At that moment, the elevator arrived. All of them hurried inside, with Stacy and the boys squishing towards the back. Larkin pressed the button for the fourth floor, giving Mathew a smug look as he did so, while the shorter woman pressed the one for the first. Once the elevator started moving, the taller woman started talking again. “It just seemed a bit odd, to have them all lined up. And last night, did the, er...the woman at the desk downstairs tell you to not go outside at night?”

“She...she did.” That had been weird. Weird enough to take note of.

“Very odd,” the taller woman said. “What did you think of that?”

Stacy considered this question. After a long while, she replied, “I think we should listen to the locals.”

The taller woman giggled, making her friend giggle in turn. The elevator stopped at the first floor, and the two women headed out. “Thank you, madam,” the taller one said as they left.

“Oh, uh, you’re welcome.” Stacy nodded.

“Hey Mom?” Mathew leaned closer to Stacy, perhaps unconsciously. “Do you think that...things are weird here because of...not normal reasons?”

Stacy frowned. Her instinct was to reassure him, but in this situation, perhaps honesty would be best. “I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “But we’ll be on our way soon.”

* * * * * * * * * *

They couldn’t spend all their time in the hotel room. At the very least, they had to go out to get food. So that day, Stacy, Mathew, and Larkin went out to explore the city of Achmatze. She considered leaving them alone in the room, but reconsidered. If something happened to them while she wasn’t there...

The city was normal enough. It was the biggest city any of them had been to in a while, so it took some getting used to, but it wasn’t too big. Stacy found a couple restaurants, a grocery store, and several shops all within walking distance on her phone’s GPS. There were lots of tall buildings, but not that many skyscrapers, which Stacy remembered as being described as having about fifteen stories or more. The architecture leaned towards older styles, and there were a few buses driving around that Stacy realized were full of visitors. Perhaps this place was culturally important, somehow. But then...that made the warning about going out at night even stranger. Wouldn’t a city with tourists want to have a rich nightlife?

Things got even stranger when they had to stop for lunch. Mathew and Larkin had been complaining about being hungry and needing a break for a while, so Stacy stopped by the nearest restaurant, some local place. Upon entering, they were immediately seated by a waiter, who thankfully spoke English.

“You are visitors, yes?” The waiter asked.

“Well, yes. I suppose it’s obvious.” Stacy tried to laugh a little at that comment.

“Very good. We sell many good local foods. Though I must warn you, it is dangerous to go out into the city alone at night.”

“Oh.” Stacy was taken aback for a moment. This was one of the first things this waiter told them. Why? Was it that important? “Well, we’ll keep that in mind, thank you.”

After having lunch, they returned to the hotel, deciding to order room service for dinner. It was getting hot in the afternoon, the heat probably helped along by the city’s dark asphalt streets. Once they returned, they were greeted by a different receptionist, an older man. “Hallo, willkommen!”

“Hello.” Stacy waved amicably.

“Ah, I see. Coming in from a day out? Very good. But be careful not to stay out after dark, especially alone.”

“Oh. Yeah, uh, we’ve been told.” This was the third warning. And Stacy knew what they said about third times and charms.

The sun lingered in the sky, shining into their window for a while. Larkin and Mathew set up Netflix on Mathew’s phone, watching cartoons together. And Stacy searched up train times on her own phone. Unfortunately, there appeared to be a limited number of train tickets available for purchase, with the soonest being tomorrow at 7:00pm.

Stacy frowned. The sun would be down at that point, wouldn’t it? Didn’t that go against the warnings? She glanced back over at Mathew and Larkin, laying on the bed next to each other, the phone propped up with a couple pillows. Larkin’s head was on top of Mathew’s shoulder, but he clearly didn’t mind.

No, it would be better to get out of this town sooner. She just knew it. Besides, the sun would have barely set at that point. Maybe it wouldn’t count. And they’d hurry.

She bought the tickets.

* * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, Stacy sat at a table in the hotel’s complimentary dining room, staring down blankly at the cinnamon roll she’d grabbed from the breakfast buffet. Mathew and Larkin were still there, deciding what to get that morning. They were well within eyeshot, so she wasn’t worried. Or at least, not too worried. The dining room was fairly empty, mostly dotted with hotel employees and other guests in pyjamas—

“Well hallo again! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Stacy stiffened, and looked up. It was the man from the train. The man in the dark gray suit. Somehow, he’d walked right up to her without her noticing. Immediately, she stiffened, not feeling as tired as she’d been just a second ago. “H...hello,” she said.

The man bowed his head to her for a moment, then looked up again with a friendly smile. “I thought you said you were passing through this city.”

“Things come up,” she said vaguely, glancing back in the boys’ direction. “I didn’t know you would be here, either,” she mumbled.

“Ah, well, this was always my destination,” the man said. “I came here for business.”

“Business?” Stacy glanced back towards him. Wait...were his eyes yellow, or was it just the lighting in here?”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “I came on behalf of my...company. We have been hoping to establish a hold in this city, but our competition is being very stubborn. Understandable, it’s been here for a while, but we are so much stronger, and a much better suit for this area. I hope to conclude business here.”

“Right.”

At that moment, Mathew and Larkin walked back to the table, plates full of various breakfast foods. “Hi Mom,” Mathew said, eyes immediately darting to the man. “Uh...who are you?”

The man in the gray suit didn’t answer at first, staring at Larkin. And Larkin stared back, eyes wide, gaping. “It’s not important,” the man finally said, taking a step back. He nodded in Stacy’s direction. “You have a very...perceptive son. My congratulations.” And with nothing else to say, he turned and walked away. Stacy turned to watch as he left the dining room, then leaned in her chair until she got the exact right angle to see him leave the hotel through one of the side doors.

“Was that...Mom, was that...?” Mathew seemed to have caught on, and looked a bit pale.

“I’m not sure, Mat,” Stacy said. “Larkin, what did you think about that man?”

Larkin was much more relaxed now that the man was gone, sitting down on the nearest chair and carefully opening his carton of milk. “I think...he was a vampire,” Larkin said. “O-or maybe a werewolf.” He paused, looking up at Stacy. “Is he going to follow us?” His voice suddenly dropped, turning fearful.

“No, I don’t think so,” Stacy said. She didn’t think this man was connected to the thing in the house that had started this all. Though he was the first thing she saw that was...strange like this, but not related to that first incident.

“Alright.” Larkin nodded, relieved, and started eating.

Mathew slowly sat down as well. Stacy hadn’t told him what Roisin, the old woman back in Ireland, told her about Larkin. How he could see through the disguises these things put up. But Mathew was smart enough to realize his little brother knew more about what was going on than he appeared to.

“So.” Stacy said. “We’re ready to leave today?” It was now clearer than ever that they needed to leave this city.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Hey Mom?”

Stacy looked up from her phone. Mathew was standing next to the bed where she was laying, staring at her. “Yeah, pumpkin?”

“What time’s the train again?” he asked.

“It’s at seven.”

“Oh. Uh, it’s getting dark.” Mathew’s eyes darted towards the window. It was already twilight blue outside. “Hasn’t everyone been saying not to go out at night?”

“Well...yes,” Stacy said slowly.

“Why don’t we just go now?” Mathew suggested. “We can get there early and wait for the train in the station.”

Stacy blinked. “Oh my god...” How had that not occurred to her? “That’s a great idea, Mat.” She sat up straight, putting her phone away. “We’re all packed already?”

“Yeah, Mom.” Mathew pointed at the backpack, sitting on the other bed where Larkin was using it as a pillow.

“Huh? So we’re leaving now?” Larkin asked.

“Yes, we’ll wait a little at the train stop,” Stacy explained, waiting for Larkin to sit up before she grabbed the backpack. “Are you ready now, Lark?”

“Mm-hmm.” Larkin nodded and hopped off the bed. “Let’s go.”

They headed down to the ground floor, quickly leaving the elevator and entering the lobby. Stacy held onto the boys’ hands tightly as they walked towards the front door.

“Ah! Madam!”

Stacy stiffened, then turned to see the two young women from the day before waving in her direction. Once she noticed them, the taller one grabbed the shorter one’s hand and they ran up to her. “Madam, we wondered if we could ask a favor of you,” the taller one said.

“What kind of favor?” Stacy asked.

“We are going to the train station, could you walk us there?” The taller one smiled, but she looked a little nervous. “It is getting close to night.”

“Oh. Well, we were going there, too, as a matter of fact,” Stacy said. “Sure, we can walk together.”

The woman’s face lit up. “Thank you!” She turned to her friend and spoke rapidly in French, who responded even faster, then she turned back. “We should introduce ourselves. I am Desiree, and this is my friend Soleil.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Stacy, and these are my kids, Mathew and Larkin.”

“Hi!” Larkin waved cheerfully, but Mathew stayed quiet.

“Charmed,” Desiree said. “Now, shall we?”

With the extra two people boosting the numbers of the group, Stacy felt a bit more confident. Still, it was some way to the train station, so they all hurried through the streets. Through the tall buildings, the sun was visibly setting, causing lines of orange and pink clouds in the dark blue sky.

Strangely, they identified the train station by the line of cars. It seemed the queue from the day before wasn’t just a one-time thing. The line wasn’t as long as it had been, but there were still quite a lot of people standing outside cars with their signs. Yet, other than those people, there was no one around. Nobody was walking in and out of the train station building as would be expected. Then again, when they’d left the station upon arriving in Achmatze, it still hadn’t been that busy. Perhaps this wasn’t that popular a destination? But no, that wouldn’t explain the tourist buses that had been driving around.

Desiree and Soliel chattered to each other as the group climbed the steps to the station. Mathew and Larkin were silent, and Larkin in particular stared at the tall steel-and-glass station with wide eyes. The doors were closed, which was...odd. They hadn’t been closed the day before. Stacy reached for the door, and upon finding it unlocked, pulled it open, slowly, hesitantly, and peeked inside—

The smell hit her first, but the shocking sight wasn’t too far behind. Stacy could only gape at the scene spread out in the middle of the train station floor. The moment she regained her senses, she screamed, and whirled around to push Mathew and Larkin out of the way.

“What is it?” Desiree asked.

Soliel peeked through the doors, and immediately paled. “Est-ce un—un corps?!”

“Someone call the police!” Stacy yelled.

Desiree, now white as a sheet as well, nodded, and took out her phone.

“Mom? Is everything okay?” Mathew asked, staring up at Stacy with a look of concern.

Stacy couldn’t respond. What was she supposed to say? That sight...the floor was coated in red, but that was the least of it. The body was at the center of a circle of thick blood, and it had been...split open, was the only way Stacy could think to describe it. From chest to stomach, there was a large slit, with everything that was supposed to be inside spilling out onto the floor. She wished to forget it, but the sight was seared into her mind.

Larkin, curious, pushed past Stacy to try and look inside. She caught on just in time, and pulled him back. “Don—don’t look!” she said. “You shouldn’t see something like that!”

“Wh...” Larkin looked dazed, shocked. Upon seeing that expression, Stacy knew he’d caught a glimpse of it.

“Lark? Are you okay?” she said in a gentle voice. “Can you hear me?”

“I...” Larkin nodded slowly. “...Mom. Did...did someone kill that vampire guy?”

“That—” Stacy cut herself off, eyes widening in realization. Yes, she’d been too shocked to take it in at the time, but looking back on it now...that was the body of the man in the gray suit.

The police appeared soon after the sun went fully behind the horizon. Only two officers, arriving in a single car. As she watched them climb out, Stacy was suddenly very conscious of the holster and handgun under her jacket. Was that illegal in this country?

One of the officers approached her and immediately started asking questions. Confused, Stacy took out her phone and tried to look up phrases on her dictionary app, but the officer switched languages as soon as she did. “What happened here, miss? Did you see anything?”

“Oh.” Stacy looked up. “Well, I—I opened the door here—thought it was weird that it was closed, but anyway—I opened it, and...there was a body there.”

“Hmm.” The officer nodded and approached the door, throwing it open. Stacy tried to say something, but those protests died down once she noticed the expression on the officer’s face. It was strangely...bored. No, just uninterested, as if she’d seen this before. “Alright, thank you,” the officer said. “Did you know the man?”

“Well, I’d seen him before, but no, not really,” Stacy explained.

The officer nodded again. She said something to her partner, who quickly slipped inside the station, then turned her attention to Desiree and Soliel. “You were here, too?”

“Yes,” Desiree said, and Soliel nodded as well. “We all walked here together.”

“Did any of you see anything unusual?”

No answer for that, but then Soliel raised her hand. “Ich habe ein...einen Mann. Gesehen. Ich habe einen Mann gesehen.”

The officer raised an eyebrow. “Wie sah er aus?”

Soliel looked a bit at a loss, then turned to Desiree and said something in French. Desiree nodded, then translated the phrase into German for the officer, who suddenly looked more concerned. The officer took out a notebook and began writing this down.

“Um...excuse me, what did she say?” Stacy asked. She could recognize “man” and “hair” and “jacket,” but not much else.

“Soliel saw a strange, suspicious man when we were walking up to the station,” Desiree explained. “A man wearing a green jacket, with brown hair and a...er...cache-oeil, un, er...eye patch! Over his face. Did you see that man? I did not.”

“No, I didn’t see anyone like that.” That description didn’t sound familiar to Stacy. She looked back at the boys, who had decided to sit down on the steps to the station. “Did either of you see a man like that?”

Mathew shook his head, and Larkin said, “No, Mom.”

“Il était là,” Soleil insisted. “Etrange d'attendre ici, juste avant que nous trouvions cela.”

While Desiree said something reassuring in French to her friend, Stacy turned her attention back to the doors of the station. She reached into her pocket and checked the time on her phone. Almost seven. The train was supposed to be arriving soon, could they just leave?

At that moment, the other police officer returned from inside the building. “Oh! Excuse me sir!” Stacy waved him down. “I was wondering something.”

The officer looked at her, confused, then pointed at his partner, who looked up in response. “Do you have a question?” she asked, as the other officer returned to their car.

“Oh. Well, yes.” Stacy nodded. “You see, we have tickets for a train arriving soon, are we allowed to leave?”

“Yes, yes, of course. But I suggest you ask the ticket attendant inside if the train will still leave at the right time. This may have caused a delay.”

“Alright. Thank you.” Stacy walked over to Mathew and Larkin, still sitting on the stairs, crouching so she can be level with them. “How are you doing, pumpkins?”

“I think we’re fine,” Mathew said.

“Lark?”

Larkin looked up. “Mm-hmm.” He still looked a bit troubled, but better than he had earlier.

“Alright.” Stacy let out a long breath. “Well, I’m going to go ask if the train will still leave at the time. Apparently there’s an attendant in the station who can help. You two sit tight, okay?” After making sure they both nodded, she stood up. “I’ll be right back.” And she headed to the door.

For a long moment, she paused outside. What was inside...was she really ready to see that again? Well, she was going to have to, wasn’t she? Maybe she could avoid looking in the body’s direction. So, steeling herself, she pushed open the door and headed in.

She gagged on the thick copper smell in the air, then immediately looked away. Inching around the pool in the center of the floor, she headed towards the ticket booth. Well, it was more of a building in and of itself, a small room walled in with a window through which passengers could get tickets from the attendant. There was a door through which employees could get into the booth.

But strangely, upon arriving at the booth, Stacy couldn’t see anyone inside. She peered around, noticing a desk with a computer and a couple tables, but no people. Odd...maybe that was because of...?

She couldn’t help but turn around and look at the body, though she immediately winced upon seeing it. God, this was terrible. Raising her hand to cover the majority of the gore from her vision, she headed back towards the door.

Wait.

Stacy stopped in her tracks, noticing something on the floor near the puddle. She really didn’t want to get closer to it, but her curiosity overcame her, and she shuffled closer. It looked like some scribbling, but she quickly realized that it was actually writing. A phrase in blood. Stepping even closer, she leaned down to make out the words.

‘Das ist meine Stadt.’ What did that mean? ‘This is mine...’ something? Stacy furrowed her brow. That word was just on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn’t quite reach it.

She heard the footsteps too late.

Eyes widening, she tried to turn around, but a pair of arms grabbed her before she could. “Hey! Hel—” A hand covered her mouth. She tried to struggle, tried to see if she could reach her gun under her jacket. But then a needle of pain pierced her neck, and her vision soon faded to black.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Mom’s been in there for a while.”

Mathew looked down at Larkin, who was staring at the doors to the train station. “Yeah, I guess. But I mean, maybe the conversation is taking a while.”

Larkin didn’t respond. Then, suddenly, he stood up. “I think we should go talk to her.”

“Huh? But isn’t there a...uh...” Mathew trailed off. Was it appropriate to ask his nine-year-old brother about the dead body he’d caught a glimpse of? He really didn’t think it would be a good idea for him to see it again. “We can just wait. Here, you wanna play a game on my phone or something?”

“You have boring games.” And with that, Larkin headed towards the door.

“Hey! God, Lark, don’t!” Mathew scrambled to his feet, hurrying after Larkin but not quite reaching him before he went inside the building. He glanced back at the two police officers and the young women, all of them talking with each other, before following Larkin into the building.

Shortly after stepping inside, Mathew froze in place. That was...there was...blood...and...insides. He’d seen fake bodies in movies before, which his mom didn’t actually know he’d watched, but it was different knowing that this was not an effect. Nausea rolled in his stomach, but he swallowed it down and managed to tear his eyes away. Larkin, on the other hand, was still looking at the body. “Don’t!” Mathew lunged forward and covered Larkin’s eyes with his hand. “No no no no, don’t look at that, that—that’s—holy shit.”

“I already saw it,” Larkin said. He sounded a bit too calm about the situation. Well, then again, he could be in denial. “It’s gross.”

“It’s very very gross, yes.” Mathew nodded.

“But it’s just a dog.”

“It’s—huh?” Mathew glanced back towards the body, trying to avoid looking at any of the grosser stuff. “I...you’re right.” The body in the middle of the pool was a large gray wolf with yellow eyes. It was the size of a human, and the proportions were a bit...weird. Those eyes were a bit too big, the limbs a bit too long. But it was unmistakably an animal. “...That doesn’t make sense. They’ve all been talking about a body. Like, a human body.”

“Maybe it changed.” Larkin pushed Mathew’s hand away from his face and walked some way away, scanning the train station. “Uh...Mat, where is everyone?”

“I...don’t know.” The train station was completely empty, which was weird. Even if there weren’t passengers, there should be people who worked here, right? Actually...if there had been people here, why had none of them reported the dead body before Stacy saw it? Where were they?

“Do you think...something happened to them?” Larkin asked in a hushed voice.

Now that was a scared tone that Mathew could recognize. He walked up to Larkin and wrapped his arms around him. “No, maybe they’re just not...maybe they’re in, like, employees only rooms. Like, uh, there.” Mathew pointed towards the ticket booth. “Let’s go check that out.”

Larkin nodded, and the two of them hurried over to the booth, carefully avoiding the pool of blood. Mathew reached out and turned the handle of the booth’s door, surprised to find it open. He pulled, and...

“Wh...what. The fuck.”

The door led into a hallway. A hallway with white walls and white-tiled floors, extending for a long, long time before it split into two directions. It looked completely unlike the rest of the train station. Mathew stared into the hall, not moving. “Is this...supposed to be here?”

Larkin walked over to the ticket booth’s window, carefully peering into the room beyond. “There’s no hallway inside,” he said.

“Huh?” Mathew leaned over to look through the window as well. “Oh yeah. This door should lead into this room.” He pressed his face against the glass, trying to get the right angle to see the door from the other side of the room. It was...closed. “Tha-that doesn’t match up.”

“Mat?” Larkin pulled on his brother’s hoodie. “I don’t see Mom anywhere here. Do you think...she went down...there?”

Mathew knows the answer, but he doesn’t want to say it. “This...this is more supernatural shit.”

“Hey, bad word.”

“This isn’t the time, Lark. Let me swear.”

The two of them stood in front of the door. The hallway was undoubtedly there, extending before them like a tunnel that led deep into the unknown depths of the earth. After what felt like several minutes, but was probably only several seconds, Mathew took a deep breath. “Do you think we should go in after her?”

Larkin looked reluctant, but nodded. “Y-yeah. The grown-ups aren’t gonna see this, I think.”

“You don’t have to. You can wait out here—”

“No!” Larkin grabbed Mathew’s hand, squeezing it tight. “I-I want to come with you.”

Mathew looked at him. “Right.” He didn’t want to go in there. But...their mom was in there. She probably needed help. And Larkin was right, he had this strange feeling that if they left, the hallway would be gone by the time they came back. “Let’s uh...go.” He gripped Larkin’s hand even tighter, and together, the two of them stepped through the doorway into the halls.

The moment they passed through, the door started to close, slowly. Neither of them noticed, focused on the journey ahead. Meaning they also didn’t notice the man—a man in a green jacket, with brown hair and an eye-patch—slinking into the train station through the front door. The man stared at the body and the mess that surrounded it, completely unfazed, then looked up and saw the slowly closing door. He ran towards it, grabbing it just before it closed. Then he pushed it open and slipped inside.

The door closed behind him, and the next time it opened, the hallway would be gone.

* * * * * * * * * *

Stacy woke up slowly, head spinning and mixing the thoughts inside. Groaning, she tried to roll over, only to find herself unable to. It took a moment for that to register as a cause for alarm, but once it did, her eyes flew open.

This looked like a hospital room, but only at first glance. The white walls had dark red-brown stains on them and there were no windows to be seen. Stacy could see a curtain, the sort of which would be pulled around a patient’s bed in a hospital, nearby. It was also stained, and had a hole in it like someone had stabbed it. There was also a small metal table nearby, on which she could see her jacket, as well as her gun in its holster. She was lying on what would be a typical hospital bed, except that it lacked any blankets and was fitted with straps. Straps that were currently holding her down, across her wrists, ankles, and chest.

“Shit.” Stacy cursed under her breath, then, strangely, laughed. “Haven’t I been through enough?! Do you hear me, whatever you are? I know you’re here! The fuck do you want?!”

There was no answer, of course. Stacy looked around the room again, but it was just as barren as ever. The door looked like a normal white one, but she didn’t expect it to be unlocked.

Taking a deep breath, she decided that the first step would be getting herself untied. Then she’d grab her gun, maybe try to break down the door, and find her way out of...wherever she was. And find the kids, too. Where were they? Were they also in this place?

One way to find out. The straps were tight, but if she could just...just wriggle her way out...then everything would be fine.

* * * * * * * * *

“This place is like a maze,” Mathew muttered.

The white walls of the corridors were all the same, save for the patterns of stains on their surfaces. They branched off at random, sometimes coming to an intersection, sometimes on jutting off the side of a main hall. There were doors, too, white in color, with some having plates on the outside with numbers or words that weren’t in English. Larkin reached out and tried one of them, jiggling the handle but being unable to open it.

“They’re all locked, Lark, don’t bother,” Mathew said.

“One might be open,” Larkin said. “But...what if Mom’s in a locked room?”

Mathew felt his heart sink, but he shook his head to get rid of the feeling. “Then we’ll bust it open. They don’t look too strong.”

They approached a corner where the hallway turned, silent except for the sound of their footsteps. And another sound, a bit distant, a sort of...wailing. Mathew tried not to think about that too much. Instead, he looked at the things clustered in the corner. Some poles, it looked like, on wheels. A few had bags hanging from them.

“Aren’t these those, uh...IV things?” Larkin asked, reaching out to push one.

“Yeah, but I don’t think the bags are supposed to have that in them.” Mathew pointed at one of the bags, filled with a semi-transparent blue liquid. “Usually they’re full of blood or clear liquid what...what is that?”

“Maybe it’s poison?” Larkin suggested in a quiet voice.

Mathew shuddered. “Well, it’s not good, definitely.” He stepped away from the IVs, pulling Larkin by the hand as well. “Do you think we should, maybe, start calling for Mom? Like, shout her name?”

“What if—”

Clunk.

Both boys stiffened, leaning closer to each other. That metallic sound had come from nearby...behind one of the doors.

Ca-chunk.

Mathew recognized it that time: it was the sound of something unlocking. Panic surged through his veins. He was sure that whatever had the ability to unlock the doors in this place wouldn’t be friendly to them. His head darted around, but saw nowhere to go. Except for the doors. Well, better than nothing. He ran towards the nearest one, dragging Larkin, and tried the doorknob. Surprisingly, this one turned. He threw open the door and shoved Larkin inside, just as he heard the sound of a different door creaking open as well. He ducked into the room and closed the door behind them, only then allowing himself to breath.

“Told you one would be unlocked,” Larkin said, the shaking in his voice betraying his fear.

“Yeah, haha, you told me so.” Mathew looked around this room. White walls, just like the hallways. Metal tables with stained blue tablecloths sat in rows, a few trays on wheels clustered near the ends. On top of the tables were clusters of metal...instruments? Tools? Things that looked like they would be used in a surgery in a hospital where they didn’t care if the patients actually survived...which, Mathew realized, might actually be what this place was. There were more tools on the walls, though most of these looked more like knives and swords.

There were footsteps in the hallway outside. They stopped outside the door to the room.

This time Larkin acted first. He ran towards the nearest table, yanking Mathew along with him, and then dove underneath. Mathew quickly caught on, scrambling under the table as well, making sure the cloth returned to its proper place. Then the door opened.

Mathew stopped breathing for a moment, reaching out to grab Larkin and hold him close. The tablecloths didn’t go all the way to the floor, leaving the boys with a good view of the source of the footsteps. A pair of shoes and legs, which wasn’t too unusual. Except for the fabric being oddly stitched together, and the shoes being covered in more of those red-brown stains. There was also the ragged hem of a white coat, which...didn’t look like it was made out of regular fabric.

The legs stopped at the table the boys were hiding under. Larkin glanced over at Mathew with wide eyes, who shook his head slightly and pressed a finger to his lips.

More sounds. Metallic. The thing in the coat was probably looking over the tools on the table. It showed no signs of moving for a good while. Mathew held Larkin closer, feeling his pulse clash with the pace of his own heartbeat. Would it notice? Would they have to run? Could they run?

Then the legs turned and walked away. One of the trays on wheels clattered across the floor, being dragged back to the original spot. More metallic sounds, as some tools were transferred over to the tray. And then the thing left, taking the tray with it. The door opened and closed, and there was silence.

For a while, the two boys stayed under the table, slowly breathing. And then Larkin let out a soft, sad sort of gasp, the type that’s trying to be a sob but doesn’t quite get there. And Mathew murmured, “It’s fine, it’s gone, we’re okay, we got this” over and over again.

“W-we...we really need to find Mom,” Larkin said shakily.

“Yeah. Yeah, we do.” Mathew tried to keep any doubt out of his voice. The sort of doubt that gnawed at you and asked, What if you can’t? “C’mon. Let’s go.”

They climbed out from under the table. Larkin started heading towards the door, but Mathew said, “Wait.” He was looking at the tools hanging on the walls. Slowly, he reached out and carefully took one of the knife-looking ones. Just in case. “Alright. Let’s go.”

* * * * * * * * *

When the door opened, Stacy froze. Then she intensified her struggles against the straps. She was sure she was close to getting one arm free, if she could only hurry, if she only had more time—

“Oh, well that’s not good.”

That was a completely human voice. Not at all what she was expecting. Taken off guard, Stacy craned her head towards the door.

There was a man standing there. Wearing a green jacket over a black hoodie, an eye-patch covering his right eye and bandages around his neck. His hair was brown, with a few streaks of gray, and his visible eye was blue. He looked...well, ‘worse for wear’ would be an understatement, but he was actually fairly young-looking. “You need some help there?” he asked.

Stacy narrowed her eyes. “Who are you?”

For a moment, the man looked hurt, but then he just looked tired. He smiled. “Well, I guess it’s not really important right now. What’s important is that I can get you out. Just, uh, give me a second.”

“...fine.” Why did he seem so familiar?

The man walked over to the side of the bed, looking over the straps. “Alright, this should be easy. They’re just buckles.” He started with the ones on her ankles, then her wrists, and finally her chest. “There.”

Stacy immediately sat up, rubbing her wrists. There would probably be marks left from her attempts to escape. “Thanks,” she muttered, looking the man over. “So, uh...do you have a name?”

The man laughed a bit grimly. “At this point, that’s debatable. But you can call me...you can call me John.”

“John?” Stacy looked confused, then her eyes widened with realization. “Oh my god, John!” The memories came back. “It’s you!”

“You remember?!” John gaped, looking surprised.

“Yeah, of course I remember you, I just didn’t recognize you at first.” That was strange. She doubted anyone else in the world looked similar to John, how come she hadn’t been able to connect him to the man she knew? “Thank you. But, uh, how’d you get here? We left you in Ireland.”

“I have my ways,” John chuckled. “Sorry I got a bit lost, but I was trying to find you. Weird, huh? Don’t know why, guess you’ve grown on me.”

“Well, we are kinda similar,” Stacy reasoned. She swung her legs to the side and stood up, stumbling a bit. Seemed that whatever had been used to knock her out was still affecting her. “But still, how’d you get here? The world’s a big place.”

“I actually came here for a different reason,” John said. “It has to do with this thing.”

“This...thing?” Stacy quickly put it together. “There’s another fucking horror monster here.”

“Yeah. And last time I ran into it, it got really, really annoyed with me, so uh. I’m surprised it hasn’t noticed I’m here yet.”

“Maybe it’s been distracted.” Stacy grabbed her jacket and holster from the table, putting the holster on but wrapping the jacket around her waist. “Do you know the way out of here?”

“Right, uh.” John winced. “Bit complicated. First of all, this place is a maze. I think it might actually shift layout. Second of all, we’re not in a building. We’re actually in some sort of pocket dimension, where the entrances back to the real world pop up and disappear randomly. And third of all...well, I probably wouldn’t have come in here. But I saw...the kids. They ran into one of the entrances, a-and I followed them.”

Stacy felt her heart stop. “Mathew and Larkin?”

“They’re in here,” John confirmed.

Stacy closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, fighting back against the deep-seated fear in her heart. “We have to find them. Let’s hurry.”

John nodded. “Let’s hurry.”

They headed out the room and into the branching hallways, walking hurriedly but not running. The sound of their footsteps on the tiles echoed in the corridors. Stacy’s eyes darted to each door, half-expecting something to pop out. “Do you know the way around this place?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“No, not really,” John said, equally quiet. “I’ve only been here once before. And like I said, it might shift around.”

That wasn’t encouraging to hear. “Mathew? Larkin?” Stacy called, raising her voice only slightly above her normal speaking volume.

“Be careful!” John hissed. “You don’t want it to hear you.”

Stacy shut her mouth abruptly. “Right.” Uneasy, she reached under her jacket and pulled out her handgun. She doubted that a bullet would stop whatever was in here. After all, she hit one of these things with a car, and it still recovered enough to chase them out of town. But maybe it would slow it down.

They walked for what felt like forever. There was no way to tell how much time had passed, or where they were in this maze. Everywhere looked the same: walls lined with doors, occasionally finding equipment like IV poles or a gurney when reaching a corner or intersection. Stacy tried to open a few of the doors, but found them all locked. A faint, high sound pierced through the air, a sound that she recognized but didn’t dare to name. So she just shivered, and walked on, as they passed through a four-way intersection and chose to go forward at random.

Suddenly, John reached out a hand to stop her. “Do you hear that?” he asked.

“...no?” Stacy fell silent. “Wait, I think so.” There was a different sound echoing in the halls. It sounded like...footsteps. Where was it coming from?

Her eyes widened as she whirled around. Behind them, the footsteps approached from one of the hallways at the intersection. They came closer, and soon it turned the corner.

It was a human figure, and at first might be mistaken for a doctor. But that impression was quickly pushed aside. Stitches crossed the coat, clothes, and even its skin, most of its face hidden by a blue surgical mask. For a moment Stacy froze, making eye contact with one wide, blue eye. And then there was a shriek.

John grabbed her arm and started pulling. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck it’s pissed!”

Stacy stumbled but quickly started running as well, shoes squeaking on the tile floor. She clutched the handle of her gun, too busy running to look around and shoot.

“Lauf nicht weg!” Its voice screamed. Footsteps pounded against the floor behind them, easily keeping pace. “Komm hierher zurück!”

“Shit!” Stacy pushed herself to run faster, already breathing heavily. The hallway turned a corner and her shoes skidded across the floor, causing her to almost lose her balance as she turned. John pulled her back into place as they kept running. Behind them, there was the sound of something slamming against the wall as the footsteps momentarily faltered, then returned, faster than before.

Where could they go?! This was an endlessly extending hallway, and it was right behind them, so there was no way to stop and open a door. If the doors would even open, which they most likely wouldn’t. All they could do was keep running.

The hallway ended in a three-way intersection, branching off into two other halls. In the center was a cluster of IV poles. John took the left path, and Stacy turned around to push the poles over. They crashed to the floor, and the thing cried out.

“Look!” John pointed to a door, which was just slightly ajar. Stacy nodded, and the two of them pulled it open and ducked inside, closing it tight.

Only a few seconds later, footsteps ran past the door and barrelled down the hall.

Stacy relaxed, but John looked worried. “It knows we’re wandering around now,” he muttered.

At that, she tensed. “Do you think it knows Mathew and Larkin are here?” John hesitated to answer, which sent a shot of worry through her. “We need to find them. Now. I say we stop being cautious and hurry.”

“Well...let’s not abandon it entirely,” John said slowly. “But yeah.”

Stacy slowly opened the door, just enough to glance out and look to the right and left. The thing in the white coat was nowhere to be seen, so she opened it further and stepped out. “C’mon,” she muttered, holding her gun in both hands. This place was big, but it was still limited, right? They had to run into them eventually.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Do you think we could take a break?” Larkin asked.

Mathew looked down at him. “Uh...” In truth, he was starting to get tired as well. They must’ve been walking for an hour at least. But...“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” That thing from before could turn up at any moment.

Larkin sighed. They reached yet another intersection, and paused to look down each of the three paths available to them. “What’s that?” Larkin pointed down the right hallway. Unlike every other hall they’d seen so far, this one had no doors, except for one at the end. That door was steel, blocked with a bar across the entrance.

“Oh. Uh, I don’t know.” Mathew hesitated. “Do you think we should...check it out? It looks dangerous.”

“But like...that’s a door you’d hide something in,” Larkin said. “What if Mom’s in there?”

Mathew was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, we can try it.” He made sure he was holding the blade he’d picked up tightly, then they walked down the hallway towards the door.

Upon reaching the door, Larkin tried to grab the steel bar. He shook it, but it was locked down tight. “Hang on, I’m gonna look at this lock,” Mathew said, leaning down so he could see it better.

The lock was a simple padlock, but it looked like there was a separate one actually in the doorknob. Mathew hummed. He didn’t want to waste their time on this if it turned out their mom wasn’t inside. So he banged on the door. “Hello? Anyone inside?”

Silence. Then, a faint sound. A voice.

“Mom?” Larkin asked, pressing his ear against the door.

“Mom, are you in there?!” Mathew called.

The voice got louder, and clearer. The words were hard to make out, but it was undoubtedly their mom. “Hang on, we’ll unlock the door somehow!” Mathew shouted, then turned his attention back to the locks. How could they get this open without the keys? Could they try to pick the lock? With what? Mathew looked down at the blade. This was long and thin. Maybe...?

He lifted up the blade and poked the end into the padlock. After wiggling it around aimlessly for a bit, he realized that he could actually feel something tapping against the blade inside the lock. It took a few solid minutes for him to angle the blade appropriately, and then he turned it and the padlock came off and fell to the floor with a metallic clang. “Yeah!” Mathew grinned triumphantly, then pulled the steel bar away. It swung on a swivel and hit the wall, allowing him access to the lock in the knob. That one took a few more minutes, actually long enough for Larkin to get tired and sit down. Until finally, there was the cha-chunk sound of it unlocking. “Yes!” Mathew pumped his fist, and Larkin scrambled to his feet. He quickly pushed open the door. “Mom, we’re he—”

The room beyond was dark, but not silent. A heavy whine filled the air, not like a living thing, but more...electronic. Mathew cut himself off, staring into the shadows. Things were moving in there. He could see their eyes. Green, glowing in the darkness. The moment the door opened, frantic shuffling sounds took over the whine, accompanied by some clattering as if things were bumping against metal structures.

Larkin whimpered. “Mat...? I—I don’t think that Mom’s in here.”

Mathew shook his head, stepping back. “...no. I-I don’t think so either. But—but we heard her!”

“Were we tricked?”

That must have been the case. Mathew lifted up the blade, holding it in front of him in trembling hands. “We have to close the door,” he whispered.

The electric whine suddenly grew, increasing in volume until it was piercing. The movement in the shadows turned desperate, things throwing themselves against walls. Then suddenly, something fell to the floor with a loud crash! It banged against the floor, the thing inside it writhing with enough force to pull it into the light. And then, it was clear that the room was full of steel cages, cages just like this. And something inside was starting to wriggle out through a gap in the bars.

“Close the door!” Mathew shrieked, scrambling backwards. Larkin didn’t respond, frozen and staring at the thing flailing on the ground. So Mathew pushed him out of the way, and hurried to grab the heavy steel door and push it closed. But it was slow, too slow, and something managed to squeeze through the gap just before it closed.

The thing was the size of a large dog, but it only vaguely resembled one. Its body was a mismatch of metallic parts and flesh, exposed muscles dripping blood. There was a vague head, with two green eyes, one in front and one in back, as well as a set of metal teeth resembling a bear trap. Two more eyes dangled from its sides, one on the left and one on the right, and six metal legs extended to the ground, one hanging limply as if injured.

For a moment, the boys just stared. And then it lunged. Mathew screamed, and threw the blade towards it, lodging in the creature’s chest and stalling it just long enough for him to grab Larkin and start running.

The creature emitted a loud blast of static, then started bounding after its prey.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Did you hear that?” Stacy stopped walking.

“Hear what?” John glanced around the hallway. “Is it coming?”

“No, it sounded like a scream.”

“Oh. Well...there are a lot of screams in here,” John said reluctantly.

“No. I know this one.” Stacy turned, and noticed a hallway branching off the wall of their current corridor. She broke into a run, heading towards the scream. John soon followed, though it took him a moment to overcome his surprise.

The new hallway twisted and turned several times before emerging into a long, straight passage, a four-way crossroad at the end. Stacy slowed down, unsure where to go from here.

Luckily, she didn’t have to decide. Mathew suddenly came running into the intersection from the right passage, pulling Larkin behind him. He hesitated, looking around and trying to decide where to go, and Stacy cried out. “Mathew! Larkin!”

“Mom?!” Mathew looked towards her, relief mixing with the fear already in his face. He hurried forward, still pulling Larkin, and soon the creature following them came into view. It scrabbled against the tile floor before recovering, turning to continue pursuit.

“What the shit?!” Stacy yelled. That thing was terrifying, but she found herself running forward to meet it. Once she met Mathew and Larkin in the middle of the hall, she pushed them behind her and raised her gun, pulling the trigger as fast as she could.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

Four shots. Two missed the creature and hit the walls, one landed in its body, and the last was the perfect lucky shot, hitting it in the eye. The creature let out a loud static shriek and stopped, raising one of its front legs and hitting itself in the head.

“What is that?!” Stacy gasped, hoisting her gun. She turned around, instinctively looking towards John for an answer, but he didn’t even notice her. He was staring, fixed in place, at the creature, his face suddenly white as a sheet.

“We found it in a room,” Mathew explained, holding tight to Larkin, who wasn’t responding. “We—we thought you were inside, but it—it sounded like you.”

“It what?” Stacy was about to ask more, but then there was a crack! The creature’s head spun around, a complete one hundred eighty degrees so that the back was now in front. And with the eye in the back now seeing straight ahead, it let out another static burst and lunged. “Fuck!” Stacy grabbed Mathew and John and broke into a run, dragging everyone back the way they came.

For the second time, Stacy found herself running through the endless maze, taking turns and paths at random, with no time to duck into a door. Her breath tore her lungs ragged, and her mouth started to taste of copper, but she had to keep going. The others started to lag, and Larkin stumbled, but she couldn’t let go of them. She couldn’t let go.

They soon arrived at yet another intersection, this one shaped like a T. Stacy turned left at random, and ran straight into something solid with an oof-inducing thump. Staggering back, she looked up, and made eye contact with the thing in the white coat. Her blood suddenly ran cold.

The group stopped for too long. Mathew shouted, and Stacy whirled around to see the creature jumping right at them. Before she could do anything about it, it landed, knocking John to the ground. He screamed, trying to back up, but the creature was too close, its bear-trap teeth snapping. It was all he could do to push it back.

Something grabbed Stacy’s shoulder, and she gasped as she was turned around to face the thing in the white coat. “Etwas tun!” It shouted.

“Wh—” Stacy blinked. It was...actually talking to her. Directly.

“Du hast eine Waffe, benutze sie!” The thing shook her gently. “Schieß auf die Augen!”

Augen? She knew that word. It meant eyes. Did it want her to attack the creature’s eyes? For less than a second, she wondered why it would want that, but there was no time. She pulled out her gun again and turned around, taking aim. She’d have to be careful; if she missed, she could easily hit John. But if she did nothing, he was a goner for sure!

BANG! BANG! BANG!

It took her three tries to finally hit the eye on the creature’s side, causing it to burst in an explosion of red. It shrieked in static, and turned to look at her.

BANG!

Just one try to hit the eye in its head, and it was scrambling backwards, limbs flailing wildly as it rolled on the ground.

BANG! BANG!

And just two more tries before she finally shot the eye on its other side. It wailed, the sound less electric and more animalistic, and its movements slowed to a stop. Then she blinked, and its body was gone.

Stacy lowered her gun, breathing heavily. She looked at Mathew, standing nearby with his eyes scrunched up and his hands over Larkin’s ears, then at John, pushing himself into a sitting position and clutching his chest. “Is...is everyone alright?” she asked.

Mathew nodded, and slowly lowered his hands. Larkin looked a bit dazed, but nodded as well. John didn’t respond, instead looking down at his hands. Then he looked up and around, as if he couldn’t believe his surroundings were real.

“Warum bist du hier?!”

The moment of relief was ruined. Stacy turned around, quickly putting herself in between the kids and the thing in the white coat. But it wasn’t paying attention to her; instead its focus was directed entirely at John, who was startled back into the present. “Ich habe dir gesagt, du sollst niemals zurückkommen! Warum bist du hier?! Das wäre nicht passiert, wenn du nicht hier wärst!”

John blinked slowly. “I’m not gonna say I’m sorry. I only followed these guys. You shouldn’t have taken them.”

“Ich hatte nicht vor, einen von ihnen zu verletzen,” the thing snapped. “Alles wäre gut, wenn Sie nicht hier wären!”

“I mean, I don’t think they would agree with you.”

“What’s...going on?” Stacy said slowly.

John climbed to his feet. “Well. I’m not supposed to be here, and it’s pissed about that.”

“Du hast versprochen, dass du nicht zurückkommst.” It almost sounded accusatory now. “Du würdest nicht zurückkommen, wenn ich dir diesen Gefallen tun würde.”

“Should...should we be worried?” Stacy asked, glancing back towards the thing. Its expression was hard to read, but the hostility was palpable.

“Well it says it wasn’t going to hurt you,” John said. “Let me guess, this is still related to that thing in the house.”

“Natürlich!”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

The thing made a hissing noise. “Ich werde dich auf der anderen Seite der Welt absetzen. Dann wirst du vielleicht für immer verschwinden.”

“Well that’s not very nice,” John said dully.

“You can...speak German?” Mathew asked.

“No,” John said. “For some reason, I can just understand what this thing in particular is saying.”

The thing, apparently giving up on talking to him, turned around and walked away, stopping at the nearest door. It knocked four times on the surface, then opened it up. Slowly, it turned back to look at John, then pointed into the door.

“Oh no way, I’m not leaving them with you,” John walked over to stand in front of Stacy and the boys. “Why can’t you all just leave them alone?”

The thing didn’t answer, just pointed furiously into the doorway.

“Oh, what are you going to do, make me? Did that work out before?” John rolled his visible eye. “You can’t stop me from coming back here—”

Suddenly, the thing lunged forward, grabbing John by his hair and slamming him against the wall. John gasped, then slumped forward, dazed. The thing adjusted its grip to John’s arm and started pulling him towards the open door.

“Hey! Stop!” Stacy shrieked, and holstering her gun, she ran forward, barely grabbing onto John’s other arm right as the thing dragged him through the doorway. It looked up at her, annoyed, but said nothing, yanking on John’s arm. Stacy refused to let go, and ended up falling onto the floor.

She expected the door to lead into another room, but instead, she found herself in another hallway. This one was narrower, and it looked strangely...unreal. The walls and floor looked a bit blurred, as if her vision was fuzzy. Yet looking down at her hands, they were still clear, as were the thing and John, who had regained his senses and was now struggling against the thing’s hold. At the end of the hallway, there was...light. Not artificial light, but sunlight. Stacy gaped at it, then scrambled to her feet.

Mathew and Larkin were standing in the doorway, watching her get up. She looked back at them. “C’mon, pumpkins.” She pointed towards the sunlight. “We’re getting out.” Her voice was a whisper, scared the thing would hear her. The kids looked at each other, then nodded, and stepped into the hall in unison.

John and the thing were getting closer and closer to the sunlight, and John was doing his best to pull away. He wasn’t having much success, as the thing was unaffected by any of his struggles. Stacy took a deep breath, then ran forward, grabbing John’s other arm once again. “I got you!” she said, gritting her teeth.

“Ah! Stacy, be careful!” John gasped, surprised.

The thing made a frustrated noise, then leaned forward to try and push Stacy away. She held on tight to John’s arm, and looked back to the kids. “Go!” she shouted, gesturing with her head towards the sunlight. “We’ll be right there!”

Mathew hesitated, so Larkin took his hand and ran, right past the thing in the white coat, who jumped in surprise, and out into the sunlight. “Nein!” It shouted. It turned around, loosening its grip just a bit, and at that, Stacy yanked on John’s arm and pulled him free. He scrambled to his feet and the two of them broke into a run.

“Stopp!” The thing reached out, the ends of its fingers brushing against John’s jacket as they ran past. Crying out as it failed to grab him, it broke into a run, quickly catching up. John ran out into the sunlight, but Stacy cried out as it caught her by the back of her shirt, yanking her backwards.

“Oh my god! Give up already!” John took both of Stacy’s hands and started pulling. For a moment, it seemed even, but then Stacy felt herself being dragged backwards. She cried out, kicking backwards, but the thing didn’t react.

Then Mathew and Larkin appeared, each grabbing one of their mom’s arms and joining in. With that, the tug-of-war was even again. Stacy gasped, managing to take one step forward.

And with a sudden rrrrrip! the fabric of her shirt tore off, and she fell onto the ground outside. The thing screamed out, but it was soon cut off, as whatever entrance it had created suddenly closed.

Stacy panted, and rolled over, blinking up at a blue sky. She was lying on a patch of yellowish grass, the nearby area covered in dirt, scrubby bushes, and more patches. Nearby, a black asphalt highway stretched across the ground and disappeared into the distance, cars passing by every twenty seconds or so. The only other landmark nearby was a road sign and a strange, empty wooden doorway, perhaps the remains of an old building lost to the weather.

“Mom?”

Mathew and Larkin appeared in her vision, leaning down over her. The wave of relief that followed was so intense that she had to laugh. “Oh...oh, you two. My pumpkins.” She smiled. “Are you alright?”

“For right now, yeah,” Mathew said. “Are you?”

“Of course I am.” She sat up, shivering a bit as a breeze played against the new hole in the back of her shirt. Looking around, her eyes landed on the road sign. Blue, with white text reading Rest Stop: 10 Miles. “Miles?” She repeated. “We...we’re in America. How’d we get here?”

“It connected an entrance here.” John, standing nearby, folded his arms. “It can move the maze entrances wherever, you know. I, uh, kind of wondered if I could somehow use that to catch up with you guys, but you were already there. Still, the States, that’s a long way to go. No wonder the entrance only lasted about a minute.”

Stacy stood up as well. “Hey, uh. Thanks for showing up.”

John shrugged, and grinned. “No problem. I guess I’ve gotten attached.” For just a moment, his expression fell, and fear flickered across his face. But he quickly covered it up.

“Mom?” Larkin tugged on Stacy’s jacket. “Where are we?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, Lark. But...well, maybe if we go to that rest stop the sign mentions, we could find out. It’ll be a long way to walk, are you up for that?”

Larkin bit his lip, then nodded. “Carry me?”

Stacy laughed. “You’re a bit big, but sure. Just this once.”

So with the midday sun bearing down, the group started walking in silence. Everything was still uncertain. And nobody could forget the new memories they’d made anytime soon. But the only thing to do was keep moving. They’d find a place to rest soon.

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