What We Do in the Shadows (2014) dir. Jemaine Clement and Taika Waititi

handmaid - 33

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, guns

A/N: we’re a few chapters away from the end and i’m much too emotional. hope you enjoy this chapter x

NEXT CHAPTER

Her reflection in the mirror was quite clear: the handmaid was dressed like a bridesmaid. She observed the tiny details of the dress which reached all the way to the ground, the same tiny details reproduced on every single dress any of her bridesmaids were wearing and in that exact moment, Y/N never felt more hypocritical than ever before wearing a celebration dress for a celebration she didn’t want to celebrate. She really wanted to be happy for her and if she were marrying anyone else, she would’ve been so excited, but she wasn’t. Gwen was marrying Sebastian, she was marrying the man she was in love with and the man who was unknowingly the father of her baby. 

Everything just seemed to happen in slow motion and she felt herself leave more and more from the scene as she stood there in her bridesmaid dress and berry coloured lipstick with no one talking or even noticing she was there. For the first time in her life she realised how invisible she was to everyone in that room. Every single person in that room had once asked for her help being with homework or lying and she was still as invisible as ever. As the bridal party exchanged various gifts to be used on her “first night” along with unholy amounts of champagne and expensive gourmet canapés, Y/N took away from the bedroom, slowly and quietly closing the door. The halls of the Ritz were filled with several guests from mob families’ heads to their friends, celebrities, public personalities and rich people waiting for the time to get a peek the blushing bride. Y/N would have easily swayed through the crowd and returned to her bedroom had it not been for a few flower girls running around in their puffy taffeta baby pink dresses with their hair up in silky ribbons with some flowers peppered around. 

She didn’t know if it was her hormones playing tricks on her or if the lack of sleep had finally caught up to her but she couldn’t help but stare at them with an inherent sadness as her hand rested against her stomach. Was she gonna even have enough to provide for her child? The pay checks coming from being in Sebastian’s employment wouldn’t be enough for more than the first year and with the economy, Y/N didn’t think someone would be looking for an English Literature major. She had never even had experience in the field, being forbidden to do a internship year at the British Museum with the excuse that it would be much too dangerous. How was she gonna provide for the baby? Maybe she could get a job as a waitress in Paris, the city was filled with cafés and restaurants. 

Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but feel worry as her thumb caressed her stomach. Turning her head away from the playing children she continued her way down the hall until the lift that would take her to her bedroom. Y/N watched the numbers of the doors go down until she noticed Sebastian’s door. Unlike Gwen’s door, there was no one awaiting outside, it was void of any seemingly curious people about the groom. She should really keep walking and not get in, yet she felt pity for him not having his mother or his father on his wedding day and so she knocked softly on his door, opening it to see Sebastian walking from side to side, a condensed glass of orange coloured whiskey on his left hand and a untied tie hanging from his neck.

     - Liquid courage? - she walked into his room. He looked at her for a few seconds before gulping the rest of his beverage, cleaning his lips with the back of his hand afterwards. - Where are your groomsmen? 

     - In the same place where non-existent things belong. - he replied, turning to his floor length mirror to try and tie his tie to no avail. Y/N sighed, placing her hands in his shoulders and turning him to face her before her hands moved to his tie to tie it into a Windsor not. 

     - You surely must have someone close enough to be your groomsman or best man. - she straightened his crisp cotton dress shirt before sliding her hands back to his shoulders. She let out a sigh, looking to the other side and contemplating what she was about to ask him. - Let’s run away.

     - What?

     - Let’s go to France. There’s a place I know which would definitely take us in until we found a place since I’m sure Mr. Forrest wouldn’t allow me to keep the house. Let’s just go, please.

     - What? Angel, we can’t just run away, my whole money is dependent on this marriage. How am I supposed to take care of you? Do you know how many enemies I have? I couldn’t possibly hire enough security for you. - he cupped her face, trying to make her understand her point. - I will never have enough to give you if we leave.

     - As long as you’re with me, that would be enough. Am I not enough? 

     - Angel, there is a legally binding contract between me and Genevieve. I can’t just ... I promised my father. - Y/N took a step back, hitting the door while her hand held the knob. - We can’t rush in, we need to have a pla ...

     - Why do you care so much about what your father made you promise when you were a child. The same child whose mother he forbad you from seeing ... you know Sebastian, just because your father was a great man, doesn’t mean he was a good one. 

Before he could reply to her, she opened the door and exited, rushing through the hall and punching the button of the lift so she could return to her bedroom before she completely broke down. She could feel her chest clenched and the warmness of her tears which almost burned the brim of her eyes. All she could hear was her heart pounding in her ear mixed with the soft music of the lift and nothing made her want to break down more in tears than she should.

As she rushed into her bedroom she collapsed on her bed, the tears finally rolling down. Mr. Williams was right, she was a mistress and a innocent mistress at that. Why would she believe he would run away? Why would he gave up on what he knew for her? But will all of that, what would she do with the baby? She clearly couldn’t stay, Gwen and Dan would be quick to notice her growing bump along with other pregnancy symptoms? No, she had to leave. Start again, start again Y/N. She can’t spend her whole life dreaming despite it being all she seemed inclined to do. She was about to be a mother and needed a brand new start. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she opened the bedside drawer to pull out the key to her apartment in France but instead of it she found a blanket. Her eyes couldn’t believe the picture they saw as she realised it was the same blanket she had left back in Sebastian’s penthouse. 

     - My, my, there must be quite a story to go with that blanket. - her blood froze as she turned her face towards one corner of the bedroom to see Mr. Williams sat on her arm chair. - Won’t you tell me? 

     - Get out. - she held tightly onto her pillow, fear installing itself in her whole being?

     - No? Alright then. - he grinned darkly. - I will tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a man who was deeply in love with a beautiful young woman. He used to sit in the box of her operas every single night just to hear her sing and all was well ... But, one day, the beautiful woman shows up engaged to a mob boss. He quickly understood that in this world love is meaningless and all that matters is power so, he decided that he was gonna get as much as he could and maybe win the woman as a treat too. He planned everything, he had her unborn daughter’s safety put in risk knowing the young woman would rush to his employer for help. He thought that surely offering his employer the only family that stood in his way would make him overcome with joy and he would finally promote the man to the type of power he wanted. However, the employer instead decided to make sure that family would never stand in his way by ensuring his son would marry the young woman’s precious daughter. The man knew his only way to power was if that daughter disappeared so he decided he would kill her yet when he tried the beautiful young woman stood in the way and he couldn’t finish the job. 

      - Why are you telling me this? 

      - The father of the young woman’s daughter grew worried that his precious little daughter would be harmed again so he made an orphan baby pass out as his daughter to ensure she would never be harmed. However, the father was much too weak to completely give the baby up and instead kept her around as a handmaid. The man thought power was just on the horizon but then at a masquerade he saw the eyes of the same woman he loved controlling the man who held the power he deserved. And so, I lived unhappily ever after. 

     - You’re lying. - she could feel her heart pound harder as she felt into an abyss of existentialism. What do you do when you see that who you think you are isn’t what you think you are. 

     - I knew I would have to get some concrete proof so I asked a few favours. I knew Michael Forrest wouldn’t leave his only child, his only daughter completely penniless and so when I saw your name as the sole benefactor of his will I had my proof. 

     - But Dan ...

     - Daniel Forrest is nothing but an affair gone wrong whom he took pity on but you ... you were born more powerful than I have ever been. Not only are you the sole benefactor of a whole entire family’s work and prestige, you also were born rich enough to never work a single day on your life. Everything was given to you and you didn’t even know it while I paid and I suffered only to see that petulant man child grab the spot that I rightfully deserved. - Y/N looked at her door hoping Elias would be there to help her out, she really hoped someone would pass be. He had to be lying, he had to be lying. - Here is how you’re gonna pay me if you were to have what you so want. No one will believe you, a pregnant mistress who isn’t even smart enough to dispose of her own pregnancy test and your daddy would never allow you to be married to someone from the Stan family, but with me on your side, with my evidence, they will listen. When you are married, you will make me a personal adviser and you will put forward my good name and I shall manage that clueless little man child who should’ve never been born in the first place.

      - He’s not clueless. - her voice was low but full of intention.

      - And who are you? How are you gonna rule two mob families if you can’t even piece together who your parents were even with me giving you clues. Best give it to me, that way both of us will have exactly what we want. 

      - No. - she stood up from her bed, looking him down from where he was standing much to his surprise. - I couldn’t defend my mother from you but I will protect Sebastian.

      - Well, birdie ... - his hand grabbed something from his side and as it hit the light, Y/N realised her was holding a gun in her direction. - Who will protect you? 

      - Please, don’t do this. - she pleaded. - I ... I told Sebastian not to be harsh with you, I helped you, I was kind to you. 

      - Kindness doesn’t get you anywhere in this business. - he noticed her eyes on the door and chuckled. - Your bodyguard thinks you’re in the bridal suit, no one is gonna come looking for you. Now, you’re gonna be a good girl to me and go with me to the car or I’ll make sure they find your bodyguard in a pool of his own blood.

He got up from his seat and rushed to her, putting her in front of him, one hand gripping her arm while the other one held the gun against her spine. She could feel her heart beat and flashes of everything she had done since she remembered living. Was she gonna die? Was this how she ended? Nevertheless, there was nowhere she could go as he led her drown the stairs and onto the lobby, stopping as he noticed the telephone on the entrance table. He turned her harshly towards the desk until her ribs hit the edge and before the assistant could say anything, he pointed his gun at her. 

     - Sebastian always thinks he has everything under control, I’m about to show him just how wrong he is. - he ordered the woman to type in a number on the hotel’s phone before grabbing it himself. - If you want this lovely lady not to have a bullet in the middle of her eyes you are gonna tell him you’re pregnant and how scared you are. 

He shoved the phone against her ear, hurting her in the process and she could feel her tears burn the brim of her eyes yet again as the loud beeping played around and around before he picked it up, a rather upsetting hello coming through. She, however, couldn’t say anything which quickly changed as he pressed the gun against her back rather forcefully. 

     - Go on. - he whispered against her ear as Sebastian said another hello on the phone. 

     - S...Sebastian, it’s Y/N ... - the gun pressed harder on her back. - I’m scared, Sebastian. I’m scared.

     - Are you alright? 

     - Now, don’t play games with me Y/N. Go on ... tell him

     - I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry. 

     - Angel, whatever it is, you can tell me. 

     - I’m pregnant. 

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Journal 3

We met the First Descendants. They’re pretty cool, honestly. You have to get past some of them looking a bit…eh…but they’re exactly what their name says. They remember where they came from. Their leader upon hearing that the Wardstone broke asked that we put in a good word for them, to see if they could return to the surface and return to the fight against the demons to continue what the first crusaders, their ancestors, started. I like these guys.

I should start from the top, sorry, I got ahead of myself again. Listen it’s not every day you find an underground civilization descended from the original crusaders.

So we woke up at the Torag temple feeling refreshed and ready to go. Auriel had finished consecrating the temple, and…it looked nice. Really. I’m glad he did it. I don’t think I actually said anything, but I’m sure Torag and Iomedae were pleased. And I mean Auriel seemed happy with a job well done, so that’s plenty. That’s what the guy who died here didn’t get, so probably a lesson we’re supposed to take to heart. Or something like that.

Then we walked. And walked. And walked. For a long time. Until we came to a room where a bunch of darkmantles dropped on my head, because that’s just my luck, and a crazy dwarf who’d been farming them attacked us. We fought him off and continued on our way.

Not long after that we came upon a collapsed tower, with two people scrambling around it. We quickly realized they were the First Descendants. We decided to approach peacefully and try to parlay. They were nervous at first, worried that we were here to harm them and were with the crazed dwarf, but we assured them we weren’t enemies and that we’d dealt with him. They were relieved, and told us that we could pass through. We asked them if we could help with what they were doing. It turned out that yes, we could. One of their members was trapped under the rubble of the collapsed tower, which had fallen when the earth had shaken when the Wardstone broke. Three days ago. We’d…apparently been unconscious for quite a while.

We decided we’d deal with that later, and for now focused on helping with the rubble. Together we lifted, with Luna taking the lead and the rest of us assisting in removing the large stones, until we’d gotten the hole large enough for their companion to climb out. He was frankly quite the striking figure, a somewhat reptilian looking man with a single twisted horn and large clawed hands, by the name of Lann. He thanked us for helping to save him, and asked that we come with him back to their village to meet with their chief.

As we made our way forward we eventually came upon a cave. The First Descendants hesitated, saying there was a dangerous fungal creature within. However, they believed with our help we should be able to clear it out. We agreed, and the four of us plus Lann and his two ranger companions entered the cave. We found no creature to worry about, it had already been slain. There were two bodies alongside its corpse.

At first look, they appeared to be followers of Iomedae like myself and Auriel, although I was not familiar with the combination of lance and locked gauntlet they wielded. The reason why became quickly apparent when we found an unholy symbol of the demon lord Baphomet on their person.

It would appear we had spies in our ranks, Baphomet worshippers masquerading as the faithful, and they were responsible for setting up the destruction of Kenabres. Lann informed us that there were more false Iomedae worshippers working with a rebel clan of First Descendants, which is what he’d been bringing us to talk to their chieftain about. The rebels were blocking the only path to the surface, which meant one way or another we were going to have to go through them. Auriel and I swore that we would root out these worshippers of the minotaur and destroy them. Auriel even sounded a bit gleeful about it, wanting to see who could kill the most cultists between the two of us. I saw no reason to discourage his little blood sport—these cultists had visited so much death and suffering upon innocent people, I was actually looking forward to Auriel’s little contest.

Before that, however, we arrived at Neatholm, the city hidden below Kenabres. It was floating atop a subterranean lake, and inhabited entirely by First Descendants of countless forms. Like the first two we’d met, most of the members of the city were timid at first, but as Lann assured them that we were friends they began to show more curiosity at visiting outsiders, some even waving and welcoming. Lann led us to their chief, a much larger member of their people with somewhat rat-esc features. This is not me trying to be rude, the First Descendants have literal animal features so I’m describing him objectively. He introduced himself as Chief Sull.

He explained in a bit more detail what Lann had already told us. A rebel offshoot clan had joined with the worshippers of Baphomet in a grab for power, and were holed up in a nearby fortress that stands between Neatholm and the path to the surface. The chief said he was initially going to ask us to clear them out, but as we spoke, before he ever made the request, we already made it clear our intentions to get rid of the Baphomet cultists and get the rebels off his hands. It was our ticket back to the surface, and it was personal to myself and Auriel to deal with the cultists who were besmirching our order.

So he made one other request—the one I already mentioned, that we put in a good word for them up top, if anyone is left for us to report to. Anevia assured him that she would speak to her wife, and that times have changed since the days when they were banished down here. Commander Tirabade is a half-orc and in a position of great honor and renown, when once that was unheard of. I thought of Leto, too, doing so well for himself.

Fuck I hope Leto’s alright. I feel—bad when I think about it.

The chief gave us permission to use any of the town’s amenities we needed, provided us with what few supplies they had available here below ground, and provided a place to rest before heading out. I’m taking a nice rest by the lake writing this before bedding down.

I’ll probably wash my arm before I go to bed. It bled quite a bit the other day, my bandages are stained through. No one noticed of course, enough happened it just looked like all the rest of the blood and injuries. I’m going to change my bandages tonight before we go. I don’t know if it can get infected but that’s the last thing I need right now.

Baphomet first. Tomorrow we’re taking care of his cultists for what they did. Then Deskari’s servants are next.

Anon!!! You!! Are!! The!! Nicest!! Honestly, if my time on this website means that some people are interested in hockey and the lovable mess that is the New York Rangers, then it will have been time well spent. I have just so many Blue Line one shots languishing in my drafts and bouncing around my brain and...uh, here’s one. Based entirely on this Brady Tkachuk goal and both his brother and dad (who play/played in the NHL) being asked about it.

Even though we don’t like Brady when he tried to check all my kids a couple games ago, but that’s neither here nor there.

-----

“I think you’ve got to move your leg forward a little more.”

“Banana, what kind of dexterity do you think I have in my hips?”

“Good word!”

Killian gnashed his teeth, trying to remember how he’d gotten to this point. The details were starting to get a little fuzzy — and that might have been because it was somewhere in the realm of one in the morning, back after a road trip and Anna had landed far later than she expected and he could already smell garlic wafting across the entire apartment.

Will had bought three loaves of bread.

One for each of them.

Like a totally normal, vaguely familial tradition that ended with Anna suggesting that Killian practice shooting the puck between his legs.

Eventually he would guarantee that he was too exhausted to realize what was going on, but that would only kind of be a lie and he was a competitive idiot whose eyes had gone very wide when he’d seen that highlight out of Edmonton.

It was a good goal.

He wanted to score a goal like that.

And, so. There he was. With Anna playing that goal approximately twenty-seven times, a stick he probably wasn’t supposed to have in his hands and a crumpled ball of aluminum foil at his feet.

“Right, right, right, just like that” Anna shouted, circling him like some kind of hockey-mom vulture. Will snickered in the kitchen. “Ok, so—the guy on the Oilers—“

“—Does he not have a name or are we just going to call him Oilers guy all night?” Will called.

Killian’s back was starting to ache. “I think Oilers guy has a certain kind of charm to it, don’t you?”

“That’s because you don’t know his name.”

“Banana’s the one with the phone not me.”

Anna clicked her tongue in reproach, a quick kick to the side of Killian’s ankle like that would get him to move his legs and not glare at her. She rolled her eyes. “The guy’s name is Haas. He’s a rookie and I think that’s a mark against you, KJ.”

“How do you figure?”

“Well, you’re a rookie and this guy is a rookie and he’s showing you up.”

Will appeared to be dying in the kitchen.

Killian let his head loll to the side, standing up straight despite Anna’s protests because—“If I don’t do something about my spine, it is going to be stuck that way forever.”

“Does that sound less than ideal?” Will asked. “It’s not like you’re an old dude—“

“Did he say dude?” Anna mumbled.

Killian could not sigh loudly enough. “Scarlet, were you ever planning on coming out of the kitchen?”

“The garlic bread is not done!”

“Plus,” Anna added, the video playing again and the crowd in Edmonton had really enjoyed the goal. They were very loud. Even in YouTube form. It was a stupid good goal. “This gives you more time to work on your technique, KJ. You’re fast.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, this is all rebound. It’s not like Haas took the original shot or anything, so—“ She stuffed her phone back into her pocket, reaching out to move Killian’s limbs and he could not get his eyebrows low enough to properly express his indignation at that.

Anna was going to sprain her tongue.

“KJ, just—oh my God, hold still, you’ve got to…” Anna ducked down, grabbing the aluminum foil masquerading as the puck. “Do we not have something better to use than this?”

“Are you not happy with our equipment choices, Little Vankald?” Will grinned, finally coming out of the kitchen, laden down with, somehow, four plates of garlic bread.

“Why don’t you have pucks here?”

“Something about not taking your work home with you?”

“Yeah, how’s that working out for us?” Killian groaned. He dropped back onto the couch — a second-hand monstrosity that creaked loudly anytime someone even thought about sitting on it and he was never entirely sure how Anna managed to sleep on the stupid thing.

“Probably better if you and Little Vankald—“

“—Do you think that nickname’s super clever?” Anna hissed.

“I think it gets you to do that angry-nose scrunch thing, which I admittedly take a great amount of joy in. So. And you didn’t let me finish, I was going to insult Jones too.”

Anna waved her hand, all unspoken command and one side of Will’s mouth tugged up. Particularly when she lunged for her own loaf of garlic bread. “Oh, thanks, thanks, for the permission to keep talking in my own apartment. My point is that you guys are both crazy, competitive weirdos and—“

“—Do you think you could score while shooting through your legs?” Killian interrupted, through a mouthful of garlic bread.

“No, because I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but I am a defenseman. So. Again. You’re the one with the speed and that crazy competitive Jones streak.”

“Oh, was that lumping me in there too?” Anna asked.

“Do either of you know how to chew like normal people?”

She threw a piece of garlic bread at him. He caught it.

And the whole thing had dissolved into middle-of-the-night farce. As per usual. Anna was definitely going to stay for at least four days.

They played at home on Tuesday.

“The key is the rebound,” Will continued, jumping back up to grab the aluminum foil. “This guy scored in OT, right?” Anna nodded. “So, at that point, it’s just about attacking the zone and—ok, ok, picture it this way, I’m trying to get across the blue line, I take a one-timer, it bounces off the goalie’s pads…this still on pace, Little Vankald?”

Another nod. “How many times did you watch the video, Scarlet?”

“Enough to know Jones would have to come in at an angle for it to work.”

“Oh that’s a good point.”

“Neither of you know enough about physics to be experts on this,” Killian argued, but he had watched the video too and that actually made sense. “Ok, Banana—stand up, you can be the goalie.”

“Can’t Scarlet do that?”

“Would Scarlet be in net during a normal game?”

“Also a good point,” Will mumbled.

Anna flipped him off — and moved into the small space between the kitchen and the living room, both Killian and Will trying not to laugh too loudly when she actually crouched down. “Do not,” she warned. “This is—it’d look more normal if I had pads on.”

“Yeah, that’s what your missing,” Killian chuckled. He grabbed his stick again, the aluminum foil landing on the blade as soon as Will tossed it in the air.

“That’s not nearly as impressive as you think it is, KJ.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Will countered, “it’ll ruin his whole approach. He thinks someone’ll notice and he can woo some girl with his stick-handling skills and speed.”

“Being able to bounce something on my stick does not have anything to do with either one of those things,” Killian pointed out. He flipped his wrist, aluminum foil practically flying through the air and it was really more hand eye-coordination than anything—batting the ball out of the air so it sailed directly into Will’s right elbow.

He gasped. Loudly. Dramatically.

The whole thing really was absurd.

“Also did you say woo?”

Will hummed, and it was Anna’s turn to try and mask her laugh. “You heard me. That’s not what we’re talking about now, though?”

“Is it not?” Anna whined.

“Little Vankald, this whole exercise was your idea, so—“

“—Fine, fine, fine. Ok, so you’re the first rush, coming in. Got it?” Will saluted, and he didn’t have a stick, but Killian wasn’t sure if that would have made a difference. He kicked the fake puck towards him, the stupid thing barely moving across their hardwood floor and Killian’s left foot slid under him.

He was going to blame his socks.

And not the time.

Ot that bruise on his leg.

It really might have been the sock though.

Killian’s leg jerked out behind him, some kind of unholy and distinctly inhuman noise working its way up his throat, the stick in his hand swinging wildly in front of him. He somehow managed to hit his shin and the side of his calf, nowhere close to getting the stupid thing between his legs.

The aluminum foil was taunting him.

And his own distinct lack of balance.

Killian wobbled on his heels, trying to regain his center of gravity. He wasn’t on ice, but he was fairly certain he was only few seconds away from spinning out, breath catching loudly in his throat. And Anna’s laugh ricocheted out of her, bouncing off the walls and possibly the inside of Killian’s brain.

“I don’t think that worked,” Will muttered.

Killian twisted, another stick move and flying aluminum foil and, that time, it hit Will in the head. Anna was sitting on the floor. Presumably so she could laugh easier.

“Ok, ok, we’re going to try that again,” Killian said.

Will glanced at Anna.

“He’s definitely more competitive,” she mused.

“I’m sure the girl he’ll eventually impress with this move will be very nice.”

“I look forward to it.”

“How long do you think it’ll take for him to master it?”

“I’m standing right here,” Killian growled, but both Will and Anna made almost identical dismissive hand motions and he was fairly certain he could see Will’s eyes widen expectantly.

“Forty bucks,” Anna announced. “It’s going to take at least five seasons.”

Killian wasn’t sure there was actually a name for that particularly noise.

Will shook his head. “You’ve got to be more specific, Little Vankald. Are you taking the over on five seasons?”

“I’m not even sure you’re speaking English, honestly.”

“It’s because you’re not a degenerate like him,” Killian muttered. “Are we not going to try this again?”

“God, KJ, you sound like a crazy person. Do your other teammates know that you’re a crazy person?”

“This was your idea, Banana.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t think you’d suck so much.”

“We’ve tried it once!”

“It was pretty bad,” Will chuckled. “Also I think our puck has seen better days.”

“This is why you’ve got to bring more equipment home,” Anna shrugged. “Who’s in charge of that, by the way?”

“The equipment manager?”

“Do I know him?”

“You don’t know everyone,” Killian said, Anna nodding in a way that was only a little placating.

“Right, right. Well—only a matter of time, right? Something about a long and prosperous career and Stanly Cup championships secured with goals through the legs? Also, what if we tried socks? Or a pillow?”

“Nah, pillow is way too big,” Will objected. “But socks could work.”

“Let’s get some socks.”

They did. And it didn’t help. Neither did the golf ball they inexplicably found in the back corner of Will’s closet or a balled pair of Anna’s leggings — a last-ditch effort because “maybe he just needs a bigger target,” Will suggested, somewhere in the realm of three in the morning.

And Killian almost forgot about the bet and the night, garlic bread left on the coffee table and Anna’s head on his thigh when they both fell asleep on the couch, because there were years and seasons and expectations that came crashing down around his ears and possibly his heart, but then it got better and—

“Yeah, yeah, no, he definitely did it for her,” Will said, a phone pressed to his ear where he was tucked into the corner of the visitor’s locker room in Washington. “No, it didn’t work, but an effort was made and I think that means I get my money.”

Killian sighed.

“Little Vankald, that is how gambling works, I don’t know what to tell you.”

Killian could hear Anna’s cries of indignation on the other end of the phone, not entirely sure where she was or what she was climbing at the time, but he also knew he’d absolutely tried to shoot through his legs in some misplaced attempt to impress Emma.

But it hadn’t worked very well.

Like, at all.

He really could not twist his hips enough.

“You need to find a hobby,” Killian started, grabbing his own phone out of his locker when it started to ring. His breath caught again. 

Will practically guffawed into his phone. “You want to go double or nothing because I’m pretty positive she’s calling him now.”

“He’s blushing,” Robin called. Anna’s laugh likely caused an avalanche where she was.

And Killian didn’t think before throwing the jersey he’d managed to get off already at Will, hitting him square in the face, before marching to a different corner of the locker room. He swore he could hear Emma’s smile when he answered.

That was a problem.

And not.

They weren’t really doing under the radar anymore, anyway.

“Were you trying to do that?” she asked. “Because—“

“—It didn’t work out entirely the way I planned.”

“Yeah, I figured that.”

“You know, Swan, it sounds like you were paying very close attention to the moves.”

“Did you call them moves?”

“Is that not what they are?”

Will might have been coughing up a lung. Robin’s whole body was shaking when Killian glanced up, a hint of light from someone’s phone that made it only too obvious that Anna had been FaceTime’d.

Killian was running out of things to throw.

“I mean,” Emma continued, “it was an impressive attempt. As long as you didn’t hurt yourself.’

“Hurt myself?”

Robin was barely standing anymore.

Emma clicked her teeth, a hiss of breath from New York. “You know what I meant.”

“No, Swan, I have no idea, I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Where are you right now?”

“The locker room. Where are you?”

“My office.”

“Mmhm, so if I were to tell you that we land at, like, one in the morning, then…”

“Something about flexibility.”

Killian nearly choked on his tongue. And the way his heart leapt into his throat, a bit of hope and a metric ton of want and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to shoot between his legs, but it didn’t really matter if Emma showed up later. He could absolutely hear her smile.

“You know, love,” he drawled, “I think this might be flirting.”

“Weird.”

“The weirdest.”

“It would have been a very impressive goal.”

“Right, right, well, I guess we’ll work on that later.”

She laughed and he might have been a competitive freak, but he was also starting to become something of an emotional hoarder and that was quickly becoming his favorite sound. In the entire goddamn universe. “Something like that,” Emma agreed. “I’ll, uh—I’ll see you later, ok? I love you.”

It didn’t catch him off guard much anymore. A string of letters Killian wasn’t getting used to, but maybe constantly waiting for. So, it wasn’t a surprise to hear it. He smiled anyway, wide enough to threaten the structural integrity of the muscles in his face and—

“Gross,” Will called.

Killian ignored him. “I love you too, Swan. I’ll let you know when we land.”

“Ok, good.”

He did. For more seasons and more years, none of which included overtime-winning between-the-leg goals, but then there were other players and kids and ice time and the whole thing happened far quicker than Killian expected it to.

“Wait, did that go in?” Ruby asked, leaning over the front of the seats in the team like that would make it easier to confirm.

Killian’s jaw cracked when it dropped.

Emma was yelling.

“Show a replay, show a replay,” she chanted, head snapping up when the highlight played on the screen above center ice.

It definitely went in.

And Killian’s phone was already buzzing in his pocket.

Will had been right about the angle.

There was more ice in overtime now than when they’d first started playing — three on three making breakaway chances easier and turnovers even more problematic and Matt wasn’t much more than a blue streak up the left wing as soon as the other forward shot into the zone.

The puck bounced off the goalie’s pad, landing almost perfectly on Matt’s stick, the same one that was, somehow, curled behind his left leg. He spun out after he shot, a near-perfect pirouette that quickly turned into wide arms and shoulders bumping against the glass, screaming fans and the end of the game. Killian shook his head, trying to figure out the logistics and the physics of it and—

“God, show it again,” Emma cried.

He chuckled, an arm around her shoulders and kiss to her temple and he was going to have half a dozen voice mails already.

They played it again.

Matt’s wrists moved quick enough that it was difficult to follow where the shot went, but Killian could see the blade of his get under he puck “Shit,” he breathed. “How did he get enough power on that?”

“I think he’s better than you, Cap,” Ruby mused.

“I mean obviously, that’s—“ Another replay started, the Garden still singing the goal song and Matt hadn’t come out from the pile again the glass, a sea of jerseys and pumping fists and celebratory glove throws. “He must have practiced that.”

Emma tilted her head up. “Wonder where he got that from.”

“What a suggestion.”

“A theory, maybe.”

“Mmhm. That was a ridiculous goal.”

He could still feel her smile when he kissed her — Ruby groaning and answering a phone and there were questions and more replays, that highlight running on nearly every sports show for a week, dissected by “professionals” and Roland Locksley was quoted as saying, “Oh, yeah, he’s been working on that forever. I think we tried every way of doing it during the offseason.”

“Would you ever try something like that on the ice?” another reporter asked, and Roland shook his head before the question was even finished.

“Nah, I’m more a straight shooter, you know? Get pucks in on net, crash the goal, that kind of thing. Matt’s the walking highlight reel.”

They asked Matt about it. Naturally.

“He said that? Ah, well—he’s the one who took all the shots when we were kids, I’m just here to work he rebound. Someone tell Rol thanks for the compliment, though. I’ll remember that at Christmas.”

And the goal never really went away. The rest of the season — worked into pre-game intros and brought up on Top 10 plays of the month and Killian didn’t really expect to get asked about it, but he wasn’t all that surprised.

Emma laughed when she read his answer.

“Strain something, huh?” she grinned, flipping her head on the pillow and her hair was everywhere.

Killian hummed. “Not as flexible as I was. Got to leave the moves to the youth.”

“God, what a line.”

“You impressed?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

She was still laughing when he flipped her, shoulders digging into the mattress and hair threatening to work into his mouth, which was only a little absurd, but might have been the perfect ending to all of it and Killian was never entirely sure if Will got his forty bucks.

Part Four: Y/N Doesn’t Live Here Anymore. (Two Minutes to Midnight S05E21)

Episode Summary: Sam, Dean and the reader confront Pestilence, but when he unleashes a deadly virus upon them, a very weak Castiel must intervene on their behalf. When reader has a meeting with Death to discuss Lucifer, an unholy alliance is formed at a very high price for the reader and her chances of saving herself from becoming a demon. Warnings: Mentions of violence, forced blood drinking, angst, Demon!Reader, Lucifer!Reader. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 9,554. (SORRY NOT SORRY)

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“And no wonder, for Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light. It is not surprising, then, if his servants masquerade as servants of righteousness. Their end will correspond to their actions.” – 2 Corinthians 11:14.

You'd made deals with demons and Devils in dirt roads and a forgotten motel rooms. Angels who were smart enough to catch onto your scheme and dragged you to rooms with pure beauty that was intimidating and cold like their hearts. Each time you opened your mouth to try and fix something it resulted in cornering yourself into a position in doing exactly what they wanted. If not, a temporary death would be your consequence. Yesterday afternoon you had a talk with Death himself in a small little pizza parlor nestled in the heart of Chicago, talking about the end of times, and what you could do to stop it. These violent delights have violent ends.

He quoted the play of Romeo and Juliet, two lovers doomed for a fate of their own accord when each of them had been fooled into thinking one of them had killed themselves at the result of not being with one another. Death had said Sam would take the swan dive into the pit because he saw it as the only way to save you. Save you from what, exactly? Not from becoming a demon. But to reverse the actions you would take upon yourself to change into the very thing that you had been fighting for the past three months. Your own personal woes that you had been dealing with perfectly fine with was going to be Sam’s heroic courage to control Lucifer and save the world. As if the guilt he had been carrying around after freeing Lucifer himself wouldn’t be enough.

You brought Death's ring up from the wooden workbench you'd been sitting at for the past hour and to the cloudy morning sky, taking a moment to inspect the silver band. All the horsemens rings were different, and there were very specific instructions about how you needed to place them. Your eyes trailed away from the white stone to your fingernails that'd been neglected proper care for what felt like months now. You clipped and painted them last night to a blood red color that you found sitting in the bottom of your makeup bag that you rarely touched anymore since hunts had been reduced to looking for rings and finding ways to stop the apocalypse. And here it sat in your hands, ready for you to power it up.

Death said the rings had to be formed exactly as so for this to work; you placed Pestilence ring on the top left and Famine's on the opposite right, leaving War's golden band in the middle. You placed down the last ring and began to slowly push it forward, watching as the other two were being dragged without force, like it was a magnetic pull moving them closer together. You quickly moved your hand away and let out a quiet gasp when you felt an electric shock come from the rings when they connected together by the stone placed in the middle of their ring band. Swallowing, your hand reach out ever so cautiously to pull Death’s ring from the stack, the rest of them went back to the position you had them before. You were tempted to do it again for the sake of it, but before you did, you quickly looked up when you heard the sound of a piece of metal scraping against the concrete floors.

A smile forced itself onto the ends of your lips when you saw Bobby heading over to where you had been hiding out for almost an hour. You watched as he did something that he was never able to do months ago after he stabbed himself to keep you and Dean from dying. Funny how you can take something like walking for granted. One day it could be all gone. “So,” You placed your hands on your thighs and directed your gaze over to him. “How’d it go at the Rockettes audition?”

“Well, high kicks—fair. Boobs needs work.” Bobby said. You let out a bit of a quiet chuckle as you slowly looked away from the hunter and to the work that had been keeping you busy and away from the four men you'd been trying to avoid. “I walked up and down stairs all night for no damn reason.”

“I was wondering why you looked more exhausted than usual.” You said. You took a moment to look over his appearance to make sure that he was all right. Out of your natural habit, you gave him a concerned look, wondering if the hunter was getting accustomed to his new abilities that he’d gotten the night before. “You okay?”

“I’m sore, Y/N. Feels so good, I’m scared it’s a dream.” Bobby laughed out. You watched as a smile spread across his lips at what he was able to do. You returned the friendly gesture as you felt happy for him, glad to see that something good came out of a demon deal. Lucky for him, he got the added bonus of going to the pearly gates after Crowley returned his soul. “But then I remember that the world’s dying bloody, so, drink?”

“It’s five o’clock somewhere.” You said, not feeling an ounce of guilt or shame when you twisted off the top to a cold beer Bobby handed over. You took a quick sip of your drink before you put it down next to you. “Want to see something freaky? Check it out.”

You placed the rings to their exact same spots of where they needed to be for this to work properly. Bobby watched as you slowly began to push Death's ring closer to Wars, the other two followed behind, until they all clicked together. The hunter found himself choking on his sip of beer at the sight which took him by surprise at what it did. You raised your brow, knowing what to exactly expect. Bobby reached out a hand to consider touching it, but he could feel some sort of electric vibe radiating off it, making him back away in caution.

"So Death told you how to operate those?" Bobby asked. "The whole deal?"

“Yeah. It’s nuts. Of course, I’ve got bigger problems now.” You said. You reached out to grab the rings off from the table to inspect them for a moment. Your eyes wandered to the hunter when he seemed a little uneasy at hearing your news. “What do you think Death does to people who lie to his face?”

"Nothing good." Bobby said. He sat himself down on the stool across from you, curious to see what kind of trouble you had gotten yourself into now. "What'd you say?"

You hid a scoff underneath your breath from what you were about to say. You looked around the garage to see if you could find anything to distract yourself from the bit of information that you didn't want to say. But, ever so slowly, it weaseled its way out of your mouth and out into the open. "That I was perfectly fine with Sam throwing himself into the pit."

Bobby seemed taken back at the bit of information that you had given him, he thought it more as a prediction for the near future ahead. "So Death thinks he ought to say yes, huh?"

"It's not even the half of it. There's one little detail that I forgot to mention. Someone's holding him back from taking the swan dive. And it's not you, Dean or Cas. It’s me." You bitterly chuckled out, reaching for your beer to take a sip before gathering the courage to mention one more detail. “He said the only way Sam will say yes to Lucifer is if I turn myself into a demon. He thinks that this way, Sam won’t have a choice, it’ll be our only option to saving me. But, I mean, of course he’d say that. He works for Lucifer.”

"Against his will," Bobby pointed out, correcting you from what you had told him last night after arriving back. "I thought he said."

"Well, I'd say, take his sob story with a fat grain of salt. His brothers were a bunch of dicks that were hellbent on me going crazy. You should have seen Famine and what he was able to do. I still have nightmares about what I did.” You moved your voice to a whisper as you looked away for a moment, plagued with memories of Sam sucking down your blood like a starved man. "I mean, he is Death.”

“Exactly. He’s death. Think of the bird's-eye view.” Bobby said, seeming to not share the same skepticism as you had with your fellow horsemen. You furrowed your brow as you gave the man a look to show him you weren't the least bit happy at the kind of conclusion he was slowly drawing himself near. "I'm just saying—"

"Well, don't." You cut him off, not wanting to hear another word of this. "I mean, what happened to you being against this?"

"Look, I'm not saying you or Sam ain't an ass-full of character defects. But..." The older hunter trailed off for a moment, you quickly egged him on, wanting to hear what he had to say. "Back at Niveus? I watched that kid pull one civilian out after another. He must have saved ten people. Never stopped. Never slowed down."

"He's a hunter." You said, shrugging your shoulders. "That's what he's supposed to do."

"We're hard on him, Y/N. Hell, on the both of you. We've always been. But in the meantime...he's been running into burning buildings since he was what, twelve? And you've only been doing this for a couple of years. But you do it like you have your whole life." Bobby said. You dropped your gaze to the table to inspect all the cracks and splinters in the wood. But ever so slowly, you looked up at the hunter when he continued talking. "Look, you two got dealt a nasty hand. I'll admit it, the both of you have a....darkness. I'm not saying you don't."

You could feel your jaw tighten at the conclusion he was slowly drawing near without saying it, so you did it for him. "You think I'm gonna honestly turn to the dark side, huh?"

"Who knows what's ahead of us. But I know you two have got a hell of a lot of good in you." Bobby said. You rolled your eyes and let out a sigh, having to agree about how much was in that man's head of his. All of his actions had been done out of care and love. If he were to jump, it'd be to save someone. "You know Sam will beat the Devil, you'll kick this demon's side ass...or he'll die tryin'. That's the best we could ask for." You tightened your grip around the glass bottle, to the point where you almost became afraid you might shatter it into tiny pieces. Bobby seemed to have sensed your tension. “So, I got to ask you, Y/N. What exactly are you afraid of? Losing? Or losing Sam?”

“You don’t get it. None of you get it.” You muttered underneath your breath, a bitter sounding chuckle escaped your throat as you looked around the garage. You licked your lips and tried your hardest to collect your thoughts that suddenly felt all over the place. All though, right now, you knew the man was getting himself comfortable with the idea of losing Sam. But you weren't if it meant you had to do something you fought so hard to control. “I don't want to have this discussion right now.”

You grabbed the bottle of beer from the table and shoved the keys into your pocket before standing up, contemplating for a moment if you wanted to let Sam do this all on his own and forget about this family for good. You could feel an anger, a hatred to Bobby for what he said. It was as if he thought this was a good idea, using you as some kind of twisted motivation for Sam to kick Satan's ass. You looked away from him and found another spot in the acres of scrap cars. At least with metal, you didn't have to hear them speak and feel even more useless than you ever felt before about a possible future you couldn’t control.

+ + +

There was an old saying you thought about a lot growing up until just a short while ago; being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe if...No, nothing would have stopped this. Your mother wasn't in the wrong mindset when her parents died a few months apart from each other, giving her the courage to leave her hometown behind and quit hunting for good. It wasn't pure coincidence that your father was cured of his soul for a chance at living a normal life, long enough for him to step into that bar where he'd meet the woman who would be the death of him. There was no wrong timing in 1981 when you were brought into this world in a small town located in Lawrence, Kansas. Two years after Dean, and two years before his little brother Sam.

It was enough time for you and the older Winchester to develop a lifelong bond while the two of you were still in your diapers that would rekindle itself when you were in high school when you would see each other again after twelve years apart. with his scrawny little brother who spent days at your house when their father went on hunts he thought were too dangerous for the youngest Winchester. You and Sam spent hours sitting around and talking, getting to see a side of him that he'd never shown anyone before, and developing a bond of your own that helped him into getting accepted into Stanford. Where he'd met a pretty blonde by a friend named Brady who you met once when "Dad went on a hunting trip and hasn't been home in a few days." You’d discovered a passion for hunting and impossible it would be to keep a normal life.

A trashed home caused a scare caused you to stick out on the road for a little longer after John made a startling discovery that connected all the dots and met the face of the infamous monster that pulled all the right strings to getting you where he wanted you. Hands folded neatly in front of you begging for demon deals and blood pacts after your own perished too soon. Ignorance caused first kisses of lovers to be shared before being torn apart and dragged to hell. Where you would see the worst of a man you had loved your entire life after you were too weak to save him from this.

Revenge of fallen family members dragged brothers apart and formed bonds with unlikely characters that wanted to see the rise of an unlikely creature. Name calling and belittling turned into praising which confused you into who to trust. Only to find out you were just a pretty face, and nothing really more. The boys got to have all the fun while you had wait and see what they needed you to be next to make sure this story continued out the way they wanted.

Maybe you should start saying everything happens for a reason. "God only gives us problems we can handle." A old woman had said that to you when you were younger, dealing  with the unexpected and tragic loss of your mother while trying to wrap your head around the idea that a demon was the reason why she clawed sixteen marks into her skin. One year for her deals that she got out of him, and a special friend who had no idea what he was getting himself into. And even that was exactly what they wanted. You thought at one point it was helpful to get you through a tough point in your life. The feeling only lasted a short while. After finding out that God stopped listening a long time ago, you started to as well.

You were supposed to be the child that fixed a broken relationship between Father and son after he learned a valuable lesson about life. But you ended up being a mutt who was about to watch God’s greatest creation—humanity—burn to nothing. And if He wasn't going to get off his lazy ass and do something about it, you would. But not like his oldest friend has said. Anything but that.

You decided a few hours of wandering through the junkyard and drinking the beer Bobby had given you ever so slowly until there was nothing left was your sign that you needed to go inside and discuss the elephant in the room. What were the five of you going to do about that pesky apocalypse? Who was going to be the lucky victim of taking Satan for a ride in their own skin and damning themselves for eternal punishment in the cage as the result of a win that would take every ounce of self control. Which, looking back at your history, neither one of you really had under control.

One drank too much demon blood and trusted the wrong kinds of people, another lost themselves in the thrill touching a side of them that made them feel powerful. Both of you were sinners to wanting something that made you feel strong. In control. Something which you or Sam really never felt like...unless he was high off the blood and you were at your most primal state of being a demon.

Who would win in a fight against the Devil? A strung out junkie who could only be at his best when high. Or a rabies interested mutt who sat ever so quietly with a chain wrapped around its neck, with one little tug, it could break. But there it sat, not saying a word. You might have had the upper advantage of going to war with yourself everyday you woke up. But when you were in the same room as Lucifer, something was brought out of you against your will. The demon side he'd blessed you with came out. You wanted to do bad things, you wanted to join him. Who know what would happen if you let Lucifer in. Worst case scenario? It'd be two against one. And the world would burn like he promised you in the dark motel room after you swore your loyalty to him out of fear to save Sam from a terrible fate.

"You do understand what you're agreeing to if you take on this responsibility, right?"

"We're kind of past the point of looking for second options, Cas! This is Y/N we’re talking about. I mean, if this could help her…”

A single pair of footsteps paced across the wooden floors of the kitchen, drowning out voices that quietly whispered about what the right thing to do was. Each of them were caught up in their own personal thoughts, nobody noticed you were standing in the doorway. In the exact same spot where, just a few days ago, Sam tried to discuss his desire to take down the Devil because it was the right thing to do. There was no other way. Now, Sam stood in the middle of the room with his hands placed tightly on his hips and a savage glare. It made you think back to the night you and him had been interrogating the demon Brady, the one who had lead you to Pestilence. The one who happily took the bounty on the sweet, young blonde and burnt her alive to light a fire under the Winchester's ass and push him back to exactly where they needed him. And without thinking, they were doing it again, he was being cornered into say yes because of you.

“Do you understand what you’re saying? I mean, there's..." Dean let out a breath as he leaned back in his seat, a look of distraught settled into his expression at what he heard. He tried to think of anything possible to get him and his family out of this situation that was turning darker and more terrifying than he could imagine. "You can't do that, Sammy."

“Do what?”

Your voice broke the concentration away from the younger Winchester and to you, who stood in the doorway for almost a minute without anyone noticing until you spoke. You furrowed your brow when you saw most of the expressions beginning to change. A few were because of nervousness at what they were speaking about in private without you. One was of guilt for what he admitted. Sam, however, stared at you head on. His facial expression softened, like he was about to break some bad news. Once again, you asked what was going on, afraid you might have missed something important here.

“We’ve been talking, Y/N. All of us have.” Sam said, being the one to break the silence that was starting to form around the room. You watched as he shifted his footing and spoke of a topic you were all too familiar with. He was going to say yes to the Devil. There wasn’t much arguing in that anymore. The road to hell was paved with good intentions, and getting there was only half the fun. “I’m saying yes to Lucifer. But...there comes complications. Certain rules we need to abide by if this will work right. And it puts a thing or two into perspective.”

You furrowed your brow as you looked at him, “What are you talking about?”

"Remember about how Death said you needed to become a demon for me to say yes? Well, turns out there's a reason why." Sam explained the best that he could to you. You weren't understanding one word he was saying and why everyone suddenly looked away from you, trying their hardest to avoid eye contact with you when you stared at them, hoping they would tell you. But Sam found the courage, he got out with the truth in one sentence. "It's because I need to…I...I need to—”

"'For the life of every creature is in its blood: its blood is its life.'" Cas cut off the younger man, growing impatient at how Sam was getting red in the face with fear. You watched as Cas pulled a heavy looking book he had resting on top of the small table he was sitting at with Bobby, his finger pointed to a small text that you couldn't read from here. But you had a feeling it was the bible, the holy book who had the answers to everything. "I wondered myself about why you needed to be a demon. But then began remembering about how your people thought it was a sin to drink the blood of a live animal or human being. However, it began to make sense after that. You see, Nick—Lucifer's current vessel, has been drinking gallons of demon blood to keep his vessel from disintegrating. But it's not working. He might be an archangel, but he doesn't have the power of Heaven like Michael has. Sam is the only one who can take on. Lucifer, as the bloodline allows it. And if he were to say yes..."

"For the life of the flesh is in the blood: and I have given it to you upon the altar to make an atonement for your souls: for it is the blood that maketh an atonement for the soul."

He would have to drink the blood of Lucifer's first to become strong enough. It all was beginning to make sense. Why all those children were given blood—why Sam had gotten addicted to demon blood. And after drinking so much of it had turned him into one. Because it was considered a sin to the soul. Because blood was about sacrifice since time began, the very thing that gave people life. And if Sam wanted to be strong enough to take Lucifer as the vessel, he would need all the strength he could get.

You slowly looked at the younger man, that stood in front of you. He’d been on board with this idea. Because it’d been in his head long before Famine showed up. It explained why he froze up in that convenient store when you had gotten stabbed by that man. Because the smell of your blood triggered a desire in him. A hunger that couldn’t be fed until he got his hands on you. Because that’s what was always supposed to happen. And he was going to do it.

“When does it stop being enough for you? All this time we've been fighting this... thing inside of us. And all of a sudden it’s the miracle cure that save us all? What happens if you lose, Sam? I’ll be stuck like that. Forever.”

“I know, Y/N. I know. We’ve been kicking ourselves trying to figure out another way to solve this, but we've got no other options here." Sam said. He tried his hardest to keep his voice calm as he began to pace again from what he was asking of you. “This is what's got to be done."

You nervously inhaled a breath as you felt yourself being back into a corner here when nobody had spoke up to your defense. Not even the man who was supposed to be in love with you said a single word. From the look on his face, it was easy enough to see that he was disturbed by what all of this had come to. He didn't like the idea of his little brother sucking down demon blood. And hearing what Sam had admitted to him after facing the first horsemen had been the reason why he pushed his little brother away, to protect you. But just like you, his hands were tied. This was the end of the world. Each of you had your own personal part to play.

"What happens if Lucifer comes for me to finish the job?" You asked all of them, not even wanting to hear their plans to even push you to becoming a demon. Even if it was a temporary fix. "Your little plan would be screwed. There would be no going back to what he did."

"I won't let that happen." Dean tried to reassure you. You slowly forced yourself to lock eyes with the green ones that had sat by your side, listening to your heartfelt confessions and biggest fear—of turning into this. You could see the pain, the heartbreak from what he had to do. The poor man was losing his brother. And he had to see the woman he loved succumb to the darkness. Even if it was for a short amount of time, he knew you'd never be the same. "I'll make sure you're safe."

"Really? The Winchesters actually saving a woman they love from danger? That'll be the day." You let out a bitter laugh as your eyes began to glaze over. Not from sadness or fear of the unknown. But anger. Pure, raw anger. You let out a slow, shaky breath as you stared at the two brothers. "A woman has always been an excuse for you Winchesters to turn your life upside down and go after some half-assed plan for revenge. When Mary died, John tore you two apart. After Jess—Oh, Sammy's gotta find out what killed her! And Dean. Feels good to be right, huh? Guess I am making the both of you say yes. But you know what I'm not saying yes to? Becoming something that I have spent my entire life trying to avoid. If this worlds ends because of my choice, well let it end! If Lucifer wants to fight his brother so badly, well, then we knows where to find me. We still got Plan B on the table.”

You didn't want to hear them beg, you didn't want them to tell you that the fate of the world was resting on your backside. Like the three of you did anything you were told to do so. Your last remark was meant out of pure sarcasm. You jaw tightened as you let out a heavy sigh from seeing the four faces that dare even spoke such an idea to you. Just quickly as you entered the house were stomping off, disappearing to somewhere the boys would find out eventually. The last noise either one of them had heard was the slamming of the front door for the next few minutes.

Nobody said anything, nobody dared look at one another in the eye for what they discussed over the past few hours. But for them it felt like a lifetime trapped in the house. It took every ounce of energy for them to come to this point. You would be okay with it. Someone finally broke the silence. Dean looked away from the wall he'd been focused on and stared at his brother. Both of them forced themselves to look at one another, to see they were choking down their emotions at how this had to be. You could hate Sam all you want until the day you died—but long as you made it out alive, that's all he wanted. He wanted to save one more person. He wanted to save you. He wanted to save his brother from living the life their father forced upon them. You and Dean had died to save him, now it was time to return the favor.

But happiness comes with a price. Whether it'd be selling your soul for a working pair of legs, or letting someone cool off for a few minutes. And...you don't always get what you want. A piercing scream they heard echo through the air made sure to deliver that message loud and clear.

+ + +

"To make a prairie, it takes a clover and one bee," The world has so much to offer, and it was changed so much since he was allowed to walk free. They destroyed the beautiful landscape his Father had spent creating for them. For his children. Not them. If he thought there was a lot of them before, they've multiplied by the billions. They've destroyed everything just to survive and claim land that wasn't rightfully theirs. They murdered, tortured, raped, belittled—destroyed anything which was different to their unrealistic standards that made so such sense. But amongst all of its ugliness, there was beauty. "One clover," Lucifer drew the knife away from her throat and pointed it at himself. "One bee. And revery."

Beauty could be found in flowers he'd never seen in the garden of Eden, works of art that was portrayed in oil paintings or buildings that were taller than any human, literary works that he devoured when he hid away in his decoying vessel away from the world. He started off exploring the extensive library inside your home. He wanted to know who you were. He wanted to know the person you became. But that wasn't enough. Lucifer discovered art, books of complex ideas and fictional worlds he was hold humans used to find some meaning in their life. Music was something of a majestic discovery. It could make someone feel a certain emotion. Love songs were a personal favorite of the Devil.

"The revery alone will do," Lucifer recited a poem as he stood in the middle of an abandoned church with its windows boarded up and glass stained windows that depicted of a holy world before broke into tiny pieces of color on the floor. The pews were empty of any sinners that prayed to a God that would never listen. God wouldn't give them salvation, but the Devil will help. For a price. Give yourself to your new Lord and Savor, Lucifer. If you do so, you will be granted with anything your heart may desire. For a price. People will find any measure to take it. Instead of hurting a fellow soul, why not sell yours? Kiss the black eyed fool who will grant you any desire you want. For eternal misery in Hell. Humans were a stupid breed. Lucifer was going to make sure they were a dying breed, too. "If bees are few."

He left the exact same poem written messily on a sheet of paper and left it hanging on a wooden beam that supported the roof which helped you keep dry from the rain that became to softly trickle down. The demon knife you had pulled on him pinned it into place for them to find. Just as he did for the younger Winchester when he discovered you were gone. Lucifer hoped things wouldn't have come to this. He was so close to. But you were much stronger, he was wrong to doubt your willpower. And here he thought you knew you. He created you, after all. But everyone had a few character flaws. Katerina did. And she was a struggle to turn when he told her of his plans. But unlike before, Lucifer was much weaker. He had to do this the hard way. It would take a few steps, and it might take a bit long longer... all of you would get there together.

Lucifer rested his chin on the demon's shoulder he stood behind of with the knife to her throat and gave you a sympathetic expression. He could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears as your blood rushed through your veins. A thin layer of sweat covered your skin from how you woke up. This wasn't what he wanted to do, but he was out of options. His vessel was disintegrating, You were being stubborn. And it was time for your human side to leave. He didn't need you anymore. He wanted the demon side that you had buried in your conscious. There was one way to turn someone into a demon. And that was from blood. Copious amounts of it. When Lucifer pressed the blade harder against the demon's throat, you tilted your head back and opened your mouth. Ready for every drop he was about to give you. The plan you and him had drawn out together was coming along perfectly.

+ + +

It'd been two days since they had seen you. Since that stupid poem was left. Nobody slept, there had been nibbles of food in between consumption of coffee and beer while going through every lead they had stumbled upon, every possibility to what was going on here. Sam checked the GPS on your phone every hour on the hour, Bobby called every hunter he could think of while Cas shuffled through newspaper articles and weather maps that could pinpoint heavy demon activity. The only one who hadn't done much was Dean. He was caught up in his own vulnerable thoughts...his head kept replaying the memory. That damn scream kept repeating itself his his head over and over again. Each time it played, no matter if it was the hundredth time, it never stopped a shiver from running down his spine in pure horror of what he let happen. He’d been so freaking close.

Dean roughly clenched his fists with the rings still in his palm, and not once did he flinch when the metal dug painfully into his skin, drawing up some blood when he released his tense muscles. The man just stared at the rings with little reaction. He was too tired to care about what he did. He felt exhausted, but sleep would never come to him. The nightmares didn't come when he closed his eyes. He just had to look at the man who was supposed to his baby brother, the one he'd spent his entire life trying to protect from the evilness of this world. Dean swallowed as he thought about you, the woman that he loved—the same one who had been told was his soulmate. He was supposed to protect you and Sam. That’s what he was raised to do. Dean looked over his shoulder and stared at the empty seats of the Impala.

“Remember when we just used to...hunt wendigos? How simple things were?”

Dean’s answer might have been no at the time before they left. But as he stared at those empty seats all of you had religiously picked as your own, his head began to unwillingly fill up with old memories of the times back on the road. "Dad has been on a hunting trip. And he hasn’t been home in a few days." Those two sentences changed their lives forever.

It felt like a lifetime ago he was being hounded by you and his brother of his very tasteful classic rock collection of tapes he’d kept in a box underneath the passenger seat and his brother had debated the idea their father was dead. Back when all of you were a team full of young twenty something adults just trying to save the common folk from vengeful spirits and demons. The only real problem the three of you faced had come in the form of nightmares. How many nights did you wake up in a cold sweat from the idea of turning into a demon? His brother thought his little premonitions were the worst thing that could have happened to him. Dean started to let out a chuckle but he immediately stopped himself, afraid that if he kept going, the happy noises would turn into a broken sob.

Sammy, his baby brother, was going to take the swan dive, dooming himself for an eternity of misery and punishment that he never deserved. You, the woman that everyone loved and tried desperately to find, was out there all alone. Despite all of their best efforts, time was running out. Dean’s three days that he had pleaded for were going faster without a trail he could keep hope out for. Sam was ready to leave the second you disappeared. All of them knew where you had ended up. But the oldest Winchester kept some hope that you were stronger. That you could fight your way out and find your way back to him without turning into what you had feared all those years ago.

“He still out there?”

Bobby’s voice broke the younger Winchester’s concentration away from the kitchen window he’d been staring out for the past fifteen minutes. Sam nodded his head as he let out a quiet sigh as he forced himself to look away from his distraught big brother and to the same sight that hadn’t changed much in the past forty-eight hours. Cas kept his head down as he shuffled through papers and Bobby wracked his brain for different hunters he could call. Sam, however, felt his grip around the coffee cup he’d been holding grow tighter as he let out another sigh. Bobby lifted his gaze from the phone when he heard the noise. He knew when the younger Winchester did that, he was about to say something stupid.

“Bobby, look—”

“We promised your brother three days, Sam.” Bobby cut off the man, not wanting to hear any of this scheme that had been brewing in the young man’s head. The hunter knew this was going to end bloody and full of tragedy. But he could stop himself from losing one less person if he kept out hope for a little longer, than he would. “I think we might be onto something. Cas found some heavy demon activity in Michigan.”

“Let me guess, Detroit?” Sam asked, taking a wild guess of where the location might be. Bobby nodded his head slowly, he was hoping the man wouldn’t have made the connection, but from the look that spread across the young man’s face, he knew it was inevitable. All of them knew it was ground zero, where all of their hopes and dreams went to die. Sam could clenched his jaw until settled a painful ache in his teeth from what he’d done. It was better than throwing his cup across the room to see it shatter into tiny pieces. “Why are all of us still standing here? We know what’s gonna happen. The quicker we get there, the more of a chance we can save her. That is, if…”

Bobby could feel his face hardened as he warned the younger man not to dare speak those kind of words in his household, "Sam, don't you—"

“If she’s not already gone, Bobby. Then all of this would have been a wasted effort for nothing.” Sam managed to finally get the words that had been eating him alive over the past few days out from his head. He let out another sigh when Cas finally looked up from his unimportant papers as Bobby’s expression changed more of a sullen one. “Look, I get it. You wanna keep holding out hope that there’s some other kind of lead that can help us find Y/N. We all want that. But what if we’re too late? Without the grace, we're screwed. That was our only chance at making sure she didn't fully turn. He's got her, I know it.”

Bobby and Cas exchanged a pair of familiar looks from what the younger Winchester had said, but neither one of them dare speak a single word to keep this conversation going. Because they knew it was the truth. Sam looked down at his cup to feel that it was growing cold from neglecting it for almost twenty minutes after he poured himself a cup. Instead of throwing it across the room like he previously wanted to, he gently placed the cup down onto the table and snatched his jacket from an empty chair. Sam muttered something about needing air, Bobby knew where the man was really going. He watched from the same kitchen window as Sam made his way across the junkyard and to the Impala, where his brother had been for a majority of the past few days.

The Winchester brothers exchanged a simple glance to one another before each of them found their own spots to stare off mindlessly, keeping away any sort of unwanted conversation just yet. Each of them tried to think of different aspect of this fight. Dean tried to figure out ways that he could get angry at his brother, hoping it would stop the pain. Sam wondered what he could say to everyone that would get them to finally change their minds. After a few seconds the both of them slowly started to look at one another with eyes glazed over with tears. Funny thing was, neither one of them started to cry, instead, Dean found himself letting out that chuckle again.

"I keep thinking I'm gonna see Y/N step out of the house with that stupid grin on her face. You know the one that she gets whenever she finds something? She'll come down here and tell us our idea before was so freaking stupid." Dean found himself running off at the mouth of his own personal fantasy as a small smile of his own stretched across his lips. He stared at the porch steps imaging that you were standing there with a book in your hand a slight scowl on your face. Because you found something that wouldn't make Sam leave. Dean tried his hardest not to let his chuckles turn into sobs, but this time, it was inevitable. "I can't do this, man. I...I can't do this without her."

"We'll get her back. I promise." Sam tried to reassure his brother as the both of them struggled to keep their emotions in check. He sniffled and looked down at his feet, a small scoff fell out from his mouth at how much he realized he needed you until now. "Remember the time I ran off to California to find Dad? You and I had that big fight in the middle of the road. You were ready to let me leave...but Y/N made sure to tell me what an idiot I was.”

"She ripped me a new one God knows way too many times." Dean said. He felt himself growing a smile at an old memory that was from only a few years ago, but he should have known than to disrupt you when you were upset. And it always circled back to how one brother treated another. You never favored one brother over the other. At the end of the day, the both of them were your only family. And they were asking something of you that pushed you over the edge. But now the worst they had feared was coming true. "Y/N's a fighter. Out of anyone, she can beat whatever that son of a bitch tries.”

Sam let out a quiet sigh, “What if she can’t?”

“Are you doubting me, Winchester?”

The boys nearly jumped out of their skin when they heard a voice come out from thin air. It belonged to someone they thought wouldn't have seen so soon. At first they thought it was some kind of twisted joke their head was playing with them. But it wasn't. Sam pushed himself off the Impala and turned around, coming face to face with you. Your lips stretched into a wobbly smile as you took a step forward. Sam's eyes were drawn away from your face as they slowly moved down to your clothing, and the dried blood that was soaked through your shirt and jeans. His head began to run around with ideas of what was going on, and who's blood it belonged to. Dean found himself fixated on the sight, and as his mouth opened up to what happened to you, his brother reached out and grabbed him by his arm, refraining him from taking a step forward to you. Sam smell it...the demon blood running through your veins.

You parted your mouth slightly to show off your blood stained teeth, your mouth licked away any that had dried any on your lips before you sank your teeth down onto the flesh. Your head tilted to the side, a look of curious amusement crossed your face when the brothers stared at you with terror, possible confusion to what was going on. You decided to give them an answer when you blinked, showing off your demon eyes they wanted so hard to see on you. But this wasn't done just yet. There was one more crucial step.

Suddenly, you were bent over with a groan of pain escaping your mouth as your hands clutched your head from the sudden pounding sensation overcoming you from what you were doing. Your breathing turned into heavy pants as you forced yourself to stand up, just enough for you to look at the boys with a pleading expression. The only words you managed to say to them was, "Help me."

+ + +

“You sure this is gonna work?”

“Does it look like I have the instruction manual?"

Your eyes jumped back and forth as the two hunters exchanged a few questions as you sat in Bobby's living room, tied down to a chair and properly secured underneath the devil's trap so you wouldn't go ballistic. Your gaze wandered away from the two men as they focused on the small pendent that Crowley had given you right before he disappeared, never to be seen again. It was a long shot, but it was the only plan they had left. Whatever happened to you...Whatever Lucifer did, it was doing the trick. But you wouldn't talk about it. You just wanted this to be over. It was tiring enough to stop yourself from saying something you would regret. Sometimes you could bite your tongue. But most of it slipped out. Like how a chuckle started to roll out, soft and slow, but slowly, it build up to a laughter as you stared at the three hunters and their little angel who was supposed to stop the apocalypse.

"The fate of my humanity rests on an angel without wings and a couple of backroad hillbillies. Gosh, I'm such a lucky gal. And to top the fun off, I get to be sucked dry by you, big boy.” Your eyes flickered back as you looked over at Sam, who had been quietly in his little corner of the room, trying to get away from you. His arms were crossed over his chest as he tried his hardest not to stare at you. But from the way that his nostrils were flaring and his forearms were looking much tenser than usual, he could smell the blood from here. Your lips stretched into a smirk. “I smell good, don’t I? Can’t wait to just slit my throat and get a taste, huh?”

"We need to hurry." Cas warned the two hunters as he turned his back to you, not liking your progress of how the demon blood that Lucifer had fed you was turning. "She's changing—and fast. I'm afraid if we don't do this soon, the effects might be permanent."

This was the moment all of them had been dreading. Cas nodded his head when Dean forced himself to hand over the pendent that held the grace and to the angel who knew what he was doing. Without warning, the angel dropped the small pendent to the ground and broke the small glass container until small pieces. If he had done this with any other angel grace, it would have found its way to the rightful owner of who it once belonged to. But it took a spell the angel had remembered using only a few times before to make this work. He watched as the energy flew around the air, all before making its way down your throat, causing your eyes to bulge out and let out a muffled noise, like you were choking. Your arms automatically tried to lift themselves from the armrests, but your hands waved around. The boys grew worried as each of them watch you struggle, making it seem your body was trying to regret it. But slowly...you stopped moving.

Your eyelids grew heavy as your body slumped forward into the chair, making the three men and the angel fall into a moment of silence. Gabriel said this was supposed to protect your soul. Cas didn’t think the demon blood would have changed your soul. Each of them watched as you didn’t move for a minute or so, making them worried what was going on. Ever so slowly, Dean watched as one of your fingers twitched, setting off a chain reaction just a few seconds later.

“Y/N?” Sam was the one to speak your name, wondering if this would actually work. He could feel his breathing turn quieter as you twitched slightly at hearing your name. He took a small step forward, his arm outstretched itself in front of him as he reached to touch you ever so gently. He tried making a joke, thinking that it was safe. "Are you in there, Y/N?"

He should have known. All of them should have known not to mess with the Devil. Because they could never stop what was about to happen. He heard the sound of the ropes that held you snap like that, and before he realized it, he was staring at you at eye level with your hand to tightly wrapped around his throat, he was already struggling. Your lips stretched into a devilish smirk as you dug your nails into his skin.

"Y/N doesn't live here anymore." You quietly whispered to him with a playful, yet venomous tone as you spoke to him with clenched teeth. You leaned forward to him until you were mere inches from him, letting him watch as your eyes flickered black. "At least, not up front. She’s being a good girl and staying quiet so we can have a nice, long talk. Just you and me, Sammy."

Your head turned to the three men that had been pinned into place, you pretended to give them an apologetic look before you snapped your fingers with your free hand, making each of them take a corner of the room. You slowly looked over at the man when you pushed him to the ground and stepped out from the devil's trap. You brushed down your wrinkled and sticky clothes as you began looking around the room, your nose scrunched up slightly at the decor. As you looked back down at the man who hadn’t moved from the floor, you noticed that he stared at you with a disturbed look. Unsure of who he was speaking to. You placed your hand on your chest, pretending to feel offended as your eyes went back to normal.

“Don’t recognize an old face, Sam? Well, this is a new vessel. Taking out for a test spin after she gave me permission. Have yet to see if I really like it.” Sam could feel his heart drop into the pit of his stomach as he began to back away with his elbows on the floor when he realized who it was. You rolled your eyes when he hissed out a command to get out of your body. “Oh, don't worry. I'm just here to finish up a few loose ends. You made my job a hell of a lot easier. Y/N’s a complex creature. She’s a hell of a lot stronger than I thought. I need to poke at her sou at more of a...personal level. Get inside that head of hers. Destroy whatever humanity she’s holding on to. You see," You suddenly stopped in your tracks as you flinched, almost like you were fighting something inside of you. You slowly opened your eyes to show they were black again. Sam watched as you walked over to him, all before you swung one leg over his body, and you dropped yourself onto his waist to pin his body into place. "I’m the one who really wants to talk to you, Sammy."

“Y/N,” Sam tried his hardest to ignore the black eyes that were staring at him and called out to the person who was his best friend, the person trapped in her own skin as Lucifer poked at her soul until it was black as the eyes that were staring at him. “Y/N, you can fight this. Come on.”

You ignored his pleas as you reached out to pull something from your boot, Sam's eyes wandered to what appeared to be a switchblade. He thought you were going to attack him, but instead, you slit your wrist with it. You cut yourself and forced the bleeding wound to his mouth.

"Is this what you want, huh? Drink it all, Sammy. Drink it...just like what Lucifer did to me. It scared me at first. But don’t worry, you’ll get used to it." You told him a bit of the truth in a dark, low tone as you forced him to taste the blood  that was rich with the ones of the demons that Lucifer slaughtered for you to drink. Sam managed to overpower you by grabbing a hold of your wrists and threw you to the floor. His mouth was stained with your blood, but he didn't allow himself to taste any of it as he spit out the contents to the floor. Much as he wanted to. You sat on the floor, you didn't fight or say anything mean. You just sat there...looking at him with a smile as you shook your head. "I know you want it. I can hear your heartbeat from where I am. Just like how you wanted Ruby. You can fight it all you want, but you know you're gonna come crawling back. It's how all of this was always meant to be. You, me and the Devil.” 

Sam blinked, and just like that, easy as you had come back, you were gone. The man's eyes darted around the room as he tried to look for you anywhere that he could. He could feel his heartbeat kick up faster in rhythm when he noticed there was no trace of you, besides the blood that stained the floors. You were gone. They tried so hard...tried every possible way to save you, but you were gone. Sam slowly dragged his gaze away from your blood that make to make his mind swim with old feelings that he hadn't touched in a long time. Dean stared at the sight of once where you sat, all hope that had been in his face was gone. It was all over.

Each of them had tried so hard to make this right. You tried so hard to stop your fears from coming true. So many dead ends and sleepless nights, years of battling monsters and taking down people that had did you wrong. But it wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be good enough.

Sam slowly shut his eyes, trying his hardest not to let out a yell from what was happening. This wasn’t supposed to happen. His nails dug into his skin when a chilling thought crossed his mind. And how they were slowly beginning to come true. "These violent delights, have violent ends."

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D&D Soap Opera Synopsis 11 & 12--the last episodes

Wax dribbled downwards methodically, collecting in a small, copper basin, the substance viscous with a muted sheen to it.  Chelyse sat at the small breakfast table she shared with Kasimir, writing into the evening by the flickering light of an almost-depleted candle.  Given the elegance of her appearance, it would seem the fey knight had attended some event of significance that day.

Forgive the delay, but there was much to be done the past few days.  I had not the time to spare for my journal.  I have only just returned home from Temerity and Adryssa’s… I dare not call it a binding in the elven way.  I believe the tiefling called it a wedding--a union in the human manner.  It was not unlike the ceremonies accompanying a binding, in essence, though much less involvement of the community and only for a single day’s duration.  There was not the connection with the Seldarine, with magic, and with the fauna and flora that is implicit in elven matrimonials.   Mother and father actually made the journey from Evermeet to attend, although they did not much enjoy their stay, I’m afraid.  Their disappointment and disdain for Adryssa’s behavior was painted clearly upon their features.  Al’orllin was the only member of my kin receptive to the event.  Calineath and Telyssan did not seem visibly offended by the union, but nor were they openly supportive.  Eldithor thinly veiled his disdain, which was the reaction I think we all expected from my eldest brother.  

Despite my attempts at conversation, my parents did seem seem inclined to associate with my person either.  I assume their disregard was borne of my departure of Leuthilspar, of my home and family, and decision not to observe my bindings with Thalandril.  Whether they are aware of my relationship with Kasimir, I know not.  Combined with the mishap involving Castle Ravenloft, I fear the resulting disappointment I have garnered has formed a barrier between my house and I.  The display of as much nearly broke my heart, but I made this choice.  I knowingly incurred these consequences, Corellon preserve me.

Based upon whatever unholy rationale prompted Adryssa to desire a veritable demon as her mate, my sister invited Thalandril--of all individuals--to her frivolities.  His discomfort was apparent, as was my own when we managed to stumble upon one another during the reception. My life-mate merely looked at me, at the sheepish smile I offered at this unspeakably awkward reunion, before he simply turned and walked away.  My heart sank, wishing that I could at least patch over the hurt that I had caused.  Thalandril had brought his consort, Emalynde, to whose side he fled.  Perhaps to fly in the face of our crumbled arrangement.  I could not blame him. Despite what Kasimir had divulged concerning the priestess of Hanali, she always was kind to me, although I think there was pity in her gaze.  For what reason, I know not.  At least she was gentle in her dismissal, as I am sure Thalandril did not take kindly to her sharing my company.  There was camaraderie enough the evening prior, during the festivities tailored to celebrate one’s individuality and independence once more before being bound.  A human endeavor, it would seem.  There was much drinking and men, of which I took no part.  But that did not stop the group of women--as the occasion was limited to those of the female gender--from trying me to a chair, having males of various species dance about my person scantily clad.  It was horrific, in short.  

I was so embarrassed by the night’s activities that I could not face the dusk elven wizard the next morning, departing our shared quarters as soon as I could on the premise of aiding in preparation for the wedding.  It was perhaps best that I did not make a show of my affections with Kasimir to be considerate of my family’s wishes, and Thalandril’s dignity.  It was not my wish to impugn either.  Therefore, I saw the scholar little that day, allowing him to frequent the company of Savid and Al’orllin instead.  I, in turn, visited with my younger siblings, in whose regard I was not diminished severely.   Mother and father intend to leave as soon as possible, and it appears that Savid has grown rather fond of Thalandril’s personal assistant.  Jhanys, I believe her name was.  He means to visit Evermeet and vacation with her, which I hope he will enjoy.  The enormous elf always fared better within Leauthilspar than Kasimir, who gave more mind to others’ opinions of him.  Not to mention Savid has created friendships there with individuals who would shield him from any discrimination.  It warms my heart that he has secured those sort of bonds, as his heart is both kind and large.  He deserves this happiness.   I only wish that Kasimir and myself could join the giant of an elf, but the journey on the inter-dimensional conch, confined to those quarters alongside my family and Thalandril, might very well be preferable only to having each and every one of my nails pulled free from each fingertip.  Not to mention that the wizard nurtures no love for my birthplace.  It is simply another concession--and therefore no matter.  Perhaps one day we can return, for a visit at least. *** A swath of ribbon is nestled between the pages of parchment before Chelyse lays the journal aside for the evening.  About a week later, a fresh entry dries cleanly upon the unfurled tome.  The gentle paladin produces a chinking sound as she adjusts her seated position, the magical armour gifted to her by Sergey Von Zarovich protesting metallically.  It had been some time since its last use. There is a relief palpable now that the matter has been settled.  For months we have been dealing with these cultists in one form or another.  But it is finally finished.  Thank Corellon for that.  It was only with the aid of the Entertainers’ Guild that the matter was able to pass successfully through Nexus’ legal system, since of course vigilante justice has to be proven up to be validated as such.  It is an interesting method of law enforcement, but it seems to work well enough--taking on contracts to exact justice only to have to evidence the validity of said actions at a later date. But I digress.  This would not have been possible were it not for an ill-fated tactic.  Adryssa had contacted me telepathically while Kasimir, Savid, and myself were enjoying breakfast, as the barbarian had returned to the guild the morning prior.  She relayed that Temerity had been kidnapped, a note attached to the door of their home, the windows broken and blood staining the floor.  Concerned, I communicated as much to Kasimir, who was of the opinion the diviner was just entertaining another prank or exaggerating the tale, as she was prone to misrepresentations. Nevertheless, we agreed to investigate the ordeal given my sister’s panic.  We arrived to find the state of affairs exactly as the girl had foretold.  I did what I could to comfort her, knowing that she would be upset by the turn of events even if I did not fully understand her attachment to the she-devil.  The roads had been swarming with contingents of cultists on our journey over, almost as if they were making some sort of rounds throughout the city.  A group of them paused before the residence, hesitating for only a moment before starting to scribble symbols upon the pavement outside.   I had arrived rather unprepared, wearing casual, comfortable attire rather than my armour--as we had not thought such preparation necessary initially.  Thankfully, Ricatavio had been contacted previously as to the sudden influx of cultists and was gracious enough to ferry my protective gear to our location.  Surly at being asked to do so, the eladrin nevertheless came through, for which I was grateful.  However, the process of adorning myself in platemail takes some time.  Savid, without hesitation, immediately began to dress me, much to my embarrassment.  Kasimir helped. The others ran outside to interrupt whatever was transpiring while the dusk elves helped fit my armour to my frame.  About halfway through the ordeal, flames began to lick at the walls of the room, forcing me to dash to the building’s exterior, finding alchemist’s flames devouring the siding.  Conjuring water was no large feat, but exposing myself without being fully suited in plate nor armed proved a mistake.  Seeing an opportunity, two cultists converged on my person and I was not able to fend them off.   My consort came to my rescue, providing enough counter-attack to enable my escape back indoors, where I was forced to tend to my wounds and attempt to finish dressing.  By the time I was appropriately adorned, shield and sword in hand, the fighting had ceased.  Bodies were strewn about, perhaps three in number.  The scholar was examining what appeared to be a set of empty robes while the others gathered up their belongings to head to the location designated upon the note left by Temerity’s captors.   We debated for some time as to how best to approach what very much appeared to be a trap.  It was likely that this kidnapping was perpetrated by the cultists whose plans we had dismantled--and whose officers we had taken into custody--on numerous previous occasions.  But it was a sobering notion that the cultists themselves were out in force on our account.  It seems we had upset a very precarious balance.  Ultimately, we decide to masquerade as cultists to enable us to infiltrate the rendezvous point. It was not a difficult task to locate a smaller band of cultists wandering more isolated streets.  We needed a few more to assume the identities of, so I kindly asked for the assistance of several individuals--a venture that worked more ideally than I would have surmised.  It is astounding how malleable humans are to an elven aesthetic.  Adryssa adjusted their visages to reflect our own, thus acting as a shield to our tactic.  If we pretended to bring ourselves in, since these cultists were apparently looking for us, we gained entrance to the location unnoticed and without suspicion.. The plan did not unfold as smoothly as intended.  Confusion marked the entire undertaking.  Dak scouted the building in question, which ended up being the club that we had attended only weeks prior when Emalynde had been visiting.  The ettin seemed to be conducting some sort of seminar, teaching those who usurped the positions of former Entertainers’ Guild officers how to best impersonate their likenesses.  It did not seem as if anyone was even expecting us, which was quite odd.  Nonetheless, we escorted the semblances of ourselves into the establishment. The ettin paused his lesson, growing irate quite quickly with a situation he seemed utterly unfamiliar with.  He knew nothing of Temerity or even of us, really.  He threatened the magicked versions of our party to leave.  Adryssa had imbued each individual with a limited amount of information with which to better pretend to be each member of our number.  The imitation of the witch spoke out of turn, apparently, angering the ettin, who reeled back and struck her.  At that point, I interfered.  This exchange did not need to resort to violence or the eventuality of death. But the ettin was no longer brandishing words and I was forced to defend both myself and the hapless cultists who were made to look like my friends and myself.  I attempted to persuade the brute to stand down, but he would have none of it.  Extending a meaty fist, he snatched me about the middle, swinging me into the air and clamping down like a vice.  Air whooshed from my lungs, expelled at the sudden cinch of pressure.  Kasimir once more saw to my safety, dissolving into shadow only to reappear at my side.  Taking my hand, he summoned an iridescent door, which we both stepped through and away from the beast. Now that aggression was the only language to which the cult leader would respond, the group replied in kind.  Ultimately, the collection of impostor Entertainers’ Guild officers were apprehended as well, held in safekeeping for submission to the Entertainers’ Guild themselves. Upon questioning, not a one of them were familiar with Temerity or the situation at hand.  It was the strangest thing.  We investigated the premises, especially the ettin’s office, finding another of those transportive devices that had linked this location to the Entertainers’ Guild, as had been the case upon our last visit. I had ventured over to tend to the wounds of the cultist who had sustained damage, inquiring into what information they held as well.  They had indeed been tasked with finding us, but for no purpose that they were aware.  Returning to the remainder of the party, it seemed that a cipher had been discovered and de-crypted from within the ettin’s desk--the message referring to some sort of power play implicit within the cult itself.  The idea was not shocking in any way.  We had already encountered one coup within the organization.  But… had we been setup to conduct someone’s dirty work toward that end? Given that Rufus, the individual who had initiated the last overthrow of power within the cult, was on good terms with us--with the disguised versions of us, at least--we decided to travel to the circus to continue our sleuthing.  It was by sheer happenstance that Adryssa thought to cast a location spell, the result indicating that Temerity was in close vicinity.  The spell acted like a beacon, leading us straight to the same holding pens that caged the elves we had rescued several months ago.  And there she was, sitting within one of the confinements.  It was almost too easy.  And strange. In increasingly odd developments, the elven ringmistress emerged from out of sight, flanked by several individuals armed with crossbows.  In our haste, we had overlooked a cursory appraisal of the area--much to our detriment.  Confusion continued to mark the day’s events, as this was the woman whom I had saved from the drow slavers who had sought to do away with her authority.  She spoke plainly, with cloyingly sweet tones steeped in condescension and a coy edge.  The ringmistress thanked us for our unwitting aid, as she’d been attempting to unseat the ettin for some time.  And we had proved capable--as demonstrated previously.  We had just needed some encouragement. I could not fathom the betrayal.  She need only ask--not manipulate in such an underhanded manner.  Although Temerity remained unharmed--physically at any rate--it was the principal of the matter.  The absolute disregard for the well-being of another living creature.  I confronted her with as much, to which she laughed, her bemusement echoing off the empty cages that dotted this tent.  With a dismissive flick of her wrist, she waved farewell, intending to depart through a conjured portal.  I attempted to reach for her, but was too far away, the magical construct winking out of existence before I could close the distance. The entirety of that experience has left a sour taste in my mouth for this city and its denizens.  Is this how one repays another for kindness?  What is the human saying--no good deed goes unpunished?  My frustration mounts and I feel as if the corruption here chokes the very breath from my lungs.  I miss home.  Evermeet does not suffer from such sickness such as this.  Yet I am helpless to return, homeless in the way I am unable to bear the scorn of my family or to force Kasimir to burden himself with the mistreatment of others.  There is not even wildlife here.  It is bricks and stone and dead planks of wood.  There is not the spark of life, no soundless melody of ambient arcane that sings through nature itself. I miss home.