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katymacsupernatural · 4 years

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When Push Comes to Shove

Dean Winchester x Reader

3600 Words

Written For @amanda-teaches and her 2K Reader and Writer Challenge.

My prompt: “I saw you staring at each other, I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage.”

Summary: A bad fight years ago between Y/N and Dean had her running off. Now, five years later, they need her help. But when she arrives, all things left unsaid are brought out into the open.

Warnings: Lots of angst, mentions Dean with the mark, other warnings in the tags because of spoilers.

When you had first received the phone call, you immediately hung up, your heart racing as memories from five years ago came crashing through the wall you had so carefully erected.

“No, I can’t,” you whispered, staring down at the phone laying on your bed as if it had bitten you. And truthfully, it had.

It started ringing again, Sam’s name flashing on the phone, and while you wanted to toss it into the nearest trash can, you knew he would only call in an emergency.

“Hi Sam,” you whispered, your voice shakier than you realized.

His voice crackled through the phone, the connection not the greatest. “Y/N, it’s been a while.”

“Yeah, it has,” you agreed. You had missed him. You had once considered him your closest friend. But after your disaster with his brother, well….

“Listen, I’d love to catch up, but we have quite the problem going on here,” he yelled through the phone. You could hear gunfire and yelling in the background, immediately putting your rusty hunter senses on high alert. “How fast can you get to Indiana?”

“That’s five or so hours away,” you measured in your head. “But Sam, I haven’t gone on a hunt in..well...since you know.”

Sam forgot about the phone call for a moment as he yelled in the background, the gunfire even closer. “Listen, I wouldn’t have called you if this wasn’t an all hands on deck kinda deal. So please. Get your guns and get your ass over here. Pronto.”

He hung up, and you stared down at the phone in dismay. “Hey honey, is everything okay?” Tyler called from the doorway, and you glanced up at your boyfriend, hoping your poker face was in place. “Is everything okay? Who were you talking to?”

“Just an old friend,” you answered, knowing that Tyler wouldn’t be able to handle any aspect of your old life. “Wanted to do a little get together tomorrow.”

Tyler strode forward, pulling you into his arms. It was comforting and safe, but nowhere near as exciting as...you refused to even think it. “Honey, I think you should go!” He exclaimed. “After all, I’m heading down to Vegas for the weekend with the boys. I was worried about you being here all alone, and now I won’t have to worry.”

He pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek before taking his duffle bag from the floor. “Let me know when you get there. K?”

You nodded, watching silently as he left the room, knowing that while your heart wanted you to stay here, where it was safe, you couldn’t leave Sam in Danger. Or Dean.

Even thinking his name was enough to send a pain straight through your heart, and you wondered how you would ever get through the next few days.

Everything was as you had left it. Gathering a fine layer of dust, but the guns were still in good shape. Your ammo was a little low, but that could easily be fixed. You took the entire toolbox, the heavy weight welcome in your arms as you pushed it into the back of your classic old pickup. “Ready to ride again girl?” You asked the classic 1970 Ford, patting her tailgate fondly. You had painstakingly fixed her back up until she looked and ran better than ever before. Tyler had thought it odd but had never said anything.

With one last glance back at your normal life, you climbed into your truck, pulling out of the driveway and turning it to the highway that led straight to your past.

With the radio quietly playing country music, you thought back to the last time you had seen Sam and Dean. It had been horrible, parting with anger and frustration. Tears had filled your vision as you had driven away, not only from the man that still held your heart, but away from the only life you had ever known.

But you had been given no choice. Dean had taken your heart, ripped it in shreds, without even realizing he was doing it. Later you had heard it was the Mark that had caused it, but you had been too scared to turn back.

You noticed the black Impala immediately as you pulled into the only hotel in the tiny town. It was dusty, but otherwise just exactly as you had remembered it. All the times spent in the passenger seat, listening as Dean sang along to the music. The other times in the backseat with his body covering yours.

The thoughts swirling through your mind were quickly becoming melancholy, and you forced them away, parking beside the car. “It’s just a car,” you whispered to yourself, but you still wondered how many women Dean had laid down in that back seat since you’ve been gone.

“Y/N!” Sam exclaimed as he pushed open the door to room 112. “I’m so glad you decided to come.”

“Didn’t seem like I had much of a choice,” you muttered. “But you look okay.”

“Barely made it out of there,” he muttered. “And tomorrow we try again.”

He took your duffel bag, tossing it over his shoulder. “It’s a mess in there. Demons everywhere. They ambushed us, and we almost...if it wasn’t for Cas.”

He shook his head. “But we can talk business later. I already booked you a room. It’s right next to ours. Hope that’s okay.”

You placed your hand on his arm, stopping him. “Sam, does..does he know that I’m here?”

He sighed. “Yeah, he does. I figured I’d give you two some privacy later if you want it.”

You weren’t sure if that’s what you wanted. Sure, it would help to clear the air, but you weren’t exactly ready for a confrontation. “Sam, I..,”

“Sam! Get in here!” Dean’s voice yelled through the thin walls, and you shuddered back slightly in fear, all sorts of emotions rocking your system.

“Y/N, that was years ago,” Sam offered. “He’s changed. Just give him a chance.”

He gave you his goofy, sideways smile, not realizing that you had already moved on. At least your head had, even if your heart hadn’t. Sam took your hand, pulling you into the room where Dean was sitting at the table, his head lowered as he glared at the laptop in front of him.

Your mouth went dry at the sight of him. His hair was wet and unstyled, slightly longer than you remembered. His shoulders were just as wide as you remembered, encased in a simple maroon flannel. A black t-shirt stretched across his chest, his strong thighs encased in roughed up denim. He looked good, even with the nasty gash above his eye. “Hey Dean,” you spoke softly, wincing as he glared up at you.

“Sam said he called you,” his voice rolled, even deeper than you remembered. But still cold. Oh so cold. And it hurt. “You didn’t need to come.”

“Dean, we talked about this,” Sam sighed. “Those Demons have us outnumbered. At least this way we have a fighting chance.”

Dean closed the laptop sharply. “A fighting chance? One more person against all those Demons? How is that going to help?”

“I can go,” you offered.

He ran his fingers through his hair, completely agitated. “No. Don’t go. I’m just...we do need your help.”

You sat down across from him, offering him a small smile even though you were shaking inside. Sam took that opportunity to sneak out the door, yelling over his shoulder that he was going for dinner. “Guess it’s just you and I,” Dean mumbled.

Sitting there quietly, you stared at Dean who seemed to look anywhere but at you. And while you didn’t want to do it, you knew the air needed to be cleaned before you finished off the hunt. “Listen, Dean, we need to talk about this.”

“Talk about what? There’s nothing to talk about!” He exclaimed, pushing back from the table, pacing the small hotel room. “I was an Ass, you left like you should have. You’re here to kill some Demons, that’s it.”

“That’s not it,” you answered softly, just the memory of it enough to bring tears to your eyes. “Dean, if we don’t talk about it, then…,”

Dean sighed, tucking his hands in his jeans. “Y/N, I wanted to call you. Every day, for over a year, I typed in your number but hung up because I was too chicken. How could I call you and expect you to understand? To forgive me?”

“I wish you had,” you whispered. “After I left, I was so lost, so heartbroken. I wanted to turn around, head back, but I thought everything was too broken. I was too broken.”

“Damn it Y/N, I never meant to hurt you. You should know that. I hate to blame it on the Mark, but it changed me. In ways I never imagined.”

“Dean, it wasn’t just me,” you finally admitted. You had never spoken the words out loud. Never told anyone. You had taken the loss and buried it deep inside.

“What do you mean?” He asked, stopping in front of you.

“When we had that argument, I don’t know how much you remember.”

“I remember every little moment of that day. They haunt me in my nightmares. Every word, every time my hand connected with your skin. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that.”

Your mouth opened, the words ready to be heard for the first time, but Sam burst through the door, the forgotten dinner bags squished in his hands. He froze, glancing between you and Dean.

“What?” Dean growled, annoyed that your intimate conversation had been interrupted.

“I saw you staring at each other, I just wasn’t sure if it was sexual tension or murderous rage,” Sam muttered. And if you hadn’t just been ready to bare your soul, you would have laughed.

“Neither, Sam,” you assured him, but the moment between you and Dean was gone. Maybe forever.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we’ve got to move. Now!” He exclaimed, tossing the food on the table. “The Demons are getting ready to move.”

“Damn it,” Dean grumbled. “Let’s go.”

Sam filled you in as you climbed into the backseat of the Impala. “Missed you girl,” you whispered, patting her leather seats fondly. Dean glanced at you through the rearview mirror, his expression full of regret. “So these Demons have Jack.”

“Who’s Jack?” You asked, hearing the fondness as Sam said his name. Making you realize how much you’ve missed these last few years.

Sam tried to smile, but it faltered. “He’s like a son to us. But in reality, he’s the son of Lucifer.”

“What?” The word came out louder than you wanted, but what Sam had just said, it shocked you more than you cared to admit.

“I know what it sounds like,” Sam spoke quickly. “But he’s nothing like his Dad. Cas is more like his Dad than anyone. We’ve known him since the day he was born, and he’s a good kid. Needs guidance, but he’s...uh..he’s getting there.”

“So how old is he?” You asked as Dean rounded the corner, parking in a dark alley.

“Typical human age doesn’t work for Jack,” Cas said as he appeared on the seat beside you. “Y/N, it’s good to see you again.”

“Cas!” You threw your arms around his shoulders, giving the Angel a tight hug. He returned it awkwardly, before turning his attention to Sam and Dean. “I’ve been surveying the place. With Y/N’s help, we should be able to infiltrate in and save Jack.”

“What’s the plan Cas?” Dean asked as you all climbed out of the car.

“I believe Sam and I should head through the south side. There only seems to be only three Demons on that side. You and Y/N shall head through on the North Side. There are more Demons there, but if you keep them occupied, Sam and I can retrieve Jack.”

“I think we can handle that,” Dean didn’t even look your way as he made sure he had all of his weapons ready and loaded. You had the Angel Blade that Cas had given you years ago, along with a couple of Devil’s trap bullets. You were as ready as you could be.

Sam and Cas took off, rounding the corner, while you and Dean stayed to the front. Shadowed by the brick wall, Dean pulled you to the side. “Y/N, I know we ended that conversation on a cliffhanger. But you’re good for this hunt, right? How long has it been since your last hunt?”

“Five years,” you whispered. “But I will be fine.”

“Five years!” He seemed completely taken back. “But that’s when…, you mean you haven’t hunted since then?”

“No. But we need to go,” you insisted, pushing past him and rounding the corner. The house stood in front of you, dark and foreboding. Sam and Cas were just rounding the back. Pushing ahead of Dean, you led the way to the front. He wouldn’t believe your words, so you would just show him that you were still capable of hunting.

And then, maybe you could go home. Back to your normal life. With your normal boyfriend. Who, you had to admit, never created the same butterfly effect that Dean always did to you. But at least it was safe.

“Damn it Y/N, slow down,” Dean growled low as he came rushing up beside you. “Do you want to mess this whole thing up?”

You opened your mouth to reply, but the door swung open, and the fight quickly began. Three Demons greeted you at the door, no doubt ready and waiting for your arrival. They swung knives and blades, but weirdly enough didn’t use their powers. Stabbing on through the heart, you turned to see Dean grappling with two big and surly men. However, as you headed over to help, two more came down the stairs, and you were once again fighting for your life.

You were quickly overwhelmed, one holding you roughly by the shoulders, the other one laughing as he swirled the blade around his fingers. “Is this all you brought with you, Winchester? A slight girl, her fighting stale. We expected more of a fight.”

Dean had just killed one Demon, and with a growl, he stabbed the other before facing the ones holding you with murderous rage. “Let her go now!”

“Or you’ll what?” He chuckled. “You take one step towards me and I’ll have this blade so deep in her skin before you could even blink.”

You struggled against the Demon’s tight hold, your breaths short. Dean’s gaze caught yours, full of anguish and fear. His words earlier rang in your mind. You had come into this so unprepared. This was all your fault. “No. I will not let you control this,” You muttered, dropping all of your weight. Surprising the Demon, he let you fall, and it gave Dean a chance to stab the first one. As you started to stand up, the other Demon gasped in surprise, his eyes burning yellow before he slumped to the floor.

“Is everyone alright?” Cas asked, wiping his hand on his trench coat. Behind him stood a young man, a little bloody, his right eye swollen but otherwise unharmed.

“Yep. We’re good,” You answered, ignoring Dean as Cas helped you to stand up. “This must be Jack.”

“You’re...you’re Y/N,” he spoke, coming forward, his gaze almost too much with its intensity. You wanted to look away, but you were caught up in it as well. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Nice to meet you, Jack,” You whispered before Dean was gently grabbing you by the shoulders.

“Let’s go before any more of these black-eyed sons of bitches come back,” he insisted and led the way out the front door. Cas and Jack were not far behind you, Sam shutting the door and taking up the rear.

Once you were safely inside the Impala, you found yourself sitting next to Jack. Sam and Dean were talking softly in the front seat while Cas smiled happily as he stared at Jack. Jack’s attention was on you though. “I am glad to finally meet you,” he offered, reaching for your hand. You thought he was going to shake it, but he simply held it, his eyes widening. “Jack?” Cas noticed the strange look in his face as well.

Suddenly Jack let go of your hand. “I’ve never felt such heartbreak before,” he muttered. “Y/N, how do you keep going with all that pain in your heart? I felt pain and sadness directed at Dean. But there was something else.”

You could feel Dean’s gaze on you through the rearview mirror, and you tried to stop Jack before he said too much. But you were too late. “I’m so sorry for your loss. A miscarriage was it?”

Dean slammed on the brakes, parking in front of his motel room. “Everyone out! Now!”

You started to climb out of the car as well, but one look from Dean had you staying where you were. Sam was the first one out, smiling reassuringly to you before he disappeared with Cas and Jack into the room, leaving you alone with Dean. Alone with the big news that Jack suddenly decided to let everyone know about.

“I didn’t realize he could read people like that,” you started talking as Dean turned in his seat to face you, your hands tugging on the loose thread of your shirt. You were nervous and unready to have this conversation.

“He has a lot of powers that even he doesn’t know about,” Dean explained. “But what he said. Was it true?”

You thought back to that horrible day. You had barely left the bunker when the pain hit. Cramps that had doubled you over, making you swerve your car. You had been alone and scared in the hospital when you had lost an important part of your life. “Yes. It was.”

He ran a hand along his chin, a sure sign that he was upset and unsure. “Dean, during that fight. When..well..something happened. I didn’t blame you for that. After all, I hadn't’ even told you the news yet. I wanted to wait until things were back to normal. Our normal. To tell you that I was...pregnant. But then…,”

“We fought, and it was because of me you lost the baby,” he whispered. “Y/N, I’m so freaking sorry.”

The tears were falling down your face before you even realized you were crying. “It’s nice. Finally being able to tell someone. I’ve kept it buried inside for so long. Dean, please know this. I’ve never blamed you. You had the Mark, it changed you. You didn’t know.”

“That doesn’t excuse it!” He bellowed. “Y/N, I ruined your life, and mine with that freaking mark! I just wish that..,”

“Please don’t,” you spoke softly, wiping away the tears. “Can we just forget any of this ever happened? You can go back to hunting with your brother and his friends. I can go back to my normal life and…,”

“What’s his name?” Dean asked.

“Tyler. We’ve been dating for over a year now.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Is that what you really want? To air all of this out and then run away..to Tyler and whatever normal life you’ve made for yourself? Because I don’t know about you, but I still love you Y/N.”

“I love you too,” you admitted. “But sometimes love isn’t enough to push past all the pain.”

You reached forward, brushing your knuckles against his cheek before you slid out of the car. Dean only watched as you climbed into your truck. Tears streamed down your face as you started to pull away.

“Is this the right thing?” You cried as you pulled onto the highway. Sniffling back tears, you tried to look forward. Back to your simple job, and the fact that you and Tyler were thinking of taking a vacation next month. But all you could see was your memories of Dean.

Dean, with his cheeky smile who had captured your heart the moment you saw him in Harvelle’s bar. Dean, who would wake you up in the middle of the night to take you to some empty field to look at the stars. The man who had always kept his promise to come back to you. And yet here you were, running away.

Slamming on the brakes, you flipped the truck around, knowing you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t run from Dean again. You turned your truck into the parking lot, your tires squealing at the speed. Dean was just getting out of the Impala, walking towards the hotel room.

Turning the engine off, you jumped out. “Dean!” You screamed. “Dean, wait!”

He turned but made no move. Smiling, you raced forward, throwing your arms around him. “I can’t lose you again.”

“But what about Tyler? And that normal life?” He asked, but you could see the hope shining in his eyes.

“It was never meant for me,” you assured him, and with those words, his mouth crashed against yours, and everything was right with the world once again.

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @bebravekeeponfighting @bi-danvers0 @brindz30 @cap-just-said-language @colette2537 @deansgirl215 @flamencodiva @hamiltrash1411 @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @justanotherwinchester @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller @krys198478 @librarygeekery @magssteenkamp @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @mrspeacem1nusone @nothinbuttrouble2 @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @team-free-will-you-idjiot @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algud @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @cpag7 @chelsea072498 @closetspngirl @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @esoltis280 @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99 @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean @jayankles @jensen-gal @justsomedreaming @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @lifelovelaughangell123 @li-ssu @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork @lowlyapprentice @maui137 @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93 @nanie5 @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25 @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing @samanthaharper2018 @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek @thewinchesterchronicles @vvinch3st3r @wecantgiggleitsafandom @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen

#amanda-teachers #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #katy writes #supernatural x y/n #reader x y/n #supernatural reader insert #dean reader insert #miscarriage mentioned

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sasarahsunshine · 3 years

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The Sister I Always Wanted

Pairing: (not romance, just sisterly fluff) Emily Prentiss/ Kassidy Hughes (my OC)

Type: Fluff, tiny bit of sadness

Warnings: Self-loathing, anxiety. Kassidy is a mess, okay?

Summery: I just really wanted to write about the relationship between Kassidy and Emily, or how I’d love to imagine it anyways. This takes place during the beginnings of their relationship, soon after they met. It might get mentioned in my main fic at some point, but it isn’t necessary for the story. It’s just self-indulgent fluff for me <3

You can also read this on AO3! <3

It probably wasn’t normal, or sane, to show up at the doorstep of a coworker Kassidy barely knew, especially at 2:00 in the morning, in the rain, soaking wet. But, here she was, arms wrapped around herself as she stared at the apartment building’s front door. She didn’t grab a jacket when she had sought out comfort, and she was regretting it. Her hair was drenched, clinging to her face and the back of her neck. God, she was so stupid.

Late November in Virginia wasn’t anything like back home. She wasn’t used to the rain, the cold, the wetness of everything. If she were home in Las Vegas, she would still have the air conditioner on during the day; but now she needed a small heater in her bedroom to sleep through the night. She should have known to grab a jacket- or at least a sweater- when she started on her journey to escape the suffocating walls that were closing in on her in her apartment. It wasn’t raining at the time. Now, it was pouring.

At least the freezing sheets of water that were soaking her to the bone was good for something: it hid her tears rather well. Her red face and puffy cheeks could be explained by the cold and the rain.

She still hadn’t made a move to enter the building, instead choosing to stare at the little buttons beside the door. Each one had a number on it, corresponding to the apartment number inside. She knew which one she needed but couldn’t make herself press it.

God, why was she here? She lifted her chin towards the sky and closed her eyes, letting the sting of the water wash away her tears. Maybe moving to Quantico was a bad idea after all. She couldn’t handle the pressure of not being able to save everyone. She couldn’t be the woman her father wanted her to be. She couldn’t-

“Kass?”

Snapping her head towards the door, she saw Emily standing there, a black nightgown hugging her figure, a gun in her hands. She lowered her weapon gracefully and grabbed Kassidy’s arm, tugging her into the foyer of the building and out of the rain, “What are you doing here? My neighbor woke me saying some homeless person was standing on the steps- God, why aren’t you wearing a jacket?”

Kassidy didn’t realize she was shivering until she was suddenly out of the rain. She blinked a couple of times, her hands trembling as she fumbled to grab the hem of her shirt for comfort, “I-I’m so so sorry… so sorry Em,” she started, her bottom lip quivering from emotion, “I um, didn’t mean to scare anyone-”

Emily wrapped her arm around her shoulders and started leading her towards a set of stairs, “Come on, let’s get you dry and warm. You’re going to get hypothermia.”

Kassidy didn’t have it in her to fight, so she allowed herself to be walked up two flights of stairs and down a hallway into Emily’s apartment. The whole way, with every step, she wondered if she should just apologize and leave. But the words wouldn’t come out. Her mouth was dry.

The apartment was warm and cozy, although not very lived in. The furniture was mostly neutral in color, and there didn’t seem to be many personalized possessions, just a photo of the team from a dinner outing on her coffee table. She sat Kassidy down on her couch and started to pull her shirt over her head, gaining a surprised gasp from the younger woman, “What are you-?”

“You’re soaked to the bone, Kass. I’m going to get you into some dry clothes. I’m sure I have something that fits,” she mused as she pulled the t-shirt free from Kassidy’s arms. Standing, she walked towards the open bedroom door, “Go ahead and take off your pants too. I should have some sweats that you can sleep in.”

Kassidy did as she was told, suddenly very self-aware at how vulnerable she was in this moment. Sitting on what was essentially a strangers couch in nothing but her bra and underwear, soaking wet and without any way to protect herself, she resigned to wrapping her arms around her middle and fought against her shivering. She shouldn’t even be here. She should have stayed home, in her bed, and tossed and turned all night as a normal person would. But, she supposed, she wasn’t normal. She was weird and odd, and dumb, and very un-normal.

Emily reappeared a moment later, handing her a pair of deep blue sweatpants that said ‘FBI Academy’ in white along one of the legs, and a matching shirt. Kassidy took them thankfully, dressing as quickly as her shaking hands would let her (they were definitely a couple of sizes too big, but that didn’t bother her). In that time, Emily had disappeared again, coming back with a towel and a large blanket. She signaled for Kassidy to lean forward and wrapped her hair up in the towel. Gentle, soft. Her hands were so warm, touching the sides of Kassidy’s face and pushing any stray hair out of the way.

And then, finally, Emily draped the blanket around Kassidy’s shoulders before sitting beside her on the couch, wrapping her arms around her and tugging her closer. The young agent didn’t resist- even though her mind told her to- leaning into Emily’s lap. She rested her head on her shoulder. Why was she letting Emily be so friendly to her? Why was she here, ruining her night? She felt the burn of tears trying to form in the corners of her eyes and brought her shaking hand to her face, wiping at them.

Emily started petting Kassidy’s head, her fingers gently tracing over the towel. She hummed softly for a while, waiting until the shivers that wracked through Kass’s body calmed down. Although Kassidy knew it had only been maybe 30 to 40 minutes before she allowed herself to take a deep breath, it had felt like hours.

Emily’s humming stopped. She shifted a little, causing Kassidy to sit up. The two faced each other, Emily taking Kassidy’s hands, running her thumbs over her palms. After a beat, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, “Kass? Why did you walk to my apartment in the middle of the night, in the rain? You’re lucky you didn’t get sick.”

Kassidy swallowed the lump forming in her throat. She could feel her eyes threatening to water again, pulling one of her hands away from Emily and wiping at them, sniffling, “I um,” she started, her voice quivering slightly. She gulped, “I couldn’t sleep. I can’t sleep, I mean. I keep seeing those kids,” she took a shaky breath, closing her eyes, “And um… I went for a walk to clear my head. But then I ended up here and I…” she paused, opening her eyes and letting some stray tears streak down her face, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have come. You need your sleep, and I just ruined your night. I’m so sorry,” she hiccupped.

She was expecting anger, or confusion, or maybe even annoyance from Emily. Maybe pity. But instead, she saw understanding. Emily’s dark eyes were soft, warm, and comforting. She let out a breath she had been holding, “Oh, honey,” she replied, using her thumb to wipe a tear away, “you aren’t the first one to end up on my doorstep because of nightmares.”

Kassidy shook her head, “Not nightmares,” she insisted, “Just… bad thoughts.”

“Ah,” Emily started to undo the towel from Kassidy’s head and pulled it away, revealing mostly-dry somewhat-damp and unruly curls. She brushed some of those blonde curls from Kassidy’s face, tucking a strand behind her ear, “Bad thoughts, or nightmares, or whatever demons you’re fighting; you’re not alone. You’re so young and so inexperienced to this side of the world,” she hummed, focusing now on tugging the blanket tighter around Kassidy’s shoulders, “you remind me of me.”

“I do?” Kassidy sniffled, wiping at her nose. Emily smiled, and her eyes shimmered with memories, “Yes. When I was your age, I wanted to save the world too. I wanted to put away all the bad guys and be a hero. I think everyone in the BAU was like that,” she thought for a moment, her eyes glancing towards the only photo in the room. “We all want to be heroes,” she said again, “and we all learn in time that we can’t always be the hero in every case. We don’t win them all. But, it’s worth going back to work every single day for the ones we do win.”

Kassidy nodded slowly, her eyes feeling warm and puffy. She used the blanket to wipe at her face. She was exhausted. The walk to Emily’s apartment had taken maybe 45 minutes, most of it spent crying in the rain. Her body was feeling heavy.

“I’m just so sorry that your first case with us wasn’t a good one,” Emily said quietly, pulling Kassidy to her in an embrace. Kassidy snaked her hands out of the blanket and wrapped them around Emily’s waist, her head landing heavily on her chest.

“I’m sorry that you saw those kids- you weren’t supposed to be at the scene. That was a decision I made because I wanted you to see what it was like to work in the field. Hotch took my advice, and it was wrong. And for that, I am so, so sorry.”

Kassidy didn’t know why, but she felt herself smile a little, “No, it’s not your fault. You um, kind of reminded me of a sibling convincing their parents that your little sister could do big kid stuff too, you know?” She was thinking back to how Hotch had his arms crossed over his chest, his lips in a thin frown. It was such a disapproving dad look. He kept shaking his head, telling Emily that Kassidy hadn’t even received her gun yet, let alone ever been in the field before. But Emily had insisted, saying she would watch over Kassidy. It felt like watching a big sister beg to allow the little sister to go to the movies too. “I’ll be responsible for her,” Emily had said. Hotch finally caved, telling Kassidy to be careful. And she had been extra careful, actually. They just didn’t know what would be waiting for them at the UNSUBs home.

Emily chuckled a little, a hand coming to the back of Kassidy’s head and petting her hair. It felt nice, comforting. She found herself closing her eyes, relaxing into the embrace even further. The tension in her shoulders released.

“Do you have siblings?” Emily asked. She shook her head, mumbling, “No. I’m a single child. I remember begging my mom for an older sister when I was 6 or 7, though. I didn’t understand that she couldn’t just go get one for me,” she smiled more at the memory. She was so tired.

Emily giggled again, humming in thought, “Yeah, I’m a single child too. I kind of wished I had siblings when I was young. We moved around a lot, so it would have been nice to have a friend everywhere I went,” she mused.

Kassidy spoke quietly before thinking, her words coming out in a whisper, “You can be the big sister I always wanted if you want.”

Emily froze, her hand still in Kassidy’s hair. She blinked once, twice, before glancing down at the young woman who was curling into her lap. Kassidy’s lips were barely parted, her breathing even and deep. She had fallen asleep- in what- a second after saying that?

Emily watched her for a moment, thinking about this situation she somehow ended up in. This wasn’t the first time she comforted a coworker or friend after a bad case. Hell, it wasn’t the first time she had a girl wearing her clothes curled up in her lap. But, this was the first time someone suggested that their relationship could be more meaningful than friends. Not lovers, but something else beautiful and special: family.

It was an odd feeling, but nothing unwelcome. It wasn’t scary or unsettling, like she thought it might be, especially considering she barely knew the girl sleeping in her lap at almost 4:00 in the morning. But something felt kind of right about it, about the idea of being her “big sister.” She recalled the first time she met Kassidy only a month ago and knowing from that moment on that she wanted to protect her, to teach her, to be her friend.

Kassidy was shy and awkward, much like Spencer had been at the beginning. But after opening up a little, she was also sweet, colorful, and friendly. She memorized everyone’s favorite coffee orders in the first week at the office, and she tried oh so hard to make Hotch like her, doing everything in her power to get on his good side. She was funny, quirky, and smart. During her second week, she had convinced everyone to go out to dinner; even Spencer came along. She convinced the team to make weekly dinners when they could, and Hotch agreed to it. She was someone that Emily was glad to have on the team, and as her friend.

And maybe, as a little sister too.

So, she smiled, laying the sleeping girl down on the couch and placing a pillow under her head. She went back to her own bed, where Sergio was curled up in her spot, and she fell asleep wondering what this might mean for her.

In the morning, Kassidy awoke to the smell of coffee. She stared at the room before her, blinking a few times, her mind trying desperately to catch up with the events of the previous night. Where was she?

Oh right, at Emily’s. She must have fallen asleep. Sitting up with a yawn, she glanced over the edge of the couch towards the kitchen. Emily smiled and approached her with a steaming mug, “Here. I don’t have any creamer here, but I put a lot of sugar in it like I’ve seen you do,” she offered. Kassidy took it carefully, her face warming up with embarrassment, “Oh, um, thank you,” she replied.

Emily sat down in a chair, sipping her own coffee, “So, how did you sleep?”

“Um,” Kassidy bit her lip, her embarrassment growing. The prickling of anxiety was beginning in her chest, making her feel trapped. “I um,” she swallowed, “fine, I think. I am so sorry for falling asleep here, Em- I didn’t mean to. Gosh, I can’t believe I did that- I’ll go home right now if you want me too-”

“Kass,” Emily leaned forward, placing a hand on Kassidy’s shoulder, “It’s okay. You’re fine. I’m glad you stayed the night.”

Kassidy blinked in surprise. Her anxiety didn’t disappear fully, but it lessened a little. She was so confused, Emily didn’t hate her or think she was weird for showing up unannounced in the middle of the night? Then she had to borrow her clothes, and fell asleep on her couch, in her space. God, she was just being nice. Clearly, Kassidy overstepped some boundaries and-

A cat rubbed against her leg. She looked down at the black creature as it meowed at her, its big eyes looking right into hers. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she reached down and pet along it’s back, eliciting a purr from it.

“His name is Sergio,” Emily said, smiling over her mug. “He likes you.”

“Hi Sergio,” Kassidy spoke carefully, rubbing under his chin. He jumped onto the couch and started kneading at the blanket that still covered half of her body, his claws going in and out of the material. “Are you making biscuits?” She giggled a little and kept petting him. She actually felt calm.

Emily watched the two of them for a moment before speaking again, “Kass, do you remember what you said to me last night, before falling asleep?”

Kassidy glanced up at her and shook her head, “No? I don’t know. I remember we were talking about being single kids, though,” she hummed, feeling the soft fur of Sergio under her palm. He laid down in her lap.

“Yeah,” Emily confirmed. She seemed to be debating something, but chose to smile instead, “Do you wanna go get some breakfast? There’s this cute little café nearby that I like to go to when I get the chance. I can text Penelope and JJ and see if they want to come too?”

Kassidy’s eyes lit up, the idea of food making her stomach growl, “Oh yes, that sounds good. Um, maybe I should go home and take a shower first?” She glanced down at herself, “And get some of my own clothes?”

“Nah,” Emily laughed, “You look fine. I’ll drop you off at home after we get breakfast. Come on, I’ll text them now. I’m sure Penelope will want to come, at least.”

Kassidy smiled, nodding. The ball of anxiety that made itself known in her chest was still there, but it was much smaller now. Maybe Emily did actually like her, and didn’t think she was weird or strange or stupid?

Maybe they could be friends, after all. And, maybe, Emily could always be there for her like she was last night. Like an older sister would be, she thought.

That would be nice.

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crackedoutgiraffe · 4 years

Text

The Stars in Your Eyes

THIS IS PART 2 OF TO THE MOON AND BACK

Part 2: Chapter 1 Part 2: Chapter 2 Part 2: Chapter 3

A/N: I’m thinking of starting a one-shot “series” based off of songs, send me a message with any songs you want to see! Also, Entropy...

Warnings: Fluff and Angst

Word Count: 4,703

1/13/2016

“Spencer?” A woman approached the table Reid was sitting at.

The way Spencer’s face changed when he saw made you uneasy, “Cat?

“Hi!” for a hitwoman she seemed weirdly approachable.

“Hi,” the monitor set-up in the kitchen for you showed your husband standing across from a beautiful young woman.

“Hi,” she gave him a warm smile.

“Hello. Hi. Hi. Nice to finally,” you saw her go in to give him a hug and he pulled away. “Oh--sorry, I have a-- a germ thing. Oh. I'm kind of weird with hu-hugs.”

“Sorry,” she didn’t mean it. “Can I sit down?”

“Yes, please,” he gestured to the seat across from him. “Oh, yeah. Of course. Sit down.”

“First time doing this?” she smiled.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I mean, yeah.”

“Yeah, I--I still get nervous, too,” she was trying her best to be friendly. “Really, it wasn't until an hour ago that I was like, wait, we've been trading emails back and forth, but I still have no idea what this guy looks like.”

“Hence the,” he pointed at the red rose in front of her. You were tapping your foot and biting your nails at the sight of your husband on a ‘date’ with another woman.

“I know,” she giggled. “And then I was like, wait, he's going to bring a red rose, so we need to go to a nicer place, which is why I switched the restaurant last-minute.”

“Not a problem at all,” he had his beautiful smile on his face.

“And now I need to change and put something nice on for this place, 'cause I was totally underdressed, and my whole wardrobe makes me look like a Kardashian,” Reid had a confused look on his face. “You know who that is, do you?”

“No, oh, yeah, Robert Kardashian, He got O.J. Simpson off. You--you don't look like his daughters,” he shook his head.

“Yeah, no, I was making a joke about them,” she seemed to be annoyed.

“No, it was good,” he smiled. “It was a good joke.”

“No, it wasn't,” she giggled.

“It was funny.”

“Can we start over?” she asked. “Hi, I'm Cat.”

“Hi,” he stumbled over his words. “I'm Spencer.”

“It really is nice to meet you, in person, finally,” she shrugged. “It's nice to meet you. Tell me a little bit about yourself. Do you really have 3 Ph.D.s?”

“Yes. Um, I--yeah, I do, I have 3 Ph.D.s.”

“What was your favorite book that you read last year?” she asked.

“Um, honestly, I've never read a book I didn't love,” Reid sheepishly responded.

“Tell me about your wife,” she leaned forward.

“If you don't mind, I'd, uh, I'd rather not talk about her,” he cleared his throat.

“Might as well get it out in the open, right?” she seemed to let out a small laugh. “That's why we're here. How long have you been married?”

“4 years,” in reality you and Reid had only been married for 7 months.

Cat paused,“when is she due to give birth?”

“Uh…” Reid’s voice got quiet. “A couple of-- a couple of months. Should we talk about price now, or…”

“Slow down, tiger,” she cut him off. “What exactly are we negotiating here?”

“You know,” he looked around.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“To have her killed,” the look on his face told you everything you needed to know. Reid would never say such a thing about you.

“Let me see your ring,” her voice sounded much more chipper. Reid did as she asked and gave her his hand. He insisted on buying a new ring, insisting he didn't want her anywhere near you. “You know what that is? A noose. Only it doesn't kill you all at once. It kills you slowly, day by day. You ever feel that way?”

He nodded, “I feel that way all the time.” It was unsettling seeing him talk so poorly of you.

“Take it off,” she commanded.

“Why?” he smiled.

“As a sign of your commitment,” she seemed so proud of herself. “To me.” You watched as he took off his ring and placed it in her hand.

“If she sticks to the pattern, she'll take him to a secondary location and kill him,” you heard JJ’s voice over your com.

“We're not gonna let it get that far,” Rossi was sitting at a table and JJ was at the bar. “Hotch, do you have a visual?”

Just hacked in,” Garcia’s voice made you a lot calmer than before.

“All right,” Hotch said, “we have you over her left shoulder. Do you copy?” you saw Reid look at the camera. “All right, all agents stand by. Dr. Reid will give the green light. Don't move until we have it. Y/N are you there?”

“Yes, sir,” the hustle and bustle of the kitsch made it harder for you to hear but you managed.

“Remember you do not engage unless absolutely necessary,” he reminded you of the deal you made the week prior.

“I know,” you smirked.

“24-karat?” She asked. Reid nodded. “24k times... 4 years means this ring should be dinged and nicked. But the sucker is brand-new. You're not married.” You could hear the sound of a gun cocking. Reid was tapping his finger on his hand. You realized he was trying to say something in morse code. You got a pen and napkin from a waitress to write it down, ‘she doesn’t know about you.’

“What was that? Was that what I think it was?” you could hear how flustered Garcia was.

“Everybody hold,” Hotch commanded.

“Why are we here, Spencer?” Cat asked.

“We're here because you belong to a network of 4 hitmen who've been operating in the shadows of the Internet,” Reid calmly explained. “You're known as Miss .45. My team and I have been hunting for months, and I knew that if I boxed you in, I could arrest you with as little resistance as possible.”

“Your team being the behavioral analysis unit of the FBI?” she paused. “You guys are good. You're the only ones that got close to us. But we got kind of close to you, too, didn't we? Hi, Penelope. Do you know why I'm so good at my job?”

“Because you kill without compunction or remorse.”

“That only gets a girl so far in life,” she leaned closer to him. “No, it's because I think through every potential outcome and then I plan accordingly. You see, I didn't walk into your trap. You walked into mine. Where's your head, Spencer? What are you thinking about?” You watched as she moved closer to him.

“I was thinking about entropy,” she was feeling him up. “It's the thermodynamic measure of the degradation of matter and energy in the universe. To put it another way--”

She pulled his gun from his belt, “there's your gun.”

“Good evening,” the waiter approached the table.

“Hi, uh, you know what?” she smiled. “We've been having so much fun getting to know one another, we'll let you know when we're ready, ok? Thank you.” The waiter left and she returned to torturing your husband. “Now that we got that out of the way, will you do me a favor and tell Blondie McBlonderson over there at the bar to disappear.”

“JJ, stand down,” Hotch commanded.

JJ stodd from her seat at the bar and headed for the kitchen. “Thanks for playing, sweetie,” Cat shouted as JJ walked past.

“If she learns how many agents we have outside, she'll start shooting,” Hotch said. “Dave, get ready to take her out. Reid, do not let her get up from the table.”

“All right, you're in charge,” given his current position Reid was abnormally calm. “Tell me what you want and I'll see if I can get it here for you.”

“Anything I want?” she smirked.

“Anything you want.”

“Like a million dollars in unmarked bills, maybe a plane to Aruba?”

“Is that what you want?” Reid kept a straight face never letting his emotions get the better of him.

“And you'll say you'll bring it here, but the real plan is to distract me from what is, I'm sure, an impressive law enforcement response just outside that door. Is that the plan?”

“That's the plan,” he smiled.

You watched as JJ came over to your place in the kitchen, “Did you have fun?” you giggled.

“It was entertaining to say the least,” she smiled.

“Because I know what I want now. I want to play a game with you,” Cat smiled. “You like games?”

“I do.”

“Do you win?”

“I always win,” the way he said that made you uneasy, it was very aggressive.

“Give it to me,” she demanded. Reid followed and handed his phone to her. “Ok, here's my game. You have 30 minutes to answer every question I ask. And if you lie, I'll know. Because I've spent the past 10 years of my life studying men and their lies before I kill them. Do you believe me?”

“I do.”

“That was true,” Cat smiled. “You're getting this. Now, here's how we'll know who wins at the end of 30 minutes. If you win, you'll drag me out of here in handcuffs. But if I win, you will escort me out like a gentleman, to make sure I exit safely. What do you say, Spencer? Think you can win this one?”

He leaned closer to her and lowered his voice, “considering everything you've put Garcia and so many people through, you're going to have to shoot me in the face before you walk out of here.”

“Game on,” you watched as she smiled at the thought of shooting him point-blank in the face.

“What do you want to ask me?”

“How you found me, of course,” she pressed start on the timer. “A professional learns from her mistakes.”

“We got our big break in the case at the end of last year,” Reid started. “I didn't learn how big until I came back from some time off.”

“Why'd you take time off?” she smirked.

He hadn’t told you much about why he didn’t go to work for three months. All you really knew was that he was visiting his mom in Vegas a lot. He would go to Vegas for two months and then come home for a few days. Every night he would call you and tell you he loved you.

“Stop,” Cat interrupted Reid’s story.

“What?” Reid seemed confused.

“You didn't tell me why you took time off.”

“It's not relevant,” he deflected.

“That's not the game,” she frowned. “The game is you answer every question I ask. Is it a secret?”

“No,” he smiled.

“Is it dirty?” she seemed happy at the thought of it being something dirty.

Reid furrowed his brow, “no.”

“Then tell me,” she whined.

“It's not important to your story.”

“Out of curiosity, is it me you don't want to tell or the people listening in?” she asked

Reid looked down at his phone, “Is this really how you want to spend your 30 minutes?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “No. Ok, so you were saying you showed up for work that morning and…”

“We learned that someone unexpected decided to talk,” he continued.

“And who would that be?”

“Brian Cochran from the NSA,” Reid explained. “He had used one of your colleagues to target a DEA agent. The prison put him in solitary confinement where he ended up having a breakdown. He didn’t know names, only areas of expertise. We learned about the bomber, the sniper, the chemist, and the most dangerous of all…”

“Me,” she interrupted.

He nodded, “yes.”

“Wow, that was really impressive,” she was mocking him. “Yeah, the way you just made all those brilliant deductions with all that information that was just handed to you on a silver platter. Quick question--are you guys really profilers or are you just lucky? Because this, what I'm about to say-- is profiling. The reason you took time off from work was to deal with the same girl who broke your heart.”

“No,” you really hoped he wasn’t trying to get away from you.

“The death of a parent, then,” she guessed.

“No,” Reid shook his head.

“Ah, hello, I'm getting close. It's mom or dad in the billiard room with the candlestick. Oh, you're mad at me, aren't you?” she seemed to be frowning.

“Not even a little bit,” he smiled.

“Yes, you are, I can tell.”

He leaned closer to her, “no offense, but you're not really worth getting angry at.”

“So you figured out what the 4 of us did, and then what?” she sighed.

“We profiled that you operated as spokes on a wheel. Somehow it had to be centralized, how you got jobs, who paid you. Somebody did all that for you.”

“You found the Snowman, didn't you?”

Reid smiled, “we did. We also learned that one of you had kidnapped him and were holding him against his will. Hotch had received something very important that helped us find him.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, I'm confused. What just happened there?” she interrupted, again.

“When we arrested Cochran, we found a flash drive, one that gave us access to a specific shadow of the Darknet, one we didn't even know existed,” he explained. “Garcia used it to find the website that Snowman set up for all of you. Once we had the website, we had geography, specifically, the safe house you were keeping him in. So we waited until the shift change when we knew we could take two of you down at once. When we raided the house both of them killed themselves.”

“Well, well, well, you took the chemist and the sniper out of commission, huh?” she smirked.

“Did you know?” Reid asked

“I knew something was off,” she leaned back. “They didn't bid on some contracts. And this isn't the kind of job where you get to take time off to be with your... Mother? Is it your mom? It's gotta be your mom. Why'd you take time off from the FBI?”

“I'm not gonna tell you.”

“Spencer,” she was much more serious this time, “why did you take time off from the FBI?”

“You can ask me as many times as you want, and you can continue to waste your time, but I'm still not gonna tell you.”

“Then you're cheating, and I don't like cheaters.”

“Just tell her,” you muttered to yourself. If she was this angry about something so simple you didn’t want to see what she was going to do.

“You don't get everything you want just because you're pointing a gun at me under a table. You're not the first killer to point a gun at me. You're not even the first woman to point a gun at me. Sorry.”

“You're really gonna take this all the way, aren't you?”

“Yeah,” he smirked.

“So am I.”

“Dave, go,” Hotch ordered. You and JJ watched on the monitor as Rossi stood from his seat and start walking toward their table. Cat made her way closer to Spencer.

“Look at my face. Does it look like I'm bluffing?” Reid didn’t even have a smile on his face.

“I know you're not bluffing,” Cat reached out to grab his tie and started to twist it. “I'm gonna ask you one more time. Before you say no, I want you to consider something.” All you could hear was static.

“She muffled the mic,” Garcia said. “We lost audio.” You all waited in silence for Spencer’s mic to come back on. The only thing keeping you sane was the live video.

“Rossi, stand down,” you let out a long sigh at the sound of his voice. “Please.” Rossi did as he asked and started for the kitchen.

“Welcome to the locker room,” you giggled.

He looked at you with no expression, “I hate the locker room.”

“My mom has schizophrenia, and the doctor has changed her medication, which seemed to agitate her, and so I went to the treatment center to help her,” Reid explained.

“That's it?” Was she actually disappointed with his answer?

“That's it.”

“You just risked your life over mommy's pills?” Cat asked.

“It's the truth,” he smiled.

“It's part of the truth,” she moved back to her original position across from Spencer. “You're holding something back. Here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna penalize you by adding 10 minutes. And keep in mind that the only reason you're not dead right now is because I did learn something important.”

“Oh, really?” he mocked. “What's that?”

“Your back up,” she looked around the restaurant. “I flushed them out. It's just you and me now.”

“Guess again, bitch,” Tara said.

“So when we left off, the score was you had two of our guys and the Snowman. You must have thought you were home free.”

“No, Reid shook his head. “If anything, the case was harder. We needed to find a way to get to either you or the bomber, we chose you. But first, we had to get the data that we needed from the Snowman. From that, we could start to build a profile that would lead us to you. When we knew what we were looking for, the pattern was obvious. You only killed men who were looking to have their pregnant wives killed. You took their money and then killed the men who hired you. This led me to volunteer to be your next victim. If I could get you here to meet me and things went awry, you would be more likely to reason with someone who was closer to your age. My wife and boss both shot down my idea but eventually, we all decided this was best…”

“Hold on a second,” she leaned forward in her seat. “I thought you weren’t married.”

“8 months tomorrow,” he was lying. You two got married 7 months ago to the day.

Cat’s face lit up, “is she listening in?”

“She doesn’t work for the bureau,” another lie that you weren’t opposed to.

“If she were pregnant would you actually want her dead?” she whispered.

Reid leaned forward to meet her, “never in my wildest dreams.” You let out a long sigh of relief which led JJ to give you a hug.

You watched as Cat rolled her eyes, “back to the story.”

He shrugged, “it was a pretty good plan too.”

“You have zero control here. None. I outflanked you from the beginning.”

“Some of your moves were pretty obvious.”

“Such as?”

“Such as showing up armed. Such as changing the venue at the last moment. Can I tell you a little secret?” he smirked. “Everything eventually falls apart. The trick is accepting when it's over.”

“Except it ain't over, is it?”

“Do you really think I'm just gonna let you walk out of here?”

“You profiled so much about me, except you forgot to ask the most important question. Why would I make you sit here for 30 minutes?” she asked.

“Because you're stalling.”

“Then you don't know me at all. Did you guys show up here without an escape plan? Or is that what just another girl with daddy issues do? Maybe if you hadn't fallen victim to your own gender bias, and, yes, all men have a gender bias, even you, Dr. Reid, you would have recognized that your entire strategy was based on one faulty detail. Can you see it?”

“You're not here alone,” Reid’s face turned from a smirk to a panic.

“And my partner?”

“Planted a bomb in the building.”

“We're on the move,” you said as you and JJ headed for the basement. You had some of the staff lead you underneath the building. “Hotch, we've got interconnected c-4 charges down here.”

“How many?”

“There are 6 charges,” JJ sighed. “They're connected to the city's gas line. She could take out the whole block. If we alert anyone, then the panic could set her and the bomb off. SWAT's on the radio with the bomb squad. They say our only chance is to get our hands on that cell phone. If we shut down the trigger, we can remove the charges.”

“Morgan,” Hotch called.

“Go ahead, Hotch,” Morgan was still up in the restaurant.

“Does she have a cell phone with her?” Hotch asked.

“I don't think so. I didn't see her pull one out,” you could barely hear Morgan. “The bomber was setting this up while we were all up here. I think he's holding the stick. We're combing the block. He could be anywhere, though.”

“Where's Lewis?” Hotch asked.

“Are you good if I go back upstairs?” you whispered to JJ who responded with a nod.

“Reid, perimeter agents are pulling back. You have to let her go.” Hotch sighed.

“Well?” you could see Cat becoming increasingly annoyed. “Spencer…”

“You can leave,” he sighed. “But you won't.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Double or nothing,” Reid straightened his back. “You need to sit back down.”

“Reid, what are you doing?” Hotch seemed angry with him.

“Wow, now you're stalling,” Cat smirked.

“You played your trump card, but I have one, too.”

“Thanks for dinner. I had fun.”

“I found your father,” Cat stopped in her tracks at Reid’s statement.

“No, you didn't.”

“Look at my face. Am I bluffing? I'll tell you where he is. But you need to sit back down and listen to the rest of my story.”

“No. Tell me now. Or I'll-- detonate the bomb?”

“You're not gonna do that, Cat because then you won't learn anything. You said you were good at your job because you think through every outcome. Well, guess what-- so do I.”

“All right. Finish the story.”

“To prepare for this dinner, I had to learn everything about you, starting with your real name,” he started. “We searched through foster care records and found you were the daughter of Daniel Adams, who did in fact leave the country in 1987 but returned in 2012. Based on confidential records in rehabs and sober living houses, which in turn pointed us to flophouses and soup kitchens. He couldn't put 24 hours together sober. And you can probably imagine my surprise when I discovered that he actually lives right here in D.C.”

“Where?”

“It's not that simple. He was in bad shape when I found him.”

“He didn't remember me?”

“The alcoholism shredded his brain. I'm sorry.”

“You're not sorry. Sorry is what people say when they don't understand. Wait. Your mother--tell me.”

“Is--is this part of the game?

“No. The game's over.”

“When I looked at her medical chart, it--it didn't make any sense. The medication that they gave her should have been helping, but I couldn't figure out what was making her so angry. So, I, uh, I went to see her. The moment I walked in her room, I saw it. For 3 seconds... She didn't know who I was. I, um, I had her tested that morning, and I found out that night... That she had early onset of dementia. Most likely Alzheimer's,” you could feel your heart break. Why didn’t he tell you?

“Did you test yourself? No, you didn't. You were too scared.”

“I thought I dodged a bullet when I turned 30 and didn't have a schizophrenic break like her, but, uh, this is somehow bigger and scarier because I can actually see it happening. All the memories that we used to share are just dying. I can't stop it. I can't help her. All I can do is find people that I can help.”

“Is that really why you showed up tonight?” you saw just how annoyed Cat was becoming. “To help me? Do you know how many men have told me that they wanted to help me? How do you think that worked out for them?”

“Hotch, she just armed the bomb,” JJ’s panicked voice came through your earpiece. “Hotch, we need to pull back.”

“Hotch, we might have a lead here,” Morgan said calmly. “She hasn't touched anything to arm the bomb.”

“That means the bomber's here, somewhere in the restaurant,” Lewis added.

“All right, if you can take him, do so, but the priority is evacuation,” Hotch reminded.

“I'm not even sure if it is a him,” Lewis continued. “Cat mentioned something about gender bias, so that could apply to the bomber as well.”

“All right, she'd have to be in a position to maintain line of sight on Reid all night,” Morgan asked. “Who do you see?”

“Look for anyone with their phone out,” Hotch added. “That's the detonator. Our woman will give herself away by looking over.”

“I've got her,” Morgan whispered. “Blue dress. By the bar. Y/N can you get her?”

“On it,” you grabbed your blazer and left the kitchen. Hotch had you dress similarly to the manager just in case you needed to be undercover. You walked over to the woman by the bar, “Hello ma’am, how was your dinner tonight?”

“It was good,” spoke quickly and returned her gaze to Cat and Reid.

“Let me know if there is anything else you need,” you reached into your pocket and grabbed your handcuffs. “Time to go,” you grabbed her wrist and twisted it behind her back. Lewis came over to help you.

“Hotch, we're clear,” Lewis said.

“Reid's not,” you did your best to not focus on Reid but that was hard given Hotch’s words.

“Don't! FBI,” Morgan shouted as he pulled out his gun.

“Everybody stay calm, please,” you focused your attention on the civilians.

“We're gonna be smart about this and talk it out. Aren't we, Cat?” Morgan asked.

“That's up to you,” she quipped.

“Get everyone out of here,” Reid demanded.

“Move,” Lewis said. The two of you followed the restaurant patrons out along with the bomber. You shoved her in a police car and went back to the entrance of the building. Taking out your earpiece, you leaned against the wall and let out a loud sigh.

Lewis started to walk toward you, “are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Will you let me know if Hotch says anything?”

“Of course,” she put a hand on your shoulder and leaned against the wall. Rossi and JJ cae around from the back of the building and waited for the paddywagon to arrive, this was still part of Reid’s plan. “They’re coming out,” Lewis turned to you.

You went to the door and eagerly awaited their arrival. You saw the door open and out came Reid, Morgan, and Cat in handcuffs.

“Wait,” she stopped walking. She looked up and Reid, “ok I’m ready.” The three of them approached an empty paddy wagon. When Morgan and Reid opened the doors, Cat’s face dropped. Reid helped her climb into the van and handcuff her to the seat. You went and stood next to Morgan who put his hand on your shoulder. Reid and Cat were talking but it was inaudible. When they were done Reid climbed out and walked away, you instinctively followed him.

“Reid,” you shouted after him.

He stopped walking and waited for you to catch up with him. You eventually did catch up, and he wrapped you in a hug immediately after, “I love you so much,” you could hear him whisper between his sobs. You held him the entire time crying and walked him back to the restaurant.

“Kid,” Morgan greeted him, “can you drive me home?”

Reid nodded and started to walk toward his car. Morgan took shotgun and you got the back. The drive to Morgan’s house was quiet enough for you to fall asleep. You didn’t wake up until about 30 minutes later. The car had stopped and you heard Reid get out. You watched as he walked down to a swing set and sit on one of the swings. There must have been something about his mother that made him want to come here. You climbed into the passenger seat and fell back asleep. Reid came back and drove back to the apartment. He carried you inside, laid you on the bad, and kissed your forehead before he too laid down and fell asleep.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fic

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things2mustdo · 3 years

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On July 6th 1994, twenty-six year old Troy Kell, inmate and white supremacist gang member at Utah State Prison, killed Lonnie Blackmon, a black inmate, with 67 blows from a prison shank while prison guards videotaped the attack. The deed done, Troy wiped his hands clean of the blood and walked away, proudly yelling:

“Got some white power jumpin’ off around here!”

Later, in an interview with HBO for it’s documentary Gladiator Days : Anatomy Of A Prison Murder (2002), Troy explained his reasoning behind why he killed Blackmon.

TROY

“I went into the situation that I’m gonna hafta kill the guy – I’m not gonna…jus hurt ‘em, I’m not gonna stab him two times and say ‘yeah we’re even’, you know, cause the philosophy in prison is, you know, you stab me I kill you… I just stabbed the shit outta him, you know, until he didn’t move anymore.”

“I’ve seen guys hesitate…on not thinkin’ somethin’ was serious, and it was serious, and they get themselves stabbed up. Or they get themselves fucked off…they get themselves killed.”

A brutal view on life. Yet it’s not surprising to hear from an inmate who had been imprisoned for another murder since he was eighteen. Troy’s first murder was James Kelly [real name James Thiede], a twenty-one year old Canadian man in Troy’s hometown of Las Vegas. Troy, with the assistance of Sandra Shaw (fifteen at the time) and another friend, lured Kelly into the desert and ambushed him, where Troy shot Kelly six times in the face at point blank range.

Who was Troy? Where did he come from? What was the series of events that drove him to commit two murders, both of which placed him on death row?*

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xL_PlbqyLcI

One of the most startling aspects of Troy, from watching the documentary, is just how intelligent, almost proverbially All American he comes across as. Troy was not some trailer trash kid, doomed for eventual incarceration.

TROY

“I was raised in Las Vegas, Nevada, little middle class family. I’m the only child.”

“I think I was probably just an ordinary kid on the block, I wasn’t any different, or anything from anyone else that I noticed.”

“My father’s into horses, and kinda a redneck background, country boy kinda thing, and we had horses and stuff.”

“I was expected…to be successful, you know, my family, you know, they’re not losers.”

His neighbourhood was middle class, his school was middle class. Troy was thoroughly middle class. So why did he, at eighteen, kill James Kelly? For the answer to that, we have to turn to Sandra Shaw.

Sandra was three years younger then Troy. They met quite early, when they were children.

SANDY

“Troy’s been a part of our life, um, ever since I first came to Las Vegas. Um, since I was probably, like, six years old. We lived on one corner of the street and on the opposite street he lived at the other corner. And um, me and a couple of friends, two little girlfriends, were walking down the street and him and his little friends were sitting in front of their house on their bicycles and you know they were watching us googly eyed cause he’s three years older then me. So when we got all the way to the end of the street, towards the desert, you know, we turned around and said somethin’ real sassy and they chased us on their bikes and we ran and he jumped off his back and tackled me into the grass and you know it just became like a plaything. And since then he was like, ‘You’re gonna be my girlfriend’ and I was like, ‘No I don’t even like boys’.”

There was obviously some romantic tension going on between the two of them from a very young age. Though Troy and Sandy both refer to each other in a younger sister older brother dynamic, it’s clear that at least Troy felt a deep attraction to Sandy. Why shouldn’t he? After all, she was the quintessential girl next door whom eagerly spent time with him. Sandy was a cute little girl, and Troy was no slouch himself.

SANDY

“His father was really really strict, and um, I remember one time on his birthday, we were, he was turning thirteen and I believe I was ten and I rode my bike all the way to the mall and I bought him a Nike outfit and he had to sneak out in his back yard and climb up on the brick wall for me give him his gift, because he was on restriction – he was always on restriction – just, for absolutely nothing.”

That’s an almost classical scene of romance, and one wonders how many other secret rendezvous Troy and Sandy had over the years.

In many ways Sandy herself was the counterpart of Troy – the proverbial All American girl; pretty, a cheerleader, precocious and outgoing – though her family was struggling on the line between middle and lower class (Connie Shaw appears to be a single mother). By all counts, Sandy was destined for a typical middle class life herself. Perhaps even with Troy.

SANDY

“When I was thirteen years old I was spending the night at a friend’s house and her step father went into a jealous rage and shot and killed her mother and her mother’s two friends and then killed himself. It changed my life.”

That man was Alex Egyed, a budding computer entrepreneur who may have been a well recognized name today if he hadn’t gone on a rampage and left Sandy covered in blood, huddling in a bathtub with her friend. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the only incident Sandy was going to have with extreme violence.

CONNIE

“Another episode happened to her; she’s walkin’ home from school, uh, sees this guy runnin’ up behind her, girl in front of her, sees the guy shoot…the girl, in the back of the head. She’s already gone through this. Now this is two. How many times – I mean, I’m forty-eight years old, I mean, I’ve never seen anyone, in my lifetime, get shot. She’s seen two.”

These episodes left Sandy a broken girl; a girl barely on the cusp of her womanhood.

SANDY

“I detached myself from my emotions, I didn’t have a sense of life or death, it’s all the same to me.”

Yet she was still a significant part of Troy’s life. And Troy really needed love in his life, since his own family had self destructed.

TROY

“My parents got divorced and I kinda bounced back and forth between them. It was kinda a struggle for me for awhile but, it’s nothin’ outta the ordinary… Any other kid goes through it.”

CONNIE

“His father must have been very tough on him, very abusive, I believe, with him. And his mother was never around. I know they were separated. But I don’t think his mother came around too much, I don’t know if it was because of the father…or what, you know, but uh, I guess he looked at me, more like a mother figure you know because he’s always sent me, even till this day, sends me a bouquet of mother’s day flowers.”

Troy and Sandy were both set adrift at a young age, both from broken homes, both experiencing severe forms of trauma – albeit Troy’s were less extreme. Because of his need for love, Troy grew ever closer to Sandy while Sandy threw herself into an abyss. Like many traumatized girls, Sandy began to slip down into degeneracy and self abuse. She began to hang around shady men and casinos while barely being a fully fledged teen, and at the age of fourteen she ran into James Kelly at the Circus Circus casino.

SANDY

“I met Cotton Kelly at Circus Circus eight months prior to this actual tragedy.”

“He ran some type of, um, adult entertainment business. He wanted me to pose nude for him.”

“He had started following me and calling my house constantly, harassing my family… And as a fifteen year old child, I made a very bad decision, a very immature request and I called upon Troy to beat the man up. To have him, leave me alone.”

A normal girl with a strong family could have resolved this situation with ease. A simple, hard talk by a good father with this James Kelly character would have spared everyone a lot of tragedy. Sandy, however, had drifted far away from being a normal girl and with nothing but a weak family at her disposal she allowed this situation to escalate and continue. Perhaps she even began to be sexual with Kelly, though she does not mention the full depth of their relationship.

In the end she turned to the one man she knew she could depend on.

TROY

“Me and a friend of mine from high school agreed to beat this guy up, because he was doin’ some things to some teenaged girls that we knew. She was a friend of mine, she was like a, a sister kind of, to me.”

“This guy, I felt, was takin’ advantage of a friend of mine, and she asked for my help… And…I…went, kinda overboard.”

Eight months. That’s how long Sandy allowed James Kelly to be a part of her life. How many nights did Sandy turn to Troy? How many nights did she cry on Troy’s shoulder, detailing the horrors that James Kelly inflicted on her – and which she allowed to be inflicted on her. How many times did Troy have to hear Connie, a powerless mother, express her grief and frustration over this older man taking advantage of her daughter? Troy loved both these women.

Troy decided to save them. He told Sandy to lure Kelly out to the desert. So one night, in 1986, Sandy did just that. She made Kelly stop the car, claiming that she needed to pee. She went out, came back, pretended to hurt her leg and when Kelly came out to help her Troy put six bullets in Kelly’s head.

TROY

“For a reason that I, uh, can’t really understand, I decided to bring a gun and shoot the man. And killed him.”

“I didn’t go to sleep that night.”

Troy Kell, eighteen, murdered a degenerate man. He did it because he loved the tragic but degenerate Sandy Shaw. Because they bragged about the murder, soon schoolmates were visiting Kelly’s body in the desert.

When asked if he thought about running Troy said; “Yeah, of course.” When asked why he didn’t, “I…I don’t know. I didn’t have anywhere to run too. I couldn’t just keep on runnin’ and runnin’.”

Troy didn’t run because everything he loved lived on the corner one street over from his house. There was nothing else in the world for him.

One of the children who visited the body in the desert told their parents, and soon the police had Troy, his accomplice and Sandy in custody. They would convict Troy.

Surprisingly, Sandy was also tried and convicted. These were the days just before peak feminism so women weren’t the infallible angels that they are treated as today but still, after hearing about her abuse and her tragic past, the jurors sent a fifteen year old girl to jail for over twenty years.

In order to survive in jail, Troy quickly joined up with the white supremacist gangs. Eventually this would lead to the second murderous ambush of his life. Troy and fellow gang member Eric Daniels attacked Lonnie Blackmon with Eric holding his legs and Troy stabbing Blackmon with a shank 67 times. For this second murder Troy himself is currently waiting to face death.

I reiterate once more; by all accounts Troy was a normal kid. There was nothing in his childhood that would have led anyone to believe that Troy one day would end up a murderer of two men while leading a white supremacist gang in prison. If he just had to weather a broken home, as far too many middle class children nowadays do, he may have had a chance to move on and become a man of worth; other men have suffered worse and managed to raise good families and live a good life. Unfortunately Troy had the tragic fate of loving a girl who also came from a broken home, and like most women from such situations Sandy did not have the inner strength struggle for normalcy. She gave herself to degenerates and came to Troy whenever she needed to use his love.

This is a theme all too familiar with young men today. Young men are struggling to find peace in their lives while having to deal with their broken female counterparts. Most men can’t help loving who they love, and far too many men pay too high a price for this once noble emotion. The tragedies surrounding Troy Kell and Sandy Shaw provide an extreme example of this – and in the case of Sandy her despair motivated self destruction is understandable – but the dynamic of good men who need love and the rotten women who use it is one of the great (and unnecessary) social plagues of the modern age. Perhaps it always has been, going back through every society since time immemorial.

It seems nowadays that there is an epidemic of men being destroyed because of single parent upbringings or broken women. Yet Troy was destroyed in 1986. Who knows how many potentially decent men in the past have been destroyed because of similar situations. Who knows how many more in the future we’ll have?

We know the symptoms – it’s time to cure the disease, or we can expect nothing but more and more unnecessary tragedies like Troy Kell’s to occur in the future. Do we really want to grow old and live in a society full of young men like that?

I end with a comment from the video’s youtube page,

Darrylizer1

“Troy Kell is one the one hand a despicable human being, a stone cold killer, a sociopath or near one and a racist. But he’s in some ways he’s likeable, even admirable: he’s articulate, intelligent and is absolutely honest with himself and for the most part unblinded by bullshit. I’m not saying that he should or shouldn’t be put to death. His circumstance is just a very sad waste of human potential.”

*As of this article’s publication, Troy is still awaiting his death sentence. He requested to be shot by a firing squad.

Read More: Sunday In The Park

Although it was written decades ago, Bel Kaufman’s Sunday in the Park remains just as relevant today, if not more so, to what it means to be a man. Her story centers on a family enjoying a Sunday afternoon at the park and is told predominantly from the wife’s perspective. Relaxing on a bench, the wife watched happily as her son Larry played in the sand box before her. Sitting next to her, while reading the ‘Times Magazine section,” was her husband Morton.

Morton. A man as nerdy as his name sounded. Who was, “So citypale, cooped up all week inside the gray factorylike university.”

As Larry played on, she noticed another boy digging in the sand too. This boy was fatter, more aggressive than Larry. And his father, a grizzly looking man, sat on the opposite side and “seemed to be taking up the whole bench as he held the Sunday comics close to his face.”

Suddenly the fat boy threw sand at Larry, making him upset. After hesitating a moment, the wife intervened;

‘Don’t do that, little boy,’ she said sharply, leaning forward on the bench. ‘You mustn’t throw sand!’ The man on the bench moved his mouth as if to spit again, but instead let her speak. He did not look at her, but at the boy only. ‘You go right ahead, Joe,’ he said loudly. ‘Throw all you want. This here is a public sandbox.’

She felt a sudden weakness in her knees as she glanced at Morton.

Morton was listening too. But he hid under his magazine. Seeming to hope the matter would solve it self.

It didn’t.

He put his Times down carefully on his lap and turned his fine, lean face toward the man, smiling the shy, apologetic smile he might have offered a student in pointing out an error in his thinking. When he spoke to the man, it was with his usual reasonableness. ‘You’re quite right,’ he said pleasantly, ‘but just because this is a public place….’

The other man cut him off, and an argument ensued until the large man said “Aw, shut up!” They both rose. Morton reluctantly. The wife nervously imagined the coming violence, about what she should do, how she should react.

Until…

Morton adjusted his glasses. He was very pale. ‘This is ridiculous,’ he said unevenly. ‘I must ask you….’

‘Oh, yeah?’ said the man. He stood with his legs spread apart, rocking a little, looking at Morton with utter scorn. ‘You and who else?’

For a moment the two men looked at each other nakedly.

Then Morton backed down.

‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’ He walked awkwardly, almost limping with self-consciousness to pick up his son Larry and left with his wife by his side.

At first she was relieved. There was no violence. No one was hurt. But as they left the park, she began to feel something else, something…

Inescapable. She sensed that it was more than just an unpleasant incident, more than defeat of reason by force. She felt dimly it had something to do with her and Morton, something acutely personal, familiar, and important.

While walking to their car, Morton rambled on and tried to rationalize his defeat. But the more he did, the more distant she became.

Getting pulled further away from the sandbox, Larry’s cries grew worse. But once he started dragging his feet, Morton and his wife finally had enough.

‘If you can’t discipline this child, I will,’ Morton snapped, making a move toward the boy.

But her voice stopped him. She was shocked to hear it, thin and cold and penetrating with contempt. ‘Indeed?’ she heard herself say. ‘You and who else?’

—

At first glance Bel Kaufman’s story seems simple: There’s a stronger male, Morton backs down, he’s a wimp, needs bigger balls, women hate beta males, etc…

We know that already. But there’s another point to her story that’s hidden below the surface. Because Kaufman’s story isn’t just about lacking courage, it’s about what causes that cowardice; namely, apathy.

As a man, your first reaction to the story might be that she’s saying being a big brute pays off more than being a weakling. The big guy might have shown some dominating, alpha characteristics, but to think that way is to miss Kaufman’s point entirely.

The wife didn’t care that Morton was a nerd; that’s probably why she married him. Perhaps she was one too. But it was Morton’s lack of anger, his lack of pride in himself that bothered her. That he never developed the animal-like rage proving that he was the family’s protector in the most critical of moments.

…more than defeat of reason by force. She felt dimly it had something to do with her and Morton, something acutely personal, familiar, and important.

Morton’s cowardice proved to her what she knew deep down all along, that he didn’t love his family enough the way she did.

It is critical to realize that Kaufman never gave the wife a name in the story but did for the husband. By doing this she was trying to show that the wife had given her up identity to the family, and expected Morton do the same by being a man and fulfilling his end of the bargain.

That courage isn’t so much about standing up for yourself as it is about standing up for others. But he didn’t and that was the source of her resentment. So repeating the “You and who else” remark was a way of saying, “How are you going to raise your son to be a man if you’re not even one yourself?”

The great thing about Bel Kaufman is that she came from a time where women encouraged men to be what they are and not what they should be.

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tierneysinclair · 4 years

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“Nobody’s ever been arrested for a murder; they have only ever been arrested for not planning it properly.” ― Terry Hayes, I Am Pilgrim

Basic Information

Full name: Tierney Sinclair Pronunciation: Tier-Knee Sin-Claire Nickname(s): Not if you like to live. Tierney doesn’t do nicknames. Tierney is the only name he’ll answer to. Birthdate: September 8, 1979 Age: 40 Zodiac: Virgo Gender: Cis-Male Pronouns: he/him Romantic Orientation: Straight Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Nationality: American Ethnicity: White Current Location: Miami, Florida Living Conditions: Tierney lives in a small apartment above his new garage. It’s nothing fancy and that’s the way he likes it. Well worn couches, outdated kitchen appliances, wear worn towels. He doesn’t live in the slums but owning only new things has never been a part of Tierney’s lifestyle.

Background

Birthplace: Las Vegas, Nevada Hometown: N/A Social Class: Presents as lower-middle class but has enough money in the bank to be upper class if he really wanted to be. But he never will. Educational Achievements: None. Tierney never went to school. By the time he was released for the testing facility it was too late and too hard to get someone like him caught up. Sporadically home schooled by staff and other people Tierney isn’t the sort of person you want on your trivia team. He struggles with complex math, history, and all other assorted ‘average school knowledge’. Father: Unknown Mother: Unknown Sibling(s): Unknown Birth Order: N/A Pets: None Previous Relationships: Nothing lasts longer than a night. Do one night stands count? Arrests: A lot. By the time Tierney aged out of the foster program he’d been arrested more times than he had fingers and toes. Nothing major, minor mischief and petty theft. It wasn’t until he was picked up by the Syndicate that he started doing bigger crimes. And by then he had the support network to not get arrested. Prison Time: Surprisingly, not a lot. Accumulated, no more than a few months. It pays to have friends in low places.

Occupation & Income

Current Occupation: Hitman for the Blackburn Syndicate & Freelance Motorcycle Restorer Dream Occupation: None. Tierney has a limited view of both his life and the world. The idea of having a ‘dream’ anything is a foreign concept to him. Past Job(s): He was boy once at a greasy diner once. When they found out he’d lied about who he was a week later he was fired. Chicago wasn’t kind to kids with rap sheets and level five rankings. Falling in with the Syndicate has been the only ‘real’ job he’s ever had. Spending Habits: Tierney is a very frugal person. He buys almost everything second hand or used and very rarely spends it on anything new. The only expensive things he owns are his bikes and a flat screen TV. Tierney’s not ashamed to admit most of his money gets spent on bike parts anyways. Debt: Never. Credit cards mean government ability to track him. And being in debt t other people is a one way trip to being killed over it at a later date. Tierney repays any debts he can’t avoid as quickly as possible, but he tends to avoid accruing debts as much as possible. Most Valuable Possession: Some people might say it would be his bikes, and from a purely financial stand point it most definitely is, but according to Tierney it’s the Blackburn Syndicate, hands down.

Skills & Abilities

Physical Strength: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Tierney works out twice a day, every day, no exceptions. He needs to be in top physical condition for every job and now it’s just become a part of his daily habits. He’s supremely strong in his own right but mix his powers in with it and a supremely dedicated force of will he could probably lift a car above his head.

Speed: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Tierney isn’t the fastest hitman on the market but he’s perfectly capable of darting in and out of a situation with speed. It’s part of the job to act quickly and what he lacks in sheer speed he knows he more than makes up for elsewhere.

Intelligence: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Tierney never went to school. What schooling he did get the few years he had between testing and aging out was sporadic at best. He’s not ashamed of his faults but he doesn’t go around talking about them much either. Besides, being able to recite the presidents holds no bearing on his life choices so...what’s it matter? Tierney knows how to do his job exceptionally well. What Tierney doesn’t know ranges from complex math to the English Oxford Comma.

Accuracy: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Tierney’s powers require a certain degree of needed accuracy coupled with the fact he’s exceptionally talented with a range of deadly weapons. He prides himself in hitting exactly what he’s aiming at every time. Sure, he misses, but that usually because his target makes an unexpected move before he can account for it.

Agility: Above Average | Average | Below Average

He’s getting older, he won’t lie about that, and that’s starting to show. Tierney is less likely to look like a stunt double these days. No somersaults or daring roof top leaps happen these days. Besides, it’s more dramatic to sweep in like an avenging angel and sweep out just as quickly. Agility is good for running away. But you only run away when you get caught. And Tierney never gets caught.

Stamina: Above Average | Average | Below Average

Tierney’s powers are tied directly to his stamina. It’s taken him years and years of practice to build up the stamina he has now. He can use his powers for hours before he starts to feel winded and hours more before he gets tired. (Unless he goes for the super taxing activities like lifting buildings or psionic explosions.) It’s perhaps his greatest strength, his ability to keep going when others weaker than him might stop.

Teamwork: Ciara Sawyer is his go-to partner. Hell, most would call her his only partner. He doesn’t like working with other people and tries very hard not to do it. He will when he must but he’ll be begrudging about it the whole time. Talents/Hobbies: Motorcycles, Lockpicking, Murder Shortcomings: His sense of justice, the inability to kill someone who isn’t involved with what he’s doing. It’s a bonus he can erase minds when he wants to. Anyone who knows Tierney from work and outside of work knows he has a severe weak spot for his gang. Touch a hair on their heads and he tends to lose focus. Languages Spoken: English Drive?: Yes. A MV Agusta Brutale. Jump-Start a Car?: Yes Change a Flat Tire?: All the time. Ride a Bicycle?: No way. In hell. Swim?: Not because he likes to. Play an Instrument?: Nope Play Chess?: Yes Braid Hair?: No Tie a Tie?: Yes. Of course! Pick a Lock?: Oh hell yeah. With his mind. Cook?: Yes, but not well.

Physical Appearance & Characteristics

Faceclaim: Joel Kinnaman Eye Color: Brownish/Greenish Hair Color: Ashy Blonde Hair Type/Style/Length: Average/Well Kept/Short Glasses/Contacts?: None Dominant Hand: Right Height: 6′ 2″ Weight: 187lbs Build: Athletic Exercise Habits: Two session, morning and evening. Every day, two hours. With intermittent practice in between with others. Skin tone: Fair Tattoos: Left shoulder reaching to just below his elbow, spiders out to cover some of his chest and back. Got it to cover up an old gunshot scar. A faded string of numbers on his right arm (080879-58-05). Piercings: None Marks/Scars: Tierney is covered in scars. From battle wounds to childhood scrapes, to remnants of his life as a test mutant. Most can be found on his chest and back but part of why he wears pants and sleeves is to hide the others. Don’t want his identifying marks to get out and doesn’t like explaining to others what happened to him in order to get that many scars. Clothing Style: Dark colors, long pants, long sleeves, deep pockets. Usually a coat when the weather allows. The more places to hide the things he needs to work the better. But he cleans up well, he has plenty of suits in his closet too. Usually second hand stuff, the only time he buys something fancy is when he’s on a job. Jewelry: A set of dog tags labeling him a level five mutant. Nothing more. Allergies: None Diet: Average. More fast food than probably healthy. Physical Ailments: Stiff knees. Jumped off a few too many building in his younger years. Spent too many hours kneeling behind walls after that. They don’t bother him much but anyone with eyes can see they’re stiff. His left shoulder is also stiff, he favors it. Perhaps on of his worst gun shot injuries to date. It haunts him. And aches when the weather changes.

Psychology

MBTI Type: ISTJ-A (The Logistician)

ISTJs are often called inspectors. They have a keen sense of right and wrong, especially in their area of interest and/or responsibility. They are noted for devotion to duty. Punctuality is a watchword of the ISTJ. As do other Introverted Thinkers, ISTJs often give the initial impression of being aloof and perhaps somewhat cold. Effusive expression of emotional warmth is not something that ISTJs do without considerable energy loss. ISTJs are most at home with "just the facts, Ma'am." They seem to perform at highest efficiency when employing a step-by-step approach.

Enneagram Type: Type 6 (The Skeptic)

The committed, security-oriented type. Sixes are reliable, hard-working, responsible, and trustworthy. Excellent "troubleshooters," they foresee problems and foster cooperation, but can also become defensive, evasive, and anxious—running on stress while complaining about it. They can be cautious and indecisive, but also reactive, defiant and rebellious. They typically have problems with self-doubt and suspicion. At their Best: internally stable and self-reliant, courageously championing themselves and others.

Moral Alignment: Lawful Neutral

A lawful neutral character acts as law, tradition, or a personal code directs her. Order and organization are paramount to her. She may believe in personal order and live by a code or standard, or she may believe in order for all and favor a strong, organized government.

Temperament: Choleric

Cholerics are extroverted, quick-thinking, active, practical, strong-willed, and easily annoyed. They are self-confident, self-sufficient, and very independent minded. They are brief, direct, to the point, and firm when communicating with others.

Element: Earth & Fire Emotional Stability: Stable Introvert or Extrovert?: Introvert Obsession(s): Motorcycles. Tierney doesn’t know a lot outside of how to kill someone and get away with it. But he knows practically everything there is to know about motorcycles. How they work, how the break, how to fix them. Everything. Some would call him obsessed but Tierney calls it laser focused. Compulsion(s): Protecting his family. It’s what’s on his mind in every situation. All of his actions are dictated by this fact. Even for decisions that aren’t going to impact the Syndicate are measured against this need. It’s never occurred to him that it might, in fact, be a problem. It’s just natural. Phobia(s): Mutant testing facilities. It’s irrational, especially now, to be afraid of getting taken back to the white walled hellscape he grew up in. But he is. He scrubs his name clean where ever he goes and actively avoids anyone in a lab coat who starts asking questions. He even takes down fliers asking for mutants to ‘willingly’ submit to testing. He doesn’t talk about those years for damn good reasons. Addiction(s): None Drug Use: None Alcohol Use: Often Prone to Violence?: Always Prone to Crying?: No Believe in Love at First Sight?: No

Mannerisms

Accent: Depends. A bit of a hodgepodge of Boston and Midwestern. Tends to adapt to the common accent after a while when staying in a place for a prolonged period of time. Speech Quirks: None Hobbies: Motorcycle Repair, Motorcycle Rebuilding Habits: Spinning things in the air when he’s concentrating. Leg bouncing. Ordering more food than he can eat so he has left overs in the fridge. Nervous Ticks: Rubbing his nose and spinning objects in the air at high rates of speed. Drives/Motivations: Protecting his family. Fears: Losing his family, someone dying on him, being taken back in for testing. Sense of Humour?: Dry. Like the desert. Do They Curse Often?: Like. All the time.

Favorites

Animal: Bear Beverage: Heineken Beer and/or Black Coffee Book: None. Tierney hates reading. Color: Deep Green Food: Ciara’s Flower: None Gem: Emeralds Mode of Transportation: Motorcycles Scent: Fresh brewed coffee, rain on the horizon, motorcycle oil, pizza grease on your fingers Sport: Football and Hockey Weather: Rain Vacation Destination: None

Attitudes

Greatest Dream: End mutant testing. Tierney sees nothing productive in the act and goes out of his way to end it whenever and wherever he can. Mutants are people. Not lab rats to be poked at or taken away from their families. Greatest Fear: Losing one of his family and being taken back for mutant testing. Most at Ease When: Elbow deep in one of his bikes with of his closest friends lounging on the couch across the way. Least as Ease When: He doesn’t know what’s going on around him. When his plans has fallen through and he’s no longer in control of what’s happening around him. Worst Possible Thing That Could Happen: Alma being murdered. Biggest Achievement: Taking out the president of the company that held him as a test subject when he was a child. Biggest Regret: He has exactly Eleven. Eleven deaths that weren’t supposed to happen but did.

#hc #mrtask #murder tw #violence tw #abuse tw

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space--wrecked · 5 years

Note

Oh oh what is your theory on Mrs. Goodspeed past then?

Aw hell here we go with my crazy bullshit

Alright so Mrs. Goodspeed infiltrated the Infinity Guard as a sleeper agent for a secret intergalactic terrorist organization under her codename Admiral Vega. She posed as an officer in High Command in order to access as much info as possible to relay back to base so that they could coordinate an effective strike to overthrow the Infinity Guard and make way for the new galaxy order.

While awaiting orders, she took an interest to John, finding him to be a lovable rogue despite his many, many, many flaws. And given what a prominent figure he was in the Infinity Guard she figured he would be a useful pawn especially given how she ranked above him as his superior. It’s hard to say whether or not she had true feelings for him because that’s something she herself never really understood because of how deep undercover she was. She would have these sort of dissociative episodes where she couldn’t tell who she was anymore because of how long she’s been stuck playing a role. So much so that she ended marrying John and baring his child.

Meanwhile, Jack was having his suspicions over this elusive “Admiral Vega” as he couldn’t for the life of him ever remember her existence which he felt he would know given how he was essentially raised on a military base in the Infinity Guard (due to fucked up circumstances in my equally fucked up headcanon on his past but that’s another story for another time). John being absolutely smitten by Vega dismissed Jack’s concerns as his usual neurosis but Jack couldn’t ignore the feeling in his gut and decided to look into it.

Months past since Gary’s birth, John feels like he’s living the dream. He’s a father now and his career is going swimmingly and he’s married to the woman of his dreams. Until he gets a phone call. It’s Jack and he’s at it again with his insane conspiracy theories. He’s babbling on about forged documentation and government spies yada yada: “ You’ve been living a lie John!” “ She’s not who you think she is John!” “Something bad is about to happen John I can feel it!” “You’re in great danger!”

John hangs up, he doesn’t want to hear anymore of it. But then he hears wailing. It’s Gary, why’s his son crying? And then at that point the gravity of the situation comes crashing down on him like a flaming asteroid when he sees blaster fire shoot past him and graze his cheek,barely missing his head. He whirls around ready to fight and he sees his wife pointing a gun at him.

Mrs. Goodspeed has been “activated” and first order of business was to take him out. He’s outlived his usefulness.

The two duke it out right there in the living room. John is confused as fuck as to what is going on, why is dearest wife acting like a murderous coke fiend? The only thing he can conclude is that Jack was right about all this and he was royally screwed. He’s a whirlwind of emotion: grief, anger, betrayal, and the most morbid sense of sexual arousal he could ever feel for someone.

Fortunately for him as his wife is about to deliver the killing blow, it seems she’s experiencing the same complicated feelings as he is. She can’t go through with it, the world is much too interesting with John in it than without it so--

They’re at a stalemate.

They each wound each other like it’s their wedding vows, a cut across Mrs.Goodspeed lower jaw and gash along John’s chest, near his heart of all places.

She was gone like a hurricane and John was left to repair the damage. He obviously got a lot of flack from just about every member of the Infinity Guard. Tensions were high as people didn’t know who to trust anymore. Jack would later on use the whole incident to bolster his corrupt campaign during his rise to being the Lord Commander.

John however ignored their scorn feeling more dejected than anything. But he was able to find solace and comfort in raising Gary who became the newfound light of his life. And while it sometimes hurt him to see Gary grow looking more and more like his mother he considered him to be miracle to have been born the way happy camper he was despite all that happened. Understandably, John couldn’t help but keep Mrs. Goodspeed a secret as he didn’t want to tarnish any of Gary’s own relationships (not when life could do that for him). He lied claiming Mrs. Goodspeed died early on due to some unforeseeable, incurable disease so as to make it seem as random as possible so as not to put any weight of burden on Gary.

And whenever Gary would ask what she was like and who she was John would tell half-truths, recounting times he remembered her as his heroic commander and ignoring how in hindsight she was exploiting him. It’s how he wanted Gary to remember her and frankly how he wished he could remember.

Which is why it’s rather unfortunate that decades later after his passing he wouldn’t realize that he was essentially setting Gary up for trouble when Mrs.Goodspeed would be making her comeback.

#Mrs.Goodspeed #Final Space #Take my novella

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queenraibix-blog · 6 years

Text

Blue moon (Now I'm no Longer Alone) - part one

Title: Blue moon (Now I'm no Longer Alone)

Chapter: Ranger Station Charlie

Series: South Park, Fallout

Pairing: Creek (slow burn)

Plot: Craig had enough to deal with while searching for the man that shot him in the head without having to babysit some twitchy boy with a distinct lack of volume control. But here he was, gun in hand and ready to get this kid to New Vegas.

The canteen reached his lips and Craig swallowed the last bit of water that was contained within. Soon he’d need to find a water source, or at least put out some caps in the next town to replenish his reserves. He was half-way out of Nipton, but with the town having been void of most human life thanks to the Legion he hadn’t been able to restock any of his supplies. Thankfully Novac was only a few hours away on foot and there was a ranger station between the two towns. Maybe he could sneak in and get some supplies without being noticed. It was a gamble, but with his recent bout of luck (surviving a gunshot to the head was definitely luck in his book) he felt that he’d at least be able to find a bottle of water or two. Maybe even a gecko steak if he really pushed his luck.

The trek along the remains of deserted highway wouldn’t have been so bad if it weren’t for the damned sun that was beating down on his back. He’d already removed the flannel he’d been wearing, hoping that would make him feel better, but as the sun continued to rise that morning the heat just continued to climb. He could understand why so many of the NCR soldiers he’d met were wishing for a nuclear winter. Wandering in hundred degree weather would do that to anyone, he’d imagined.

Pulling up the map on his Pip-boy, Craig tried to see how close he was to Ranger Station Charlie. If he continued the pace he was going, it would likely only be another thirty minutes before he reached the halfway point to Novac. Even as he felt some relief, Craig remained stoic and didn’t let his feelings surface. If there’s one thing he knew about the desert, it was that at any time someone could be watching you, preparing for a moment where you seemed off-guard to strike. He’d seen it happen too many times to allow it to happen to himself.

As the minutes ticked away, Craig tried to hurry his pace a bit. He was dying for some water, his sip from earlier having not been nearly enough to satiate his thirst. Soon the ranger station was in site and Craig’s mind was made up. As he approached the walls that surrounding the remains of the old trailer park, Craig crouched down and pulled the bag off his back and began to rummage around. He knew he still had a Stealth Boy in there somewhere, and now was the perfect time to use it. After a few minutes of sifting through his belongings, Craig found the device. Unlatching the hooks on it, he was quick to secure it to his wrist before flipping the switch. Instantly he vanished from sight. With only a few minutes of invisibility allotted to him, Craig quickly made his way inside the ranger station. The main building had to be the first place he checked, as it would have likely held their best supplies. When he reached the door he was happy to find it unlocked. Turning the handle, he opened the door only a crack before looking inside. No one was in the main room, so he slipped inside with ease. The first thing he spotted were the first aid kits sitting on the floor by the desk. Opening the first one, he found two stimpacks and a bottle of water. It was exactly what he needed.

Craig threw the items into his pack and went to open the next box. This time, however, he found the box to be locked. Reaching into his pocket, Craig pulled out a bobby pin and got to work on opening the first aid kit. It took a minute, one which he really did not have to spare, and found some med-x and a stimpack inside. While the stimpack was useful, Craig tried not to use chems as much as possible. He’d seen people become addicted to them too quickly, and he’d seen how bad the withdrawal could be for most people. He had too much shit to do to get drugs involved.

Closing the first aid kit, Craig looked at the timer on his Stealth Boy and cursed. He had sixty seconds until it deactivated. Not to mention, he could hear voices from the other room now. It was time to get out and fast. Heaving his pack back onto his shoulders, Craig stood and made for the exit. He needed to get at least a little bit of distance between him and the ranger station before he could take a sip of the delicious water he’d snatched. Thirty seconds left, Craig sprinted out of the ranger station and down the road, keeping his breathing steady all the while. Being a courier for seven years had really helped with his endurance and kept him in shape. Afterall, most people wouldn’t be able to traverse the wasteland on the daily like he could. It took endurance and it took more than a little bit of survival tactics. It wasn’t enough to be able to just make up some healing powder and go on your merry way. You had to be your own butcher and chef, you had to know what random plants would cure a stomach ache and what would cause internal bleeding.

Needless to say certain aspects of his survival skills had been trial and error, but Craig didn’t like to think about that.

With his pack a little fuller, Craig took a sip of his water before starting back on the highway to get to Novac. If he picked up his pace he could make it there before the sunset, and he might just have enough caps to rent a room for the night. The idea of being able to settle into a real bed, instead of sleeping on the cold, hard ground, even if only for one night was too enticing to pass up.

With that thought in mind, Craig pulled out his laser rifle and readied it at his side. He was ready to fight anyone or anything that crossed his path if it meant a peaceful night’s sleep.

What he hadn’t expected a few hours into his journey, however, was a line of mines going across the road, effectively blocking his path.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Looking around him, he noted that he could go around, it would just be a pain in the ass and set him back on the good time he was making. Alternatively, he could find something to set off the mines from a safe distance away, but he knew it would alert any of the local wildlife (and possibly raiders) to his location. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Craig decided to start looking for a rock big enough to set off one of the mines. Turning around to start his search, Craig’s eyes widened at what he saw. Behind him stood a young man, his eyes wide and wild as he held out a rusted machete in Craig’s direction. At least he had an advantage on the blonde boy before him; while a dull machete could do some damage, Craig had his laser pistol at the ready, giving him the edge with the distance between them. As he raised the gun, he watched as the other boy twitched and eyed the weapon.

He didn’t seem to be deterred though, keeping his machete up, even though his hands were shaking.

“I-I saw you. At the ranger station.” The boy’s eye twitched again and his body shivered. “You went all invisible though! You’re with the Legion, aren’t you?! You went in there t-to kill them, didn’t you?! I’ve seen their troops hiding in the hills, did they send you in to do their work quick and -gah- quietly?!”

Craig stared blankly at the boy, trying to follow his thought process but not understanding where he could make a leap to assuming he was with the Legion. Looking down at his clothing and then to the weapon in his hand, Craig looked back to the boy and raised an eyebrow.

“Do I look like Legion to you? I’m not dressed in their stupid uniform and I’m not the one waving a god damn machete around.” That seemed to surprise the boy, who averted his eyes to the ground momentarily before lowering his machete a bit.

“I-It was the only weapon I could find, I’m not Legion…” The boy brought one hand to his arm and started to scratch at it nervously. “But I mean, if you’re not Legion then who are you? No one has been through here other than Legion in a few days!”

With the machete having been lowered, Craig did the same with his pistol, but still kept his finger on the trigger just to be safe. The boy seemed a bit erratic, so Craig still couldn’t guarantee that a fight wouldn’t break out eventually.

“I’m just a courier. I needed supplies, so I made a stop. The NCR should have enough to spare, they probably won’t even notice their stuff is missing.” Craig shrugged his shoulder, still not letting a little bit of theft weigh down his conscious.

“O-Oh, okay then. J-Just a courier, huh?” Craig thought the boy must have been pretty naive, taking him at his word. He watched as the boy sheathed his machete before turning back to look up at Craig. “In that case, do you mind maybe, uhh, making a delivery for me?”

Craig raised an eyebrow at the request. Looking at the boy, he didn’t seem to have many belongings on him; the makeshift pack he had with him looked like it barely carried anything, so what could he have possibly needed a courier service for? Not to mention, Craig really didn’t have time to go out of his way to make deliveries right now. He needed to find the son of a bitch that shot him in the head. But who knew where that would take him, so maybe if the delivery was on his way it would be a good chance to make some extra caps…

“Okay, I’ll bite. What do you need delivered and how much can you pay me?” Craig watched the boy’s eyes brighten at his response. Those eyes were too open, too trusting, and it made something tighten in Craig’s chest. How had this kid survived in the wasteland if he didn’t hide his emotions better than this?

“Well uh, I-I need you to deliver…” The boy wrung his hands together nervously, now averting his eyes as if he were embarrassed to answer Craig’s question. His eye twitched before he continued on, “Me, okay?! I need you to deliver me to the strip! I’ve heard it’s safe there, b-because Mr. House keeps the Legion out!”

Keeping his expression blank, Craig ran through the request in his mind. On one hand, it would be annoying to keep the jittery boy with him all the way to New Vegas, what with his constant twitching and the fact that it looked like he might vibrate out of his own skin, not to mention they’d need to have a conversation about volume control (Craig liked to avoid confrontation as much as possible, so sneaking was a necessity at times). But there was one thing that could sell him on this: the right amount of caps.

“What can you give me in return if I take you there?” Craig holstered his weapon and put his hands into his pockets– he’d found it was best to negotiate business when you weren’t ready to shoot someone in cold blood.

“A-All I have is some Legion Denarius, but I have about 100! I’ve taken them from the Legionaries that I’ve fought a-and I think they have some value!” Reaching into his pocket, the boy took out a small pouch and held it up for Craig to see. Running through the math in his head, Craig figured he’d be able to trade them in for about four hundred caps on the Strip. It wasn’t the best rate he could get for a job like that (considering he was a courier and not a fucking mercenary), but he figured at the very least the boy could be of some use. He had a machete to fight with, so he might be able to hold his own, and obviously with the number of mines he’d put down he’d be able to keep them well guarded. Closing the gap between them, which made the shorter boy yelp, Craig swiped the coin purse and pocketed it.

“Deal. I’ll get you to New Vegas, kid.” Holding his hand out for the other to shake on their deal, he followed with, “I’m Craig. Who are you?”

“I-I’m Tweek.” The boy’s hand twitched in his own as they shook on their business deal. Craig nodded at him before pulling his hand back and looking to the road behind him, specifically to the line of mines still blocking their path. Tweek noticed what he was looking at and jumped, having apparently forgotten his own trap in all the commotion. “S-Sorry, I’ll get them cleaned up right away! Give me a second!”

Getting right to work, Tweek jumped from mine to mine, deactivating all of them and throwing them back into his pack. With the road cleared, Tweek turned to Craig with a nervous smile.

“I-I guess we can get going now. Where are we headed?”

“Novac. I have a man to settle something with.” And with that, Craig walked on past Tweek, listening as the boy yelped and ran to catch up with him. Surveying the quiet desert before him and the open road, Craig allowed himself a moment of internal peace before mentally preparing himself for the fight that might be awaiting him in Novac.

#south park #creek #craig tucker #tweek tweak #south park fanfiction #fallout #fallout au #blue moon #sp creek

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lisabelkin-yahoonews · 6 years

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Resilient, or just numb? As atrocities mount, Americans become adept at moving on

Items are seen left at a memorial near the site of the shooting at the First Baptist Church of Sutherland Springs in Sutherland Springs, Texas, Nov. 7, 2017. (Photo: Jonathan Bachman/Reuters)

There is a melody to national tragedy, to national grieving. It starts with shock, segues to fear and anger, crescendos with memorials and tributes, then codas into vows to never forget. The notes are similar from one rendition to the next, but the tempo, the distance from beginning to end, is never exactly the same. And it’s the rhythm, the speed, that’s the true measure of a country’s psyche.

Lately Americans have been playing a quickened, shortened tune.

We were transfixed for months after Oklahoma City and 9/11, for weeks after the Boston Marathon, more like days after San Bernadino. We watched the Columbine memorial services live, knew the faces of the Newtown children, but probably can’t name the victims of Sutherland Springs. The nation paid the family of each 9/11 victim $3.1 million; those injured in Orlando and Las Vegas started GoFundMe accounts and many struggle to pay their medical bills.

“It’s like it never happened,” wrote Amanda Getchell in the Washington Post last week, of her life after she fled the fusillade of bullets from the Mandalay Hotel. “My phone stopped ringing with concerned calls and text messages…The mourning lasted a day, and then everyone forgot about what happened in Las Vegas.

And in lower Manhattan, not far from the 9/11 Memorial, the Guardian described the scene on Halloween this way: “Within hours of Tuesday’s Home Depot truck attack more than a million New Yorkers poured back on to the streets for the annual Halloween parade, and countless thousands of other kids and their parent-minders were out trick-or-treating in their neighborhoods. By Wednesday morning, nearby schools that had been in lockdown during the attack were open for business…”

Heavily armed police guard as revelers march during the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade, Tuesday, Oct. 31, 2017, in New York. New York City’s always-surreal Halloween parade marched on Tuesday evening under the shadow of real fear, hours after a truck attack killed several people on a busy city bike path in what authorities called an act of terror. (Photo: Andres Kudacki/AP)

The popular word for this insta-back-to-normal is “resilience”, and it is used with pride. “This was a cowardly act of terror,” New York mayor Bill de Blasio tweeted less than 24 hours after the attack. “It was intended to break our spirit. But New Yorkers are resilient. We will be undeterred.”

Resilience, though, is a symptom: a muscle that develops with over-use, a coping mechanism that hews close to various degrees of resignation.

“Resilience requires being able to contain certain emotions that would otherwise overpower you,” explains clinical psychologist Alon Gratch, “and denial involves exactly the same thing.”

Gratch has been musing on this duality a lot lately. Israeli-born but working in New York for 38 years, he wrote a book called “The Israeli Mind,” and he sees Americans following the mental path that Israelis started down decades ago.

During the two waves of Infitada roughly from 1987 to 2005, there were periods of daily terrorist attacks. “There was just no way to cope with other than to just go on living,” Gratch says. “You clean up the blood and go on.” Israelis took pride in the fact that a café targeted by a suicide bomb in the morning would be back in business by nightfall, and that people continued to ride the bus in the face of frequent attacks.

In part, Gratch says, Israelis coped by off-loading the role of honoring and memorializing the dead to the government. In his book he calls this the “grief industrial complex”, the hero-worship of victims by officialdom “which allows people in day to day life to ignore it and move on.” By quickly transforming events into history, and treating the dead as part of a national narrative, violent loss becomes “oddly normalized, a story of sacrifice for a cause that feels like a story.”

And so it is in the US as well. The news alerts bing, the cable coverage begins, there is speculation as to motive, and interviews with partisans who declare either that that immigration restrictions would not have prevented this or it is too soon to talk about guns, depending on the emerging portrait of the killer. There are vignettes about the dead, hashtags — #bostonstrong #vegasstrong – and a candlelight vigil. A celebrity organizes a concert. The motions become familiar.

The U.S. Capitol dome backdrops flags at half-staff in honor of the victims killed in the Las Vegas shooting as the sun rises on Tuesday, Oct. 3, 2017, at the foot of the Washington Monument on the National Mall in Washington. (Photo: Manuel Balce Ceneta/AP)

“Congress is already doing what it sees as its part,” Congressman Steve Israel wrote in a New York Times op-ed last month, after the Las Vegas shooting spree that left 58 dead. “Flags have been lowered, thoughts and prayers tweeted, and sometime this week it will perform the latest episode in the longest-running drama on C-Span: the moment of silence. It’s how they responded to other mass shootings in Columbine, Herkimer, Tucson, Santa Monica, Hialeah, Terrell, Alturas, Killeen, Isla Vista, Marysville, Chapel Hill, Tyrone, Waco, Charleston, Chattanooga, Lafayette, Roanoke, Roseburg, Colorado Springs, San Bernardino, Birmingham, Fort Hood and Aurora, at Virginia Tech, the Washington Navy Yard, and the congressional baseball game practice, to name too many.”

Somewhere in this cycle a prominent public official declares, despite all past evidence to the contrary, that the nation will always remember. “They were mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers,” Donald Trump said in Las Vegas. “They were husbands and wives, and sons and daughters. They will be dearly missed, and they will never be forgotten.”

For individuals, Gratch says, this way of coping is a good thing. “It’s necessary to face it and then move on,” he says,. “Otherwise you become paralyzed and then paranoid. You amplify the dangers and overreact to them.”

He tells of a colleague who closed an office above Grand Central Terminal after 9/11, believing it was a next logical terrorist target. Gratch, in turn, remained in his space near Grand Central, feeling it was important for both him and his patients to face down the fear. “The best treatment for anxiety is exposure, small steady doses of what you are afraid of so you can increase your tolerance,” he says, and in that way the rash of public violence in the United States in recent years has been a perverse national experiment in cognitive behavioral therapy.

But this treatment works because it creates the feeling of taking back control, and that element seems lacking in the current national tableau. Instead, legislators and advocates describe being reminded with each attack of how ineffective attempts at change have been over the years. Choose your reason: a hopelessly polarized society, a political system shackled by special interests, leaders who choose party over country… Whatever the cause, the result is a growing realization that grief and outrage do not lead to change. Those who see the solution as fewer guns, recall assault bans that did not pass after Sandy Hook and the bill to ban ‘bump stocks’ that has been stalled in Congress Those who think stricter control of the borders is the answer note that their promised wall has not been built and courts have blocked all attempts at a virtual “extreme vetting” version.

Dozens of people attend a vigil remembering the 59 people killed in Sunday’s shooting in Las Vegas and calling for action against guns on Oct. 4, 2017 in Newtown, Connecticut. The vigil, organized by the Newtown Action Alliance, was held outside the National Shooting Sport Foundation and looked to draw attention to gun violence in America. Twenty school children were killed at the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting in Newtown on December 14, 2012. (Photo: Spencer Platt/Getty Images)

Is the result a resignation that accounts for the quickened pace of moving on from tragedy? Is what looks like resilience really helplessness mixed with depression? And if so, what is the cost long-term to the national psyche?

“The paralysis you feel right now – the impotent helplessness that washes over you as news of another mass slaughter scrolls across the television screen,”

is how Connecticut Senator Chris Murphy described the phenomenon after Sutherland Springs. Its effect, he warned, is to make the fight exhausting and futile, to numb citizens into dropping their demands for gun control.

“We are suffering from combat fatigue,” agrees Nikki Stern, an essayist and author who was executive director of Families of 9/11 and who says her cause is now gun control. “We’re being pummeled into accepting this as normal. We must fight that.” But, she adds, she is not exactly sure how.

“If I could figure out how to get through, I’d probably have a peace prize to put on my shelf,” she says.

A panoramic of the quickly built Healing Garden in the Arts District of Las Vegas as a memorial for victims of the recent Las Vegas mass shooting on October 8, 2017, in Vas Vegas, NV. The garden was built in four days in response to the mass shooting that killed 59 people and injured more than 500 at the Route 91 Harvest Festival near Mandalay Bay on October 1, 2017, in Las Vegas, NV. (Photo: Doug Kranz/Icon Sportswire via Getty Images)

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