#i sleep in my truck in the driveway but the house is at my disposal
Note
Hey I saw this tik tok i’m out in season three how Rafe should get a gf and they fall in love really fast and when she comes to visit him he’s dragging a body in his room and she’s like hyperventilating but then when he tells her she should leave after sweet talking her she asks how she can help and they realize how deeply in love they are and I just Think that’s such a great storyline and maybe you could do something with it Idk.
I love you for thinking of me. Thank you so much. I hope this does the idea justice.. Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! xoxo
Author's Notes: Rafe found himself a girl, but how far will she go for him? Please read the warnings and proceed with caution :)
Warnings: All of them? MURDER, Mentions of violence, Swearing, Sexual references - sexual innuendos, not fanon Rafe (it hurt, but was fun), - Obx 2 spoilers (like the tiniest one? maybe?)
Requested? YES. Requests for OBX are OPEN!
*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo
They had not been together for very long, but the time they had been together had been particularly intense. Rafe Cameron wasn't someone who loved with half of his heart. He was someone who loved with all of it, his entire being was put forth when he loved someone. It was do or die when it came to her, and he expected the same of his lover.
It was quiet throughout the halls of Tannyhill that night. Even the incessant ping of Wheezie's phone notifications had seemed to have stopped. She laid in Rafe's bed, curled up in the blankets that smelled like him no matter how many times he had her rolling in them.
She sat up in his bed, alarmed when he wasn't beside her. He was always beside her. He had kissed the back of her neck, told her he loved her more than anything and fallen asleep within almost moments.
"Rafe?" She called out into the darkness of his bedroom, her hand pressed to his cold pillow.
She turned her body and lowered her feet to the almost icy hardwood floor, her toes curling before she placed her feet firmly on the ground. She grabbed his sweater from the edge of the bed and pulled it over her body as she shuffled through his room and out the door, squinting against the unwanted light of the hallway.
"Baby?" She called softly down the hall, her feet light on the floor as she followed the sounds of grunts and a voice.
She followed the noises out to the front foyer, gently opening the french doors, and walking out into the crisp Autumn night to see Rafe pacing the length of his car with his hands in his hair.
"Rafe, what are you doing out here? It's freezing." She asked as she pulled his sweater around her body tightly, her knees pressed together to keep her warmth.
"Princess, hey. Go inside, alright? I'll be right there." Rafe replied, pinching the bridge of his nose quickly before he reached out to grab her hips in an attempt to turn her towards the house.
"Rafe, what's going on? Your hands are like ice. Stop!" She yelled as she pushed his hands off of her to turn back around and face him. His eyes were wide, and wild as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Listen, it's nothing you need to worry about right now. Just go inside, go back to sleep. I'll be in soon." Rafe breathed out, heavy, from the bottom of his lungs as he ran his fingers under his nose.
"Baby, come with me. I'm cold without you in that big bed, and it's freezing out here. You only have a t-shirt on." She shivered, her arms wrapped around her body as she looked him up and down while he paced the driveway still.
Rafe turned on his heel, taking a large step towards her so he stood directly in front of her. He pulled her sweater from around her body, so it laid unzipped on her shoulders. He placed his hands on her bare hips and pulled her close against him so she wasn't completely exposed to the neighbours.
"I got...I got some shit I gotta handle before I can come back to bed, princess. Just got get warm, okay? Stay like this for me?" Rafe asked as he curled his fingers into her backside, his eyes averted to her bare chest pressed against him.
Rafe pressed a soft kiss to her temple, letting out a heavy breath through his nostrils as his fingertips held onto her lower back to keep her close against him for another few seconds.
"Can I help?" The question was soft, as she rested her chin on his strong chest and looked up at him.
"No. I can't get your hands dirty with this." Rafe replied firmly, shaking his head as he began to chew on his thumbnail.
"Baby, I want to help you. I love you." She stated softly, and her words were a shot to his system.
"Go open the gate to the yard and start the boat - the power boat. Don't look in the bed of the truck, and I mean it. Once you've started the boat go back inside and wait for me." Rafe ordered as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small ring that held the keys to the boats on the Cameron's docks. He pressed the keys into the palm of her hand and gave her a stern look. He wasn't playing around.
"Okay, baby." She nodded as she held the keys tightly in her fist and made her way through the wet grass towards the gate, bare footed.
As she pressed up on her toes to unlock the gate to the backyard, leading towards the dock, she dared to look back and saw as Rafe struggled with a long, rolled up blanket in the back of his truck. Her breath stuck in her chest, but she continued to do what he asked and unlatched the gate and left it wide open for him, scurrying as fast as her numb legs would take her towards the dock where the power-boat sat.
Her cold, aching fingers fumbled with the key ring as she tried to find the correct one to turned on the power boat. She had never needed it before because Rafe had always started the boat for her, or already had it running. She squinted in the darkness at the keys, running her fingers over their teeth hoping to jog her memory. She huffed with frustration, she couldn't find it, and stomped her way off the dock back towards Rafe.
"Rafe, I don't know what one it is. Can you show me?" She sighed as she walked up behind him, startling him.
"Shit!" Rafe yelled his hands holding the rolled up blanket in the bed of the truck, sliding it halfway out, only to drop it with a nasty, heavy thud on the asphalt driveway.
"I told you to start the fucking boat." Rafe growled as he crouched down in front of the blanket, his hands pulling at his hair.
"You didn't show me what key it was." She whispered, taking a few cautious steps towards him. She knelt on the pavement beside him, a hand on his back. His back was sweaty, but he was shivering.
"Don't! Don't!" Rafe yelled as he reached for her hand, her fingertips softly pulling back the top of the blanket at his feet.
He wasn't quick enough. Despite his grip on her wrist, she pulled the blanket back to reveal a bludgeoned face she did not recognize. She gasped, her breath stuck in her throat so harshly she choked. She fell onto her backside as she looked from the face in the blanket to Rafe.
"I told you not to look in the truck." Rafe grumbled as he pulled at his hair, then began to chew on his thumbnail again.
"Baby, who the fuck is that?" She whispered as the tears cascaded down her face. This had to be a nightmare. An extremely lucid nightmare.
"Doesn't matter who he is. Dad needed my help, and I took care of it." Rafe replied, his eyes heavy as he looked from the man in the blanket to his petrified girlfriend.
"Rafe, did you - "
"Yes. I killed him, and now you're gonna leave me I guess. Call the cops. Your friends were right, hm? Rafe Cameron's a murderer. Rafe Cameron's fucking crazy. A psycho." Rafe rambled his middle and index finger jabbing at his temples, his eyes narrowed at her.
There was a silence between them, only Rafe's heavy breathing to be heard as he waited for her answer. It wasn't a rhetorical question. He wanted to know if she was going to leave him. He stared his girl down with intensity as she sat on the pavement still, her eyes full of tears as she looked from him to the body half out of the truck.
She switched her position, sitting up on her knees and crawled over to him slowly. Rafe watched her every move, his eyes on her chest as she moved towards him. He reached for her and put his hand in her hair, pulling her face close to his.
"Are you going to leave me now?" Rafe asked once more, his fingers tangled in her hair as he sat on his own knees to be closer to her height.
"Why didn't you just tell me? I would have helped you." She replied as she pressed her hands to his strong chest, her nose rubbing against his.
"Dispose of a body?" Rafe grinned as he licked his lips.
"I would do anything for you, Rafe. I love you." She breathed out as she surged forward and pressed her lips to his.
Rafe groaned into her mouth, his hands gripping at her hips to pull her against him. His heart raced in his chest when he realized she still had nothing but his sweater on.
"I love you, too. So much." Rafe panted as he reluctantly pulled his lips from hers, wrapping an arm around her waist and settling a hand on her backside to keep her close.
He reached to the ground where she had dropped the key ring, picked it up by the correct key and held it up. Their fingertips brushed together as he passed her the key to the power- boat.
"Start the boat. Do only that, please. Then go inside and get warm in the shower. I won't be long, I promise." Rafe breathed out between quick pecks on the lips.
"Okay. Come back to me, Rafe. I'll take care of you." She whispered her hands on his face as she gave him one last firm kiss on the lips, then took off running through the back gate towards the dock.
Rafe touched his lips, a soft smile playing at their corners before he stood up once more. He looked down at the body in the blanket and realized he would have to start over again from another angle. He cursed under his breath, turned on the spot and wondered why he didn't just feed this fucker to the gators.
Why didn't he just..
"Princess. Cut the engine. We're going for a ride." Rafe called as he stood at the open gate to the yard.
Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you so much! xoxo
Requests for OBX are OPEN!!!
#rafe cameron#obx fics#rafe cameron request#rafe cameron fic#obx request#obx fanfiction#obx imagine#outer banks requests#outer banks imagines
200 notes
·
View notes
Text
Branch Out - Chapter 2
Summary: Y/N left everything she's ever known, and Dean just wants to be left alone. With both of them trying to heal from heartache, they might just end up finding what they need in the last place they'd ever look.
Word Count: 6550
Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually, maybe?)
Warnings: I don't think there are any for this chapter, but if you think i should add one, feel free to let me know!
Read Chapter 1
Branch Out Masterlist
My Masterlist
Saturday was a welcome break from work, but there was no sleeping in. A delivery truck brought your bed frame, a small kitchen table, and a coffee table early in the morning and you were over the moon about not having to sleep on the cold floor anymore. You figured the tables would be fairly easy to put together, so you left those for last. You emptied the box with the bedframe and did your best to carefully lay out all the pieces so they would be easy to find as you went along. Before you started, you grabbed your radio and shuffled through your CDs, deciding on The Eagles to be today’s soundtrack.
You threw half of your hair up in a bun to pull the small pieces from your face, rolled up your sleeves, and looked around for the instructions. You couldn’t actually remember seeing any kind of paper as you unpacked the pieces, so you dumped out the box. Nothing. You looked under every piece of wood, and in every corner of your tiny house, but came up empty handed.
“Fan-friggin-tastic…” You grumbled and stared down the lumber and hardware, trying to make sense of this now seemingly impossible puzzle.
Hours had passed, and you had only managed to put together a pathetic amount of the bedframe. The stupid bits and pieces that were strewn across the floor taunted you with every wrong part you picked up. Before any vital pieces ended up getting thrown into the fireplace out of frustration, you decided it would be best to take a break and make some lunch. You needed to make a run to the grocery store and stock your fridge and shelves, but you’d need to wait until you got your truck back, so you kept your fingers were crossed that Bobby would be able to get to it today.
You settled on a protein shake and a banana for your meal and were sitting on the kitchen counter when two quick knocks at the door interrupted your thoughts. You turned the music down a notch and wove your way through the maze of wood that had taken over your living room. You were expecting to see Sarah standing on the other side of your front door but were surprised to find Dean. One hand was slipped into his coat pocket and his shoulders were slightly rounded, showing that he didn’t really want to be here right now.
“Oh,” you did your best to not sound massively surprised but did a bang-up job, “hi.”
“Hey,” he cleared his throat, and a tuft of breath flew from his mouth in the cold air, “I just wanted to say sorry for being kind of a dick last night. I’m not really a people person and I’m definitely not used to having neighbors.” His eyes, which were glued to the ground made their way up to meet yours. “The bars were good though. I ate them all last night. I figured you’d want this back.” He extended his arm holding the plate you had placed the treats on to take over to him.
You tried your hardest to stop the smug smirk that was pulling at the corners of your mouth. “That’s actually a disposable plate.”
“Oh,” he looked down at it, “it’s one of the fancy plastic ones though, so I wasn’t sure if you wanted it back or not…” It was definitely not fancy, but the thought of him scrubbing the sticky blueberry mess off of a cheap plate was completely endearing.
“Well, good as new then.” You smiled and took the plate back from him, making a mental note to only give him paper plates from here on out if the situation arose. You stepped just inside the door and tossed the plastic onto the kitchen counter.
Dean raised an eyebrow as he snuck a peek at the mess that was you house at the moment. “Whoa, did a bomb go off in here?”
You looked around with a sigh. “No, but I’m about ready to blow the whole place up and just start over.” Stepping out of the way, you signaled for Dean to come in out of the freezing cold. He stomped his boots off on the front porch and stepped inside. “I didn’t bring any furniture with me when I moved, so I ordered some online. This mess,” you motioned vaguely around the room, “is supposed to be a bedframe but some genius forgot to put the instructions in the box.”
“How long have you been at it?” Dean stepped closer to the junk yard that had become your living room.
You really didn’t want to answer that question because you figured he’d just tell you what you were doing wrong. “Not that long.” Lying had never been something you were good at. Dean took one look at the guilty look on your face and saw right through it.
“So, all morning?”
“All morning.” You admitted and crossed your arms in shame. For a short second, you could have sworn that you saw a hint of a smile on Dean’s face. He was probably laughing at your miserable handy work.
“Well, for starters, you should put the bedframe together in the bedroom. Not the living room.” He walked around the wood pieces and began organizing them into piles.
“The bedroom is really small, so I figured it would be easier to put the big pieces together out here and then put the whole thing together in the bedroom.” You watched with some distain as he easily began to piece together the headboard. “You don’t have to do that, you know…”
“Do what?” He asked but didn’t look up from his crouched position on the floor.
“Help.” You shrugged. “I heard you loud and clear last night that you aren’t looking for friends.”
Dean paused for a moment. “Maybe I’m just staying for the good music.”
“You like The Eagles?”
“Who doesn’t?”
“One of my dad’s rules to live by is that you should never trust people who wear socks to bed or people who hate The Eagles.”
“Your dad sounds like a smart man.” There it was again, an elusive smile from the self-proclaimed loner. You were sure you saw it this time. “But I do have to say that no one beats the mighty Zep.”
You could respect a guy who loved the classics. “Wow, the good taste in music almost makes up for the crabby attitude.”
Dean knew you were teasing and gave you a fed-up look. “Do you have a drill?” He asked.
You picked up a screwdriver from the counter and held it up. Dean shook his head. “No, an actual drill.”
“I have a hammer…”
A chuckle escaped from Dean’s chest. “You were planning on hammering these screws into your new furniture?”
“I was working with what I had. Don’t judge me.”
Dean stood and amusedly shook his head as he made his way to the door, leaving it open while he walked to his truck and pulled a drill from the toolbox that was in the bed. As you watched, you noticed that your driveway had been cleared of the snow from last night’s flurry and couldn’t help but find that odd. You didn’t hear a truck outside your house this morning.
Dean skipped a few steps up the stairs and hurried inside, taking off his coat once he had shut the door after him. “Can I put this here?” He laid his it over the back of a chair that had been here when you moved in.
“Yeah.” You took one more peek out the window at the plowed path to your house from the road. “Hey, weird question, but you wouldn’t happen to know how my driveway got cleared, would you?”
“You ever heard of a snowplow?” His words dripped with sarcasm, but you were well versed in the language as well.
“A snowplow? Hmm, doesn’t ring a bell. What’s that?” You exaggerated every word, but Dean still looked up at you with furrowed brows before realizing that you were joking.
“I just didn’t realize the plows would come this far up the mountain. I promise I’m not as dumb as I look.” Kneeling a few feet away from him on the floor, you held the piece of wood his was trying to secure in place steady.
“The driver is a buddy of mine, He’s a good guy so he probably just wanted to help out the new girl.” Dean explained. You couldn’t help but feel lucky that you had found a place that was full of kind folks. The headboard was put together in a matter of minutes and Dean carried it into your bedroom with ease before picking out the pieces for the footboard.
“Thank you, Dean. I know this is probably not how you wanted to spend your Saturday afternoon.”
“I like to build things. I built my cabin, so a bedframe is a piece of cake.”
“I guess that’s pretty impressive.” Casually playing that off made Dean slightly smile again. You could tell he was feeling a little more comfortable.
“What are you doing up here all by yourself anyway?” He quickly wiped any traces of emotion from his face.
You shrugged. “I just needed a new start and this place fell in my lap, so I jumped. I might be a little in over my head, but I have to start somewhere, right?”
“Why’d you move?” You thought it bold of him to ask the hard-hitting questions but admired his straightforwardness.
You took a moment to carefully word your response. “Sometimes you just need to take yourself out of an unhealthy situation even if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.”
Dean was surely picking up on your lack of details. “I can respect that.” His eyes fell to the bruise on your arm that he had first noticed a few days before. You self-consciously rubbed the sore spot and felt grateful for the phone ringing that stopped the conversation from progressing any further.
You looked to see that Bobby’s shop was calling and brought the phone to your ear. “Hey, Bobby.”
Dean watched as you slowly paced back and forth by the window. He had felt ridiculous this morning for washing a stupid plastic plate just so he could have an excuse to come over and apologize, but he was glad that risk paid off, even if you did think he was clueless.
As he put the last few screws in the footboard, Dean couldn’t help but overhear the conversation you were having on the phone. You sounded a little disappointed and Dean assumed that Bobby had called with bad news.
“How’s the truck?” Dean asked once you had joined him on the floor and began picking up the spare screws.
“Apparently my truck is an ‘old piece of crap’, and the only battery Bobby had that would fit ended up being a dud. He ordered a new one, but it won’t be in until Monday.”
While Dean agreed that your truck should probably be retired, he felt empathetic that you’d had so many problems with it since moving in. “I’ll give you a ride to work.” The words flew from his mouth before he really thought about what he was saying. That wasn’t normally something he’d offer to do. “If you want, that is.”
“Dean, I can’t ask you to do that…” You were sure at this point that he thought you were just some helpless stupid girl that didn’t know how to do anything for yourself.
“Well, you didn’t ask. I volunteered.”
“Still, you’ve done so much for me in the short time that I’ve been here, I feel like I’m just mooching off of you at this point.”
“I’ve barely done anything.” Dean brushed your statement off, but you knew you were right.
“You gave me a ride on my first day, fixed my battery, you’re here wasting your Saturday helping me put together furniture, and now you’re going to give me another ride to work on Monday. That sounds like mooching to me.”
“Your house and City Hall are both on my way to work. I haven’t been the most welcoming person in the world, so let’s just call it even.”
You could tell that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so you got up and went into the kitchen. You opened the cabinet and pulled out another plate of blueberry pie bars and took them to Dean. He gladly accepted.
After pulling back the plastic wrap and shoving a whole bar in his mouth, he mumbled, “Now we’re definitely even.” He rubbed his hands together to brush the crumbs off and finished his bite. “You had these the whole time and you weren’t going to share?”
“That recipe makes a lot. I figured I’d take half to you last night and the other half to work on Monday, but my co-workers aren’t here helping me put together furniture, so bon appetite.”
He put another in his mouth and nodded in approval. “You can keep the plate this time.” You couldn’t help but tease Dean. He stopped midchew and gave you a jaded glare which you did your best to ignore and instead focused on suppressing your laughter. Dean was still trying to hide his smiles, but you caught a glance anyway.
“It’s not a waste, by the way.”
You tilted your head in confusion.
“You said I was wasting my Saturday by helping you out. But I don’t mind.” He briefly looked up at you but continued before could say anything else. “Help me move these.”
After carrying all the pieces into the bedroom and putting them together, Dean helped you lift your mattress onto the frame, and you threw yourself onto the bed.
“So. Much. Better.” You closed your eyes and inhaled through your nose before giving a comfortable sigh. You knew your back would appreciate the little bit of give that the frame allowed. Dean was leaning against the door and you caught his eyes as you sat up. He quickly looked away when you noticed him staring.
“I saw two other boxes out there. Do they need to be put together too?” Dean almost seemed excited to dig into the next project.
“Yes, but if you have somewhere you need to be, I think I can handle it.”
Dean checked his watch. “It’d give me a good excuse to not go to Jo’s party tonight.”
“Jo, that’s Bobby and Ellen’s daughter, right?”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, parties aren’t really my scene.”
“I’m with you on that one.” You were quite the introvert yourself and could relate to the feeling of social dread. “Well, if you’re sure, then be my guest.”
You followed Dean into the living room, and he dragged the bigger of the two boxes over and began to pull out the contents. A growl from your stomach and a glance at the clock told you that it was dinner time.
“Are you hungry?”
Dean shrugged. “A little.”
You opened your cabinets and fridge as if there would be more food than there was earlier. “I’m low on supplies, but I’ve got stuff for turkey sandwiches. Is that okay?”
“Sounds great.”
You threw together two sandwiches and Dean already had half the table put together by the time you were done. You handed his plate to him and sat down on the floor against the wall next to the fireplace. Dean shook the wood dust from his pants and joined you.
“So, accounting, huh? Was that always the dream job?” All of Dean’s questions were posed as if he was only making nonchalant small talk, but the way he intently listened told you that he actually cared about your answers.
“No, but it pays the bills, and I don’t mind numbers. I don’t always love it, but I really like the people I work with here.” Dean was still working on a mouthful of food and you figured it was your turn to ask the questions. “Did you always want to be a lumberjack?”
Dean scoffed. “I’m not a lumberjack!”
“That’s debatable. Sarah said you work at the sawmill, I’ve only ever seen you wear plaid, and apparently you’re the wood whisperer.” You motioned to the almost completed table.
“Well, yeah, but I don’t go prancing around the woods with an axe on my shoulder.”
“Whatever you say.” You figured if he wanted to share more details with you, he would.
“I don’t just work at the sawmill, I run it.”
“How is it being the head-honcho?” Although you did a lot of paperwork for you job, you didn’t envy the workload of a CEO.
“Awful.” His answer was blunt and straightforward. “My dad pulled me into the family business a few years ago and I took over when he got sick.”
“I heard about that. How is he doing now?”
“He’s good. I think he and my mom are hoping to move back soon.”
“What would you be doing if you weren’t working at the sawmill?”
Dean was a little caught off guard by your question. “Why does it matter?”
“Because you can’t go through life hating most of it. That’s just going to make you miserable.” You were speaking from experience.
Dean’s eyes examined yours as if he was trying to find an ulterior motive behind your questions. “I worked as a mechanic for a long time and loved it. I always thought I’d take over for Bobby when he retired down at the shop.”
“Maybe when your dad gets back you can switch over?”
“Yeah, maybe.” Dean’s hesitancy to open up when his dad was brought up told you to drop the subject.
After you both were finished eating, he stood and offered a hand to help you up. “Let’s get this thing finished so you don’t have to keep eating on the floor.”
You spent the rest of the evening handing Dean the hardware he asked for and listening to oldies. Maybe he wasn’t the most talkative guy in the world, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that fell between you two. It was actually nice to be in the company of someone who wasn’t going to push for every detail of your life story.
After breaking down the empty carboard boxes that were the remnants of a long afternoon’s work, Dean pulled on his coat.
“Thank you for all your help today. The place is finally starting to come together.” Although you were still without a couch, your home started to look more livable.
“Don’t mention it. So, I’ll see you Monday morning then?” He asked before he reached for the door handle.
You nodded with a smile and handed him the plate of blueberry bars. He excitedly took it from you and gave a soft smile.
“Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Night, Dean.”
Monday morning slowly crept up after a Sunday spent mostly in bed. It had snowed most of the day and night so you bundled up as much as you could. A peek out the window showed that your small driveway had been plowed again. You put a reminder in your phone to get a thank you gift for the plow driver who was a guardian angel in disguise. Dean pulled up just a few seconds later and you hurried out to his truck.
“Mornin’.” He greeted.
“Hey yourself.” You buckled your seatbelt and extended your hands towards the vent like you had done the last time Dean gave you a ride. His truck was much newer than yours and the heater worked like a charm.
“What’s on your agenda for today?” He asked as he backed out onto the road.
“Expense reports. They’re as thrilling as they sound. And also, I’m covering the front desk solo. Sarah texted and said she woke up with a fever, so she’s taking a sick day.”
“I’ll have to ask Sam how she’s doing.” A few minutes passed as you slowly made your way down the slick road. “So, listen, it’s supposed to snow all day. I’ll come and grab you after work and take you down to Bobby’s place.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that. It’s like a ten-minute walk.”
“It’s a good excuse to make sure I don’t get pulled into some long boring meeting at the end of the day.”
“Well then in that case you’re welcome.” You gave a cheeky grin which was returned.
Thankfully, the ride to work was short. Driving in the snow gave you serious anxiety so the sight of City Hall was a welcomed one.
“What time should I come pick you up?”
“I’m off at four, but I can stay later if you can’t get out that early.”
“Four is great. One of the perks of being the boss is that I can make my own hours.”
Ellen waved to you as she walked in, so you quickly said goodbye to Dean and joined her. Dean waited to make sure you got inside okay before taking off.
“Did Dean give you a ride today?” Ellen looked at you skeptically.
“Yeah, my truck is still in the shop, so he volunteered to drop me off on his way to work.”
“Hmm. That’s weird.” She took her hat off and shook the snow from it. “It’s been years since I’ve seen Dean socializing with anyone that’s not in his little circle.”
“Honestly, I think he just pities me because I’m new and clueless when it comes to snow.” Shrugging your coat off, you set it on the back of your chair and placed your bag underneath your desk.
“I never thought I’d see him speak to another girl after what Cassie did to him.” Ellen shook her head and raised her eyebrows.
“Cassie?” This was the first you’d heard of her.
“Yeah, she broke his heart pretty bad a few years back.”
Garth appeared from around the corner and called Ellen back to his office. You knew that Dean had a rough few years but hadn’t heard many details aside from his dad getting cancer, which was a hard enough situation on its own. While you wanted to know more, you didn’t want to dig for info where it was none of your business. If Dean wanted to tell you about Cassie, he would do it on his own time and you would just have to respect that.
Dean arrived at the sawmill and made his way to his office on the upper level of the plant. Not ten minutes after he began his day’s work, Sam entered and sat down in one of the chairs across from Dean’s desk.
“Where were you Saturday night? I thought you said you were going to Jo’s party.”
Dean shrugged. “I got busy and didn’t realize what time it was.”
“Busy with what? I’m sure there’s not that much to do up that mountain of yours.”
“Just busy.”
Sam was used to his brother’s antics at this point and knew it was futile to push for details.
“How’s Sarah doing?” Dean asked, hoping to delay the morning managers meeting as long as possible.
“She’s alright. Woke up with a fever, so she’s just going to sleep it off.” A lightbulb went off for Sam and he frowned. “Wait, how did you know that Sarah’s sick?”
“Crap…” Dean thought to himself. He knew he was busted. “I don’t know. I just heard it through the grapevine.”
“I didn’t tell anyone about her and I’m pretty sure the only people she told were the people at work…” Sam thought long and hard for a few seconds until he realized what must have happened. “Y/N?”
Sam had always been too smart for his own good and Dean had always hated it. “I gave her a ride to work while Bobby has her truck. That’s all.”
“Is that what you were busy with on Saturday too?”
Dean sent messages to Benny and Cas, instructing them to quickly come up to his office to start the morning meeting and hopefully get Sam off his back.
Sam took Dean’s silence as a yes. “What did you guys do all night then?”
“We had a pillow fight and painted each other’s nails.”
Sam had a special bitch-face reserved for Dean and was throwing it his way now.
“We put together furniture and ate sandwiches on the floor. There, now you know. Happy?”
Cas and Benny walked in together.
“Hey fellas, what’s the news?” Benny greeted.
Dean knew from Sam’s devious grin that the end of this conversation was nowhere in sight. “Dean wasn’t at Jo’s party because he was with the new girl in town.”
Cas quickly turned his head and looked at Dean as if he had lobsters crawling out his ears. “This Dean? Our Dean?”
Sam nodded and Benny laughed as he took a seat. “I heard she’s real pretty! It’s about time you find a good one. Nice job, brother.”
Dean groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Listen, I helped her out with one thing. I barely know her, so cut the crap or I will fire all of you asses.”
Cas, Benny and Sam all exchanged mischievous looks but dropped the subject to avoid Dean’s angry side coming out for the rest of the day.
The day was slow for you, but it gave you plenty of time to finish verifying payroll hours for everyone. Sarah’s energetic personality was definitely being missed as you began to feel drowsy around two thirty. The bell to the front door dinged so you stood to find Sheriff Mills and her son.
“Mom, you promised that you wouldn’t have to work today.” The little boy moaned.
“I’m sorry, honey. The Mayor just has to meet with me for a few minutes and then I promise I’m all yours, okay?”
“Hey guys! Can I help with anything?” You greeted.
“Y/N, hey. How are you settling in?” Jody gave a warm smile and did her best to ignore her son who was tugging at her sleeve.
“I’m finally getting everything set up, so I’d say pretty well. Who’s this handsome fella with you?”
The little boy blushed a little as you leaned on the counter and smiled down at him.
“This is my son, Owen. It’s technically my day off, but do I ever really get a day off as a Sheriff?”
Owen continued to pull at Jody’s sleeve and beg to leave.
“Hey Owen, do you happen to like hot chocolate?” You had always been good with kids and figured you try to help Jody out while she met with Garth. You were pretty much done with your work for the day anyway.
Owen nodded shyly. “Well, I don’t want to brag, but I make a mean breakroom hot chocolate. You want to help me make some while your mom meets with the Mayor? If that’s okay with her, that is.”
Owen looked to his mom for approval and she nodded. He ran behind the front desk and Jody mouthed a silent, “Thank you,” to which you smiled and led Owen back to the breakroom.
After making two steaming cups of hot chocolate, you took pushed together two empty desks and taught Owen how to play paper football. After showing him how to fold the paper and a few practice rounds, you began to keep track of points. The winner would take home a medal that you made from paperclips and an eraser.
Time flew by and before you knew it, over an hour had passed. You heard someone come in the door and looked over to see Dean. He had arrived a few minutes early and decided to wait for you inside rather than in the cold car.
“Am I crashing the party?” Dean leaned on the front desk.
“Dean!” Owen side-stepped the desk and ran to wrap his arms around Dean’s waist.
“You’re just in time for the final round of paper football. You in?” You held up the small piece of folded paper with a playful grin.
“Step aside, let the master show you how it’s done.” Dean ripped off his coat and set it on your desk. “What do I get when I win?”
You held up the eraser necklace and Owen excitedly added that he helped make it.
You and Owen were neck in neck in the first round, but you scuffed your last shot on purpose and made a big stink about it. Dean ruffled Owen’s hair as he knelt down at the end of the desk and lined up his shot perfectly. Owen held his own but missed his last shot and Dean knew that he could win if he made the next one. He set his paper up perfectly and you couldn’t help but giggle at the exaggerated sigh of concentration that he let out. Dean’s eyeline moved from the game quickly up to you as he gave a quick wink and under-shot his chance on purpose, giving the win to Owen if he made his next shot, which he did.
Jody paused before entering the room and watched from just out of sight as Owen jumped up and down in triumph. Ellen joined and leaned on the wall, watching as you helped Owen up onto the desk and presented him with the make-shift medal that you had thrown together. Dean put Owen on his shoulders and did a victory lap around the desks while squeals of delight filled the air.
“Are my eyes deceiving me, or is Dean Winchester acting like he’s been properly socialized?” Jody tilted her head to look at Ellen who was smiling knowingly.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him like this. Ever since a little bird flew into town, he’s seems to be a little less crotchety.”
Jody and Ellen watched the smile that you and Dean shared once he put Owen down.
“Mom!” Owen ran over and proudly showed off his medal.
“That’s great, hon!” Jody looked up as you and Dean approached. “You guys are lifesavers; I really owe you one.”
“We had fun, huh?” You nudged Owen with your arm causing him to blush and avert his eyes. You smirked and turned to Dean. “I’ll go grab my stuff and then we can head out.”
Dean knelt down and held his hand out for a high-five. “Good game, kid. That’s well-deserved.” He pointed at the eraser hanging around Owen’s neck.
“I like Y/N. She’s fun… and pretty.” Owen whispered to Dean. Jody instructed her son to grab his coat and said goodbye to everyone.
Dean was leaning against your desk when you came out from the back.
“Ready?” He asked.
“Ready.” You smiled in response.
Once you were in Dean’s truck, you asked, “how do you know Owen so well?”
“When my parents moved away, Jody kind of took me and Sam under her wing and made sure we were taken care of. We were over at her house for dinner a fair amount, so Owen and I are pretty good buddies.”
“Jody seems sweet. I like her.”
“She’s one of the good ones. A lot of people here are. Ellen has always been a surrogate mom to me as well. My dad and I don’t always get along, so Bobby and Ellen kind of adopted me when I was pretty young.”
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
“Don’t be. We all have our issues.”
Dean pulled up outside Bobby’s shop just a few short minutes later. “I’ll come in with you and make sure everything’s working okay. I gotta talk to Bobby anyway.”
You and Dean rushed inside out of the cold and Jo looked up from the front desk. “Hey Dean!”
“Hey, Jo. Your dad around?”
“He’s on the phone but should be done soon.” She turned her gaze to you. “You must be the new girl.”
“Yeah, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you.” You offered a smile to Jo, which was not returned.
“We’re just here for her truck. You got the keys?” Dean picked up on Jo’s attitude and tried to hurry the conversation along.
She shuffled through the box of keys that was on the desk and pulled one out, reading the tag to make sure it was the right one before tossing it to you. You caught it easily and thanked her.
“What do I owe you?”
“We’ll send you the bill.”
“Oh, okay. I guess I’ll just head out then.” You turned to Dean. “See you around. Thanks again for the ride.”
Dean nodded with a shy smile and watched as you got in your truck and left. He wasn’t sure why, but part of him was hoping that the truck wouldn’t start up, so you’d have to ride back with him, but he knew Bobby was too good of a mechanic for that. The rumble of your engine starting up signaled your official exit and Dean hastily made his way back to Bobby’s office to avoid Jo’s impending interrogation on why he had ditched out on her party.
You had gotten to work a little early the next day and were at your desk when Sarah came in.
“Hey, how you feeling?” You had texted her the night before to see if she needed anything, but she said Sam was doing a great job at playing nurse.
“Much better. I think it was just one of those twenty-four-hour bugs. How was yesterday?”
“Slow and quiet. It was weird without you here. Jody brought Owen in and we had a paper football tournament, which was pretty fun though.”
“I’m sorry I missed out!”
Ellen walked out from her office and sat at an empty desk next to you and Sarah. “Are you still good for Thursday, Y/N?”
“You bet!”
“What’s Thursday?” Sarah wondered.
“Ellen, Garth and I are heading to Baker for a convention on the new tax regulations for this year. We’ll head down Thursday morning and come back up on Saturday night.”
Sarah’s face dropped. “No, not this weekend! Saturday is Dean’s birthday and we’re throwing him a surprise party down at The Salty Hunter. I was going to invite you both today!”
“Oh, shoot…” You felt bad that you’d miss Dean’s birthday when he’d been so helpful to you lately.
“Well, maybe we can try to be back for the party?” Ellen suggested. “We’ll head out as soon as we can.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.” Sarah pointed a finger at you both.
“What’s The Salty Hunter?” You wondered.
“That’s the bar on main street. Rufus, who owns it, used to be a hunter so he named it after himself. He’s a character but a good guy.” Ellen explained.
That night after work you went grocery shopping and then headed home to make some dinner and watch something stupid to unwind before bed. You changed into pajamas and a t-shirt and settled down at your new table. Before you could take a bite of your pasta, someone knocked on your door. You peeked through the curtains to see who it was and saw Dean standing outside, shaking his leg to try and stay warm.
You unlocked the door and the wind helped it open. “Get in here, it’s freezing!” You ordered and Dean gladly complied.
“How’s the truck working?” He rubbed his hands together to thaw his fingers.
“Like a charm. Bobby really knows his stuff.” You grabbed the blanket that was slung over the back of a chair and wrapped it around yourself as you sat and offered Dean the other chair at the table.
“So, uh,” he traced the woodgrain pattern on the floor with his eyes as if he was afraid to look at you, “I don’t know if you have any plans on Saturday, but some friends and I are getting together down at the bar if you want to get to know a few more people. It’s nothing big.”
“This little gathering wouldn’t happen to be for your birthday, would it?” You raised a knowing eyebrow. “Sarah told me about it today.”
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, but it’s not really a party or anything. I just thought it would be good for you to get out of this tiny cabin. I’m not even supposed to know about it, but Sam told me.”
You were surprised that Dean went out of his way to invite you, and the gesture made you feel even worse that you might not be there.
“I’m going to try my absolute hardest to be there. Ellen, Garth and I are actually going to be at a tax thing from Thursday until Saturday but we’re making it our goal to be back in time.”
“Like I said, it’s not a big deal, so don’t stress about it.”
“Birthdays are a big deal, so don’t play it off all casual. Plus, I already have the perfect present picked out for you, so it would be a shame if you didn’t get it.”
An inquisitive look lit up Dean’s emerald eyes. “The perfect present, huh? You sure you know me that well?”
“I am one hundred percent sure it will be the best present you’ve ever gotten from me.” Considering that you’d never given him a present before, you weren’t wrong.
Dean pushed his jaw slightly to one side and pressed his tongue to his canine while fighting a grin. “You’re funny, you know that?”
You scrunched you nose and stood from your chair. “Have you eaten? I’ve got extra.” Before he answered, you were already dishing him up a plate of spaghetti.
“No, I just got off work. Late day at the office.” He dug right into his food when you set it down on the table. “Are you planning on getting a couch or something?” He looked out into the barren room.
“No, I think I like empty, minimalistic look. It’s very modern.”
At this point, Dean had a pretty firm grasp on your dry sense of humor and just shook his head. He scarfed down his food and went back for a second plate while you cleaned up the kitchen a bit. He washed his own plate when he was done and placed it in the drying rack.
“Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt your night. I would have just texted you to invite you, but I don’t have your number.”
You held out your hand and Dean reached into his pocket and gave you his phone. It was an old, sturdy Nokia flip phone and you couldn’t help but laugh.
“Look at this dinosaur. I haven’t seen one of these since… I don’t know, middle school?”
“It’s not that old.” Dean tried to defend himself. “I tried the fancy smart phones, but I hated them. Who needs a phone for more than just calling and texting?”
You flipped it open dramatically and saved your number before handing it back to him right as it began to ring. “It’s Sam, I should probably get this. Thanks again for dinner. I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“You didn’t. I always make way too much pasta anyway.”
Dean gave a grateful smile and a small wave as he answered the phone and left.
Chapter 3
#dean winchester#dean x reader#dean winchester x you#dean x y/n#dean x you#dean winchester fic#dean winchester fanfiction#supernatural#spn fanfiction#spn fanfic series#dean winchester x reader
87 notes
·
View notes
Note
Can you do a fanfic of Kensi and Deeks facing their worst nightmare when during a case one of the bad guys kidnaps their newborn baby.
A/N: So I decided to modify this a bit because I feel like Kensi and Deeks have been through enough when it comes to children. Even so, there’s a fair amount of drama and such and a wee bit of hurt-comfort. Oh yes, and David Kessler makes another appearance.
***
Finish What You Start
Deeks muttered to himself as he typed up a report. The bullpen was empty beside himself; Sam and Callen were attending bomb disposal recertification class and Kensi was at home with their three month old, Caleb. Fatima and Rountree were somewhere around the place, likely trying to on up the other.
He had a picture of Kensi and Caleb on his phone, which was the only thing that got him through the long hours some days.
“Deeks, a call just came through OPS. It’s David Kessler,” Eric announced suddenly, appearing at the top of the stairs, and breaking the the peaceful silence.
“What? How the hell did he get this number?” Deeks demanded. After nearly a year and a half, Kessler had been once again relegated to the back of his mind. They hadn’t heard or seen anything of him since escaping from prison.
“No idea, but he’s asking for you. I told him you weren’t available and he said you’d want to speak with him.” Eric’s voice was terse, to the point as it only was in the most serious of situations. “He says he won’t speak to anyone else.”
At that, something twisted inside Deeks and he stood abruptly, jogging up the steps. Eric followed beside him, matching him step for step. When they entered OPS, Deeks gestured for Eric to put the call through to his cell
“Are you tracing him?”
“Of course.” Deeks nodded at Eric’s confirmation and then placed the phone to his ear.
“This is Agent Martin Deeks,” he said. From the little he’d seen and heard of David Kessler, he enjoyed being in control, and Deeks wasn’t about to give it to him.
“Congratulations,” Kessler responded, sounding amused. “I heard you got a promotion. Kensi must be so proud.”
Clenching his fist around the phone, resisting the urge to react to Kessler’s goading. The sound of him saying Kensi’s name made Deeks stomach turn.
“You said you wanted to speak to me.”
“Oh, that’s no fun Marty. Is it ok if I call you Marty, or would you prefer Deeks? Or maybe “baby”. Kensi calls you that a lot.”
So he’d been watching them, or at the very least had a source who new enough about them to feed Kessler information. He glanced at Eric, who shook his head and held up three fingers. The needed to keep him on for at least 30 more seconds.
“Kessler, you have exactly 10 seconds to tell me what you want or I’m hanging up,” Deeks warned him.
“You know, Kensi has always been very strong-willed,” Kessler responded, competing ignoring Deeks’ threat. “A strong man would know how control his wife.”
“Oh my god, you are so delusional.”
Kessler made a unintelligible noise and when he spoke again, his voice was low, on the edge of anger. It was clear he was trying to maintain his control.
“You have a nice little family, Deeks. Cute kid, pretty wife. It would be a shame if something happened to them while you were off playing hero.”
Eric swore loudly and when Deeks turned towards him, he saw him staring at his computer screen with a mixture of horror and anger.
“Deeks, he’s right outside your house,” he hissed. Deeks froze for a moment and then was filled with an overwhelming wave of anger. By the time he was at the sliding doors, his hands were shaking a little. Eric didn’t ask where he was going or what he planned to do.
“Personally I’ve never found men who think they have to control anybody particularly impressive,” Deeks said.
Somehow he managed to keep his voice steady as he ran down the stairs, and tucked his gun into the back of his jeans. Time seemed to be moving in uneven spurts; one second he was by his desk and the next, he was by his truck. He muted his phone briefly as he turned the key in the ignition, hoping to keep Kessler talking for as long as possible.
He revved the engine, climbing to 75 miles before he flicked the sound back on.
“What, no comment? I didn’t think you’d give up that easily.”
“No, not giving up. I was just thinking, imagining, what I’ll do to Kensi,” Kessler said a little dreamily. “All the unexplored things you’re clearly to afraid to do. I think she’ll be easy to subdue.”
“If you truly believe that, then you don’t know Kensi at all. She can take your sorry ass out quicker than you can say “mommy issues”.
His phone beeped and he lowered it, glancing at the text Eric had sent.
“I tried calling Kensi, but her phone is going straight to voicemail. Rountree, Fatima, and LAPD are all on their way.”
Deeks’ stomach dipped again. Kessler must have some kind of signal blocker. He was about ten minutes out from their house now.
“Yes, but children make women weak, soft. Kensi’s a mother now, not a federal agent. I give her two minutes.” As Kessler spoke, Deeks heard the sound of a car door slamming. “You know, I’ve always wanted to have a child to mold and make my own.”
Deeks slammed the gas pedal to the ground, blasting through a red light, just narrowly missing a blue sedan.
“Kessler,” he growled, voice shaking with rage and fear. The thought of him near Kensi and the baby terrified him. Kensi was strong, but he knew she would do anything to keep Caleb safe.
“See you soon, Agent Deeks,” Kessler said and then the phone clicked loudly in Deeks’ ear.
“Son-of-a-!” Deeks shouted, slamming the phone against the dashboard as a half-sob tightened his throat. Even though he knew she wouldn’t pick up, he dialed Kensi’s number, swiping under his nose while he sped through busy intersections and swerved around slower vehicles.
It took seven minutes to reach their. Seven minutes too long. He swerved into the driveway, leaving his truck idling as he raced to the front door, slipping his gun from his waistband.
He turned the doorknob, finding it unlocked and his broke out in goosebumps as he walked in. Quickly glancing around, he noticed a table was overturned in the living room and several glasses and what looked like a platter were scattered across the floor.
There was a loud banging noise from above, like someone had knocked into a wall or thrown something, followed by a shout that he distinctly recognized as Kensi’s voice.
“Kensi!” Deeks called out without thinking as he raced for the stairs. He made it to the top landing when he heard a single gunshot coming from their bedroom. He jerked as though the bullet had pierced his body and he rocked back on his feet slightly.
Deeks stumbled to the door and yanked it open, desperately scanning the room. David Kessler lay in a crumpled heap a few feet from their bed. He was face down and blood was beginning to seep from beneath his body. Based on the hold in the middle of his back, he was almost certainly dead.
“Kensi,” he repeated more quietly, desperately.
“I’m over here,” she answered quietly. He found her on the other side of the bed, wedges against the crib, with Caleb cradled in her arms, head bent over him. Caleb was sleeping peacefully, his mouth slightly rounded as he breathed deeply.
“Are you ok? Is Caleb ok?” He kneeled in front of them, reaching out, but hesitating to touch them at the last second. Kensi nodded slowly, finally looking up.
“I made sure he didn’t lay a finger on Caleb,” she said hoarsely.
“Oh my god, Kens,” he whispered. Her lip was split and there was a nasty gash along her temple, blood trickling into her hair. Deeks noticed the beginnings of what looked like several bruises too and saw that her the collar of her shirt was torn.
“I’m fine.” She shook her head jerkily, her fingers closing around his chest. He grasped her forearms, gently tugging her into his arms as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.
When he opened them again, he pressed his lips to Kensi’s forehead and then carefully bent forward to brush the lightest of kisses to Caleb’s cheek. His upper lip twitched, but otherwise he didn’t move.
“He’s finally gone,” Kensi whispered, her fingers grasping at his hand. They held each other, clinging to one another as the distant sound of sirens filled the air.
***
A/N: After talking it through with @mashmaiden, I decided that Kensi and Deeks live about 15 minutes from the mission and the streets were magically clear on this particular day.
#ncis la fanfiction#marty deeks#kensi blye#densi#Kessler the creep#drama#anonymous prompt#ejzah fanfiction
45 notes
·
View notes
Text
What Happens in Maine Stays in Maine
Maine was everything Alik Payne had hoped it would be and more. After moving every couple of months to a year due to his troubled childhood it was nice to have a sense of stability, especially in a place as beautiful as this. He lived for the way the ever present breeze snaked the smells of pine forests, salt water, rain, and damp earth into his belongings. He loved the insects that hummed from their hiding places in the towering trees, the scrubby brush, and cool steep cliffs. Glittering streams, lakes, and even the jagged coastline as sharp as a knife put him at ease, reminding him of days gone by and the various places he had lived in his reasonably short life. The feeling of pine needles snagging themselves in his hoodies and black hair as he stood knee deep in freezing crystal clear water and watched the sunset never ceased to make him shiver in delight. Of course there was one thing that happened in Maine was more precious to him than any delight mother nature had to offer. Maine was the place he had finally, finally married the love of his life.
“I’ll be back soon Charlotte. I love you,” Alik murmured gently, leaning down to kiss his sleeping wife gently on the cheek. He lingered for a second before brushing a strand of dirty blonde hair from her eyes and wrapping the sheets closer around her. Alik straightened. There was nowhere he’d rather be than alone in their cozy little cabin in the pine forest with his lovely wife. She really was the perfect picture of beauty and innocence. Hopefully he’d be back soon.
The floorboards creaked as Alik tiptoed across the room. He paused and made a mental note to look into the problem. They couldn’t have anything that would disturb the little bubble of peace he’d crafted just for the two of them. Rays of sunlight wove their way through the tree branches outside, peeked through the lacy white curtains, and cast a soft golden glow to everything in the room. Alik’s breath caught in his throat as he glanced back at Charlotte one last time. She was the most breathtaking person he’d ever seen.
Alik padded out into the dimly lit hall, his sock feet causing him to slip slightly on the shiny hardwood floor. One hand snapped up to grip the door and he righted himself. It gave him less of a fright then most of the experiences he’d had in his life but his relative comfort during the past few days had already stripped him of his conditioning to such things. Somehow he’d have to find a way to recondition himself to be always alert, although that, he told himself, was a job for another time.
Birds whistled in the pines surrounding his little Eden and without really realizing it he hummed along. Everything finally seemed at peace, Alik thought to himself as he strolled into the kitchen, absentmindedly snagging a piece of bread from the pantry. Just as he had done nearly every morning for the past few days he strode over to the dull metallic toaster and prepared his breakfast. He leaned against the cool marble counter, grinning with pride at his accomplishment. Gone was the time when he would skip breakfast and occasionally one or both of the other meals. Charlotte needed her husband to be healthy and he had eagerly vowed to do anything in his power to look after her happiness.
The mouth-watering aroma of toast and the soft sound of the toaster broke the man from his thoughts. Alik swore. He was getting distracted. Charlotte always seemed to have that effect on him. Carefully, he removed the toast and bit into it with a satisfying crunch. Cooked to perfection, just the way everything seemed to be going recently.
“I could get used to this,” he breathed to the silent house before shaking the thoughts from his head and devouring the rest of his small meal.
After struggling down the last of his toast Alik made his way to the front door. A full looking black trash bag, a charcoal colored duffle bag that was stained in several places, and an old pair of hiking boots were strewn on the floor beside it. They smelled bad and he wrinkled his nose. Alik ran a hand through his thick dark hair but crouched to pull on the boots anyway. His knees popped when he stood without bothering to tie his shoes. Alik opened the door, it’s locks making a click as he turned them, shouldered the duffle bag, and grabbed the trash bag with his other hand. The solid contents and what sounded like a substantial amount of liquid shifted and sloshed in the bag as he dragged it across the floor and down the stairs, unable to lift it for longer than a few seconds.
It took a minute to find his rusted silver pickup truck in the early morning fog and he set the bags down for a second before realizing he’d probably lose them if he didn’t take them with him. When he finally reached the vehicle he unlocked it with a click, tossed his duffle bag into the passenger seat with a grunt, and hoisted the trash bag into the back where it sloshed disgustingly for a few seconds. After ensuring the bag wouldn’t spill Alik hopped out of the truck bed and climbed in the driver’s seat. The leather of the seat was cool, and the cold seeped through his sweatpants. Trying his best to ignore the chill he cranked the heat as high as it could go, flipped the switch that activated the heated seats, and maneuvered the truck out of the gravel driveway.
Pine trees lined both sides of the road, whizzing past when the truck was finally brought up to speed. There was significantly less fog then there had been only a few minutes earlier. Only a thin mist floated in the air, illuminating in places where the sun had found its way through the branches. Alik smiled. Everything in Maine was so incredibly beautiful.
The last word of his previous thought made him grin wider and filled his mind with images of Charlotte again. Her hair would catch the light wonderfully out here. Maybe someday soon he could coax her out of their little house and into the truck. The two of them could walk hand in hand along beaches dotted with sickly green seaweed, their toes indenting softly in the sand beneath them. He would whisper a joke in her ear and she would laugh and smile and kiss him on the cheek. Everything would be perfect and neither of them would have to have any anxiety anymore. The dark past was behind them and the future was limitless.
Unconsciously he let out a sigh and wondered how it was possible to miss someone so much after only being separated from them for such a short period of time. Of course getting rid of garbage was important and it was such an inconvenient necessity that forced him to burn his trash a considerable distance from his home, but was it really too much to ask to just want to be home?
Alik was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly missed his final turn. He noticed where he was just in time, flicked on the turn signal, and turned the vehicle onto the dirt path to the right. Small animals scurried across the dead leaves that covered the ground, crunching them as they fled from the truck. The soft mud was littered with potholes, which on more than one occasion rammed his head sharply into the roof. Alik swore, rubbed the top of his head tenderly, and parked. The path ended a few miles from the road in a small open section in the trees that was cleared of as many flammable things as possible. The perfect place to burn any garbage, especially the kind he frequently had.
Building and setting the fire didn’t take long. It was a handy skill he had picked up long ago. Only a few moments after he lit the match did he manage to get a decently sized fire going. Alik added logs as quickly as he could without putting the fire out before hurrying back to his truck and returning with his two bags. The trash bag he tossed into the flames with a dark laugh before shouldering the duffle bag and setting off down a footpath through the brush. Briefly he wondered if Charlotte would think the smell of wood smoke would suit him when he returned. He was almost certain she’d say yes and perhaps on her own accord.
The footpath ended at a beautiful lake where Alik calmly disposed of the duffle bag. It hit the water with a resounding splash and immediately sunk. Evidence gone, he thought to himself with a smirk. He’d have to find a time to buy a new saw, but he really couldn’t risk anyone finding this particular one. In a few hours he’d be able to return home with no one any wiser about what he’d done. He set back off down the trail to watch the fire burn out and bury any bones left from the trash bag.
It was three o’clock when he finally returned to his cabin and his wife. The gravel beneath the tires of his truck crunched as he parked and Alik nearly flew out of the vehicle and up the front steps. Quickly his fingers undid all the locks, punching in the different number combinations for all six of the locks. The door was shut quietly and his boots kicked off before he spoke.
“Charlotte, darling,” he called, scanning the kitchen for any sign of her before moving on to the various other rooms she could be occupying. “Where are you my dear? I’m home.” He finally located her cowering on the bed in their bedroom, the last room he checked. “No need to be afraid Charlotte. I love you too much to do you any harm.” He paused as if waiting for a response. None came. “Are you not going to return the sentiment?” Charlotte flinched and Alik silently cursed himself. She’d had many frights over the past year, several of them even unintentionally by him. Of course she’d still be jumpy at times. And he had sounded rather cruel.
“Orion! I… I’m sorry. You simply startled me.” She trembled and couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. “Yes. I… I love you. I do. You… you’re my husband now. Of course I love you.” Alik shook his head, his hands curled into fists, and his jaw seemed to be clenched so tightly it must have hurt him. “Really, I do,” she added, desperately trying to reassure him for her own safety. He let out his breath slowly and allowed the rage to leave his body. He couldn’t bring himself to stay angry with her for too long.
“Charlotte, love, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m Alik now. That boyfriend of yours luckily looked conveniently similar to me. Well, he did until my cyanide, the saw, and this morning’s fire got to him. Orion Turner, the man I used to be is no more. It's like a baptism of sorts,” he mused. "A new life just for the two of us!" He stretched his mouth into what he hoped looked like a dashing grin. The young woman in front of him burst into tears. He hated to see her cry and instantly rushed to her side, kissing the tears from her face, and whispering sweetly in her ear. Someday, he told himself, he wouldn’t have to hold her so tightly she couldn’t move before he touched her.
Charlotte didn't love him yet, this he knew. But in time, especially with it only being the two of them, Alik was sure she’d come around. She had to! He’d struggled so much. Identity theft was rather tricky to do well in a short amount of time. But they had all the time in the world and there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
-------------------
Written for my creative writing class
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
Keep you safe
Chapter 1
Running fast, lungs burning from pushing the limits, a German man ran through the high
grasslands from a shadowed figure coming after him. The moon was full and at the peak of the
crystal night sky as the two figures cut across the fields. As soon as he ran into a clearing, he
cursed under his panting breath, scanning for any place to hide, but no such luck. He turned
around just as the figure tackled him to the ground, the figures hand pushed his face to the
ground and he yelled in pain as a pair of sharp canines pierced his jugular. His hands scrambling
around, praying to find something at his disposal.
He had forgotten that he left his glass etcher blade in his pant pocket and quickly reached
for it, blackness circling his vision from blood loss. He took the handle of the small blade and
stabbed it to whatever felt like the creature on him. It screeched in pain, it’s blood spilling all
over the man’s face and some had entered his mouth. It fell on him, lifeless and blood pooling
around them. He threw the corpse off of him and scrambled to his feet. He swayed, dizzy from
the blood loss and fell back to his knees. He then laid down on the grass and looked up at the
sky, the moon casting her pale white glow on him as he closed his eyes and drifted into the
darkness.
Claud had woken up from his alarm going off and groaned as he shut it off and sat up,
stretching his muscles out. He sighed and got up off the bed to head to the shower. The water
rinsed the rest of the sleep and when he was done, he dried his hair and wrapped the towel
around his waist, looking at himself in the mirror. Placing his hand on his chin and felt the
stubbles on his face telling him that he needed a shave before work. As he shave, put on his nice
suit, and combed his hair, he got a glance at his neck.
The puncture scarings were able to blend in with his skin, but he can still feel it and can
see it, even if no one can. Claud shook his head and put on his glasses as he grabbed his satchel
and headed downstairs of his apartment and got on his black Kawasaki motorcycle as he rode to
work. Claud does house calls whenever he is not needed at the hospital and he was needed out in
the countryside for a small family who had an ill daughter. He sighs. “Poor girl. Alvays ill,” he
said to himself. The family there are very poor and always have a hard time finding good doctors
that would fit their budget. Claud was one of the best and had been sneaky enough to take care of
them with no charge under the radar.
He parked the bike in the makeshift driveway next to their beaten up rusted truck. The
mother was hanging clothes outside when she heard his motorcycle come in. She smiled and
walked up to Claud as he took off his helmet with a warm smile. “Guten Morgen Mrs. Kanen.
How are you and your family?”
“Good morning Dr. Ludwig. We are fine. Come inside, she’s in her bedroom.”
They walk in and sure enough, he could hear her coughing hard and it sounds terrible. He
frowned. ~If only they didn’t suffer so much~ Claud looked around. The house is old and so
broken, he worried that if the father didn’t fix it, it would collapse. He walks into the girl’s room,
his satchel containing all the items he needs during his house calls. The little girl laid in her bed,
pale and looks in pain. She looked at her door and her face lit up at the sight of the German
doctor. “Doctor!” her voice cracked happily.
“Hello my dear. How are you feeling?” he sat down beside her and started to unload his
things to give her a check-up. She groans in response and looks at his hat. He wore a dark brown
medic hat with a headset on top. The headset was always worn just in case he had to make an
emergency call for a helicopter during one of his house calls. She smiles at it and did everything
Claud told her to do during her check-up. He gave her some cough syrup to ease her throat and
had wrote down notes on his piece of paper. He gave her a pat on her head as the medicine made
her sleepy and he quietly closed the door.
“How is she doctor?” the mother asked.
“Cold, but if you had not called me sooner, it vould have been vorse. I vill get ze
medicine she requires for zis and bring it tomorrow. I have given her somezing to help ze throat
until zen.” He packed his things back into his satchel and put it over his shoulder.
“Thank you Dr. Ludwig. I made extra food from dinner to give you on the way home.”
She handed him a sealed container of food and he smiled.
“You are too kind. You and your family have strong hearts.” He gave her a hug as he
went outside and got onto his motorcycle.
“I should say the same about you. We have no money to give you, and yet you still come
to take care of us. I just hope you are careful on this.”
“I am do not vorry. Have a good day ma’am.” They waved to each other goodbye as he
rode off back to the small city. He went to order the meds at the pharmacy and went to the
hospital to do his usual routine. He checked on some patients and organized some of the files
here and there out of boredom. It was a slow day and no emergencies happened so everyone was
relaxed. No surgeries, or people dying, which made him bored out of his mine. He went into a
room where there was a nurse who was taking blood from a patient. She took the packet of blood
and waved the patient off as she looked at him. “Afternoon Doctor,” she hummed.
“Afternoon,” he smiled. He looked at the blood bag and something felt off about himself.
He suddenly felt the need to take it, rip it open, and consume the contents of the bag. He quickly
shook the thoughts out of his head as fingers snapped in his face. “You okay there sir?”
“Yes. I-I’m fine danke.”
“Maybe you should head home. You look pale.”
He decided to do just that and rode to the pharmacy to pick up the girl’s meds before
heading home. He left the meal in his refrigerator, not feeling so hungry and went to the
bathroom to put water on his face. He looks at his reflection and jumps out of his skin. His face
is almost deathly pale and his iris is almost in a dark shade of red seeping out of his natural pale
blue. Claud opens his mouth to find out that his canines are a bit longer than usual. No one
would have noticed it but he does considering that he pays attention to every detail. He lays on
his bed, different emotions circling in his head: fear, confusion, curious. He does not sleep the
whole night, worrying about what is going on with him.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
independence day - self para
At first it’s half a thought, brushed away.
Those letters on the box are so menacing. DANGER: RISK OF TSS. Leaving a tampon in for too long can lead to a life threatening condition known as toxic shock syndrome! Do not leave a tampon in for over seven hours! She flips in her book to one of the chapters she skipped. She only read the part that explained the sudden uterine apocalypse when it struck over two years ago. There were organs she didn’t even know existed– weird. But there’s a whole chapter about TSS. She studies, reads the stories about women in the ‘80s who died because their own blood turned into poison. Not right away, though. They got sick first. That’s when the idea creeps in. She shuts the book, figures that would never work. She watches Oprah until His truck pulls into the driveway, then she turns the TV off and slips back to her room. She doesn’t like being around Him one week out of the month. They’re a bad pair when her moods fluctuate and her eyes roll harder and her tongue forgets to be quiet. He seems more disgusting, more grating than usual, like sitting in the same room with Him pulls on her muscle fibers and makes her want to scream. So she talks back and gets in trouble and neither of them are happy. So she keeps her distance. She wants to read a book, not the one about the uterus and fallopian tubes and whatnot, one about something cool. But when she opens one about Susan B.,– she needs a feminist on her side right now– she gets interrupted by that thought again. She has to work harder to make it leave this time. She’s only a couple chapters in when He invades, encroaches on her land, wants her to watch a movie. She has to fight to keep her eyes from rolling, but gets up. Leaves Susan B. on the bed with the thought. She sits on the far end of the couch, head in her hand, imagining a party at Versailles with Marie, ignoring The Shining. She’s seen it too many times now, and she’s tired of all His movies. He pulls her across the cushions, plays with her hair. It makes her feel like there are lice running down her scalp, so she scoots. He keeps a hand in her hair, so she scoots again, off the couch, to sit on the floor. He pulls, turning the lice into angry bees, stinging. “Ow,” She complains, bitterly, heaving herself back up next to Him. He doesn’t say anything, drops her hair, because He’s won the battle. That’s all it is to him, control. She wants to make friends with some of those Native American tribes from the early eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. She thinks maybe they’d understand her, and she them. They both had cruel, selfish white men steal things from them. An identity, a life. They could teach her how to scalp Him. She switches from imagining Versailles to the West Texas desert, from Marie to the Jumano people, from dancing to destroying Him. But they aren’t just knives and blood, they’re her friends, too, and she climbs mountains with them once He’s gone. It’s way better than The Shining. When the movie’s over, she lets out a sigh because her dream world is gone, too, and He’s still here. She retreats, and He doesn’t stop her. She pauses in the hallway, eyes wandering toward the bathroom. She doesn’t kill the thought right away this time, lets it grow as she shuts her bedroom door. Susan B. once again gets pushed out. The idea is stronger. The uterus book slides back into her lap, she reads the TSS chapter again, grabs a pen because some of this is important. She circles the symptoms: high fever, low blood pressure, vomiting, rash. How does one fake a fever? Oh well, skip it. Low blood pressure? Not that one, either. Vomiting might work, she remembers when she was ten and He let in some kind of bacteria or something and she wanted to sit in the refrigerator because all her skin felt hot and cold and her stomach wouldn’t stop moving. Just stick your finger down your throat and get it over with, He’d said, tossing her a damp washcloth. Rash? Fuck, just puke won’t be enough to make Him think something’s wrong, unless it’s another 24 hour sweating-vomiting-crying extravaganza. She doesn’t know how to fake fainting or organ dysfunction, either. So don’t fake. That thought hits harder than the first one. On one hand, she could fucking die, but He’d have to take her to the hospital, right? He doesn’t want her dead, or she would be. Right? She figures if she’s gonna do it, now’s the time. She slips into the bathroom, puts one in, crosses her fingers. It’s hard to sleep knowing she’s either about to die or finally be free. She finally reads about Susan B., though. Finally falls asleep when they put her in jail. She doesn’t notice any difference when she wakes up, but maybe her blood isn’t bad enough to make her throw up yet. She’ll wait. He’s already gone somewhere. Shit, what if she dies before He comes back? Maybe she should’ve thought of that. Still, she doesn’t want to turn back. Not yet. Maybe when the low blood pressure kicks in, whatever that feels like. She clicks past Oprah, stops when she sees red, white and blue flags, people cheering– it’s a parade. Her eyes find the calendar. July 4th, Independence Day. She finds herself smiling, whispering I’ll see you later. She gets more nervous with every hour that passes. How long does it take to poison your blood? She’s a wreck by the time He gets home, only waits a few minutes before she blurts, “My muscles hurt!” He just looks at her, surprised by the outburst. “What do you want me to do about it?” She swallows hard. “I think my blood pressure’s low. I– my kidneys, they’re–” He tilts His head. “What the hell are you talking about?” Her voice gets smaller. Fuck. “I’m sick. I think.” He crosses His arms. Tears start to prick her eyes because He doesn’t believe her and her body won’t fucking cooperate. How hard is it to die from a tampon? The box made it sound so easy. He gets up, walks over, comes closer until she wilts, can’t look at Him. He turns and heads for her room, comes back with the book, left open on TSS. “What the fuck is this?” No answer. “You thought you could trick me?” She wants to melt. Now would be a good time for the organ dysfunction. Or just fainting. His hand cracks across her cheek. She takes a deep breath, makes the tears slow to a stop, glares. He grabs her jaw, gets closer. “I’m not stupid. And you’re not clever. If it came to it, I would let you die. You’re not that fucking special. Go.” She knows He doesn’t mean to her room. But she takes the tampon out first. Maybe dying would be better than staying here, but there’s a little spark inside of her that encourages: live. Fight.
Another thought invades when He changes the rules, makes her feel smaller, more trapped, more tired. He’s exhausting.
It needs to not involve her imminent death this time, in case something goes wrong again. But His words, meant to cut her down, you aren’t clever, feel more like a challenge than anything. People thought Marie was dumb, too, but she somehow got the King to fork over money for dresses and dogs and parties rather than food for peasants. Sometimes He comes home and she’s in her room, quiet, reading, sleeping, whatever– and He raises His voice: Ally! Sometimes even Alexandra! It’s like a wave of paranoia hits Him, like He knows she could be gone– even though she’s too scared to even look at the phone or the window or the door for too long, even though she knows she’d spend an eternity downstairs for touching the doorknob, it’s like He’s afraid of what she might do. One afternoon, as she opens her bedroom door, pokes her head out, calls I’m here, she wants to laugh. She’s always been afraid of Him, despite that part of her that trusts Him, knows He’s the only person she has, but He’s afraid of her, too. She stores that, and it produces an idea that night, in the middle of dinner. She’s busy staring at her food, ignoring Him. He chews. Ignore. He drinks. Ignore. He talks. Ignore. She just has to make noises occasionally, like she hears a word He says. She needs advice from Harriet. She knew how to escape. But there are no swamps to hide in here, no tall trees or bushes or darkness to conceal her, and she doesn’t ever know how long He’ll be gone. She could make a break for it tomorrow and He could come back ten minutes later, drive His dumb truck a mile out and find her in the middle of the desert. Harriet doesn’t seem to think that’s a good enough excuse. Trick Him, then. He thinks you’re too dumb to outsmart Him, prove Him wrong. She mmhms, because she knows He said something, but it’s not as important as Harriet. You are clever. You can end this. She gets up, puts her food down the garbage disposal, sticks her plate in the dishwasher, and goes to her room. He doesn’t even have time to say anything. She’ll need Him out of The House for a long time– what would keep Him out? Why didn’t other Caribbean nations declare independence when Haiti did? She blinks hard, not sure where that thought came from. They were afraid their slaves would revolt, duh. What’s He afraid of? She sits up a little straighter. If she makes Him think she’s already revolted, He’ll panic. Look for her. She grabs her notebook, flips past all the Dear Chrises to a blank page, rips it out. - I’m sorry, she writes, a little uncertain at first. I’m sorry it came to this. She leans in. But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live with you. Her hand spasms or something, writes something bad. I HATE YOU! She considers restarting, but grins. She’s never gonna see Him again, might as well let it all out. You’re a huge asshole and most of the time I just want to punch you in the mouth until you don’t even look the same. You make me think of everyone bad who ever lived, like Andrew Jackson and Henry VIII and Hitler and Stalin. You hurt me and you act like it’s okay and IT’S NOT!!! She shakes her hand out. I’m tired of your dumb fucking rules and I’m tired of how you smell and look and breathe I WISH YOU WOULD STOP BREATHING!! so I’m leaving. Bye forever, you can fuck yourself with a knife. - Alexandra P.S. You ARE stupid and I AM clever. She puts the pen down, reads over it, adds a HA at the end for good measure. Its very existence makes her nervous, so she hides it inside the notebook until He’s gone the next morning. She places it at her spot at the kitchen table, takes a deep breath, and returns to her room. She turns off the lights, slides under the bed, closes her eyes, and waits. She can’t tell if she falls asleep or if He gets back sooner than usual, but she hears the front door close before she expects it. A moment passes before the “Ally?” comes. She presses her lips together tightly. “Ally!” She peeks into the darkness, then closes her eyes again. He’s quiet for a moment. “Alexandra!” She presses her hand into her mouth because the urge to yell I’m here is strong enough to push tears up into her eyes. She wants to leap out, fix it with an I’m sorry, I was asleep, destroy the note before He finds it, but Harriet and Marie and Joan and Abraham and Rosa and Susan B. hold her back. She hears His feet, opens her eyes, and His shoes are right there. His voice thunders right above her, Alexandra!, a tear drips into the carpet. He leaves quickly, keeps looking. Not in the bathroom. No, not the basement. Not in His room or the back yard or the kitchen. Her heart feels like it’s exploding out of her chest, knows He’s seen it when He curses and the door slams again. His truck fires off into the desert. She can’t laugh, can’t move, she’s stuck. Her friends aren’t talking, her toes are numb because she’s in a tight ball and she’s too afraid to move, like when He breathes in her face and she wants to turn into smoke and drift away. She has to go now, cut through the back yard, climb over the fence, run as fast as she can, wherever that truck didn’t go. But all she hears is Him. Stupid bitch. I make the rules. You’re mine. She doesn’t know how to fight. If she did, she would’ve done it a long time ago. She wouldn’t have let Him lock her away or touch her or do this to her. The carpet is rough and itchy, but it’s there and it absorbs the water that’s leaking out of her eyes, so she buries her face in it and cries until He comes back, still cussing, and she can’t stop and He storms in, His hand finds her under there, pulls her out by her wrist. He’s so angry that He doesn’t talk this time, just walks. Down the steps. Grabs the cuffs. They’re too tight, but He doesn’t listen. She doesn’t come back up for a long time.
The last thought was different. No planning, just fighting.
She remembers feeling the two halves splitting, one afraid and obedient and crying under the bed, the other courageous and smart and strong and everything He didn’t want her to be. She remembers putting down the knife, but grabbing the cutting board. She remembers the first hit, remembers seeing Him fall, remembers how her arms felt: tired, but good, blood splattered on her skin. It should’ve been gross, but it felt like those people on the podiums with the medals every couple of years, national anthem playing, torches, staring into the heavens. They’re the best at skating or gymnastics or running. She is the best of the two of them, the best at surviving, the best at fighting. He might’ve won more, but she won at the end, when it counted most. She remembers opening the door, remembers the smell of the air. She remembers the sun, hot and baking, she remembers laughing, tilting her face upwards. She remembers how warm and new the concrete step off the porch felt, unlike the cement. So when she’s sitting in the hotel room in Dallas the night before the flight to New York, staring out the window, she has another thought. She’s not a prisoner now, but there’s so much she hasn’t seen. She hopes her parents won’t freak out. She decides to leave a note, a nice one this time. I need to explore. Please don’t panic. - Andie. They’re not quite used to the name yet, still let Alexandras and Allys slip out, making her wince. That’s not her anymore. Chris seems to get it, even if it hurts some little part of him that wanted things to be simple, to just have his sister back without having to get to know her all over again. She knocks on his door lightly, surprised at how quickly he answers. He’s still up, still dressed. He looks equally shocked. “What are you doing up?” She shushes him, afraid their parents will hear next door. ( But they’re not Him and there will be no punishment this time. ) “I have to see stuff,” She hisses, peering past him out the window, blinds drawn back. He hesitates a moment, sighs, then slips into his shoes, grabs his room key and slides it into his pocket. “Alright, what do you wanna see?” She doesn’t even know what there is to see. “Everything.” She gets ahead of him, bounces out of the lobby and into downtown. He doesn’t know his way around here; Austin would be a different story, but Dallas is foreign to him, too. “Let’s just walk! Come on,” She grabs his hand, pulls it, steps out in the street without even looking because she’s breathing in so deeply her chest seems to lead her blindly toward the new air, the neon lights, the sparkling of the buildings, honking horns. She looks like she could cry, but a laugh comes out instead. Reunion tower is flashing and when she turns, the hotel is, too, rainbow lights for Pride month, and for the shooting a few nights before. She keeps going, passes fountains and bars and cigarette smoke– it makes her pause, something new, and Chris pulls her along and sticks a piece of Nicorette in his mouth. She stops when they seem to reach some point of perfection, maybe what she sees as the center of the cluster of buildings, hotel and tower visible, and beams. “Take my picture.” He does, grinning, hardly believing his camera is focusing on her. It’s the first picture since the one on the poster. She is not MISSING anymore. She’s here, and loved, and free.
#screams#i don't even know y'all#it just... happened#it's been almost a year since i brought her#meaning it's been a year since she escaped#that's my baby and i'm really proud#so ok some of this is quite sad#then it gets sappy and joyful at the end#just be prepared#there are a lot of feelings#tw:abuse#tw:implied rape#tw:misogyny#tw:blood#my dallasite came out at the end rip#i actually love the city i just hate texas#bio
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
[MS] This is a story. I hope it's not too bad. Please give tips or feedback if you can.
The fog rose up in milky white tendrils chilling Will to the bone. The shovel heavy in his hands from digging so long. “It had to be done.” he thought to himself. The monotonous act of shoveling the dirt back into the hole wore at his soul. The cold dead eyes looked up at him. He threw some dirt on the head. The body had been disposed of and now the shovel. “They have my family, it’s not my fault.” Will justified to himself. He was sure they were watching him. The Order of the Clean Hand knew everything. He threw the shovel in a dumpster off the side of the first gas station he saw. Now they would release his family. At the hidden spot where he was told to wait for a taxi sat Will. As always, The Order of the Clean Hand arrived on time. Never early, never late, lest they be caught. He got in and the man drove him half a block from his crumbling apartment complex. Without saying a word, the driver gave him a small envelope.
“There’s been a change of plans! It seems we have one job left for you. Then, once we have confirmation your mission has been completed your family will be released. Now, moving on to the mission itself. The Order needs a certain someone disposed of. We need this done quickly so you have 24 hours to do the job before your family dies. Other information regarding the task will be written on the picture, burn this letter immediately.” said the letter and as always, it came with a picture of the victim. Despite not having slept in the past day while “taking care” of the previous guy, he was wide awake. He had no time to waste on sleep while his family was on the line. Even if they were lying, he couldn’t roll the die with such high stakes. He jogged over to where he had left the truck and got in. They hadn’t changed his vehicle yet.
Will had arrived. He checked the picture. The man, Howard Mills, was coming up to his driveway. He did not have any family or friends coming over, thus making the job quicker. He didn’t have to worry about the cover up, The Order did that part. Will walked up to the door, heart heavy with mounting fear, realizing he had no way to kill the man. The doorbell button was pushed, he’d figure it out along the way.
A kind looking gentlemen with a ginger mustache and a full head of hair opened it with a smile. “Hi, I’m with the local church and was hoping you could answer a survey for us!” said Will, holding nothing in his hands. The man stood in the doorway looking over Will’s dirt spattered clothes. With an uncomfortable smile and uncertain “Sure!” Howard Mills opened the door to his ragged guest. A soon to be regretted mistake.
“Can I get you anything to drink? Tea? Water?” Said Howard enthusiastically.
“Water, please.” answered Will.
On the walls were pictures of him and his family. “You have a family.” Will said, more than asked. Howard answered, saying they were visiting family while he poured the water. He contemplated what gave him the right to kill this man. Howard Mills also has a family. Will couldn’t even guarantee his family would be given back. Howard gave him the glass of water and asked “So, where's the survey?”
He received no reply. Instead, Will stood up, took a long sip, and threw the glass of water at Howard. Will silently looked through drawers, occasionally glancing at the unconscious Howard. He finally found what he was looking for. He proceeded to light a match, gazing at the flickering flame for a moment before setting the drapes afire. He needn’t worry about leaving a trail. The Order of the Clean Hand would take care of the evidence. Will walked out of the house, wondering if he made the right decision and if it wasn’t all for nothing.
He drove off to the spot where the messenger would meet him when the job was completed. He sat for a few minutes. They were probably watching. Soon enough, a taxi drove up. He got in wordlessly, as always and was handed a letter. It read “Hello, Will. You have completed our last mission and per our agreement, you should get your family back. There is an issue with our agreement, though. We are sorry to inform you that you dealt with this mission haphazardly and have been classified as a liability and a danger to us,The Order of the Clean Hand. Due to these reasons, you will not get your part of the agree-” He heard the cocking of a gun and looked up. The driver looked at him, his eyes begging for forgiveness before he pulled the trigger.
submitted by /u/In_An_Elmo_Cult
[link] [comments]
via Blogger https://ift.tt/2Ob2Ot6
0 notes
Text
September 1, 2018: 6:57 pm:
September 1, 2018: 6:15 pm:<br><br>I just returned from shopping for grocerie... StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-09-01 18:57:50-0700 - Updated: 2018-09-01 18:57:50-0700
September 1, 2018: 6:15 pm:
I just returned from shopping for groceries at Wal-Mart, a trip to the convenience store at the AM/PM Arco, and fuel at Fred Meyer gas station.
Dead-Mother-Fuckers happened.
StoneMan unscathed.
Terrorists die when their Nitrous Oxide tanks are ignited by an American who fights terrorism with a Bic Lighter.
Terrorists also die when Americans fight back in other ways. One way to fight back includes physically fighting a terrorist wielding a sword. I don't often write about the sword fighting for a variety of reasons. One reason I don't talk about the fighting a swordsman terrorist is that it simply is not believable. No one ever believes that I have encountered terrorists with swords at the grocery store, so I leave that part out of these entries most of the time. At the checkout line, in any and all of the grocery stores in Grants Pass and Medford Oregon, a swordsman terrorist kills victims there. Victims are Americans who are not part of the Seventh Day Adventist Church and not part of the Screen Actors Guild or a Public/Government Official, everyone else who is not part of those groups of people will be taken captive or killed right there in the checkout line. Victims are usually injured with a sword or a small caliber firearm, exposed to the Nitrous Oxide/Versed airborne gas, and then carted away into captivity for extraction of information such as banking information and the location of family members and where the victims birth certificate is located. Once the terrorists are satisfied that the victim has provided the information they want, then the victims are disposed of in a variety of ways. Everyone in the stores are terrorists. The people who wear the uniforms that the employees wear are terrorists, and, the fake customers who pretend to be shopping, are all terrorists, and belong to the Seventh Day Adventist Church, or the Screen Actor Guild or are government officials. Everyone... all of the people... they are all terrorist soldiers and have already killed all of the other, non-Seventh Day Adventist residents of the area. Josephine, Jackson, Douglas, and Klamath Counties are all 100% taken over and repopulated with impostor inhabitants. The rest of the state of Oregon is likely to be that same way, I know about these counties first hand, however, I strongly believe that the entire state is terrorist controlled and inhabited only with terrorist soldiers. I also believe that the state of California is also completely taken by the Seventh Day Adventist Screen Actor Guild terrorists who use Nitrous Oxide mixed with Versed airborne gas as an offensive weapon for the Vatican goal of global domination.
At the Wal-Mart, they are replacing the use of the swords for killing Victims with the use of euthanization poison. They have opened a place called "PetIQ" inside the Wal-Mart and have access to the drug that is normally used to put animals to sleep with. Euthanization.
Today, I encountered the terrorist armed with the euthanization syringe at the check-stand. The terrorist with the syringe was signaled by the terrorist who works at the check-stand that I was there (I have killed so many of their people there that they know who I am and where I live and are signaled when I leave my home to go shopping). The terrorist with the syringe also was releasing Nitrous Oxide/Versed airborne gas. The gas was ignited and the terrorist ran, or launched quickly away yelling "HOT! THAT'S HOT!"
I did not write an entry into this page yesterday. The reason is that I was attacked on August 29, on Thursday, by a large group of terrorist soldiers. I did not make an entry for a number of reasons, one of which is not knowing who the attackers were. Today, after the shopping trip in Socio-Terrific Dystopia, I know a little more and I will try and report some of what happened on Thursday. The attack was complicated and there were a lot of soldiers. No one is likely to believe any of what I write here about it, so, I will just sort of outline the events of Thursday in the comment section below in just a little while.
Shared with: Public
StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-09-01 20:47:14-0700
September 1, 2018: 8:04 pm:
On Thursday morning, I received a phone call from someone who said he was a representative of a power-line maintenance company. The power- line maintenance requires that trees be trimmed back away from the power lines in the easement. Dead trees within the easement are cut down completely, and trees that have grown close to the power lines are trimmed. The Power-Line easement maintenance happens about once every five years. The employees of the contracted company have all been replaced with terrorist soldiers and are very strong, young men. The man who called said his name was Robert Corey, he called from this number:
458-225-4217
Mr. Corey represented himself as an agent of both the tree service company, and Pacific Power Corporation. I agreed to meet him outside since I have four power poles and a transformer on my property, as well as an easement for said poles and lines. He explained on the phone that he was alone, and had no one else with him, and that all he needed to do was look at the power lines, and mark trees that would be cut down completely. He said he was looking for standing dead trees and wanted to discuss with me personally about trees within the easement that would be cut completely rather than trimmed away. The Power company would prefer to have no trees at all in the easement but the easements are on private property, so they discuss the matter with the home owners to try and convince the homeowners to remove trees within the easement.
I knew there would be trouble before going outside to meet Mr. Corey, but I did not know the extent of the trouble that would occur. I went outside and found a person climbing onto my roof on a ladder. That person, I believe is a young man by the name of Brett English. Whoever it was, had with him a ladder from Nathan Phillips terrorist cell at five-twenty "MyStreet". The ladder was carried by Nathan Phillips two sons Wyatt and Boone who are about seven and eight years old. I pulled the man down, he fell hard on his back, I asked who he was, he said "Brett". The two children ran and hid into a nearby creek area. "Brett English" is a terrorist who is associated with the United States Postal Service, which has also been taken over by the terrorists. Brett will no longer be a threat to me or anyone else and that is all that I am willing to write about that particular encounter.
I walked down the driveway to see where the man who called was at. There was a white pick-up truck in the roadway in front of my driveway, and a man walking quickly towards me. That man, I think was a man I know of, Frank Mazola. I am not certain, there was a lot going on. Behind Mr. Mazola was the truck, and there were two individuals dressed in black head to toe who ran towards the truck and opened the door. That's is when I saw that Frank had a gun and was pointing it at me demanding money. I took the gun from his hand, it went off and the bullet struck a female who was hiding in the bushes releasing Nitrous Oxide. She ran towards the house at four-three-four yelling "I'm Hit!". Frank got shot in the head and so did the two men in black that were running near the truck. This story goes on and on. I am not going to disclose further about the details because so many people did in my driveway on Thursday.
I learned at the store today from the terrorist who works the counter at the AM/PM, and from the gas station attendant at the Fred Meyer that the entire Nathan Phillips cell had been killed. The terrorists who told me this at the stores are not happy about that, but they did tell me... by asking me if I killed Nathan. I told them that I don't check ID when I defend myself.
So, it appears as though no less than nine terrorist assassins died while trying to kill me on Thursday. Part of Nathan Phillips cell are impostor Oregon State Police who have badges, squad cars, and real police guns. They have the keys to the State Police Office and have all of the surveillance equipment also.
That is all I am going to say about it.
No help has come.
There is no law enforcement to call. This is the only means of reporting the terrorists activities that I have available.
I keep trying to get help from the federal agencies and they refuse to respond.
I have been sending messages through Twitter lately to the Department of Defense and to the US Navy, and to the State Department, and to Department of Homeland Security and no one answers that calls for help.
No one answers the calls, and, I have not been arrested for making false reports. The reports are real. However, if they won't respond, then I should have been arrested a long, long time ago.
I am going to keep watching to see if the Nathan Phillips cell is really out of commission.
StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-09-02 18:05:50-0700
September 2, 2018: 5:49 pm:
In the entries above I explained how I was attacked by a group of terrorists that are associated with Pacific Power Corporation, a Maintenance company that contracts with the Pacific Power, The United States Postal Service and neighbor terrorist cells at 434 and 520 "MyStreet".
I still have not been able to confirm who the people were or from which terrorist cell. I am only going by what I see and hear. The terrorists where disguises and heavy Hollywood style make-up, so without any one to help me know for sure who these people are, I have to wait and see what happens later on.
This entry here is being made because I was looking at when that phone call came in from the man who said he was Robert Corey. My phone indicates the call came in on the 28 of August, which was a Tuesday. In my explanation above, I wrote that it happened on Thursday, but I also indicated the 29 of August. I cannot explain the discrepancy. Either I made a mistake when writing the information, or the mistake was put there by others associated with Google. Also, nine people died in my driveway that day, and the mess was cleaned up by some other group of people, most likely the Monroe terrorist cell at 434.
There is also a possibility that I am so stressed out about the events that I made a mistake about the date of the event associated with Robert Corey. That is possible since there is so much Nitrous Oxide mixed with Versed airborne gas being blown around and into my home that my memory is not as good as it would be if no poisonous gas was being used in my neighborhood.
I apologize for the mixed up date of the event, but I choose to leave it the way I wrote it along with this little explanation.
Also, I have not seen or heard any activity from 520 "MyStreet" since that day, so, it does appear that the people who attacked me included Nathan Phillips and his terrorist cell members.
StoneMan .Warrior - 2018-09-05 18:58:21-0700
September 5, 2018: 6:46 pm:
Those pieces on the ground is all the work that Wrights Trees Service did for Pacific Power Corporation easement maintenance. Clearly, in remembrance of the nine terrorists who died in my driveway on Tuesday the 28 of August, those workers today were NOT here to do any maintenance work. They came to kill. That is what terrorists do, they kill. They kill Americans for no reason at all other than they are advancing an agenda of global domination under Vatican Rule. These Wrights Tree Service guys are special assassins who came to get even, or get revenge for what happened to Mr. Corey. As you might have guessed, I am NOT divulging everything that happened today. Everything that happened today would require a stack of Fifth Amendments to the Constitution of the United States of America. The Fifth Amendment is useful in times of conditions of war, but when war has not been declared. That is exactly what is happening in the United States of America right now... conditions of an undeclared war exist and great numbers of American Citizens are being slaughtered because no one has informed them that there is a war... no one has told the citizens to fight back... no one has said "Fight terrorism with a Bic Lighter" other than me, StoneMan.
0 notes
Text
Scene 2
QUANTICO, VIRGINIA, 5:20 P.M
"How much longer?" Cody, an experience Air Force Federal Agent, panted. Sweat dripping from his cocoa skin as he worked an old, warn rake into the wet leaves scattered around the yard.
His heavy breathing and glistening forehead made a woman, not much younger than him, laugh.
"Man up Marine, we have a few more hours of yard work," she taunted as she continued to rake up the leaves and twigs rustled up by the recent Spring storm.
"I'm not as young as I used to be, Kim," he sighed, cracking his back and neck to emphasize his point. "The Corp got the best of me. I'm wounded." He patted his left shoulder, building up his argument.
Kim smirked, "Then tell me, Cody, if this is pure torture for an old wounded vet, such as yourself, then why did you volunteer?" She tugged off her gloves to expose her sweat-covered, calloused hands.
"The same reason I volunteered for the Corp." He said vaguely. He knew that his co-worker and close friend for six years and counting would understand him, without him having to waste any of his precious breath to explain.
She rolled her eyes and guessed, "Karen?" With his nod she dared to venture into the conversation, "So what's up now?" She didn't really need to ask the question, but she would allow the wounded vet some time to vent.
"Same as always." He stiffened and his nose, rubbing dirt into his skin.
Kim nodded knowingly and motioned for him to follow her to the wooden picnic table set out in the middle of the yard. She jumped up onto it, to begin the disposal of her cold-brew while Cody joined her, appreciating the break she was giving him.
"Okay. So..." she took a second to organize her thoughts as she proceeding with a deep sigh, "do you think she's serious this time?"
He looked up, surprised that she had skipped the explaining part of what usually became his weekly therapy session, and went straight to his personal feelings on the matter. He now realized that these sessions were feeling more and more like he was spilling his guts to a shrink, then to his best friend. Each week he could see more of the therapist's pen writing down thoughts while listening to his repetitive story; almost could hear the silent judgment that she hid in her questions; and could almost feel the soft cushion of the shrink's couch soaking in his problems, but he was reminded by Kimberly's soft voice that she was listening, as a friend.
She didn't make eye-contact while she waited for him to reply, just straightened out her white Beach Boys t-shirt and sipped more of her coffee. She was, in the back of her mind, convincing herself to wake up at five, the next morning, to go running. But by the time he replied she had lost the battle and decided to sleep in.
"It's Karen, of course, she's not, but I have to humor her or she'll threaten to get a restraining order... again."
Kim hid a half smile, drawing herself back to the conversation, "It's been three years, maybe you should start thinking about getting a restraining order filed against her."
"Thought about it," he chuckled. "A restraining order won't help her or the boys. They need someone." After Cody caught a teasing look from Kim, he corrected himself, "She needs someone."
"Wait... are you asking me to set her up? 'Cause I know a ton of guys interested in psychotic ex-wives, with 'special' separation issues," she teased, hoping to get a laugh out of him.
He looked down, shaking his head with a chuckle, "That's not funny." He licked his lips, trying to suppress the smile that formed on them.
Her cell started to ring, but they didn't let it interrupt their conversation as he went on to argue.
She slid the phone out of her left back pocket and before answering she responded in a whisper, "I think it is..."
"Kimberly." She cut Cody off as she answered with a chuckle. Her happy-go-lucky expression disappeared and her posture stiffened as she listened to the caller. "Yep. Got it, we're on way."
She hung up then gulped down the rest of her coffee.
"Work?" The Marine set his glass down and stripped off the gardening gloves.
She nodded, hopping off the picnic table and onto the dead, wet grass.
"We got a body in Norfolk." She took off running to her large blue suburban house set back from the others on the Virginian middle-classed street.
"Just think of it. One more hour and Tare's team would have been called in, and we would have gotten a normal weekend." He picked up the two rakes they had left in the grass with a sigh and set them to lean against the picnic table.
"I can't. I get too depressed." She shrugged and grabbed a gray backpack that she had dropped on the steps of her porch when she had gotten home from work that afternoon.
"Can't we change?" Cody asked, rubbing the dirt off his bright red plaid shirt that was tucked into his jeans.
"No time. Boss is already on her way to Norfolk." Frowning, she hopped into the passenger seat of a silver Chrysler parked in her driveway.
He got in alongside her, "Can't we at least take your truck?" he argued, "I don't feel half as bad being dirty in your truck."
She slapped his shoulder offended by his comment, "My truck's in the shop. They said they would deliver it early tomorrow morning."
His Chrysler was clean... very clean. It's black leather exterior and shiny silver frame matched Cody's clean personality like a dog matched its owner. There wasn't any fingerprints or dust blemishing the beautiful appearance of the dashboard or stirring wheel. Kimberly guessed that after spending a tour as a marine in Afghanistan covered in dirt and sweat every day, that Cody became pretty particular about how he looked and smelled.
"Your truck's in the shop again?" Cody tried to make eye-contact with Kim, but she avoided doing so. "Okay. Fine. We'll take my brand new car, but after we've closed this case, we're going car shopping for you."
She frowned teasingly, "Scottie said he'd look at it! I think he can fix it."
"Scottie has already looked at it. I asked him, and he told me it's dead." He smiled gently.
"So what if it's dead?"
"You admit it?"
Kim scoffed. After a few moments, a smirked appeared upon her lips, "I'll consider admitting it's dead... if you let me set up your ex-wife."
Cody stared at her stiffly, waiting to see if she would crack, "No way."
"Fine." She stared back, her gaze unwavering.
"Not happening."
"Okay."
"Not. A. Chance."
"No problemo."
Giving in he grumbled, "...I'll consider it." He broke eye contact and started his car.
Kim cocked eyebrows in victory, "Deal."
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
raineandsky
Writing in the Raine
selegciones
Seleg ciones
heelbucks
maxie's girl♡︎
collegebambi
CollegeBambi