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just-jordie-things · 9 months

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[part thirteen] to build a home - gojo satoru

word count: 5.6k warnings: !!manga spoilers!! swearing, jjk-verse style fighting series summary: when (y/n) (y/l/n) catches wind that the notorious sorcerer killer, toji fushiguro, has children, she makes it her personal mission to find them. the catch being she couldn't tell a soul about them- the risk of the zen'in clan learning about them was too great. keeping the secret isn't the hard part, it's lying to her friends, shoko ieiri, geto suguru, and of course gojo satoru, that she struggles with. especially when satoru has suddenly become so keen on keeping an eye on her lately.

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[part thirteen] : “Melt My Soul” ___

How long after a traumatic incident does your body begin to process it? A minute? A day? Or was it the very moment the incident took place?

Does the soul know that this event was going to change the body forever? Or is it the body that processes the trauma the quickest, in order to protect the soul from the impending pain and grief?

It feels as though someone had drilled into (y/n’s) bones, and filled them with metal. Quick hardening, heavy, toxic metal. It keeps her trapped in place, stuck.

So stuck, she glances down to study the concrete of the sidewalk, just to see if there was a curse there keeping her put, or cement being poured over her feet.

But no, there was nothing holding her in place. It was simply her own mind, processing the scene before her too slowly for any of her other bodily functions to operate.

She’s standing outside of a KFC, of all places, close to Shoko’s side, and just barely hiding behind Satoru. She doesn’t exactly mean to be hiding, but again, she can’t bring herself to move. Her hands are curled into fists so tight that they’re shaking- or was that just me? She wondered, and hoped at least no one could notice.

Shoko did. She hadn’t taken her eyes off of (y/n’s) trembling hands since she’d arrived.

Neither of them had said a word, but even if they weren’t frozen in shock, there wouldn’t have been a chance to. Satoru hadn’t offered even a moment for someone to cut in with their own piece of mind.

“What’re you getting at!?” He snarled loudly, not caring about the non-curse users passing by, just trying to go about their days.

(y/n’s) eyes landed on a particular disgruntled couple, who hastened their steps upon seeing the public display. How she wished to be them, at this moment. What a luxury, to find this scene annoying, maybe mildly entertaining.

To think the world as she knew it was crashing down around her, burning up into a crisp. If only she could walk away and roll her eyes.

“If I could be you…” Suguru speaks and it sounds rehearsed, calculated, as if he’d had this conversation before. “Wouldn’t my impossible ideal become possible?”

“You can’t be serious” Satoru’s voice finally drops in volume, and (y/n’s) eyes dart from one friend to the other.

She stares at Satoru hard, trying to read him, trying to figure out what was going through his mind. It’s useless, because she already knows. She already knows exactly what he’s thinking, because she’s thinking the same thing.

Satoru’s hand curls into a fist, and when (y/n) notices it, she relaxes her own hands, which suddenly feel sore from how long she’s kept them tensed. Her palms feel raw as the cool breeze hits them.

For the first time since she’d arrived, she opens her mouth.

“Don’t do this, Suguru,”

All eyes are on her now as she steps forward. Her entire body is aching, maybe from the intense workout she’d done before warping here, maybe from the way the heartbreak is killing her soul.

But then again, what was one more heartbreak?

“Just- just come back, okay? Come back home and we can- we can talk this out”

Satoru and Shoko stare at her, surprised by the offer, wondering if she meant it, that she’d forgive him for his heinous crimes against non-sorcerers, against his own family.

What they don’t know is she’s speaking without thinking. The words that fall from her take a piece of her heart with them, making them sound like the most sincere thing she’s ever spoken, but truthfully, she just doesn’t want to accept that this is who Geto Suguru was now. She wanted to give him a chance to prove it all wrong. She wanted to give them all a chance to forget the last few months and go back to normal.

Suguru chuckles, shaking his head and plastering on a smile.

“Ever the hypocrite, (y/n),” He says, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Her posture stiffens, and her features harden too. Forgiveness was only Plan A. Her fingers twitch at her sides, and she fights the urge to curl them back into fists.

“Your exhaustion becomes you,” Suguru continues, with a smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes, which are pointed at her with a venom (y/n) can recognize even from the distance she’s at. “I see you’ve made your choice”

It’s a comment that doesn’t make sense to the others, but (y/n) knows fully well what Suguru was getting at. Her teeth grit together.

“Don’t you speak to me about choices!”

On it’s own angered accord, her arm shoots over her shoulder, fingers wrapping firmly around the hilt of one of her swords. Before she can unsheath it, Satoru’s hand is around her wrist, halting her.

Her head whips towards him so fast she hears a joint pop in her neck, but she’s not bothered by the unsettling crack, consumed enough by her rage to glare at him, silently demanding to know why he was stopping her. Satoru doesn’t say a word, but when he slowly releases his hold on her, she doesn’t try to draw her weapon again. The fire in her eyes doesn’t die as he holds her glare.

Suguru laughs to himself, shrugging his shoulders.

“I suppose this is goodbye, to all of you”

Satoru and (y/n) look back over to him, neither of them knowing what to say. Shoko is wilting behind them both, not having said a word since Satoru and (y/n) had shown up.

Suguru raises his hand, giving what appeared to be a friendly wave. It feels like a finishing blow. With that, he turns around, and walks away. He doesn’t run, he doesn’t summon one of the many curses he could have used to carry him away at high speed. He simply strolls away.

Satoru raises his arm, and (y/n) watches with baited breath as he positions his middle and forefinger to his palm, tucked there by his thumb, and keeps it aimed directly at Suguru.

It’s only for a few seconds, but with her breath caught in her throat, it felt like ages.

Did she want him to do it? Her heart pounded in her chest, getting quicker with every beat. Did she want to stop him, just as he had stopped her? Did she want to beg him not to kill him?

The question hits her, and her breath is finally released, a heavy, shaky exhale that makes her entire body deflate.

Did she want Suguru to die?

Satoru lowers his arm, although his eyes are still trained on the spot his best friend once stood. He was gone now, lost in the crowd of people. Leaving the three of them to stand together, staring at that spot, at a loss for words.

What was there to say? Their best friend had defected, he wasn’t the person they knew, he was a murderer.

(y/n’s) the first to move, although it’s staggered, she takes a step back, putting distance between herself and the others. Satoru and Shoko look at her with worry, and Shoko even reaches out a hand, as though to help stabilize her. (y/n) takes another step backwards.

“(y/n/n)...” The girl whispers, but (y/n) can’t even meet her eyes. Her own eyes are glazed over, locked in a fixed position on the ground.

I can’t dwell on this, she thinks to herself rationally. Her heart begs her to let go, to sit down, to breathe, but she ignores it. I need to move on. I need to focus on Megumi and Tsumiki. I can’t let this distract me.

“(y/n), slow down,” Shoko’s voice is closer to her now, and (y/n) barely registers how her hands set on her shoulders with a feather-light weight. “Breathe”

She doesn’t notice her breathing has gone ragged, uneven. She’s panicking. This is a panic attack.

Move on, she wills herself to get over the incident like it wasn’t her present situation. Think about the kids, and move on, she tries anyway, because she has to.

The funny thing about trauma was that you couldn’t bend it to your will. It hits her now that her chest is heaving, her mouth is dropped open as she gasps for air.

Shoko’s trying to get her to focus, something about matching her breathing, and looking at her, but (y/n’s) vision was blurry, and she couldn’t hear a thing over her pounding heart and her own thoughts.

You only have two days left to prepare, she reminds herself. In two days, the Zen’in Clan is going to come for Megumi, she repeats it like a mantra, a toxic coping mechanism to combat the panic threatening her body.

She had no time for things like panic and fear.

If you don’t get it together, you’ll lose them. And if you lose them, what will you have left? You’ve pushed everything away to protect them, you put your life on pause, and you’re about to risk what’s left of it by challenging one of the most prominent families in Jujutsu Society.

Finally, her head snaps up, wide eyes meeting Shoko’s, who flinches upon the contact, and then she turns to Satoru, who was now also standing before her. (y/n) doesn’t say anything as she looks between them both, and neither do they, at first, but their concern is evident.

“Are you alright?” Satoru asks, leaning in closer as he speaks. She holds his eye contact, but it doesn’t look to him like she’s processing a word he’s saying. “(y/n),” He says her name, catching a flicker of recognition in her eyes. “Can you breathe?”

You don’t have time for panic, the voice in her head reminds her ruthlessly. You don’t have time for any of this.

She looks back to Shoko, whose tears are spilling onto her cheeks, after too long of holding back her emotions. Her lip quivers, and her hands tighten on (y/n’s) shoulders, gripping the fabric of her uniform shirt.

You need to leave, the voice commands, and she doesn’t give it a second thought.

She draws her hand upwards, not noticing the violent tremble of her entire arm, she brings her middle and pointer finger to her forehead, closing the rest of her hand. Satoru recognizes this motion instantly, and jumps forward to rip her hand away from her head.

Using Hexing Eye so recklessly couldn’t be good for her right now. She hadn’t perfected it, hadn’t learned to use it as a means for teleportation, and without a hex in place, she was bound to lose consciousness as soon as she warped.

(y/n’s) faster, throwing herself backwards just as she closes her eyes and focuses her mind on her dorm room.

“Don’t-!” She barely hears Satoru’s voice before she’s warped away. It’s distant, almost an echo, almost dream-like.

Her body lands hard on the floor of her room before she even has the time to open her eyes again. With a groan of pain, she tries stretching her already aching limbs.

I guess that’s why you don’t teleport while mid-fall, she thinks bitterly, pushing herself off the floor on a shaky arm. Her legs aren’t any better, wobbling like jello as she half-drags herself onto her bed.

She’s going to be bombarded by Satoru and Shoko later, for this defiant act, she knows. And even as her strength is giving out and her vision is blurring in focus, she thinks it was what she had to do.

She tries to plan on what she’s going to do tomorrow when she sees the Fushiguro kids, but she loses consciousness just as their faces flicker in her mind.

Using Hexing Eye without a hex on the place she was warping to still wasn’t a viable form of transportation.

A tear slips down her cheek as she passes out, still in her uniform, mind still swarming with half-baked strategy plans, and fear.

Despite finally getting a few hours of sleep after two days, it wasn’t a night of rest. ___

When (y/n) picks up the Fushiguro kids from school the following afternoon, they can see her weariness right away. Even though she smiles, and excitedly asks about how their last couple days had been, they can see through it all.

The bags under her eyes are dark and heavy, and she’s moving slower, almost stumbling over her own feet. Tsumiki and Megumi share a look of concern, neither of them knowing how to approach the subject. As involved as (y/n) was in their lives, she hadn’t been very open about her own life outside of them.

Tsumiki takes her hand as they walk home together. She knew she wouldn’t be strong enough to catch her if she fell, but she hoped that it was enough to bring her some sense of comfort.

Megumi tangles his fingers together, picking at his skin nervously. He’s reminded of the day in the park, when he’d seen her talking to a supposed friend from her school. He remembers how she’d looked when she’d told him that a fellow peer of hers had passed away.

She has that same look in her eye now, he notices.

(y/n) feels him staring at her, and when she looks down at him, she gives him a smile.

It looks genuine enough, but he knows it isn’t. It doesn’t reach her eyes.

Once they get back to the Fushiguro house, (y/n) is quick to whip them up an afternoon snack while they get started on their homework. Tsumiki and Megumi get right to work, quietly focused on their assignments.

(y/n) sets down the plate of snacks between them, quietly praising them for working so hard.

As she takes a seat next to Tsumiki, Megumi notices the way her body seems to slump into the chair, as though melting into it. He quickly lowers his gaze back to his homework, but the sight troubles him.

She looked like she was going to drop and pass out any moment.

He tries not to worry about it, because she might not be a real grown up, but she was older than he was, and she was always put together like a real grown up. Megumi knew that he looked up to her like a grown up, and grown ups didn’t look like this.

He didn’t know what he was looking at, really.

Both kids finish up their homework quickly, and are quick to gather on the sofa to watch tv and relax for the evening.

(y/n’s) slower, still sat at the kitchen table while they dove into their program. She was still mulling over her options, trying to figure out if it was wrong to hide the letter from them, or if it would be more wrong to tell them about such an adult matter.

Which wasn’t fair, she cursed herself, hanging her head in her hands. She wasn’t an adult either, she shouldn’t have to deal with all of these decisions either.

Despite her better judgment, she decides to put it off for just a little longer.

She gets up from her seat, and slowly makes her way over to the living room sofa, plopping herself in the space between both kids.

“So, what are we watching? Catch me up” She tells them with a smile, and Tsumiki happily fills her in on the drama in her favorite characters’ lives.

(y/n) tries to sink back into that familiar, domestic feeling she’d grown accustomed to when she’d first joined their lives. That sense of normalcy that she’d tethered herself to. But even as she engages with Tsumiki, asks her silly questions about the show, she can’t help but fear this may very well be the last normal night she spends with them. Tomorrow was Friday, so she wouldn’t see them, and the next day… well, the next day she’d have to face the Zen’in Clan.

Before her mind can derail further, (y/n) feels eyes burning in the back of her head, and she turns to see Megumi staring up at her, completely turned away from the tv.

His expression is neutral, but his eyes are hard as he holds his stare on her. She almost feels uncomfortable, but she covers it with a small chuckle and a quirked brow.

“Somethin’ wrong, Megumi?” She asks.

His eyes shift to his sister, who gives a small shake of her head, warning him not to say anything about (y/n’s) troubling demeanor. Megumi sighs, and sinks back into the couch, focused on the tv again.

“No” he mumbles back to her.

He’s not a good liar, but he’s eight, so (y/n) lets it go. He seems to relax as he watches the show, anyway, so she figured whatever it was, couldn’t be too big of a deal.

The rest of the night continues in the same way. Until eventually she’s bringing them both upstairs to put them to bed, just like she always does on nights she spends with them. Except tonight, Tsumiki hugs her for a little longer than usual, and Megumi lingers in front of his bed, unwilling to get it.

“Megumi,” (y/n) calls softly from his doorway. “Are you alright?”

He turns around to face her, revealing the book in his hands. Charlotte’s Web.

He hesitates before speaking.

“I’m not tired…” He says, but his voice sounds slow and sleepy. “Will you read to me for a bit?”

(y/n) smiles, nodding her head back at him.

“Yeah,” She agrees, not thinking twice about the time, or how she should be getting back to Jujutsu Tech soon. “Yeah, of course”

“Can we go back to the couch?” He asks.

(y/n) wants to ask why she can’t read to him while he’s tucked into bed like she usually did, but she quickly assumes he’s just being a kid that wants to fight sleep, so she nods her head.

“Sure” She agrees with a smile, and steps out of the doorway so he could lead the way down the stairs.

Megumi climbs onto the couch with his book in one hand, his other hand reaching for the ratty old throw blanket on the cushion beside him. (y/n) takes a seat beside him, taking the book and flipping to the page that he’d last marked.

“How many times have you read this now, anyways?” She asks.

Megumi ducks his head shyly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I dunno,” He admits. “It’s my favorite”

She smiles as she looks back at the page before her.

“It’s becoming my favorite too” She says, before she starts at the top, and begins reciting the story she’s told him many times before.

She gets through about a chapter and a half, with Megumi curled up in his blanket beside her, his eyes following along as she reads. He’d had most of the story memorized by now, it really was his favorite, but he couldn’t get enough of it.

“Hey, (y/n)?”

His voice is quiet when he cuts her off mid sentence, but (y/n) stops speaking instantly, turning to give him her attention.

“What is it?” She hums, her finger holding her place in the book.

“Tsumiki said it was rude to ask,” He began, his eyes focused on his lap. “Are you okay?”

(y/n’s) brow furrows in concern, but Megumi doesn’t look up, too busy playing with his fingers.

“It’s not rude…” She says slowly, trying to find the right thing to say. “And I’m okay”

It’s not very convincing.

Megumi looks up at her, blinking his wide eyes as he stares at her in disbelief.

“You don’t look okay,” He says, and it’s blunt, but it’s the truth, and he doesn’t know how else to make her be truthful with him, too. “You look tired. And sick”

(y/n) chuckles at how intuitive he is.

“I appreciate the concern, honey,” She says, trying to play it off. “But don’t worry about it, I’m just fine”

“Did you have another mission?” He asks.

(y/n) winces, shaking her head.

“No, not exactly,” She says honestly. “I’ve just been… busy… that’s all”

Megumi frowns, not caring for the bullshit answer. It wasn’t like her to lie like most adults did, when they thought they were being smart and misdirecting. (y/n) almost laughs at how such a young boy can tell when she’s beating around the bush.

“Megumi, you don’t need to worry about me-”

“But you worry about us all the time,” He mumbles defeatedly. “And you don’t look very good so… so we’re worried about you,”

He blinks, and (y/n) swears she even sees tears in his eyes. Fretting over him, she closes the book, and brings one leg onto the couch so she could face him properly.

“Can you just tell me the truth?” He asks quietly.

(y/n) sighs, but nods her head. When he asks her so sincerely, she can’t bear to lie to him again.

“Of course,” She says, because if he’s telling her it’s what he needs, then it must be the right thing to do. “Megumi…” She starts, but the words fail her as soon as she tries.

How does she explain her situation to an eight year old?

“I… I had a friend. A close friend,” She begins.

Megumi’s eyes widened.

“A boyfriend?”

“No,” (y/n) scoffs, pushing his shoulder gently. “I’m too busy raising kids, I don’t have time for a boyfriend. But this was my best friend. And he… well he recently left the school”

“The one from the park?” Megumi tilts his head.

(y/n) frowns, before turning her face away to quickly hide the sadness of the whole situation she’d been trying to bury. It appeared she had quite a friends that weren’t around anymore, for whatever their reason. Megumi also frowns at this.

“No… no this is a different friend,” (y/n) says quietly. “Do you remember when I told you about the sorcerers who… who don’t want to follow the rules?”

“That they defect?” Megumi asks.

If it didn’t break her heart, (y/n) would praise him for his sharp memory.

“That’s right,” She murmurs. “Well… that’s what’s happened to my friend,” She tells him. “He didn’t want to follow the rules anymore, so… he left”

“Oh…” Megumi looks back down at his lap. “Did he die?” He asks quietly.

“No, no he didn’t die,” (y/n) said.

She lays her palm between his shoulder blades, rubbing his back comfortingly. Even as she censors some of the truth from him, she feels like her words are still putting a weight on his shoulders.

“I’ve been sad because he left,” She tells him. “I probably won’t ever see him again”

I hope I don’t see him again, she thinks.

“That’s worse,” Megumi says sadly. “I’d rather know that they’re gone forever for a reason”

(y/n) feels her heart leap into her throat, and she can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking about his dad. She’s surprised a child so young could understand how she feels. It hurts her more, knowing he’s experienced this same heartache.

“I think I’d have to agree,” (y/n) hums, raising her hand to mess up his hair. Megumi looks up at her with a frown. “It’s not easy being a Jujutsu Sorcerer,” She tells him. “I never said it was easy, never thought it’d be easy…”

Megumi pulls her hand out of his hair before she could mess it up further, before he fixes the messy locks himself.

(y/n) looks at him, and swallows the lump in her throat that makes her want to cry. If only he were older and she could explain all of this to him.

“But listen, Megumi,” She leans forward, and hopes he can take her seriously, even for just a minute. “You don’t have to worry about me, okay? I’ll be just fine,” She gives him a smile. “I’m sorry I made you worry, but you don’t have to worry that little head of yours about me anymore, alright?”

Megumi isn’t sure if he should believe her, but she ruffles his hair again with a laugh just to mess with him, and when he swats her hand away she only laughs more, so he thinks she’s okay, for now.

“You know you don’t have to raise us, right?” He asks.

(y/n’s) eyes widen at him, stunned to silence.

“It’s okay, if… if you have to go. You have a lot to do, don’t you?” Megumi drops his head again. “We would understand. We would be okay”

Her heart breaks, and before thinking, she reaches out and wraps her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Megumi, I’ve told you before,” She has to focus on keeping her voice even. “I’m sticking around whether you want me to or not”

His hands cling to the back of her shirt.

“There’s nothing that would make me leave you guys. I knew what I was getting into when I met you both. I knew what I was getting into when I started looking for you. And I’m still not going anywhere”

She rubs his back and keeps hugging him until he pulls away. Her focus remains on him, and she frowns when she sees tears on his face. Her fingers gently reach out to brush them away.

“I know you won’t just leave” Megumi sniffles.

(y/n) takes his little hands, smiling at him fondly.

“I won’t ever leave,” She whispers. “I’ve put a lot of trouble into watching out for you two. You’re important to me. And I’m going to make sure you guys can have everything you want”

Megumi musters up a small smile.

“Okay,” He mumbles, pulling his hands away to wipe the rest of the wetness off of his face. “Can you read a little more?”

(y/n) smiles warmly, and nods her head.

“Of course,” She says, picking the book up again, flipping through the pages to find the spot she lost.

Megumi gathers himself up in the blanket once more, and when she finally finds their place and begins reading again, he leans against her arm. He might have an eight year old’s willpower to stay up late, but the tiredness had finally caught up to him.

It didn’t take long before he fell asleep against her. (y/n) stayed still for a while, marking her place in the book and setting it aside while she sat quietly with the sleeping boy.

She petted his head gently, untangling the knots in his hair with careful fingers, and making his body relax more as he drifted deeper into his slumber. Even long after he’d fallen asleep there, she remained by his side.

I hope you believe me, Megumi, she thinks as she lays her own head against the back of the couch cushion, suddenly finding the old thing the most comfortable place she’s ever rested. And I hope you forgive me.

She drifts off to sleep with her hand on his head, and hopeful thoughts that she can do right by him. ___

With a jolt, (y/n’s) body is thrown forward in bed, tears streaming down her face and her hand outstretched, reaching for an imaginary figure, one that had been suffering before her in her dreams, but now was nowhere to be seen.

Panting to catch her breath, she tries to tell herself it was just that, a dream. Well, a nightmare. It was over now.

“(y/n)?” A tired, raspy voice rang out, before a warm hand smoothed over her shoulder. “You alright, sweetheart?”

“Satoru,” She breathes out his name as she turns to face him, a relief spreading through her chest upon seeing him there. “You’re here”

Her breathing steadies as she looks at him, his sleepy eyes and disheveled hair a sign that he’d actually been sleeping comfortably. She was surprised, considering he’d spent most of his nights in her room to dote on her, to ensure she was the one that slept well. Since Yu’s death, she’d been plagued with nightmares, the reminder that even jujutsu sorcerers face their mortality had been brutal.

“Well ‘course I am,” Satoru mumbles, giving her a small smile. “Where else would I be?”

She’s not sure why, but when she’d first laid eyes on him, his presence had shocked her before it had relaxed her. Her brows furrow as she wonders why that is, but she quickly brushes it off and lets herself relax.

The nightmare was over. She was here now, and so was he.

With languid movements, Satoru props himself up on his elbows, his eyes flickering over her curiously.

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, pulling his hand from her shoulder to rub the tiredness out of his eyes. “Your nightmare?”

(y/n) pulls her knees to her chest, keeping her arms wrapped around them so she could comfortably rest her chin there. The longer she was awake, the more the horrors of her dream seemed to fade away, until it was just a few flashes of images that barely made sense.

“I think I’ll be alright,” She replies, laying her cheek against her folded arms so she could look over at him. “Satoru,” She hums his name softly. “Thank you, for staying with me,”

He gave her a look, displaying his confusion with her sudden sentiment.

“I don’t think I ever thanked you,” She says. “And I should have, a long time ago. So, thank you. For everything”

Satoru sits up, mimicking her position as he rests his arms on his legs, staring at her with an intensity behind his cerulean eyes that only she seemed to be able to take on directly.

“You want to thank me…” He says slowly, before his brows furrow. “When all of this… has been your doing?”

The chill that shoots down her spine seems to spread over her heart. The relaxation that had settled into her bones now replaced with freezing cold fear. (y/n) lifts her head up, unblinking as she stared at him.

“What?” She mumbles, her voice barely audible.

“You couldn’t track down Toji, and I almost died” Satoru spits out.

“No…” (y/n) shook her head in a small but trembling motion. “No, I… I followed him for days I- I did everything I could to-”

“Tch,” Satoru scoffs, the disgust evident in his face now as he glares at her. “And then you don’t even have the guts to fess up,” He mutters. “You sneak around and lie and cheat. What makes you think it will be any different?”

As he snarls at her he shoots forward, and she flinches, hard enough she had to steady herself so she didn’t tumble out of her bed.

“You think that you can protect them? You?”

She’s still shaking her head, unable to find her voice, or any words to defend herself. Where was this coming from? Why was he doing this?

“You can barely operate your own cursed technique, you have the ability of a first year, and you’re spineless, (y/n). It’s pathetic that you consider yourself a jujutsu sorcerer”

“‘I- I’m doing everything I-” She tries to speak, but it’s useless. Her breath had gone ragged and the panic inside of her was bubbling up too much for her to focus on speaking.

Satoru leans closer, and even though they’re both sitting, he towers over her as his glare hardens. She’s never seen him so filled with hate, and the fact that it’s directed at her makes her heart drop to her stomach.

“Your ‘everything’ isn’t good enough,” His voice is a low growl.

Tears burn in her eyes.

“How can you be the only one that doesn’t see that?” He laughs bitterly. “How are you the only one left that can’t see how weak you are?”

“I- I’m sorry-”

“Even your apologies mean nothing!” He yells now, and she squeezes her eyes shut so she doesn’t have to look at him any more. “You’re destined to fail, you’re weak, just like the rest of them. You can barely protect yourself, you think you can protect Megumi? Tsumiki?”

“I have to try!” She wails, but it’s drowned out by his vicious laughter.

“And when you fail, their blood will be on your hands!” He’s practically roaring over her.

She’s cowering, sobbing into her hands as she desperately attempts to wipe the tears from her face, but it’s no use. They won’t stop. Satoru scoffs at the sight, disgusted by what she’d been reduced to.

“Face it,” He mutters. “You could have stopped Toji, and you failed. You could have stopped Suguru, and you failed. Now you think you can take on the Zen’in Clan?” He scoffs and shakes his head. “You’ll die in vain” ___

“Stop it!”

(y/n) shot outwards, her strained voice leaving her throat in a pained cry, but as the blur in her vision clears away, and she gains her bearings, she realizes she’d just awoken.

A dream? She thought distantly, looking around herself, finding she was still in the Fushiguro’s living room.

That’s right… I fell asleep here… reading…

But she finds that Megumi is no longer sleeping at her side, and the blanket he’d had was now thrown over her lap. He must have woken up and gone back to his room. The realization that he’d given her the blanket to keep her warm brings her a moment of peace. Picking up the ratty material that was barely enough to keep her legs covered, (y/n) begins to calm down.

Her breathing calms, and she closes her eyes to focus on bringing herself back to the present. It was all just a cruel dream.

However it’s not as easy when she’s alone, she realizes. There was a time, although short, where when the nightmares would rob her of her sleep, there was always a comforting presence right there, ready to lull her back to sleep with a warm embrace.

And sometimes he’d read to me, she recalls.

Although the plaguing images of her nightmare had worn away from her mind now, she still feels a wetness pool in her eyes.

She missed him. Dearly so.

A tear drops to her cheek against her will, and soon she was quietly weeping into her hands.

Deciding to lay back on the couch, she gives in to staying the rest of the night at the Fushiguro house. She’d never stayed the entire night, but she was long past curfew now, and she was in no position to walk or warp back to Jujutsu Tech. She carefully pulls the small blanket over herself as she settles into the cushions. Her tears wet the place where she lays her head.

If she survived this, she’d have to thank him, for all the nights he stayed by her side, she recalls the short period of warmth that her dream had brought her. She hopes she can drift back into it’s sweetness. And then she’ll have to get on her knees and apologize for the rest of her life.

She knows she won’t earn Satoru’s forgiveness.

If I survive. ___

(a/n): wow that kfc breakup do be hurtin but it hurts so goood. reblog to dry ur tears <3 taglist: @whats-humanity-lol @malinq-ashida @mor-pheus@bekahtaylorgriggs@pookiea@megumimind@thealchemical@pearlstiare@niallerhere@96jnie @purpleguk @peqch-pie@yukinemaroop@makis-girl@sadtoru @kamikokii @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @googlesheetshoe @vzleria

xoxo ~ jordie

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader friends to lovers #friends to lovers #gojo satoru x reader series #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru fanfiction #gojo satoru scenario #satoru gojo imagne

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celestialwhoree · 2 months

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police officer!Simon x detective!reader perhaps..? reader is higher ranked than him

I love love love this dynamic💕 @alwaysshallow writes Ghost and Higher ranked!reader perfectly too! I'd highly recommend reading their stuff on them!

The wind is nothing short of biting as you stand outside the forensics tent, pulling your coat tighter around your shoulders with a huff. Your watch reads 04:17AM, Thursday the 14th of November. Cold and tired. Homicides always come at the worst times. Sirens and blindingly bright blue and red lights only serve to worsen the migraine you can feel clawing up the back of your neck, trying to find purchase within the walls of your skull, already swimming with ugly ideas and images.

"-ed a perimeter." The gruff rumble of Simon 'Ghost' Riley's voice snaps you from your self pitying reverie, his eyes crinkling at the sides in a small, secret smile when you look up at him with bleary, confused eyes, envying the balaclava which covers his face from the nose down. "What?" A wince crinkles your stinging, cold face as your voice cracks like broken radio static. Simon's face softens at your obvious weariness. "You need to stop staying up so late." He chides you like a parent would a child, concern melting his brown eyes into molten brass. It's easy for him to forget that not everyone shares the same military background as him, that most can't go for days with only a few hours of sleep and stay sharp. "I was working on the Makarov case." You huff, running your hands down your face in an attempt to wipe away the lingering tiredness settled there. "I know it's eating at you, but you're no use to anyone when you can barely keep your eyes open." Simon's voice takes on that chastising tone that reminds you of his former military prowess - pre honourable discharge. The thought still makes you sad, fills your chest with warm, sticky pity, choking you up with a lump in your throat.

You stuff your hands into your pockets in a futile attempt to stave off the cold, rumbling out complaints and drawing instinctively closer to your colleague as he parts the crowd of forensic scientists and officers with his presence alone. The officer doesn't hesitate to lay his coat across your shoulders, forever looking out for you, if not just to see the way you relax under the warm weight of his jacket. "Can we go for breakfast after this?" A gentle smile flickers across Simon's face as you plead with him. The strength of your stomach never fails to surprise him, your ability to think about food in the middle of a crime scene eternally entertaining. Truly a person after his own heart. "Course we can."

You're not really sure why you're here, seeing as you only seem to get in the way of forensics gathering evidence as Simon walks you around the scene, detailing what the team knows so far about the crime, leaving you and your tired mind to decipher the rest. Unfortunately, with the lack of caffeine and bacon in your system, all you can do is nod dumbly and try to hide the way you keep yawning. Simon, as always, is ever present at your back, your side, letting you lean into him or mutter about how hungry you are under the pretence of talking about information relating to the crime. He's known you for long enough now to know that trying to get your brain firing at this time in the morning is futile. You work better at night.

Before Simon is given the opportunity to usher you away from the impending crushing of some poor kids' hopes and dreams, one of Graves' wide eyed, freakishly excited mentees is making a beeline your way - not that you notice when you've got your head in your hands and no will to live. The prepubescent sounding screech of their voice makes you wince, drilling a hole in your skull just big enough for the migraine to slip through. "You worked under Laswell right?" They chirp, far too energised for this obscene hour in the morning, and for someone play investigating the scene of a double homicide. "Yup." The dull, tired drone of your voice should be enough indication that you're not feeling talkative, and the look Simon angles them is unwavering enough to make a grown man weep. Not that they seem to notice. Or care. "Isn't this so cool? like a real life, actual homicide? Did you see the bodies? They were so gross."

Simon notices the way you bristle, shoulders at your ears. Despite your grumbling, you have the decency to respect the dead, something that Kate taught you long ago. "One of them had this like-" is enough to send you over the edge, shooting the kid a cruel look as you stand from where you'd been hunched in the back of the police van. "Enough." You growl, and Simon reaches out to place a grounding hand on the small of your back, trying his best to soothe your anger. "Don't be so fucking immature." The sound of your hiss is enough for the trainee to take a nervous step back. "Those are dead people. Those are dead people that were brutally murdered, in their beds at shit o'clock in the morning. Have some respect." You snap before pointing back at Graves with a furious blaze in your tired eyes. "Now go back to your shitty mentor and rifle through some bins."

"I'm impressed." Simon perks up from behind you, waiting with open arms for you to inevitably stumble into, emotionally and physically exhausted. "Breakfast?" You plead again into the plain fabric of his jumper. "Breakfast."

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richonnesbitch · 1 month

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Any favorite Richonne moments? Rewatching season 6 and forgot about Michonne immediately slamming the woman who punched Rick. I couldn’t help but think how that meme of kevin hart being held is so Richonne coded lmao

Every richonne moment is my favorite moment tbh 😂

I, too, really love when Michonne body slammed that random woman who punched Rick. And it being directly after their first night together makes it sexier. Like that is HER man, she's decided. Like, they're so iconic. Imagine every scene with your ship being their best scene. That's crazy!

But to answer your question I'll name a few of moments I especially love. Some of these are probably underrated, others probably not. It's not gonna be in any type of order because it's too hard to rank lol. But here are five.

1: Taking Judith To Hilltop

Whenever Carl is dying and Alexandria is getting bombed by the saviors, the group decides they need to evacuate to Hilltop. Rick asks Michonne, the person he trusts most in the world, to take Judith to Hilltop. And we all know how much Rick (and Michonne) loves his children so this was definitely a huge thing to ask. I just find it beautiful the amount of trust he has in her. I love that Andy quote where he's like "Rick trusts her with his life and his children's lives." I can't remember the full quote so I'm definitely paraphrasing but it's a great moment. And unfortunately I can't find a picture of the moment either.

2: Mowing Down Walkers with the RDIM

This whole scene is just so crazy to me. It starts off with Michonne annoyed she has to just stand around while everyone else does all the work. Fed up, she decides to ignore Thorne and take charge. She grabs the RDIM and runs and runs and runs pretty far away from everyone else, mowing down walkers along the way. And then all of a sudden who appears next to her? Rick. Do you know how fast he would have to have been running to catch up with her? He's crazy lmao! It's also really sweet in another way too because he knows she might get in trouble for this so he gets himself in trouble with her. Partners in crime! And also im sure he couldn't just let her run into a horde of walkers by herself. Anyway, they mow down the walkers and then Rick sets the RDIM up to explode and grabs Michonne's hand and runs away from the impending explosion with her. And if you notice when they go behind the tree, Rick puts her ahead of himself. He also shields her body with his when the explosion happens. We know what happens next. They start staring into each other's eyes and neither of them are capable of resisting each other so they have a little makeout session complete with tonguing and moaning. Classic richonne. Noticing their connection, Michonne says "come on" referring to how he should leave with her. He warns that "They'll find us, they will." She tells him "we'll make it so they can't." And he's under her spell so of course all his most recent refusal just goes out the window as he tells her "not like this." It ends with a signature forehead touch. I feel like this is a thing richonne generally does when they feel distant from one another. Physical touch is big for them so I feel like the forehead touching is a way to reconnect them I think. It's beautiful. So anyway they head back to the rest of the group to help. Thorne's goofy ass decides that Michonne, or Dana, is more trouble than she's worth and aims her big gun at her. Somehow Michonne's bodyguard Rick notices this immediately. It's crazy how he ALWAYS has eyes on her to protect her. No wonder she said she only feels safe with him. He sticks himself between the gun and Michonne, blocking her from Thorne's view and successfully saving her from being killed. I love seeing how protective Rick is of his lady.

3: Rv Hand Hold

So after their first kiss and first night together, they are tragically robbed of the chance to spend the morning together when Jesus lets himself into their home to speak to Rick. This world moves fast so they don't really get the time to breathe before Jesus and the rest of the group are on their way to Hilltop. Michonne sits bashfully in the passenger seat, wondering if last night meant as much to Rick as it did to her. And Rick notices this (because he always has eyes on her) and eases her mind by grabbing her hand. Of COURSE it meant as much to him as it did to you.

4: Michonne Saving Rick From Winslow

So I've talked about how much I love Rick being protective of Michonne but I also love when Michonne is protective of Rick. Okay so this moment happens when Rick and Michonne are trying to recruit those worthless useless garbage people to fight against the saviors. Their leader (who I'm not naming because fuck that bitch) wants to put Rick to the test like the dumbass she is. To test him, she decides to take him "up, up, up" which is code for "throw you in a hole you can't climb out of with no weapons while a spiked walker comes at you." Michonne, sensing this bullshit, nervously grabs Rick's hand to stop him. She goes to say something but Rick stops her and comforts her. He goes up there anyway and gives Michonne a reassuring nod once up there. The leader says some sort of bullshit to him, I don't know what because I zone out any time she speaks. Anyway she pushes him down the hole. Michonne screams at her "what did you do?!?!" before running to find Rick by looking through a hole. She yells his name and he looks around confusedly for a few seconds before figuring out where her voice is coming from. He lets her know he's okay. And then Winslow comes at him. Again he has no weapon so he frantically tries to climb out but to no avail. Michonne watching this through the hole yells directions to him. "The walls. USE them!" And he does! And it works! Michonne's plan works and she saves his life. It's just a fun example of how Michonne's guidance always helps Rick.

5: Unclenching His Fist

So after a very endearing family fun day for the Grimes family, it sadly gets cut short when Scott (or whatever his name is) delivers the news that some random ex savior (that really no one cares about) got killed by someone. This is bad news and Rick is visibly upset by this. Michonne notices this and reaches a hand out to him.

His hand is closed and she gently opens it.

She not only comforts him but let's him know this burden isn't only his. It's hers too. And that they will get through this together. Michonne has always been able to comfort Rick in a way no one else can and vice versa.

So in conclusion, these are just a few moments I really love and why I love them. Again I wanna say that every moment is my favorite richonne moment so this is definitely not a ranked list. I had to limit myself to just five because I could go on and on and on and on and on and on if you let me 😂 but if you wanna know more of my favorite moments I don't mind sharing them. Thanks for the ask! This was so fun to write.

#michonne grimes #rick grimes #richonne #the walking dead #twd #the ones who live #towl

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v1olentdelights · 9 months

Text

Across a Crowded Room

Spencer Reid x reader - 2k words

TW: fire..., mention of like passing out and being in a hospital, just regular cm stuff, and my bad writing of how a fire starts? maybe

Summary: It had been a couple years since you and Spencer had seen each other. What happens when he gets a case in your hometown, and you reunite?

a/n: I can only think about having a job as a florist, so that's what we are gonna stick with. Hope you enjoy :) I know people cant just up and move... lets play pretend, okay. and thank you @magic-is-beauty for reading it over!

It had been a couple years since you had last seen Spencer Reid. You had met in a coffee shop you worked at. It was silly, but you had seen him come in a few times and thought he was cute, so you put your phone number on his cup one time. You could see how his cheeks turned bright red and how he turned towards you with a meek smile. Thank goodness he saw your number, because for the next 2 years you and Spencer would be best friends and dating. That was until he moved away.

On one of your many dates Spencer had told you he had big news. You were thinking that maybe he had been invited to teach.

“I’ve been invited to join the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia!” he exclaimed. And for the first time in your relationship with Spencer, you felt disappointed. Well not necessarily with him, more so that he was leaving you.

“Oh, that's great Spence.” You tried to sound enthusiastic and supportive. But even Spencer could tell you weren’t.

“You’re not happy?” It was more of a statement.

“It's not that I’m not happy, I am really happy for you! You have wanted this for so long. But you are leaving me, and I’m going to miss you.”

“Well, I thought maybe you could come with me? There are a lot of great opportunities, especially considering D.C. is right next door.”

“You know I can’t Spencer. I have a whole life here, family, a job, there is too much.” You could see the light in his eyes dim slightly. “I’m sorry, you know if I could that I’d be there with you every step of the way.”

“No, no I totally understand. I just wish you could.”

You both had spent your last few weeks together well, but you knew what him leaving meant. There was nothing you could do to stop the impending goodbye. And you guys tried to keep in contact, you really did. But your lives moved on and there seemed to be less and less time for you to talk to one another, so you just slowly lost contact.

Over that time, you had moved back to your small hometown to take care of your sick grandmother while you balanced school and her flower shop.

The BAU received a case in Spencer's hometown, your run of the mill arsonist. It was nothing too crazy, they were sure to be back to home base within the week. Thankfully only a few people had died and fewer were injured in the last couple of fires.

Upon their arrival he was hit with a wave of nostalgia.

“Come on! I want to show you my favorite ice cream parlor! There is even a great bookstore next to it!” You were skipping down the street with Spencer's hand in yours, and you were going a bit fast but he would never admit that.

You had been gracious enough to invite Spencer to stay with you in your hometown for a few weeks during his last summer (unbeknownst to you) with you.

“I’m coming!” he laughed as he sped up his walking a bit. That afternoon was one of the most memorable days you’d ever had. You were letting Spencer in on a part of your life only a few got to experience.

“Come on Reid.” Hotch's voice pulled him out of his memory. On their way to the station, he was watching his life pass him by the whole way there. The Sunday afternoon walks, the dates at the small ice cream parlor you loved. They passed 2 of the crime scenes, one of which was that diner, both burnt to a crisp.

As they were setting everything up, the team could tell Spencer's mind was somewhere else. No one mentioned it though thinking it was just the feelings of being home arising. There wasn’t much to go off of other than the locations and how the fires were started, a match and gasoline.

Hotchner had ordered everyone to go back to the hotel and get a few hours of good sleep and then come back ready to work.

Spencer had been pacing the room for the past couple minutes contemplating texting you. He hadn’t deleted your number, and even if he had, he would have recalled it from memory.

If he were to text, what would he say? He hadn’t texted you in over a year now. Would a sudden message be weird? Spencer honestly just wanted to know if you were alright, the idea of you being in trouble or hurt made him sick. Maybe he could just say he’s in town and see if you wanted to catch up before he leaves. He would decide tomorrow, hopefully after gathering more information about the unsub.

After deciding a town meeting would best get the word out and maybe reveal a few suspects, everyone gathered in the town hall. They were giving a short but in-depth profile to the public. Spencer was mid-sentence about an arsonist's motives when he caught a pair of familiar eyes staring right back at him.

It was you. He’d recognize your eyes anywhere. Derek's cough and Emily’s staring kept him talking, playing the pause off as him forgetting something. After delivering the profile he excused himself and looked for you in the crowd. He didn’t get far before you grabbed his hand, he whipped around to see your small smile. “Hey Spencer, it's been a while.” For a moment you both were still, but as if his brain had restarted, he wrapped you in his arms tightly.

“I’ve missed you.” Both of you not pulling away for a moment, just taking in the moment. “I was going to text you, but-” he cut himself off, you’d understand. You always understood.

“When I heard the buzz around town I almost texted you too. But then I remembered you're the one who catches the big bad guy, I should probably let you work.” You let out an awkward laugh. The last time you had seen him was when you were saying goodbye.

You had taken Spencer to the airport so you could say goodbye, it was filled with tears, mostly from you, and plenty of hugs.

“I’ll call you every chance I get.” he reassured you with a kiss to the nose, bringing his hand up to wipe away your tears.

“I know, but what if you can’t? What if you get hurt and die? How will I know you’re okay?” you sounded pathetic honestly, it was obvious that Spencer would be okay, he was on a team with some of the world's best profilers and was incredibly smart. But it didn’t stop you from worrying.

“I'll be okay, I promise.” he pressed a gentle kiss, holding you tightly. Then you watched him walk through security and onto his new life.

“I’ll always make time for you.” He said it in a way that sounded desperate, a way that told you he really meant it. But he could feel the team's stares, he knew that not only would they be wanting an explanation as to who you were; but that he also needed to get back to catching the unsub.

“You go do what you need to do.” You nodded to the team, “And call me if you have time for lunch or dinner, we can catch up.” you rubbed his arm up and down once before walking away. Oh, how he hated watching you leave.

“Sooooo, are you gonna tell us who that was?” JJ asked in a teasing tone.

“A girlfriend?” Emily joked as she bumped into Derek. Rossi and David had an uninterested look on their face, but were totally listening in.

“Yes actually. We haven’t talked in a while though.” he turned back towards the way you left, hoping to see you again.

Now time was running out, if they were able to trust the timeline of the last 3 fires, today there would be another. There were police frequently patrolling the streets. There wasn’t much more that could be done. The police station was buzzing, everyone looking into people who were suspicious. However, since they lived in the small town, their observations and conclusions had to be taken with a grain of salt.

Then there was the ringing of a phone, everyone stopped for a moment. Someone picked it up only to hear an address then the phone hung up. The force was gearing up and peeling out of the parking lot calling in for the fire department, as was the team.

You were tending to some of your assortments in the back when you heard the jingle of your doorbell.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment.” as you were finishing up you heard a liquidy sound from the front of the store. As you came out a burst of flames emerged in front of you, slowly your flowers began to catch fire. The posters and Styrofoam, the rug, everything was catching fire, but you couldn’t make your way past to get out of the building. The fumes were rising, you thought you could hear sirens faintly.

Trying to move away from the flames you made your way to the back room. There was another door that led into the alleyway. However, the door was locked, you kept twisting and ramming into the door, but nothing worked. You began to feel dizzy and almost sick.

Stumbling back into the wall for some support you slid into a sitting position. They covered what to do in this situation in school, but not to this extent. Just as you were about to fade out you heard someone yelling. In an attempt to get someone's attention you yelped as loud as you could, though it wasn’t that powerful, the first responders could hear.

You could make out someone's figure as they wrapped their arms under your legs and back and carried you out.

Waking up you could hear the beeping of the hospital machines. Your hand twitches but it was held by something, though it quickly squeezed your hand. Opening your eyes, you saw your handsome Spencer looking at you.

“Hey, you're alright.” he smiled at you as he grabbed the water next to your bedside. “The shop isn’t going to make it, is it?”

“No, I don’t think it is. But I’d rather you have made it instead of the shop. I’m sorry about that, but you should be pleased to know we caught the guy.”

“Doing your job perfectly, just like I imagined.” grabbing his hand again you squeezed it gently.

“I thought about you every day. There is this coffee shop down the street from my apartment and it's almost exactly like the one we met at. But you’re not there, so it's not as perfect. And when I take the metro home, I think about what I would say to you.” He looks earnestly into your eyes “I think about you all the time, and I regret not taking you with me.”

“I couldn’t come then, you know that. I had too much to take care of at home.” He shakes his head slightly in understanding. “But I guess now that my shop is burnt down… I don’t have much else, my classes are online, and my lease is almost up.” It was almost comical how his face lit up.

“You could come back with me to D.C. I mean, only if you want to.”

You both looked at one another in a new light. You could truly pick up and leave now, and it made you ecstatic for the future.

“Only until I find a place of my own for now.” You brought his hand up to kiss his knuckles.

“Until you find your own place.” He smiled constantly. Unbeknownst to him, almost his whole team was standing just out of sight, eavesdropping, preparing for a gossip session with Penelope.

#grace writes #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds #x reader #reader insert

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mejcinta · 9 months

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If You Could Rewrite Episode 9 (The Green Council), How Would You Do It?

1. To start off I would have Alicent deny Viserys a chance to speak on his death bed. I would have Alicent interrupt him, unleashing all the things she wanted to say that went ignored.

She should look Viserys in the face and tell him no matter what it's their son that will sit the throne. It's what she must do to survive. I'd slash the prophecy utterance. Viserys dies knowing of the failure he's been to her and his children.

2. Alicent leads the Green Council just like in the book determined to protect her family from Daemon by sitting Aegon on the throne.

She might feel just a little regret for sending off Viserys so harshly, but I will have the people around her, Criston or Aemond especially, remind her that she owed Viserys nothing.

3. Ser Criston 'The Kingmaker' Cole happens just like in the books but including Aemond in the search as well. Aegon is told his family will be wiped out if he doesn't accept the crown.

4. Before the coronation, we see Helaena huddling with her children, sensing impending doom. She's uneasy, but also at conflict with herself, knowing she needs to be Queen so that her children can stand a chance at surviving.

Meanwhile, Aegon goes to Viserys' chambers, angry at everything. At Visery's neglect and these huge shoes he's left him to fill, upset at Rhaenyra and Daemon and the risk they pose to his family. I need Aegon to break down Viserys' LEGO set/Valyrian model in a burst of rage and confusion and anxiety.

Afterwards he goes to Helaena who is still with their children. They stare at each other knowing time has come. Their lives, their arranged marriage, their children...it has always been leading up to to this. They are doomed but they have no choice.

5. At the coronation, Alicent places her crown on Helaena's head just like in the books.

6. I would keep the Rhaenys scene just to show off Sunfyre and Dreamfyre's matching fierceness. They send Meleys away in an instant and the Greens use her blunder to make themselves heroes in the smallfolk's eyes.

7. Aegon and Sunfyre fly over King's Landing as a signal to the people that Rhaenys crimes have not been forgotten. That they will be avenged. It's a way of establishing Aegon as a capable leader. They are now officially at war.*

* As for Daeron, I would have Otto send a raven to Oldtown to inform him of the potential war in the horizon*

#what's your Headcanon?#hotd headcanon #house of the dragon #hotd #house of the dragon season 2 #the green council #alicent hightower #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #aemond targaryen #criston cole #otto hightower #daeron targaryen

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underground-secret · 2 months

Text

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x F!reader

Description: After getting a call from John Winchester after no contact for months. The group gets led to a town in which a couple goes missing every year around the same time. But Sam doesn’t want to follow orders anymore, and the town still needs help.

Warnings: Cannon Violence, fight scene (tell me how i did, im still learning how to write it!), arguing, a little angst, talk of crimes, cursing (i think), talk about sacrifices and Pagan rituals (i fricken love learning about Paganism), Y/N gets a little snarky and cocky, use of magic and abilities

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44, @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn

Word Count: …14,005

Scarecrow

(Master List, Prev. Chapter, Next Chapter)

“So you’re with the Winchesters?” Adeline says, her voice just as husky and amused as I remembered. It had been months since we talked, I'm surprised she wasn’t mad at me, though maybe she was and she was just hiding it well. “Yes.” I answer simply, waiting for the impending lecture.

“I should be surprised, but I'm not,” She remarks, and I can hear the smirk on her face.

“You know B/N said nearly the same thing!” I laughed lightly, but it soon died down when she didn't join in instead going completely quiet.

“You should have told me.” She says, venom on her tongue, but I know it’s out of worry. “No text, no call, not even a letter! I show up at your house. Not only are you not there I have to find out from your co-workers that you quit and haven’t been in contact with anyone. Did you quit because of those Winchesters? ‘Cause I swear to God I wil-“

“No!, quitting had nothing to do with them.” I cut her rant off, “Look Addie I'm sorry. I got so caught up in it all I didn’t think of telling anyone.” I sigh, leaving out the part I forgot I had people who cared about me—which is so stupid. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you or scare you. But that isn’t what I called for…”

Suddenly a sharp demanding knock sounds at my door. I don’t move for a second, watching it, “One sec, Addie” I place my phone down on the bed pulling back the heavy blankets. I tiptoe to the door, the rough carpet dragging on my feet. I take a deep breath preparing myself for the worst, I unlock the door, creaking it open just wide enough to see who is there.

Dean stands there, his eyes wide and his hair a little messy, still in his pajamas. A black shirt and some plaid pajama pants, though I figured he might have thrown those on before coming to my door- I knew he wasn’t foreign to sleeping with just a shirt and underwear on. I open the door further, “Are you okay? What happened?” I spew out.

“Get dressed. Dad called, ‘doesn't want us following him. He's going after the thing that killed Mom, says it’s a demon. He gave us a bunch of names and needs us to go investigate. Meet by the car.” He answers quickly. I stared at him, all of this was rushed, we barely got any sleep and we were already leaving rather quickly. He looks me over, nods, and then walks away back down the hall to his room, giving me no chance to ask if he was okay.

I closed the door a little shocked, making my way back to my phone and before it was even by my ear I heard the impatient click of her nails against some hard surface, “Now what” she huffed. Definitely mad at me. “I’ll have to call you back later” I sigh, “I need to go.”

“No you don’t get to just call me—“ She nearly yells but I cut her off again, “Addie I promise I’ll call you back.” The line goes silent for a beat and I wonder if she’s still there.

She sighs, “I’m worried about you.”

“I’m okay” I smiled sadly, yet even as the words passed my lips my stomach twisted itself, “I will call you.”

“Fine.” She huffs but she doesn't sound so convinced.

“I love you, Addie.” I say, and I mean it.

“I love you too. Stay safe, and call me!”

“Alright, just to double check all those names are couples?” I ask from the back seat of the Impala, copying notes down on a little notepad. “Three different couples. All went missing.” Dean confirms from the passenger seat. The darkness of the night cloaks us in its cold embrace.

“You said they were from all different states, Washington, New York, Colorado, and all went missing at the same time each year trying to travel across the country. But is it possible that it’s just a serial killer? Not to undermine your fathers findings.” I explain motioning my pen around as I speak, “I mean it is possible the suspect lives in Indiana, knows the roads well, and which way people go when road-tripping. Then being able to intercept them therefore fulfilling his or her urge. Then that kill can satisfy them till next year.”

“I guess, but they always disappeared in the second week of April. One year after another after another. That’s pretty weird.” Dean points out.

“Not necessarily, serial killers can have a certain connection to a date like an anniversary of something. Feeling only the need to do such an act during said time.” I ramble.

“Well, we’re still checking it out” Dean answers plainly, practically shutting down my theory. I guess it’s safer to check but it’s nighttime. I didn’t get any sleep, they barely got any sleep, and rushing over to Indiana in a 3-hour long car ride doesn't sound so fun if it turns out not to be a supernatural thing. “And this is the second week of April.” Sam remarks.

“Yep.” Dean nods.

“So, Dad is sending us to Indiana to go hunting for something before another couple vanishes?” Sam asks, though it’s clear he knows the answer.

“Yahtzee. Can you imagine putting together a pattern like this? All the different obituaries Dad had to go through? The man’s a master.” Dean beams, flipping through the papers he had on the missing couples. He very clearly looked up to his Dad in some manner, even though he wasn’t deserving of such praise. I know Sam feels this way too, he never had an issue calling out John and he certainly can see all that’s wrong with how they grew up. The thing is I know Dean knew too, he was just trained to be loyal.

I watch Sam in the rearview mirror, his nostrils flaring in anger, his hands gripping the steering wheel harder until the knuckles turn white. He pulled the car off to the side of the road, sharply, my body jerking at the motion. “What are you doing?” Dean asks confused, straightening the way he sat.

“We’re not going to Indiana.” Sam says firmly.

“We’re not?” Dean replies, shock and amusement written on his features.

“No. We’re going to California.” Sam answers, “Dad called from a payphone. Sacramento area code.”

“Sam.” Dean warns.

“Dean, if this demon killed Mom and Jess, and Dad’s closing in, we’ve gotta be there. We’ve gotta help.” Sam reasons, and I don’t disagree.

“Dad doesn’t want our help.” Dean argues, his voice getting louder.

“I don’t care.” Sam answers rather calmly.

“He’s given us an order.” Dean bites, using one of his favorite excuses.

“I don’t care.” He repeats himself, this time more firmly, “We don’t always have to do what he says.”

“Sam, Dad is asking us to work jobs, to save lives, it’s important.” Dean tries to explain.

“Please stop fighting, why don’t we work this job, put all our energy into it. Work it quickly. Then immediately head to California, both of you win” I offer, always the person trying to cool the fight down and offer some sort of solution. But even as the words leave my mouth I know I’m wrong, this argument is more than working a case or chasing demons. This is years of grief built up. Sam half turns to view me, his eyes are pained and I almost think he might be close to tears, “It won’t be enough. You said it yourself. My Dad moves fast, if we don’t head there right now we’ll miss him entirely.” He looks between both of us now as he adds, “But I’m talking one week here, to get answers. To get revenge.”

Dean sighs, “Alright, look, I know how you feel.”

“Do you?” Sam spits, nearly yelling. “How old were you when Mom died? Four? Jess died six months ago. How the hell would you know how I feel?”

Oh. This is old grief on top of new grief, he hasn’t coped with the loss of his girlfriend not that we could have expected him to. It’s too soon. These emotions are too raw, too new. Dean matches his brother yelling, “Dad said it wasn’t safe. For any of us. I mean, he knows something that we don’t, so if he says to stay away, we stay away.”

“I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man. I mean, it’s like you don’t even question him.” Sam argues, looking at his brother strangely.

“Yeah, it’s called being a good son!” Dean yells. The tension has exploded, the car falling quiet in its aftermath. My dislike for their father seemed to grow ten folds, to make your own child feel like that—

“Dean, that’s no—“ But before I can say anything more about it Sam exits the car. Slamming the door behind him. Dean and I get out of the car following him to the trunk where he unloads his things from. “You’re a selfish bastard, you know that? You just do whatever you want. Don’t care what anybody thinks.” Dean yells.

“Dean!” I snap, “This has gone far enough, you don’t get to say things like that, he’s your brother! Both of you calm down, please.” I didn’t want Sam to be treated like this, not from his brother who I know cares about him. “No. It’s okay, Y/N” Sam says calmly, his movements slowing as he stares his brother down, “Is that what you really think?”

“Yes, it is.” Dean gives a single sharp nod.

“Well.” Sam shuts the trunk, “then this selfish bastard is going to California.” he puts his backpack on and starts to walk away.

No. This can’t be happening. “Dean,” I say desperately, he has to apologize or stop him so they can talk it out. This isn’t my place but I can’t watch this happen. He looks out at his brother, “Sam, come on. You’re not serious”

“I am serious.” Sam responds, still walking away.

“It’s the middle of the night!” Dean yells out, “Hey, we’re taking off, I will leave your ass, you hear me?”

Sam stops walking, turning around, “That’s what I want you to do.”

I let out a frustrated groan, “What the hell is wrong with you both?! Just talk it out, we can come to some sort of agreement or—or reason with each other.” I practically beg. Both their eyes fall to me but Dean just responds with, “He’s made up his mind” his eyes turn back towards his brother, “Goodbye Sam.”

I stand frozen, eyes wide, this is not happening.

Dean grabs hold of my wrist, his hand warm despite the cold night, practically dragging me to the passenger side of the car. He waits for me to sit and buckle myself before closing the door and making his way to the driver's side. He gets in, putting the car in drive.

I watch Sam turn back around and walk away in the car's side mirror. Dean must have been watching too because he slams his fist on the steering wheel, takes a deep breath, and then does it again and again. I place my hand over his just as it connects with the steering wheel again. “Dean…” I say softly, but it comes out more like a plea. His hand goes still under mine, and when I turn my face to look at him, his eyes are glossy.

He does not turn to look at me though, keeping his eyes straight ahead at the dark road. “Dean” I say weakly, letting out a shaky breath feeling my own eyes welling up, “please, stop the car.” He listens, slamming on the brakes, my body jolting at the sharp stop. He snaps his head towards me, “Why so you could leave too?!”

I lean away from him retracting my hand, placing it on my lap, “No” I say quietly. But his reaction made me want to leave, the tears in my eyes finally fell over, spilling down my cheeks, “Do not take your anger out on me.” He sighs, turning his face away from me, cursing.

“I know you don’t want to hear this…but you must” I begin to say, having to pause to clear my voice of its shakiness, “I care for you both a lot but I’m so sick of you guys constantly fighting over something stupid when all you have to do is talk.”

“That's easy for you to say.” Dean snaps back, still looking away from me.

I huff, annoyed, “See! You get all standoffish instead of dealing with your emotions and I know that's what you’re used to but you don't have to be that way around me of all people.” He goes quiet, with no snappy comeback or even a grunt of annoyance. His jaw clenches and I wonder if that's from anger, trying to hold back tears, or both. “What if were destined to always hate each other,” he says quietly, and I know he means him and Sam. “He doesn't hate you, and I know you don't feel that way either,” I answer softly, even when I know what he truly means. He turns his head towards me, a single tear rolling down his cheek, “Then why does he keep leaving?!” he says through gritted teeth the last word coming out as if he spit venom.

In truth, I can't possibly know what he feels. He raised Sam and was there every moment of every day. He saw him take his first step and say his first word, brought him to school, fed him, put him to bed, and kept him safe. I was more like Sam in that aspect, I was the youngest with an older brother who took care of me and looked out for me. Honestly more than our own Dad, maybe that’s why he and Dean got along together so well- a shared understanding.

So, no, I could not understand exactly what he felt, not even a fraction of it. But even despite that I reached my hand out carefully, my fingertips barely brushing his cheek before pausing giving him time to pull away and hide if he wanted to. He didn't. I cup his cheek, whipping away another tear that fell. His green eyes seemed softer then like his anger had diminished enough but still lay beneath the tears. I don't have all the answers, “I know it may not seem like it, but he isn't leaving you. He went off to college ‘cause he wanted a chance away from this life. Even now he is going in hopes of stopping what started this all, he’s going to come back…your brothers you can't escape each other even if you wanted to.”

It's not a solution, and I don't expect it to help. But all I can do is hope it eases something in him. He leans his face into my hand, his eyes fluttering shut as he takes a deep breath in.

In one quick motion, I unbuckle my seat belt with my free hand. He must have known what I was going to do because he removed his face from my hand only to put the car in park, release his seat belt, and turn his body so I could hug him properly. I close the distance between us so I can wrap my arms around his neck, his body immediately reacts to my movements. His head falls to the crook of my neck, his arms wrapping around my waist. He pulls my body impossibly closer and tighter.

His breathing gives him away, his warm breath coming out uneven against my neck a wetness forming against where he resides. I don't say anything about him crying, or anything at all, I just move my hand up and down his back in soothing motions, hoping to ease him.

I do not know how I managed it but after he finished crying I got him to switch seats with me so he could rest while I drove. I've never driven the Impala before, maybe this was him showing me he trusted me even though I already knew he did, or maybe it was tiredness overtaking him. But the drive was pretty straightforward and it was dark so there wasn’t a worry about other cars.

He managed to drift off, which I was envious of but I was more proud of being able to drive Baby to notice my exhaustion. I even got to play music that wasn’t the usual rock songs he liked to play, which I don’t have any problem with but a change is nice sometimes (even if I played it very quietly so he could rest).

Just as we pulled into the small town he woke up, grumbling a “good morning” before staying silent the rest of the time. He went on his phone at one point, pulling up the contacts but ultimately he did not call anyone. “Ok, ready?” I ask, shutting off the car after pulling into a spot.

“Yeah” He nods, his voice still a little gravely from sleep. I hand him back his keys before exiting the car, the pure feeling of accomplishment pulling over me. I drove Baby accident-free and made it to the destination! I’m so good!!

We walked up to the only person in sight, an older man sitting on a wooden rocking chair in front of a café. Maybe it was too early for anyone else to be out, it certainly felt too early to be up though I guess I never really went to sleep.

“Let me guess,” Dean points to the store's sign that reads Scotty’s Café, “Scotty.” He looked proud of his stupid joke if you could even call it that, a dumb grin on his face. Scotty looks up at the sign and then back at us looking unamused, “Yep,”

“Hi, my name’s John Bonham and this is Pat Phillips” Dean introduces us both, and I want to glare at him for using a member from a popular band's name but if Scotty doesn't know then the glaring would give it away.

But of course, our luck has long run out, “Isn’t that the drummer for Led Zeppelin?” He looks at Dean pointedly then at me, “And his wife?” Now I really do glare at him, I didn’t know Pat Phillips was Bonham's wife! I barely knew Bonham was the drummer for Led Zeppelin, only remembering because of Dean rambling about it. Dean looks at me, eyes raised as if to silently say he didn’t think he would know. He turns back to Scotty, shock clear on his face, “Wow. Good. Classic rock fan.” Alright, he wasn’t even trying to deny it, great.

“What can I do for you, John?” Scotty asks anyway and I’m surprised he didn’t completely write us off. Dean takes out two pieces of paper from his pocket, unfolding the missing person's flyers. “I was wondering if, uh, you’d seen these people by chance.”

Scotty takes the flyers, barely studying them before answering, “Nope. Who are they?” Huh, that was a little weird, I would think he would want to think harder about it. I study the older man but his face reveals nothing, no fear in his eyes.

“They’re really close friends of ours, honestly we’re worried,” I explained while trying to test him, if he is responsible and he knows friends are looking for them and hasn’t given up he might crack a little. “They’ve been missing for a year now, passed somewhere through here. And we already asked around Salem and Scottsburg—“ But he doesn't let me finish my list, “Sorry.” He hands back the flyers to Dean, “We don’t get many strangers around here.”

Once more his eyes and face reveal nothing but still something about him is coming off weird.

“Scotty, you’ve got a smile that lights up a room, ‘anybody ever tell you that?” Dean tells him, earning a glare from the man himself. Dean chuckles, amusing himself at this point, “Never mind. See you around.”

I wait until we’re back in the car to say something, Dean taking his rightful place in the driver's seat, “Is it me or was that guy acting weird about this all?”

“Nah, he just doesn't have expressions,” Dean responds. I laughed, “That is not what I meant!”, I turned in my seat to face him, “Okay if someone came to you and was all like ‘my friend went missing and she’s been gone a long time and I think she passed through here do you know anything.’ Wouldn’t you really study the photo and try and think back, especially cause it’s a year ago. Scotty barely looked at the photo!”

He seems to contemplate what I said, “ ‘Could also just be a jerk.” he responds. I let out a frustrated sigh, “Dean.”

“Alright, you could be onto something sweetheart. We’ll keep asking around.”

Our next stop is a sort of Gas Station, all road trip essentials lining the walls from maps to mixed nuts. Aka the perfect place someone would stop at on their trip. “You sure they didn’t stop for gas or something?” Dean asks the older couple working.

“Nope, don’t remember ‘em. You said they were friends of yours?” The man who introduced himself as Harley responded.

“Yes, dear friends,” I answered.

“Did the guy have a tattoo?” A sweet blonde girl probably around our age asks, coming down the nearby stairs with a large box in her hand, her face just barely visible. “Yes, he did,” Dean responds. She puts the boxes on the counter and looks at the picture of the dark haired Vince then back up at the couple, “You remember? They were just married.”

Harley’s eyes suddenly widened making a little ‘oh’ sound, “You’re right. They did stop for gas. Weren’t here’ more than ten minutes.” Dean and I shared a look, now this guy wanted to suddenly remember. “You remember anything else?” Dean pushes further.

“I told ‘em how to get back to the Interstate. They left town.” Harley answers, finally sharing some truth. These townspeople were strange. “Would you be able to point us the same way?” I ask him, eyeing him carefully.

“Sure.”

Dean drives down the long road, slower than usual, both of us looking for anything unusual or suspicious. There was undoubtedly something going on whether it was supernatural or not. But there wasn’t much near us, just trees and endless roads.

We pass by what looks to be an orchard, apples hanging from the lush trees.

If I was kidnapping and possibly killing people I would choose somewhere along this Interstate, it was practically dead and no one would suspect anyone driving here even late at night. My thoughts are cut off by a violent buzzing noise coming from just behind me, most likely in the back seat. I turn to Dean, giving him a confused look, he turns his head to the back of the car looking instead of the road. “Dean. Road” I remind him, his eyes going back where they belong.

I unbuckle my seatbelt, shifting myself so that I was kneeling on the seat. I lean over the back seat, having to drop down low to reach his duffle bag, the top of the seat digging into my gut. My ass is definitely sticking up in the air and most likely close to Dean, but I ignore the embarrassment of that idea as I shuffle through his bag. I move one of his shirts around, finding the cause of the loud noise, “It’s your EMF” I call out hoping he can hear me even with my head still buried in the little space between the floor of the car and the backseat. I grab the box, the medal heavy in my hand.

I lift myself up and back to my seat half turned and sitting on my legs, it continues to buzz violently, the meter blaring to the red. “‘Think it’s the orchard” he announces, pulling the car off to the side of the road. We venture into the trees.

The ground was soft beneath my shoes, a light morning dew still clinging to the grass. If this was any other day or occasion I’d say it’s a rather nice orchard but the EMF has not stopped, and I think if it could go any further red it certainly would be there.

The trees were all lined up, apples scattered about the ground and a potent scent of rotten fruit following it. From where we pulled over it wasn’t hard to find the middle of the orchard, the trees cut down in almost a circle, except some paths that broke away in various directions.

A tall post stood in the middle, a creepy scarecrow on it. It looked rather human and full rather than stuffed with straw. Its face looked like a mask with stitches adorning it and hollow eyes, greasy long hair flowing from beneath his fedora. The only scarecrow-like thing about him was the fact he was tied to a wooden post and had a sort of jumper with patches on it, though the added black trench coat contradicted this. And in his hand was a sickle, what was meant to be used for agriculture only made him that much creepy.

Its head was leaned down, and looking up at it made it only seem like he was staring down at us with those empty eyes. “Dude, you're fugly.” Dean says out loud and I almost expect the thing to move or respond, but it doesn't. “Maybe you should say sorry to him.” I practically mumble to Dean. If it came to life I didn’t want a target on his back for insulting it, or mine if it thought I was guilty by association.

“Why would I say sorry?” he counters.

“So that he doesn't kill you if it comes to life!”

“I think it’d kill us either way”

Rationally I knew he was right, but the thought of something like a doll or in this case a scarecrow coming to life creeped me out a little too much, “Good point, but he is horrifying.”

“Yeah, horrifyingly ugly” He chuckles at his own joke, a stupid smile on his face. I try to hide my own laughing, not wanting to encourage him.

“I think I see something,” He murmurs. He moves back, turning to the closest tree with a ladder against it. He picks it up as if it weighs nothing, placing it right next to the scarecrow. He climbs it until he’s at eye level with the thing. I watch his eyes fall to the hand that held the sickle, his gaze at its wrist. Its sleeve ripped a bit revealing leathered “skin” and a sort of design.

I wrack my brain for any customs or cultures that decorate scarecrows beyond just its clothing and face, but I couldn’t come up with anything. Why would anyone put a design on a scarecrow's wrist?

Dean pulls out a paper from the inside of his jacket, unfolding it swiftly before placing it near the thing, comparing the two. “Look who has a nice tat.” he says, turning the paper down so I could see. He held Vince’s missing poster, the young man holding a mug in his hand the perfect pose to see his tattoo. Detailed ink with all sorts of shapes I could even begin to describe, I look back up at the scarecrows tattoo. The two are the exact same, far too alike to be any sort of coincidence.

“Nice tat indeed.”

We immediately got in the car and turned around back to the town. Something was going on and someone was causing it. Now Dean pulls the car into the local gas station. Turning it off and exiting, I nearly stay put in the passenger seat until I see the same blonde girl from before walking up to the car. We needed answers and she seemed to be the only one willing to help.

I exit the car, keeping the door open as I lean my arms on the roof of the car. “You’re back” she greeted, smiling. “Never left.” He replies smoothly.

“Still looking for your friends?” She asks, acknowledging us both. “Yup, call it stubbornness or what have you but we aren’t given up.” I respond, still pushing the same agenda as before. “I’d call that a good friend,” she smiles.

I don’t think she’s involved in all this, she’s willing to answer our questions when no one else was and she seemed to genuinely care. If she was involved then she was quite the actor. “You mind fillin’ her up there, Emily?” Dean asks her, nodding his head towards the car. The nameplate necklace she wore came into view as she grabbed the pump and began to fill the tank. That’s how he knew her name.

“Did you grow up here?” I ask, starting back up conversation.

“I came here when I was thirteen. I lost my parents. Car accident. My aunt and uncle took me in.” She explains shortly.

“They’re nice people.” Dean replies plainly. She nods as she speaks, “Everybody’s nice here.”

“So, what, it’s the, uh, perfect little town?” Dean shrugs, nonchalantly.

“Well, you know, it’s the boonies. But I love it.” she pauses for a moment, “I mean, the towns around us, people are losing their homes, their farms. But here, it’s almost like we’re blessed.”

Dean turns his head towards me, giving me a look. This definitely was weird, I mean how could every town around them be failing but not here?Were they making sacrifices to the scarecrow? It would make sense considering its tattoo. Dean turns back around to Emily, “Hey, you been out to the orchard? ‘You seen that scarecrow?” We were thinking the same thing.

“Yeah, it creeps me out.” She answers her nose scrunching. “You can say that again” I laugh, “Do you know who owns it?”

“I don’t know. It’s just always been there.” She shrugs.

He nods to something behind her, I turn my gaze to it, my eyes landing on a red van parked by a garage, “That your aunt and uncle’s?” he asks.

She shakes her head, “Customer. Had some car troubles.” That’s a little too convenient, “Is it a couple by any chance? A guy and a girl?” I ask, worried that they might be the town's next victims.

She nods even as her face twists with confusion, “Mmhmm.”

As soon as the Impala's tank was filled, and Emily gestured toward the couple's location, we wasted no time heading straight there. Dean opens the glass door for me, the little welcome bell ringing above us. I walk in first, immediately being hit with the sweet smell of baked goods, the culprit of it being a thick piece of apple pie that Scotty delivered to a couple sitting by the window.

“Oh, hey, Scotty. Can I get a coffee, black?” Dean greets, walking in behind me, adding “And a green tea…actually while you’re at it some of that pie too.” I have to hold back the smile that wants to escape onto my face, he was being slightly annoying on purpose which is proved further when Scotty gives him a nasty look before walking away. But beyond that I’m surprised Dean knew what I wanted, yes I drank tea quite often but how did he know I was feeling that flavor in particular?

He moves to sit at a table right next to the couple, I sit in the chair next to him trying to come up with a conversation starter for the people only a table away. I mean how do you say ‘hey you’re in danger! haha, please leave town’ to someone without them thinking you're actually insane? I am pulled out of my thoughts at the feeling of my chair moving, a soft scratching noise below it. Immediately I see Deans hand at the side of my chair, pulling me closer to him without saying or looking at me.

I try to ignore his strange antics and the butterflies that flutter in the depths of my stomach at his movement as he talks to the dark haired couple, “How ya doin’?” God for someone whose usually so smooth he was being so awkward. They share a weird look clearly looking uncomfortable before waving and smiling. But their uninterest in starting a conversation with strangers is very obvious as the girl leans closer to her boyfriend placing her arm up to lean her head on as if to block us out.

“Just passing through?” Dean continues, ignoring their reactions. “Road trip.” The girl answers plainly, clearly trying to shut down the conversation.

“Hm.” Dean hums his hand suddenly finding my thigh. My heart lurches, my leg twitching slightly at the sudden movement but he just gives me a little squeeze before readjusting his hold. Splaying his warm hand against my thigh, his fingers hooking onto the inside of my leg as he pulls them apart slightly, the gap just big enough to hold my thigh comfortably. He gives me another squeeze as if he was testing the feel of me again…oh god.

My brain seemed to short circuit, any logical thoughts I had turning into a mass space of blankness and static. I swallowed roughly, my heart beating out of my chest and the butterflies in my stomach flying frantically in warmth. This was just for a cover, if we acted as a couple too then they might feel more comfortable and inclined to talk with us, I try to reason with myself. But god when did my face get all warm? Stay focused Y/N, stay focused, I repeat to myself in my head. This wasn’t the time. Can’t be thinking of my feelings for him or the fact that this was only making me feel more desperate for him. Stay focused.

“Us too” He adds, and I have to think for a second what he’s talking about…Oh yes, we are also on a road trip, yeah.

Scotty walks over with a pitcher of something brownish orange, maybe it was apple cider considering this town clearly has a large supply of it. He moves right past us, refilling the couples cups, “I’m sure these people want to eat in peace.” he scolds us.

“Just a little friendly conversation.” Dean smiles up at the grumpy man who begins to walk away, “Oh, and that coffee and tea, too, man. Thanks.” Scotty just stares at him, the scowl on his face deepening, but he doesn't say anything as he walks away fully. “So, what brings you to town?” I ask softly, a sweet smile on my face in hopes of erasing the awkwardness in the air.

The girl answers, “We just stopped for gas. And, uh, the guy at the gas station saved our lives.”

“Aw, really!” I respond trying to sound amused.

The guy answers this time, “Yeah, one of our brake lines was leaking. We had no idea. He was fixing it for us.”

“That’s really sweet” I nod with a smile even as concern eats at me. They were definitely going to be the next victims. But I’m also terribly confused, I have no idea what he was talking about. I'm guessing a broken brake line means you won’t be able to stop the car but I didn’t know it could leak…

“Yeah.” The man nods trying to go back to his food.

All at once it hits me, I nearly want to kick myself for not thinking about it right away. I want to blame it on Dean's hand placement but it was most likely my lack of sleep because I was in fact enjoying his hand on my thigh…

This small town in Indiana was practicing Pagan rituals, and as much as I hate to admit it learning about Pagans was one of my favorite things to do.

“So, how long till you’re up and runnin’?” Dean asks them.

“Sundown.”

It was common in Paganism to sacrifice something or someone to the gods. It was a time where they didn’t understand why certain things happened like crops dying, so they blamed this on not respecting the Gods enough. When the real cause could have been for a number of reasons from lack of water to not crop rotating…

“Really.” Dean pauses for a minute, “To fix a brake line?” He receives a nod. “I mean, you know, I know a thing or two about cars. I could probably have you up and running in about an hour. I wouldn’t charge you anything.” He offers.

…However in terms of supernatural beings when these sacrifices were made it did work, whether or not it was the Gods “cursing” them or just not understanding agriculture. Either way it did work, the gods answered, and the bigger the sacrifice the bigger the payout which is why they typically did human sacrifices, sometimes even on a mass scale.

“You know, thanks a lot, but I think we’d rather have a mechanic do it.” The girl replies, looking nervously at her boyfriend.

“Are you sure?” I chime in, “He really is good, I mean you should see the level of care he puts into his own car. ‘Keeping it all good even though it’s decades older than him, he even keeps my old car in check.” I knew with every word I was stroking his ego, but it was true. Beyond his own car I can count on two hands the amount of times he helped with my old Volkswagen Beetle, he’s probably the reason why it still works.

In the corner of my eye I can see his cocky sexy grin, he squeezes my thigh once more and my thoughts fizzle out again as a kaleidoscope of butterflies flutters in my gut. Jesus Christ, Dean Winchester will be the death of me without knowing.

“Yeah we’re sure” The girl insists.

“Sure.” Dean pauses, his smile dropping, “You know, it’s just that these roads. They’re not real safe at night.” I guess he figures they won’t listen any other way. The couple exchanged a look, “I’m sorry?”

Dean leans in closer, “I know it sounds strange, but, uh—you might be in danger.”

The man finally snaps, looking annoyed, “Look, we’re trying to eat. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Dean says disappointingly, "You know, my brother could give you this puppy dog look, and you’d just buy right into it.” The couple looks at him strangely.

The bell above the door rings and I figure we don’t have much time left, “Look we aren’t trying to bother you and ruin your day, okay, I’m sorry.” I start, looking back at the Sheriff who had walked in. I lean in, speaking just low enough for them to hear, “But you really are in danger, for the last couple of years couples have gone missing this time of year repeatedly withou—“

“I’d like a word with you both.” The sheriff practically booms. I go quiet giving the couple a warning look both to say to listen to what I said and to not bring anything up now, they look scared and hesitant.

“Come on. I’m having a bad day already, ‘m just tryna make it better with my girlfriend” Dean reasons, I know it’s a lie but the way the word slipped so easily from his lips made my heart flutter.

“You know what would make it worse?” The sheriff replies. Dean releases his hold on my thigh, a tingling feeling taking its place. We got up and followed the man outside then following his orders, he was going to follow us out of town and we weren’t allowed back.

We drive down the interstate, both knowing we would turn back once it was clear. But for now we trudge toward passing by a sign that says ‘Thanks for visiting Burkittsville.’ I check the side mirror, the sheriff making a U-turn, heading back to town. Great.

“Should we find a motel nearby and return at night?” I ask, knowing the couple wouldn’t have a car to leave with ‘till sundown.

“Yeah, you need sleep” He hums. I wonder if he’s saying that because he knows I haven't slept at all. “Unfortunately I will not be sleeping ‘cause I have a very good idea on what’s going on and I wanna research further” I answer, opening up the glovebox to pull out the map that resided there.

I unfold it, tracking down Indiana and then the small town we just left, following the colored lines. “I think if we stay straight we’ll be at a rest stop in about 15 mins” I mumble, hopefully reading it right.

“Anyways!” I place the map down in my lap, “I’m very sure this town is sacrificing the couples to a Pagan God.”

“‘Thinking the same,” He answers.

“Okay, good. Now I'm not 100% sure i’m right on which one it is ‘cause there’s a lot of agricultural Gods as well as Gods of the woods, but the second I can search it up I’ll confirm it.” I ramble, talking with my hands.

“To be honest, sweetheart, ‘don’t know much about Norse Gods except the basics.”

“Oh don’t you worry, I got this” I beam.

I grumble for the fifth time typing different wording into the search bar. I want to scream as the page turns blank, the only words on the screen being ‘No Results.’

“What is it?” Dean asks from where he lays in his bed his fathers journal open, looking for anything on Norse Gods.

“Somehow there is nothing on Vanir Gods and when I mean nothing I mean nothing!” I get up from my bed walking the short distance to his, I climb on it putting my legs beneath me. I turned my laptop towards him, showing him the screen, “See!”

His eyebrows scrunch up looking just as confused as I feel, “I know we aren’t in the town anymore but do you think it’s somehow related?” I ask.

“Maybe. We aren’t that far from Burkittsville” He answers, taking my laptop and searching up ‘Books about Vanir Gods’ but again the same message pops up ‘No Results.’

He types in ‘Books about Norse Gods’ a couple searches pop up the main one being a thick book only available in a college in Burkittsville. “That’s so strange.” I mumble, I mean how could they be interfering with the internet.

“If they can make sacrifices to a god I’m guessing they could mess with google of all things. We’ll go there later” Dean responds and I’m sure he means after making sure the couple is safe. He closes my laptop, “You should sleep, I’ll wake you”

I studied him for a moment, and he was right. I should sleep, it sounds wonderful actually. I nod getting up, I don’t even bother changing into comfortable clothes or even taking off my bra I just crawl underneath the covers of my bed. “Good night, Dean.” But it was hardly close to night time.

He smiles, “ ‘Night baby.”

Dean sped down the interstate, the sun was nearly down and we would have been there on time if not for all the semi trucks in the truck stop not knowing how to exit. You really think it wouldn’t be so hard.

Continuing by the vast orchard, we scanned for a red van parked on the side, hoping to beat them there.

After some more driving, we eventually stumbled upon the deserted car, devoid of anyone. He stopped the car short even as we still had multiple feet between us and the vacant van.

He turns the car off and I meet him by the trunk, he hands me a shotgun, “Go through here, cut ‘em off--get in front” he rattles off the plan as he cocks his own gun. I nod, cocking my gun before shutting the trunk as he takes the lead.

I catch up to him, running at his side, passing through each tree as my shoes crush the fallen apples with a satisfying crunch.

I squint my eyes, the dark haired couple too far away to get there before the dark figure of the scarecrow does. It was a clear distance away, I could bring us there in a moment's time. I’ve practiced this sort of distance before, it was doable, and nothing like the asylum. “Get ready to shoot 45 degrees to your left” I shouted, reaching a hand out to grasp Dean's shoulder. He meets my eyes with a look of determination hard in his irises. I focus back ahead on the target, forcing my energy there.

The air ripples around us even as we continue to run, in a blink of an eye we’re in front of the couple. A loud shot rings out, Dean shoots the thing square in the chest. But all it does is stumble back before it continues to walk forward.

Its head was tilted slightly, that greasy hair dangling on his shoulders, the sickle gripped tightly in its leathery hand. “Get back to your car!” I yell behind me, “Go!” I looked behind me for a split second, they were running and we weren’t too far from the orchards clearing.

Almost at the same time Dean and I start walking backward away from the horrifying thing. I raise my shotgun up, shooting it right in its chest as Dean cocks his gun again. But these salt bullets were doing nothing and was hardly buying us time, “Get ready to run!” Dean orders as he shoots the thing again.

Not needing to tell me twice I shift my footing, running towards the clearing right after the couple. Beyond Dean's own shoes hitting the ground hard next to me I could hear the subtle click of its boots walking the ground. Now I know how every character in Halloween felt as Myers went after them.

I do the thing that you should never do in a horror movie and turn my head to see how close the scarecrow was. It couldn’t be more than 10 feet away, “Screw this” I mumble, twisting my footing again so I could walk backwards as it came towards us. I uncomfortably hold the gun in the crook of my arm as I extend my hands forward, effortlessly calling upon my abilities as I shoot out pure energy from my hands.

The scarecrow goes flying what seems like 100 or more feet, landing harshly on its back. I want to celebrate and get all cocky but this was dealing with Norse Gods and I didn’t particularly feel like getting on their nerves at the moment.

I make it to the clearing, my chest heaving from the running and use of powers. Man, water would be good right now.

A familiar arm wraps around my shoulder, the crook of his arm touching my neck as he brings me into his side. His chest heaves too, “Good job.” The praise makes my heart swell but the sweet moment is cut off by the man in the couple panting, “What—what the hell was that?” He points between the orchard and me. Double yikes.

“Don’t ask.” Dean responds.

We sit in the Impala just outside of town so we wouldn’t technically get in trouble.

After helping the couple officially leave, thank god, we went back to the motel. It would be hours until the college opened so we really just had to wait. We ate at some all night diner before showering and sleeping for a couple more hours. We woke early, I threw on some low rise black jeans and a fitted black & gray long sleeve baseball tee, heading out to grab some coffee before heading back close to town to wait.

Dean had called Sam, placing his phone on speaker and positioning it in the middle of the dashboard so we could both hear and speak. He called his brother on his own accord to talk about the “hunt” and I didn’t dare say anything about it knowing he would just brush it off. The call was certainly more than just letting him know how the hunt was going. “The scarecrow climbed off its cross?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, I’m tellin’ ya. Burkittsville, Indiana. Fun Town.” Dean muses, taking a sip of coffee from his cup.

“It didn’t kill the couple, did it?” Sam responded concerned.

“God no” I scuff.

“We can cope without you, you know.” Dean adds.

“So, something must be animating it. A spirit.” Sam theorizes.

“No, it’s more than a spirit. It’s a god. A Pagan god, anyway.” Dean answers.

“What makes you say that?”

I answer this time, “There’s a lot that points to it, from annual cycle killings to the choice of victims. And I’m sure you know human sacrifices were common in Paganism especially when it comes to fertility. There were even mass sacrifices to even protect them and or help them with wars.”

I begin to speak with my hands again, getting more animated as I get excited, “And according to a local all the towns around them are failing in multiple degrees especially in agriculture, while Burkittsville remains flourishing largely in their apple department. As seen not only through their extensive orchard but their numerous apple products, they practically gloat upon it.”

“And you should see the locals. The way they treated this couple. Fattenin’ ‘em up like a Christmas turkey.” Dean adds in.

“The last meal. Given to sacrificial victims.” Sam acknowledges.

Dean answers, “Yeah, we’re thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some Pagan god.”

“So, a god possesses the scarecrow…” Sam starts, Dean adding in with their usual weird finishing each other's sentences, “And the scarecrow takes its sacrifice. And for another year, the crops won’t wilt, and disease won’t spread.”

“Do you know which god you’re dealing with?” Sam asks.

“Well, there’s hundreds of Gods.” I answer, “But it will most likely align with Norse Paganism which are broken up into two sections one of them being Vanir Gods. From what I remember they’re Gods of fertility, wealth, wisdom and two other things. I don’t remember too much and unfortunately there’s an issue with the internet so I can’t even confirm my theory.”

Sam laughs, “What do you mean issue?”

“Long story,” Dean responds, “But we’re on our way to a local community college, they have a book on Norse Gods there. You know, since we don’t have our geek boy to figure out the issue with the internet crap.”

Sam laughs again, “You know, if you’re hinting you need my help, just ask.”

“I’m not hinting anything.” Dean replies quickly with a fake annoyance to his voice, “Actually, uh—“ He looks at me as if he isn’t sure what to say, I nod my head encouragingly, “I want you to know….I mean, don’t think….”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, too.” Sam says seriously, seemingly knowing what his brother was struggling to say.

Dean looks to his hands cradling his coffee cup to straight ahead through the windshield, “Sam. You were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life.” I don’t try to bite back my smile, he wasn’t looking to begin with, either way I was proud of him.

“Are you serious?” Sam asks, probably never expecting to hear that.

“You’ve always known what you want. And you go after it. You stand up to Dad. And you always have. Hell, I wish I—“ He cuts himself off, sighing, “anyway….I admire that about you. I’m proud of you, Sammy.”

“I don’t even know what to say.” Sam says quietly.

“Say you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I will.”

“Call me when you find Dad.”

“Ok.” Sam responds, though he sounds upset, "Bye, Dean.”

He collects his phone from the dashboard, hanging up. He catches me staring, “What?” I don’t answer, just smile at him, “No. Don’t give me that happy go lucky sweet look.”

“Oh come on!” I laugh, “That was really sweet of you Dean! So can’t a girl be proud of her boy.”

He rolls his eyes, placing his coffee in the cupholder before crossing his arms across his chest, but his face gives him away a light pink gracing his cheeks. “You are a sweetie pie” I declare, placing a hand on his shoulder. He removes one of his arms from their own hold, placing a warm hand on top of mine, grasping it gently to remove it, “I’m not.” he bites. His tough boy act was so cute.

“If you say so” I shrug, the smile on my face giving away the fact that this wasn’t me giving up on the fact he was a total softy. He turns his head away, facing his window, mumbling something incoherent.

I want to start skipping into the library, who knew a community college would have such a nice one. Though to be fair I would say any library was nice as long as it was in good shape. I make my way to the librarian's desk, “Hello!” I greet, my excitement getting the best of me, “Could you point us to the books on Paganism? Or even just Norse mythology?”

The old woman at the desk looks at me a little strangely, maybe I came off too strong. But her expression contorts into a small smile, “One of our dear old professors would have those sorts of books, lucky for you sweetie I think he’s free right now. I can just give him a little call.”

I look back at Dean, who stands a little bit behind me, he shrugs, I guess it wouldn’t hurt talking to a professor about this. Especially if it meant looking at that book.

I turn back to the old librarian, “Yes please.” But she already placed the phone back in its holder, “He’ll be right down.” Oh. Okay, this woman works fast. “You can take a seat there, it’ll be a moment” she points to just behind us at a mostly empty table. “Thank you!” I smile.

“It’s not every day I get a research question on Pagan ideology.” Professor Williams says, as he leads us to his classroom.

“Yeah, well, call it a hobby.” Dean responds, not sounding all that amused.

“Well what are you looking for in particular?” The older man asks.

“Uh, local lore, maybe” Dean answers, looking at me to jump in at any time but I don’t know if I want to put all my eggs in one basket. We had to choose who we could trust here, and maybe I shouldn’t have been so forward with the nice librarian but doing so made getting to the book easier. I hope. “I’m afraid Indiana isn’t really known for its Pagan worship.” He answers.

I can already feel this being a painfully slow lead to the answer, “You know, actually,” I began, “I was interested in the Vanir Gods. It struck me the other day and when I can’t get an easy answer for something I go digging.” The professor stops in his tracts, turning to face me, “Very well. I was not expecting to hear such a clear topic.”

I laugh a little uncomfortably, “I just like to learn.”

We follow him down the rest of the long hallway into his classroom. A small room with desks and chairs lined in order while a large whiteboard rested on the long wall. He beckons us over to his desk, a thick and long brown leather bound book lying there, “Well, let’s see.” He leafs through a couple of pages seeking what seems to be the chapter he’s looking for, “Ah ha, there we are” he declares, turning the book towards us.

I read the first page quickly, breezing through information I already knew. I turn to the next page only to be met with a picture of a scarecrow-like thing on a post in a field with farmers surrounding it. I read out loud the text just below the image, “The Vanir were Norse gods of protection and prosperity, keeping the local settlements safe from harm. Some villages built effigies of the Vanir in their fields. Other villages practiced human sacrifice. One male, and one female.”

I looked up from the book catching Dean's eyes, this was definitely it. “This particular Vanir that’s energy sprung from the sacred tree?” Dean asks, gaze flipping to the man in question.

“Well, Pagans believed all sorts of things were infused with magic.” He answers not all that helpfully.

“So what would happen if the sacred tree was torched? You think it’d kill the god?” Dean questions further. He’s really just putting it all out there. The professor laughs, “Son, these are just legends we’re discussing.”

“Yes of course” I fake laugh along with him, “My, uh, friend here just loves the hypotheticals, you know?”

“I do,” Dean nods seriously. The professor just looks at us strangely. God I really hope he just thinks we’re weird people. “Listen, thank you very much.” Dean says, holding out his hand. The professor takes it, giving what seems like a firm handshake before offering one to me, “Yes, thank you so much,” I say sincerely, taking his hand for a single awkward handshake.

I follow Dean to the door, an odd feeling settling itself in my gut as if something was about to happen. He opens the door and the feeling spikes, my heart jumping at the simple action. What the hell. I want to ignore it, push it to the back of mind and chalk it up to just random anxiety. But I can’t, genuine fear twists itself around within me, clawing at the walls of my stomach as if to warn me. Just as my foot breeches the hallway everything in me screams to turn around.

I listen to my body, turning around as I take a half step back, a large book only inches from my face. A small breathy squeak leaves my lips as I duck, a loud bang and tumble coming from beside me. This was a trap.

Using my bent knees as leverage as well as the attackers stumbling at missing me, I latch on to their forearms pushing up and out still holding on tightly as I lift my leg and kick. My foot connects with the soft expanse of the person's stomach, letting go of his arms at the same time. It was no doubt the professor as he was the only one in the room with us. I watch him stumble backwards, knocking into his desk roughly.

My brain works quickly, adrenaline rushing through my veins. The bang and tumble I heard must have been someone attacking Dea—I twisted my upper body to the right, catching the sheriff's wrist before the blunt of his gun could hit me too. I didn’t need to look to know he already got Dean. God this town was crooked.

I bring his arm down closer to my level, twisting it in an attempt to put it behind him, but he uses his free hand to left hook me, his fist connecting with my cheekbone. I let go of his arm at the action, my hand instinctively going to my cheek that stinged until something cold clinked onto my wrist. I knew it was handcuffs but my eyes went to my wrist anyways just as he clicked into place the other half of the cuff.

He looked smug, as if he had won. He must have been stupid. Not that it changed much but my hands were cuffed in front of me, magic aside it couldn’t have stopped me. I tilt my head slightly, giving him a ‘seriously?’ look before kicking him where the sun doesn't shine, immediately he doubles over holding onto his crotch with teary eyes. I guess you could add assaulting a police officer to my list of crimes, he may have been a sheriff but it probably still counted.

He would be down at least for a minute or more so I turned back to the professor who seemed to be stalking closer with the same book raised as if he was trying to kill a bug. The second my eyes landed on him he stopped moving, I foiled his plan. “Could you stop with the book?!” I exclaim. He seems to contemplate what I said, his eyes slipping from me to something behind me. He was not good at this fighting thing.

Thin but strong arms wrap around me, forcing my arms to my chest. I flailed around trying to shake the guy off, I didn’t want to use my magic yet. The less they knew the better. “Watch, she’s a kicker” the professor warns. “I know” the somewhat familiar voice of the sheriff huffed from behind me, his chest rumbling with each word. His chest was rising and falling fast, I wonder if he fully recovered from my crotch attack or if he was pushing through.

All at once I stop flailing, a smirk making its way on my face, and before anyone can do or say anything more I bite down hard on the sheriff's hand, my neck bending at a weird angle to reach him. He yells letting me go to hold his wounded limb.

I take a couple steps away from both of them, “I’m also a biter,” I muse. I look between both men, neither of them seeming to know what to do. They hadn’t expected this. “Which one of you wants to go next?” I point between either of them, the handcuffs rattling with my movement, “ ‘cause I can go all day, baby.”

They look at each other, worried in their eyes. The sheriff's throat bobbed with a hard auditable gulp. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re scared” I tease, smirking viciously, I was having too much fun with this.

The sheriff reaches slowly for his gun, the one he must have put back after I kicked him. I watch him do it, he’d pull it but wouldn’t shoot and ask me to stand down or come with him. He expects me to be afraid of the gun, at the prospect of being shot which is why he assumes it would work. He pulls it out, holding it firmly out in front of him aiming for my chest, “Get on your knees. Hands behind your head!” he yells. How predictable.

The smirk on my face only deepens, I lift an eyebrow at him, “If you wanted me on my knees so badly you could’ve just asked.” I was never usually so flirty or straightforward, but this was just so fun. I knew I was getting cocky. Maybe I was hanging around Dean too much. “Knees now!” He yells again. At this point he was just feeding me these easy openings. A laugh escapes my lips, I must look like a psychopath.

He readjusts the gun in his hand, his finger scooting back towards the trigger, but he couldn’t shoot, not when they wanted to use Dean and I as sacrifices. “Last chance!” He warns. Last chance indeed.

I catch my eyes flaring purple in his shiny revolver, a look of horror and confusion apparent on his face. A look I was used to, and as much as it normally would upset me I could use it now. The air fizzled around me, maybe I was getting better at this, in a blink of an eye I was right behind him. I kick the back of his knee, the man buckling under his own weight, his gun going off. The bullet hits the ceiling light right above where I stood only moments before.

Shards of glass fall, the light flickering for dominance before eventually going dark. I easily grasp the gun from his hand, turning the safety back on before sliding it across the floor out of the room. Without a plan to actually hurt the man, I used what he gave me, pressing the linked chains of the handcuffs to his neck as I brought the back of his head to my stomach.

He grunts against my hold his hands trying to pry the chain off as his eyes search the professors for help, but his partner backs away hands up in defense. I loosen up my hold, I wasn’t trying to severely hurt the guy or kill him for that matter. “‘Had enough?” I ask, mostly teasing.

Suddenly a soft plush material is pressed to my face, I move to fight or teleport away but my limbs suddenly feel too heavy and my eyes begin to droop. My body feels like it’s falling even as I stand in place, I think. My eyes begin to flutter close, my legs giving out on me. The world turns black.

My head feels fuzzy. My eyes are too heavy to open just yet. It smelt bad, a musty smell combined with a farm-like smell. The ground was comfortable.

I try to open my eyes but they flutter shut again. Someones calling my name, they’re too far away…need to come closer. My head was pounding.

Something suddenly brushes into my hair repeatedly. Even still half gone, fear spikes in me. My eyes shoot open, my upper body jolting up into a seated position. Familiar hands hold my shoulders as I sway, the room seeming to move back and forth, “It's okay, you’re okay” Dean says soothingly. I stare at him, his features becoming less and less blurry as I blink.

He cups my face gently, his fingers barely brushing against my skin. He seems to study me, most likely noting the bruise that is undoubtedly forming where I was hit. His thumb brushes over my wounded cheekbone gently, yet even so I wince sucking in a breath between my teeth. “Sorry” he mumbles, meeting my eyes. I hum, my tongue feeling too heavy to utter a word. “What happened to you?” he asks softly.

I swallow, trying to force my tongue to work enough to answer but my words still come out too quietly, “You went down first. I fought, but I think someone else came. They covered my mouth with a thingy, maybe they used, um, what is it called?” My thoughts felt all jumbled still, fog covering the expanse of my brain. My head was killing me too much to think straight. He practically scowls, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips turned down in a frown, “Chloroform” he answers. I smile weakly, “yeah that.”

I want to lay down. The room was still spinning, my head hurt. This was embarrassing, I had gotten all confident before– feeling invincible only to be drugged. I remove Dean's hands from my face, holding them instead as I place them on his lap. I looked around us, the room might be moving but it was obvious enough it was some sort of basement. No, a cellar. It was dark and empty, except for the straws of hay lying around. And just across from us was a small staircase up to what seemed like cellar doors. “It's locked,” Dean says, noticing my stare. Of course it is.

But if I could just right my mind, clear the fog, I could get us out easy peasy. Almost as if I willed it, the cellar doors creek open. The sunlight floods through, I try to block it with my hand, the sudden light worsening my headache if that was even possible. I need Advil. Dean lets go of my hand getting up quickly, just watching the quick movement makes me want to vomit. I blink slowly, following suit, with a lot of stumbling I make it to my feet even as it feels like the room is pulling me down.

Four jerks stand just outside the cellar, Harley and Stacy, Scotty, and the Sheriff. Harley moves close to the stairs as if he's about to descend them before getting abruptly stopped by the Sheriff, “I wouldn’t, she's feisty.” Dean laughs at that, my assault on the man very apparent by the various bruises he displayed. I would smirk or laugh too if it didn't feel like I was using all my energy to keep me standing. Harley knocks the Sheriff's hand off but makes no move to get closer, “She’s also still drugged” he bites. “Wrong,” I pointed a finger up, feeling more like a drunk as I spoke, “This would be the side effects or aftermath of Chloroform.” All four of them looked at me blankly, maybe I was wrong. I don't know.

“I hope you both know this is for the common good,” Stacy nods. I furrow my eyebrows, “Thanks for the preaching, lady. It really eases the brain into all this sacrificial nonsense.”

“That's enough” she replies rather calmly before nodding to the others. They begin to close the cellar doors, darkness enveloping us. I sat down rather quickly, landing on my butt harshly, “I'm surprised you didn't say anything snarky to them.”

“You were more entertaining” He answers with a half shrug. He tries the cellar door again but of course it's locked, he huffs moving to sit next to me.

I lean my head on his shoulder. He speaks softly now so as not to disturb my throbbing head, “Where do you think this important tree would be?” He was referring to the tree we would have to destroy in order to kill the scarecrow, and it was a good question. “Hm” I hum, “It would be the oldest tree here, probably the most protected. Maybe the first immigrants brought it over here, so it’s wherever they would plant it. I would say in the middle.” He nods and I swear I could hear the gears in his head turning.

The cellar doors open again, Stacy coming into view “It’s time.” I want to ask why they didn't just take us the first time they opened the doors but I guess waiting to die a little later was better than sooner. I remove my head from Dean's shoulder, do we fight? It would be 4 against 2 except I wasn't completely okay. But we could fight, right? I mean we always make it out, we always wind up fine.

Harley and the Sheriff come down the stairs, the Sheriff watches me carefully as he lifts Dean forcefully up. Harley doesn't show any remorse as he grips my forearm tightly, lifting me to my feet before grabbing my other arm roughly holding them behind my back. I struggle against him attempting to step hard on his foot as he forces me up the stairs behind Dean.

Real fear twirled itself around me, were we not going to fight?

They drag us forward deeper into the orchard, I dig my heels into the dirt trying to slow it down as much as I can. I’m scared. I don't want to die. I don't want to be sacrificed to some god. Please. Please. My headache needs to go away, let me use my powers without pain. I struggle against him more, trying to let my magic seep into anything around me but immediately my headache worsens by ten folds. I grunt in frustration, trying to shake the older man off further but he only tightens his grip. I hope bruises won't come from it, not that it would matter if I died today. I close my eyes tightly, digging my heels in further, please. Please. Anything, please.

Harley pushes me forward effortlessly. I don't want to die. Please. Please.

The ground begins to rumble, shaking violently. Apples tumble from the trees hitting the ground with a bunch of thumps. My heart beats wildly in my chest as if it's trying to jump out and run away. His grip loosens on me as he freezes in place, “It's angry at us!” Stacy yells covering her head. I wiggle out of Harleys hold, taking a couple steps away as my legs wobble like the ground. A familiar click locks into place, I come face to face with a gun, “It’s not causing this. It's her” the Sheriff accuses.

“Dont touch her” Dean yells, struggling against Scotty's hold. The Sheriff must have passed him on to hold me at gunpoint for the second time today. “I'm not doing anything” I spit, the shaking ground growing more intense.

“Your eyes are glowing again” he states. “What are you talking about?” I nearly yell, I think I would know if I was using my own abilities. Plus I've never done anything like this before so how would I be able to do so now?

Before I can react he has my hair wrapped in his fist, pulling my head back forcefully a hiss of pain escaping my lips. It felt like it was going to rip itself right from the roots. “Dont you fucking hurt her!” Dean roars. The ground seems to become more violent, the large trees themselves shaking where they stood while everyone nearly stumbles over. He pulls my hair hard, my neck snapping back as he moves his shiny gun in front of me, showing me its side.

My only slightly blurred reflection stares back at me. My cheekbone had a dark bruise painted there and my eyes were–

My irises were purple. No. It doesn't make sense, I wasn't controlling this. I wasn't making it happen, I've never done this before. The Sheriff pushes me forward letting go of my hair at the last minute, I fall to my knees only a foot away from him. The barrel of the gun is pressed into the back of my skull, “Make it stop or I'll make you stop” he threatens. I can hear Dean struggle against Scotty again, and in the corner of my eyes I see him finally pull away before turning around and punching the man right in the face. Scotty doubles over, but before Dean could do any more damage to anyone else Harvey grabs him.

“You can't kill her, we have to leave them both for it” Stacy argues. The ground seems to roar, the earth shaking so siverley I nearly fall to my hands. “I would stop if I could!” I admit, “I don't kno–” I cut myself off, a sudden deep memory making its way to the surface of my brain. A memory of a deceased corn field, a disaster I caused.

“Make it stop!” the sheriff spits. “I told you I don't know h–” Suddenly the gun is raised up and before I could do anything to stop it, the gun hits the side of my skull. My head feels like it explodes as I hit the ground, my eyes struggle to stay open. The last thing I see before it all goes dark again is Dean trying to lunge forward and the ground halting in its shaking.

My eyes flutter open, my horrible headache accompanied with an even worse head-ache. Both in my head and outside. At this point my brain should be a scrambled mess.

My wrists were zip tied to a thinner part of the tree trunk my back rested on. It was just beginning to be dark out. I move my gaze from above me to across me, Dean sitting against a different tree in the same position I was in. His eyes widen and he attempts to move closer before grunting in frustration at the restrictions of his wrists, “You're awake. Are you okay?” He licks his lips, “I swear to fuckin’ god I’ll kill ‘em.”

I don't say anything, my head is too heavy. He's staring at me with wide eyes, fear clear in his irises. “‘You okay?” he asks again. I nod, my head hurts and I’m confused and upset, but I’m alive so I’m okay. He shakes his head, “No.” I look at him confused, I don't understand. He continues to shake his head, wetting his lips again, “Say it. I need to hear you say it,” he sounded breathless, “I need to hear you say you're okay.”

“Im okay” I say weakly. He sighs, relief clear in the way his shoulders drop. But I had a feeling he knew I wasn't being totally truthful.

He swallows roughly, “Can you see the scarecrow?” Despite my heavy head I look in each direction for the thing, until I can slightly see the post. “Dean” I start and I can hear my own voice wobble with fear, “It's not there.” He fights against his restraints, and I would join him in that effort if my head hasn't already given up on me. “I hope their apple pie is frickin’ worth it” he grumbles.

A shadow catches just behind Dean, I squint hoping I'm just seeing things from potential brain damage then the actual scarecrow. “Dean, I think it's behind you.” Forget everything I said and thought, I begin fighting against my own restraints, the zip ties digging into my wrists harshly. “Dean?” a familiar voice called out.

Sam’s tall figure comes into view as he rounds the tree Dean is tied to. Dean twists his neck oddly to see his brother, “Oh!” he sighs in relief, “Oh, I take everything back I said. I'm so happy to see you. Come on.” Sam takes that as his chance to assess his brother's binding before pulling out his pocket knife, “‘You okay, Y/N?” he asks as he works on sawing the bindings. “Dandy” I respond, truly done with this all.

“How’d you get here?” Dean asks his brother.

“I, uh–I stole a car.”

Dean laughs at that, “That's my boy!” His bindings finally break with a snap. Sam doesn't wait for his brother to get up as he walks the short distance to me, beginning to remove my own restraints. His eyes gaze down at me every now and then, most likely assessing the damage.

Deans at my side a breath later, squatting down to be at my level. He brings his hand carefully to my face, gently moving a piece of my hair behind my ear. Something feels dried and stiff there and I wonder if it's blood from being hit or just dirt. I tilt and roll my head away from him, the pain overwhelming even with the delicate touch.

My restraints snap above me, bits of the plastic tangling itself into my hair. My wrists are raw and red, just one more thing to add to the list. I place my hands on the cold dirt, trying to pick myself up but my ears begin to ring and my vision spins. I sit back down again, huffing. Strong arms grab my arm and waist all but lifting me off the ground and onto my feet, “‘You got eyes on the scarecrow?” Dean asks, looking at his brother who shakes his head. “Alright, I can carry you, the clearing isn’t far off” Dean says looking down at me.

“That's ridiculous,” I shake my head, “I’ll slow you down. I’ll just push through, and we don't have time to argue this.” He grumbles, he doesn't like the idea. But again we don't know where the scarecrow is and we can't waste time bickering over stupid logistics.

I immediately regret not taking the offer. My brain feels like it's jumping around in my skull and swishing side to side as if on a boat. I feel like the orchard is spinning around me, tumbling over itself like one of those tunnels in a fun house.

“Alright, now, this sacred tree you’re talking about–” Sam pants lightly as we run, Dean having filled him in on the information we gathered. “It's the source of its power” I finish, my voice feeling far away even in my own ears. “So let’s find it and burn it.” Sam annonces.

“Nah, in the morning.” Dean counters, “Let’s just shag ass before Leather face catches up.”

We come to a skidding stop, just at a clearing of trees the four jerks from before as well as a couple others stand guard. Sam nudged us in a different direction just to be met with a wall of people, we were surrounded. “Did the whole fricking town come to watch us die?!” I exclaim, “Just let us leave!” I was so tired of this, I just want to go to a motel or something and shower off today's fears before falling into a deep sleep. “It’ll be over quickly” Harley says, and if it was meant to be comforting it was not working. “It's for the greater go–” suddenly a sickle is pushed through his stomach. His mouth opens in shock, blood dripping down the sides. Screams come from all around us, and I hardly know if I was screaming too.

He’s raised off the ground before the sickle is quickly pulled out. Stacy still stands there screaming, watching her dying husband on the floor. But soon her screams are cut off too, the sickle going through her throat. Her eyes are wide, her mouth hanging open too as blood not only spurts out of her neck but spills down like a waterfall onto her shirt. The air fills quickly with all the blood's metallic scent. The scarecrow does not retract its weapon, keeping the curved blade in her neck as it grabs onto Harley's collar dragging them both behind it.

Shock had frozen us in place, but apparently not the townspeople. “Come on let’s go,” Dean insists, leading us away.

Morning came by far too slowly but at least we passed the time by using the stolen car to drive back to the college to get the Impala before returning to the orchard. It all went by so weirdly, I knew I was moving but it felt like I never left that road outside the expanse of apple trees. I hardly remember the drive there or the drive back, everything still spun and the ringing only got louder. I think I might have lost my mind.

We stand in front of the sacred tree though I don't remember how we found it. The tree had Vince’s tattoo printed onto it, that was a tell tale sign it was the right one. Sam pours gasoline all over it, Dean picks up a long branch lighting it on fire before throwing it onto the tree. “‘Think the towns ‘gonna be okay?” Sam asks as the flaming tree roars with the crackling flames. “Don’t know” Dean shrugs, but I think the answer was apparent to all of us.

“And the rest of the townspeople, they’ll just get away with it?” Sam adds.

“Well, what’ll happen to the town will have to be punishment enough.” Dean answers.

We walk back to the car leaving the burning tree behind us, though I hope it won’t spread and cause a whole forest fire, “So, can I drop you off somewhere?” Dean asks.

“No, I think you’re stuck with me.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“I didn’t. I still wanna find Dad. And you’re still a pain in the ass.” Sam explains, “But, Jess and Mom—they’re both gone. Dad is God knows where. You, me, Y/N. We’re all that’s left. So, if we’re gonna see this through, we’re gonna do it together.”

I give Sam's arm a little squeeze, it was a really sweet speech.

“Hold me, Sam. That was beautiful.” Dean smiles, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder who hits it away. They fall into a fit of laughter, “You should be kissing my ass, you were dead meat, dude.” Sam says between laughs.

“Yeah, right. I had a plan, I’d have gotten us out.” Dean scuffs.

“Right.”

#supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #john winchester #slow burn #witch reader #witchcraft #dean winchester x witch reader #dean winchester x f!reader #the hunter and the witch #the hunter and the witch update #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female reader #angst #arguing

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doorlampwrites · 3 months

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Consequences of poking around

Civilian hadn't even heard them coming. They had been on their laptop, blankly staring at their notes about Villain.

Over the past few weeks, they had found a new hobby. A new hobby that involved trespassing on crime scenes and learning how to take good photographs.

A hobby that had left them tied up and gagged on the floor.

Villain clicked through their laptop, not even giving them a spare glance. Watching them up close, outside of their screen, sent a thrill through them. The same thrill they felt wondering if they would be caught searching places they weren't supposed to be—except now they had already been caught.

Impending danger. What would Villain do when they finished sorting out their computer? The obvious answer was kill them. But a small part of Civilian held out hope that Villain wouldn't. That they would praise Civilian for what they found, for finding connections the authorities didn't think of.

Villain shut the laptop and stood up.

It was a stupid thought. Civilian felt their blood freeze as Villain turned to look at them. From the floor, they looked like a giant about to stomp on a bug.

"You are an obsessive one, aren't you?" Villain said.

Civilian's hands shook. Of course. Everyone said that about their hobbies. Why would Villain be any different?

Villain crouched down and lifted their chin with a gloved finger. "I can't have someone poking around like that."

Civilian looked away, panic only now beginning to set in. They were about to be murdered, weren't they? Just because they couldn't be satisfied with true crime podcasts. Just because they couldn't like normal things.

"Are you shy now?" Villain said. "You certainly weren't when you were speculating how I killed Victim."

Civilian wanted to melt into the wall.

"You sounded so curious about it... I’m tempted to show you how it's done."

They squeezed their eyes shut. Was Villain going to make it slow? Would it be painful and drawn out? A punishment for investigating them?

Villain pulled down their gag. "Tell me your intentions," they said firmly.

"I- I wasn't gonna do anything with it," Civilian said. Their throat tightened. Villain wasn't going to believe them. "It was just a personal project. A hobby. I wasn't going to tell anyone, I swear. I don't tell people about any of my hobbies. They don't- they don't like to hear about them, and this one would be worse, so-"

"Shut the fuck up," Villain said.

Civilian closed their mouth.

"I want you to know that you don't have any important information about me," they said carefully. "And some of it is inaccurate."

Civilian's heart dropped.

"I wouldn't even consider this worth my time if you didn't like to snoop around places you don't belong." Villain grabbed their face, squeezing so tight it hurt. "Stay away from this. If I see you at the wrong place again, I will kill you, no questions asked. Understood?"

"Yes," Civilian whispered.

The villain stood up and left without another word. Civilian wiggled their hands, realizing they left without bothering to untie them.

When they finally managed to cut themself free, Civilian found all the notes on their computer deleted.

#writeblr #my writing #whump #writers on tumblr #writing #whumpblr #heroes and villains #whump writing #villain and civilian #gagged whumpee #restrained whumpee

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theactualsunshinechild · 6 months

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Fontaine archon storyline still has the opportunity to do the funniest thing ever and try to make Mr. "Genocide on a Whim" Childe a Christ figure by somehow trying to sacrifice him to the primordial sea for the sins of all of Fontaine

That's definitely not the plan, but it would be very funny. I love the concept of making completely un-christ-like characters into christ stand-ins.

I just keep thinking about how much opportunity they have to pull off something very biblical here with the whole "born with sin" "flood to cleanse sins" "literally building Noah's ark" "statue of the seven technically holding a cross" "passing final judgment only belongs to one entity" shit they have going on.

The entirety of Fontaine so far is so full of Christian references, whether intentional or not, that they could absolutely Christ-ify Childe if they wanted to! They're like, halfway there, they just need to sacrifice his ass and bring him back to life and they'll check off bingo.

I would be so grateful if they literally killed and revived him. can you imagine how much extra MC level Angst TM they could stuff into this man?

I love giving my most pathetic meow meows the hardest battles.

plus the added moral quandry of "is it right it to kill one guy to save our whole country even though he is not Fontanian and is blessed(???) by the primordial sea whale thing (pure of their inherent fontanian sin, kind of a son of god equivalent moment)? Is it right to do even if he isn't exactly a good person?"

And then of course the fact that the vast majority of the people affected by this decision would probably say yes, hesitantly or not. Like, if it were a guaranteed fix to the prophecy, there is no doubt in my mind that Arlecchino would be willing to nail Childe to the metaphorical cross herself AND cover it up to his family.

Neuvillette would probably consider it unjust, but could maybe potentially be swayed by the weight of just how many lives would be saved vs One Dangerous Criminal argument. (A Christ and Pontius Pilate reference? Childe WAS arrested and tried and found guilty for a crime he didn't commit by a guy who was unwilling, but forced to pronounce him guilty).

Wriothesley would be against the idea of sacrificing someone legally under his care, but if it's that vs everyone else in the fortress??? He would rather it was himself, as hell bent on fixing issues thrown his way as he is, but the man doesn't even know if he's Fontanian or not, he doesn't have the same circumstances surrounding him as Childe does to even offer to stand in his place.

Basically, if it is a guarantee, sacrificing him is simply the most practical choice that most people would make. In fact, out of all the characters we have in Fontaine, I think only the traveler might even bother truly standing up for him to the very end, because everyone else is very Personally affected, since it's their own lives on the line as well.

And that would be heartbreaking

The ANGST of Childe looking around him and seeing no one in his side in the face of impending sacrificial execution would shatter me into pieces.

Oh god, can you IMAGINE a cut scene of Childe being the first person to be sentenced to death in Fontaine in over a century and desperately looking around and meeting the traveller's eyes and we fucking grit our teeth and look away? Can you IMAGINE?!

That would break me.

Anyway, I don't think they'll do it since that's just not how Genshin writes, but it sure would be a missed opportunity.

#genshin impact #genshin 4.2 #genshin 4.1 spoilers #Childe #tartaglia #arlecchino #neuvillette #wriothesley #Childe as a Christ figure #also please be gentle i don't know my Bible Canon very well #never really studied it #everything i know about Pontius Pilate was extrapolated from Master and Margarita and a Sunday school lecture i slept through

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sin-djarin · 7 months

Text

Private and Confidential I

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: M (for now). This blog is 18+. MDNI.

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: You're less than enthusiastic about being assigned to a new case without any forewarning. Maybe your new partner could change your mind?

Chapter summary: Already upset at the idea of switching divisions, you're forced to recall a memory from last summer.

Chapter warnings: No use of y/n, no physical description of reader (wearing of heels mentioned), swearing, mention of food and alcohol consumption, my spelling and grammar probably.

A/N: I have absolutely taken liberties with this despite research but it's fiction right? Lets see where this takes us. Setting the scene here and it's likely to be the longest chapter.

“The briefing starts in five minutes. I suggest you get to boardroom C”

“Sir, I-“ you start but can’t get your words out.

You stay seated as your director stands from his own large leather chair, cutting off any attempt at defence you might try to make. The decision had been made and deep down you knew it. There had been no prior consultation, no emails, no phone calls to discuss. You had just been assigned to this case whether you liked it or not. He walks to hold the door to his office open for your impending exit before dismissing you with a flat “good day agent”.

It’s a hurried dash back to your desk to pick up a notepad and a pen before starting the short walk to the boardroom. Even if you weren’t, you thought it wise to make it look like you were interested despite being far from it. Art crime wasn’t your area. You thought it to be too slow. Rarely is someone in immediate danger, there’s no adrenaline high or satisfaction from potentially saving a life.

Regardless, you take a seat in the dimly lit boardroom at the long oval table, another director on one side, you and three other agents on the other. A large flat screen hangs on the wall at one end of the table with slides ready to be presented along with the case number. Seeing slide 1/52 in the bottom left of the screen slashes away the enthusiasm you walked into the building with this morning.

The sudden opening and closing of the glass door steals your attentions away from jotting down the reference number. A final agent quickly enters and takes a seat at the very end of the mahogany table and apologises for his late arrival.

The director begins to get into the specifics of the case. Art fraud…or forgery, you’re not sure because it’s only seconds before you find yourself tuning out. All of your fellow agents are busy writing down details. Especially the one who barely made it. Even in the darkened room, the slides behind him illuminate his familiar side profile. He’s completely enthralled, his hands can’t write fast enough as he eagerly nods along to lists of suspects, places, and times with a frown and pursed lips.

Fuck.

There it is. The same guilt that bubbled underneath your skin last summer starts to stir again and you soothe your brow at the feeling before being thrown back to that day.

Everyone else had physically clocked out at five but mentally clocked out at around two. There was a buzz throughout the entire floor since the morning. Excitement to close cases and relax for an evening - to remind yourself that it’s just work.

Most of your colleagues left to go home and change out of blazers and ties, swapping them for flowy sun dresses and polo shirts. You managed to change your heels for a pair of sneakers that you kept under your desk. When you were locking your drawer, Marcus was still hunched over his own, three rows over from yours, chewing on his fingers and practically begging his computer monitor to make two plus two equal four. But you let him and his multitude of empty coffee cups be and went to celebrate with everyone else. He hadn’t so much as touched the pastry you left on his desk that morning as you passed by.

You didn’t bother going home, you rode the bus the couple of miles to your co-worker’s house and a glass of homemade sangria was placed in your hand before you even had time to say hello.

As the sun set, your plate kept being piled high with all sorts of meat and side dishes and your glass continued to be refilled. Each time, it pulled the smile higher on your cheeks. Somewhere between glass two and three, Marcus finally showed up. You were the only two still in office attire though he chose to remove his tie and badge. He kept a close circle with some of the other art crime agents, sipping on a Coke as the people around him knocked back bottles of beer. You only caught some “this is good man’s” while he patted your host on the back for their efforts. Meanwhile you were stuck with your own small crowd discussing salad dressings.

You remained separate from one another the entire time that you were there. You never did get to ask about what kept him so late. Around 8.30 you decided to call it a night. You weren’t young enough to survive a sugar induced hangover anymore, so you said your goodbyes and turned down any more replenishments and intended on getting back on the bus.

That’s when he caught you walking cautiously down the gravel covered driveway.

“Leaving?” he asked.

“I am” you grinned at him, giddy on sun and sangria.

“I can give you a ride?” he offered, holding up his car keys.

“No, no. I got this” you tried to assure him but subconsciously, you were holding onto the gate for support and he noticed.

“Please. I insist. I was leaving myself”

He convinced you in the end and drove you to your apartment building. Fumbling to get out with your purse and belongings, he lent you a hand, held the door open for you and made sure you had everything. Before he closed it, he reached to get something from the glovebox and handed you a small bottle of Advil.

“You’re too much, Pike. Too soft” you giggled.

His head fell to look at his feet. You were still sober enough to realise he was crestfallen instantly.

“Okay, well. You get inside safe. Should probably keep those by your bed. You never know, y’know?” he chuckled half heartedly.

You never said goodnight. Never said thank you. You lost all your manners because you were too busy insulting the nice guy before turning on your heels to leave him on the curb.

You intended on apologising. It was top of your to-do list on Monday but the pills he gave you couldn’t do anything for the guilt that had plagued you over the weekend.

An office reshuffle the following week put you over the other side of the building. Instead of being a few cubicles away from him and art crime you were planted right beside international terrorism. There, you were walls and windows apart rather than a few feet. The most you saw of him was a passing glance on the way to separate meetings, but he still smiled politely despite your inebriated words.

Your own cases ramped up to the point you were out of the office more than you were in it, rounding up confidential informants took up most of your days. The next thing you knew he left for California, and it seemed like the moment was gone. You thought he might have stayed there because you hadn’t seen him until now.

And he looks different. Sitting feet away from you once again. Lit from behind by the white slides wiping across the screen, he’s let his facial hair grow out and his hair isn’t quite as neat as you remember but he still wears the same excitement about a fresh case as he did when they came his way.

Regret follows the guilt; it drowns out everything that’s being discussed around you. The distance made it easier to stave off the memory. You could have sent an email, left a note in his cubby, scheduled a meeting in his calendar – anything. Except, selfishly, you didn’t.

The harsh fluorescent lights in the boardroom illuminate, pulling you from your thoughts and the slideshow ends. You do a quick scan of the notebooks to your left and they’re bursting with bullet points compared to your empty pages.

“Agent?” another assistant director speaks in your direction. “I hear you’re taking this case with Agent Pike?”

You clear your throat before nodding a silent yes. You can almost feel Marcus’s eyes boring into the side of your head, but you pay him no mind. It feels like an age before your director calls an end to the briefing and the second he does, you bolt back to your desk, the tips of your heels clacking furiously underneath you.

There, your teeth gnash into your bottom lip, as you weigh up potential outcomes though you didn’t have a beginning point. It would be career development, you think. On the other hand, it could be boring and everlasting. You saw how much time Marcus spent at his desk, hardly ever leaving the building. Your heart sinks at the thought of being deskbound.

There’s chatter about spikes in organized crime happening around you. Some of your old colleagues are giving updates on their current cases, others are hammering keyboards typing up their recent notes – ones you wish your fingers were writing. You can easily muster up some suggestions for them but not for yourself. Should they ask what you’re working on, you have exactly nothing to tell them. And it’s that that raises you from your chair on a mission to find your new partner.

The level you both call home, is all gray-coloured marble, stainless steel and glass. The only pops of colour come from the muted blue partitions that separate white lacquer desks. You wander aimlessly for a few minutes, around mazes of bullpens and corridors, squinting at individual office doors in an attempt to find him. Eventually you stop someone and ask where he might be but all you get as a response is a thumb thrown over their shoulder.

It’s vague but it helps. The last corridor has his name written in white font across some black plastic that’s stuck to the door. He’s upgraded to his own office. The lights inside are off but you knock anyway. There’s no answer.

After a deep breath, you start the journey back to your own desk again. It’s not the Monday or even the case you��d hoped to be given – you’ve fallen at the first hurdle in being unable to locate your partner.

Back at your desk, there’s a pink Post-It with three reference numbers. Underneath, a note that reads; Try these – Pike.

It’s cryptic but it’s a start you didn’t previously have. Loading up the database on your computer to pull up the associated file, you type the first into the index field and hit search. Value: Not found. You frown, puzzled by the error message.

You try the second reference. Value: Not found. The same thing happens on the third one. With a sigh, you try each one once more in case they’re case sensitive. Unsurprisingly they’re not and the error appears another three times. In your experience, that error message meant one thing; the files relating to the reference numbers hadn’t been scanned and digitized.

After lunch and armed with Marcus’s sticky note along with some writing of your own of box and file barcodes you’d found on an old spreadsheet, you head down to the archive in search of the physical copies.

The archive is cold, kept at a certain temperature to preserve and prevent moisture damage but instantly covers your skin in goosebumps. It’s a sprawling room and you're alone in it, not many agents had a reason to visit anymore.

The racks stand tall around you, holding shelves of green banker’s boxes, all of them full to their 55-pound capacity with paper files. Each is clearly marked with a barcode. Going along every shelf is painstaking, trying to match the ten-digit barcodes to the numbers on your pink post it.

The first is on the middle shelf. Pulling it out by its cardboard handle, you heave it out onto the ground and kneel to trawl through the contents to find what you came for. The file itself is heavy, beaten and battered. Up in the top left corner it says 1993 scribbled in ballpoint. Probably one of the first cases of its kind. That still left over ten years for it to be scanned and it wasn’t.

After placing it on the floor, it was onto the next. This one is on the top shelf, and it’s a stretch to reach. Digging it out of the box once it’s on the floor, it’s smaller, fifty pages or less and in worse condition than its predecessor yet there’s a charm in the splashes of coffee on its corners.

Squatting over the box to put the lid back on, the handle of the door slams down and footsteps follow making you jump back to your feet with the file in hand. Being down here by yourself is a health and safety nightmare and to be called out on it is the last thing to add onto an already tougher than expected day.

“Thought I’d find you here” a joyful face appears from behind a rack and he comes to stand beside you.

“Agent Pike” you sigh, relieved that it’s your new partner and not a superior. “You knew these weren’t scanned?”

“I didn’t” he holds his hands up. “It’s luck of the draw, really. They’re in the works, though. Other units have been prioritised” he explains.

“You just knew these cases off hand?”

“Yeah. Guess so” he admits, sheepishly.

An uncomfortable silence creeps into the room. Your thumb flits over the already worn edges of the file you’re still holding, suddenly torn like some of the pages over whether to leave the past behind or to finally apologise.

“Have I done something?” he asks, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his dark slacks.

“No, I’m sorry. This just isn’t me” you tell him a half truth.

“You ran out earlier and I couldn’t find you“

“I know, I know” you sigh. “Look, Agent-“

“For what it’s worth, I asked your director to let you work this case with me. I saw how you worked with Agent Hill a while back and I thought-“

“What?” you scowl.

“It’s admirable, your work. I thought that we could work well together” he says, eyes soft and honest.

Your own eyes narrow at his words but he’s earnest in what he says. You did work with Agent Hill but he was close to retiring and he let you take the reins. He listened to you, trusted your decisions. He would have no reason not to give you a good review after closing the case as quick as you did. And yet there is a tiny pang of anger that was gearing itself towards Agent Pike - you’re not his to take.

“But if you don’t agree, I won’t hold it against you” he crosses his arms and leans back against the edge of one of the racks, the light pinstripe of his suit distorting across his shoulders before continuing.

“You know, I thought about what you said”

You stare at him confused. You hadn’t broken breath to him since that night; the night you never really forgave yourself for.

“What did I say?” you ask with a shaky voice. The small space you both occupy between the shelving feels as though it's become tiny.

His gaze falls to his shoes, just like it did the night he dropped you off.

“That I should toughen up”

Your eyes shut at his words. In all the days and nights afterwards, you hoped he might have forgotten. But why should he have? Because you still remember every time someone had been condescending towards you from the moment you stepped foot into the academy.

“That isn’t what I meant, Agent Pike. I was…drunk” you whisper.

“No. You were right. I’m better for it. I think” he says and nods, a stern expression paints itself onto his face similar to the one he wore in the boardroom.

“Really, I didn’t mean anything by it. Actually I’ve-”

“What is it?” he cuts you off after coming so close to uttering the words that have been on your mind for so long.

“You don’t think this will be exciting enough for you? I know our filing system isn’t as sophisticated as what you’re used to but-”

“Work doesn’t need to be exciting. Sometimes you just need to get the job done and move on” you tell him hoping that maybe if you said it out loud, you’d start to believe it.

His head tilts to the side and a smirk tugs at his lips.

“What if we can do both of those things? Here. Let me get these” he says, scooping up the file you left on the floor and then striding towards you to take the one from your hand. “I’ll scan them and email you when they’re done. We can start from there”

All you can do is watch as he slowly starts his retreat out of the archive and the cool air that hit you when entered has disappeared. The goosebumps have been replaced by a heat creeping up your back at his musings.

“Think about it” he winks. “I’m sure we both have things we can learn from each other”

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