#that she's not doing worse :') got some dark times to stew in | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luci-in-trenchcoats · 1 year

Text

Since I’ve Been Loving You

Summary: A few months after helping the reader get out of an abusive relationship, Dean and she are ready to shift their relationship to more than being just friends. But when Dean goes missing and the reader is forced to leave him in a moment of need to get help, it’ll send them down a path exploring Dean’s past neither one of them could have seen coming...

Pairing: Cop!Dean x Cop!reader

Word Count: 18,000ish

Warnings: language, kidnapping, injuries, past abusive partner, murder, whole lot of creepiness

A/N: Hi there! If the title and first few scenes of this story seem familiar, you’re not wrong! I originally wrote this story way back in 2017 and at the time felt it was too “dark” to share, hence why I only used the first bit as part of a collab experiment (which can be found here). However it’s been awhile and I’m a lot more confident with what I share (and to be honest, I’ve put out worse stuff than this). Rather than letting it sit in my drafts forever, I’ve decided to share the original story I wrote myself! Enjoy! Also shoutout to @campingmonkey for reading some of my stuff I considered not fit for posting and encouraging me to put it out there!

_______

“I’m home,” you said, smelling something tasty from the kitchen. You kicked off your boots and wandered into into the back of the house where Dean was stirring a pot, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. “Dude, you’re not on dinner duty tonight.”

“How was work?” asked Dean, stifling a sniffle as he spun around a ladle in the stew he’d put on.

“Fine. You’re supposed to be resting Winchester,” you said, bumping him to go sit down. “I told you last night-”

“I’m relieved of my chores this week, I know,” he said, pulling the blanket tighter. “I’m lucky I’ve got such a nice roommate.”

“You’re the one that let me stay here after Redge,” you said. “I really should be making you dinner every night after everything.”

“No, that’s not how it works around here. We’re a team and besides, you’re awful at washing the cars,” he said, a tired smirk on his face. “How was work?”

“Redge was an ass but he’s always been that way. You get some sleep today? Go to the doctor like I told you?” you asked, Dean rolling his eyes at you. You crossed your arms and huffed. “Go tomorrow. I don’t want to have to drive you to a hospital over the weekend.”

“It’s a cold, Y/N,” he said. You dished up a bowl for him and yourself, not expecting him to eat much but he was still grumpy when you sat across from him. “I’m fine.”

“Alright, don’t bite my head off because I care about you,” you said, standing and grabbing him a glass of water. “Need anything?”

“No. Thanks,” he said, starting to pick at his food. You ate in silence apart from Dean coughing or sneezing a few times. He shifted in his seat more than once and you knew he was going to ask about work again. “You okay, Y/N? You’re never this quiet during dinner.”

“I got partnered with Redge today. I wasn’t a fan,” you said, playing with a carrot to avoid seeing Dean’s face. “I got used to working with you and being around Redge all day like that again with you not there just…I don’t know. I told chief I want to work with someone different tomorrow.”

“He still thinks you and Redge just had a bad break up, huh?” asked Dean. “It’s not like you tried to tell them about what he used to do when no one was around or anything. Although I guess it would look pretty bad to have the chief arrest one of his own.”

“Like I said, I owe you for getting me out of that,” you said, Dean shaking his head. “Still not biting on that offer yet?”

“You’re happy and safe, that’s all I could ever want from you,” said Dean, putting his spoon down, about half of his bowl left.

“You want to go up to bed or watch some TV with me for a while?” you asked, Dean nodding towards the family room. You cleaned up and shook off his offers to help, coming into the living room to find him curled up on the couch, his blanket still all around him.

“How you holding up?” you asked, taking a spot at the end of the couch, throwing your feet up on the ottoman. You put a pillow down so Dean could rest his head against your leg comfortably in case he decided to go to sleep. You put a hand on his forehead and saw him curl into the touch.

“S’just a cold,” he said, turning on the TV. You ran your fingers through his hair, knowing on the rare occasion Dean was up for a cuddle, he liked to have it played with. But even in those moments where he let his walls down all the way, he didn’t talk about certain things. He barely spoke of when he was little. You knew his parents got divorced when he wasn’t very old and that he felt like it was his fault just from the way he talked but that’s who Dean was. A hard man that could be softer and sweeter than any you’d ever met.

“I think I’m ready,” you said, Dean humming before turning his head up to yours.

“Ready for what?” he asked, giving you a sleepy smile.

“It’s been almost four months since I left Redge. You got me back to normal again, feeling safe and strong and like I have a home here with my friend. But I’m ready to try something new if you get what I’m saying,” you said, Dean’s face turning sad.

“You want to move out? Did I do something wrong?” he asked. You shook your head and gave him a smile. “Was it because I told you I liked you back-”

“Dean, I like you too is what I’m trying to say. As in, I’m ready to try dating again…try dating you,” you said, ruffling his head. “We’ve been flirting for weeks. Want to actually give this a go?”

“Why would you ever want to date me?” he asked. God, he could be thick-headed sometimes.

“I like your sense of humor, your kindness, the way you help people. You got some comfy flannels too,” you said, Dean’s face softening. “I like you Dean.”

“Want to go on a date when I’m feeling better?” he asked. You nodded and bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek, Dean pushing you away. “I don’t want you to get sick too.”

“It’s just a cold I’ve been told,” you said, Dean laughing before pulling one of his arms free of his blanket and reaching over to hold yours. “I love when you’re all cuddly.”

“As your new boyfriend I’m going to start getting very cuddly,” he teased, letting out a big stretch and a yawn. “On second thought…”

“Bedtime?” you asked, helping him up. “You need anything come get me. I’ll be quiet and let you sleep in. There’s leftover stew in the fridge but I’ll come home at lunch and make you something to eat.”

“I’m a grown man, I can make myself lunch,” he said, standing up as you grabbed his blanket for him. “I should really go to work.”

“You’ve got a ton of sick time built up. Take the day off and recover,” you said, patting him on the back as you got him upstairs.

“Night,” he said once you got him tucked into bed.

“Night Dean. See you at lunch.”

“Dean, I’m home,” you said, tossing your keys on the front table, expecting to find him in front of the TV but instead he was nowhere in sight. “Dean, I got hot soup and fresh bread from that place with the pies.”

The house was quiet and you sat the food down on the table, hoping he was passed out in bed. When you got up there the sheets were messy but his blanket was still there which struck you as odd. He hadn’t gone anywhere without it for two days, almost childlike with the way he carried it around.

His phone was near the bed and it wasn’t until you’d wandered around the house twice before you called Sam.

“Is Dean with you?” you asked, hoping for some odd reason Sam decided to drop by town this week and hang out with his brother.

“Hey, Y/N. No, I haven’t heard from Dean since the beginning of the week. What’s up?” he asked.

“Nothing, he’s just not home. He’s been sick and I thought maybe you took him to the doctor since Baby’s still here. Maybe he got a ride from someone else,” you said, stuffing lunch in the fridge and heading back outside.

“He didn’t leave a note? That’s not like him,” said Sam, his voice concerned now.

“Yeah. He probably got a neighbor or something to do it,” you said, Sam obviously hearing the worry in your own.

“Give me a call when you find him,” he said. “I’d appreciate it.”

“Will do Sammy,” you said, hanging up.

When the sun was starting to set though as you were leaving the station hours and hours later, you were starting to go out of your mind that no one had seen or heard from Dean since you checked on him before going to work. Your one thought was it had to have been Redge. Who else but your ex would want to screw over the guy that gave you the courage to leave in the first place?

So that’s when you started to think like him, think of the places Redge used to take the two of you, when things got too messy for home. It was another hour before you were parking your car and slipping out of it, a backpack on your shoulders and the satellite phone you’d stolen from Dean’s camping gear in your coat pocket.

It was dark and the terrain was a bit dangerous and it had decided to storm out, making it almost impossible to see. You went in the woods a short ways on the path before veering off, heading west and deciding you weren’t stopping until you were forced to. After an hour you saw the abandoned ranger’s station and broke inside, taking a short reprieve from the weather. You were gazing at a map when you nearly slipped, the floor wet from your boots but you spotted a patch of dried blood on the ground that made your stomach churn. You looked back at a map and saw that there were a pair of mines about five miles out.

“Please tell me I’m overreacting,” you said, heading back out, eventually coming across the boarded up mine, a plank missing that was big enough to get even Dean and Redge through. “Overreacting is all. Just overreacting.”

You aimed your flashlight inside and saw nothing at first glance, then a pair of ruts in the ground where someone had been dragged. You shuddered and followed it down the mine, eventually turning right and left, your flashlight falling on a bare foot and then up to the slouched over man it belonged to.

“Dean,” you said, rushing over, shoving against him as you spotted the dried blood on his stomach, the dark patch and belt around his leg. A flannel that wasn’t his was balled up against it, his own shirt held in place over his bare stomach by his crossed arms. He didn’t even look alive. “Dean,” you said shaking him again, his skin sweaty and icy cold. “Dean.”

You heard a faint grumble that was music to your ears as you shook him again, getting a louder one this time.

“Back for more?” he asked, fluttering open his eyes, watching them go wide at the sight of you. “What are you…”

“I’m going to get you out of here, okay? Then I’m going to kick Redge’s ass,” you said, figuring out what he needed first.

“Wasn’t him. Bad guy,” mumbled Dean with a sniffle, trying to go back to sleep.

“No, you got to stay awake babe,” you said, grabbing your water from your pack and lifting it to his lips, Dean sucking it down fast. You tossed a space blanket you had over him and he looked like he wanted to cry. You put a hand on his forehead and it was burning up. “Shit, you’re worse.”

“S’just a cold,” he said, getting some sense back. “You got to go. Go away before he comes back.”

“Redge can’t hurt you anymore, Dean, I’m going to-”

“Not Redge, someone else,” said Dean with a shudder. “You think I’d be fucking scared of that pile of crap?”

“Dean what’s…” you said, Dean nodding his head and shoving the bottle and blanket back in your bag. “Dean, no.”

“He’s coming back,” whispered Dean. “Go hide and then get out. Don’t come back.”

“Dean,” you said, his hands using most of his strength to give you a light shove.

“Please, do what I said,” said Dean quietly, your bag shoved in your arms as you spotted a flashlight down a different tunnel. “Please.”

It hurt to leave him but the look on Dean’s face made you do as asked. You took off and hid around a different corner a ways down, listening as footsteps walked towards Dean and stopped.

“Screw you,” you heard Dean say before he started to mumble and then take a big choking gasp of air. “What’d you just give me?”

“Medicine. You’re welcome,” said the voice, definitely not Redge and not one you recognized. “You going to behave this time?”

“Give me back my gun and we’ll-” Dean said before it sounded like something smacked him in the face.

“I stitched you up and everything. Couldn’t have let my new toy bleed out,” said the person, a man, his voice deep and harsh.

“I am not your new toy,” said Dean, spitting blood out of his mouth from the sound of it and coughing up a storm before breathing raggedly.

“No, you’re right. You’re my old one, aren’t you Dean?” said the man, Dean hissing as you tried to make out what he was doing. “Took a long time to find you, boy. Too bad Daddy’s not around anymore to come and save you.”

“Well I’m flattered but why don’t-” said Dean before you heard his head hit against the rough wall, a tiny whimper of pain coming out of Dean.

“Just as mouthy as you were back then. You don’t even remember me,” said the man.

“No but my dad sure as hell told me what happened when I was old enough. You took me right off the front porch, psycho,” said Dean. “You’re the reason they-”

“Your mom had a nice right hook,” the man said, Dean sucking in a gasp as he grunted. “Too bad she ain’t around anymore either. Been waiting a long time for this.”

“For what you freak?” asked Dean weakly, his mouth mumbling again as he huffed.

“It’s duct tape you big baby,” he said, Dean grunting more now as you heard him struggle, breathing in hard. “God, you’re going to take some breaking in.”

Whatever was going on, you knew that you needed backup and that you’d beat yourself up about not bringing your gun with you later. You got out of there as quietly as you could and radio’d the station, keeping an eye on the entrance as you hid. But neither one of them ever came out.

You stayed there for another hour or so, the rest of the station showing up finally, the chief waving you over to talk when they came out of the mine empty handed.

“What-”

“The mine is empty. There’s multiple ways in there. You’re sure this guy knows Dean from when he was a kid? There’s no report of anything ever happening to him,” said the chief.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if they made the whole thing up just to screw with me some more,” said Redge.

“For fucks sake, Redge, I just want you to not be an abusive dick, not go to jail for shooting and kidnapping my boyfriend,” you said, puffing out your chest. “So they’re gone? Dean’s just gone and we have no idea where he is? He’s hurt and sick and-”

“How did you find him?” asked the chief. “This isn’t exactly my first thought for a search.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe Redge would like to share how I know about secluded places where people can hurt other people?” you said, crossing your arms at him.

“If she thought…I took Dean she would have gone to the old ranger’s station,” said Redge, kicking his boot on the ground. “Probably saw a map and figured if he wasn’t there he had a shot at being in the mines.”

“You two need to work on whatever issues you’ve got,” said the chief, giving you a hard glare.

“Can we focus on Dean? They can’t have gone far right?” you asked.

“Let’s hope not.”

“Coffee?” asked Redge, poking his head into the conference room you were using as a base in your search for Dean. You shook your head, holding up your cup. “How’s it going today?”

“Redge, don’t pretend to play nice,” you said, looking back over your shoulder. “We both know you don’t give two shits about Dean.”

“He’s a cop. We got each other’s backs and all that...whatever,” he said with a shrug, trying to take a step in the room before catching your glare. “You too, I mean if you ever need a friend, shoulder to cry on you can always-”

“He’s only been missing two weeks and you already think I’m just going to come crawling into your arms? Get lost,” you said. “You aren’t even working this case.”

“Okay, I’ll just go do my job and Dean’s then,” he said, slapping the door frame hard on the way out.

Another week went by of nothing and then another and another. After missing for two months and Sam coming to stay with you to help out, the case officially went cold.

Another month and Sam had to leave town a few days, tidy up some things at home before officially making the move there but he swore he’d be back as soon as he could.

The chief told you to take a few days off and give yourself a break. You took the excuse with Sam gone to get out of town yourself, drive and drive until you were exhausted and crashing at some cheap motel a few states over. You’d spent the day in a bar and your head in a bottle and tried to forget about how he had saved you way back when and you couldn’t do it back.

“Another one,” you heard a guy farther down the bar say, your head whipping up. You didn’t stare as you heard him flirt with the bartender. He sounded like the man from the mines but you were drunk and couldn’t be positive. Still though, you jotted down his license plate when he finally left and got a cab back to your room. When you’d sobered up enough in your motel to figure out who it belonged to, you had a spark of an idea. The guy only had a few drunken misdemeanors but he owned a large lot of acreage with plenty of buildings on it.

The next morning you got up early and you threw on your boots and backpack, and headed out on the property. You checked every tiny ass shed, every big ass garage, every out building, every rusted old car until it was night and you were ready to curl up on the ground and go to sleep.

You only had a few more buildings though so you kept going, ready to hit the bottle of bourbon you took from Dean’s house the second you were in your room. It looked like every other shed you’d been in, pieces of junk and metal lying around. This one had a door hatch to a cellar like most of the others and the second you threw it open, you saw more of the same. You went down the steps, barely keeping your eyes open as you swung the flashlight around and your eyes went wide.

There was light down here and a sink and a tiny mattress and a whole slew of other crap that would have drawn your attention if not for the scruffy, green eyed man who was looking at you like you weren’t real.

“Dean?” you asked, watching him shake his head at you, your gaze finally looking over his body as you took in a sharp breath. “Dean it’s okay,” you said, pulling a knife out of your bag and walking over, his body backing up against the wall so fast as he sat down, giving you a hard glare. “I’m just going to cut you loose.”

“You’re a trick,” he said, looking around and you carefully took a step forward. “Don’t touch me.”

“I won’t touch you,” you said, holding up your hands. “But you want that cuff off your ankle? I have to come closer.”

“Give me the knife,” he said. You bent over and slid it to him, watching him grab hold of the thing tethering him to the back half of the room and cutting it free. He stood up and you smiled.

“Dean are you-Dean!” you yelled at him when he backed you up against the wall, holding the knife out, way too close for comfort.

“You’re drugging me again, aren’t you? This probably isn’t even real. Y/N would never be here. She just wouldn’t. You’re just making me think what I want again, aren’t you?” asked Dean, his face fuming under that beard as you tried to think of a way to calm him down. “You’re just-”

“I brought your shirt. The one you gave me that first day I moved in,” you said, slowing taking your pack off and handing it to him. He was only in the tee and pair of flannels you’d last seen him in, the clothes ratty and practically falling apart now. “The red and-”

“Black one,” said Dean quietly, giving you a long stare before backing up and ripping open the bag, the flannel right on top.

“It really helps when you’re feeling crappy,” you said, his hand holding the knife dropping it completely. He pulled the flannel out and you saw a flicker of relief on his face.

“Real?” he asked running his hand over it, looking at you and the open door behind you.

“You want to come home? We’re kind of overdue for our date,” you said, Dean giving you a head nod. He carefully put the flannel on as you pulled a pair of his sneakers out, glad you’d brought them on the off chance he didn’t have any footwear. You picked up the knife and stuffed your bag closed, Dean standing quietly in the middle of the room with his head down. “Dean?”

“What?” he asked, your hand taking hold of his, feeling so much rougher than you remembered.

“Come on,” you said, giving him a little tug so he took a step. He was okay for a minute until you got close to the stairs and you saw how pale he’d gotten, how nervous he was to walk farther than he’d been allowed to go for so long. “Nice romantic starlit walk,” you said, taking a step up, going one at a time with him as he looked around when you were in the shed.

“I don’t remember this,” he said. “I don’t remember after the mines until I woke up here.”

“We got a little walk to get to my car,” you said, stopping when the two of you stood outside and he looked up, taking a deep breath.

“Okay,” he said, spinning around happily before it all faded away. “Wait what time is it?”

“About 10, why?” you asked, hearing a truck off in the distance.

“We have to go,” said Dean, letting you take the lead as you tried to run, Dean a bit slower than you’d seen him before. “He drops off food at night.”

“It’s only a couple miles to the car,” you said, slowing to a jog so he could keep up, his hand shaking the whole damn time until you had him shoved in the passenger seat and you were driving away, calling the local cops. Dean was quiet apart from saying he was hungry and even after you swung through a drive thru fast for him, he was quiet, looking around like he didn’t quite believe everything.

By the time you’d gotten to the local hospital, a few officers were there to let you know they’d got the guy but Dean seemed more interested in arguing with the doctors.

“If he doesn’t calm down, we’re going to have to restrain him,” said the doctor, as you heard Dean yelling in his room.

“Dean,” you said, brushing inside past a group of bodies as Dean glanced around the room angrily. “Dean, none of these people are going to hurt you.”

“Tell that to the one that stabbed me with a needle,” said Dean, rubbing at his arm where his IV was and giving a nurse a glare.

“Dean. Check?” you asked, hoping he’d remember what that meant. You’d never done it on him and you honestly weren’t sure how he’d come up with the little daily check in’s after you left Redge but they’d always made you feel better that cared like that. He glanced around for a second and back down at himself in a hospital gown, all the marks on him proving life had been awful the past few months.

“Yellow,” he said quietly, willing himself to calm down. “Just tell them to stop poking me and touching me and…” he said as he looked around at the room full of people, rubbing his arms like he was trying to hold himself. “I’m sorry.”

“S’okay babe,” you said, holding his hand, nodding for the doctor to go back to whatever he was doing. Dean hissed a little when the doctor lifted up his arm.

“His shoulder is likely dislocated,” said the doctor to you. “Do you know if this is recent?”

“Dean?” you asked.

“Last week,” said Dean, ducking his head down. “I got in…trouble.”

“Let’s x-ray and see if we’ve got any nerve damage,” said the doctor to a nurse.

“Dean, you tell the doctor and nurses what they need to know. I promise nobody’s going to hurt you. I’ll be right here when you get back, okay?” you said, Dean nodding his head as he relaxed around the people trying to treat him.

“Alright,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze before you were forced to go. “Don’t go too far.”

It took them two days before they released him, a whole slew of nutritional issues not to mention everything they warned you about. Apparently Dean was prone to sudden, potentially violent, outbursts now and your history of abuse didn’t make for a great combination.

It was fine the first night back at home with Sam helping out until you dropped the syrup on the floor after putting some on Dean’s plate.

“What are you a klutz!” shouted Dean, waving his hands everywhere. “You don’t drop things, got it?”

“Dean,” said Sam, watching his brother carefully. “That’s Y/N. She’s not going to hurt you for not making your room spotless.”

“I used to get hurt,” said Dean glaring down at you as you wiped up the little bit that had actually spilled on the floor.

“So did Y/N. You got to let us help you,” said Sam, guilt washing over Dean’s face as he realized he’d snapped.

“I’m as bad as Redge,” said Dean, running a hand over his face before bending down to help clean up, even if you were finished.

“Check?” you asked Dean, his head shaking. “Check?”

“Orange,” he said, glancing at his lap.

“Why are you orange, Dean?” you asked, running a hand over his head, Dean seeming to be most responsive to soft touches like that lately.

“I yelled at you for no reason and what happened with me is no excuse for treating you like that,” he said.

“Okay,” you said, helping Dean sit up again back in his chair. “I want you to try something. Whenever you feel like getting mad, think about if it’s because you’re mad or if because it’s something you used to get in trouble with him for. If you want to get mad because I toss dishes in the sink and forget to put them in the dishwasher, get mad. If you want to get mad because my covers are crooked when I make my bed, maybe you aren’t really mad but you’re tired of being scared so it’s coming out that way instead. So if it’s the later and you’re scared, you just come find me or Sam and give us both a big hug okay?” you said. “We’ll give it right back until you’re not scared anymore.”

“Are you serious?” asked Dean, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t need a…what are you doing.”

“I’m giving you a hug,” you said, bending down and wrapping your arms around him. “You’re scared so it’s hug time.”

“This is a monumentally stupid idea,” said Dean, looking to Sam for help.

“I don’t think so,” said Sam, standing up and walking over to your side of the table. He bent over and gave Dean one too, the older Winchester groaning as he was trapped between the two of you.

“You two are annoying,” said Dean, letting his head lean against yours.

“Check?” you asked, Dean giving you a tiny smile.

“Yellow green,” said Dean, watching neither you or Sam pull away. “I don’t get out of this until I’m green, huh.”

“Now you’re getting it,” you said, kissing the top of his head. After a few minutes of you and Sam straining your backs you heard Dean chuckle that he was green.

“I guess you have a point,” said Dean, Sam ruffling the top of his head as he returned to his seat.

“You gave me lots of hugs when I first started staying with you,” you said to Dean. “Made me feel safe. I get what’s going on in your head, trust me.”

“Some random psychopath kidnapped you and you have no idea why too?” asked Dean, a teasing smile on his face. “I just want to know what he had planned.”

“You want to talk about it?” asked Sam, Dean shaking his head. “You focus on getting back to your old self and let the police figure out the rest. Y/N’ll probably take a crack at it and she’ll figure it out in a few hours I bet.”

“Months of nothing and when I snuck off to get drunk I got lucky Sam,” you said, Dean flinching a little in his seat. “I’m just glad work will get back to normal.”

“How was Redge?” asked Dean, his face looking very much like the old Dean. “Don’t tell me he’s tried anything or I swear…”

“Redge is more indifferent of Y/N than anything at this point,” said Sam. “She may have thought he took you at first. She’s scary when she’s pissed off.”

“I don’t like you near him all day, not after what he did to you,” said Dean. “I thought he was on a different shift than us anyways, only came in because I was sick a while back.”

“They were down an officer and I made sure he knew he was on a short leash,” you said, shoving the last of your dinner in your mouth. “A very short leash.”

“Remember when he was our biggest problem?” asked Dean, running a hand over his torso, his fingers tracing over a spot through his shirt. “Getting shot sucks.”

“Y/N, do you want to clean up and I’ll help Dean with a shower?” asked Sam, Dean’s face a mixture of embarrassment and content. “Oh come on, like I’ve never seen you without pants on.”

“Shower sounds good,” said Dean, parts of him still filthy where he didn’t get a good scrubbing at the hospital. “Then I want to pass out in an adult sized bed again.”

Sam helped Dean up but let him walk on his own, the two of them up in Dean’s bathroom for awhile until you heard the water turn off and Sam shouted for you to come in. Dean was sitting on his bed in a tee and boxers, looking pretty tired but his eyes had a spark back in them.

“How’d we do?” asked Sam, ruffling a towel in Dean’s hair, getting a laugh out of his brother. “We can’t do anything about him being horrendous unfortunately.”

“Oh shut up,” said Dean, pushing Sam away with a smile. It got even bigger when he saw what you were holding, his blanket he’d been using before he was taken.

“Alright, get in,” you said, Dean shifting around so he was under the covers, Sam helping you spread the blanket out over top of him. “Do you need anything…and he fell asleep already.”

“Huh,” said Sam, Dean passed out the second his head hit the pillow. “He wasn’t joking about wanting a real bed again.”

“Should we stay?” you asked, Sam shrugging. “The doc said we shouldn’t coddle him.”

“He was cracking jokes in the shower,” said Sam. “You’re his girlfriend though so I’m sure you can-”

“Sam, we dated for all of four hours before this happened. We’ve never even been on a date,” you said. “You stay. I got to go check out a few things.”

“Y/N, it’s late, where-”

“I want to know what that guy was up to,” you said, walking out. “I’ll be downstairs. I promise I’ll come up in a couple of hours.”

“Y/N, he’s home and safe again. Take the night off,” said Sam, that slightly older brother tone coming out. “You need rest too.”

“You didn’t see him in that basement, Sam, or the mines. I want Dean to know this guy is never coming near him ever again,” you said. “I’ll log on quick and see what the prelim file says. Then I’ll be back, I promise.”

“Fine,” said Sam, taking a seat in a soft chair in the room and kicking his feet up on the bed, shutting his eyes.

“Thanks for everything,” you said, Sam keeping his eyes closed but giving you a smile.

“Family doesn’t have to thank each other,” said Sam, nestling down into his chair. “Don’t work too long.”

“I won’t,” you said, heading downstairs to the office, figuring it’d take you five minutes tops to read over the early report. You were logging in when you heard a car out front and saw the blue and red lights through the window. You growled and stormed to the door before they had a chance to ruin Dean’s sleep. Art and Charlie were giving you careful stares as you squinted at them on the front path. “What do you guys want?”

“Is Dean okay?” asked Art. You looked between them both and then saw another car come up.

“Don’t tell me the guy got loose,” you said, the officers looking at each other before at you. “How hard is it to-”

“Where’s Dean?” asked Art. “Now, Y/N.”

“In bed asleep. Recovering. Don’t you two dare go and wake him up with what’s probably going to be the most restful night’s sleep he’s had in months,” you said, two more officers, one of them Redge coming into view. “Well, let’s have a party in the front yard why don’t we? Not like-”

“Is he alone?” asked Charlie, taking a step forward. You scoffed and he shook his head. “Is he?”

“No, he’s with Sam and-Hey!” you said, watching all four of them rush inside. They only sounded like a freight train going up the stairs like that as you stormed after. “Dean’s fine alright? You can visit in the morning.”

You heard groaning from Dean’s room and wondered how pissed he’d be that Redge was in his house. The sheets were messy and thrown back as you looked around for the source of it but instead saw Sam holding his head in his hands.

“Looks like he got him,” said Charlie, moving with Redge out of the room and down the hall. “Art, new guy, stay with those two.”

“It’s Jimmy. Again,” said the black haired man that was helping Sam sit upright. You flicked on the light and saw the spot of blood on his head.

“Dean, he…ow,” said Sam. You walked over and rubbed on his back, ready to kill whoever it was that let Dean’s creepy stalker take him again.

“House is clear, set up a perimeter in the neighborhood. Art, help outside,” said Charlie as you glanced around.

“How did he even break in?” you asked, only the bathroom window open from the looks of it and there was no way up. “We’re up on the second floor.”

“Y/N,” said Jimmy with a cock of his head. “Dean’s kidnapper is still in custody.”

“Then who-”

“Dean just…” grunted Sam. “He sat up and clocked me way harder than he ever has in his life, grabbed a bag from the closet and sounded like he threw on his shoes and bolted out the window.”

“What…” you said, starting to move for the bathroom but Jimmy catching your arm. “Why would he do that?”

“There’s evidence that Dean wasn’t always in that basement,” said Jimmy.

“What does that mean exactly?” you asked, squinting at him. He sighed and looked away.

“It means that Dean very likely did what he had to in order to survive and at some point, it broke him,” said Jimmy.

“He’s scared and has PTSD, he’s not broken,” you said, shrugging out of his hold.

“The kidnapper had an alias, multiple aliases. Multiple plots of land and a couple other basements, just like that,” said Jimmy. You opened your mouth to argue but Jimmy shook his head. “Dean’s DNA is all over those places, those crime scenes. Three other men, all Dean’s age, some looking like they’ve been there a long time. All three were murdered. By Dean.”

“You’re being insane right now, I mean-”

“Dean kept a journal. We found it in the basement. They had to fight, they had go against each other to live and at a certain point, Dean started hurting them because he liked-”

“Stop. Talking,” you said. Sam looked ready to throw up but this guy didn’t know Dean and he didn’t know you. He was the rookie meant to replace him until Dean got on his feet, a quiet gig where he could probably do the mundane small town crap with his eyes closed. But this guy was a stranger and frankly he was the only cop in town you remotely trusted after everything with Redge. “Officer…”

“James Novak,” he said. “People call me Jimmy.”

“Jimmy, I used to be in an abusive relationship with Redge, you know, a cop? Dean, your ‘murderer’ saved me from it, gave me a home and a friend and a safe place to stay. He would not do those things to those other people. He’d try to save them. Dean is really smart. He would probably make the guy think he likes it to get more freedom and work on getting back at him. When I found him, he wanted to kill the guy. Dean doesn’t-”

“You’re talking in theory. You can’t know-”

“Dean has been alone with Sam and me for the past twelve hours. If he’s so bad, why didn’t he rip us to shreds then?” you asked. “I don’t know what he’s doing but he’s trying to protect us because that’s who he is.”

The officer didn’t say anything but he looked at you and Sam, knowing Dean would have had to give his own brother that hard of a hit in order to have enough time to get away.

“He didn’t do it. Give me a chance to prove it before you write him off too,” you said, Jimmy’s gaze flickering down and back up.

“You have no way to prove his innocence. Even if it was under duress, it still…” he trailed off, moving behind you as he stared at the wall. “Why would Dean have a teddy bear on his dresser?”

You spun around and saw the brown stuff bear on the other side of the room.

“I don’t know, I thought it was supposed to be a present or something,” you said, Jimmy picking it up and practically ripping it in half. “Hey that’s…what the fuck is that?”

“A hidden camera,” said Jimmy, holding up the lens and the wire that was tucked safely behind the dresser and probably into the wall, out of view. “Who put this here?”

“We both just assumed Dean was going to give it to Y/N on a date or something,” said Sam, glancing around.

“Has anyone else been in his house since Dean was taken?” asked Jimmy, glancing around.

“The internet guy, roof repair, the…” you trailed off, looking over at Sam.

“The mold guy,” said Sam, turning to Jimmy. “We were booted out of the house for three days.”

“The house is bugged?” you asked. You sighed and ran a hand through your hair. “It would keep Dean in line, show him we weren’t safe here.”

“It certainly helps but it’s not proof enough that Dean-”

“Then help us get it, Jimmy,” you said. “Please.”

“Running makes him look guilty,” said Jimmy. “But he might have run if he thought you were safer without him.”

“How would we be safer?” you asked, Jimmy shaking his head.

“I don’t know. But something is going on around here and we’re going to get to the bottom of it.”

“Sammy, I miss Dean,” you said, plopping down on the couch after work, throwing your legs over his lap as you stared at the ceiling. “He’s gone from person of interest to don’t be hesitant to use force on him.”

“I want him back too,” said Sam, letting out a sigh. It’d been almost a month since Dean took off and you weren’t all that surprised when his kidnapper was let loose after a failure to gather evidence on him. He played the part of dumb and innocent well, avoiding the alias thing when his lawyer explained that your guy never technically owned the land from those other lots. Sam called bullshit on it but there wasn’t enough there. You’d never technically seen the guy with Dean and your relationship with him left you more liability than help at this point.

“You think Dean’s hiding from him? What if he got ahold of Dean again, no one would have any idea where to look, let alone we’re the only two people that care at this point,” you said. A knock at the open screen door made you sit upright as Jimmy came in with some takeout.

“Glad to know I’m valued so highly around here,” said Jimmy, taking off his shoes and heading for the kitchen.

“Three people care,” said Sam, hopping up as you sat down for dinner. “Anything at all today Jimmy?”

“Not on the Dean front,” he said, giving you a sad smile.

“I know you’re trying when you really don’t have to. We appreciate it Jimmy,” you said, watching him shrug.

“I never even met Dean and I like him more than any of the other people we work with. I do have some other not so great news, chief mentioned after you left,” said Jimmy. You waited for him to continue as he pulled out a few boxes, sliding them over to you and Sam.

“We’re waiting in suspense,” said Sam, Jimmy taking a deep breath.

“Y/N, you’re being…reassigned to patrol 8,” said Jimmy. “Chief is sticking you back-”

“Redge is my partner! Come on. I don’t want to drive around with him all day,” you said, Jimmy sighing.

“I tried to tell chief that it wasn’t a good idea but everyone looks at you all shady now and Redge is the new golden boy since Dean’s been gone. He thinks Redge will figure out if you’re really up to something with Dean,” said Jimmy.

“Thanks for dinner, Jimmy,” you said, grabbing your box and your car keys, both guys grunting from the kitchen. “I want to be alone right now. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

They continued to grumble but let you be. You drove past the edge of town and parked in a field you used to go to when you wanted to get away from Redge. You sat on the hood of your car and pulled out your burger, taking a big bite and wondering if transferring would make you look guilty too.

You finished fast and were positive the guys were talking about you as much as they were Dean tonight. He’d vanished into thin air and you always wondered if he went back to where his kidnapper was from, if there was some reason he would go looking for something else.

You glanced at your phone and it was only seven. If you drove all night you could make it there by the morning and spend the weekend looking for him. Sam told you not to do that more than once though. Last thing you needed was you going missing too.

“Where are you, Dean?” you said quietly after finishing, laying back and closing your eyes.

About three seconds later something hit you hard in the hand and you whacked at whatever bug just stung you. Glancing down there weren’t any bug guts, just a blue paintball splatter. You spun your head around to the right, nothing but tall grass in that direction. Teenagers ran around out here a lot and you wouldn’t be surprised if you took a stray-

“Ow!” you said, waving your hand as it got hit in the same spot twice. “Knock it off!”

When it happened one more time though and your face was scrunched up in pain, you had to wonder what kid had a shot that accurate. You slid off your hood and walked to the right, the shooting seeming to stop now but you heard a rustling that made you jog after. You couldn’t keep up in the dense terrain but there was an obvious path to follow. By the time you got through, the sun was set and you were using your phone for light. There was a run down farm house in front of you, no lights on inside but the door was open.

“Call it in,” you muttered. It very well could have been the kidnapper but if it was Dean, they’d whisk him off to prison and not think twice. “I better not end up in some lifetime movie.”

You grabbed a sturdy looking branch and made your way inside slowly, trash everywhere but a few paint ball pellets leading a path for you down a hall and to a flight of stairs to a basement.

“Not a horror movie, not a horror movie,” you mumbled, taking as silent a step as possibly onto the first step. Halfway down they started to creak and you knew your cover was blown if you had one in the first place. It was dimly lit and you’d only scanned half the area before your makeshift weapon and phone were snatched away from behind, a shove pushing you forward against a wall. You spun around, ready to knee the person but stopped when you saw Dean staring back with a dark hoodie and jeans on.

“You need to stop trying to find me,” he said, tossing the stick to the side, turning off your phone and throwing it on the ground.

“Looks like I did and that was expensive you know,” you said, Dean’s face showing no amusement. “I know you didn’t-”

“You don’t know what I did,” said Dean. “What I can do when I get pushed far enough. This is your warning to stop looking for me and get on with your life.”

“Dean, I’m not scared of you,” you said. He stepped forward so your back was pressed up against the wall, his arms on either side of you as he leaned down.

“You should be,” he said, his face hard and dark.

“They’re forcing me to take Redge as my partner,” you said, Dean’s face holding strong but his eyes flickered for a few seconds, concern darting all over the place. “You can’t fool me, Winchester. You’re not the bad guy.”

“It doesn’t matter if I’m not, Y/N,” he said, leaning back and moving his hood back to run his hand through his hair. “It’s the part I have to play from now on.”

“Why? Let Sam and me and Jimmy help,” you said, Dean raising an eyebrow. “New cop meant to come in to replace you. He doesn’t believe you did that stuff.”

“The guy is out there. He only wants me so I have to stay away from you and Sam so that he leaves you alone,” said Dean.

“He’s not a cop, he can’t-”

“This guy took me as a kid, Y/N. I was too little, way too little to even remember but he had me for a few days. I always thought it was random but I knew dad left something out of the story. I was a cop’s kid and it wasn’t hard to figure out dad screwed somebody over and they wanted to get back at him,” said Dean.

“Why’d he come back Dean? This seems personal but the stuff with your dad is done with, isn’t it?” you asked, Dean shaking his head.

“I’m not telling you,” said Dean. You crossed your arms and he crossed his. “I’m not telling you.”

“Dean, please, give me something,” you said. “I’m trying to prove you’re innocent and it was a set up but-”

“Y/N, just stop. It’ll never happen. I’ll always be on the run. There’s too many things to this. You have to get on with your life. You’ve spent the past half year looking for me and you got to move on,” he said. “Sam too. Tell him to go back home. Maybe you can go with him, get out of this town, find another nice guy. There’s more than one of us out there.”

“I want you,” you said, stepping forward to try and hug him, Dean stepping away. “We never even went on a date.”

“I guess I don’t really have to break up with you then,” said Dean, kicking it the ground. “We never even had a chance to try.”

“Why did you bring me here, to tell me to go away?” you asked. Dean nodded and shrugged.

“Basically. I wanted you to know I was okay and that-”

“You are not okay,” you said, looking him up and down. “You’re more scared than when I found you in that basement. You’re angry and cold and you think this would all be easier if I turned my back on you and let you live the rest of your life in some kind of on the run Hell or in prison. Guess what? I used to be that way until you told me I could never push you away from helping me. You made me furious because you wouldn’t understand that I was a lost cause. You know what? I wasn’t and neither are you. If you don’t tell me what’s going on right now I swear I’ll find a way to force you to tell the truth.”

“This is different, sweetheart,” said Dean, a sliver of warmth in his voice again. “It’s too late and you’re forgetting I made you a promise that’d I’d keep you safe. You have to do what I tell you and forget about me.”

“Make me,” you said. Dean sighed and cocked his head over to the side, a bottle and a rag on top of a shelf. “What is that?”

“I want you to leave now. Tell Sam the house is his if it’s not already in his name. Sell it and get out of this place,” said Dean.

“No. You’re not letting me help you and I can and…” you said, Dean grabbing the rag and tilting the bottle over it for a second.

“You’ll wake up in your car in a few hours,” he said, glancing down. “I wish I could-”

Dean was strong enough to pull the rag away after you’d pressed it against his mouth but the fumes left him weak and it made the rest of the job easy until he was slumped over on the floor.

“What the fuck is going on with you, Dean?” you asked, looking at him like he’d passed out on the couch, so much softer when he wasn’t clenching his jaw at you. You grabbed your phone and thankfully it turned on even if it was cracked. Thirty minutes later Sam and Jimmy were there, throwing a blanket over an out cold Dean in the back of Jimmy’s car.

“Now what do we do?” asked Sam.

“I think we’re going to have to interrogate your brother.”

Dean was not all that happy to wake up and find his wrist cuffed to a chair at the small, out of the way house Jimmy was staying in. The three of you were in the kitchen trying to figure out how to keep Dean safe and get him to open up when he started yelling at the top of his lungs.

“Dean, calm down,” you said, flinging open the door to the back room he was in, Sam and Jimmy right behind you. “No one is-”

“Let me out, now,” he said, trying his best to dislocate his thumb to get it off but you’d made the cuffs too tight on purpose, Dean grunting when he saw it was no use. “I swear-”

“Check?” asked Sam, Dean blinking a few times. “Do you remember check, Dean?”

“I’ll check you into the wall if you don’t let me leave right now,” said Dean, fuming at the both of you, his gaze landing on Jimmy. “You must be the new guy, huh? Do me a favor and cut me loose.”

Jimmy stepped inside and grabbed a chair, placing it across from Dean and taking a seat.

“Oh come on, I-” Dean got out before Jimmy slapped a hand over Dean’s mouth and Dean’s free hand shot up to tug on his wrist. To your surprise, it didn’t move and Dean started to dig his fingers into Jimmy’s flesh hard.

“You’re being very stupid Dean,” said Jimmy. “Or would you remember me better if I told you my name was Cas?”

There was a slight pause on Dean’s part as his eyes looked over Jimmy, dropping his hand away the same time Jimmy moved his.

“You do remember me,” said Jimmy, giving Dean short smile.

“I always thought…” said Dean, smiling a little at him, giving you and Sam both a look. “This is...Cas.”

“So your name isn’t Jimmy Novak?” asked Sam, Jimmy, or better yet Cas, giving a shrug as you took a seat nearby.

“My cover name is. I’m a special agent,” said Cas, turning his attention towards Dean. “I met Dean a long time ago.”

“You were the older boy there,” said Dean quietly, still looking incredulously at the black haired man. “How are you not dead?”

“You really have a hard time remembering those couple of days huh? You were only a little squirt then I suppose,” said Cas, looking over at you and Sam. “My dad used to be your dad’s partner. Only difference was I was old enough to remember getting taken. Dean’s a little fuzzy on the details but I’d expect that.”

For some reason Dean got all kinds of relaxed and stopped trying to find a way out of his chair, perfectly content to sit there now. You went and grabbed a bandage for him to come back and saw the cuff was gone now, Dean avoiding your gaze.

“Can I patch that up?” you asked, the red mark on his wrist bloody in a few spots. He nodded but wouldn’t look, a slight shake to his arm.

“Want to tell these guys what I know Dean? What you remembered when you were taken a few months ago?” asked Cas, Dean holding his hand in his lap when you finished. He was quiet and Cas sighed. “You were more of a fighter as a two year old, come on man.”

“You were an annoying six year old,” said Dean, glancing up at Cas. He found Sam’s gaze before yours, upset with himself some about trying to force you to stay away. “I don’t want Y/N to-”

“This girl has spent so many hours trying to find you, Dean. She gets to know the truth too,” said Cas. Dean looked ready to argue before the fight went out of him and he slumped into his chair.

“There was another boy, older than me. He had a weird name,” said Dean. “Redge.”

“Before you go feeling soft for him, Redge is this nutjob’s son. When he found out Dean of all people was the reason you broke it off with Redge-”

“I broke up with Redge and his psychopath dad does all that to Dean as revenge? Redge plants evidence to incriminate Dean? What are we in, a horror movie?” you asked, throwing up your hands.

“Pretty much,” said Cas with a shrug.

“I need a drink,” you said, heading over for the kitchen, finding a bottle of old bourbon in a cupboard, taking a long sip.

“I knew she’d think this is her fault, I didn’t want to tell her for this exact reason,” said Dean, following Cas into the kitchen, Sam on his tail and stealing the bottle from you and putting it up high where you couldn’t reach.

“It explains how Dean’s DNA got all over crime scenes he never visited, why he was forced to keep a journal, it explains a lot really,” said Sam, sitting up on the counter, keeping an eye on Dean who looked on the verge of bolting. “Hey, I asked you check and you didn’t say anything.”

“What difference does it make how I’m feeling? I’m used to it by now,” said Dean, rolling his eyes. “None of this makes any difference. I’m still royally screwed and he’s still out there and it sounds like Redge is in on it. I can’t do anything so the reunion was great and everything but leave me alone for all our benefits.”

Dean stood up to head for the door but Cas caught him by the hood and shoved him into a seat at the kitchen table.

“Dude, back off or-”

“I’m working a case and until I have solved it and got my guy, you’re going to do exactly what I tell you, all of you will,” said Cas, letting Dean go, pushing on his shoulder when he went to stand. “I wouldn’t let this slide even if it was as simple as a little revenge case but it’s not and we both know it.”

“It’s not?” the three of you asked, Cas running a hand through his hair.

“Oh my god, did you never once look at the files our dads were working on around that time? Investigating a serial killer? Never?” asked Cas. Dean looked like a deer in the headlights, staring up at Cas towering over him. “You’re lucky he likes you better as a pet than a victim or you’d have been killed a long time ago.”

“Cas, go take a walk,” you said, Sam standing to go with him as he saw you were getting ready to make Cas a victim himself. When they were both outside Dean had dropped the hardness and had that sad look on his face again, the one when you drove him away from that basement and to the hospital. “Dean?”

“Cas is right. I am lucky,” said Dean. “Everybody else he kills but I pissed off his son so lucky me got to stick around.”

“You never told me what he did to you,” you said, walking to stand by his side, taking his hand in yours. “You only ever said you got in trouble.”

“I’ll tell you someday, I promise but right now can we not fight? I really don’t want to fight anymore,” he said, voicing barely cracking at the end. You sat next to him and wrapped him into a hug, Dean welcoming it as you wondered when the last time he had any sort of touch at all in his life. “Why didn’t you give up on me?”

“You don’t give up on people you care about,” you said, running a hand over his head. “I always wanted to repay you but I never thought it’d be like this.”

“I would have done with a pie,” said Dean, a tiny chuckle from him doing wonders for your own nerves.

“We’ll figure out some place safe for you while Cas investigates. A place like this maybe where you won’t have to run or worry about getting caught by the cops or our guy,” you said.

“That sounds much better than that tent I’ve been staying in,” said Dean. “Anything sounds much better now.”

“You tried to not let me help. Over and over again,” you said, Dean resting his head in the crook of your neck.

“I know. I barely let you take care of me when I had that cold. This was too much to put on you,” said Dean.

“Me showing up at your door with a duffel bag and begging you to let me crash with you for the night, promising I’d be gone in the morning felt like too much. It always felt like too much when you made me breakfast or brought home surprises for me or complimented me or did a thousand other things. One day I realized I’d never convince you of that. It was so much easier when I let it all go. You’ll let it all go too Dean. You’ll get there,” you said.

He shrugged and took a deep breath. He almost started to relax before he pulled his head up and looked back at the door. You wondered if he wanted Sam when he bolted up and ran for it.

“Dean! What the-” you got out before he stopped and looked at you, rushing back over and taking hold of your hand.

“Don’t leave my side,” said Dean, pulling you along after him and out the door. He glanced around the small clearing before there was nothing but woods and the small dirt path that would eventually lead to the road.

“What’s-” you said before he threw a hand over your mouth, spinning the two of you around, spotting Jimmy’s car and rushing over. He flung open the door and shoved you in over to the passenger side before he started to rip open the dash with his bare hands.

You watched him wide eyed as he pulled on some wires, face smashed against the steering wheel until he got a spark and the engine came on, tugging you back into the driver’s side.

“Get out of here. Get out of town, just get as far away as you can and hide,” said Dean, panting as he pulled your seatbelt on.

“Dean, I don’t-”

“I remember and Cas...Cas was a nice kid. He took care of me. But I don’t remember him ever leaving with me,” said Dean, shaking his head. “Sometimes I swore I heard another set of boots wandering around in that shed too.”

“Dean, Cas has helped us, stood up for you, he’s-”

“Y/N,” you heard Cas say, both your and Dean’s head’s whipping to the front of the car where he was walking around. “Where are you going? We need to figure out a plan.”

“Stay the hell away from her,” said Dean, standing up and slamming your door shut. You weren’t in the car for more than a few more seconds before the lights flickered and went out.

“I always have problems with that freaking battery,” said Cas, rubbing a hand over his face. You climbed out and Dean stood in front of you, Cas cocking his head. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“I know who you are you son of a-”

“I am trying to help you, Dean. Is he having some kind of meltdown?” asked Cas to you. Dean had been overreactive since the moment you saw him, not thinking clearly and assuming the worst scenario would happen every single time. Cas had been calm and collected apart from his small outburst at Dean.

“Where’s Sam?” you asked. Cas practically growled and you took another step behind Dean.

“I have no issue with Y/N,” said Cas. “Hell, she knows what a dick Redge can be first hand. She can go.”

“Where’s Sam, Cas?” asked Dean. Cas shrugged and held up his hands.

“Like I said, Y/N can go and I highly advise you do and forget all about this before you get dragged in. My issue is only with the Winchesters,” said Cas.

“Go,” said Dean, pushing you backwards with one hand. “Now.”

You didn’t argue it and went off down the path, Dean glancing over his shoulder to give you the smallest of smiles, a quiet thank you. You went down the road until you were out of view, going a little further before ducking into the woods and carefully making your way back to the house, Cas now holding a gun in his hands as Dean sat on the hood of the car, his hands cuffed behind his back.

You figured you had a couple options. Sneak up on Cas and get his gun to save Dean. Stay hidden and hope Cas brought Dean to wherever Sam was and sneak them both out later. Or call for backup from your completely un-trustable department and hope whoever showed up didn’t make you another victim.

You didn’t have enough time to think of your fourth one before a hand shot out over your mouth and a cold muzzle pressed against the back of your neck.

“Don’t move.”

The hand around you made you backup slowly, going with them even if you knew it was likely to certain death. You walked with them for a while before they spun you around and led you forward, walking on and on until you were well out of shouting distance of Dean.

“Hands behind your back,” he said, your body only doing so when he pressed the gun harder against your skin. You quickly felt a pair of department issue zipties around your wrists, his hand pushing you down to the ground. You expected a bullet but the gun moved away and he walked in front of you, staring you down. “What the hell are you involved in, Y/N?”

“Redge, if you’re going to kill me just do it,” you said, his gun staying by his side a good sign you told yourself. “If you’re not going to do that then what-”

“Saving your ass. Cas plays games. Letting the girl go is one of his favorites. Two months from now when Dean hasn’t broken yet, he’ll pull you out of whatever hole your in and kill you in front of him, then threaten the same with Sam if he doesn’t get with the program. I don’t know where Cas put him. You’ll thank me when you’re still alive,” said Redge, fiddling around in his backpack, grabbing you by the arm and walking again.

“Redge what the fuck are you-” you got out before he slapped a hand over your mouth, a piece of duct tape over it.

“Shut up until I can explain,” he said, dragging you along until you came to the edge of the road, Redge shoving you in the backseat of his car and driving away, back towards town. You kicked his seat and he growled, getting louder when you didn’t stop. Eventually he pulled into his garage of your old home, shutting the door and taking you out, pushing you down on the couch as he made sure all the blinds were shut. When he ripped the duct tape off fast you nearly bit his hand off but his hands in tight fists made you think twice.

“Explain before I kick your ass for kidnapping a cop,” you said, Redge’s eyes rolling hard. He sat down on the ottoman and leered at you, cocking his head. “What?”

“If you had just stayed with me, none of his would have happened. Sam and Dean would be fine. You’d be fine. It would be okay, you know that?” he asked.

“You used to hurt me and that wasn’t okay, Redge,” you spat out. “Stop talking out of your ass and pretend for two seconds you’re not a piece of crap and maybe I’ll not ruin your life for stopping me from saving my guys.”

“You can’t save them. It’s too late. Grab your stuff and go,” said Redge. “Cas’ll give up trying to catch you pretty fast. He knows you won’t say anything.”

“Why wouldn’t I? He’s only…oh, I don’t know a complete and total liar,” you said, your shoulders starting to ache. “Would you cut me loose? You’re not exactly screaming trustworthy right now.”

“You’re the one being investigated by internal affairs, Y/N. For all I know, you’re another one of dad’s star students,” said Redge. You cocked your head and Redge took a deep breath. “Six months of your record is missing when you were twenty. Why?”

“I was in school which you’d know if you ever listened to me. I did study abroad but you wouldn’t know anything about that considering you tuned out everything I said unless it was yes sir,” you said, Redge looking you over. “What do you mean students?”

“I’m a saint compared to dad. He really just…gets the urge to kill people and does it I guess. I never saw it but I mean, he slipped it into asking about how school was and all that,” said Redge.

“You never told anyone anything? Never another adult or-”

“One day, when I was five, I came home and there were these two boys in the basement. Dad told me to play with them, take care of them, keep them under control. He said I’d get a big reward if I did. It wasn’t hard with the little boy, Dean, but the older one was bigger than me and he shoved me around so I shoved back. I thought we were playing like at recess or something. That’s all I did was play with them. After a couple days, the little boy went away but that other one…he didn’t. I got a new brother I was told,” said Redge.

“Cas,” you said, Redge nodding his head. “Oh, why didn’t you say something Redge?”

“Because I’m not a good guy. You know that,” said Redge, looking you up and down, all too aware that you were still restrained. “The more Cas gave in, the more I liked it until a couple months later and we were in a new town and Jimmy was my older brother at school. The longer he stayed with us, the more he got to be like dad until eventually Jimmy was the one going into the family business. Sometimes I wish dad hadn’t kept him. It sounds bad but Jimmy, Cas I guess…he’s ruthless and cunning. Dad was always happy with the quick and dirty but Jimmy likes the slow burn,” said Redge, his face dropping as he thought of something.

“Redge, work with me. It doesn’t sound like you guys are on the best terms,” you said, Redge laughing at you and crossing his arms.

“He’s worse than me, worse than dad, but that don’t make me the golden boy,” said Redge. “Cas has his toys to play with. I only ever wanted you back and here you are. You can be safe here from him, safe from dad too. I’ll be better this time.”

“Are you asking me to stay or telling me I am,” you said, Redge’s gaze on the floor in front of him. His hesitancy made you braver and you tapped his leg with your foot. “Redge.”

He stood up and went to the kitchen, grabbing a knife as you swallowed hard. He put on a hand on your arm and spun you around, cutting through the zip tie and picking up the pieces, tossing them in the trash on the way back to the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and handed it to you, taking a seat back down.

“You were my first long term girlfriend. The first time I ever lived with someone else. That control was something I lived with for years, it’s what I thought love was and how to get respect and all that. As much as I want you back, I know I’m not good. Dean’s always been the guy for you and I took you because he was too shy at first, even if I knew he wanted you. You’re not mine but you got to stay away from Cas. He’s going to call my dad and they’re going to go to town on him, Y/N,” said Redge. “Sam too. You just got to move on.”

“I’m being investigated because of my relationship with Dean, right? They think I potentially knew he committed those crimes or set all this up?” you asked, Redge nodding his head. “Go with me to the station and vouch for me. Tell them all that. Tell them the truth and help me save them. Sam is a civilian, Dean is another cop and you’ve got some penance to serve, Redge,” you said.

“It’s my family. My literal psycho murdering family,” he said. “I go against them-”

“Your family is hurting my family. Family has your back and all that but yours is built on fear and pain, not love. That’s not a real family. Your family would hurt you for trying to stop them. Dean and Sam, I’m sure I’ll get an earful from them but I’ll get a crap ton of hugs too. Give me a shot, please,” you said, Redge sighing heavily.

“Y/N, odds are we’ll never find them,” said Redge, a tiny smile on your face. “But we could try.”

Two Months Later

Redge hadn’t checked in with the station in a few days and the looks you were starting to get made you nervous. Sam had vanished but Cas…Cas showed up for work the next day a few months back like nothing more had gone on that night than having an easy dinner and watching some TV. Redge stayed quiet when he saw Cas back, never saying a word to anyone about all he’d told you. You didn’t know who or what to believe anymore. The investigation on you was proving nothing you figured but you knew they believed you were the one who took Sam and was involved with all the rest.

“Hey,” said Cas, knocking on your desk as you looked into the old files on Redge’s dad. “You’re riding with me today.”

“Shocking,” you said, grabbing your winter coat, hoping wherever the boys were they weren’t freezing to death. You’d kept your distance from Cas since that night, occasionally trying to track him but Cas always one step ahead of you, no thanks to help from Redge you guessed.

“Coffee run?” Cas asked when you climbed in the passenger side of his cruiser, shaking your head. “This doesn’t have to be as bad as you make it out to be. I’ll buy.”

“A cup of coffee? Well I guess we can be besties forever now, huh,” you said, Cas pulling out of the lot for your four hour patrol around town.

“I let you go. Someone in my line of work doesn’t really do that,” said Cas, looking over at you. “You’re a good cop. Once the investigation clears up, maybe you’ll think about moving on to a bigger town, work some bigger cases than the run of the mill crap we do all day.”

“Do you have a point at all? Otherwise you can shut it for the rest of today,” you said, crossing your arms, wishing you’d get a call to give you something else to think about.

“Playing nice with me makes life easier for them,” said Cas. “Perk up. You’re prettier when you smile.”

“Whatever you say boss.”

Three Days Later

You were at a motel room in a random town that only took cash. You used a rented car to take to “borrow” another one, promising yourself you’d return it to the owner before they got back from their vacation. You left your phone behind and your computer, no credit cards, anything Cas could use to figure out where you were. When it was almost two thirty in the morning, you slipped out of your room and walked down a few blocks, hood up as you scanned the alleys for the one you were looking for.

Right on the dot, you saw a man leaning against the brick wall of one, his head curling towards yours when he must have noticed your gazing. He gave a tiny nod you returned and he waved you down.

“You’re less intimidating than I expected,” said the playful voice, standing up straight, his height rivaling Sam’s almost.

“Nick,” you said, pulling your hood down, the man doing the same. He was a bit older than Cas, around ten years maybe but even in the dim alley, you could see the familiarity. “I know where your baby brother is.”

“See, you kept saying that on the phone but Cas is dead. I haven’t seen him since he went to go play in the yard. It’s been over thirty years, kid. If you found his body, that’s great but I made my peace with what happened a long-”

“Look,” you said, shoving a hand into your pocket and pulling out the picture of Cas in uniform, Nick’s face going blank. “He’s alive.”

“He’s okay. Little guy became a cop,” said Nick, not exactly a smile on his face but as close as you were going to get for a harsh guy like him. “Why didn’t he…what…why did you find me, have us meet like this?”

“You’re a criminal and I’m so far in this thing I’ll work with bad guys to stop even worse ones,” you said. Nick handed the picture back before you shook your head that he could have it.

“You’re a cop,” he said. “Internal affairs, some law and order crap like that?”

“Your brother took two people very important to me. I will explain everything I can to you but I’ll be upfront about this. You’re not getting the happy ending with your brother you want. It’s not going to happen,” you said, Nick looking over your head.

“Inside,” he said, pushing open a back door to the bar you were outside of. “You look like you need a drink.”

Nick quietly sipped on his beer as you told him everything you knew. When you’d finished, you didn’t get any denial or shock or any of the other reactions you were expecting. Just a small chuckle that made you wonder if you’d only added one more crazy person in all this.

“To think I was the bad son,” said Nick. “Dad and his stupid pride, wouldn’t do something bad to save his own kid.”

“I read through the old files of Chuck’s, the ones in the storage shed in Toledo,” you said, Nick’s head popping up. “I’ve broken a few laws trying to get my boys back, I’m not a saint either. But your dad tried to get Cas back. It was one or the other and Dean was younger so-”

“So Cas got the shaft. Wow, way to go dad,” said Nick, standing and grabbing a bottle of some hard liquor, pouring it straight into his empty glass, enough to knock out a horse if he finished it all.

“He tried after that and that’s why he got killed. This guy Chuck and John Winchester were investigating is bad news. Ruthless and he made Cas just like him,” you said, Nick seeming unfazed.

“This is my problem how?” he asked, taking a long drag, scrunching his face up at the burn of it. “You’re the cop, that’s your job to fix crap like this.”

“You were supposed to watch him and you let your kid brother go play outside by himself when you were told to not let him out of your sight. How’s that for your problem?” you spat back, Nick’s face going cold, downright scary.

“You sure you aren’t the bad one? You sure know how to rip open old wounds,” he said, taking another swallow.

“This was a waste of time,” you said, standing up, heading for the back door until Nick’s hand caught your arm.

“You said this guy Redge, that you breaking up with him is what started all of this, right?” asked Nick. You felt his hand get loose and you moved it away, looking down at Nick in the booth.

“It got Dean involved and it made Redge’s dad go after him again and it brought all of this up so yeah, it’s pretty much all my fault,” you said.

“If I’d watched Cas like I was supposed to, Cas wouldn’t have gone that route and maybe that Redge guy would have turned out different and maybe a lot of things would be different so if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine,” he said.

“You don’t know that,” you said.

“You don’t know that you and Redge had anything to do with Dean. They all knew each other before you came along. This could have been in the making long before you showed up,” said Nick.

“If you say you’re going to help, are you going to turn around the next day and pretend that didn’t happen? I’m running out of people to turn to, Nick,” you said.

“I think I should have a talk with my brother. On one condition,” he said, your head dropping.

“I can’t promise any clearing of your record or any of that. I’m on the outs. I can’t even promise you’ll live through this,” you said.

“One condition,” said Nick, standing up. “We’re going to need backup and I know the guys for the job.”

“Nick, this-”

“Kid, I wasn’t asking. You want to find Dean and Sam? Trust me.”

On Monday morning the chief called you into his office to tell you Cas was your new partner, Redge back at work as you figured he didn’t turn up anything concrete, not that he was ever really investigating you. You were stopped at the diner for lunch with Cas a few days later, silently eating together when Cas kicked you under the table.

“What?” you asked, mouth full of salad, Cas giving you a hard glare. “Don’t tell me the place is getting robbed,” you said, spinning in your seat to see nothing going on.

“What is that?” he asked, pointing outside at a man outside playing on his phone.

“A guy on his phone?” you asked, not sure what was going on with him. Cas studied your face and relaxed. “What?”

“Nothing. You’re not arguing with me as much lately. I was suspicious,” said Cas.

“Well you said it yourself. I’m free and alive. I need to start looking out for myself,” you said, Cas raising an eyebrow. “I’m smart enough to admit defeat. I need to move on, get out of this town and forget this all ever happened right? Let you have your…extra curricular activities.”

“You’re giving up just like that,” said Cas. You shrugged, playing around with your fork.

“I never even went on a date with the guy. I’m loyal but I’m not a dumbass,” you said. “Maybe I’ll go somewhere warmer, where it doesn’t snow in the winter.”

“Oh you’re cruel. You ever want a date, give me a call,” said Cas with a wink.

“I do have a slight favor to ask,” you said, Cas’ smile falling away. “A letter of recommendation would help with a transfer considering everything I went through. I’m not sure they’ll take me with that on my record if I don’t have someone to-”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem,” said Cas, easing up again. “I’ll make you sound good and all that.”

“Thanks,” you said, Cas going back to his sandwich until you were climbing in the cruiser, back on your patrol for the second half of your shift.

“You’re really giving up on them. They’ve been so adamant that you’d stay away and do what asked. I guess you’re finally getting with the program huh?” asked Cas.

“I have one other favor to ask,” you said, turning to Cas. “You and your family stay away from me, they don’t come after me. I don’t want to look over my shoulder the rest of my life.”

“Yeah, that’s not a problem,” said Cas. “You’ve kept your mouth shut and been good. You’ll keep it shut too. No one will bother you.”

“Alright then,” you said, holding out a hand, Cas shaking it with an amused look on his face. “I’ll start looking for new positions tonight.”

It was nearly three in the morning when you got a call on your burner phone from Nick.

“Did Gabe get it?” you asked.

“Oh, he got more than that alright,” said Nick. “Somebody wants to say hi.”

“Hey Y/N,” a tired Sam said on the other end. “You working with a bunch of convicts now?”

“Well I sit next to a serial killer at work. Thievery isn’t so bad compared to that,” you said, hearing a tiny laugh from Sam. He sounded in good spirits but you could only imagine how wrecked he was. “Are you okay?”

“Oh it’s like Christmas morning,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s not Christmas is it?”

“Not for a few more weeks,” you said, sitting up with a big smile on your face. “We got to go pick out a tree.”

“Yeah, we’ll get right on that,” said Sam. “You got Dean back yet?”

“No, we agreed getting at least one of you out was worth the risk,” you said, standing and heading over to your closet to get dressed.

“I haven’t seen him since I saw you last. I don’t know where-”

“It’s okay Sammy. Nick’s brothers are going to stay with you and make sure you get to a hospital and get better,” you said, pulling out some clothes and tossing them on fast.

“I’m honestly okay. Cas never did anything so I assumed Dean’s been playing along. What are you going to do?” asked Sam.

“I’m going to Cas’ house. He’s going to want a new way of keeping Dean in line,” you said.

“Y/N, you can’t-”

“Nick, you know where to meet me. Let’s go have a chat with your little brother.”

“Nick, you ready?” you asked, stepping out of the car parked around the bend, just out of view from Cas’ house. Nick looked down the dirt path, giving you a nod. “Want to give me a heads up of what you’re planning on saying?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure that out myself,” he said, taking a step forward. “You sure you want to come with me?”

“You need the backup,” you said, pulling out your gun. Nick just nodded and went around to the front door as you went to the back. He knocked like he was dropping off a pizza and you took a deep breath. You heard the front door open and slipped in the back, quietly coming through the hall as you saw Cas take a step back and another. Nick landed a punch square to his face and had him restrained fast as you had to fight the urge to rip his head off. “What happened to talking?”

“He kind of deserves it, don’t you think?” asked Nick as you rolled your eyes. Cas grunted as Nick rolled him up, shutting the door as you saw just how off guard he was. “Cas.”

“Nick?” asked Cas, looking his older brother up and down. “Wh-What...”

“What is wrong with you shortie?” asked Nick, Cas’ face softening at the nickname. “What is going on in that head of yours?”

“Whatever she told you, it’s a lie, it’s all-”

“Cut the crap,” said Nick, Cas dropping his head down to the floor. “You got taller.”

“So did you,” said Cas quietly, turning his attention to you, the softness falling away. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you just put on my family?”

“Sorry but your dad and Redge aren’t exactly-”

“Not those psychos. Nick and Gabe and Michael. Do you know what you just dragged them into? What I’ve been keeping them safe from for years?” asked Cas, his eyes shooting daggers but flickering with fear for the first time too. “They’re going to go after them finally. After everything I put up with, it’s gone because of you.”

Nick scrunched up his face and raised an eyebrow, probably thinking Cas was nuts.

“Cas,” you said, holding your gun in your hands. “We found Sam. He didn’t exactly sound like someone who’s had a rough go of it lately.”

“Sam played the part he needed to. Dean’s been doing his part too I suppose. I may have exaggerated things a bit,” said Cas, glancing down.

“Exaggerated how?” you asked, your eyes going wide when you saw the chief come in through the front door.

“Stand down officer Y/L/N,” said the chief, your gaze going to Nick who looked like he would try to take him on if you asked. “Stand down.”

“Crowley, I don’t exactly trust-”

“Cas you’re authorized to disclose your case,” said Crowley, Cas breathing a sigh of relief.

“Not like she was only about two seconds away from shooting me, asshole,” said Cas, giving Crowley a hard look before softening his gaze towards you and Nick. “I’m very deep undercover. Very, very, very deep undercover.”

“It all makes perfect sense now!” you said, squinting at him, Crowley rolling his eyes. “You want to explain, get going.”

“The easy version? I got taken as a kid and raised by a not so nice guy and Redge. I figured out how to play along, gain their trust. By the time I was old enough, got more freedom, it was just Nick and my brothers left and there was always this unspoken threat in the air that I couldn’t go back to them. I stayed away and became a cop, try to figure out a way to bring him down and Redge. I was approached at the academy about undercover work. They knew who I really was and who my fake dad was and that I could go under and gather evidence against a guy they’d been tracking for twenty years but couldn’t prove a damn thing about,” said Cas. “I couldn’t hop on board that train fast enough.”

“Wait so you never…” you asked, Cas shaking his head.

“Redge did. I was always going to be his fall guy if it ever came to it so I was told to keep my mouth shut. I’ve made it harder over the years but when you got with Redge and then you two stopped, those two wanted to rip Dean apart. I convinced them to go a different route, screw with you both in a less violent way. It worked and they started to get sloppy for the first time. They actually believed that I’d finally come around to their way of thinking. The evidence we have now though is huge and more than enough to put them both away,” said Cas.

“Awesome, then what’s with the continued charade?” asked Nick, cocking his head.

“We don’t know where Dean is,” said Crowley. You looked at Cas who shook his head.

“Redge called my dad after he found you in the woods,” said Cas, Nick giving him a glare. “Fake dad. Cut me a little slack, I’ve been dealing with this stuff since I was six.”

“Keep going,” you said, throwing Nick a glance to cool it.

“Fake dad showed up and took Dean, not too long after I had a chance to explain myself to him. I don’t know if Dean every truly believed me but I told him I’d keep you and Sam safe until I could get him too,” said Cas. “We just need to find him.”

“Would Redge know?” you asked, looking at the chief who was shaking his head. “I’ll go be bait if I have to. We’re getting Dean back if it’s the last thing I ever do.”

“The guy’s been around the Montana area, sticking to a fifty mile area. Dean’s likely somewhere in there,” said Crowley. “It’s too big of a search area though.”

“When Redge took those few days off earlier in the week, where’d he go?” you asked.

“Montana,” said Crowley. “You think he went to go pay Dean a visit?”

“Check his phone records and we’ll find out.”

The property you were searching was huge and the local police department was even smaller than your own, just four of you out there trying to search 100 acres while you knew your guy was the next town over.

“Y/L/N, sun’s going down and snow’s heading in. We need to call it a night,” said another officer over the radio.

“I’ve got a flashlight and gloves. I’m good,” you said, flicking your light on and continuing your search.

“One more hour, then we need to head in,” said the officer. You clicked off your radio and continued your search, finding a big farmhouse that was a nice break from the cold wind on your face, your cheeks and nose hurting from the icy air. You kicked around the straw on the floor, finding only solid dirt beneath it, taking a short breather behind a bale of hay. It was warmer there and you took a deep breath, glancing around to see a pipe sweating nearby. You hopped up, nothing at all seeming to require heat in the open barn unless of course there was someone living under it. You started kicking the straw again, spending most of your hour picking through every inch of the space.

You yelled when you found nothing, kicking at a bale of hay. You huffed and figure you’d start looking around outside when you spun back around.

“Wait,” you said to yourself, looking around the whole barn, noticing there was only the one bale in the whole place. You bent down and shoved with your shoulder, digging into the ground to get it to budge a little before it slid away. The small cellar door made you smile as you flung it open and hopped down, shooting at a locked door and opening it to find a tiny room warm.

The man on the cot rolled over and wiped at his eyes, yawning as he did so. He blinked the green orbs awake, sitting up fast when he saw you.

“We got to stop meeting like this,” you said, Dean leaning back against the wall in relief. “You’re not going to go all Rambo on me again, are you?”

“You look really cute with a pink nose,” said Dean, waving you over. You bent down to try and cut through his tether again but this one was made of steel cable and you didn’t exactly bring bolt cutters with you. “Try my foot.”

“I’m not cutting your foot off,” you said, Dean rolling his eyes. He put his foot up on the cot and pulled up his pant leg to show the metal cuff on it.

“I meant try picking the lock,” said Dean. “Unless you found the keys.”

“Yeah, right outside the door, didn’t you know?” you joked, the sound of the cellar door slamming shut making your smile fall.

“Tell me that was the wind,” said Dean. You took off back the way you came, going through the door and up the few steps before you pushed on the door. It didn’t budge much and you knew it wasn’t that heavy. You pushed again and again, dropping down and hoping when Dean was free he might have better luck.

“I think it’s just stuck,” you said.

“I don’t think we’re that lucky,” said Dean. “Do you have anything to eat in your bag?”

“Yeah,” you said, slipping it off and digging through to find a few protein bars, Dean barely getting the wrapper off before devouring one. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” he said, halfway through another before he forced himself to stop. “We should save these.”

“It was just the wind Dean. A big storm is coming through,” you said, riffling around in your bag for something to try and get him loose. You took off your hat and shoved it on his head, throwing your scarf on him too.

“How cold out is it exactly? This is Kansas not-”

“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” you said, Dean giving you a bitch face. “Well we’re not, Todo.”

“Awesome,” said Dean as you ran a hand over your head, finding a bobby pin in there. You pulled it out and twisted it, shoving it in the lock and a few moments later, watching it release Dean’s leg.

He sighed when it fell off and he removed the rag he’d shoved there to cushion it, stretching it out as you twisted your bobby pin back in place.

“Let’s work on that door,” said Dean. He stood up with your help but he seemed healthy for the most part and definitely happier than when you’d rescued him the first time. You both had to shove hard but the door flung open eventually, a big gust of wind blowing through the open space that had Dean ducking back down. You gave him your bag with some boots and gloves, Dean throwing his hood up but still cold in his thin hoodie and a pair of jeans.

“Let’s get you home Dean.”

“Alright,” you said, throwing a blanket over Sam on the couch the next day, Dean already bundled up in his own as they both gave you shy smiles. “You’re both fed, Dean got cleared by the hospital, you’re in your warmest pajamas and tucked in. What else do you guys need?”

“You to sit down and take a break, sweetheart,” said Dean, patting the spot between him and Sam. You gladly sat, feeling them share their blankets with you as a holiday movie played quietly on TV in the background.

“Longest year ever,” you said, both of them laughing a little. The doorbell rang and you hopped up, knowing the department wanted to give you all a proper apology but that it could wait for the morning.

“Hi,” said Cas when you opened it, holding a box under his arm, looking down. “Can I come in?”

“Can you look at me?” you asked, Cas slow to lift his head. “You ever hear of a little thing the Winchesters have called ‘Check’?”

He shook his head and you smiled.

“You will,” you said, opening the door for him, his face red from the cold. “Guys, you mind if you have a quick visitor?”

“Cas, our guardian angel,” joked Dean, Cas looking away nervously.

“Dude, relax. You’ve risked a lot to keep us safe,” said Sam. “We’re good with you.”

“Y/N is in need of an apology,” said Dean, not too happy with the way he spoke to you, even if it was to keep up appearances with Redge. “Later though. What’d you bring us?”

“It’s from my brothers and me,” said Cas, putting the box down between them. “For helping bring us together again.”

Sam and Dean shrugged and opened the box up, both of them reaching inside and holding up a leather jacket.

“I guess your dad gave it to our’s once and it got tucked away in storage. It has sentimental value Nick said. John gave it to him as a way of saying our families always have each other’s backs or something like that,” said Cas, rubbing the back of his head.

“You guys want to hang out this weekend?” asked Dean, Sam giving Cas a smile. “Our dad’s were best friends. I think it’s about time the kids were too.”

“Is that okay, Y/N?” asked Cas, the boys looking back over the couch at you. “You’re the one that’s seen everyone go all…”

“I think a big family dinner would be nice,” you said.

A few days later you were sitting on the couch with Dean slouching into your side, talking to Nick and Michael about which Zeppelin album was better, Sam and Gabe and Cas trying to figure out who had the worst pick up line. You didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep until Dean was carrying you upstairs, the guys telling you goodnight as they threw on their coats.

“Didn’t mean to ruin the party,” you said, Dean pausing outside your room before going down to his and putting you on the mattress there.

“It’s your turn to get some overdue rest, Y/N,” said Dean, shutting the door and kicking off his pants, climbing into bed beside you.

“You don’t have to go to bed if you don’t want,” you said, Dean chuckling to himself.

“We’ll see the guys tomorrow. It’s getting late anyways,” said Dean, pulling you in close. “You’re so warm. I’ve wanted to do this forever.”

“Me too,” you said. “You know Nick and Gabe and Michael…they’ve got records,” you said.

“Used to have records. They’ve been expunged thanks to helping catch two serial killers. With Cas back and a family of cops around, I’m pretty sure they’ll get on the straight and narrow soon,” said Dean. “Wouldn’t want to have to arrest our new friends.”

“How are you feeling? After everything I mean. You’ve spent only a handful of nights in this bed over the past ten months,” you said. Dean hummed and you rolled on your side to face him, running a hand through his hair. “You’re not so bad this time.”

“I kind of distracted myself through most of it,” said Dean. “I don’t think anyone’s ever had as much time as me to come up with the perfect first date.”

“I’d rather just stay home with you on the couch and never let you out of my sight if that’s okay with you,” you said, giving him a tired smile.

“You came up Netflix and a pizza too?” he teased, shifting his head closer.

“Check?” you asked, Dean closing his eyes as he tilted his head and gave you a short kiss.

“Green sweetheart,” said Dean, fluttering his eyes open when he moved back. “How about you?”

“I think I’m okay again too,” you said, snuggling into his chest. “This is the weirdest relationship I’ve ever been in.”

“Considering your last boyfriend was a serial killer, I’m not sure how to take that,” he said, chuckle as you gave him a pout. “I really do have to ask though…why’d you never stop trying to save me?”

“You’re my best friend. Maybe we haven’t gotten into the couple stuff yet but you’re my best friend and I love you and you owe me at least two back massages for everything I’ve done,” you said, Dean giving you a big laugh you felt in your chest before he was kissing you again.

“That can be arranged,” he said, closing his eyes. “Thank you for everything sweetheart.”

“Goodnight Dean.”

"Morning,” you said, turning to curl into Dean, your eyes blinking open when you saw him gone. You hopped out of bed and found him staring at the back door in the kitchen, the sun just coming up. “You okay?” you asked, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

“Yeah,” he said, reaching for your hand to hold in his. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“You’re good,” you said, bumping into his arm. “We can go outside if you want.”

“It’s cold out,” he said.

“You have winter clothes,” you said, Dean nodding to himself like he’d forgotten that. “Do you have anything you want to do today?”

Dean shrugged, just looking outside at the snow covered yard. You bumped him again and he looked down, catching your smile.

“When Sam gets up we’ll head into town and grab breakfast. I got a surprise for you,” you said, Dean tilting his head. “It’s a good surprise.”

It was nearly dinner time by the time you three got back, Dean giving Baby a pat and smile at getting to driver her again.

“I can’t believe you convinced us to go sledding,” said Sam, sipping on his leftover hot chocolate. “In Kansas too. How’d you find that place?”

“A super secret place called google,” you said, Sam grabbing a snowball from the front yard and tossing it at you as he went inside to warm up. Dean was smiling as he stood by Baby, his cheeks red from spending most of the day outside. “You have fun today?”

“Yeah,” said Dean, wrapping you up in his arms and holding on tight. “I needed that.”

“I know. Want to go watch a Christmas movie and warm up?” you asked.

“Die Hard?” he asked. You rolled your eyes but shook your head. “What do you want to do for dinner?”

“Speak of the devil,” you said, spotting Cas pull up in his car, his brothers popping out with a few bags. “The boys brought barbecue.”

“Ribs, brisket, pulled pork, chicken, corn bread, mashed potatoes and a whole bunch of other artery clogging goodies...everything a recovering boy needs,” said Gabe, patting Dean on the back as they got the food inside before the cold got to it.

“We’ll have a quiet day tomorrow if you want. You just looked like you needed some fun today,” you said.

“I did. I still do but with you watching my back I’m going to turn out just fine,” he said, leaning down to give you a kiss. “You know I always had the biggest crush on you, from the second we met actually.”

“I thought you were cute in your little uniform and jeans. I wished you’d been my partner from the start,” you said.

“I’m your partner now,” he said, giving you another fast kiss. “In more than one area of your life.”

“You’re much cuddlier than I remember,” you said. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Well see this cute girl told me if I got scared I should get a hug and she’d make me feel better. She’s pretty smart,” said Dean, still holding on tight.

“You remember that?” you asked, Dean humming. “Do you want to go get some warm food in you?”

“Yeah,” said Dean, not moving an inch. He waited a few more seconds, looking up as the sun was setting and fresh snow was coming down. “Alright, let’s go have family dinner.”

“I think we should do it once a week, get everyone together,” you said, Dean smiling wide. “You like the sound of that?”

“Having a big family of full of misfit cops and lawyers and thieves sounds perfect, sweetheart.”

_______

#spn #supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x you #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #cop!dean x reader

301 notes · View notes

miragestar · 11 months

Text

This was a quick little warm-up (or at least, it was supposed to be) featuring Silentchaser and Cinnamonswan, the medicine cat! Silentchaser had a fairly interesting life and I figured I would talk about him.

Silentchaser was the first non-founder cat to join the clan when a patrol found an abandoned newborn kitten and brought him to camp. Other than that, his youth was pretty unremarkable. He was apprenticed to Freezerump and trained alongside Buttercuppaw, although she was a few moons older than him. At somepoint during his life he also had a litter of kits with Heronspot, the son of Comfreyfur and Pinetree, but he wasn't really involved with their lives and likewise wasn't into Heronspot.

He always had aspirations to become leader, and that chance was given to him when the previous deputy Crookedpatch retired and he was appointed deputy. (Just for context, Basildapple died fairly young and Crookedpatch was appointed in his place) Silentchaser was fairly good at his job, until tragedy struck.

He saw dark, ominous clouds gathered in the sky and bravely decided to go on border patrol, hoping he could make it back in time before the downpour. Unfortunately for him, the storm broke out quicker than expected. A flash flood happened and in the resounding chaos he broke his back.

Many cats, the three medicine cats included, did not believe he would survive. Especially after his broken back became infected. Though, everyone still held out hope, and thought Comfreyfur taking over his duties would only be temporary.

Then, Crowstar lost his last four lives saving his clanmates when a fire raged through camp. Now the clan was really faced with a dilemma, because while Silentchaser was technically still deputy, he was in no shape to lead. Either they hoped he would recover when he might not (and leave the clan leaderless for a bit before he got his nine lives) or let Comfreyfur take over leadership. You can guess what they chose!

Against all odds, Silentchaser made a full recovery; physically at least. Mentally? He was no where near ok. Logically he understand why the clan made Comfreystar leader. He might not have lived, and it certainly would have taken him months to make the journey for his nine lives. But, it had always been his dream to lead the clan and it had been cruelly taken away from him.

For a while, Silentchaser refused to do anything at all. He spent most of his days in camp going between stewing angrily, begging StarClan to fix his life, and lying around in a depressed heap. Things got even worse for him when the cat he was in love with, Rootstripe, turned up dead. Most cats gave him a wide berth, unable to comfort him in any meaningful way. Some of the younger cats were even afraid of him, with his short temper and habit of lashing out at StarClan. There were even rumors he was planning on killing Comfreystar and with how much jealousy and resentment he had it certainly wasn't impossible. But despite it all, Cinnamonswan refused to abandon him.

The daughter of Crookedpatch and Whirlfur and the youngest medicine cat, Cinnamonswan had gotten rather close with him over the months it took to heal Silentchaser's broken back. She felt terrible for him and wanted him to be able to start anew.

Knowing he had to have gained some herb knowledge while he was in the medicine den for six months, she offered to train him to become a full medicine cat. At first he refused; as it had always been his dream to be a warrior and he never really had interest in "boring herbs". However, he also realized part of the job would be communing with StarClan-- something normal warriors didn't do. He was desperate to know why StarClan screwed him over so badly, and so eventually he agreed.

He wasn't the best medicine cat, in all honesty. He frequently refused to treat cats who he felt wronged him, which over time became most cats in the clan. Not to mention he never really had a natural talent for herbs and often forgot what they looked like when out gathering. That being said, he did eventually get to commune with StarClan, and learned that they had nothing to do with the storm that caused his broken back. It was just a terrible tragedy that happened, nothing more. It took a long time for him to accept that.

Cinnamonswan caught feelings for him a lot sooner than he did for her. It took him a long time to get over Rootstripe's death with everything that had happened. Eventually she confessed her feelings to him, and they became mates. Silentchaser actually retired shortly after that, as he had never really been a good medicine cat and his old back injury was starting to bother him, along with the usual aches and pains of old age.

Cinnamonswan got pregnant, and the two were overjoyed to finally have a family of their own. Then yet again, tragedy struck in Silentchaser's life. Well, it was more like tragedy struck at his life, because he suddenly turned up dead on the border, with no visible cause of death. Cinnamonswan gave birth shortly after that, and she refused to have anything to do with the single kitten born. She busied herself with medicine cat duties and then, in similar fashion to her late mate, died at the border.

Overall, his life was kind of bad! He did learn to happy (or at least accept it) but he certainly didn't get what he wanted. I thought his resounding jealousy, anger, and eventual pairing with Cinnamonswan very interesting and I figured he deserved some backstory.

#weevilclan #warrior cats clangen #clangen #warriors #silentchaser #cinnamonswan #warrior cats #cats

118 notes · View notes

scratchandplaster · 4 months

Text

Stack The Deck - PART 13

CW: Carewhumper, non-con touching, referenced stalking/non-con bathing/nudity, gaslighting, panic attack

PART 12 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 14

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

All of this could be worse, Elliot had to constantly remind himself of this fact; so, so much worse.

At the very least he didn't find himself in the trunk of a Honda or a crack house bathroom, just the sparsely decorated home of Chris, being far more tidy than he'd like to give him credit for. Said man had disappeared a few minutes ago, leaving Elliot to stew in bewilderment. The spots where skin had met skin started to itch.

Focus, come on. Neither the lonely houseplant next to the TV nor the properly aligned armchair could help him; behind the bed he was placed in stood a dresser with a full ashtray on it. The sun that had so rudely woken him up before already moved on, but the window it entered through didn't budge an inch, letting the muffled sound of cars driving up and down the road flow through the glass. They were at least on the third floor.

Jump, a harsh force pulled at his stomach, now. What else would he break in the process?

The smell of vanilla and sugar let him come to a bit more, a sour taste gathering at the thought of what's next to come. Even though Elliot had no idea why he was taken again, the animal part of his brain prepared for the worst regardless; knowing this time could be dangerous in a whole different sort of way.

"Do you like pancakes?" Morris called out, looking back from the kitchen to check if this was still real, if Elliot was really with him now, "Of course you do."

Did he? Elliot wasn't so sure about it anymore, he couldn't get his next steps on track: a rescue he couldn't remember, the warm welcome, the fact that Amber was just old news - where did this suddenly come from? What do you call a joke nobody's laughing about?

Wrapped up in the hysteric circle of repetitive thoughts, his hands started to knead hills and valleys into the blanket and rewarded his already tense arm with a short sting of fire. Elliot usually avoided to, but looking down at his palms, he noticed the rough red lines of dark scab across them.

"Did I fall?" he whispered to nobody in particular.

"Yeah, I guess so. I mean, you were bleeding; your knees too. Don't you feel that?" The well-meaning hint fell on deaf ears.

Though Elliot did feel that. An all-too familiar burn started spreading its stinging tendrils out to reach his elbow first and if not appeased quickly enough, it would only grow further. On some days, it crawled up behind his eyes.

But not yet, there was still time. Finally ready to act, Elliot threw the heavy covers off his legs, which were not tied together despite the uneasy memories. He could work with that.

The cooked batter already built up bubbles, he could see it from where he was standing now, the kitchen also being the entrance area and final room to separate them from the outside world. After flipping it over to reveal a perfectly browned crust, Morris at last noticed him: "I thought of you, moving north into the wilderness to ride moose and become a park ranger or whatever. She got me good; upstate, my ass!"

Jesus Christ, what is he going on about? Elliot had read an article about brain damage some odd months ago: poor Morris probably had an aneurysm during the time they didn't see each other, and hopefully would be blessed with another one soon. This had to be it. He, for one, didn't act like a guy who got invested in a spontaneous religious awakening.

Elliot swallowed hard, interrupting the senseless yapping and looking into Morris' steam-covert face that only underlined his unsettling glassy expression: "I can't do this again. Please, I give you everything."

They faced each-other while still keeping a good distance, with the door to the hallway practically only a jump away. Elliot could make it.

"The bathroom is on your right," Morris said through a patient smile, "Freshen up a bit."

--------

Coward. Even a splash of cold water on his puffy eyes didn't soothe the lingering frustration; if this were the Olympics, he'd be awarded the golden medal for backpedaling, especially when it came to his own survival. You dumb fucking coward.

Elliot even lacked the guts to lock the bathroom door. When push comes to shove, one could bet Morris would just kick the hinges in.

Where had the time gone; the time he should have used to prepare, to take action against Morris? Not boxing, naturally, but something... anything meaningful. All that followed was well deserved, it seemed, the punishment for wasting away in his childhood bedroom and staring motionless at a wall for eight months.

The bathroom mirror gave a flash of relief as Elliot pressed his forehead against the cool glass. Think!

For the first time in a long year, he looked at his reflection. A broken man glared back through empty eyes. Single beads of water ran down his chin to be soaked up into his shirt, already damp with the stench of fear and sweat.

The shirt he wore the whole night; a shirt he did not wear yesterday, one he did not even own, meaning that Morris had to- Oh god.

Maybe he should think less, before losing the last bit of sanity.

Not that it mattered, Elliot's only goal was clear: convince Chris to leave him alone, even when he had to bear his unorthodox signs of reparation. Smile and nod and play Crazy Eights until he opens the door: old habits and such. Nothing to lose this time, he could do it!

As Elliot awkwardly stalked back to the kitchen, the stinging had already engulfed his whole left hand and throbbed with every horrid expectation. One favor Morris could do him, if this went south too, was to cut the damn thing off already. Turning around into the kitchen fully now, he was greeted by the same stupid grin that send him away. At least one of us is having fun.

Elliot was gently led to the table and forced to sit tight until the chef was gracious enough to join him; dragging his chair to position it opposite to his guest. A stack of warm pancakes was placed carefully in front of both; they didn't look half bad.

So this was the apology breakfast then.

"Here you go, Ell!"

The cutlery slid right next to the plate and with Chris closer than ever before, Elliot could feel his body heat on his face. By reflex, his head curled down to make himself as small as possible, as if mesmerized by the pancakes he was blankly staring at.

"Say when." A thin stream of sticky maple started to coat them: the apology syrup, surely.

He would have appreciated all the effort in a different context, but with his sweaty right clenched around the butter knife, any sense of domestic bliss was lost.

Elliot felt his mouth go dry in anticipation; bile already collecting further.

None of them had noticed how heavy their breathing went, so Morris decided to be more brisk and let the hand he had positioned so innocently on the backrest slip down the small of Elliot's neck.

This is the apology- the-the apology...

The touch of rough fingers against his sensitive skin made Elliot shudder violently and writhe away from the contact. Even though that wasn't a "when", the steady drizzle of syrup stopped in its flow.

Letting his hand wander even further down to dip under his collar and between his shoulder blades, Chris too was mesmerized. His skin felt pleasantly warm to the touch; stroking back and forth, up and down to soothe his boy who was nearly losing it again. So tense.

He knew it only got worse the longer this medicine he demanded was held back, so why not enjoy the last calm moments for a while. Brushing the peach fuzz at the base of his hairline awarded Chris a low whine. So pretty.

His left arm was sore by now and already cooking up a storm, Elliot could feel it.

Morris felt glad his guest was deadly focused on the meal he made them, otherwise his bright red face would only prove how excited he was getting.

He hadn't missed how much longer Elliot's hair had grown, still happy that he managed to wash it last night. Speaking of which, was he always this pale and skinny? He did look kinda rough, Chris determined with a frown, they hadn't taken good care of him, wherever he'd been before.

Not for much longer, of course.

Elliot too had learned from his mistakes, though he never expected to use his newfound knowledge. Enjoying a bite to wake up god-knows-where; no, thank you! It made little sense to take his meds and just drug him still, but he had to anticipate senseless acts from a senseless man.

Elliot wouldn't look up, hell no, that face just helped to make him throw up faster.

"Sorry, but I'm not eating this," Elliot murmured, unsure if there was a gentle way of teaching him that.

Morris looked sheepish: "Oh, is it burned? The first ones always get a little bit more...crispy."

He neither took silence nor no for an answer, but two could play that game.

"So, what do you want to do after this?", Morris asked. He hoped to get the best use out of their intimacy before the inevitable temporary mood killer.

"You talk a lot." Sadly, not one coherent sentence. So Elliot refused to give in to the chit-chat.

"I'm just excited," Morris admitted quietly while desperate to hide the red blotches on his face.

Excited about what?

He had to sound like a broken record by now: "Did I do something wrong? I didn't tell anyone, I swear!"

Morris sighed.

"No, no, I'm not angry with you, is that so hard to believe?" He couldn't stop playing with full, dark strands of hair. "I just said these things to buy more time."

Collecting what remained of his shaky words, Elliot failed to bite his tongue any longer. Sweet-talk me all you want.

"Y-you said, you'd kill my mother."

Morris would never, scout's honor! That woman was huge.

"Yeah, I didn't mean that, obviously!" came the annoyed huff.

Obviously, like Morris wasn't a dangerous man to be around. Obviously, like it was Elliot's fault for believing threats against their lives.

"Wouldn't make a difference if you had told them, either."

A difference for Elliot nonetheless, one could suppose, seeing how drenched in tears he suddenly was. In another life, one where he got to be less of a disappointment, he told his parents and doctors the truth to make peace with himself.

At worse, new accusations only fast-tracked Morris tardy rendezvous with justice. Dragging an unconscious stranger through the streets perhaps did raise some eyebrows... Do you even know about the warrant? Maybe you like a spark of danger.

Unable to protest, free-flowing tears got thumbed away by a caring hand and unbeknownst to Elliot, Morris simply loved that he let himself cry freely.

In the open space behind them, a phone started humming anew. The unhappy musician was finally lucid enough to recognize the melody this time: Für Elise.

In case he had been smart enough to spend the last months growing a backbone, he would have spat Morris straight in the face. The sheer audacity made all tears ebb in an instant.

After what had been more than enough time with strange hair between his fingers, Morris took a seat and let his head drop into his hands: "I hope that doesn't bother you, I'm just gonna let it ring."

Actually, it did bother Elliot, but in a whole different way.

"Where's my phone?", he asked instead, because surly, whatever scenario he was dragged into, Morris considered him sympathetic enough to gift him one call. Like in the movies.

Bet he isn't dumb enough to let it lie around.

The response he got was a worthless shrug: "You didn't have one on you."

How well did that freak search me?

The only other explanation was him losing it during the fall, where and when this supposedly happened was a whole different mystery to him. Taking a hesitant forkful of batter into his mouth, Elliot hoped his good manners would earn him a blink of silence: time he needed to think about his next steps. For now, it only brought a satisfied grin onto himself.

After a few more minutes, the ringing died down.

--------

It became extremely clear that Elliot's plan would go up in flames. A chat with Chris, to smile and look pretty, forcing half a pancake down his tightening throat - he really put all into it. It wasn't enough.

His face burned brightly now too, from fear or rising nerval misery was unclear, all he knew was that it hurt. Pearls of sweat slipped along his fingertips into his lap while Morris was too busy cleaning up the table: "I guess you're full for now, huh?"

The low coo only made him twitch in his seat. Elliot had to stop losing himself.

"How's your...the-the rabbit. You had one of those, right?" Chris asked, turning towards the sink to put the dishes in.

"Good," Elliot tried to say, but any effort to speak was cut off by a choking flare that shot up his neck. The ache hit him without warning throughout every muscle fiber and surged right back into its birthplace, over and over, until nothing but a hollow wheeze shook his body.

It hadn't been this bad in a long time; his skull threatened to split into pieces and if nobody was here to help, then Elliot was glad to take the job.

Fuck Chris and his absolution, if he didn't want to finish what he started, so be it.

This wasn't an abandoned crack house, he didn't need to leave the building, but just had to find someone who lived here too.

Move, the force demanded again, now; and this time Elliot listened.

Without second thought, he slid from the chair and leaped for the door, even closer to it than ever before.

One -two- three steps now and with the door latch just in reach, he-

A thick arm quickly wrapped around his waist to throw him unceremoniously against the nearest wall. His left hand was on fire.

"Let go!" Elliot gasped loudly; too close to screaming for Chris' liking, so a skilled grip around the neck made him shut it quite nicely.

"Calm down, it's alright. Just don't be loud." At least right now. Nobody minded him being noisy elsewhere...soon, he couldn't expect this right off the bat. "Look, I'll let go, but the door is locked anyway, so don't freak out again."

What Elliot tried didn't came as a surprise, but hurt him nonetheless. Morris was more disappointed than upset.

"I'm not doing anything to you, I'm just trying to help!"

Still pressed against the wood-chip wallpaper, one fist grabbing his left arm and one flat on his chest, Elliot could do nothing but take ragged breaths. He was going insane, without question.

"Then help me," he wailed, "nothing of this is alright, I want to leave!"

"You want your next fix, but I won't let that happen, sweetie," he replied sullenly, noticing how Elliot cringed at the pet name. There was enough time to find one that fit.

"I'm not a fucking junkie!" he tried now, his breaking voice didn't make this any more convincing, much less his mood.

"Then why so antsy, huh?"

"It hurts," Elliot mewled, trying to pull his hand free, "just stop!"

"Why? I'm not even holding on tight..."

What was this man going on about? Elliot wondered if he was that dumb; or maybe found it funny.

"You know why," he whispered baffled.

Morris' disappointment spread. He knew what that meant, an imminent truth he tried to sugarcoat for a while: the answer to the question of why Elliot didn't show up for the Oratorio, or any other show after that.

Loosening his grip on the arm, but still pressing Elliot closer against the wall, he took his time to inspect the damned hand in question, to really look at his past fuck-up.

It was clearly thinner and paler, even compared to the rest of Elliot, except for the gnarly red scar line that ran from his wrist all the way to the back of his pinky. Fresh new wounds aside, the weakly curled up pair of fingers, four and five respectively, refused to spread out, not held by force but lack of it.

Morris could feel the rigid metal wires under the dewy, paper-like skin. A few pins in there, or a plate at least. The noise when knife met bone played on loop in his ears: the moment once sharp crunch turned into soft smacks.

This wasn't supposed to happen, all of it was simply wrong.

"Why does it look like that, Ell?"

"You tell me, asshole!"

The tension between them rose high again, and with their faces just inches apart, Elliot prayed that he overheard his insult. Any more pressure and his fingers would just snap on impact.

Despite it all, the confused man didn't pay him any mind, too focused on the fruit of his labor: "That doesn't make sense, it should be back to normal by now."

Through the smoke of pain and leftover narcotics, Elliot wondered if he could be braver this time around, as he pulled the hand back to his side.

"Doesn't matter anymore. I want - I need to go home. I don't understand why you're doing this at all. You're so-"

Different, yes. His Elliot was on the best way to finally understand. Chris didn't want to confess yet, it would be too much at once.

"I missed you." The soothing tone was put on in good faith.

"Missed?" It was practically spat at him. Missed what? Beating me? "Didn't you do enough already?"

Craving revelation, though refusing to back down, both men clenched their jaw tight.

"You need to stop, Morris," Elliot had one last desperate offer to give in case Chris really was insane, not in the pop psychology sort of way, but by being a seriously sick man: "I-I can visit you, okay?!"

Why visit when you can just stay?

"Elliot, quit being so formal."

A buzz ripped them apart. Go to hell, Elise!

Gladly, Morris let go of his chest to stomp over to the kitchen counter.

"Fucking Belanger, I swear to god." With a swift motion, the call was ended. It was obvious that dear Chris tried to keep his facade alive, even with all nerves on edge.

"That's my - uh, that's not really my boss, he only annoys me sometimes."

Elliot nodded wordlessly, as if he could give a rat's ass about Morris and his little pusher friends running around town, playing UNO all night long and ruining other people's relationships.

"Just ignore that, he's from Quebec so," he rolled his eyes excessively, "y'know?!"

No, Elliot didn't know. Respectively, he knew nothing, even after spending all morning with him. The oh-so obvious reason for his stay was still a blank hole of ignorance for him.

He couldn't believe a single word coming from that bastard's mouth, he was a liar back then, and he would be one on every single day to come.

Elliot didn't even register how badly he was shivering.

"We just take it slowly," Morris offered, but struggled to cleanse the atmosphere, "only talk and spend some time together. Do you know Azul? The game with the little tiles?"

Elliot sensed how this would go, the bile in his mouth started having the horrible aftertaste of moonshine and ichor.

Oh god, I can't do this again.

Dizziness hit him from nowhere and took all leftover strength from his already drained body. Panting heavily, Elliot didn't remember how he ended up on the cold floor, just how he kept on shaking whilst staring at Morris through blurry eyes.

As if underwater, no words reached him.

He'd laugh at himself, how the thought of another game night made his already wild panic spike, if his lungs didn't trick him into believing he was drowning on land.

I can't do this again, I can't do this again.

"Hey!"

A weight was placed on his chest, wrapping around his ribs and holding him close - so, so close as if to press all the fear out of him. His mind was racing, partly happy the oncoming lightheadedness alleviated the pain being pumped into him with every fluttering heartbeat.

Inhaling was needles in his lungs, exhaling pointless. The air refused to leave against the source of the comforting pressure.

"-need my pills," was the last thing he could force out, before the rest of Chris' heavy body buried him in a tight embrace. Next to Elliot's ear, he shook his head and shushed him gently.

"You're good for me" he murmured, fighting to keep the clutch, "I'm sorry, we'll make this work."

Unable to help himself, Elliot gave in to the dark walls that were closing in around them, praying for unconsciousness to take him away quickly.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

17 notes · View notes

heavencasteel420 · 3 months

Text

I was feeling a bit stuck on my main WIPs, so for fun I wrote a couple of lines/paragraphs for each of my other story ideas (the proper ones where I have a general sense of the story's shape, not the shitpost ideas like "Chrissy turns into a car?"). Here are the ones for my Cute/Normal story ideas:

Long

Nancy Wheeler Can't Win (no UD AU, Nancy-centric)

Sometimes, Nancy thought her life would be easier if she were dating Jason Carver instead. Not better, necessarily. She didn't like Jason nearly as much as Steve; he was kind of pompous and, although he technically looked way more like Tom Cruise, she couldn't imagine ever finding him as sexy as she did Steve. She couldn't help but notice, though, that Chrissy Cunningham didn't have to be one person on Saturday night and another on Monday morning.

Life During Wartime (companion to above, centers on Will and Jonathan)

"I can't believe I'll be the last one to get girlfriend," Mike lamented as he and Will biked home from school. It was a perfect September afternoon, neither too hot nor too cold, and the first leaves were turning yellow. "First Lucas and Max, then Dustin and Suzie, now you and Megan. I'm going to die a virgin."

"We could all still die virgins," Will pointed out. "I don't think Lucas and Max are doing it yet, and Megan and I definitely aren't. And we're not even sure if Suzie is real."

Horse Girl (Stoncy, summer 1985)

The thing about being an asshole, Steve thought, as he listlessly scooped butter pecan ice cream for a couple of sixty-something ladies, was that it took a long time to catch up with you. For instance: the thing he'd spray-painted on the theater marquee about Nancy almost two years ago. Sitting on the hood of his car outside the 7-11, he'd resigned himself to her shunning him forever. He'd even gone to apologize to Jonathan first so he could put off seeing the cold disgust on her face. Then, one month later, she'd taken him back, accepting his apology as a matter of course. Maybe that should've been his first clue that something was wrong.

It's All a State of Mind (AU where Hopper-Byers siblings are psychic carnies/confidence artists in the 1930s)

"Heather likes you," El pointed out a few days later, after they'd settled in. They were in the dining tent, digging into some beef stew. "You could get close to her."

"Keep eating and forget what Murray said," Jonathan told her, although he couldn't summon any harshness to back it up. This was the best meal that he or the kids had eaten in months. "Heather puts up with me. She doesn't want to get close to anyone, either."

Heather Holloway was an aerialist, a pert dark-haired girl who'd joined the circus to get away from a home in some ways worse than the one that Lonnie had provided him and Will. She was friendly to Jonathan, but that was probably because he'd shown no interest in getting inside her drawers.

"So you admit it," Will said smugly. "We wouldn't mind if you got married, you know. So long as we liked her.

From the High to the Low to the End of the Show (S1 AU where the teens are in their late twenties)

"Doesn't it piss you off?" Fred asked her. "That he can just waltz in and get a job because he's 'so talented,' when the rest of us had to work hard and do it the right way?" "Eyes on your own paper, Fred," Nancy said, in a chipper tone that she knew would annoy him. She agreed with him, to a point; she never would have been hired at the Hawkins Post if she'd gone to night school instead of IU. At the same time, she'd heard the other guys say that she'd only gotten the job out of pity. Fred wasn't one of them, but she was running on three hours of sleep an half a bagel, so she didn't feel like being nice. "Why would Holloway care about college? Byers has something he wants and he's willing to pay for it."

Medium

Tomorrow May Not Be Your Day (pre-S4 Jancy breakup, probably no Vecna, eventual Jargyle)

"I'm sure you'll work it out," Mom says. She smiles at him anxiously, and he knows what he should do. He should mumble agreement, accept this bit of comfort. Pay her back with white lies of his own: that the distance isn't really a problem, that she didn't kind of screw him over by moving them all across the country. That there's no reason to worry about him, because he's going to figure things out with Nancy and somehow make Emerson happen. "Yeah?" he asks instead. "What if I don't? What if this is it?" It doesn't come out as a plea for reassurance, either. That would be humiliating, maybe even futile, but at least everyone would understand what he was doing. Instead, it comes out as a challenge.

Let the Broken Hearts Stand (companion to above, Nancy's first year at college, eventual Nancy/Carol)

"Look, I was friends with Steve for, like, ten years before he ditched me and Tommy," Carol says, taking a drag off her cigarette, "but he was definitely the bigger asshole in your relationship." Nancy laughs, startled. Carol grins uncertainly, then offers her the cigarette. She accepts. "Like, whatever, you're a totally embarrassing drunk, and you didn't have the balls to dump him until you were sure you had Byers eating out of your pussy, but--" "Jesus Christ, Carol," Nancy said, turning bright red, but Carol waved her off. "Fine. Va-gi-na. Lady garden. Cavern of feminine wonders. Whatever Emily Post says to call it." Carol cackled as Nancy struggled to look disapproving. "My point is, he was also a fucking prick."

How Will You Make It on Your Own? (Stonathan no UD college AU, the context is Jonathan and Samantha have broken up):

Because all the theater freaks were shunning him, Jonathan sat with Barb and Nancy at lunch. "You'll get back together," Barb said glumly. It was unclear whether she was trying to reassure him but was too stressed out about Mathletes to manage a cheerful tone, or if she was predicting an outcome she disapproved of. "You'll ignore her, she'll call and sort of say sorry, and, because she apologized first, you'll fall all over yourself saying that it's all your fault, and that she's right that you should both move to New York City and live in a condemned building and wear garbage bags instead of clothes." Well. That answered his question. "I don't think that's going to happen," he said, contemplating the peanut butter cracker he'd spent the last half hour eating. "It feels different this time."

Oh, I'm Bound to Go (companion to Drive All Night)

Will wasn't sure who figured it out first, him or Mom. When the money first started coming in--so much money, enough for Mom's medicine and Will's new shoes and more food than he could ever remember having--he asked why they couldn't just live with Jonathan in the city. Surely Indianapolis had enough piecework and odd jobs for the two of them. "He's living in a boarding house, sweetheart," she said, keeping her eyes on the chicken she was cleaning instead of his face. "There's no room for us." Maybe she'd known it was a lie all along. But Will understood Jonathan better than anyone, knew how his lies looked and sounded. On paper, he couldn't hear the too-bright home or watch him disappear behind his eyes, but the wrongness came through all the same.

Short

I Know It Breaks Your Heart (Tommy-centric, mostly future fic)

Tommy didn't need anyone to think that he was smart except for Carol, who understood without explanation that he didn't have to act like a nerd or a circus freak to prove that he was clever. It just felt shitty, sometimes, that Steve clearly thought of him as a dumbass. Steve, who had no bullshit meter and maintained a B-minus average with more effort than he liked to admit. It was annoying, but, more than that, it struck Tommy as greedy. Steve was taller, more handsome, more impressive on the court and field. He put people at ease. He could've let Tommy have something.

Raised on Promises (El's life in California, gen)

No matter what Joyce says, and no matter how nice Will and Jonathan are about it, El still feels embarrassed by the toys. Jonathan doesn't play with anything, except sometimes for the hacky sack Argyle gave him; he just listens to tapes and smokes. And maybe that's because he's almost grown up, but Will is her age and he gave away all his D&D stuff to Erica before they moved. He does art now, which isn't playing. Grown-ups do art, too, sometimes even as a job. The girls at school don't play with toys, either. They have fun like she and Max did last summer: dressing up and messing around with makeup and hanging out at the mall. Only the girls here aren't as nice, and Max isn't here to show her how to act her age. So she finds herself building little towns out of blocks and shuffling around a bunch of plastic dolls.

The P is for Perfection (and You Know That We Are Freaks) (Joyce doesn't move the family to California and El becomes a cheerleader)

"I heard she was raised in a cult," Amanda whispered to Chrissy, as the freshman girls lined up. "Chief Hopper knocked up some hippie and only found out when she died a couple years ago. And then he left her with Joyce Byers when he died. Not really an improvement, if you ask me." "Shush," Chrissy said. She was already getting a headache and the yelling hadn't even started. "You don't want the other girls to hear." Amanda muttered that it was common knowledge, but Chrissy tuned her out and studied Jane Hopper. She was on the tall side, with a lean and strong-looking frame. No flyer, but she could be a backspot or a base. She had curly brown hair pulled back in a scrunchy and a pretty, guileless face. She was dressed okay, in a baggy light purple sweatshirt and white leggings, but there was an air of offness about her.

#fic

7 notes · View notes

iddybiddysquish · 5 months

Text

Fate - Chapter Eight

Masterlist

Plot Description: What would happen if someone with Dissociative Identity Disorder (multiple personalities; writer has DID themselves) got a god of death as another personality? Follows the plot of the anime and manga mixed including dialogue directly from the anime where appropriate. Character x cast of death note

Very minor self insert/OC that I've made into a vague reader insert that involves the reader being concerningly intertwined with Kira and his happenings against their will and seemingly against fate.

Fandom: Death Note

Gender: Female

Warnings: Dark and triggering content regarding death, suicide, mental illness and mentions of rape (character history - no rape in the story). Making out is described. Will add more as I progress the story.

Notes: Uploading early bitches! <3

Feedback is welcomed and I hope you have a good time reading!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

- January 1 -

After days of stewing in my own thoughts surrounding the Kira case, I concluded I couldn’t keep this information to myself any longer. I had to go to the police and try to get a hold of anyone of whom might work specifically under L or in that area of the police. With this idea in mind, I made sure to wake up early after having double checked their opening time.

‘I have my therapy appointment later.’ I figured, ‘The station is out of the way, but once I’m there, the hospital is en route towards my flat, so I might as well go there first.’

With a puff of air, I locked up and left, waiting only for the bus once I had arrived at the bus stop. Once I got on the bus and I arrived at the outside of the police station, I promptly left the bus and made my way into the station, wasting as little time as possible.

However, once I entered I felt the anxiety that had been slowly creeping up on me, reach a peak, having to pause for a moment in case I might vomit. Fortunately, I didn’t, and with a few controlled diaphragmatic breaths, I continued forward in the direction of the reception. I noticed a woman in black hair sigh and walk away as I arrived. Despite the desk being void of another person with an inquiry, I waited for the receptionist to motion for me to come forward. Once he nodded, however, I got straight to the point as I stood closer.

“Hi, um…” I almost floundered, but forced the lump in my throat away by clearing my throat, “Is it at all possible for me to be able to speak to someone regarding the Kira investigation?” I begged, shifting uncomfortably when the black haired woman looked over at me. I let my tone drop to a quieter one, her attention making me physically uneasy, “I think I have some important information that could be incredibly helpful to the case.” the man sighed, making me frown lightly.

“Sorry, but I’m afraid no one is here from the task force at the moment.” he noted with a tired look before picking up the phone on his desk, “However, since you’re not the only one asking, I’ll call again to make sure.” I blinked, surprised by his words, but quickly thanked him and bowed gently before motioning that I would be at the seating area.

If I thought I was apprehensive about coming in here in the first place, it was significantly worse when I took a look at the empty seat that I had ‘zoned out’ on days ago. With a gulp, however, I forced that down and gently took a seat, a heavy sigh playing on my features as I checked the time. I bit my lip.

‘Baka.’ I scolded myself, ‘It hadn’t even occurred to me that none of the members would be here when I was.’ I let out a puff of air before shrugging, ‘Still, I have some time; let’s hope they’re available within the hour.’

“Excuse me.” I blinked, a small, but silent gasp escaping as I looked up and at my right, only half surprised to see that black haired woman from before standing and looking down at my sitting figure, “Sorry to do this out of the blue,” she began with something akin to an apologetic smile, “but I overheard your conversation just now.” I blinked again, nodding slowly as I waited for her to get to the point of her inquiry, which didn’t take long, “I, too, have something I want to share with the task force.”

That held my interest, and suddenly her bold but tentative behaviour made perfect sense. Immediately I looked around before turning towards her whilst moving over to make space for her to sit. However, though I was sure she caught on, she shook her head.

“Not here.” she noted as she began looking around, “We have to be careful of who hears us.” I frowned, but nodded in agreement. Immediately I rose as she began to lead me to the toilets. However she cursed when the disabled one was locked. When she turned back to walk into the ladies, I shook my head, telling her no, before bringing out my raydar key and unlocking the toilet. She looked somewhat surprised at this and I wasn’t convinced she’d enter, so I elaborated.

‘After all,’ I rationalised, ‘we would need to trust each other, and if I tell her about me, she might tell me about her; I need to be able to trust her, too, after all.’

“Um, I’m disabled.” I gave a small smile, “I have several conditions. One is ehlers-danlos.” When she looked confused at the name, I continued, “It’s a connective tissue disorder, so it affects every part of my body. I’m hypermobile but I can also easily dislocate joints and tear muscles, tendons and ligaments.” as if by destiny, as I opened the door, my thumb made a loud pop noise as it slipped out of place. I cringed slightly, pulling back away from the door as my other hand encased my dislocated thumb. The woman looked somewhat mortified, though I only chuckled.

“Like that.” I chimed, only to cringe lightly as I forced my thumb back into the socket by combining forcing my thumb to make gentle waving motions whilst using my other hand to apply pressure against the joint with growing force over time. Eventually, with more of a snap-pop this time, it slid back into the socket and I waved my hand out whilst moving the fingers gently. I gave a sheepish grin.

“Don’t worry, it happens a lot. I just have to be careful in using it for a few days or so.” I noted before going to open the door again. However, the woman was faster as she grabbed it first with a small smile.

“I think I’ll try it this time.” as she opened the door I gave a light laugh.

‘I think she trusts me more.’

I nodded in agreement before following her into the toilet. Immediately I closed the toilet lid and took a seat, which she didn’t question, as she locked the door from the inside before turning to me. For a moment I felt a bit awkward as I was unsure what to say, but then after a few moments she broke the silence.

“My name is Shoko Maki.” I blinked, nodding. However when she didn’t continue, I realised she was waiting for me to share my name.

“Oh!” I stammered before smiling, “I’m Ai. Kedakai Ai.” Unsure where to go, I raised a brow at her before begging, “if you don’t mind my asking,” I waited for her to nod, which was kurt and quick, so I continued, “how are you related to the case?”

“I was going to ask something similar.” she chuckled, making me blink.

“Well I can go first, if you want?” I interjected, tilting my head slightly. The woman gave me an unreadable look, presumably studying me, before nodding slowly, with a hint of curiosity playing on her features. I internally shrugged.

“I have no real relation to the case through personal contacts or anything,” I clarified, “But I was on the bus during the hijacking.” Shoto looked visibly stunned at this before immediately frowning.

“Really?” she begged, looking up and down my body. I quickly caught on before slowly removing my top, mentally thanking myself for wearing a bra. Though she was initially shocked by my sudden decision, her interest quickly peaked as she noted the bandages and stitches present, taking particular interest in the gunshot wounds. Immediately I pointed at them.

“One went right through and the other is still in there.” I noted, before beaming, “Did you know they don’t often take them out unless it's necessary?” I grinned, “I thought it was so cool, though it might be a problem for MRIs in the future…” I realised with concern as I put my top back on before mumbling, “Still that’s a problem for future me, I guess…”

“I believe you.” she clarified, which made me relax slightly, especially as she appeared to relax herself slightly. However, as she began to speak, I quickly realised she was ready to boil over, presumably from keeping her information to herself for so long.

“My husband was an FBI agent.” I gasped, hand over my mouth as I shook my head.

“I’m so sorry.” I looked away, memories flooding back as I tentatively continued, “Was his name Raye Penber?” the woman’s gaze darkened as she nodded. I bit my lip before reaching out to her, placing my hand on her arm, making her look up at me. I shook my head, sad and apologetic look on my face as I began to cry.

“I really tried to save him.” at this she looked stunned, but I couldn’t hold back my tears, “I really thought he would make it. I just-” I hiccupped, before trying to regain my composure. After a few deep breaths I gave an apologetic smile, “I guess however it is that Kira does this, it’s irreversible, even with intervention.”

We shared a few silent moments, most of which caused my anxiety to spike over time as I wondered if I had been too brash. However, when she came over and hugged me, I froze. It was only when I heard her sniffle, I snapped out of it, slightly, and felt unsure what to do.

“I was told a stranger tried to help him, but that you left before they could get your name.” she whispered, “I didn’t think I would be able to have this moment to thank you.” immediately I relaxed and hugged her back, tight, my own tears flooding.

“Don’t thank me. I couldn’t save him.”

“You tried, which is more than anyone else did.” She pulled away and gave a kind, though sad, smile, “We both have to be cautious, but given what you did and what you went through, I feel I can genuinely trust you.” I felt my cheeks flush at that, feeling honoured and grateful. I felt a tear leave my eye.

“Yeah, me, too.” I gave an airy laugh, “You don’t know quite how good it feels to be able to talk to someone else about this. Telling my friends would only risk their safety and, besides, they have no real understanding of what has happened with Kira. Not like you and I, anyway.” Maki nodded.

“It’s quite heavy, isn’t it?” she admitted, “But I suppose it’s necessary.” her look solidified, completely gaining my full attention, “At this point, Kira is everyone’s enemy, so we all have to do what we can to try and put a stop to it.” I silently gasped, but immediately nodded, my own features solidifying.

“Definitely.” I confirmed, “That’s why I came here today. I just couldn’t keep these ideas to myself any longer, even if it meant my life.

“If you’ll excuse my bluntness,” I added quickly, “What is it you know?” Maki, surprisingly, didn’t hesitate in her answer, speaking equally as bluntly.

“Raye showed his FBI badge to someone on that bus.” I nodded, agreeing.

“It was a man. I never saw what he looked like, but I overheard his voice.” I frowned, scratching my cheek, “I would be lying if I said I could identify it, thought. Even for a regular person that situation was downright terrifying, but for me? I think I dissociated the entirety of the time and, as a result, remember very little.”

“This is the only way Kira could have gotten his badge.” I nodded, “Which means that Kira was on that bus.”

“There’s more to it than that, though.” I mentioned before getting out my book and showing her the paper I had written up, “Look here.” I directed towards the train, “After what happened on the train, I dissociated, so I have some form of amnesia about that day. But-” I looked up, regaining her attention, “-when I dissociate, I often switch to other personalities or people in my head in order to cope. In this case, I regressed into a child form of me.

“She wrote down the entire day as a diary entry in here, and it’s almost a reenactment of what happened on the train in excruciating detail.” immediately I opened the book to the right page and shoved it in front of her, making her jump though she quickly took it.

“He was talking to someone…” she muttered, “Raye didn’t leave with any receiver or earpiece, so he must have run into someone on the way.” I nodded.

“That’s not just it, look here-” I directed to the next part of the entry, “He wrote one thing down on the paper, as directed, presumably, and then had to wait. From there, he received or already had something on his laptop and then copied down whatever it was onto these pages. Then he left them on the train.

“Had I not been paying attention the whole time, I would’ve thought he had simply forgotten them.” she nodded.

“You’re right - he was directed to leave these there, which means…” she looked anxious as I confirmed her thoughts with a nod.

“Not only was Kira there,” I began, sniffling at the memory, “but as I ran to help Raye, I bumped into someone. As I was trying to help Raye, he was relentlessly reaching out to someone on the train - it was the same person.” I cursed, “Unfortunately, I only saw his clothes when I bumped into him and by the time I had thought to look up the train was moving. But I do know he was taller than me and wearing a black beanie and grey and orange hoodie - here.” I opened the page and showed her the outfit, which I had drawn. She looked surprised by the detail, eyes lingering on the size scale I had drawn, using my own body as a reference and, therefore, suggesting Kira was between 5’ 7” and 6’ 1”, but didn’t comment on it directly.

“That’s really useful.” she noted, nodding at me, “You’ve done a really good job.” I blinked, looking up before giving a modest smile.

“Thank you…”

“So, the reason I am here,” she began, opening up, “is because, as we’ve both established, Kira was on that bus, but also,” she looked up at me with a serious look, “I think Kira can choose the method of death.” I blinked, but quickly nodded.

“I suspected the same thing…” I nodded, biting my lip, “Only I’m not sure if this is enough evidence-”

“There were four other deaths in the area on the day of the bus hijacking.” she interjected, making me gasp at Maki’s reveal, looking down at the ground for a moment as I thought aloud.

“Kira?”

“I am almost certain. These were different, though.” I blinked, confused, but motioned for her to continue.��

“Three did things before they died of a heart attack, the other three dying by heart attack. I think it was Kira and that he was using them as test subjects.” I gulped.

“Are you suggesting that Kira can manipulate people up until their death?” I begged, earning a sharp nod. I sighed, nodding.

“I, too, came to a similar conclusion…” she nodding for me to elaborate at my hesitation, which I did, “But when I wrote here-” I pointed at the correct part of the chart, “-that ‘Kira had 'some form of control over Kiichiro Osoreda', I didn't mean that literally; I meant blackmail, not magic.

“But you’re right. This is something beyond any scope of ‘normal’, so we must not let our understanding of the world completely bias the conclusion.”

“So I’m going to be frank with what I’m about to say, as I need to know your thoughts.” I noted, pointing directly at the train chart, which she nodded at, motioning for me to continue, which I did, “Raye mentioned something about ‘twelve people in groups of four’. Do you have any clue what that could mean?” Maki looked somewhat horrified.

“That’s how many FBI agents there are.” she noted, hand going to her mouth as she spoke, “We all came to investigate Kira inside the police force.” I blinked.

“What?” both of my hands covered my mouth, “Are you telling me that they think that there’s a mole?” she nodded.

“Something like that. They were all assigned to different people to watch over.”

“... Are they dead?” she blinked, quickly coming to the same realisation as I.

“Oh my God that’s what Raye was writing.” she gaped. I bit my lip, nodding.

“And that’s why Kira kept him alive initially after the bus hijacking - not just because of how suspicious it would be, though I’m sure that played a role…” I paused, frowning. However, Maki immediately shook her head.

"Raye couldn't possibly know all of the agents." she stated, “We just knew how many - he wasn’t permitted to know any more.”

“But Kira can manipulate people up until their death, right?” she nodded, oblivious, until her face dropped.

"His superior died." she gulped, making me blink in horror.

“You think…” she nodded.

“If Raye told him his name, maybe Kira made him send Raye information regarding all of the agents.

“How, though? He wouldn’t have his face and that is required.” I groaned. However, I quickly cursed, the worry evident on my face, which made her frown. I clarified, "Kira was on that bus, which means..." I cursed again, "Fuck, if he is on the inside, he can access that report, he'll get my name - he already has my face."

'Fuck.'

She shook her head, which gave me a glimpse of hope.

“If they didn’t follow up with you, then that’s not possible.” I raised a brow, so she elaborated “Raye said most of the people left the scene as soon as the doors opened. It’s unlikely that they were interviewed - Kira, included.” she added glumly. I cursed at the last point she made.

‘Maybe it was a good thing I ran from the police during the train incident.’ I argued, ‘It would have risked my name finding its way in a report, again, and that’s the last thing we need.’

"Yeah. By the time I passed out, there were only a few people left at the scene - several had left before even the police arrived. If they didn't follow up with me, someone who they could have actually tracked, then they didn't with them, either.” I sighed.

"Since it’s unlikely that Kira stayed around to give a witness report, and we can’t track any of the other people who were on there, other than maybe the bus driver, means that the only clue we would have as to who was on that bus in the first place, would be if we got the camera feed from the bus.”

“I already went down that avenue.” I frowned, “I spoke to the bus driver. He mentioned you going to the hospital, suggesting you might know more but that it was unlikely given what had happened. Unfortunately he couldn’t recall anyone else.” I frowned.

“And the video feed?” she shook her head.

“There isn’t one.” she sighed, “Well, not anymore, anyway.” I frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Apparently the feed is only kept for a few days, four if you’re lucky.” she sighed, “Evidently that seems to be the standard.” she let out a puff of air, “It’s a problem I’ve encountered before in previous cases.” I frowned, tilting my head in confusion. She paused for a moment, clearly deep in thought, before revealing something quite important.

“I used to be an agent, myself.” I gasped, though the shock wore off quickly. I chuckled, instead.

“Actually, that makes sense.” I hummed, “So what was your plan with the task force?”

“I’ve worked with L before. The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases.” I blinked, genuinely shocked at that, “I was hoping to contact him, directly.” I nodded.

“That would make sense. But I presume you don’t have a number or anything, given his sworn secrecy about his identity?” she nodded.

“I’ve no choice but to stay until I speak to someone. It’s just too important not to do in person.” I agreed.

“No, definitely.” I muttered as I looked at my watch, cursing.

“That was my plan, also, however,” I looked back up at her, “I have a doctor's appointment soon, so I can’t wait here much longer without cancelling it now.” Maki shook her head.

“That’s fine, don’t cancel; I’ll stay and tell them everything we know so far when I get through to someone trustworthy.” she noted, before pulling out her phone, “But I do think we should stay in contact.” I rose up, pulling out my phone effortlessly.

“Of course.” I noted before giving her my number. Once she had read it back to confirm, I put my phone away, “Please let me know what happens. If they need to see me or anything, use that number.” she nodded before sending me a message to confirm her number, which I saved in my contacts list.

“Got it.” I noted as she put her phone away and reached for the lock on the door. Once she had unlocked it I followed her out before cursing as I realised the bus would be at the stop in a minute if it wasn’t already. Looking back I waved goodbye.

“Was nice to meet you, Shoko-san! Talk later!” I yelled over my shoulder as I began to make my way towards the doors, making her chuckle as she made her way towards the front desk, again.

As the door opened, I bumped into someone in a white coat with brown hair, who was holding something big. Fortunately, neither one of us fell, though I stumbled a lot, before apologising profusely as I continued to jog backwards.

“Sorry about that! I’m in a rush!” I cried, before turning back around and running towards my bus, which was parked at the bus stop.

Light paused at the door, looking back at the girl with an unreadable gaze. Ryuk followed it before looking back at him and gave a deep chuckle.

“Are you interested in her?” Light frowned.

“I suppose you could say that…” he muttered as he returned to his previous motion, his hand reaching out towards the door as he added, “I recognise her-”

He froze, the sudden déjà vu making perfect sense - something which Ryuk apparently already knew, as he gave another chuckle. Light would have glared at him if he weren’t in a public place, and quickly regained his composure as he opened the door and strode into the building.

‘That girl with the (H/C) hair…’ he noted, ‘Now that I think about it, she sticks out like a sore thumb in my memory.

‘She was the one shot on the bus and taken to the hospital, that I know for sure… Despite my specifications that no one would be injured.’ he frowned, ‘It’s as if she wasn’t supposed to be there…

‘Regardless, I recognise her from somewhere else as well…’ he paused his steps, turning back to look over his shoulder, his realisation obvious to Ryuk, who laughed again.

“I wondered how long it would take you to realise it.” he grinned, “She can recognise you, can’t she?” Light cursed internally.

‘That’s right, she can.’ he cursed again, ‘Because she wasn’t only just there on the train, too - she bumped into me, just like that, as she tried to resuscitate Raye Penber.’ he shook his head, beginning his strides again as he attempted to appear as normal and unperturbed as possible, ‘I hadn’t recognised her, initially, because of the beanie and scarf hiding her hair quite well…’ he cringed internally.

“That could be a problem…” he noted with a sigh.

“Please help me!” this caught Light’s attention as he closed in on the reception desk, “I need to speak directly with someone from the task force.”

“I’ve told you already, there is no one in the Kira Task Force Headquarters.” the man retorted.

‘There’s no one in the headquarters?’ Light noted with minor curiosity, ‘Dad’s phone’s off… What’s going on?’

“Is there any way I can contact them?” she leaned forward, “It’s something very important relating to the Kira investigation.” Light’s eyes widened slightly, his legs freezing in place, though he attempted to maintain his composure.

‘The Kira investigation?’ he begged. After a moment he continued forward, giving a silent sigh, ‘That’s two potential loose ends.’

Just before he reached the desk, he muttered darkly to himself.

“I suppose I have even more work to do, now.”

11 notes · View notes

fixa-ryeter · 1 year

Text

bc i have nothing to post i just wanna compile some of my favourite lines from my writing so far (for various reasons) which include a long list of:

‘It was the best thing he could think of besides a hug, and the last time he tried to hug Shigeo he got blasted balls-first into the desk.’

‘“Shishou!” “Shishou?” The woman inquires curiously, and Shigeo really, really wants to crawl into a hole.’

‘The name made Shigeo jerk as though shot through the heart.’ (AND YOU’RE TO BLAME YOU GIVE LOVE A BAD NAME)

‘Shigeo looked up, and there she was: Tsubomi Takane, in all her pretty glory, the sunset glimmering a little in her blue eyes. Ocean blue, like Teruki’s. He liked their eyes. He had a preference for men though. Fuck, wait, what was he thinking?’

‘Something shattered inside of him that night, and awakening to his powers was the shards of glass raining down somewhere inside. It was a grand and dangerous release.’ (immediately followed by “…hello? Earth to Emo?” (yes it’s Shou @ Ritsu))

‘It makes him want to throw his powers away, but he’s got a lousy arm. He’s never been good at sports.’

‘“Ohhhhh,” Reigen says with an air of understanding-but-not-really, and Shigeo sighs exasperatedly.’

this entire bit

‘His power is his to wield, and his power will not turn against its master. Or so he tells himself. He knows he’s just a coward.’

‘Ritsu Kageyama is a stubborn bastard, as obstinate as you could get, and if he wants to act like his brother doesn’t exist then by God is he going to put on a show. It’s a one-man show for a one-man audience, and they’re all the same person. He should get an Oscar for his bullshit.’

‘It’s like the night sky he stares at when he dangles his upper-half haphazardly from the windowsill, wishing to give himself to the night.’

‘“What’s this?” “I knew it. You haven’t seen food in such a long time you’ve fuckin’ forgotten how it looks or smells.” “Hey, come on—” “I leave you alone for two weeks and you forget what food is.”’ (yes this is more Shou and Ritsu)

‘…he’s even able to pay Reigen adequate money, something that he realised would be a good thing to do for a part-time employee. Granted, Reigen was less hired and more refused to stop coming to his office, but Shigeo has stopped minding a while ago.’ (see? Shigeo doesn’t commit wage theft. get a load of this canon Reigen /lh)

‘“Nintendo Ramen”’

‘“Thank you for being my friend.”’

‘Losing Ritsu is an earthquake, but it’s not the end of the world.’

‘“I’m—I’m glad you’re okay… Arataka-kun.”’

‘He stews in these revelations for a few days, letting some of the thick layers of superficial vainglory fall—now he feels like there’s less holding him together, and he’s not sure how comfortable he is with the feeling.’ (teruki core)

‘Ritsu has disappeared from his life for a while now. Ritsu’s absence used to be a rocky road, but Shigeo’s walked that path so much that it’s been worn smooth, as though the road wasn’t ever bumpy in the first place.’

‘The passenger has let go of the wheel, but the warmth of his hands linger on the rubber.’

‘It’s like Serizawa and Reigen are about to play good cop… and worse cop? on him.’

‘“I kind of tried and failed to fix a leaking pipe and now my ceiling looks like it worked out and developed some ass.”’ (guess who said this)

‘“Oh. I see what you mean now.” “Yeah.” “Ass cheeks.” “Yep. Any idea how to fix that?”’

‘It’s the kind of pain that’s like a huge thorn being pulled out of your arm, slowly, agonisingly, but a part of Shigeo thinks that if he keeps pulling out that thorn, it’ll come free one day and stop hurting.’

‘He feels like a ghost. With aid of Teruki’s ominous optimism, though, he feels a little more corporeal.’

‘What Ritsu feels is Shou’s shorter frame barrelling into him, a ball of bright energy crashing into a frail vessel of emptiness. It recharges him a little, it melts away some of the darkness dissolving his insides.’

‘Shou’s pleasant blue eyes land on Ritsu’s face, scanning out all his sins of not taking care of himself properly. Then Shou points at the table, and Ritsu understands that they need to sit down and eat something or Shou is going to chew up his food for him and spit it down his oesophagus like he tentatively promised two weeks ago.’

‘“Mum’s still sharp, Dad’s a bit senile.” “Huh. Okay. Senile like, blurry old man kinda way, or like, government conspiracy theory old man kinda way?” “Dude, what the fuck?”’

i love my silly little au

#mob psycho #mob psycho 100 #kageyama shigeo #shigeo kageyama #mp100 ageswap #age swap au #arataka reigen #mp100 #ritsu kageyama #reigen arakata #kageyama ritsu #katsuya serizawa #serizawa katsuya

61 notes · View notes

jokatsuya · 1 year

Text

Love and immortality

Part IV Part I Part II Part III

Morpheus x reader

Wordcount: 1284

Warnings: mention of drowning and death

Summary: The last hundred years? (Y/n) is guaranteed to have imagined them differently at the last meeting with the unknown. So what happened until 1689?

A/n: You didn't seriously think (y/n) would be straight, did you? I mean, this is a story about the Sandman series. There's no one who's straight. Don't worry, there will be a future with Morpheus. And with that, have fun with the next part! Yours JoKatsuya

Pressing my clothes against me, I struggle forward and try to tear myself away from the man who is trying to hold me back. His firm grip on my shoulder sends a sharp pain up my arm and back. He should release me, damn it. Even though I wasn't the best dressed here, by God I wasn't, he still had to treat me properly. Why did people always have to judge by appearances? One of those things that will very likely never change, unfortunately. What a shame.

>>Don't touch me! Get out of my way!<<, I beg him in an exasperated voice while still struggling with his hand. I even mean to feel a spreading numbness already.

>>Get back to the stews with the rest of the filth.<<, he hisses at me and grabs even tighter, whereupon all he gets from me is a pain-filled hiss.

>>Let her be. She is my guest.<<, the rough voice comes through to me, for which I have been waiting again for a hundred years. A few seconds later, fortunately, I feel the grip slowly loosening. Brushing my disheveled hair out of my face, which had gained its current position in the course of the fight, I look in the direction where he was sitting.

Detaching myself completely from the man, I pull my shoulder away at the same time with a jerk. I straightened my dress, if what I was wearing could still be called that, and took a deep breath. God, what had become of me?

Briefly casting a cursory glance over the staring people, I pull the chair back as quietly as possible so that I don't get any more attention from the other guests. Completely exhausted, I let myself sink down onto it.

There he sat now, again after all this time. His raven black hair was even longer this time than at our first meeting. It...suited him. The clothes, perfectly fitted and black as night. The only accent of color against his alabaster skin and dark clothes was the deep red ruby. I'm going to have to get out of the habit of these looks at all our meetings.

Embarrassed, I place my first words to him tonight: >>I knew you'd be here.<< The pervasive smell of the food on the table rises to my nose, making my stomach growl. Caught off guard, I wrap my arms around my stomach and look down at the table, uncomfortably touched. When was the last time I had a real meal? I can't even remember.

>>I'm sorry...<<, I apologize quietly.

Suddenly, his long fingers appear in front of me and signify me to take some of what's on the table. Even though I feel bad, I reach for a piece of bread. All the while, I feel his blue-gray eyes on me.

>>Do you know how hungry you can get? If you don't die but you don't eat?<<, I utter as I swallow the first few bites. What's in my mouth right now feels like a gift from heaven.

>>I lost it all. My reputation, my husband. He...died a year after we last met. I didn't go out much after that. They said it was Ignis sacer. He didn't deserve that.<<, I confess, trying to hold back the individual tears that try to make their way down my cheeks. Even if it wasn't love between us, we still had a very good friendship and despite that it's been over nine decades now, it still saddens me.

>>I didn't go out much after that.<<, I add and slowly look back up at him before lowering my gaze down again, >>I'd lived there 10 years, overconfident. I got out with my skin a little more. And then it got worse. And worse and...worse.<<

My eyes meet his. The anticipation of my words not yet spoken is written right on his face. But I couldn't tell him what was burning on my heart. No one could. I clench my teeth to appear as calm as possible again. That night I had definitely said enough already and what happened last time cannot, no must not, happen again - even if it means hiding a part of me.

The sweet taste of grape runs down my throat as I pop one of the little red balls into my mouth. A true gift from heaven.

>>What got worse and worse and worse?<<, he finally asks in a slow, interested voice, pinching his eyebrows together slightly.

He didn't want to know. No one wanted to, and if anyone did hear, you'd be condemned. Actually, that's putting it far too kindly. What happened last time should never happen again.

>>No matter what it is.<<

My eyes narrowed and surveyed him skeptically. He definitely didn't know what he was talking about.

After I have no intention of answering him, he takes the floor again: >>We have a deal.<< His words just drip with slowly building anger. I have not yet experienced this determination from him. Did I even have a choice anymore?

With a gulp, I try to get rid of the lump in my throat and lean over to him. With a flowing movement, he does the same to me.

>>Can I trust you?<<, I ask hesitantly. I mean, what do I have to lose except my life, which wouldn't be any more anyway? An admittedly bizarre statement, if one would consider it without context.

His now wide-open eyes literally shine with interest and he nods cautiously.

>>I was dating...a women. That's why I was accused of being a witch. Three times they tried to drown me - a disgusting feeling, years of persecution.<<, I whisper in a heavy voice after making sure there was no one in our immediate vicinity right now. His face now turns towards mine. As soon as the words have left my mouth I slowly let myself slide back into the chair. Only a few agonizingly long seconds later does he sit down again.

Tensely I wait for an answer, but nothing. No funny, contemptuous or even disgusted grimace, no indignant comment, nothing. With each moment of silence, my eyes grow wider, my lips drier, my breathing shallower.

A small upward twitch of the corners of his mouth: >>Love?<<

These words alone inevitably bring my tense muscles back to rest, causing an excited little smile to move to my lips: >>It was almost there.<<

>>The other time?<<, he inquires just euphorically for his conditions, destroys at the same time however also any euphoria over his character which he had just attained.

Clearing my throat, I answer through clenched teeth: >>I've hated every second of the last 80 years, every bloody second. You know that? It's hard to live up from the bottom again as a woman without selling yourself.<<

>>So do you still wish to live?<<, the stranger's question overwhelms me and a downright droll laugh escapes me.

>>Are you crazy?<<, I finally answer, whereupon his facial expression collapses somewhat.

>>Death is a mug's game. I got so much to live for.<<, I state my opinion clearly. I don't know what's coming for me yet, but I haven't known that my whole life. Who does? Isn't that what makes life really exciting - worth living?

The stranger's lips curl in response to my answer. An enchanting sight. For my sake, he could be whatever he wanted, he had my vote. Let alone that he needed it or the like. He was nice and charming in his own way.

I take another bite of the delicious bread and look around the tavern again. I wonder how it will change again until the next time.

Strictly do not: copy, claim or translate those stories of mine anywhere else

tags: @mikariell95

#Morpheus #Dream #dream of the endless #Morpheus x reader #Dream x reader #Sandman #tom sturridge #tom sturridge x reader #sandman series #sandman x reader

29 notes · View notes

swindlefingrs · 10 months

Text

Rotten and Craven

Rating: T Fandom: Diablo IV Characters: Kennach the Druid, Lorath Nahr Relationships: Lorath x Wanderer, Lorath x f!Druid, Lorath x Kennach Wordcount: 1.4k

[Read on AO3]

---

Lorath knows who is standing on his porch. Long months have been filled with those footsteps, although they haven’t ventured out to this corner of the wilds in some time.

Knuckles rap-tap-tap against his front door.

“Oh, so you do know how to knock.” Lorath shouts from his back room, making sure to scribble down his notes of the shaman’s skull in front of him, before he forgets. “I thought druids just go where they will. Based on my past interactions with the sods.”

He opens the door wide, ready to enjoy the frown on his visitor’s face. Kennach does not disappoint. Her round face is indeed set in a mildly annoyed frown. She fills the doorframe. Bedecked in druid finery; furs and bones, sticks and mud, runes and sinew.

“Perhaps if your home didn’t look like it’d been ransacked by bandits, I wouldn’t have assumed it was abandoned,” she quips.

“It’s research, not ransacking.”

Lorath willfully ignores the winsome dimple that shows up in her left cheek when she grins, and tips his chin at the large, waxed canvas bag at her feet. “So they've got you running errands now?”

Kennach picks it up as if it’s full of nothing but goose down and tosses it at him. He’s forced to catch the thing and his bad shoulder complains about the heft of it.

“More or less. I thought it’d be good to see a familiar face.”

“And you chose this one?” Lorath asks incredulously. “More fool you. Well, come in, come in. I know it’s rude to keep people waiting outside one’s abandoned hovel.”

Kennach brushes past him, the scent of cedar woodsmoke follows behind her. She stopped to pray before coming here. He fondly remembers her offering of a green cedar branch each night they had a fire while out on their hunt. She never translated her prayer and he never asked. He always took the small cedar needle she offered. She told him to chew it. It was powerfully tart. Refreshing.

He drops the heavy canvas bag onto his dining table with a whump. The plates, books, jarred samples, and cutlery all clatter. He opens the bag to find provisions. Small sacks of milled flour. Braids of garlic. Dried beans. Salt pork.

“I’m perfectly capable of getting to the market,” Lorath reminds her as he pulls out one flour sack. The fine bone-white powder dusts his hands. Soft as a whisper.

“Of course. If you head down to the market, though, you’re not gonna find that.” She taps at the package in his hand. “That’s red wheat. We found a few jars full of those grains in an abandoned store room in Túr Dúlra. It stands up to the cold and damp far better than the others. The farmers are excited. I was bringing some to Kyovashad to see about setting up orders for the rest of the crop.”

“Banished Lilith and on to delivering grain, are we?”

“The more I learn about the druids of Scosglen, it seems like the least I can do.”

“Have you found anything more about where they may have gone?”

“No, just everyone they left behind,” Kennach sighs.

“Aye, seems to be the way of things in Sanctuary.”

Lorath knows how this kind of guilt grows. It’s not kind. It’s not easy. It’s a bitter thing. Not pleasantly so like the cedar needles. Just bitter for bitter’s sake. The feelings would be even worse on a ride home with nothing but dark thoughts for company.

“Care to stay for some supper? Stew’s about done. Venison. Just tapped a fresh quarter cask, too.”

At the sound of his own invitation, he realizes that the only other chair to sit in is covered in books and papers. He hastily grabs the mess up and shoves it into a too-full bookshelf.

Kennach shrugs out of her great furred cloak and drapes it over the back of her chair. Her bare arms, covered in runes, are even larger and stronger than he remembered. Frequently.

“Only if you let me add drop biscuits to the stew.”

“Lucky for you, I just so happened to get a delivery of flour. Scosglen Red. I heard it's better than the shit coming out of the Dry Steppes. Finer mill. too. Makes your usual flour feel like eating sand.”

She rifles through his cupboards, pulling out ingredients, shouting over her shoulder, “Are you looking for work? I know a a mill looking for a salesman.”

“You couldn’t afford me.”

---

The center of the universe is a small wooden table in a windswept cabin, with Kennach and Lorath comfortably captured in its orbit. The beer is good. The stew topped with buttery biscuits is better. But the company is best, as much as he is hesitant to let himself admit it. Not the company herself, but for the complications. Because it always does.

Kennach’s stories about the people met in Scosglen are interesting. Some even funny. Her cheeks grow rosy as the meal and the conversation flows between them. She looks at him too long, but Lorath doesn’t want her to stop. He scoots to her side of the table and leans in too close as she shares charcoal rubbings from a druidic tablet she discovered, captivated by the translations and context she adds to each word and pictograph. He pronounces words wrong to hear her say them over again. He feigns ignorance after she catches on to the farce. She apologizes for shoving her shoulder into his and watching him wince.

It brings out her smile. Stoic on the road, smiling in his home. With him. That realization blooms in his chest. He chides himself for the ease at which this meal and this company has settled into his bones. How his focus on keeping all of this at arm's distance wanes as the evening waxes.

Kennach rests a broad hand on his knee and squeezes. He doesn’t get up or walk away, he leans in closer. She is enveloping.

She presses her lips to his and he returns it threefold. She tastes of beer and cedar. The tightness in his chest whirls. He half expects to see a succubus cackling at him when he opens his eyes, but it’s still the Wanderer. Her lips blushed and bruised. Her nose and cheeks are dappled with even more freckles than he last remembers. From days on the road, he supposes.

“And just how long have you been wanting to do that?” he murmurs.

“Since I stepped back through the portal in Hell and you were still there. Waiting.”

His last conversation with Donan. Time for apologies, unkind words, promises, and goodbyes.

“After Lilith?”

“Yes. I saw you were still there and… I wasn't as afraid.”

“You?” Lorath snorts, “Afraid?”

Kennach stares at him, searching his face for something, before her brow knits together and pain crawls along the edges of her eyes. All the mirth they built together is exorcized from his home. She drops her gaze to the table they share.

“All the time,” she quietly admits.

She was searching his face for sympathy. Understanding. He knows this wound. There are no words or deeds to staunch this kind of bleed. If there were, he’d have found it by now.

Lorath reaches out to gently turn her face towards him. Only when she meets his eyes again, does he continue.

“Me, too.”

The great bear woman nods sheepishly in understanding. The only ones not afraid are the too young and the too old to know better.

He presses his lips to hers gently at first, but she doesn't return it with kindness. Kennach is hurt. She challenges his sweetness with a biting kiss and he happily takes her bitterness. Their teeth clack against each other, but every moment he can keep her here instead of lost in that emotional morass, he’ll take.

“I want you”, she breaks their kiss and whispers against his neck. That one whisper topples his already ruined defenses.

“What's left of me is rotten and craven, but it's yours," he replies.

He slips his fingers under the edge of the thick leather armor of her breastplate where she is soft and yielding. Kennach shivers. The druid made of earth and stone, stalwart in the face of this world’s trials and tribulations, but his fingertips on her skin make her sigh sweetly.

This is why he traveled separately. This was always bubbling just under the surface. He knows how badly this could turn out. Hurt feelings. Hurt hearts. Hurt alliances. It wouldn't be the first time. He's not lucky enough for it to be the last. The Tree of Whispers will have its due. Tonight, though, they’ll have each other.

[Read on AO3]

#diablo iv #diablo 4 #lorath nahr #lorath diablo #lorath x wanderer #kennach #lorath x druid #lorath x f!druid #bisexual disasters #an inaugural lorath x wanderer fic #middle-aged romance #superfluous flour information #did i look up medieval beer brewing? yes.#did i use it? no.

12 notes · View notes

ipsen · 10 months

Text

Blank Canvas, Chapter 3

Some CW that you can, well, see: gore, blood

Read on AO3

Summary: Kaneki’s interview isn’t quite over yet.

Word count: 4362

Chapter 4 Chapter 2 Master Post

“Eyes, like tainted diamonds, cross the expanse. They pierce inky tendrils of hair, reaching out for something they will never have. Grasp, miss, grasp. Like children swiping at the ceiling. Delicate fingers dig into their master’s scalp, and they fabricate a mockery of reality with the blood. A third option to escape memories and reality both. ‘Foolish,’ they all think. ‘Meaningless. Worthless.’ Yet they do not stop. They reach out and fabricate and dream. Spilling wine can still be beautiful.”

— excerpt from Sen Takatsuki’s notebook

———

This world is…

Flashes of red and blue lit the dark alleyway. Glimpses of the scene were made plain for moments at a time.

A body, slumped against the wall.

Bloody hands.

A body, halfway in the dumpster. Broken. Stomach sliced open.

Guts, guts, guts, blood, torn, bleeding.

What had she done?

Whimpering noises. Trash, trash, trash. Fool.

Cuts. Bruises. Sobs. The overwhelming silence left behind when screams died.

“Papa…?”

Footsteps. Sirens.

“We have eyes on the target.”

“Papa, wake up! We— We have to go—”

“Hands up!!”

Too late.

“Are you deaf?! I said hands up!!!”

“But—!”

“We’ve got a teenager covered in blood at the scene. Taking into custody now.”

“Wait, no, y-you don’t understand—!”

“Hands. Up!!”

“I— Shit, I—!”

Hands stronger than hers gripped her wrists. Something pushed her against the wall and bruised her skull against the cold, wet surface. She begged, she screamed, and it only made it worse.

Blinding lights, shifting bars, glares that told her she was wrong. Her actions were wrong. Choosing to live was wrong. Choices were wrong. Everything about her was—

… wrong.

———

“Takatsuki, um…” Kaneki said carefully, trailing behind the green storm that was his companion. She had a surprisingly fast gait, now that he was actually walking with her for once; then again, Ayato, the late bloomer that he was, had been the same way.

“Yes, Haise?” She took a bit to glance behind at him.

“I don’t want to be rude, but where are you taking me?” Kaneki gestured behind him. “We passed by the terminal to Shoeisha a while ago…”

He had assumed that to be their destination after the park. That was what she meant by ‘ironing out the hiring process’, right? He’d finally meet Mr. Shiono, Takatsuki’s boss, and some other people, then they would get started, right? So where exactly—

“I know, and we will go there,” Takatsuki assured him with a smile. “But I have a friend I want you to meet first.”

‘Friend’? Well, he supposed it made sense; maybe it was a fellow author? A coworker? Takatsuki’s social life was a complete mystery, so it could be anyone, really. He just hoped it was someone he could get along with. That shouldn’t be too much to ask.

“I texted him ahead of time to let him know we were coming.” She marched ahead, leaving Kaneki to chase after her. “We have a reservation at White Blades, if that’s okay with you?”

He tilted his head. That… was a seafood restaurant in the 18th ward, if he remembered correctly. Highly reviewed, too, if a little niche. “I’ve, um, never been, actually,” he admitted. “So yes…?”

She beamed. “Great! Come on. They serve a mean lobster stew.”

He wet his lips at the prospect, and hoped he would agree; if her friend wasn’t the best, then at least the food would be good.

There was a bit more eagerness to his gait as she led him to their destination. He hadn’t had lobster in a while; it was way too expensive, usually, and he couldn’t tell Hide that he was craving it because then he’d just pay for it. Kaneki didn’t like the idea of someone else paying for his own meal.

Speaking of— “Takatsuki.”

“Hm?”

“Um, I’ll pay for my share of the meal.”

He expected some form of token resistance, but he didn’t expect her to laugh at him. “No, you won’t. You don’t seem like you go outside a lot, so I’d feel bad if you didn’t get a free meal out of being out all day.”

“B-But I—”

She turned on him and stuck her hand out. His chest bumped into it, making him stop. “You won’t,” she repeated. “Your friend, Hide, was kind enough to tell me about your financial situation. Not a single yen’s leaving that wallet of yours, got it?”

When had Hide gotten— He must have memorized the number last week when Kaneki handed him her card. He sighed, nodding in defeat. He was so useless compared to someone like her, huh? Can’t even pay for his own meals.

But before he could truly spiral, Takatsuki sighed too. “Alright, why don’t we make a deal?”

He tilted his head. “What kind of deal?”

She folded her arms and looked around, her body language shifting from that of a free bird to something a bit more caged. She took a deep breath, and didn’t reply immediately. Kaneki shuffled his feet, keenly aware of the unpopulated street they were on. He thumbed the strap of his satchel, as the distant sound of the train they would have taken to Shoeisha sounded its whistle.

“How about this,” she spoke slowly, way slower than he was used to, “once Shoeisha starts paying you…”

She trailed off. His brow furrowed as her hands steepled around her nose and mouth, hiding her expression. What kind of deal was— She suddenly balled up her fists and turned around.

“Actually, never mind!” she declared a little too loudly. “We’ll be late; my friend doesn’t like to be kept waiting!”

Before he could ask her anything else, she took off, forcing him to chase after.

—

The White Blades restaurant was the result of a merger between two local businesses, the White Suits and Triple Blades, following the untimely passing of the White Suits founder, Yakumo Oomori. His successor, Naki, and Miza Kusakari, the owner of the Triple Blades, fell in love, and the rest was history.

“Miza’s a good friend of mine,” Takatsuki explained as she opened the door. “And Naki’s a total sweetheart, if a little rough around the edges, so I can always snag a table even on their busiest days.”

It was getting close to dinner time, so the place was healthily packed. People from all walks of life gathered under the medium sized roof, crowding around bar set-ups, tables, and booths alike as their conversations bled into one another to create a melting pot of senseless noise. The day’s gossip, family troubles, tragedies, joys, secret outings, not-so-secret outings— the oscillating states of the world could always converge in a conflagration of colors around the one thing anyone could enjoy: food.

Kaneki felt cramped. He was never good with crowds, and even following Sen Takatsuki into this place didn’t change that fact. People were just so loud, and talkative, and they stared. Sometimes it was intentional, other times it wasn’t, but Kaneki despised it all the same. Being seen meant people expecting things of you, after all, and he often felt he could provide nothing.

He stayed close to Takatsuki, trying to fight those thoughts off for once, and scanned the tables with her. Near the back, there was a particularly tall, pale man in a white trench coat seated at one of the tables, with stark white hair, narrow eyes, and a scarlet face mask. It seemed like he was looking right at them, and Kaneki prayed to any god that would listen that the man was not Takatsuki’s friend.

Takatsuki shot her hand up in the air and waved. “Tatara! Hey!”

Well, to be fair, Kaneki had never been the religious type.

“Sen,” the man greeted in a deep voice when they approached. Great. “I assume that’s your artist?”

“Yes!” Her hand— it was softer than the last time. Was that lotion?— gripped Kaneki’s wrist and dragged him to her side. “This is Haise! Haise, this is Tatara!”

Tatara rose slowly from his seat, holding out his hand. “A pleasure,” he greeted, though his tone suggested anything but. It was like ice, if Kaneki was being honest; the way Tatara stared down at him with his rigid posture that made sure Kaneki knew that he was the shorter one told him a lot. Too much, if he wanted to be honest.

He just nodded and shook Tatara’s hand without a sound. He winced slightly at the force of the grip, but bore it while Takatsuki was there.

“Tatara and I go way back,” she explained to him. “He’s part of the Chì Shé Theater Company! He’s one of their lighting directors, so sometimes I’ll go to him to see if something of mine’s ‘visual’ enough.”

Kaneki had heard of Chì Shé. They were one of the bigger names in theater, but Kaneki wasn’t familiar enough with them, preferring the structure of books and comics to the ones offered by scripts.

“I-It’s an honor,” he managed, thinking it an apt statement. It wasn’t every day he met someone like this.

Tatara practically scoffed as he took his seat.

“Oh, I gotta use the bathroom,” Takatsuki said, palms pressed together in apology. “Tatara, get me the usual?”

‘Usual’? They came here together? And often? Alone— shut up, creep.

“Of course.” Tatara’s voice, which had been like ice against his skin until that point, suddenly became smooth velvet.

Ah. Well, then.

But, if Kaneki was right about this, then why did Takatsuki bring him along? This had to be related to work, right? Maybe a second opinion of him personality-wise? It had merit. Kaneki barely knew her, after all, and he knew Tatara even less. Given how far this meeting was going— He should just take a seat.

He set his bag down near his chair, making sure to entwine his leg with the strap so it wasn’t an easy grab. Glancing up at Tatara, Kaneki noticed his gaze lingering on Takatsuki as she weaved through the crowd toward the bathroom.

Ah.

That look reminded Kaneki of a time he’d rather forget. Hide would tease him all the time about how stupid he looked staring at that head of violet hair from afar. And Touka— Ugh, Touka was so terrible about it. She hadn’t yet experienced the hellhole that was college as a biology major, so in her attempt to dissuade him from persuading, she’d accidentally done the opposite. Then again, he was often caught up in his own mind and assumptions about others, as she would never tire of telling him. He shuddered to think where he might be without that revelation.

Tatara sat down, and the squeak of the leather brought Kaneki out of his thoughts.

“So, um—” Kaneki began. Maybe Tatara wasn’t as bad as his demeanor suggested; he certainly had a soft spot somewhere. Touka and Ayato hadn’t been very sociable, either, when they first met.

“You’re the twelfth one.” Tatara cut him off.

“I-I’m sorry?”

“You’re the twelfth artist she’s brought,” he clarified, scowling. “Do you know what that means?”

Kaneki pursed his lips, looking anywhere except at Tatara; regardless of his answer, he was going to be told anyway. “Er…”

“Eleven artists that are better than you have failed.” Ah, so that’s how this was going to go. “Eleven artists with industry experience. Eleven artists with proper published work.”

A waiter— a large individual in the restaurant’s signature white suit— brought three glasses of water to them and menus. Tatara, as though a switch had been flipped, was kind and accommodating toward them, before going right back to glaring— squinting? No, no, he was definitely glaring— at Kaneki once they were gone.

“So, Haise Sasaki—” the way Tatara said it made it sound like an insult— “what makes you think you can compete with them? Actually, what makes you think you’re better than them? What do you have that they don’t?”

Kaneki looked down, unable to answer, because Tatara was right. What did separate him from actual, experienced professionals? His art was middling at best, and it wasn’t like his commissioners had large social media presences either. So what elevated him above others so that Sen Takatsuki wanted to work with him?

Tatara clicked his tongue in the silent noise. “This is ridiculous,” he muttered, opening the menu. “Why’d you even come here?”

Kaneki froze. Him, not Tatara. Why did he, Ken Kaneki, come to this restaurant? Well, because Takatsuki asked him to— That wasn’t the question. This was Tatara, Takatsuki’s friend, here, talking about previous candidates, meaning he was informed about the situation. He was her accomplice in the search for an artist.

Kaneki was still being interviewed.

Tatara’s question was deeper than a simple ‘why’; he wanted to know the factors that led Kaneki to making the choices he did that put him in this moment. Why Kaneki thought that, however small the chance, he, of all people, could be a good fit to write a story alongside Sen Takatsuki. What sparked that feeling? What pushed him forward through the doors of that coffee shop?

What drove him?

His fingers brushed against his satchel, where the sketch of Takatsuki lay unseen by the rest of the world. They then tightened around the bag as he built his resolve for the hundredth time that week.

“I’ve always been inspired by her— Takatsuki, I mean,” he answered carefully and evenly. “I want to return her kindness for giving me the chance to make something with her, and I want to make sure that she doesn’t regret it. And, if someone like me can be inspired by her, I think about how many more people she has yet to inspire with this next work. If she thinks I’m the one to illustrate her story, then I have to believe it.”

Tatara’s eyebrow raised ever so slightly as he listened, but before he could respond, the large waiter from before came back and asked for their order. Kaneki scrambled to look at the menu while Tatara ordered first.

“A-And a lobster steak,” Kaneki said just in time. “Er, stew! Lobster stew, sorry.”

Tatara rolled his eyes while the waiter walked away. After a moment, he spoke. “What’s your handle?”

Kaneki tilted his head slightly. “You… mean online?”

“No, I mean—” He huffed, and took out a sleek black phone. “I want to see your work.”

“Oh, of course! My handle is—”

At least he hadn’t asked for Kaneki’s sketchbook; the satchel was kind of a dead giveaway. The last thing he needed was for Tatara to start asking why Takatsuki’s face from all angles was plastered all over the pages.

Where was she, anyway? Was she okay? He couldn’t exactly check, but hopefully it was just trouble with the bowels…

Kaneki glanced back at Tatara, who seemed to have found his online portfolio. He scrolled… a lot faster than Kaneki thought he would. Takatsuki had taken the time to admire his work while Tatara seemed to be skimming it at best. It must have been that business mindset, Kaneki thought: he wasn’t looking at quality or heart, but rather how eye-catching it could be, as well as how quickly it could be replicated.

Or maybe he was completely wrong and Tatara was just fast at analysis.

“I see.” Tatara put his phone away and folded his arms.

Kaneki pursed his lips, twiddling his thumbs. Okay… Was that it?

A few moments passed. Then some more. Someone in the back of the kitchen dropped something, and it shattered. Some heads turned, including Kaneki’s, but not Tatara. The moment passed.

“Um, Tatara?” Kaneki said, treading cautiously. “Have you… read Takatsuki’s works?”

Tatara raised a brow again. “I have…”

Okay, great, common ground! “W-Which one’s your favorite?”

“… Industrial.”

“Oh, her fourth work! I like that one too.” Kaneki gave his best smile. “I got into literature through mysteries myself, so I was ecstatic when she released one! My favorite one, though, is—”

He stopped, however, when he saw Takatsuki suddenly slide back into her seat, silent as a mouse. He noticed she’d undone her braid, and now her wavy green locks fell freely in a chaotic harmony of curls and tangles around her face. His breath hitched at the sight, and Tatara’s grip on his sleeve tightened.

She glanced between the pair, either unaware of or indifferent to the change in atmosphere brought by her presence.

“Well?” She settled on Kaneki, grinning. “Don’t leave him in suspense.”

“I-I—” he stammered. “I, um, well, you see, m-my—”

He was saved by the sound of footsteps and the smell of a freshly made lobster stew, and yet he didn’t feel saved, even as his mouth watered while he stirred the soup. He felt her still watching him as he did so, and only felt shame for his own embarrassment.

He screwed his eyes shut. “My favorite one is Dear Kafka.”

A knowing smile crossed Takatsuki’s face, hidden from Tatara. It was almost like a secret between her and Kaneki, and his stomach lurched at the prospect.

Tatara just hummed. “I see,” he uttered, squashing the conversation flat.

She rolled her eyes. “He’s always been like that,” she whispered to Kaneki conspiratorially, though probably loud enough for Tatara to hear. Not that he seemed to care. “He takes a lot in, but not a lot gets out, you know what I mean?”

A cursed memory of fleeting violet hair crossed Kaneki’s mind. “I know the type,” he replied just as low.

She giggled, delighted in his participation, and was about to say something else, but Tatara interrupted.

“Sen,” he said. “Wanna tell him why he’s here?”

Her eyes shut, and she slowly turned toward him, her expression unseen.

“Because this is another interview?” Kaneki blurted without thinking. He covered his mouth immediately. “Sorry…”

Takatsuki turned back to him, eyes shining with that implicit praise he was beginning to crave. “Oh, you figured it out?”

“I-It’s not that amazing…” He scratched his cheek. “Mr. Tatara was… very honest about his intentions.”

“We can drop the pretense, then,” Tatara spoke, drawing Kaneki’s attention again. “Yes, Sen wanted a second opinion on you, and I’m the one she goes to for such things. Shiono picks out the ones for Takatsuki to meet, and then she brings them to me for further evaluation beyond her own.”

Kaneki glanced at Takatsuki, who was unashamedly digging into her order of lobster stew. With her free hand, she picked up the instant ramen Tatara had gotten her for her side and plunged it into the soup. Kaneki quickly realized that Tatara hadn’t ordered a dish for himself; both plates had been for her.

Tatara continued as though she wasn’t there. “The work you’ll be illustrating has been ‘finished’ for the past two years, did you know that?” Kaneki was barely given an opportunity to shake his head. “Of course you didn’t. And yet she’s still looking for an artist to transform it into something beyond words on a page. Do you know what that means?”

Kaneki furrowed his brow, confused. “That… it’s important…?”

“That it’s important,” Tatara emphasized, as though Kaneki were completely clueless (which, arguably, he was). “The artist that illustrates the story will either make or break it. I’m here to make sure the former happens.”

Takatsuki stirred the noodles now that they were softened by the soup, humming an unfamiliar song. She’d also gotten a plate of miniature takoyaki that she was devouring like chips from a bag. Kaneki waited for her to say something whenever she swallowed, but no such thing came.

“If you’re chosen,” Tatara’s voice commanded Kaneki’s gaze once more, “you will be responsible for the enjoyment of tens of thousands of readers, old and new, for years to come. The first thing they will see will be your art next to Sen’s name.”

Kaneki thought about it. His art, never even printed except online, suddenly on a bookshelf in his local bookstore.

Almost a Masterpiece, Except for One Problem Written by: Sen Takatsuki, Best-selling Author Illustrated by: Haise Sasaki, Loser Nerd and the Problem

It certainly put things into perspective. Kaneki had been so focused on creating and the fact that it would be a job, he hadn’t even considered the prospect of selling. Would he have to draw extra art for marketing? Was there a marketing team he’d have to consult with? More people like Tatara? He seemed to know his way around a business, and given how this ‘conversation’ had been going for the past few minutes, Kaneki was disinclined to believe Tatara wanted to work with the likes of him.

And who would want to work with him? Taking a chance on a fresh face, especially when such a high-profile figure like Takatsuki was involved, was unrealistic because of the risk. The newbie had no experience, so training might be in order, and training meant time, and time was better spent making money. Time was money. Money was time.

His expression must have said a thousand damning words in his place, because Tatara stood up and fished around in one of his coat pockets. “Alright, I’ve said my piece.” He pulled out a wad of cash and set it on the table. “For dinner, Sen.”

Takatsuki gave a thumbs up in his general direction, too busy slurping her ramen to do anything else. Tatara waited for her to finish, but when she burped out loud, he just turned and left.

Kaneki stared at the tall white figure, a hole in his stomach. He completely blew it. Any minute now, Takatsuki was going to break the news: factoring in Tatara’s eye-opening questions, she could not, in fact, be seen in public with him ever again. A week of being strung along by strings fashioned of his hopes and dreams, only for the cruel scissors of fate to cut them down to his fingers.

He scooped up a spoonful of soup, then dropped it into the bowl as he sighed. He wasn’t that hungry anymore. He was better off starving anyway; justice demanded proper punishment for the sin of hubris.

Meanwhile, Takatsuki dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, having finished her meal. “I’m sorry about that, Haise,” she said, sighing. “Tatara’s a lot, as I’m sure you know by now.”

“N-No, it’s okay…” he mumbled back, shuffling in his seat and blinking back the tears pricking the corner of his eyes. “He made a lot of good points…”

“Is that what you think?” She paused to look at him.

“Well… I never even considered the business side of it.” He took a drink of water to reorient himself. “I let my excitement cloud my judgment, when I should have done something to try and circumvent it, see the bigger picture. Instead, I—”

“Haise.” Takatsuki put up her hand to stop him. “Tell me: why do you create art?”

Kaneki blinked, forcing down a kneejerk spark of hope.

“Is it because you want to sell your art?”

He shook his head. Hide had been the one to suggest opening commissions. And while the extra cash was nice, that wasn’t the reason Kaneki continued to keep slots open.

“Is it because you’re following a trend?”

He shook his head again. He didn’t even know what trends were going on at the moment. Even if he did, he wouldn’t dare follow them unless they were his own interests: a matter of coincidence.

Takatsuki’s eyes glinted with familiar curiosity as she put her chin between the valley of her knuckles. “Then why?”

He pursed his lips and answered honestly. “Because I want to.”

He wanted to put his feelings into his art. He wanted to tell a story through his art. He wanted to create. He wanted to get better. He wanted to work on bigger things not for the sake of money, but to challenge himself. Better himself. He wanted to keep moving forward with this useless, stupid career that he had a knack for. He wanted this.

Takatsuki grinned. “And that’s why I’m hiring you. You’re passionate, intelligent, and your art is stunning. I don’t want all that skill to go to waste without doing something about it.”

It was the highest praise he could receive. Kaneki didn’t know whether to cry or laugh or blush or all three. Just a week ago, he was practically nobody, and now Sen Takatsuki wanted to work with him.

But he had another question. “What about Tatara, though? He said—”

“Is Tatara the one writing the story?”

“No…”

“Then there we go. No problem.” She leaned back in her chair, hands tucked behind her head. “Shiono’s the one who technically hires you on paper, but you’re drawing my work, so it won’t be an issue.”

Kaneki imagined Shiono to be a much easier coworker than Tatara, based on that.

“Oh, and one more thing—” Takatsuki leaned forward to whisper to him— “that story Tatara mentioned being done? I’m scrapping it.”

Kaneki blinked. “What?! B-But— All that hard work—”

“Oh, I’ll keep it on the backburner probably, but for this graphic novel, I have a new story in mind.” She grinned. “You wanted to create something together, right? It’s hard to do that if you’re drawing something with only my words on the page.”

It was sound logic, but— “Why? I really don’t mind not working on the script…” It was an honor just working with her, let alone actually having any input at all.

She took off her glasses, folded them, and tucked them away into a case from her bag. Her eyes were even prettier beneath the lenses, Kaneki thought. They were more like jades than emeralds, now that he looked at them— a darker, deeper color, like lakes under the moon versus the sun.

She rested her cheek in her hand, head tilted so that her hair fell over her shoulders. Clumps and curls of varying, imperfect lengths. Natural chaos, he idly thought, truly like the storm of energy she already radiated. Something that swept through the area, scooping up the strays, all the while completely indifferent.

“I’ve been inspired,” she stated simply, with a smile as soft as velvet.

#tg #tokyo ghoul #fanfic #writing #blank canvas #etoken #ken kaneki #eto yoshimura #tatara #baby's first instance of writing big man in a red mask

10 notes · View notes