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schrijverr · 3 years

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Hold Me Together

Chapter 2 out of 4

Eliot gets hurt on a job and then sick. Hardison and Parker waste no time to jump in to care for him and it becomes harder and harder to say no to their care when it’s just so nice. After he has a nightmare, they’re there for him and feelings come to light.

AKA Eliot has a terrible time physically (and partly emotionally), but gets lots of cuddles and two partners in the end.

On AO3.

Ships: Thiefsome OT3

Warnings: Eliot's low self-esteem and the flu

~~~~~~~~~~

Pull Me Close

When he awoke the next morning, he was pinned down by two warm weights at his sides. He kept his breathing steady, as if he were still asleep while he assessed the situation, before last night came back to him.

He felt a heat rising to his cheeks as he cracked open one eye to look, the other having swollen shut throughout the night. It was indeed Parker and Hardison who were pinning him down and he knew he couldn't sneak out without them noticing right now. He was trapped and sooner or later he would have to face them again.

Quietly he sorted through everything, hoping to come up with a plan to make this less awkward for everyone involved.

If he moved now, they would wake up and know he was awake and he would have to talk to them, but if he pretended to still be asleep maybe they’d leave him alone, however that would be unrealistic, because he would never sleep through them waking up and it was creepy to pretend to sleep just so that you could enjoy laying in the warmth of your two coworkers that you were in love with without having to deal with the mess that made.

But, fuck, he was comfortable. More comfortable that he’d been in years. The pain had dulled a lot and he was warm and cozy under the sheets with Parker and Hardison there. Hardison snored softly and Parker’s fingers skittered over him in her sleep, almost miming a pickpocket.

It was something nice that he would never have, never deserve. And while it was selfish, he didn’t want it to end just yet.

Still, he had no say in that and all his thinking was for naught when his door slammed open and the familiar silhouette of Nate appeared, saying: “Ah, there you all are. It’s eight, we want to leave as soon as we can.”

“We’ll be there,” Parker chirped, having gone from fast asleep to awake in a moment. Nate nodded at her, before leaving.

On Eliot’s other side, Hardison was taking his time, burrowing his face into Eliot’s uninjured shoulder as he whined softly. Eliot couldn't blame him, they’d gotten to the hotel around three in the morning, so they’d had less than five hours if it was eight now. Still, the hot breaths on his neck were not good if he wanted to keep this platonic, so he poked Hardison and grouched: “Get off me, man.”

“Wha?” Hardison looked up, smiling in a way that made Eliot’s heart twist when he saw it, before he said: “Hey, it’s you. How you doin’?”

“I’m fine, slight headache and sore muscles,,” Eliot told him honestly. “I’ll be up and running in no time, now just get off me so that I can get up.”

“Your eye is bruised,” Hardison frowned, noticing the black eye that had been a light bruise a few hours ago.

“Yeah,” Parker agreed poking it and making him wince.

“Don’t touch it, Parker,” he said, leading her hand away from his face. “It’s fine, just a bruise that I forgot to cool, it’s nothing. Now stop pinning me to the mattress.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry, man,” Hardison got off and Eliot could see the other man was just wearing sweatpants nothing else and his face got a bit hot again, so he looked to the other side, only to discover that Parker was in nothing but a shirt and underwear. God either loved or hated him very much.

So, instead of focusing on them, he focused on getting to a sitting position, pleased to find he could do that on his own.

He was still in Hardison’s hoodie and his own sweatpants and he really didn’t want to change. This was comfortable and warm and it would be easy to take off at home when he was by himself again, which twisted something cold in his chest. Besides he could always wash it and give it back later, an excuse to keep it for a little while. He asked: “Hey, man, can I keep this for today?” as he rubbed the sleeves between his fingers, trying not to think how sad it was that he wanted to keep it, just craving a bit of comfort for today. He still felt groggy and generally uncomfortable.

Hardison looked over, a strange look coming over his face when he saw how the sleeves fell over Eliot’s hands, before he nodded: “Yeah, course.”

“Cool, thanks.” Now this was just getting awkward, so Eliot swung his legs over the side of the bed where Parker had been, since she had disappeared a few seconds ago.

Before he could stand up, however, Hardison was crawling after him, nearly toppling off the bed, before he said: “Wait! Stop. You can’t just do that, Eliot. Your ankle is hurt.”

“Me and my ankle will live,” Eliot informed him. It would be slightly painful to walk, but not impossible.

“Just let me help for a moment,” Hardison asked, quickly pulling on a shirt he found on the floor, before offering a hand.

Eliot rolled his eyes at the fussing, but he was also selfish enough to allow it. It was going to be over soon anyway, why not enjoy a bit of contact? Hardison wanted to help, so it wasn’t taking advantage of it, and not putting any weight on his ankle would be a smart move.

So, they made their way downstairs, with Hardison carrying Eliot’s bag and laying his hand on Eliot’s waist again, while Parker met them at the elevator, her and Hardison’s stuff in hand almost as if they’d planned this.

He tried not to think about it as Hardison led him to the table where Sophie was sitting, before telling him he was to stay there and that Hardison would get him a plate from the buffet. Once he was gone, Sophie leaned over and asked: “So, good night?”

“Was fine,” he replied, eyeing her suspiciously after she’d grinned at him and flicked her eyes towards Hardison and Parker. Had she figured out his feelings? Was he being obvious? Did she think something happened between them? Trying to play it cool, he added: “Got more than 90 minutes of sleep for a change.”

“Oh, your productivity out the door like that,” she teased, luckily dropping any suggestiveness and prying.

“I was productive in healing my body,” he shot back, hiding his relief.

Sophie frowned at his face, cocking her head. “I can see that,” she said sarcastically.

“Come on, Soph, this is not my first black eye,” Eliot said. “My stitches are clean, my ankle is wrapped, my shoulder is back. I’m as good as I can be, little swollen eye is nothing. Could be much worse. Has been in the past.”

At that point Hardison came back with a plate of stuff Eliot actually liked, which touched him more than he’d liked to admit. He put the plate down in front of Eliot, inserting himself into the conversation: “Is he trying to tell you he’s fine by telling you everything that’s wrong with him and reminding you that he’s had a shit life?”

“Yes, it’s not really working,” Sophie said, before Eliot could protest that it was useful, because he was reminding them this was his job and it was okay, that he was okay and taken care off, because all his wounds were clean and it wasn’t that bad.

Instead of saying all that, however, he shoved a fork of food into his mouth and glowered: “See if I ever tell you about my injuries again.”

“He’s grouching, that means he’s okay, right?” Parker asked, poking his cheek again.

“Stop that, Parker,” he snapped, not really mad at her, because he was weak and would do anything to make her happy.

“Jup, he’s okay,” Hardison said, smiling and Eliot wanted to smack him, but he was right and cute, so he couldn’t. “And he’s telling us about his injuries next time.”

“Or we’ll force him!” Parker added enthusiastically.

“Was it that bad?” Sophie was immediately worried again and Eliot wanted them to stop fussing, because it felt weird and twisty in his chest when they did and he hated that he didn’t know what to do with the feeling.

“No, it wasn’t, I’m-” he got cut off by Hardison, who said: “He was kinda out of it for a bit, but nothing we couldn't handle. He was a bit grumpy about the whole thing, but he’s always like that. We just need to keep his leg up and as cool as we can during the drive and he should be set. Probably sleep a bit on the way too.”

“And how am going to sleep in that crappy van?” Eliot grouched. He wanted to protest it all, but no one was listening to him, so protesting seemed a bit redundant. Besides it was hard to be mad at them about it when it seemed like they all cared about his well being and the twisty feeling in his chest was only getting twistier.

“Excuse you, Lucille is a beautiful lady and you will treat her as such,” Hardison began. “And second off, you can sleep in the backseat. There’s a storage area between the front seats that you can rest you foot on. Promise me and Parker won’t bother your little nap.”

“I’m not sleeping in the van,” not between the two of you, he added mentally. “And why don’t I get to sit up front? Don’t I have injured rights?”

“No, there’s more space on the backseat and Nate’s driving and you’re horrible when Nate drives,” Hardison explained.

“I’m not horrible when Nate drives, he just sucks at driving,” Eliot frowned.

“He turned on his blinker once and you got annoyed, because it was too early, Eliot,” Sophie pointed out.

“Yeah and what about that time you said he switched lanes wrong,” Parker said. “You were very scary. You’re not even that scary when I drive and everyone hates my driving.”

“I can’t help that Nate can’t drive,” Eliot crossed his arms.

From behind him Nate’s voice said: “I’m glad you think so highly off my driving skills. You’re in the back seat, I don’t need you to grouch at me for hours about holding the steering wheel wrong or whatever you come up with.”

Eliot had registered him coming up behind him, but he didn’t care that Nate heard. He wanted to be mad about being injured and unable to fight, but he wasn’t able to, so he was going to be mad about something else and right now that was Nate’s driving and being in the back seat. He frowned (frowned, not pouted, Hardison): “I’m still gonna yell at you from the back.”

“Sure you are,” Nate said as he started to walk off with a cup of coffee. “Our mark has officially been taken into custody and the victims have been repaid. I want to be home before dinner, so buckle up everyone.”

They grumbled and groaned about it being too earlier to pack up, but no one stayed seated. This time it was Parker steadying him while Hardison carried all their stuff to Lucille.

Getting back into Lucille was another problem and Eliot was glad Nate and Sophie had already gotten into the van, because this was embarrassing enough as it was without onlookers.

Hardison had to support him fully on the left side, where his injured ankle was, but not his ex-dislocated shoulder, while Parker physically put his uninjured foot into Lucille. Then Hardison hoisted them into the van with Parker making sure they wouldn't fall back, until they were in and they could shuffle forwards and get seated.

Eliot was determined not to be visibly injured, so he crossed his arms and planted his feet on the ground, before staring ahead, vowing to keep his one, not swollen eye firmly open for the entire ride.

His plan was ruined by Parker the moment she settled on his other side, because she leaned forwards and put his leg on the little platform and right as he was about to protest, she put a bag of ice cubes on his foot and that actually felt really nice, so he cut himself off with a soft, grumpy thanks. She smiled: “Of course,” before handing him another ice cube bag for his eye.

Still, he could be awake and grumpy about everything, even when they were treating him like he was terribly injured, which he could understand after the fucking spectacle he made of himself last night. So he just told Nate that he shouldn’t pull up so fast, which earned him a glare from the man through the rear view mirror that he ignored.

Parker was on his right fiddling with one of her locks while she gazed out the window. Hardison was on his left and tapping away on a screen that was moving too fast for Eliot to follow. It was peaceful and they talked with each other softly, though Eliot didn’t have the energy to add his own commentary.

He felt bad about being in the middle of them again when they had already missed each other last night because of him. They hadn’t even seen each other during the job either with Hardison on tech support and Parker running between stealing and grifting.

He didn’t know how to bring it up that he wouldn’t mind switching with Hardison so that they could be next to each other and he could lean against the window. It wasn’t that he was tired and wanted to lean against something, he just wanted to have a clear line of sight, that was all.

The ice was slowly melting, until he had two bags of water and they were nearing their first stop, where Nate pulled over. Sophie would be driving the next stretch, because car-safety and all that jazz.

“Want me to get you anything?” Hardison asked when it became clear that Eliot wasn’t leaving the van.

“Nah, I’m good,” he said. “Maybe switch places with me? I can’t lean against anything in the middle.” He didn’t add: ‘and I’m sure you missed Parker,’ partially because he knew it would have come out sounding bitter and that was something he did not need to deal with, both mentally and in real life.

Hardison raised a brow. “And where are you going to rest you foot if you’re on the left? And I know you ain’t going to be on the right, I heard your shoulder that shit was just wrong.”

“I’ll be fine without resting my foot anywhere. Dammit, Hardison,” Eliot frowned, not sure why the hacker was even fighting him on this.

“You can lean against me, promise I won’t draw on your face,” Hardison said, before walking away so that Eliot couldn't reply. Parker skipped up next to him and asked about the drawing on the face with a bit too much glee.

The words caught up with Eliot and he could feel his cheeks getting warmer, which he pushed down immediately. Hardison had offered it so casually, like it wasn’t weird at all that he was turning down the offer of sitting next to his girlfriend so that Eliot could lean against his shoulder. But maybe Eliot was seeing things where there was nothing, he was injured (minor injuries but that didn’t seem to stop Hardison from worrying), so it could just be a normal offer. It wasn’t as if Hardison hadn’t fallen asleep on his shoulder from time to time.

It wouldn't be weird, he didn’t need to make it weird. Besides, he didn’t needto take him up on the offer and lean on Hardison. He could just not sleep and keep on looking forwards. Yeah, that was a plan.

Soon the others came back, piling into the van once more, with Parker shoving two cold things in his hands as she proudly proclaimed: “They sold ice packs!”

“Oh, thank you, Parker,” he smiled at her, starting to lean forward with a grunt only to find one of the ice packs stolen and being placed on his foot again. He nodded his thanks to Parker, before settling down against the backseat and putting the other ice pack against his eye.

The swelling had gone down already with the ice cubes from the hotel, but the fresh coolness of the ice pack was still welcome.

On his other side, Hardison said: “I managed to convince her not to take the markers, so you’re welcome.”

“And who gave her the idea in the first place,” Eliot shot back, getting an idea. “I’m not risking it by sleeping. You never know if she doesn’t have them anyway.”

“Come on, man, you need the rest,” Hardison tried to argue.

“I already had more sleep than normal, Hardison. I’m fine,” Eliot replied. He did feel tired, but he wasn’t admitting that.

“But I promise I don’t have the markers,” Parker inserted herself into the conversation as well, showing that she only had some hundred dollar bills in her pockets along with some earrings that weren’t hers and a small stuffed mushroom.

“You literally just asked me if we could switch places so that you could lean against something,” it was clear that Hardison wasn’t believing him.

“I thought that you would want to sit next to Parker, sorry for trying to be nice,” he huffed out the truth, hoping it would get them off his back. They stayed silent, so he called out to the front: “Soph, can we please listen to something else, I am so not in the mood for opera.”

Sophie did change the station to something more generic with less high notes that made his head hurt, even if she grumbled: “Someone’s in a mood today.”

He snapped back: “You try getting beat up on a regular basis, see if you’re still sunshine and rainbows after.”

“No, for real, man, you’re never this grouchy,” Hardison frowned, trying to subtly check him over and failing on the subtle part. “Is something wrong? What’s going on?”

“Is there an alien in your stomach controlling you?” Parker asked with wide eyes.

“Dammit, Hardison, I told you not to watch those stupid alien movies with her,” Eliot focused on something other than the uncomfortable questions Hardison had asked.

Because yeah, he was more grouchy than normal and something was wrong, but the something that was wrong was the fact that he had discovered that he was in love with his two best friends and now he was stuck on an eight hour car ride between them after they had seen him vulnerable and he feared that they would catch on or that he was coming between them and it was all the confusing twisty things he had tried to avoid and didn’t want to talk about.

Grouchy didn’t entirely cover that.

“Uhm, excuse you, alien movies are a staple of American culture that everyone should get to experience, so don’t even start there, also you didn’t answer my question,” Hardison told him, leveling him with a stare.

Eliot now had a choice. And it was easily made. “I have a huge headache, Hardison,” he sighed a partially lie, before going on with a whole lie, “I have a headache, I barely slept on the last con and you’re all very loud. I don’t need anyone’s fussing, I just wanted to sit quietly and everyone is making it really hard.”

“Thank you for being honest with us,” Parker said and it was obviously something she’d learned from Sophie and Eliot felt guilty about pretending to be open about his injuries a bit, just so they would get off his back.

“Yeah, man, we’ll be quiet,” Hardison added.

Hardison turned back to his screen and Parker to her locks and Eliot tried not to miss their soft chatter as he closed his eyes and tried to find his zen place.

After how much he’d insisted he wasn’t going to sleep, he was slightly embarrassed that the next moment he was waking up, having been asleep for some time. He could tell Sophie was behind the wheel, which meant he either hadn’t been asleep for long or they were on the last two hour stretch home.

He now registered that the ice pack on his foot had was cool again and the one on his cheek was held in place by someone – Parker his mind supplied – but he was leaning against something, someone, else with his other cheek. He was kind of groggy and he struggled to wake up, blinking bleary until he heard Hardison’s voice near his left ear: “Hey there, finally joining us in the land of the living again, huh?”

“Wha?” he was still feeling disorientated, the headache was much worse than when he’d drifted off and his muscles were sore, he was also cold and his throat ached slightly in the background. He levered himself into a sitting position and tried to take a deep breath to wake up, only to find his nose stuffy.

No.

Fuck no.

It all clicked into place after a second. The confusion, the chills, the headache, sore muscles and throat and then also a stuffy nose. He was sick. He had managed to get himself sick.

“You okay?” Hardison asked, obviously concerned and Eliot felt guilty about having been asleep on his shoulder after everything, as well as guilt because that couldn't have been comfortable and Eliot just cozied up to him again, even when he knew Hardison had a girlfriend. A girlfriend who had been holding his ice pack for him.

He owed those two so much in just the last 24 hours alone, not to mention the past few years. That was something he couldn't pay back and he had treated them like shit and had caught weird feelings for them and gotten in between them.

Tears came to his eyes and he blinked them away as a hole started to eat away at his heart and he couldn't fully push that down, even if he tried.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that his too emotional state of being was due to his lower defenses since he was sick. He felt too exhausted to fight it, but did it after a moment anyway, replacing it with enough grumpiness to be believable.

“‘m fine,” he mumbled, trying not to make his sore throat obvious as he rubbed his eyes in an attempt to wake up. They didn’t need to know he was sick, they would only worry. He would disappear when they got home and come back when he felt better again. “Are we near the brewpub yet?”

“Yes, you slept for so long, it was a bit boring, but your nose whistled and that was funny,” Parker informed him. “Hardison was trapped under you the entire ride.”

Now at that he did blush and avoided Hardison’s eyes as he softly apologized.

“No worries, man, you obviously needed the sleep,” Hardison assured him. “And I wasn’t trapped under you the entire ride, we managed to lever you over to Parker’s shoulder when Nate took Sophie’s place again. We only switched you back last stop.”

“I didn’t wake up?” Eliot asked, frowning, he must be sicker than he thought.

“Slept like a baby,” Hardison said. “Are you sure you’re okay, man?”

“‘m fine, I already said that,” Eliot grouched, trying not to let show how much he wanted to not be okay and wrapped up in a hug or a blanket or something. He was the tough one, he couldn't be weak, because his job was being strong. Just hold on, Eliot, he thought, then you can crash on your bed.

“Your voice sounds off,” Parker observed, “more gravelly than normal. And you didn’t wake up in a second and your eyes are still drooping.” She cocked her head, before her eyes got a knowing gleam in them. He was made. “Do you feel hungry? Or are you nauseous? Are you in any discomfort? Cold, perhaps? How’s your headache?”

“Hey, mama, why don’t you give the man a rest,” Hardison came to his defense. “You’re kinda overwhelming him with questions right now.”

“When has Eliot ever been overwhelmed?” Parker shot back and Eliot cursed her observation skills, there went his plan to hide until he was better.

“What are you getting at, baby?” Hardison frowned.

“She figured out I’m sick,” Eliot snapped, before Parker could tell him. “And I’m right here. No need to talk about me like I’m not.”

“You’re sick?” Nate asked. “How long has that been going on?”

“I only noticed it when I woke up,” Eliot replied, remembering one of Nate’s rules. “I would have told you if I was sick on the con. I wouldn’t have put you all in danger over me being sick, you know that.”

“Is his wound infected?” Sophie asked and before Eliot could tell them that no it was not, because he would have noticed that, two small calloused thief hands crawled under his shirt, feeling at the bandage, before lifting his shirt to inspect it. Parker reported: “The wound is fine.”

“Do we have supplies for soup at home?” Hardison asked.

“I think we have a blanket for him somewhere under the chairs,” Nate said.

“Oehh, we can build a pillow fort!” Parker exclaimed.

“I’m right here,” Eliot grouched, he didn’t need their care. Craved it? Yes. But he didn’t need it and he wasn’t going to let them. He was supposed to be invincible and while they were long past believing that, he couldn't let them see how pathetic he was. “And I don’t need a damn blanket or soup, or a pillow fort. I’m just a bit under the weather and I am fine on my own. I’ll take a few days and then I’m good to go, don’t be so dramatic.”

Hardison looked him over, then looked at Parker and raised his brow in an ‘are you hearing this guy’ manner, before he said: “I can be as dramatic as I want to be.”

“What? No,” Eliot said. “I’m the sick one and if I say I’m fine and you gotta stop being dramatic about it, then you stop being dramatic about it. Simple.”

“Sure, simple,” Hardison said, pulling out the blanket and teamworking with Parker to get it around his shoulders. “Except I worried my ass off last night because you could hardly walk, or even stand on your own and you dazed out constantly while trying to tell us you were fine. So when it comes to you telling me you’re fine, I’m not really trusting you, alright.”

The blanket around his shoulders was warm and he wanted to burrow into it, but he wasn’t giving in so easily.

“Dammit, Hardison, I said I was fine. I don’t need any of your fussing near me, alright. I’m not incompetent. It’s not even that bad,” he yelled, snapping because he had no energy to do anything but snapping or giving in at this point. And giving in wasn’t an option.

“I know you’re not incompetent, Eliot, we all do,” Hardison said, Parker agreeing: “Of course we don’t think that, you’re skilled.”

He crossed his arms and looked away. He knew they didn’t think he was incompetent, they wouldn't trust him with their lives otherwise, but that could change at any moment. He’d seen it happen before, so he wasn’t risking it.

“And I’m also hearing a lot about you don’t needing anything, which I also believe,” Hardison went on in a tone that had Eliot’s guard up. “But I ain’t hearing nothing about wanting. And we care about you, man, how many times have I got to tell you that? We want to take care of you, even if we know you don’t need it.”

“I don’t need anyone playing nurse,” he protested again. It was weak and he knew it, but he had to protest, he had to warn them without explicitly warning them, because that would also be a weakness and- His head hurt and the thoughts in it were swirling and confusing him.

“That kinda looks like a lie to me,” Hardison said, looking him over with concern in his eyes. “And you’re again talking about needing not wanting.”

“Are you okay, Eliot?” Parker was also not happy with his face it seemed, but he knew he must look like a confused, sweating, hurt mess, with a swollen eye and a shivering frame. He had even pitifully burrowed into the blanket without even realizing.

“I’m- I’m- I don’t know,” he finally admitted. He was just tired and upset about feelings he couldn't place. He wanted to crash someplace warm and not have to think for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said again, voice unsteady. “It’s- I- I can never want something. ‘s a weakness.”

If he was paying attention, he could have pinpointed when Hardison’s heart broke by the look in his eye, but instead he was distracted by Parker pulling him into a hug as she said: “I get it, but Hardison taught me how to feel stuff and you taught me how to like stuff, we can teach you how to be taken care of.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Sophie’s voice was slightly fake in her enthusiasm as it came from the front seat, cutting off any half-formed protests from Eliot.

“Me too,” Hardison quickly agreed, throwing an arm over Eliot’s shoulder and pulling him close, until he was leaning against his chest, Parker on his lap like a pretzel. “We’ll teach you how to be taken care off and then you can work on your verbal explanations by teaching me how to make soup for you from the comforts of a bed.”

“Wha- I don’t-” Eliot’s mind was too confused to properly fight the argument, he somewhere knew needed to be fought, while also not wanting to fight it.

“It’s been a lot of don’ts from you, just accept it, alright?” Hardison said, pulling him closer and he wanted to protest again. Really, he did. But he was also very comfortable and warm and he was tired and they’d be home soon. He could fight them again when they were home.

In the end, it turned out that fighting them when they got home was a terrible plan. The sleeping had left him groggy and Nate and Sophie had already disappeared, leaving him with just Hardison’s comforting chattering and Parker’s puppy eyes. He couldn't drive home in this state and both had refused to drive him and he already had a room above the brewpub, so he could go home tomorrow if he felt like it and-

And he gave in, the great Eliot Spencer, defeated by cute little eyes and too many arguments about a comfortable bed nearby. What had his life come to?

His life had come to waking up in a soft bed, that Hardison had managed to get exactly right before he’d even arrived in Portland all those months ago, with a sore throat and muscles, while being nicely warm on his right side where a bony elbow was wedged into his side, while on the other side there was a consistent, comfortingly familiar tapping noise.

He blinked blearily and groaned when a wave of nausea rolled over him, before a coughing fit overtook him. Parker’s warmth disappeared, but Hardison’s voice came: “Hey, hey, you’re alright, you’re alright.”

A glass of water appeared and he took it gratefully, sipping it slowly and letting it sooth his throat and wash away the itch at the back of it.

“You’ve been clonked out for the past few hours, about sixteen. How you feeling?” And Eliot was grateful that Hardison knew him well enough to first tell him how much time he’d lost before asking him about his state.

“I’m fine,” he replied, but his voice was barely a whisper.

“That response is really ingrained, isn’t it, huh?” Hardison said, but there was no judgment in his voice.

“Oehh, is that one of the things we’re teaching him to stop with? Like how I had to look further than the alarms in a museum?” Parker piped up.

“Yeah, exactly, mama,” Hardison’s smile was obvious when he talked. “He can start by telling us how he really feels.”

And Eliot was honestly too tired to follow the conversation, so he gave up on trying and just answered honestly: “Like I’ve been hit by a motorcycle.”

“Not a truck?” Hardison asked.

“No, motorcycle hit is very distinctive.”

“You and your distinctive,” the mutter was more for Hardison himself than him, so he ignored it. “Parker, baby, if I go get the soup, can you make sure he doesn’t drop off again. He needs to eat if he wants to recover.”

“Of course, I’ll keep watch!” Parker saluted and Hardison left the room.

Eliot let his eyes close, content to just lie there, but Parker obviously thought he was falling asleep again, because she poked his right cheek where the bruise was. It was less tender than last time, but still sore, so he hissed: “The fuck, Parker.”

“I need to keep you awake,” she said with wide eyes and he wanted to roll his, but that would make her sad, so he just sighed and leaned back into his pillow, this time with his eyes open.

“What happened?” he asked, trying to put together the little bit of information his brain was willing to give him.

“Well, you were out beating people up in the rain,” she launched into an explanation, “and Hardison says you don’t actually get sick from the rain, but you did get sick and me and Hardison are taking care of you, but you were really grumpy on the drive back, but then you fell asleep. And your nose whistled.”

He let her voice wash over him as she went on.

“But then you woke up and you were really sad about something, but also grouchy and then Hardison did his thing, where he gets people and has like the voice that tells him what you need to hear. He and Sophie both do it, it’s fascinating, he’s teaching me how to do it too. And you gave in, because you wanted to, but you didn’t want to tell us, so we had to crack your emotion safe with our words and now we’re going to teach you how to be taken care of,” she finished.

Wait what? He had put most of the pieces together and part of him had only partially questioned why they were in his bed, but he hadn’t remembered this. He thought they were just here to see if he woke up again and now that he had, he could throw them out of his room (going to his apartment seemed too hard at this point), but not this.

Before the freak out could fully set in, Hardison entered with a bowl of steaming soup. “Here you go, chicken noodle soup, the best for when you’re sick and homemade,” Hardison grinned. “I really want to say by us, but we set a pan on fire and then asked the kitchen staff to make it.”

He wordlessly accepted the soup, still trying to figure out what was going on exactly, how he felt about it and how he would get out of it.

Yeah, okay, what the fuck had his life come to?

A/N:

I really like the idea of Eliot being fine with the insane driving off Sophie and Parker, because it’s at least functional in a getaway situation, but he can’t stand Nate’s just below average driving (personal headcanon) in an everyday situation. It tickles me.

Also I know that Lucille doesn’t have a backseat bench, but the vibes were too good so just go with it

#RR writing #tw: self esteem issues #tw: flu #tw: sickfic #leverage #leverage tv #leverage ot3 #hitter hacker thief #thiefsome #eliot x hardison x parker #eliot spencer #eliot spencer angst #alec hardison #parker #leverage parker #nate ford #sophie devereaux #Hold Me Together #Hold Me Together Part 2

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bunnylouisegrimes · 4 years

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Her Savior, Her Nosferatu (NOS4A2 Fanfiction)

Her Savior, Her Nosferatu

A NOS4A2 Fanfiction

By: Bunny Louise Grimes

A/N: This (very long) fanfic contains some disturbing things, so be ready. It involves a certain creepy character doing some very disgusting things, but I assure you, he will get his in the end, and near the end there will also be fluff. Avoid if that’s not your thing because this is a pretty dark fic with a hopeful ending, yes, but it is very dark. Some Trigger Warnings: Rape (both mentioned and part of the plot), gore, and mentions of Charlie’s child abuse and domestic violence (read Wraith Welcome to Christmasland comic to understand his backstory if you haven’t to get the full picture).

This is also a Charlie X Vic fic, but their relationship is extremely platonic and there is little to no romance at all.

Note that there are quite a few AU-ish elements in this story too.

It is set (generally speaking) roughly after episode 8 in the first season, although it is isn’t entirely canon-based.

Please, enjoy.

The blistering heat of a summer in July would’ve normally bothered Charles Talent Manx The Third, but with the windows down in his sleek and sable 1938 Rolls Royce Wraith antique, the breeze made him comfortable enough. Automobile air conditioning was not a luxury yet in the years this car was made, so having the windows rolled down was your only way of not baking in the humidity.

The ancient FM radio was cranked up. Instead of Christmas music, for once, Charlie was listening to a channel playing old music he enjoyed. Most of the music playing from this channel was from the 1970’s, but a few 1980’s songs came on, such as this one. Currently, Tears For Fears were singing joyfully about what a Mad World they were living in. The old vampire clacked his long nails against the steering wheel, humming along and gazing at the bright blue sky. The sun irritated his eyes, so he was forced to look away once it came out from behind some fluffy white clouds.

Currently, he was in Haverhill, Massachusetts. He was on his way to The House of Sleep, as he called Bing’s house. He called it that due to dead bodies of bad parents “sleeping” for all of eternity before being disposed of. Or, that is what Charlie thought...

He slowed his car down and halted outside the rickety house. The vocals to Tears For Fears died down just as Charlie released his keys and placed them in his coat pocket, leaving an awkward and almost unsettling silence. He was on his way to talk to Bing about a new child to save from a perverted uncle who was harming her, and she was in desperate need to be given a pure and happy life as a healthy and strong vampire such as himself and his other children.

He stepped outside the car and closed the door behind him. A collection of pinwheels blew in the wind, making a rapid noise that accompanied the trees rustling. He made sure the car was locked using his powers. The moment Charlie used his powers to lock his car, he froze.

His psychic senses were tingling at the moment of being activated. Something was wrong. He could taste something heinous on the tip of his tongue. His brain felt as though it was vibrating behind his eyes and within his skull. His heart rate picked up and his hands started to tremble. Yes, something was wrong, and he needed to figure out what exactly was the matter.

His instincts screamed at him, telling him to peak into one of the basement windows once his eyes happened to meet them. He slowly and carefully approached the house. His hands continued to quiver and his heart continued to thud as he walked over to the windows and got on his knees. He leaned into them to look carefully.

The dusty basement with colorful Christmas lights had some kind of noises coming from it. He squinted his sharp eyes and made sure to tilt his one ear to make sure his bat-like hearing could actually listen in. A young female voice in distress, crying out in pain.... a deep man’s voice chuckling and clearly being overjoyed... a rhythmic rocking sound was the beat behind their moans and whispers.

The vampire turned his head to the right, the direction the sounds were coming from. At first, he didn’t believe what he was seeing and thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. Perhaps his mind dirtied an innocent action due to the dust-coated windows making things hard to see and interpret, even to eyes as keen as his. But when it dawned on him that this was no optical illusion, and his initial thoughts were indeed correct, horror swelled in his heart. His stomach sank, and one of his hands went to his mouth in pure instinct. He gasped, his mouth left hanging agape. His eyes widened in pure terror. A scream begged to be let out of his vocal cords, but the stone in his throat died before ever leaving it. He jumped back, dumbfounded and overcome with panic and shock. His heartbeat now raced in his ears, and his body shook to its very core. His eyes never left what disgusting act lie just beneath his feet.

Bing Partridge, that gargantuan lump of a man, was on top of thin and average statured Victoria McQueen. He could recognize her soft, pale face, now with tears streaming down her cheeks. Her dark eyes looked to be even darker thanks to her dilated pupils. Drool was pooling out of her mouth, and pain filled sobs croaked out of her. There was no doubt she was drugged up. Was she drugged... with the gas? Something inside Charlie told him that fat bastard used his gingerbread gas, only to be used to knock bad parents out before killing them, to make her weaker and unable to fight back. Her white, long sleeved shirt and blue jeans were thrown to the side, and she was left in her black bra, unhooked and near her thin stomach, and matching panties around her legs. The hairy and large monster was still within his regular clothes, the only exception being his pants also pulled down, exposing his bare ass facing Charlie from where he was looking.

The vampire could tell this was no consensual act. Not only due to her being drugged up, and not only due to her looking and sounding to be in distress, but he could feel her fear in his bones and head. He could smell the dreadful sweat pouring from every crevice on her body, and the petrified tears streaming from her foggy eyes. Something stirred inside of him at this sight, something that had been dormant for years. He remembered, more vividly than he had in an extremely long time, when something very similar happened to him.

He was a young boy, barely 13 years old, when one of his mother’s clients was thrown out after abusing her in bed. He wasn’t fully satisfied with her actions for him, he had said, and he was bitter. His mother accused him of being a homosexual, perhaps, and a woman didn’t do the trick. Oh, if only she knew how right she was, and that young boys were this man’s type. The man had followed young Charlie as the boy went to play with his sled, as was typical when his mother got done yelling at him, slapping him, or ignoring him to engage in her sexual acts with great glee. The pain Charlie felt throughout his body and mind that day was unfathomable, and no matter how much he cried out for help, no one came to his rescue. Men like his attacker had a very special place in Hell, Charlie was sure of it. It wasn’t like his mother, Fanny Manx, cared if such a thing happened to her son. In fact, she would’ve probably said, had Charlie not stood up for himself in an incredible way he barely remembered, that he deserved to be used, and it gave him a purpose in this world, something he lacked. Looking back at his abusive whore of a mother, it was quite the surprise to Charlie that his mother never tricked him out to get extra money, when she very easily could’ve and would’ve if she thought of it.

He had managed to escape after all was done and the man was satisfied with using the young boy’s body. He slid down a hill, not noticing a tree, and once his head hit the tree, something unlocked inside of him. The world around him had changed slightly, and he gained a newfound strength to murder his attacker with one of the sharp blades of his now broken sled. He stormed back into town and did the same to his mother and one of the men who owned the inn and mortuary he lived in with his mother. He had little to no memory of this event, and it seemed to him a horrible nightmare almost entirely lost to time.

But the emotions and events of Charlie’s assault became fresh and open in his mind. The despair and suffering he felt during that moment of his life came flooding back to his heart, tugging at the faucets behind his eyes to release water. Wounds healed after an adolescence filled with nightmares, panic attacks, internal confusion and trauma with no guidance, and shame from so long ago were opened once more, with deep red blood seeping out of the near non-existant stitches. His shock and horror melted into equally crimson fury as that blood dripped from his wounds.

They had begun to heal once he was in his 20’s thanks to time and maturity, and meeting his first wife and starting a family with her during the prosperous Roaring 20’s certainly made him feel happy. Of course, once she began to abuse him during the Depression when they lost everything, this brought back similar feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness, an inner conflict that made him come crawling back to his abuser because a part of him still loved her. Becoming a vampire and starting a happy family of children similar to his case had certainly rehealed his wounds for a very long time. He hadn’t meant to become a vampire with his daughters thanks to his powers unlocking after his second mental snap that was even larger than the first, but he had to make due with what was given to him in life, and he had. There was a part of him that didn’t like that he was a vampire and that his babies were vampires, but he knew that there were benefits, and he simply had to focus on the positives, as they most likely outweighed the negatives, no matter what anyone else said.

But no amount of comforting childhood innocence and Christmas joy could stop his wounds from reopening while seeing this revolting act play out in front of him. The agony of this poor teenage girl full of purity... and that small part of innocence left inside of her (despite a scrappy home life) being ripped away...yes, that home life allowed her to discover her psychic talent of finding lost objects, and led her to him, but it had caused her lots of pain that he understood. She was gothy and rebellious, and very modern, but none of that mattered. Charlie had fell for her, he cared about her, even if she didn’t see it. It was more than just the fact she was a Creative like him, although that was part of it. He understood her and wanted to be with her. He wanted her to be with him and to give her happiness, to give his children happiness in having a mother, and to give him happiness in having a wife once again.

He would need her virginity to help her transform into a vampire like him one day. He would be the one to take it through sex, and then fuse it back inside of her by biting her neck and focusing his energy on her. But now, none of that could happen. Not only because her purity was destroyed, but because she would have scars just as he did all those years ago that would make it extremely hard for her to trust or want to be with any man, to even get through life. It was somewhat hard for him at first to have sex with Cassie for the first time, but it was easier than expected, most likely because she was a harmless woman, and his trauma was not as fresh. For Vic, any man would bring back these feelings until her trauma would heal, if she was lucky to have it heal enough or at all. And even then, what if she wanted children with a man? Would she be too old to have them by then? Her life, much like Charlie’s life, was destroyed by a sexual impulse from a disgusting waste of a man.

But Charlie’s hopeful romantic plans with Victoria being ruined were not the larger reason why he was so disgusted, although they were a part of why, and he acknowledged there was a strong possibility she wouldn’t have wanted to be with him no matter what in the end. It was the fact that someone else, and especially someone else that reminded him of himself, was going through the horrific event that he exactly went through. He hated it when adults would harm children and especially sexually. When it was an adult doing it to another adult, regardless of virginity being involved or not, it was still filthy. Some men, unfortunately, never understood the importance of defending the honor of a woman, and this insult to a pig violating and destroying this girl’s honor, chastity, and identity sickened Charlie. Even if he hadn’t loved her, his rage would still be just as fire hot.

The vampire got up off the ground, his claw-like nails almost digging into his palms as he held his hands in sweaty fists. His dark brown eyes could burn holes into anything. He shook even more violently now. He was going to kill Bing Partridge. He didn’t know how just yet, but he knew it was going to be long and torturous, and it would be quite the spectacle to anyone who enjoyed a good gore session.

Charlie walked back to his car to grab a weapon from the trunk, his hostile resent clearly evident from the way he stormed over to his antique. He unlocked his trunk and pulled it out: his autopsy mallet he stole from the morgue during an event where he had to play dead in his crippled, old form due to one of his previous assistants being a fool and allowing them to be caught by the police. He wasn’t believed by a soul and locked in the looney bin, but Charlie had managed to escape. This event seemed to be forgotten by all police involved, and the general consensus was a necrophiliac of sorts stole his corpse.

The silver metal of the mallet shimmered and reflected the sunlight in an almost beautiful way. He tapped it in his palms, his thick eyebrows furrowed and lips tightly together in a frown. His mind was swimming in fire and ways to rip apart the man who ripped apart this poor girl, both physically and mentally. He quietly closed his trunk and walked back over to the house. He knew he had to sneak down to the basement to avoid being caught and noticed, as surprise was his ally in this moment. To take the monsters of this world by surprise and revel in their pain while justice was served was a euphoria Charlie could only describe as heavenly.

He thought about how he was going to break in. He tried the door, just to be sure, and it was locked. Charlie thought back to when he first came to this house if there was any kind of simple lock he could pull or turn with his telekineses. He remembered there was a key from the inside still within the keyhole you had to turn, and a top lock you had to pull. He focused his mind on these two things. When the key turned and the top lock pulled back on the other side, Charlie tried the door again and it opened. As quiet as he could, the old vampire walked on the floor as though it were made of the most fragile glass. Using his telekinesis, he closed the door behind him with equal gentleness and locked it once again so that if the fat bastard did manage to get away, it would slow him down.

He tiptoed down the hallway, the sounds of Vic’s crying, Bing’s grunts and laughter, and the rocking even louder than behind the muffled glass. His grip tightened on his mallet, as his anger was getting stronger every moment. He winced at every small creak his black Oxford dress shoes made across the wooden floor, but the monster seemed far too invested in destroying the poor teenage girl’s life to notice little noises. The sweat beaded Charlie’s forehead, and he was sure he looked red due to the resentful, lava-like blood flooding his cheeks. Interestingly, the vampire’s body temperature, with the exception of his face usually, would drop significantly when he was very upset, angry, and so on. His hands had gone cold as they clutched the metal of the mallet. If he so wanted, he could’ve froze it using his abilities, but that was not on his mind at the moment.

He managed to reach the basement door. It was wide open, and the despicable act was right in front of his face. He couldn’t move for a few moments, paralyzed from shock and rage, but he managed to creep down the steps with little to no noise. As he got closer, he could finally hear Bing’s terrible words.

“Mr. Manx will be so proud when I’m done with you... yes, he will be... God, you’re so soft! You remind me of my mommy... so delicate and fresh... with such big tits too!”

Vic continued to choke out cries and screams, her head lopped back on the chair. Her messy black hair looked greasy and as though it was pulled on. Helpless and frightened, she couldn’t do anything as this bear-like man continued to ruin her. Her glassy eyes just so happened to roll over and see Charlie creeping down the steps. She noticed he had some kind of weapon in his hands, looking as though he was about to attack... her assailant? Oh, Dear Lord, please kill this... thing. Her vision was blurry, and her conscious was in and out, but it was quite obvious he was angry and upset. The monster was too oblivious and too lost in his own sexual ecstasy to notice where Vic’s eyes were or what was just behind him.

Charlie’s eyes met Vic’s for a few seconds, and they glimmered with pity and empathy. When his gaze shifted back to the evil monster, fire filled them once again. He bared his sharp teeth and growled lowly, sounding like an animal. A group of fangs came jutting out behind his teeth, turning his low growl into a vampiric hiss. His nails grew longer, and a stream of dragon smoke came out of his nose and mouth. His primal vampire instincts were kicking in, and this included his body temperature becoming ice cold to the point it burned, as well as the ability for him to see his breath. It was almost as if his lungs froze over from within, and steam-like air was the only thing that could come out. He looked more akin to a beast-like bat or wolf than a man. His pale skin looked like ice, and his dark eyes turned pitch black and shiny, with hints of blood red around the enlarged, onyx irises. He finally reached the bottom of the steps, edging closer to the large creature...

Bing grabbed Vic by her chin and forced her to look at him. He smiled and chuckled, saying, “Why can’t you look me in the eyes just like mommy did for me?”

Vic finally managed to let out a blood curdling scream as clear as the day outside. A sharp WHACK interrupted her scream. The gluttonous cretin fell to the ground, yelling out in pain. The sickening popping of the bone and brain matter within Bing’s skull was Charlie’s definition of satisfaction. Vic could now see the vampire clearly. Tall and thin, he already looked a bit frighting when he held his normal appearance, but in this form, he looked like a walking corpse, frozen in time, but also in some kind of rotting stage which made aspects of him look like a feral animal with rabies.

Bing continued to roll on the ground in pain, groaning, but was interrupted by Charlie hissing and grabbing him by his shirt collar. His sharp nails tore at the fabric as he slammed the autopsy mallet across his skull. Blood went flying in multiple different directions. The large creep yelled out as his skull and brain were being bashed in and apart by the mallet. Nauseating and cringe worthy pops and snaps filled the basement, elevating Charlie’s euphoria. Vic sat in the chair, trying to process everything happening at that moment and everything that had happened to her in the past hours. She couldn’t give a time or even an estimate to how long she had been down there. All she had known was the amount of fear and pain she felt.

The mallet was soaked in blood by the time Charlie grew tired of hitting this monster with it. Bing’s face was caked in crimson. Parts of his skull and brain were mushy and exposed. And yet... by some chance, he was alive. While all of his cognitive function was most likely destroyed, he certainly could still react to pain. Good, makes him easier prey...

Charlie, in his adrenaline and satisfaction, gave a deep chuckle.

“Now you’re going to know what it’s like to be helpless and torn apart, with the only knowledge going through your mind being your pain.”

An idea came to Charlie when he saw the curved edge of his mallet. He forced the sharp end through Bing’s right eye and popped it out like a cork. He continued to cry out as Charlie did the same to his other eye. The vampire grabbed the eyeballs and chewed on them like they were gumballs.

Despite now being blind, and with skull and brain outside of his head, Bing managed to attempt to push Charlie off of his large stomach. The vampire tossed aside his ruby red mallet, growled, and slammed him down with his hands wrapped around his neck, his nails digging into his flesh, causing streaks of blood to come dripping out of his throat.

“Still have some fight?! How in the hell are you still alive?! Why can’t you just die?!” His angry roars suddenly molded into dark snickers. “No matter; that just means for fun for me. Not to mention, you’ll know what it’s like to fight back and perish for having the strength and audacity to dare defy the one hurting you.”

He let out a hiss sounding like a snake’s before grabbing Bing’s hands. With his teeth, he managed to tear out all five fingers on his right hand, followed by his left hand. Gobbling them down with incredible greed, the sick imbecile continued to scream out. While his mouth was wide open, Charlie reached into Bing’s mouth and tore out his tongue using his sharp nails. He shoved his own tongue back into his mouth for him to swallow and choke on.

While the dumpy half-wit gagged down his own tounge, Charlie decided the best should’ve been saved for last. He stood up and grabbed his mallet again, the blood dripping down it like red wine. He threw it down with great force onto Bing’s penis multiple times, making the rotund monster yell and squirm in agony. Charlie flipped the mallet around and, using the sharp curved end, peeled the flesh off of his penis like a banana. Piss and blood came flooding out of it, but the vampire could care less. After the penis was peeled entirely, Charlie ripped it off using the curved end of the mallet, and did the same to his balls. He grabbed the elephantine man’s penis and shoved it up his nose, which had blood pouring out of it. His balls went into his ears, which also had blood pouring out of them.

After his castration, the Falstaffian rapist sharing the same name as a search engine was barely alive. His breathing was labored and rattling in his chest.

“Still alive, are we, Mr. Partridge?” Charlie asked with a tone dripping with venom, yet smothered with innocence. “Well, I’m here to tell you that your services are no longer required. You have let me down and failed me. Perhaps you’ll have a better job with Satan in Hell, when you awake in his arms to be his personal torture toy. Maybe your mommy will be there to join in on the fun, just as you had your fun with her! There is just one unfortunate thing, I’m afraid...”

He leaned into his face. “The fires of Hell are not hot enough for the lowest common denominators of shit like you.”

The vampire brought his fangs back out and bit into Bing’s jugular. Frost bite broke the skin around his neck and rotted it. Blood squirted into Charlie’s mouth as he guzzled it down like fruit punch. He consumed the last of Bing’s energy to gain some lost strength from the amount he had to put towards torturing him. When he had his fill of energy and blood, he clawed the literal motherfucker’s hairy face with his nails and tore away at the flesh with his teeth to have a snack.

All the while, Vic was staring in horror at Charlie’s transformation from the polite gentleman she first met at the bus station, offering for her to become his children’s mother... to a primal, animalistic vampire, a true Nosferatu. She didn’t know how to react in the first few moments of watching, but near the end, she was relieved that her rapist was finally dead. She didn’t want to admit it, but part of her was enjoying Charlie torturing him and making a grisly spectacle of him. She was humiliated and degraded by him, and now he was being humiliated and degraded by being a vampire’s play thing and meal. Her mind’s focus would dip back and forth between what was going on around her and her own pain. She pressed her knees to her body and held herself to feel safer.

When Charlie was done, he lifted himself off of the creature’s corpse. Blood dribbled down his chin. It was also splattered on his face and clothes. His hands and nails were soaked, and his teeth and fangs matched. He grabbed his handkerchief and wiped his face and hands off. When they were clean, he looked at the handkerchief and pressed it to one of his fangs. He drained the blood from it and sighed when it was all clean. He placed it back in his front vest pocket and drained any blood splatter on his clothes with his fangs. He lastly licked his teeth and fangs with his tongue, the faint yellow color returning to them. He retracted his fangs and his nails (though, his nails could only retract until a certain point), turning to Vic. She looked up at him with large eyes and a pale face. His gaze softened as he approached her.

“Victoria,” he hushed. “What happened? How did he find you? Why did he do this to you?”

She was silent for a few moments before saying, in a very shaky voice, “He... he must’ve followed me home, found out where I live. He must’ve broke into my house because I noticed my box of condoms and weed was sitting on my bed when I had them in my closet. My mom and I went to a party, and she came home before I did, so she found them. He knew I had them, he told me when I woke up down here, so it had to have been him to place them there and break into my house. My mom got mad at me, but I tried to tell her I was being safe and careful. We got into a fight, and I went off to where my bridge was. I thought I could just get away for a bit and cool off in the woods, but he must’ve followed me then too. He knocked me out and kidnapped me. I woke up here and...” Her voice broke, and tears flooded her eyes.

Charlie nodded, knowing what she meant to say next. Normally, it would’ve bothered him that a younger person, especially a young girl, would be interested in drugs, but he understood weed was a weaker drug, and as long as she was careful and not careless, he supposed he could make do with such behavior. Had this disgusting event not happened, but he still knew she had such belongings somehow, he would’ve been concerned that she had condoms, as that meant she might’ve been interested in losing her virginity to someone else without giving him a chance and therefore couldn’t be with him forever, but he would’ve been fine with it, at the very least, if she had given him a chance and still wasn’t interested in him (as long as she didn’t want to destroy everything he had built), and especially because it meant she truly cared about her life and safety to the point she didn’t want to get knocked up while so young or get a disease. None of that mattered now, of course. In fact, all he cared about was her safety and helping her.

Charlie rested a hand on her shoulder. “When did this happen?”

“I... I can’t remember,” she choked out. “I want to say last night, but I lost track of time.”

He hushed her softly and leaned down to caress her cheek. “Did he ever give a reason why he did this to you?”

“He said it was to make you happy... if that’s true, why would you save me?”

While most of the angry flames in Charlie’s heart had died down after blazing so intensely, this comment made them spark back to a low flicker.

“I would’ve never wanted this. Victoria, I love you. I know you don’t love me, but that doesn’t matter. Even if I hated you, I would never wish or want this upon you. I had an experience very similar to this when I was a young boy, barely a teenager. Why would I want such pain to happen to you or anyone else? Even if I never had that experience, I still wouldn’t want it to happen to you or anyone else.”

“He told me he did it to Hailey’s mom, Sharon,” she whimpered.

Charlie’s eyebrow went up. “Did... this to her?”

Vic nodded. “Is that what you wanted him to do?”

Charlie shook his head firmly. “No! I never asked him to do that. His job was very clear and strict: kill the parents and dispose of them. I never asked him to... for God’s sakes, why would he...” He stopped and rubbed his hand on his temple. “I would never trust a man like that around my children. I would never ask a man to do that... I trusted him, and he failed me. I’m...” He stopped and covered his eyes in shame. “This is all my fault. I’m the reason he did this to you. My God, Victoria, I’m so sorry... I never should’ve hired him. Using my abilities, I knew what he did to his mother, but I thought I could use him for my benefit and the children’s benefits based on his ability to seemingly get away with murdering his parents. I thought he wouldn’t do what he did to his mother again because I was very clear in my directions and I thought he wouldn’t ever want to go against my wishes, but as it turns out...” He paused again, choking on his regret. “I was going to have my babies eat him if he ever made it to Christmasland, anyways. I couldn’t trust him around my children, not after what he did to his own mother! But the fact he did this to you and Sharon, despite me telling him to just kill the parents and dispose of them, and despite me never telling him to lay a finger on you, I... good God, please understand me, Victoria. I don’t expect you to forgive me at all-“

“Charlie,” she interrupted. “This isn’t your fault. Please don’t feel guilty.”

He looked at her, almost confused. He couldn’t believe she was saying these things to him. He expected her to be furious with him, but instead she was... understanding his point of view.

“You were only doing what you think is right, and in some ways, what you’re doing is right. I can see that now more than ever. You didn’t force him to do any of this, I understand that now too. You couldn’t control him doing any of this.”

“If I hadn’t come into your lives, he wouldn’t have-“

Her voice continued to tremble and tears ran down her cheeks. “Charlie, I trusted him before we met you, but I’ll be honest: now that I’ve seen what a monster he was, he was a ticking time bomb. He could’ve turned on me even if you hadn’t shown up in our lives. I could’ve been ‘too nice’ to him, and he could’ve interpreted that as a signal and done things to me. Maybe... it was just some fucked up thing meant to be...” A few sobs squeaked out of her, but she managed to regain some strength to finish what she needed to say. “All I can say is... do not blame yourself, and thank you for saving me. I’m sorry I didn’t understand you before.”

“You don’t feel sorry for anything,” the vampire told her, rubbing her back. “I don’t blame people for being afraid of what I do. In addition, vampires are misunderstood beings. We look frightening, aspects of us are frightening, and we can’t help it. People only look at our covers and don’t read the words in between. It’s an easy thing to do.” He stopped and looked down at his feet. “I still feel guilty and believe it to be my fault this happened to you, and I can’t even express how sorry I am it did...” He changed the topic. “...And I’m glad we’ve made up in a way, but now we need to get going. We need to get you out of here and to a hospital.”

He gingerly lifted Vic up off the chair. Blood dripped down her legs and she began to cry again. Charlie gently hushed her and held her close to him.

“Do you need my help to put back on your bra and panties?”

She shook her head and pulled everything back on, trying to fight her tears. She grabbed her other articles of clothing and slipped them back on as well. Her biker jacket was tossed near the staircase. She grabbed it, but pain from within her body caused her to cry out and hesitate. He came to her aid and grabbed her jacket for her. She thanked him and pulled it close around her body.

“Do you have everything?” He asked her.

Vic checked her pockets and nodded.

“Good.” The vampire grabbed his mallet, lapped at the blood on it like a popsicle, flipped it, and stuck the sharp, curved end through Bing’s forehead.

“I’m taking this to Christmasland. I promised my children a delicious dinner full of fat, and I’m not letting them down. Plus, without a body, it will make things harder for police to trace things back to me or you. There’s no need for a case, as justice has been served. We will tell the hospital and any police that it was a large man, neither of us could get any physical details, I found you in the woods near your bridge because I heard screaming while I was driving, and I saved you because I scared him and he ran away. Is that okay?”

Vic nodded again. “What if my school or Bing’s other job notices he’s missing?”

Charlie pointed towards the gas, huddled in a corner of the basement.

“We’ll burn this place down, and make it seem as though he lost his house and he’s now gone homeless. Either that, or his remains were destroyed entirely. Nobody will know.”

“Okay, that’s perfect.” She grunted at another pain near her stomach. “These feel like period cramps, but so much worse...”

“I know, dear, I know...” Charlie held her close to his body with one arm and dragged Bing’s corpse with his other as they walked back upstairs. “You’re safe now. You’re going to sit in my front seat, we’re going to take you to a hospital, they’ll treat your injuries, give you Plan B, give you some anti-viral drugs to prevent HIV, any antibiotics as well, you can call your parents, and you’ll return home with them. You’re going to be alright. I know it doesn’t seem like it, believe me, I know very well. But I will be by your side and I will help you as much as I can.”

She clung to him, the two of them going down the narrow hallway. Using his telekinesis, Charlie unlocked the door and threw it open. They walked all the way back to the car. The passenger door creaked open. Charlie led Vic to it. She crawled into the car and sat down on the cushiony leather seat.

“Wait here,” he told her. “I’ll be right back.”

He closed the door and dragged Bing’s bludgeoned carcass to his trunk. He opened it up, raised the body (with the extra help of the mallet), and half threw it into the back of his car. After pulling the end of the mallet out of his head and setting it to the side of his body, he closed the trunk with great force. He walked over to the driver’s side of the car and opened his door. Vic was a bit startled at this, as she had been lost in time for a moment.

“Don’t fret, darling,” he hushed. “I’m just grabbing my lighter.”

He popped open the compartment near her knees and rustled through his candy canes, pine tree air fresheners, and map of The United Inscapes of America until he found his red lighter.

“I’ve got a few more at home, I can easily replace it.” He turned his keys and the Wraith purred to life. He smiled at Vic warmly and said, “I’m starting the car for an easy and safe getaway. There is going to be a big explosion, and I want you to enjoy that beast’s den going out with a big bang.”

He closed the door behind him and trotted back to the house. He went back down to the basement, organizing the sevoflurane canisters in a particular order he felt fit. He turned them all on. He went into Bing’s garage and gathered up a bunch of gas cans. He emptied all of the oil out all throughout the house. This not only ensured the house would burn, but it would throw authorities off and they would struggle to figure out which was the exact cause for the fire, if they could even find one or the other. Making things as confusing as possible for the police was key, because the more confusing, the colder the case.

When Charlie was done with the oil, he walked downstairs for the last time. He opened his lighter, flicked it on, and threw it at the containers. The second it hit them, he took off running out of the house. Heat picked up behind him as he jumped out of the doorway and fell onto the ground. The Wraith in front of him lurched backwards on its own from his control. It screeched to a halt when it was far back enough.

The initial explosion of gingerbread smoke in the basement caused the whole bottom half of the house to blow to smithereens. The fire spread from the basement to the rest of the house thanks to the oil and the fact the house was wooden in a matter of seconds. Fireballs exploded the windows just as Charlie threw himself down, causing glass to rain all over him. Heat as warm as the sun made his face drip with sweat instantly. The light was blindingly bright, strong enough to make one want to cover their eyes.

That is what Vic did the moment the house burst into flames. She gasped at the intensity and hid her eyes from the light comparable to that of a nuclear blast. When things seemed to die down, she looked up like a timid child from their blankets.

Charlie stood up and brushed himself off. He was completely unscathed, just had some dirt and dust on his clothing. He brushed his hands off as he approached his car. The door opened for him and he slid into the driver’s seat. Before he pulled the door shut again, he sniffed, and Vic got a whiff of what he was smelling.

“Gingerbread, oil, and burning wood,” he observed outloud. He closed his door and turned to Vic. “Certainly an interesting scent. Perhaps they should make a candle out of it. They can call it, ‘Dead Rapist’s Burning House.’ They could make a cause out of it: buy a candle, and you’ll be putting money towards torching a just-murdered rapist’s house down. Think of all the money that company would make, and think of all the sinister creatures of this world they’d be dealing with. Quite frankly, they should really make that a business. I know I’d donate.”

“I’d donate too,” she said softly. “Kill them all and burn all their houses to the ground.”

Charlie backed up his car, and as they were about to leave the burning house, Vic said one thing:

“It doesn’t matter that we didn’t leave his body in the house, because he’s already experiencing the heat and scent of his own poisonous gingerbread in Hell as we speak.”

Charlie nodded. “Yes he is, Victoria. Yes he is.”

Father Christmas took off on his sleek and black horse, the Brat by his side. His car served as a hearse as the dead monster in the back rolled around limply at every bump in the road.

They arrived at the local hospital. Vic was silent for the rest of the ride. She was too lost in her muddy thoughts, and Charlie didn’t force her into conversation. He didn’t expect her to speak, he understood that very well. Plus, there wasn’t much else to say at the time. They had made up loosely (for the time being), misunderstandings were clarified, their plans for the police were clear, and they had dealt with the creature behind it all.

Vic’s mind wandered throughout her torment in various directions. Charlie’s mind wandered throughout his guilt. A part of his mind told him that he was not at fault. He was clear in his instruction to Bing, it was that creature’s doing and fault. But a part of him felt it was his fault. Had he not entered either of their lives...

No, stop, his brain said. It could’ve happened anyways. You didn’t know the full story behind his end of his relationship with Vic. Maybe he was to do things to her regardless. If you had known him to desire to do this to her or anyone else earlier, you would’ve killed him then and there, but you didn’t because you didn’t know. But if you approached things differently... no, again, you would’ve had to know. You knew what he did to his mother, but you also knew he hated to disappoint and loved to please a fatherly figure. He was perfect for following orders. He went completely against them by hurting Vic and Sharon the way he did, that’s his doing, not yours.

But it doesn’t matter, it’s still my fault, isn’t it? It wasn’t intentional, but it’s still my fault.

Charlie pushed his mental conflict to the back of his mind for a moment as he pulled into a spot in the parking garage. He helped Vic into the hospital. They talked to a few nurses, who took her in. They gave her Plan B to prevent a pregnancy, collected evidence through a rape kit, and catered to her injuries. Police entered her room a few minutes later. She told them everything that Charlie and her agreed to say, and the vampire corroborated the story. They wrote everything down and said they’d do the best they could to catch the assailant. Once everyone left the room, Charlie and Vic looked at each other, their eyes knowing that the assailant was already dealt with.

He looked down, feeling disappointed in himself and painfully sorry for Vic. “Sorry doesn’t change anything,” said he, “but I want you to know from the bottom of my heart that I am. I will never forgive myself for this.” He covered his face. “What kind of man am I?”

“Charlie, please don’t,” She croaked. “I told you it was him, not you. If what you’re saying is true and you never told him to do these things...”

“Yes, I never told him to do these things.”

She sighed through her nose, looking down at her wringing hands. “You only do what you think is right, and in some ways, what you do is right. He went above and beyond all of what is questionably good and did a lot worse. He disobeyed you. He’s the monster, not you. You’re not perfect, and your actions aren’t entirely saintly, but I think I understand you more. Watching you murder him like that... I understand you have a moral code. He didn’t. I also now know you don’t harm the children, based on your protectiveness of them. Yes, they’re all vampires like you, but they’re safe from harm and can hurt those who would want to harm them, people like him. Plus, you’re preventing them from having dark futures, ones that you and I had coming for us when we were kids. Again, you’re not perfect, but you’re certainly not that sack of shit in your trunk. You’re better than him. This isn’t your fault. Don’t live in guilt for something you never did.”

“I’m psychic, I should’ve known-“

“Psychics aren’t perfect or know to use their powers to read everything in the future. That’s exhausting and unrealistic.”

“I had the power in my hands-“

“People have the power to do a lot of things. Does that mean things go perfect and they’re fully able to do or stop something or see something? Of course not. Charlie, please stop putting the blame on yourself.”

Their wounded eyes met each other.

“You really think all of this?”

“Of course. Why else am I saying it?”

He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you, Victoria. I’m just... relieved he’s dead and dealt with.”

“I am too, and I have you to thank for that. Nothing can change what happened to me, but... who could know or control a rapist’s actions...” She wiped tears from her eyes and pointed towards her jacket set on the chair next to Charlie. “Could you give me my phone so I can call my parents? I told the cops I’d let them know what’s happening so that they wouldn’t have to, and I’m sure they don’t want to wait around any longer.”

Charlie nodded and gave her the phone. She opened it up and saw a bunch of texts from both parents. She called her mother first and foremost.

On the first ring, her mother picked up. She was clearly worried sick and her father’s voice was heard too, just as worried. Vic explained to them both what happened to her in a shaky voice. She told them the hospital she was at, and they agreed to come to her. The entire time, Charlie felt a sick pain in his heart.

Within twenty minutes, her parents came through the door. They hugged her and held her tightly as she wept in their arms. After a few minutes of talking to her, her father turned to Charlie.

“This must be the man that saved you,” he said. He hugged Charlie tightly, which made him awkwardly hug him back.

“Thank you for saving my little Brat,” he whispered. “You’re a life saver.”

Shame and guilt still swelling his heart, Charlie whispered back, “There is no need to thank me, sir.”

“No need?” Her mother asked. “You saved our Vicki from that man. I hope to God justice is served and he gets what he deserves.”

“I’m sure he will, mom,” Vic hushed. “Even if they don’t find him, he’s gonna get what he deserves. Who knows, he might be getting it already as we speak.”

“I’d like to think that...” She walked over to Charlie and hugged him. “Thank you so much, Mr...”

“Charles, madam, you may call me Charles,” Charlie told her, hugging her back. It was still awkward, and guilt still clawed at his heart, but he continued, out of courtesy and comfort. They ended their hug and he gave a glance at Vic, who looked up at him with equal sadness in her eyes.

“Alas, I must be going. I shall leave you all amongst yourselves to heal during this time. If you need me for whatever reason there may be, here is my number. I will be more than willing to help in anyway I can.”

He pulled out his wallet from one of the inside pockets of his coat, took out a small piece of paper from it, and wrote down a set of numbers. When he was done, he gave it to Vic, who nodded.

“Thank you again,” her father said. “We can’t thank you enough.”

“You are most certainly welcome,” Charlie replied, shaking hands with him. He shook hands with her mother and replied similarly upon her thanking him. He gave one last eye-to-eye exchange with Vic. They both had relief in their eyes, but there was also a deep, empathetic sadness.

“Farewell, Victoria. If you need me, please do not hesitate to call me. I will help you to the best of my ability.”

“Goodbye, Charlie. I will. Thank you for everything.”

He half smiled and nodded at her. “No need to thank me, my dear.”

He closed the door behind him, remorse still egging at him. He left the hospital and stepped inside his car, off to go back to Colorado and to Christmasland to provide his children with dinner.

He drove with his emotions still drowning his mind and heart. His car, almost seeming to know his feelings, turned on the radio by itself to play music fitting his mood. The Animals serenaded about the House Of The Rising Sun as he left Haverhill, all the shame and pity clinging to him.

When he reached Christmasland and provided warmth and smiles to his children, joy came back to him for a while as he watched them enjoy their fat meal. But that night, after tucking the children to bed and retiring for the night, the shame and pity came back to him through his sleepy thoughts.

Before slipping into a very bad and vivid dream about the day’s events, a few tears shed from his eyes, and he mumbled, “Victoria... I’m so sorry...”

Months had passed. Within that time, Charlie had found a better assistant, one that had no intent on doing disturbing things to the parents, only ending them intelligently and saving the children. He was a former hitman, and he quickly became friends with Charlie. The girl being harmed by her uncle was the first to be saved, and the hitman proved his worth from the beginning. The girl was brought to Christmasland completely safe and fine, now a strong and forever young vampire, and the uncle was dealt with in a proper manner. The hitman, named Crosby, was definitely a keeper, and he would be on his way to spending an eternity in Christmasland, only leaving to save more children. The kids would know he was a good man based on their father knowing he was a good man, so he was to not end up like the previous assistant.

Vic had not contacted Charlie at all, and he had not contacted her. He thought about her often, and hoped she was recovering and healing. He decided to visit her one day. He bid his children good bye and told them he’d be back later that evening. He arrived in Haverhill a few hours later and searched the local neighborhoods, trying to sense Vic. When he sensed her at one house in particular, he knew it was her mother’s house. She was not home at the time, and Vic was by herself in her room.

The vampire parked in her small drive way, stepped out of his car, and knocked on her door. She answered, a bit surprised to see him.

“Hello, Victoria. I do hate to be rude and arrive unannounced, but I had to check on you. It’s been so long, and I admit, I’ve been concerned about you.”

“Oh, hey... yeah, I’ve been doing better. I’m still... rough, as you can imagine, but at least things are starting to look a bit better.”

“That’s splendid,” he said warmly.

“You, uh... wanna come in?”

“Certainly.”

He came inside and she led him to her bedroom. Various gothy, horror memorabilia was scattered throughout it. A pack of Little Debby cookies sat on her bed, next to her sketchbook opened up to a detailed drawing of the woods. She was in the middle of playing a game on her Xbox, as her Mortal Kombat fight was paused. Through the menu options, you could see Queen Sindel letting out a banshee scream, knocking over Emperor Shao Kahn. Her purple lava lamp and the sunlight from the windows were the only source of light for her, so she turned on her ceiling light.

“Sorry for it being so dark. My lava lamp is sort of... my nightlight. I’ve been having nightmares ever since... the incident. I keep the curtains open because it helps me to sleep when I look up at the moon and the stars. Although, I have to close it when I have one reoccurring nightmare. It’s where... he, comes back and breaks through my window to hurt me...” She paused to regain some strength. She turned to Charlie, who sat next to her on her bed. “Is that normal?”

“Of course,” he hushed. “Nightmares are a completely normal reaction to such a horrible event. I had lots of reoccurring nightmares throughout my teenage years after my incident. They stopped once I met my first wife, but I’d rather not talk about her. Let’s just say we had a great bond in the beginning, but she... changed into a venomous snake later on and made things worse for me and my daughters. Enough of me, please, let’s talk about you. I’d like to help you in anyway I can. I understand every ounce of your pain, and I am here for you.”

She looked up at him. “Thank you, Charlie. I really mean it. Have you been feeling any guilt, even after we talked about how you shouldn’t?”

“I admit it, I have. At least once every day.”

She shook her head. “Please don’t. That’s all I can tell you. I’ve told you why you shouldn’t, it’s just up to you now to not feel guilt.”

He nodded. “I brought you some gifts, one of which I bought on my way here.”

He fished through his one jacket pocket and pulled out a book. The book looked dusty, but well kept. It was a copy of “Little Women.”

“Forgive me if it isn’t your type of literature, as I am not familiar with all of your interests. I had this book among my vast collection and figured it would be a nice gift for a woman. Plus, one of the few things I know about you is that you like art, and it comes with very pretty illustrations here and there.”

Vic smiled when she flipped through it. “Charlie, this is very sweet of you. I’ll be sure to read it. I’ve already blown through all my comics, and I’ve never read this before, so this would be nice. Maggie gave me a few books to help me too, she’s been very supportive and helpful. She actually stopped by a few days ago to talk... I’m very glad I have her as a friend.”

Charlie nodded. He was weary of Margaret and her suspicions towards him, but at this point, he decided her safe, especially if she wasn’t after him now (well, at least to his knowledge). “I’m glad you two have each other. Friends are always good to have when times are tough. And I’m glad you like the book. There is another thing I have...”

He pulled out from the same jacket pocket a necklace. The necklace had a shimmering green Emerald in the middle of a silver lilly. Vic took it and analyzed it with sparkling eyes.

“Emerald is my birth stone,” she said. “And my birth flower is Lilly of the Valley... where did you get this?”

“It was one of my wife’s necklaces. She wasn’t even a May baby, she just liked it. You are far more deserving of it then she ever was. Do take good care of it, especially because it comes from... 19...24? 1925? I don’t remember. Either way, it comes from the 20’s, so it holds great value.”

“Charlie, that’s... beyond nice. Thank you.”

“You have one more. This is the one I got on my way here at a thrift store I saw.” He pulled out her final gift: a small My Little Pony figurine. The pony was pink with violet red, orange, and yellow in her mane, and greenish-blue and violet blue in her tail. Her eyes were aqua, and her cutie mark had an artist’s paint brush with a few squiggle lines. A tag around her neck read, “Toola Roola: My Little Pony 3rd Generation.” Vic took the toy horse and analyzed her.

“I thought of you when I saw her because of the connection to art she has. I don’t know how much you like them, if you even like them at all, but I thought she’d be a nice gift.”

Vic smiled even wider. “I’m not a fan of My Little Pony, but I certainly do like her. It’s perfectly fine, Charlie, you thought of me and got me something, and that means a lot to me.” She set the pony aside and gave Charlie a hug, which he happily gave back to her.

“Thank you so much for all you’ve done for me.”

He smiled even wider and said, “Of course. I know exactly what you’re going through. I know how hard it is. But you don’t have to fight this battle alone, even if I feel I’m the cause it had to begin-“

“No, Charlie, you’re not.” She patted his back. “Enough with that.” She separated from him, and that’s when he noticed a picture on her nightstand.

“Who is that boy, might I ask?”

“Oh, that’s Craig. He’s my boyfriend, and we’ve known each other since we were kids. He’s been helping me a lot too when he can. He’s a sweetheart.”

Had these horrible events not taken place, jealousy would’ve filled Charlie’s heart, and he knew he would’ve had to really show off to get Vic’s attention so that she could perhaps choose him over a mere boy. But the events had taken place, and Charlie was just happy that Vic had someone like a boyfriend to help her, especially when her trauma could’ve been to the point she wouldn’t have wanted a boyfriend at all. Part of him wanted to be her boyfriend... but he knew that he couldn’t be with her because he couldn’t be with her forever, just like his heart wanted. So, it was something to forget about and just hope for the best for the both of them.

“I wish the best for the both of you,” he smiled and said.

“Thanks.”

They were silent for a few moments before an idea occurred to the vampire.

“You know, I could help make your nightmares go away, and I can help ease your mind. I’m capable of hypnosis, and if you’re willing, I could hypnotize you to help you.”

“You’d do that for me?”

“Certainly.”

“Well, all right then. Do I look you in the eyes?”

“Yes. Just look me in the eyes and relax.”

Vic did just that as she laid back on her bed. Charlie’s eyes became rainbow filled, and he lulled her to sleep while singing Pure Imagination. Her own eyes mimicked his, and she fell into a deep and restful sleep, peaceful dreams coming to her at long last. Charlie gave her a few suggestions to help ease her pain, and when she was done agreeing to them in her trance-like state, he beamed proudly.

He decided he wanted to sleep too, so he laid back next to Vic. They didn’t snuggle or touch intimately, as they were simply lying next to each other as two tired friends. He closed his own eyes and fell into her dream with her, a dream about sugarplums dancing in their heads.

The Wraith and The Brat became unlikely good friends. They both helped each other through their pain, and ever since that cruel day, one good thing amongst all the horror came out of it: Father Christmas became her guardian vampire, her savior, and her Nosferatu, and that was how it was always going to be.

#nos4a2 #charlie manx #vic mcqueen #charles manx #nos4a2 charlie #nos4a2 vic #nos4a2 fanfiction #nos4a2 fanfic

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kristannarubbish · 4 years

Text

learn to do it (chapter one)

A/N: hi peeps! so i may or may not have started writing a “princess diaries but make it norway” kristanna fic. here it is, i have it all planned but finals are coming up so i’m not sure how regular updates will be. nonethless, i hope you guys all like it!

A/N 2: the italics outside of quotation marks are anna/kristoff’s thoughts

rating: T for langauge

pairing: kristanna

wc: 2.2k

part: 1 of 9(ish?)

“Princess Anna!” An overly sophisticated voice called with a round of knocks on Anna’s bedroom door on a bright Saturday morning.

A groan escaped Anna's lips as the late morning light blinded her, “Five more minutes.”

“You’re going to be late. Again.” The voice reminded her sternly.

With a loud whine, Anna sat up and stretched, “You can come in you know.”

“I know,” the door creaked and her best friend walked in. “But personally, I’m too afraid of sleepy Anna after the first time.”

“It wasn’t that bad, it barely grazed your arm!”

“It was a heel Anna. I got 3 stitches. You should know, you paid for them.”

Anna rolled her eyes and fell back into bed. Before she knew it, Olaf was giving her the look. In fact, she didn’t even have to look at him to know it was happening because she felt it burning into her.

“Don’t say it,” Anna warned, still staring at her popcorn ceiling.

“Being this boujee in Brooklyn doesn’t pay for itself!” Olaf said, staring at her with a smirk.

“Okay there are several reasons that doesn’t make any sense,” Anna stated, finally crawling herself out of bed, making her way towards the bathroom. Olaf trailed behind, ready for her rambling explanation.

“One, we are not boujee,” she said with exaggerated air quotes, “I don’t think boujee apartments have slanted floors and broken faucets.” Anna turned the left knob of the sink, no water coming out.

“Two, it does pay for itself if you sit around looking pretty long enough in the right spot,” Anna laughed as she began to hastily brush her hair. Olaf scoffed at her, rolling his eyes.

“And finally, stop calling me princess. It’s weird.” Anna splashed her face with water once the faucet finally decided to start working.

“It’s not weird. If anything it’s a compliment,” Olaf stepped behind her in the mirror as he fixed his already overly-greased brown hair.

“I’m sure that’s what the old men at the restaurant thought when they called me over for their dinner drinks last night,” she rolled her eyes heavily as she slapped on some moisturizer. “But, they did leave a good tip. See, living in Brooklyn does pay for itself!”

Olaf scoffed and ran his hands through his hair again, “Yeah, if you are a misogynist.”

“Don’t huff! In that case, misogyny is unfortunately paying for half our rent,” Anna yanked out her makeup bag. “Now scooch because I have to get ready.”

Olaf put his hands up in defense, backing away, “I’ll see you after work tonight?”

“Duh. It’s Bachelor night.”

*************************************************

The midday sun blared on Anna’s pale skin as she climbed up the stairs from the subway station. She took a few deep breaths as she knew what had to do. Her phone read 12:25 and her shift started at 1. Without a moment to spare, she dashed down the busy street. Two more blocks. 12:26. One more block. 12:28. Just when she went to check her phone again, Anna slammed into someone.

With an oof noise, followed by a slight laugh, a familiar voice spoke, “Anna when will you learn that ten minutes early is on time in the food business?”

Anna felt her cheeks turn hot, and it wasn’t from the sprinting. Strong arms steadied her and she caught her breath. It was Kristoff, one of the senior chefs at their restaurant. Anna tried not to crush too much, keep her eyes on the hustle and whatever other millenal mumbo jumbo. But Kristoff was most definitely an exception. Not only could he cook, he was so sweet and funny. It also didn’t help that he was one of the most handsome guys she had ever seen in real life.

“Anna? You there?” Kristoff hesitantly asked as inspected her spaced out eyes that were lost on his face.

“Huh? Yeah!” She blinked several times and shrugged his hands off her arms, “Thanks for that! It was like a crazy trust fall or something.”

He chuckled lightly as he opened the wooden door for her, “Ladies first.” The redhead did not notice the pink on his cheeks.

“Thanks!” Anna squeaked, with her voice maybe a little too high pitched. She cleared her throat and headed for the back. Kristoff branched off with her at the kitchen. She turned to him, with finger guns ablazing “Catcha later!”

Kristoff gave her his lopsided smile, “Later Anna.”

Anna immediately face palmed the second she was out of his line of vision. Catcha later? Seriously Anna? That’s the best thing you could think of? She punched in and tied her black apron around her waist. 12:30:55. Great. Not only did you embarrass yourself in front of the hottest guy you know, but you were almost late because of it.

********************************

“Don’t sit around chopping carrots pretending I did not see you catch Anna on her way into work this morning,” Sven smirked to Kristoff while making his nightly rounds, making sure everyone was doing their jobs like the good manager he was.

Kristoff rolled his eyes, “I would hardly call it catching. It was more like a slamming.”

His best friend joked with him, “Ooo, slamming even better.”

“Ew! Gross dude, don’t make me call HR.”

“You’re right. That was slimy. But still, when are you gonna ask her out?”

“Sven, you’re my manager. I don’t think you should be promoting workplace relationships.”

“True. But, I am also your best friend, which comes first,” Sven affirmed. Kristoff cocked an eyebrow, looking up from his diced carrots.

“Okay, maybe paying an arm and a leg for a roof over my head comes first. But you’re definitely 1.5. And as my 1.5 priority all I am saying is that you should ask her out before someone else does,” Sven popped a diced carrot into his mouth and went to go check on the dessert station.

The thing that made Kristoff’s gut twist the most is that Sven was definitely right. And he hated when Sven was right. Maybe even more than overhearing creepy old men call Anna “princess” when the restaurant got empty later in the night. No, Kristoff hated the latter more.

Kristoff was convinced that Anna wouldn’t want to go out with him. After all, they were work buddies, or something like that. Her label, not his. But he was sick of not knowing. He has had a crush on her for months but hasn’t got the nerve to do more than open a door for her or steady her when she does something clumsy. At that moment, he made a decision, he would ask her out soon. No need to push a certain time because Kristoff always hated time limits, but soon.

*****************************

Sooner came sooner than expected. Way sooner, actually.

That night, Anna took over someone else’s shift so she ended up working until the restaurant closed. They were short staffed, so most of the other private chefs and waiters weren’t there once the end of the night neared.

Anna was wiping down tables when everyone was nearly gone, expect a young tipsy couple in the corner. Kristoff wanted to surprise her with something nice, because it’s what she deserved. In the dim lighting of the restaurant he had a small chocolate cake on a fancy floral plate. Kristoff was not a pastry chef, but he damn well did his best. His hands were gripped tight around the plate as he took a deep breath and gulped, “Anna?”

Her fiery red hair flipped as she turned around, “Hi Kristoff,” she smiled warmly up at him.

“This is for you,” he half smiled nervously back at her.

“For me?” Anna beamed so bright you could see her teeth. This made Kristoff’s stomach do backflips and somersaults. I just want to make her smile like that all the time. Jesus, that’s cheesy.

“Uhm, yeah. It’s not a big deal,” he said as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Oh, okay,” Anna’s smile faltered.

“No wait! I mean, it can be if you want it to be but, if not, I get it,” Kristoff stammered, which was pissing him off because it was making himself look ridiculous. This 6 foot, 180 pound man could not make a coherent thought to a woman he was interested in.

“What are you saying?” Anna’s forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“Do you want to go on a date with me, Anna?” Kristoff asked with the warmest smile he could, which, around Anna was not difficult.

Anna’s face went into an ‘o’ shape. Shit, she’s going to say no. It’s fine, I prepared for this all night. Right? I mean if she does say no, that’s cool. We can be friends. Anna set the plate on the bar. She smiled warmly up at him and threw herself around her. If this is a no, it’s a very excited no. He wrapped his strong arms around her in response.

“Yes!” Anna beamed. Oh thank God. Without another word, he picked her up and spun her around. She squealed in his ear, but he didn’t mind.

After setting her down, they both chuckled exasperatedly at each other. “If I knew I would have gotten a twirl like that and chocolate cake I would have made a move a long time ago,” Anna smirked and Kristoff laughed.

“I think I can do that,” they continued to just smile at each other like they were in a daze for, well, maybe longer than they should have.

“Kristoff!” One of the other private chefs called, breaking them out of their fairytale daze, “We need you on prep duty!”

“Oh, I gotta go,” Kristoff said with downturned lips.

“You have my number though, right? We can work something out over text.”

“Yeah, that sounds great, Anna,” he smiled at her again.

It felt like there was a beginners ballet class in her stomach there was so much flipping.

****************************

As Anna was going home that night, it felt as if she was walking on air. Usually, she hurries home this late at night, but tonight she leisurely walked the quiet streets of Brooklyn. (Pepper spray still in hand, of course.)

During her possibly too slow walk, she noticed a black car start to follow her. This was not unusual, but still concerning nonetheless, so Anna walked faster to the subway. Once she got underground she was still checking over her shoulder, but overall felt more secure.

The subway ride was peaceful since it was so late, the fluorescent lighting illuminating her dreams of what her and Kristoff’s first date might look like. Would it be casual or fancy? Well, Kristoff has always been a more casual guy with me, so maybe just a movie or something. But the fancy floral plate said otherwise. Oh God, what if our schedules don’t line up?!

Once Anna got off the subway and came back to the cool dark streets, she noticed the car was there waiting for her. She also noticed it had a small flag on it that she didn’t recognize at first glance, because once she saw the car again, Anna booked it back to her apartment. Today is not the day I get kidnapped. Cute guy finally wants to go out with me and I am never seen again. That’s just my luck, huh?

Anna fumbled with her keys quickly but once she got into her apartment, she slammed the door and frantically made sure all the locks were on. Out of breath, she slid her back down the door to see Olaf sitting on the couch.

“There’s good news,” she panted, “and bad news.”

“That makes two of us,” Olaf rolled his eyes, “You first.”

Anna groaned, but then smiled at her own reminder of her good news, “Kristoff asked me out tonight. And there was chocolate cake involved.”

“Fucking finally,” Olaf chuckled.

“That’s all you have to say?” Anna asked as she brought herself from the floor.

“Uh, yeah! For the longest time it was always Kristoff this and Kristoff that. It was bound to happen eventually so it just became a waiting game. But anyway I think my thing is bigger so let’s hurry this up.”

“Okay geez. Bad news, some guy followed me all the way home just now in a car with a little flag on it. Including my subway route! He knew my subway route!” Anna ranted frantically. “So if I go missing, you know why.”

Olaf’s eyes widened, “Oh, shit Anna. Uhm... We’ll figure something out.” She sighed and joined him on the couch.

“Please tell me your good news.”

“I don’t know if this qualifies as good news or… weird news. So today, a man came by dressed in all black and asked for you.”

Anna’s eyes widened, “They know where I live!”

“No no no Anna, they asked for you on behalf of the her majesty of Arendelle,” Olaf said seriously, handing her an official note with Anna’s name on it.

She said up to inspect it, “What the flying fuck would a cold European country want to do with me?” Normally, Anna would be freaking out over this because of its randomness, but she was too exhausted to process it all.

Olaf examined the note as well, “Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe you’re a lost princess or something,” he fantasized.

“Yes because I am prime princess material,” Anna stated, gesturing to her slouched position on their couch, “Tomorrow at 9 AM. That’s very early, can yo-”

“Yes I can wake you up,” Olaf rolled his eyes at his best friend’s ridiculousness.

“Now, what’s the bad news,” Anna sighed, ready to brace whatever it is he was about to hit her with.

“You missed Bachelor night, and boy was it a juicy one.”

#im so tired i wrote this for 3 hours #i just couldnt get the idea out of my head and didnt wanna wait till tomorrow #so yeah!#ltdi #my fics!#kristanna #kristanna fic #frozen fic #frozen #frozen 2 #kristanna fanfic #kristanna fandom #frozen fanfic #kristoff #anna #olaf #sven

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nox-scrie · 4 years

Text

Shady Bussines

What do you mean it’s the 27th and I should have posted this a day earlier for the TMA5 Countdown? Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of recovering my senses from a senseless previous day. Anyway. This is the second day of TMA5 Countdown wow!! The fears were The Corruption and The Buried and because I love that coffin with all my heart I decided to bring it back for another round. No, this one is not corrected either and no, I’m not sorry. I hate rereading my works. It happens. Hope y’all gonna enjoy it though!!

Fears: The Corruption; The Buried brieeef mentions of The Eye

Content Warnings: Death, Paranoia, some mentions of Insects

Rating: Teen and Up Audience

Characters: Jon “Tired of your shit before you even started talking” Sims, Martin “What even is going on” Blackwood, Jane Prentiss, some mentions of Tim “Love of my life” Stoker and Sasha “WHY WON’T YOU LET ME LOVE YOU” James; also some OCs and one of them appeared in Day 1 too!

Setting: Season 1!! a little after episode 22, with Martin’s time spent in self isolation (hah.)

Word Count: ~3670

~~~ Shady Bussines

Jon stepped into his office, viewing the piles of unread, unordered statements, and felt another headache forming. He was having none of the former Archivist's shit, not after last night.

There was little light in his office, and he turned off almost all the ones that were still on. The buzzing of the light bulbs was annoying what was left of Jon's sanity, and he wanted to be in the best of his mental capacity when he read a statement he has prepared, one that seemed to be related to Case #9982211.

He slowly dragged himself to his office anyway, putting on his reading glasses that were hung around his neck and tightening his tie. This was his job, and he didn't want to be fired after barely a month of being the Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute because of a pretty bad hangover.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he opened a drawer, the only fucking thing in order in this room, and got a tape recorder out. He sighed, thinking with half a mind to call Martin and ask him for a cup of tea and a Paracetamol. Hah. Good joke, Jon. Not after last night.

He took a deep breath, slowly picked up a lint from his skirt and cleared his throat. Maybe he could burry himself in statements until his headache goes away, and forget everything he has said to Tim last night. Yeah. That sounds like a good plan.

"Statement of Horace Dwayne regarding his experience with a strange coffin, Archway, London. Original statement given October 17th, 2013. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Statement beginns.

I knew my fiancé's job was not one of the legal kind. There was simply no way a person with no college education can make enough money as to afford as moving in together in our apartment, barely five months after we got engaged. Yet, I never mentioned it, and I think they were grateful because of that.

We first met a few years ago, on a dating app for LGBTQ+ people. It was a casual thing, we just hit each other up when we needed company, and never talked about anything in particular. Until one day, they asked me if I lived in Manchester and I said that yes, I did. They came to my place a few hours after that, rain soaked and bleeding from a wound on their torso.

That was the first time I met Morgan Doe in person, and it was me, clumsily stitching up something that looked like a kinfe wound on their side. I asked for some details, but Mo didn't tell me anything. They just thanked me for taking care of them because they couldn't go to the hospital. I remember ranting about how they should take better care of themselves, and how Mo looked at me in the eye before bending to kiss me. Or maybe I was the one bending. In that moment, though, it didn't matter: we were kissing, and after I started ignoring the wetness of their lips and how they hissed when I climbed on top of them, it was actually really good.

Mo asked me to be their boyfriend a month after that, and I said yes. We moved in my crappy, ranted apartment in Manchester, and lived there for almost a year before I asked them to marry me. I knew that we couldn't get married right away; I was between jobs at the moment, and even though I still wasn't sure what Mo actually did for a living, I knew that they will not be able to afford a wedding in a matter of months

Or that was what I thought then. One day, when I got home from a failed job interview, I found Mo in the kitchen, happily mumbling the lyrics of some song that was playing on the radio. I asked them what got them so cheery, and they just turned to face me and started dangling a set of keys in front of my eyes. Mo kissed me, and said that they managed finally get us a place for our own.

I knew that something was wrong then. I knew that something was painfully, terribly wrong, from how fast they managed to find us a place right after we got engaged, to the glint in their eyes, that mischievious glint, when they shared the news. I tried getting the information out of them, how did they actually manage to find us a place so fast, but Mo just shooshed me and said that I shouldn't worry, because they were going to give me the wedding of my dreams, and the life that I deserve.

A month after that, we were already settled in Archway, London. Apparently the apartment has been pretty cheap because of the loud neighbours, especially a woman who claimes to hear wasps in the attic. The first night we got there, I saw her in the garden of the apartment building, staring at the basement door. Her eyes were bloodshot red and she looked ill. When she turned her face straight towards me, I was too surprised to turn away. I think she smiled, but I don't remember her lifting the corners of her mouth. It felt like she was smiling, though.

I had a job now, in a shopping centre, selling vegetables. It wasn't much, but somehow we never dealt with money problems in our house. It seemed like the money never ended, in fact, and Mo told me more than once that I shouldn't be concerned about that. And I tried very hard to not be, but in the darkest of nights I still remembered that gilnt in their eyes when they showed me the key.

It was an usual evening when the coffin came. I was having my tea and reading a book that has made its appearence in my house, ignoring the weird noises the woman from upstairs, Jane something, made. There was a knock on the door, and I hoped it wasn't that creepy woman asking for some flour. I really wouldn't like to know what she did with it.

But it wasn't Jane. The two men sitting in my doorway were so tall I had to crack my neck to see their faces, obscured by some big caps. They spoke in some sort of accents, probably russian, and said they were from a delivery serivce and they had a package for Morgan Doe. Mo was not home at the moment, and chills were creeping up my back when one of them extended a clipboard for me to sign. I told them that Mo is my fiancé and that they're not home yet. The two men looked at each other, and one of them shrugged. I signed the papers and the two placed the big box in my kitchen, the first room of the apartment, and left without a word. I only assumed that the package was already paid.

I didn't know what it was, but if Mo has ordered something for the house they would have told me. I thought that maybe it was something for work, and that thought made me feel unwell. I called Mo, but they didn't pick up. I only thought they were busy, and I eyed the big box suspiciously. I went back in the living room for my tea, and I got back to the kitchen with it. It couldn't be something from work, I thought, work doesn't deliver such big packages. So I opened the box.

The shock I felt when I saw the wooden box inside, the coffin inside, made me take a step back and stumble into the table, spilling the tea. It was a coffin, an adult sized coffin, and a pretty new one from appearence. Well, except for the words "DO NOT OPEN" scribbled in the wood. That was not the strangest thing, though, but the fact that it was chained up so heavily it seemed to hold a living person, not a wooden box.

I called Mo again. And again. I was so panicked I could barely breath, and they were not picking up. I couldn't afford to leave the room or lose sight of the coffin, who did not move, speak or gave any sort of clue about its origin or its content. I noticed the key attached to the chain, and that image made me laugh. There was a coffin in my kitchen, a chained up coffin, with a key! I was going crazy.

It was almost midnight when I felt like I couldn't stay awake any longer. I took the key and placed it in my back pocket, careful not to touch the wood or the chain too much. If it was a cursed object, I didn't want to be in more contact with it than I already was. Mo still hasn't came back; they do that sometimes, leave overnight, but they always give me a heads up at least a week before. Of course the only time they left without telling me was the same night that a strange coffin, probably with a very weird thing inside, made its way to our home.

I dreamt of bugs slowly crawling their way on my skin, through my ear and inside my brain, bitting and pinching it as if it was a sponge, whispering about the hive, its importance, its puropose. It was a very unusual dream for me, but when I woke up and found out that I wasn't in my bed anymore was even stranger. I was in the kitchen, in front of the coffin, with the key in my hand. The key from my work pants, which are in the drawer.

I never sleepwalked before, and to think that out of nowhere I was not only sleepwalking, but dreaming of bugs and searhing for things in my asleep state was impossible to understand. It was the middle of the night and I took out my phone to send Mo another message, begging them to come home. I don't know how I fell asleep afterwards, but I know that the key was on the nightstand where I put it before going to bed.

Mo came back that morning, and I found them in the kitchen, their back turned to me. They were staring at the coffin, and I slowly made my way towards them, anger and relief that they were okay starting up in my stomach. But they didn't turn towards me, not as I slammed the door on my way inside. They jusy sat there, and stared. It took me only a moment to realize they were crying, and Mo has never cried as long as I know.

They turned towards me, their cheeks stained with tears, and hugged me. There was no word shared between us as we sat there, in front of the coffin, Mo crying softly on my shoulder. I think I understood them better in that morning then I did in the entire time I knew them.

Our lives for the next few days has been like that: staring at the coffin for sometimes hours on end, waiting for it to make a move, and then quietly chatting about what we did that day. We have got used to it, too. Mo placed it in our storage closet that we never even used, and it fit perfectly. Both of us tried to ignore the little tapping from inside when he touched it. I think we both convinced ourselved it was just in our imagination.

When the first rain came, it was during the nighttime. I'm a very heavy sleeper so I usually don't awake unless somebody hits me with something, but the noise from that night woke me up. Mo's side of the bed was empty, and the bedside table's drawer was open, with the key for the coffin missing. My heart skipped a beat, and I ran for the kitchen, bursting through the door.

There was a moaning coming from the storage closet, and the door was opened. As I scrambeled for the light bulb, I realized that the moaning was almost musical. When I turned the lights on, the moaning hasn't stopped, but grew even louder. The door to the wooden casket was open, the light glinting off the chains mockingly.

I took a deep breath, and started screaming for Mo. I didn't dare leave the kitchen, not with the casket open, not when I didn't know where my partner was and if they got in there. I realized they must've been the one who opened it. They might have had went there every night, and this time, with that awful moaning, was too much for them. They gave up.

I'm not sure when I fell to the ground, a mass of sobs and pained screams, covering my ears to stop the sound of moaning, but I know when a knock came at my door. I couldn't move, couldn't leave, and the person must have been so impatient they just bursted through the door. It was the two delivery man, accompanied by a guy with a very common face. I couldn't catch the man's name, too caught in the two delivery men as they closed the casket and chained it up again. The jackets they were wearing had the words "Breckon and Hope Delivery" written on the back.

The moaning only grew louder as they placed the coffin on a trolley to take it down the stairs easier. I barely managed to get on my feet and catch the other man's rain-soaked coat by the fringes of the sleeve.

"Why did you do that to them? How has Mo wronged you?" I asked, and I was not feeling angry, or empty, but rotten. As if my insides have been eaten by insects slowly and only now I can percieve the damage.

"Oh, child. They didn't do anything to me. All that happened was their own fault, their own making." at this the man stopped, gently extracted his hand from my grip, and looked around the apartment. "Nice place you've got here. I'm certain it was worth it."

I moved out the next week, when I started hearing weird insect noises. I never managed to get the door fixed, not that it mattered. The whole building burned up a few days after my departure, and I couldn't help but feel this was the perfect ending."

Jon paused for a few seconds there, thoughts flying around in his head, never focusing on just one. There was so much information here, so many points to connect. It felt like a conclussion was coming, and Jon hated that he wasn't able to see it fully because of his stupid, throbbing headache.

"Statement ends." he said, an afterthought. "Well, this is not only connected to Case #9982211, but may also be related to Case #0161203, the one of Martin's from almost a week ago. If that is true and the Jane who lives in Archway in this case is the same as the one that locked Martin in his apartment then... that would be very interesting, indeed. I should ask Sasha to make more research regarding this case. I... Recording ends."

Pressing the red button to stop the recording, Jon started scrubbing at his eyes before letting out a heavy sigh. It felt like he was caught in a web, all of these statemenets connected one way or another, with him caught right in the middle of it all and yet unable to see where they started and with whom they ended. He got up on unsteady feet and caught the edge of his desk in order to not lose balance. God. He would make his own fucking tea and get his own fucking Paracetamol-

The door to his office opened, and Martin came stumbling in. He was wiping sleep away from his eyes and masking a yawn at the same time with the back of his hand. He was also wearing one of Jon's baggy sweaters he has left in the room of the Archives Martin occupies now. The recorder turned itself on, unoticed by either of the man looking at each other.

"Oh, Gosh, Jon. God. What are you even doing here? It's not even 7 a.m. yet."

Jon didn't even try to mask the scowl on his face when he gave his snappy reply. "Some of us get to work on time, Martin."

Martin stopped wipping at his eyes, his glasses now slightly askew. Jon looked behind him and turned his hand into a fist. Why was he like this?

"Still, the Archives don't open for at least another half an hour. Jesus, Jon, I'm still in my pajamas."

"I can see that." Jon replyed, meaning to be bitter and mean, and hating the softness that managed to slip into his tone. He scowled harder in return when Martin looked down at himself and jumped.

"Ahm... I... my clothes. Are at cleaning. All of them. And you forgot this and I... meant... to give it back to you... not now I mean! But I didn't have anything else to wear and..."

"Martin. Stop making a fool of yourself. It's fine that... that sweater has a hole in it anyway."

"I sewed it." Martin said, matter of factly, his face still red and expression flustered.

"You did?" Jon asked, more surprised than anything, and when Martin started biting his lip Jon looked back at that spot above his head, that was now becoming his favourite part of the Archives.

"Yeah... It was nothing anyway and I didn't want to return it with the hole in it. Not that! Not that I am.. wearing it often or something."

"I said it's fine. The blue fits you better than it ever fitted me, anyway."

Martin looked at him in the eyes, something strong and fierce in his look, and Jon didn't turn his head this time. Neither of them said anything for a while, but then somebody coughed in the doorway and both of them jumped, the moment having vanished.

"Did we intrerrupt something?" said Sasha, sidestepping Martin and leaving some papers on Jon's desk. Tim, who was behind her, remained next to Martin and sent a big grin in Jon's direction. The scowl came back to the archivist’s features.

"No, nothing, what? Of course not. I was just... Jon, why are you holding onto the edge of the desk so tightly?"

Jon looked down at his hands and saw that they were white with effort. He stopped clenching them, and immediately started feeling dizzy once again. Sasha caught him before he could fall backwards, with an arm around his middle.

"Easy there, Jon. Are you okay?"

"Just.. feeling a little ill." Jon said, and Tim let out a bark of laughter that he quickly covered with a caugh.

"Godness, this is just awful, isn't it, Martin?" Tim said, making a show of his words and softly touching his heart with one hand. "I'm certain one of your famous teas would make him all better, don’t you think?"

Before Jon could give a snappy reply, Martin jumped slightly again, as if Tim's words just activated all of his "taking-care-of-people-via-tea" senses. He nodded eagerly and looked over to Jon, who was too tired to scowl in full force anymore.

"And a Paracetamol." Martin agreed, before leaving the office.

"He hasn't even asked me if I want some tea..." Sasha asked, more confused than offended. "What did you do to him during that staring contest, Jon?"

"What?" barked Jon, extracting himself from Sasha's hold and throwing himself on his desk chair. "I didn't do anything to him, thank you very much."

"Oh but there are so many things you'd like to do." Tim said, and anger started bubbling up in Jon's throat as he turned his eyes towards him. "You drank so much last night you can barely hold yourself up now, boss?" he asked, innocently.

"Tim, for the love of everything good on this planet, stop. This is all your fault."

"What is?" Sasha asked, confused.

"Your big crush on Martin is my fault, or the fact that you got so drunk you told me all about it is?" teased Tim, and Jon wanted to get off his chair and throw himself towards him, but didn’t.

"WHAT?" shouted Sasha, and both Jon and Tim shooshed her.

"I don't have... a crush on Martin. I just think that he's a good person, and a good person can't work in this place of horror stories and insufferable people. That would be you, Tim."

Tim laughed. "Copy that, boss. But I'm sure that if you just told him he would.."

"No. And that's final. I don't want to engage in a romantic relationship with anyone, especially not my assistants, especially when there's so much work to do here. I think I just found some important information in Prentiss' case."

"Jon... likes Martin..." mumbled Sasha, probably talking to herself. "You idiot!" she exclaimed, turning towards Jon. "He likes you too! Hell, he almost broke his legs running to make you tea. And wasn't that your sweater he was wearing, the one you lost some time ago, "my favourite article of clothing" or whatever?"

"It totally was." said Tim, ever the helpful.

"So do something about that, Jon! What are you waiting for?"

"For the two of you to get off my office and do some actual work. Leave, now."

Sasha sighed and Tim stuck out his tongue at him, telling him something about how we only have one life and we should make the most of it. As Jon drank the too-good tea Martin has made for him, he admitted to himself that Tim was right and that he really should do something about that. The more persistant thought, though, was the fact that he was never going out drinking with Tim, ever again. He did not see, nor hear when the tape record clicked itself shut back.

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smolbeandrabbles · 5 years

Text

Patience: Cross Me - Director Krennic x Reader (Rogue One)

@mandy23b @3134045126 I like that both of you came to me with Patience ideas for Krennic... of all the Mendos!?

Author’s Note: If Krennic is the first Sin I finished, then it makes sense for him to be the first Virtue I finish (Also Wrath/Patience are the pair, so that’s also awesome!)

Shout out to my girls for coming up with two very different ideas that I stitched together here! I changed a few little details, so, I hope you still like it! As there is a connection to Wrath here it could be viewed as part of the same story... This song is Youtube’s autoplay fault. To be honest, you can listen to it from either her or his POV... I mean certainly “If you cross him, then you cross me” was my original thinking for using this but then there’s also “If you hear about my lady... she ain’t no one to play with” So! It works either way! ;) Disclaimer: Star Wars characters not mine! Lyrics not mine! GIFs not mine! Premise (As requested by @mandy23b): I was rereading Wrath... And I was struck by the moment the Creepy Guy called him an “old man” - I was ready to come for him swinging. I half expected the reader to land a solid punch on him for saying that about her man. So I thought a good idea for the Patience virtue would be the reader has to be so patient and controlled not to beat up everyone who talks sh*t about Krennic ❤️ Of course she especially can’t go after Tarkin or the higher ups but eventually she’s gonna snap on a petty officer or civilian because no one talks about her man like that (not if she can help it). And of course our drama queen Krennic kinda loves this. He loves that his partner will defend him like he’ll defend her. Further Inspiration from @3134045126: Patience with Orson Krennic - Reader is waiting for a nice evening with Krennic. Everything is ready, dinner is ready, Reader looks fancy as heck, everything is perfect... and then Krennic arrives. He's beside himself in anger and frustration. So much so he completely dismisses Reader and their efforts. Reader being the level-headed and patient one waits him out before approaching him. Basically, so I don't go on and on: Krennic would thank Reader for being so patient with him even after acting like an ass Words: 4190 Warnings: Swearing / sexual connotations / fighting

Me and her have something different I really need all you to understand That nobody's coming close But you know I f**king love her now Like nobody ever could I'm sticking with my baby for sure Together or solo It doesn't matter where we are, So if you hear about my lady, just know That she ain't the one to play with, oh no And I'll be standing so close So you know that... If you cross her, then you cross me And nobody's coming close, yeah And I think that you should know that If you cross her, Then you cross me

Now what you not gon' do Is stand there 'cross from me... Death stare, crossed arms, running your mouth like a faucet Blowing air out, wear you out, you exhausted Know she gonna slide anytime you bitches talk shit No one say hi to me without her Better pay your respect to the Queen Better do that shit without a flirt Gotta respect the HBIC Couple of things that you need to know If you still wanna be friends with me Just know, if you cross her, then you cross me Nobody's coming close, yeah And I think that you should know that If you cross her, Then you cross me Quit messin' with my baby for sure Together or solo It doesn't matter where we are, oh no, no So if you hear about my lady, just know That she ain't the one to play with, oh no And I'll be standing so close If you cross her, Then you cross me

---

noun

the capacity to accept or tolerate delay, problems, or suffering without becoming annoyed or anxious.

Everything was ready. You’d been planning this evening for months. Not that it was particularly hard for you to get onto Krennic’s schedule; he’d always be clearing spaces for you if you asked nicely enough. But you were aware that sometimes those spaces would have important meetings either side of them, or that – when he cleared you a space - five minutes meant five minutes. Tonight, however, you had him all to yourself. Guaranteed. He’d told you that this morning; grabbing your hand and pulling you into his office… You shook that thought away quickly, flustered. You looked good, your make up perfect, dress flawless. You weren’t that type of person but even you were checking yourself out in the mirror tonight. You’d made dinner even, because you knew all his attention would be on you. There was a good bottle of champagne in your own quarters – ha, like you ever resided in your quarters anymore-! – that you’d dug out and was chilling. It was going to be the perfect evening. You were determined to make it so. Nothing could ruin it. Nothing. You’d had a great day at work too, you’d even been let off early. Things were going nice and smooth, and you couldn’t be more grateful. Obviously, you also shouldn’t have spoken too soon. Orson Krennic was not a happy man as he stepped into his quarters. Of course, you were busy when he entered so didn’t see him right away. “Hey-! You’re back-!” And not a second late either; when he said a time he usually stuck to it. You walked back through into the main living area with a beaming smile on your face; “How was your day at work?” “Heh. Let’s just not start.” Your face didn’t fall at first because even if it was bad, tonight could make it better. You knew he had frustrating days at work, and if you worked late how he’d always come to find you to just talk. You had the ability to always send him away with a smile on his face. You liked that as much as Krennic did. “Oh… Well do you want to talk about it?” “No.” He wasn’t looking at you either. But he’d put his data pad down on the counter and was scrolling through statistic sets that were making the scowl on his face worse. You took a deep breath and crossed to him. But even the tap of your heels on the flooring didn’t make him look up at you. That was unusual. He always liked to know what you were wearing… Usually so he could make a quip about taking it off… “If it’s only going to make things worse… do you think you should be looking at it right now? Baby, come and sit down… We can have dinner… and take your mind off-” “Y/N. Not right now, this is important.” You stopped short; Oh…. It wasn’t enough to put you off trying “Well… I mean, your health and mind is also important… Please… sit down. Dinner is almost ready anyway.” This time he did look away from the figures, but only to turn that scowl on you “I said not right now!” You bit your lip. Well… this wasn’t how the evening was supposed to go… You took another breath, because those hard blue eyes were still on you, but it was obvious he wasn’t about to compliment what you were wearing. “I just want to help.” “Well right now you can’t.” You gave a nod “I’m sure I can’t, these things you work on are amazing… It’s not my field either but… I don’t know if… Bringing it home is… Good for you.” “Home!?” There was a scoff “Home?! These are my quarters.” “I didn’t mean it like that… I just meant wouldn’t it be better that you did this at your desk? In a place where there’s no distraction?” “You think you’re a distraction?” He didn’t ask the question to make you believe you weren’t, either. “Besides. I am supposed to be spending time with you now. Like you asked. So here I am.” “…But your attention will be on your work… And, baby, if it’s important – I suggest you do it in your office…” His eyes flicked back to his data pad “I can’t guarantee when I’ll be finished.” You didn’t like to think about what dinner would be like by the time he had decided he was finished. Looked like you would reluctantly be eating alone – but you were still determined not to let him ruin your mood or your evening. He would come back to you, he had to. Especially if you refused to rise to an argument. “That’s fine. Now will you please go and do the work that so urgently needs doing… Yell at the people who have clearly done something wrong…” His expression twitched, and either you had hit a nerve or he was remembering that someone else hit a nerve. When he didn’t raise his voice to you any further you knew which one it was. “…Fine.” He closed his technology back up and turned back to you “I will see you… later.” “You will.” You affirmed it, to let him know he wouldn’t be getting away with leaving you that easily. With that he swept from the room once more and you found yourself alone again. You sighed. It appeared you’d be taking yourself to dinner. A few hours later the door reopened. You were staring at the stars from the viewing window, but heard the way he dragged his footsteps and the pad clatter onto the sideboard. Oh. He shuffled around the kitchen area a little more, before you heard him step down to join you. His footsteps were tentative; but he didn’t hesitate on wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in your shoulder. He knew what he’d done “…I’m sorry…” “Oh? You’re apologising?” You kept your arms folded and your eyes fixed on the galaxy before you. Krennic didn’t nod, or agree with you. There was a tone to your voice that didn’t sound impressed… but you only half meant it. There were a few more moments of silence than he wanted; so he repeated himself “I’m sorry.” “Babe. I heard you the first time…” You rested your head gently on his and laced your fingers together “And I know. Rough days happen. That’s why I don’t like you bringing work home.” “It is home.” “Yes it is…” You agreed with his mumble, still into your shoulder “…Have you eaten?” “…Barely.” You shook your head “Well you missed dinner but I can make you something…” “No no… I don’t deserve-” You wheeled around so you were facing him “Hush! Don’t tell me what you deserve or not. Don’t talk like them. Hard days happen. Like I said… But that’s how you feel. Sometimes I want to put my fist through a screen… I can’t stop you from being frustrated at someone… I just… wish you didn’t…” “You didn’t deserve that.” You didn’t want to agree with him, but conceded “Yeah… But it wasn’t really aimed at me. I know that.” He took a step back, his body bent in curiosity “…How do you have so much patience?” “Because what would happen between us if I didn’t?” You smiled “Now please sit down, so I can at least have half an evening with you?” “Of course. I will… do just that…” He smiled gently “Can I at least… kiss you?” You smiled, “You may. If you tell me you went and shouted at those idiots.” “Well, it’s sorted…” He leant in and brushed his lips gently to yours. You kept your hands in his and followed his movement to pull away to keep the kiss for just a little longer. “Good. That’s what I want to hear…” You stepped away from him as he turned to the dining table. Krennic paused before he sat and looked back to you. He studied you for a minute with a smile; “You look beautiful…” You could feel that smile on your face... feeling lucky that your back was to him, you shook your head to suppress it just enough, and turned back. “Thank you!” *** Turned out during the course of your relationship, it wasn’t just Krennic who had to deal with idiots and assholes. Well, that wasn’t quite true. Usually if you had to deal with them it was ABOUT Krennic… Or rather, you forced yourself into situations that made them deal with you. Today, was no such exception; “HE SAID WHAT-!” “That’s just what I heard!” Your best friend and colleague held her hands up “WHAT THE…” You had to hold that word back for a minute “WHY-!? What the hell does he know-!? He’s not working on this project!” Apparently some lieutenant who thought he knew it all had been mouthing off that he would be able to complete Project Stardust better, and in a more timely manner, than your partner. Also, the man in question wasn’t an architect or engineer. Just some loudmouth who wanted to brag, liked the sound of his own voice – and figured trashing Krennic was a fashionable thing to do. Well, Tarkin did it enough you supposed. And you didn’t like that much either but there was only so much you could do when Tarkin did it. And most of that was just checking that Orson was okay. You didn’t have the authority to snap at Tarkin, and you couldn’t afford to dismiss your shift or simply piss the guy off. You could give your best glare, you supposed. But that was as far as it went. Anyone else was fair game. And boy, did you go hard. “I… I don’t know, that’s just what I heard him say.” The look on your friends face clearly said she regretted telling you. But you were glad she did. Because no one was getting away with saying that about your man. “Where does he work?” “Oh no-! Oh-! No no no! I’m not watching you do this again.” “You don’t have to watch me, where does he work?” “What if they send you to disciplinary!?” You raised an eyebrow at her “I’d like to see them try.” “Try?!” Your look said Really!? “What part of dating a superior officer don’t you understand, if it even got to that point Krennic would have me out in seconds. Now answer the question.” She shook her head and didn’t say another word. Making you narrow your eyes; “You know I’m just gonna go find out, right?” “Yeah! But at least I’ll feel less like an accomplice!” In fact, you didn’t get around to looking him up until much later, just because you were so busy. And by the time you did get to researching exactly which station you’d be travelling to to give this asshole a piece of your mind, Orson appeared. “Who is…” he squinted at the name over your shoulder “Tazo Motti?” You didn’t even turn to him as you noted his floor number and work space; “A dick.” “Oh.” Krennic couldn’t help but chuckle; “Why? What did he do? Not something to you I would hope.” There was a or I’ll kill him myself missing from the end of that sentence. You shook your head and turned to face his amused blue eyes “No. And the line for beating this guys ass starts with me so…” He raised an eyebrow “What happened?” “That’s my business and nothing to concern yourself with Director… How’s it going?” “Eh. Slow… We have a couple of days respite to fix the ship starting tomorrow… I might head out to Geonosis again… Might stay… Can’t say at this point in time. But, I’ll keep you posted…” “Oh. Straight away?” “No. Why do you think I’m bothering you… Dinner?” “When?” “…Tonight… Tomorrow…” he brought up his schedule “… Either…” You thought about it, if you were all going to be on free time then you wouldn’t even have to bother finding Tazo’s work station. Just him. And you’d all be off duty, so, even less of a reprimand for you. “Tomorrow… might be better.” “…Okay…” He pinged you an invite “…Tomorrow it is… I shall find out what the options are on the base. Make reservations… We’ll be set. And now I’ll let you work… or…” he nodded to the screen “…Focus back on this asshole…” He looked again at his title “He’s not even in either of our remits.” You turned back to him with a smirk that was even less of a smile than if it was fake. “EXACTLY.” ** “You’re kidding.” “No.” “Y/N! You can’t!” “I can and I freakin’ will.” Your best friend wailed, following you off the ship and into the star port. An artificial planet like structure (although, not round like a planet should be) used for refuelling and repairing ships. The ship you were all currently based on had taken a fair few hits during the last rebel attack and would be here for a couple of days just to straighten out. Nothing too serious. But it was always best to check. You notice she didn’t stop you, which made you think really she wanted to watch whatever you would do to this guy. “Shouldn’t you think about this?!” “I have. ALL DAY!” You turned to her “You don’t have to follow me… I know what he looks like. This won’t take long.” “I’m not about to watch my best friend walk into a fight-!” “Fight?” Though you gave her a knowing smirk “Fight? Me-! Nooooo!” The sarcasm in your voice was a new level of high “Why would I do that-! I just want to have a nice friendly chat!” “Oh God-! Y/N! Why did I tell you!” “I don’t know. You should have known it’d come to this!” “You’re usually the calm patient one… I’ve heard the Director go off on one at subordinates before but you’re always so level… Except-” “Except when people think it’s okay to bad mouth my man. Exactly. You gotta let ‘em know…” you turned back and continued to walk across the metal structure “…that you won’t stand for it!” He wasn’t hard to spot. In fact he looked like the kind of asshole who got ideas far beyond his station. All talk. Time to see if he had any bite. You weren’t necessarily a betting girl but; probably not. “Tazo Motti?” He turned instantly from laughing with his friends to the sound of your voice “Yeah… Who’s asking…?” Then his eyes swept you “Oh… Wow. Now I knew I was good looking but damn. Girl.” You sighed inwardly. Really? REALLY?! “Actually I hear you’ve been talking shit.” You raised an eyebrow, “Is that true?” “What? Darlin’… You got the wrong man. But you got the right man for other things I could talk about.” “Really. From what I hear you think you can build our battle station better than the man in charge of the job. Is that correct?” “Who? Oh. Krennic? Yeah – that project would be done if I was in charge.” You were about to prove your friend wrong about fighting. He’d get three strikes... and you could get him to apologise and admit he was an idiot. But also, he’d just used those strikes in one sentence; it was amicable you’d let him continue this long. “Really? Last I checked you did communications. Whereas he’s both an engineer and an architect… and intelligence… AND a Director…” You tipped your head “What exactly qualifies you to do it better than him?” “Hell. Babe, you could work that project better than him. He clearly has no idea what he’s doing. Tarkin thinks he’s a waste of space and time and so do I-” Nope. You weren’t about to let this continue. You were strong with both hands so your first punch connected right; “THAT’S for calling me babe. I’m not your babe.” And the second connected even harder “THAT’S for thinking you are anywhere NEAR as talented as he is.” You brought your knee up into his stomach; “And that’s just for generally insulting him. To my face.” “What the F***-!” he just about managed “What the HELL-! WHO THE HELL-” His friends were all gathered around him now, all alert and looking ready to fight; “AM I?!” There was a fierce look in your eyes that dared them all to mess with you. “DATING HIM. ASSHOLE. SO you’re gonna f***ing take back everything you said, right now. Or what I just did will be the least of your problems.” He straightened; glaring at you. “You going to make me fight a girl?” “Pft.” You scoffed looking him up and down “Fight me? Boy I’d like to see you try!”

It was an irritatingly short fight; not for lack of trying. Only, the commotion brought unwelcome attention and officers rushed to the scene to drag you both apart – literally. Your friend, clearly looking to be as unhelpful as possible, hung back and looked nervous. You could imagine in her head she was about to tell you how she’d warned you you’d be disciplined for it. “Cool off! Both of you, this is unprofessional. It’s a good thing none of us are in uniform...!” “She started it-! Krennic’s little bitch-!” Tazo looked like he was fairing worse than you, as he spat blood “Call her that again and she’s not the only one going to be hitting you.” The officer holding him back was stern. “ME-!” It took your officers strength to hold you back, and even then, he staggered – hell hath no fury… “ONE more word about Krennic and I SWEAR—!!!!” You didn’t care what he was calling you, calling me a bitch like it’s a bad thing? If that’s what it takes… “That’s enough!” The officer, whose name was Tully and you knew worked for Tarkin, had to get someone else to help drag you away. And soon enough you were pushed almost to the other side of the walkway. “You gonna calm down?” “I am calm.” Tully raised a disbelieving eyebrow as you brushed yourself off “If that assho-” “Alright, alright, I get it.” “Do you?” Tully was a good officer, he wasn’t really a friend but more than just an acquaintance, and every time you’d seen each other around you’d make a passing sarcastic comment. You took a deep breath, taking it out on him wasn’t fair, but you were also kinda pissed that he’d held you back. “It’s just I see and hear people do this to him all the time. Tarkin? I can’t do anything about that – but these…” You held yourself back from swearing “… I hate seeing it. He doesn’t deserve it. Orson is doing his best just like everyone… He’s using exactly the same skill set as everyone else. But if he does it it’s wrong. Hypocritical! I just get SO mad.” “You hide it well.” And his compliment was genuine. “Until I snap. Today was one of those days…” You folded your arms “I guess I should thank you.” “No you shouldn’t.” He smiled “I don’t know many who would do what you just did.” He looked you over “And you didn’t fair too bad.” “He also called me babe…” “Oh. Then he deserved everything, should have said – would have decked him myself.” “On behalf of Krennic?” “And you. Of course.” He turned to your friend “Now what’s say we ditch this joint, find a better bar and hang out? Hmmm? Before you get yourself into any more trouble.” You wore a slight pout “Aw, okay. But I was just starting to have fun..!” All three of you turned to the bar Tully had just pushed you from, where Tazo was now sitting on a bar stool being tended to where he was bleeding – looking like you might have also done some real damage from the way he was holding himself. Good. That made you smile triumphantly, should shut him up. You flicked your hair back with a roll of your head and shoulders. And with a feel-good confidence you walked away – small smirk, which mirrored the kind Krennic always gave you, on your lips. “I think I’ve seen all I need to see here…”

***

You walked back to Krennic’s quarters, rubbing your arm. Putting on a brave face after sassily walking away was fine. But you realised how much you hurt; you were smaller than Tazo - but you more than held your own. Like you’d won, right? And if he said any more trash talk, you’d have no qualms going back and beating his ass again.

You ached a little bit... but felt intact... you glanced at the polished walls for affirmation. Your hair was a little bit of a mess; so you neatened it. There was a small cut on your cheek and your legs and arms ached. The one you were rubbing significantly more... But at least you weren’t spitting blood! You snickered to yourself - impressed. Even though you shouldn’t have been. You probably were lucky you weren’t in uniform or you’d be reprimanded.

You beeped yourself into his quarters and came face to face with an amused looking Krennic. He was a little dressed down. Black dress shirt and pants. He’d probably been out into town for drinks with his group of ‘friends’ (Friends? Prospects? Krennic didn’t distinguish. You doubted he had real friends beyond Galen.). “What?” He was sitting facing the door on a dining room chair. There was a glass on the table and a workbook of thick sketching paper, accompanied by assorted pencils. He smirked; leaning his hands on his knees. “What?” He repeated and stood up. Then he laughed, like there was a joke in his head he couldn’t possibly keep to himself; “You! You think I wouldn’t hear about what you did?!” Your face fell slightly - who the hell had told him!? “Oh. I wasn’t sure it’d get back to command...” “You’re kidding?!” He continued to chuckle, “Some commander came rushing up to me in the bar and couldn’t get his words out fast enough. Said I should be having words with you...” Orson laughed again, wiping what you assumed were tears from his eyes “I think it’s hilarious!!” He calmed himself and bit his lip, looking at you with adoration “But it’s also rather endearing. Now I know you’d do something like that for me.” “I’m NOT letting some jackass go around saying things like that about you!” He smiled gently “And so you shouldn’t... but I thought words would be enough.” “Words?” You folded your arms “Babe, I thought actions spoke louder than words. I used words. He abused my kindness – three strikes and out!” “How many words? Like three?” “Enough.” “What, you gave him one sentence...?” He was teasing you now, and you puffed your cheeks with a pout “He’s lucky he got that!” Orson laughed again “I’m sure he was...” placing his index finger to your forehead Orson gave you a gentle, yet teasing, smile “You know... what you need is a little more patience.” Oh-! Like he was one to talk! You swatted his hand away, placing your own on your hips. Putting all your sass into the movement of tipping your body; “HA! I think I use up all my patience on you!” Krennic pursed his lips for a moment, then nodded – realising you had a point, “Okay... touché.” He let that linger for just enough time, to let you feel like you had something over him, and promptly gathered you in his arms pushing his forehead to yours “However… I should still reprimand you for it. So, as a Director, I can say that I did.” “You’re not the boss of me…!” You teased, pushing yourself up to brush your lips to his. “Oh really?” “Absolutely. I don’t report to you.” “Ah-! But you report to someone, who reports to someone, who indirectly reports to me... so... still to me.” It was his turn to kiss you “Details I don’t care for. It’s not to you.” “Oh darling. Don’t make me prove to you that you do...” You smirked, and in your attempt to steal another kiss he pulled away as if to validate his point. You narrowed your eyes; “You’re about to find out how little patience I have, Orson.” “For me?” His face feigned innocence and this time he let you claim your kiss. “For you.” He smirked again, “No. Darling. I should probably show you... how little patience I have for standing here. With you looking like this. When I could be in my room removing those clothes for myself.” You raised an eyebrow, but pretty soon you were smirking for yourself “Ohhhh... I think that’s a different thing. But I have about as much patience for these buttons as I do for you...” He flicked his eyes toward his bedroom and back to you “Well... why don’t we simply let our patience run out then... hmmm..?”

--- Thank you for requesting! 😘😘 FIRST Virtue! 🙌 @dennismitchell @krnncsbtch @happyskywhale #MendoTagSquad.

#Did I name Tully after Jason Aldeans Bassist? Y E S I did. I'm sorry.#7HV #7 Heavenly Virtues #Patience #patience is a virtue #OH my gosh babe I really hope you like it! I'm actually really scared!!!!#Orson Krennic #Director Krennic #Krennic x Reader #Orson Krennic x Reader #Director Krennic x Reader #Rogue One #Ben Mendelsohn #looks like theres some lizardboi in that GIF...#SO do I get extra points!?#54 #Lorena (Could be a Lorena piece)#Linzi Writes

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victorineb · 5 years

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A (horribly belated) birthday fic for the incomparable @devereauxsdisease in tribute to her adorable but troublesome muse. Featuring a cannibal with a crush, an elusive profiler, and a tracksuit-wearing hamster named Mads.

Also on AO3.

“Hello, Han… uh, Dr Lecter?”

“I believe first names are acceptable post-midnight, Will. Especially when I am the one rudely encroaching on you in the small hours.”

“Wee hours.”

“Hmm?”

“It’s… doesn’t matter, not important.”

“Forgive me, Will, my grasp of the English idiom slips under stress. It is ‘wee hours’ rather than ‘small hours,’ yes?”

“Uh, yes. Sorry.”

“Nonsense, I prefer to know when a mistake occurs; means I’m unlikely to make it a second time.”

“O… kay. Good. Why are you stressed?”

“Ah, of course, the reason for my call. It’s… in fact it would be easier to show you than to tell you. Could I invite you for breakfast tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I can do that. It’s not… you don’t need me now, do you? I mean, uh, it’s not urgent? I can leave the dogs for a couple of hours if you want, drive over to you.”

“That is extremely kind of you, Will, but entirely unnecessary. Tomorrow will be more than sufficient.”

“Oh. Well, ok, tomorrow then. What time?”

“Shall we say around eight? My appointments don’t start until ten. Are you engaged in teaching tomorrow?”

“Not until the afternoon.”

“Good. I shall see you in the morning then, Will.”

“Yeah. Bright and early.”

“Goodnight, Will.”

“Night, Hannibal.”

“Well…” Will stared into the box, equal parts fascinated and taken aback. “I’ve never seen anything like that. You were right about showing rather than telling.”

Hannibal’s mouth ticked with amusement before settling back into an expression of mild alarm. “Indeed. I really have no idea what to do with it.”

“It?”

Hannibal sighed. “Him, I suppose.”

“So you called me?”

“You are the expert in such things.”

“Dr Lecter, owning dogs does not qualify me to deal with all furry little creatures.” Will tapped on the glass to get the attention of its tiny inhabitant. “And definitely not hamsters dressed in miniature tracksuits.”

Together, Will and Hannibal peered at the furry little newcomer, united in bemusement. In fact, it was less a tracksuit the hamster was wearing, and more a miniature onesie in fire engine red. The three tiny, hand-stitched stripes on each arm marked it out fairly obviously as sportswear, though, and as Will squinted, he was pretty sure he could see a teeny but perfectly-formed Adidas logo. Whoever had supplied the little guy with his wardrobe had clearly been a) a talented tailor, and b) completely insane.

“Well, I suppose it was a long shot,” Hannibal sighed, straightening up. “I can’t help but wonder what I will do now, though. You were my only hope, Will.”

Will scrubbed at the back of his neck and gave a huff of laughter, hoping that the heat he could feel rising beneath his hand wouldn’t make it all the way to his cheeks. “I- uh, I was?”

“My social circle is rather lacking in ‘animal people.’” Will could hear the quotation marks around the last two words and wondered if the dig was at Hannibal’s friends, or just the concept of people who liked animals.

“Alana likes animals, she’s good with my dogs,” he pointed out.

“True, but I happen to know Alana has a phobia of small, furry creatures. Something about ‘dead shark eyes and creepy pink feet,’ if I recall correctly.” Hannibal’s smile was fond and amused, and Will felt a sharp little tug inside himself. He forgot sometimes that Hannibal and Alana were so close, that they had a relationship that preceded his own with either of them.

“And my own experience with pets was decades ago, in my childhood,” Hannibal added, as though it was an afterthought.

For the first time since he set eyes on the Doctor’s new housemate, Will’s full attention was on Hannibal. In fact, he was pretty much failing not to stare, his jaw dropping a little, to Hannibal’s clear amusement.

“You’re surprised I could care for another living being?”

“No, that’s – Hannibal, no, of course not. I just never took you for a… what did you call it? An ‘animal person.’” Will grinned. “Can’t quite imagine you allowing hair all over your suits, or muddy footprints on your floors.”

Hannibal gave a little huff of amusement. “I suppose that is well-deserved, not to mention true. But there were others to worry about such things when I was young.”

Will was faintly aware that there were shadows lurking in Hannibal’s childhood that he didn’t necessarily want to raise during a friendly breakfast. But the image of little lord – little Count – Hannibal surrounded by a menagerie of exotic animals was irresistible; he had to hear more.

“What did you have? Peacocks? Horses? A herd of elephants?”

“I believe you have me confused with another Hannibal.”

Will grinned, always pleased when Hannibal got his jokes.

“In fact, we had several dogs,” Hannibal continued. “I couldn’t tell you the breed, now, but I recall them being enormous things. Officially meant to be guard dogs but really no more than very spoiled floor pillows that occasionally needed to be walked. They were very well-behaved and affectionate with my sister; I would remember them fondly for that alone.”

Will nodded, wondering dimly if he could bring Abigail to meet his dogs. Perhaps Hannibal could be there too, just the three of them tucked away in Wolf Trap, maybe for a whole weekend if the care home would allow it.

“I have a confession, though,” Hannibal said, his tone lightening into something playful.

“Oh?” Will followed his lead, allowing an insouciant raise of an eyebrow, and dispelling his thoughts about where everyone would sleep in his little house.

“Yes. I’m afraid that, fond of the dogs as I was…” Hannibal tailed off, theatrically drawing out the tension, “…I am more of a cat person.”

“No!” Will exclaimed, mock-wounded, clutching at his chest in a pretence of shock.

“I had hoped to spare you this blow, but I cannot betray the memory of the barn cat who was my best friend as a boy.”

Will could just imagine it, a young, fair Hannibal lying on his back in the warmth of the sun, a book propped against his raised legs and the cat sleeping curled up on his chest. Will felt that same warmth in his chest and he wished a little that he could meet that version of Hannibal, before tragedy had entered his life. He wished he could have known that boy when he was a boy himself.

“And did it have a name, this cat?” he asked, wanting to draw out the story a moment longer.

Hannibal blinked. “Of course. It was called Cat.”

Will couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter. “I should have expected that.”

Hannibal gave him one of those little knowing smiles that alternately endeared and terrified Will, depending on the subject matter. This, fortunately, was one of the not-terrifying versions and Will responded with a smile of his own, before looking back at the hamster, who was currently exploring one of the farther corners of his cage. Farther being the operative word – the thing was, frankly, enormous, split over several levels and fitted with what Will rather suspected was more furniture than he owned himself. There was even, he realised, looking through a luridly pink plastic tube, a hamster-sized hammock suspended from the bars.

It didn’t exactly fit in with Hannibal’s aesthetic. It did look pretty comfy though.

“Ok, look,” Will said, “I really don’t know anything more about hamsters than you, but I’ve probably got more experience in finding pet advice, given that Google hadn’t been invented when you and Cat were hanging out. So why don’t I do some research today, and I’ll come back over tonight and help get the little guy settled?”

“I would appreciate that very much, Will, thank you. Not least because of the chance to see you twice in one day.” He gave Will a look of such open pleasure at the prospect that he had to drop his eyes away to cope with it. He never knew what to do with Hannibal’s displays of friendship – which was bad enough when he was in one of his fancy suits, but now he was standing in his living room, all soft hair and immaculate robe and it was… causing a confusing reaction Will didn’t want to examine too closely. He diverted.

“By the way, what’s his name? Please don’t tell me he’s called Hamster.”

Hannibal smiled. He was doing a lot of that this morning. “Mads,” he said.

“Mass? As in weight? He’s called Fat the Hamster?”

The hamster in question glared at Will as if insulted.

“I don’t believe he appreciated that, Will,” Hannibal scolded, much to Will’s amusement. Defending his pack of one already, it seemed; Will would make an ‘animal person’ out of Dr Lecter yet. “In fact his former owner was of Danish extraction and Mads – spelled M-A-D-S – is a popular name there.”

“A psychiatrist with a hamster named Mads.” Will took care to pronounce it as it was spelled. “How appropriate.”

It was just after six when Hannibal put the phone down, murder – not, to be fair, unusually – on his mind. He did not have any current plans to transform Jack Crawford from dinner guest to entrée, but if the man continued to monopolise Will’s time with cases he should have been perfectly able to solve himself, well… he was sure he could find room in his freezer should the need arise.

“It should only be an overnighter, I’m hoping,” Will had said, apology coating every syllable. “Sounds pretty straightforward, I think Jack just likes using me to freak out the locals. Will you and Mads be ok for the night?”

Hannibal had assured him that they would be perfectly fine, that he had been left several days’ worth of supplies and basic instructions on food and hygiene when the little interloper had been dropped off. That had been over an hour ago, though, and he was now wondering if perhaps this entire scheme was a sign that he had taken leave of his senses. He was quite used, of course, to receiving bequests from patients, but they generally took the form of a generous lump sum, or perhaps a tasteful antique or piece of art. Why on earth Mrs Mikkelsen had chosen him, of all people, to become guardian of her beloved hamster, he could not fathom. Indeed, his first thought had been to quietly dispatch the little pest and claim the stress of changing homes had destroyed its fragile body. It had quickly occurred to him, however, that this might be a useful in with the still-elusive Will.

And it had worked so beautifully, up until Jack’s untimely interference. Hannibal hadn’t failed to notice the flush of Will’s cheeks with every compliment bestowed, nor the softening of Will’s eyes during his tale of a childhood surrounded by animals. He hadn’t thought of that cat in decades but he sent its memory silent thanks now, before locking the past securely back in his mind where it belonged. As for Will, his absence was frustrating but hardly a killer blow. He would surely return full of apologies and eagerness to help Hannibal with his predicament, which could easily be parlayed into more time spent in Hannibal’s presence, into visits that would extend into dinner, perhaps into nights spent in a guest room. And then, inevitably – Hannibal would make sure of its inevitability – nights spent in his own bed as he introduced his lovely Will to pleasures he had never before experienced.

In which case, Hannibal considered, it would behove him to make an effort with the rodent, that he might further Will’s growing image of him as a fellow animal-lover. He had placed its cage in his private sitting room, thinking that Will would object if he housed the rodent in his laundry and enjoying the idea of Will in one of the parts of the house where visitors were not normally allowed. He went there now, following a quick diversion to his study to collect paper and pencils with which to occupy himself while observing the creature’s behaviour. Later, of course, he would have to resign himself to clearing out its waste and providing it with sustenance, but he had dealt with far fouler things for far less noble causes.

Truly, if Will Graham ever realised the things Hannibal would do for him, one of them would be in very grave danger indeed. What worried Hannibal was, he wasn’t entirely sure which of them it would be…

Stepping into the sitting room, he set his drawing equipment on an armchair and crossed to the far side of the room, where he had placed the hamster cage on an occasional table.

“I suspect this will not be a long-term arrangement for either of us,” he said, leaning down slightly to address his companion, “but if you remain quiet and unobtrusive, I will ensure your stay is a pleasant one.” The hamster, who had turned at the sound of Hannibal’s voice, regarded him from behind its twitching nose and then promptly dove into its large pile of bedding, disappearing from view. “Very good instincts,” he murmured approvingly, before returning to his armchair and propping his sketchbook up against his crossed leg. He had plans for an attempt at capturing the expression on Will’s face during his earlier tale of feline friendship and wanted to get the preliminary sketches down while the image was still fresh in his mind.

Half an hour later, Hannibal sighed and placed the drawing to one side. Will was certainly a beautiful subject but also a remarkably challenging one, defying all standard knowledge about symmetrical faces being the most pleasing. His face was a jumble of mismatched features, a crooked nose and ears that were… generous, to put it mildly, all of which somehow came together to form a visage that would have made the old masters weep for joy and was currently causing Hannibal to come very close to snapping all his pencils in frustration. Perhaps a rear view would prove more productive.

Taking up a fresh sheet of paper, he attempted to conjure an image of Will’s derriere from the prodigious selection stored in his memory. His efforts were interrupted, though, by an odd chugging, clacking sound that put Hannibal strangely in mind of the kind of miniature train sets that children no longer had any appreciation for. It was, of course, coming from the hamster cage.

Hannibal rose from his seat, primarily in order to investigate the source of the noise, though possibly also in order to smother the little beast in its own bedding, he hadn’t quite decided yet. Subjecting the cage to the kind of stare that would make a rodent like Franklyn Froideveaux quiver in fear, Hannibal found that the noise was being created by the hamster’s furious running pace in its little plastic wheel.

“Is that entirely necessary?” he asked the creature, and then was forced into a moment of self-reflection as he realised he’d unthinkingly addressed it as if expecting an answer. That was behaviour verging on eccentric, which would have been quite fine had anyone been around to witness such a display. However, since it was only Hannibal and the rodent, he briefly considered whether he was becoming addled by his pursuit of a pretty boy, as though he were a teenager with a crush. Then again, no doubt Will spoke to his pack as he went about his day, informing them of the latest murder he was wrapping his delicious brain around or perhaps recounting his sessions with his dear new friend Dr Lecter. Perhaps this was an impulse he should indulge, so that he might convincingly repeat the act in Will’s presence…

He glanced back at the enthusiastically spinning hamster. The speed the thing had built up was, he had to admit, impressive, and Hannibal could appreciate the evolutionary efficiency of disguising raw physical power beneath a deceptively soft exterior. “Perhaps I will not kill you today, little Mads, not after such an impressive display of athleticism.” The hamster seemed to take his reprieve in stride, continuing to plough his infinite furrow with determination.

Feeling unaccountably buoyed by this little encounter, Hannibal returned to his chair, deciding to have one more stab at pinning his elusive muse down on the page before giving it up and starting in on dinner preparations. In the background, Mads continued to clack away in his wheel and Hannibal found himself tuning into the sound, letting it bleed into his mind like white noise as he sketched out a few foundational lines of Will’s fundament.

The next time Hannibal looked up, it was with a start that he realised the room had gone dark around him, the only light coming from the lamp angled over his work. He had experienced no sense of time passing, all his focus on keeping up with the suddenly steady stream of ideas fighting their way to the front of his mind. Piles of sketches surrounded him, so many that a good number had cascaded onto the floor, fanning themselves out like a halo around Hannibal’s chair. And from every one, Will’s wide eyes stared up at him, caught in every variety of emotion, from innocent suffering to wicked lust.

What, Hannibal wondered distantly, could have caused such a rush of inspiration in him? He looked up, a suspicion suddenly forming in his mind, to see that he was being watched from across the room. The hamster was standing quietly behind the glass of its cage, up on its hind legs, front paws folded neatly against its chest, black eyes glinting in the darkness. Hannibal rose from his chair as if pulled by a string, eyes never leaving the cage until he was standing directly in front of it.

“Hello, Mads.”

The hamster made a chirruping noise that, were Hannibal more given to flights of fancy, might have sounded a little like, “Hello, Dr Lecter.”

They gazed at each other for a few moments, Hannibal ignoring the creeping sensation that he looked rather foolish, apparently communing with a sportswear-clad rodent.

“I believe an experiment is in order,” he said, eventually, exiting the room with a thoughtful expression on his face. A moment later he returned, wheeling a drinks trolley in front of him, onto which he carefully placed the hamster house.

“Come, young Mads, we shall see if your helpful influence extends to musical composition.”

Hannibal didn’t startle awake, his reflexes were far too well trained to allow for that. He did, however, need a moment to take stock of his situation after raising his head from his desk. He had never, not even during the frenetic days of medical school, fallen asleep unintentionally and yet now he found himself roused from a sound slumber on top of another pile of drawings. Roused by…

Belatedly realising that it had been a knock at his door that brought him back to consciousness, Hannibal rose from his seat, peeled off the sketch that had attached itself to his cheek, and hurried to the front door, throwing it open with uncharacteristic haste. As he had suspected, the figure of the only person who would knock on his door unannounced at five thirty in the morning – possibly other than Jack Crawford and he would simply have continued knocking until the door was answered or pounded into sawdust – was halfway down his drive.

“Will!”

Startling slightly, Will turned back to Hannibal with a sheepish smile on his face. Which quickly twisted into an expression of apology as his eyes raked over Hannibal’s dishevelled state.

“I, um, I just got in – that is, the plane just got in and I didn’t want to leave you in the lurch with Mads, so I came here first and then I realised when I knocked what time it was and I figured you would still be asleep…” He trailed off from this rambling explanation and looked Hannibal up and down again before continuing, “…which, I guess you were from…” He raised a hand to his hair and made a series of swooping motions which Hannibal guessed were intended to convey that his own hair was not in its usual state of slicked-back neatness. He reached up to it and attempted to pat it back into something less eccentric, which caused Will to groan miserably.

“I didn’t mean it looked bad, it looks… I mean, I like it when it’s soft like that but-” He cut himself off abruptly, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m gonna go before I humiliate myself any further. I’ll just call the cab company,” he said, fumbling in his pockets for his phone.

Hannibal, only barely resisting the urge to grab Will and kiss the awkwardness out of him, instead reached out and put a gentle hand on his arm. “Will,” he said, firmly, “I am very happy to see you.”

Will’s frantic motions stilled and he turned a shy but radiant smile on Hannibal. “You are?”

“I am,” Hannibal told him, attempting to convey utter joy in a way that would not scare Will off with its intensity. “And I am certain Mads will be too. Why don’t you come in and say hello?”

Will’s smile grew at the invitation and though he hesitated a moment when Hannibal offered his arm, he took it without comment and allowed himself to be led into the house, where Hannibal steered him towards the study he had been sleeping in when Will knocked. He pointed out the hamster house, situated in front of the desk on its new rolling transport, and excused himself to make some clearly much-needed coffee for both of them.

When he returned, it was to find Will crouched in front of the little house, speaking in a low tone to Mads, who had taken up his apparently preferred position for conversation, nose practically pressed up to the glass, regarding his visitor with charged intensity. Stopping in the doorway, Hannibal tuned into Will’s soft speech, picking up what he was confiding in his new friend.

“You’ve landed on your paws here, really. He can seem pretty scary, Dr Lecter, but so long as you behave yourself, he probably won’t eat you.”

Hannibal raised an eyebrow. That was verging on suspicious.

“And if you manage to convince him to like you, well,” Will continued, his tone conspiratorial, “it’s amazing just what you can get away with.” Still crouching, Will turned his head and positively grinned at Hannibal. “Isn’t that right, Doctor?”

Hannibal regarded Will thoughtfully, his face placid as his mind briskly sorted through possible courses of action. Presently, having discarded the more fatal options, he set down both cups of coffee and came to stand by Will, who rose to meet him.

“Indeed,” he said, curling his hand into Will’s and finding no resistance, “once a person has won my affection, I’m afraid I’ll let them away with murder.”

Will looked, for just a moment, as if he were reconsidering all his life choices and Hannibal wondered if perhaps he’d misjudged the situation. He was quickly reassured, though, by the way Will squeezed his hand and stepped in close to him, a tilt to his chin that seemed to call out for Hannibal to kiss him…

…Which he absolutely would have done had Mads not chosen that precise moment to fall while trying to get into his hammock and make an almighty racket while righting himself.

Hannibal glared at him. “Your buffoonery is ill-timed, young man.”

Will sucked in a mock-dismayed breath. “Damn, maybe I overestimated that whole affection thing.”

Hannibal turned back to him with an indulgent smile. “In fact, no. Mads and I have formed an unexpected bond in your absence.”

“You… really?”

“Yes. Strange as it may sound, his presence appears to have had rather a positive effect on my creative output. Something about the rhythmic sound of his wheel, I suspect…”

“Oh, so that explains this sorta scary pile of drawings, then?” Will asked, drifting over to the desk to take a look at Hannibal’s work.

All of which, somewhat unfortunately, featured Will himself as the subject.

“Will, it might be better if you didn’t…” Hannibal said, attempting to put himself between the real Will and his charcoal avatars.

Too late.

“Oh… these are… these are all…” Will trailed off as his cheeks flushed bright red and he very deliberately didn’t look at Hannibal.

“I must apologise, Will, I realise this is a gross infringement of your privacy-” Hannibal stopped as Will held up a hand to cut him off. He could do nothing but watch as Will continued to leaf through the drawings, his eyes growing large and round as he took in each new image. At one point he seemed to choke a little; Hannibal imagined this was because he’d got to the sequence in which Will had a faceless (though, if Hannibal were honest, still fairly recognisable) male partner tied to a chair and was alternately riding his cock and wielding a rather extravagantly braided crop.

“Is this…” Will had to clear his throat before continuing, such was the roughness of his voice. “Is this really how you see me?”

Hannibal decided there really was no point in holding back. “It is an image I have entertained with some pleasure, yes. But were I to spend the rest of my life doing nothing but drawing you, Will, I could not hope to capture all that I see in you, nor a fraction of your beauty even in the most mundane of circumstances.”

This was met with a slight bulging of Will’s eyes as his brows attempted to rocket off his face, but no words. Instead, Hannibal watched, transfixed, as Will shuffled the offending drawings to the back of the pile and then riffled amongst the pages as if looking for something. Finally, he pulled out a single drawing, strode over to Hannibal and thrust the page against his chest.

“Let’s start with this. I think I’ll need to work on my horsemanship before attempting the more advanced stuff.”

Hannibal, too full with a sudden rush of hope to look away from Will in case he vanished, let the drawing flutter to the floor without even glancing at it. “In this, I shall be led by you, dearest Will. That you would allow my touch at all-”

“Oh, good grief, you really are way too fancy for me,” Will interrupted, though he immediately contradicted this statement by pulling Hannibal in by his lapels and kissing any further declarations of devotion out of him.

Some time later, having moved to Hannibal’s sofa and figuring out that it could hold two fully-grown men surprisingly easily and without creaking even slightly, Will propped himself up on his elbow and gazed down at Hannibal thoughtfully.

“About this burst of productivity your furry little muse inspired in you…” he said.

“Yes, darling?” Hannibal responded distractedly, somewhat preoccupied with deciding which side of Will’s neck he’d like to bestow a mark on first.

“Was it just the drawings?”

Hannibal raised his head but failed to quite look directly at Will’s amused expression.

“Hannibal?”

“There may have been a sonnet. Or two. And the opening bars of a composition.”

“Only the opening bars, huh?”

“Well, he had a nap at one point.”

“He looks a little out of sorts, don’t you think?”

“I believe he may be lonely. I have been rather… distracted, of late.”

“Are you claiming that I’ve usurped his place in your attentions with my hot body?”

“Yes.”

“Fair enough.” Will pressed said body back against Hannibal, who had just wrapped his arms around Will from behind. They both peered at Mads the hamster, who was curled up dejectedly in the corner of his house, his back – somewhat pointedly, it seemed – turned away from his audience. He was clad today in a tracksuit the colour of a pumpkin, the luridly cheerful shade in complete opposition to his demeanour. (Hannibal had made an attempt to introduce Mads to the joys of tailoring, having enlisted his somewhat bemused tailor to create a selection of miniature suits, but thus far the hamster’s response to each sartorial experiment had been to tear the offending article off and proceed to shred it and add it to his bedding.)

“Maybe he needs some companionship of the furry kind,” Will suggested.

“You are suggesting a second pet?”

“You want Mads to be happy, don’t you?”

Hannibal considered this. He owed the little creature a debt, it was true, not only for bringing him and Will together, but also because he had finally finished that composition that had been bothering him for years the other day. And two hamsters could hardly be much more of a nuisance than one, after all.

“All right, I agree to your proposal. On one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, with a second housemate to take care of, I believe I will be in need of your excellent advice on a more regular basis. I will find a new companion for Mads, if you agree to spend the night here at least three times a week.”

“Damn, Hannibal, you might as well ask me to move in.”

“Well, as you have mentioned it, I would be delighted to share my home with you.”

“I… Hannibal, I…” Will stopped and took a long, assessing look at Hannibal, followed by an almost comedically deep breath. “…would have to bring the dogs.”

And that was how Hannibal came to share his home with one empath, seven dogs, and two hamsters. And also how Hannibal quickly decided they all needed to move to a rather bigger house in the country.

Epilogue:

“Would you like the honour of naming him, my love?”

“Really? Ok, um… how about… Hugh?”

They both looked down at the newly arrived hamster, still in his travel box, waiting to be introduced to his new housemate. It looked back at them, blinked and gave a small squeak, then went back to grooming its paws.

“I think he approves,” Will said.

“Winston, Buster, Hugh. You seem to have a predilection for giving your animals names that might better be suited to upper-class English gentlemen,” Hannibal mused.

“What can I say, I like posh foreign men,” Will grinned, groping Hannibal’s ass to underline the point.

“Hmm, I’m not sure I appreciate the implication that I am one of your pets,” Hannibal said, leaning into Will’s touch regardless.

Will leaned in and bit at the lobe of Hannibal’s ear, before breathing, “You sure about that?”

Hannibal shuddered despite himself and made a note to explore this avenue more thoroughly later. “If you continue to behave in this fashion, poor Hugh will be trapped in that inadequately sized box until tomorrow.”

Will relented, as Hannibal knew he would – Will might be many things, but a man who would put his own pleasure before the wellbeing of an animal was certainly not one of them. He detached himself from Hannibal’s back and retrieved the newly-christened Hugh from his box while Hannibal opened up the hamster house so Will could gently place Hugh inside.

They watched, tense with the knowledge that hamsters often did not get on well with each other, and that this could all go disastrously wrong. For a moment or two, Mads and Hugh did nothing but stare at one another, the strangely bright blue rings in Hugh’s eyes seeming to flash as they did so. And then, with a tiny chirrup from both animals, they scurried towards each other and began scenting intently.

Both Will and Hannibal held their breath. This was the moment of truth.

The hamsters scented each other for rather longer than seemed entirely necessary, and then suddenly Mads scurried off, followed closely by Hugh, towards his bedding. The two of them plunged into the depths of wood pulp and soon the sound of happy scrabbling could be heard as Hugh and Mads burrowed through their bedroom together.

Will and Hannibal let out relieved sighs.

“That seems to have gone well,” Hannibal remarked.

“Yeah, it did. In fact, I thought Mads looked like a hamster in love.”

“Given the way Hugh followed him into bed, I think it might be mutual.”

“Can’t blame them, really.”

“Terribly handsome fellows, both of them.”

Will shot Hannibal a conspiratorial glance. “Maybe we should give them some privacy?”

Hannibal tilted his head, considering. “I do have some laundry that requires folding.”

Will hummed in agreement. “Sounds good. Unless, of course, you can think of something else that would be fun to fold…”

The two hamsters re-emerged just in time to see Hannibal giving chase after a giggling Will.

Are they always like that? Hugh squeaked.

Ja, they’re horny bastards, responded Mads, wrinkling his nose. Sometimes they don’t even make it out from the kitchen. Humans, he added, with something that might have been a shrug in hamster.

Strange creatures, Hugh agreed. Mind if I have a go in your wheel?

Our wheel, wee man.

Hugh regarded Mads from beneath surprisingly long eyelashes. Our wheel, right.

Mads sidled a little closer to his new housemate. Could always give it a spin together, if you fancied it.

One wheel, two riders? Hugh’s head twitched to the side. That’s a pretty unorthodox suggestion.

I’m a pretty unorthodox hamster, kaere.

Oh yeah? Hugh considered his companion. Prove it.

A moment later, Hugh took off towards the wheel, squeaking happily, as Mads scampered after him in delighted pursuit. And soon, the only sounds that could be heard were that of bouncing bedsprings and a frantically spinning hamster wheel, all of the house’s inhabitants enthusiastically exploring the joys of cohabitation.

#hannibal #hannigram #hannibal fic #hannigram fic #madancy #i mean technically #but they're both hamsters so...#hamster!mads #hamster!hugh #my fic #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy

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winchester-ofthe-lord · 5 years

Text

Classic Winchester Adventures - Chapter 2

Square Filled: Having To Sleep In The Car

Rating: gen

Warnings: swearing, gore, blood, injuries, sass, serial killer stuff, vengeful spirit, language

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: What's supposed to be a short stop at a motel to finally get some well-deserved sleep and a shower turns out to be a new case

read on ao3 read from the beginning

A/N: this is the second square for @spnclassicbingo and chapter two in the series of classic supernatural case fics, so if you like it, leave a comment, feel free to reblog and stay tuned for the next chapters :)

They drive for two hours until they finally find a motel.

Which is approximately one hour and fifty minutes too long for Dean’s liking, since it’s already ten to seven in the morning. All he wants is a hot shower and a few hours of restful sleep in a decent bed, is that really too much to ask for?

“Hey Dean,” he turns his head and looks over at Sam while he pulls the Impala into the parking lot of the rundown motel, “Can I take the first shower? I got graveyard dirt in places where there should be no graveyard dirt.” The younger brother grimaces and shifts uncomfortably in his seat, “Friggin’ ghoul.” He lifts his hand and fumbles at the dried blood on his temple, “Does this need stitches?”

Dean turns the ignition and takes a closer look at the cut, leaning over in his seat. “Don’t think so. Tape strips should do,” he suggests and gets out of the car, “There should be some left in the first aid kit.”

They grab their duffels from the trunk, cross the parking lot and enter the shabby motel. Which is, to cap it all, empty.

“Hellooo,” Dean hollers and looks around the unoccupied room, tapping his hand repeatedly on the bell on the reception counter. To be on the absolute safe side he keeps ringing it for another twenty seconds. Just for good measure. Until Sam stops him with an annoyed “Dean!” and an angry glare that starts at Dean’s face and ends at his hand on the bell.

“Right. Sorry,” the older brother clears his throat, removes his hand from the table bell and calls again for the absent desk clerk, “Anyone here?”

They wait another minute before Dean mutters a few angry and frustrated and also very tired swear words under his breath, running one of his hands over his exhausted face.

He’s just about to turn on his heels and leave the building, when he sees that Sam presses a finger on his lips while gesturing towards a door labeled ‘Staff Room’ with his other hand. A barely audible whimper can be heard through the closed door. Then silence again. A quiet gasp for air. Whimpering. Silence.

Dean draws his gun from the back of his waistband. A nod towards Sam signals for him to do the same.

They each stand on one side of the door, Sam with one hand on the doorknob, Dean holding up three fingers of his free hand, slowly counting down.

Three.

Two.

One.

One last exchange of looks.

A high-pitched shriek of fear bursts through the door when Sam pushes the handle down. The scream is muffled within the fraction of a second and he rattles the door once more.

Locked. Of course it’s locked.

Dean shrugs in response to the questioning look he gets from the taller man.

“Please,” the whimpering starts again, but gets interrupted by a quiet sob. “Please don’t kill me,” another trembling sob, “I don’t wanna die.”

Sam clears his throat and speaks to the door in a comforting voice, “We’re not here to kill you, Ma’am. We’re with the FBI. We want to help.” He glances over to Dean, raising his eyebrows as a sign for him to take over.

“Agents Page and Plant. Would you mind opening the door?”

The female voice remains quiet. Several seconds tick by, before Sam and Dean hear the clicking of the lock and see the door opening a crack.

A slightly shaking, middle-aged woman with a pale, tear-streaked face takes a hesitant step out of the staff room. Her short grey hair is tousled. The sunken cheeks and deep dark circles under her swollen eyes give her an almost ghost-like appearance. She flinches a little when she notices Sam’s gun pointing in her direction, but seems to steady down as soon as he lowers it towards the floor.

The woman throws a scrutinizing look at the tall man in front of her, at his disheveled hair and grime-stained clothes and face, at his neck and his temple, both still encrusted with blood. Her eyes flick over to Dean, giving him the once-over as well.

“You two don’t really look FBI, y’know?” she muses, her raspy voice slightly shaking at the words. She wipes the tears off her face with a trembling hand, hugs her own slender figure, tensely stroking over her arms in order to calm herself down.

The older Winchester stows away his gun, back in his waistband, as he starts a brief explanation. “Yeah, we just closed a case a few hours ago. Badges are in the bag over there - here, lemme show you.” He walks over to his duffel, rummages between his clothes and pulls out his FBI badge, flipping it open for the woman to see it.

She eyes it for a brief second and sighs with relief, her face and body visibly relaxing.

“Can you tell us what happened, Miss…” Sam prods, the corner of his mouth twitching into an almost grin.

“Groves,” she answers, her voice already a lot more steady than before, “But everyone calls me Debbie. Can we maybe talk outside? I could really use a cigarette now.” Debbie pulls a pack of Marlboros out of the pocket of her denim jacket and heads towards the door, both men following her outside.

“So, Miss- uh, Debbie, ” Dean starts as the woman lights her cigarette, “Why were you hiding in the staff room? Was somebody coming after you?”

She takes a drag of her cigarette and blows a cloud of dense, white smoke into the air with a huff, “You wouldn’t believe me… I'm not even sure if that actually happened or if I only imagined it. Hell, I don’t even know if I believe me.” Another stinking puff of smoke fills the air.

“How about you let us decide for ourselves,” Sam reassures with a set smile, “We’ve heard some really crazy stories in our line of work.”

“Oh yeah?” She snorts a humorless laugh, “So if I told you I saw a- a ghost… you wouldn’t think I’m totally nuts? Because-” she pulls on her cigarette again, “I definitely think I am nuts.”

Both Sam and Dean raise their eyebrows in surprise and surly frustration at the word ghost .

Dean fights hard against the urge to roll his eyes. A shower and sleep. That’s all he wanted. And what does he get instead? A friggin' ghost .

“You know what-” Debbie gives an irritable laugh. She seems to be trying to convince herself that there’s a logical explanation for all this, talking to herself, rather than to the two agents, “I think it was just in my imagination. Lack of sleep. I’m probably just tired. I mean... Tom isn’t even dead, he’s just-”

“Wait- Tom ? You know the ghost?” Dean interrupts her nervous babbling.

“Yeah, of course I know him, it was Tom, he- wait, you believe me?” she asks incredulously and taps the ash off her cigarette before taking the next drag.

When she turns her quizzical face towards Sam, he’s already smiling and gives her an affirmative nod, “Yes, we do believe you. Can you tell us exactly what you saw? Who’s Tom?”

Debbie still looks confused, shakes her head in disbelief, “I don’t- it can’t be real… his ear- and… god, I can’t-” A sharp breath leaves through her nose when she brings both her hands to cover her face, rubbing vigorously at her eyes.

The younger Winchester places a soothing hand on her arm, making her look up at him, “Please, it’s okay, just tell us what you think you saw.”

Sam’s soothing hand seems to be working, since Debbie inhales deeply and begins to talk, “Okay, uh, where do I start… So, Tom- sorry, his name’s Thomas Richards. He’s the owner of this motel. He… I haven’t seen him in four days now. Usually, he never leaves for more than two days, and even then he would’ve told me. So I was worried and reported him missing to the police. But they told me I should just keep going to work and I should call again if he doesn’t turn up within the next 48 hours. Lazy assholes.” She quickly glances over to Dean, “I’m sorry, no offense.”

“None taken,” he assures with a grin, “Local authorities can be kinda difficult at times.”

Nodding once, Sam agrees, “And the ghost you saw was Mr. Richards? When did you see him?”

“Yeah, this time it was him. I was working behind the counter, sorting through- uh, doesn’t matter. Anyways, Tom was suddenly standing right in front of me. I was so freaked out, I- goddammit, he had a friggin pen stuck in his eye. And his ear was… I think it was ripped off, and he was bleeding really hard. I asked him if he was okay, but he just- he kinda... flickered and then he was gone, so I thought I’d just imagined it.

“But when I turned around, he was right there again… and he had this- this creepy, evil- predatory smile on his face and then he chuckled, reached his hand out to me and said ‘You’re next’. And that’s when I ran and hid in the staff room. That was about twenty five minutes before I heard you ringing the bell.” She takes the last pull on her cigarette, before she flips it to the ground, grinding the heel of her foot into it until the smoke stops.

Sam and Dean exchange a brief, knowing look.

“I'm sorry to have to say this, Debbie, but Tom is most certainly dead,” Sam declares, “But, one more question. You said this time it was him. What did you mean by that?”

“Oh, nothing- it’s just… I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like this whole place is haunted.”

“Haunted?” Dean chimes in, the anticipation in his voice anything but joyful.

“It’s just… sometimes I kinda see people, y’know?” Debbie admits, fiddling with her sleeve before she pulls the next cigarette out of the pack, “But they’re just standing somewhere in the corner of a room, some of them with bloody faces, some said things like ‘help’ or ‘please’, but they all disappeared again within a few seconds… I always blamed that on sleep deprivation and too much caffeine. Wait- are they real, too?”

Her shocked eyes snap back and forth between the two men. God, how Dean hates these conversations. Telling people that all the supernatural creatures from their darkest nightmares are real will never be easy.

“You don’t have to worry,” Dean tries to comfort her, “We’ll take care of it.”

The brothers cross the parking lot to get their rock-salt shotguns and their EMF-meter out of the car, and tell Debbie to stay outside of the motel until they’re back from checking the building for ghosts.

“They’re probably bound to the motel, so you should be safe out here. Are there any guests inside at the moment?” Sam asks the still frightened woman who pulls on her freshly lit cigarette.

Debbie puffs out a new cloud of smoke, “Only one room’s occupied. Room 6. Some trucker guy. Said he’d be checked out by eight.”

“Okay, that gives us about twenty minutes to look for our spooky friends,” Dean says and nods at his brother, both drawing their shotguns and ready to enter the building.

“These ghosts Debbie described sound a lot like Death Echoes, don’t you think?” Sam reckons as soon as they’re out of earshot, “You think that this Thomas guy had the proverbial skeleton in his closet?”

“I don’t know, man. But the EMF here’s going crazy .” The older brother holds up the wildly blinking and beeping device for Sam to see, before he puts it back into his pocket.

They scan the entrance hall, check the staff room again, survey the hallways. While the EMF-meter rather resembles a disco ball, neither of the brothers can see or hear anything but an empty motel.

They leave the building through the back door and split up. Dean is already halfway around it, peering at the thick wood right behind it when he hears his brother calling his name. He quickly jogs over to Sam who’s standing in front of a wooden hatch, similar to a storm shelter, at the back side of the house. To the surprise of both, it’s not locked but only pushed closed.

The room in which they find themselves after they climbed down the few steps, is dark and stuffy. Dean detects, thanks to the little sunlight that shines through the open hatch from outside, the light switch quite easily, flips it - and wishes it was dark again.

The initial stroboscopic flickering from the single fluorescent tube turns into an unpleasantly blazing, biting light. It's accompanied by the typical spine-tingling buzz and the brothers eventually see the room for what it really is:

A friggin' torture chamber.

The cold light reveals a metal desk with straps for arms, legs and the head in the middle of the squarish room. Various sorts of torture instruments hang on the bloodstained concrete walls, the metal parts flashing in every flicker of the lamp.

Neither of them dares take a breath. Lost in the eerie atmosphere, they let the realization of what they're faced with slowly sink in.

Several jars, filled with dubious liquids and other contents are carefully placed on a shelf on their left-hand side. Dean's not even sure he really wants to find out what's inside, but as always his curiosity prevails.

“Holy sh- that’s a- Sam, this guy has friggin ears in jars!” He writhes with disgust as he yanks his hand back from one of the opaque glass containers, “This is so gross. Who the hell was this guy?”

“Hell, if I knew…” his brother answers with a nauseated grimace, and walks over to the other side of the chamber, letting his eyes roam over the diverse saws, pincers, pliers, needles, knives, a butcher’s cleaver, scalpels and a bunch of other tools Sam really doesn’t feel the urge to examine in greater detail.

They leave the oppressive ambiance in uneasy silence, can only breathe freely again when they are back in the open air.

“Guess now we know where the Echoes come from… but what the hell happened to our creepo here? How did he die? Debbie said he had a-” Sam pauses, his frown so deep his eyebrows are almost merging into one.

“A pen,” Dean assists, a similar frown overcasting his face.

“Yeah, thanks… So, he had a pen stuck in his eye. And his- his ear was-”

“Ripped off, yeah…” The older brother lowers his fingers again after he used them for an awkward air-quotes gesture, “Means he definitely got killed. That’s not something you’d do to yourself.”

“Nope, on no account… But Dean, we need to find out what happened. We need to find his body- or whatever else holds him here. I mean, we know that the longer a ghost remains on earth the more dangerous and violent it becomes. Not for nothing that they’re called vengeful spirits… but this guy? He was already pretty dreadful when he was alive. I don’t even wanna imagine what he’d be capable of doing now.”

They get back to Debbie who is, once again, smoking a cigarette in front of the entrance. She seems a lot calmer now, though. Calmer and even more exhausted than before.

“Jesus, I thought you were gone for good,” she greets the two men with a relieved expression. “The trucker guy in room 6 already checked out. Please tell me the ghosts are gone.”

“How well did you know Tom?” Sam wants to know, ignoring her question entirely.

Debbie glances over at Dean, then back to Sam, “Hardly knew him at all, why? Did you find him? His- his body, I mean.” She almost forgets to take the next drag on her cigarette as she throws questioning looks at the men.

“No. We didn’t find him… but you probably shouldn't let any new guests into the motel for now. You should go home and get some rest,” Dean prompts and turns around to enter the building, “We’ll take one of the rooms, though. I really need a shower before I can put on my suit again.”

“Man, some police stations could really do something about their work attitude,” Dean grunts as he opens the Impala’s driver’s door and slips behind her steering wheel.

“Yeah, and this one in particular,” the younger brother agrees and slams his door shut, “But at least we got the address. Let’s go.”

The motor grumbles to life and the car rolls with its familiar gurgling from the parking lot in front of the precinct onto the street, headed towards Christopher Gibson’s house - presumably Thomas Richards’ last victim.

After they’d taken their respective showers in the motel, the Winchester brothers stopped at the local diner for a quick breakfast. While Dean had shoved a giant serving of pancakes alongside a, by no means less giant, side of bacon into his mouth, washing it down with at least four cups of coffee, Sam had used the free wifi to do some research on their case, consuming the same, if not an even higher amount of pure caffeine in the process.

Their next stop had been the police station, where they, thanks to the true rhetorical master stroke on behalf of former almost-lawyer Sam, eventually got the info they needed.

“I just don’t get how anyone can be that incompetent,” the man in the passenger seat complains, “I mean, they didn’t even realize that all these missing people in the area belong to the same case. It took me three minutes to get that connection, it was friggin' obvious.”

Dean hums in approval and adds, “Yeah well, apparently they’re too busy eating donuts and discussing the latest baseball game.”

He gets a snarky huff in response (maybe because he gladly accepted the donut one of the officers offered him as well, but who is he to turn down a free heart-attack in the form of a delicious circular pastry?) before his brother speaks up again. “Oh, by the way, when we were at the diner I tried it with a simple google search first. Found a ‘Haunted Motel’ two states over, some kind of tourist attraction.”

“Seriously?!” Dean sighs deeply and rolls with his eyes.

“There’s some really weird things going on - our kind of weird, I mean. But these accidents only happen once a month, always on the 13th, and today’s already the 19th, so we still got a little time in between for other cases.”

“Really, Sam? Really ?” The older brother throws a look of reproach at Sam before he focuses back on the street, “We’re already dealing with a haunted motel right now and you’re already planning to visit the next one? You know how much I hate having to sleep in the car! How am I supposed to get any shut-eye in that psycho killer murder house of this creepy Richards guy, huh? I don’t wanna visit yet another haunted motel, man.”

“Dude, you were sleeping while I was taking a shower earlier. Technically, you already got some shut-eye in a haunted motel, so stop making such a fuss about that.”

“First of all,” Dean holds his index finger right into his brother’s face for emphasis, “That was during the day! And second off,” he adds his middle finger, “I wasn’t actually sleeping! ”

“Mmh, sure, ” Sam snorts, grinning amusedly at Dean’s factitious excitement, “Y’know, we can sleep in the room as soon as we salt ‘n burned Thomas Richards’ body. I just hope that this way the Echoes will disappear too.”

Another shocked side glance towards his younger brother. He had almost forgotten about the damn Echoes. It could be days before they are gone as well.

“I’m not sleeping in the motel, Sam.” He vigorously shakes his head, “ Period! ”

Sam snorts again, “Whatever, Dean. You can take the car, I’ll take the bed.” He chuckles slightly at his brother’s pissed expression.

“Fine! ”

“Fine.”

“Mr. Gibson-”

“Chris. I said you could call me Chris,” the young man interrupts the long-haired agent, eyeing the white bandaid on his neck. Sam had patched up his ghoul bite mark as well as the cut on his temple as accurately as possible while Dean was taking his shower in the motel.

They’re seated in the living room of the severely beat up college student, all three men cradling a steaming cup of coffee in their hands.

“Chris, right,” Sam clears his throat and starts talking once more, “So, Chris, we know you told the local police that you got attacked four days ago. But you didn’t want to specify by whom, or under which circumstances?” He raises an eyebrow in question, takes a sip of his coffee.

“I already told the officers who interrogated me in the emergency room that there’s nothing to talk about. I don’t remember anything. I didn’t see the attacker. And I really don’t know what happened,” the young man scratches his chin and looks over to Dean, “All I know is that I woke up at the side of the road with a broken wrist. And then this nice soccer mom pulled her car over and took me to the nearest hospital.” Chris looks down to the cast on his left arm, traces the fingers of his other hand over its rough material, before he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I really can’t answer any more questions, I’m very sorry, agents.”

He’s about to get up when Dean pulls a folded piece of paper out of the inside pocket of his suit jacket, “Well, Chris, no offense but-” he unfolds the paper and shows it to the insecure young man, “We think you’re lying.”

Chris gulps audibly, reaches out his slightly shaking right hand and grabs the photo, viewing it closely. He bites down on his bottom lip and glances up at Dean, nothing but fear in his eyes, speechless with horror.

“Look,” Sam says in a quiet, placating tone and leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, “We know what happened. And we’re not here to arrest you.”

The young man presses his eyes shut, blinking away his unshed tears, before he focuses back on Sam, “We just need to know how you killed him and what happened to his body.”

“Who are you people?” he asks incredulously, his voice shaking just like his hand. He looks over to Dean again who taps his index finger on the photo of Thomas Richards in Chris’ lap.

“Chris, please. We need to know where he is,” the older Winchester stresses with a piercing gaze.

“Why? What good will that do, huh? He’s dead. That’s all that matters,” Chris huffs, an angry frown to his face, “If that’s all, then please leave my house now.” He wants to get up from where he’s seated on the couch next to Sam again, but a giant hand grabs his shoulder and pushes him back down.

“I’m sorry, man,” the taller man says emphatically, “But we can’t leave until you tell us exactly where he is.”

“I can’t believe he actually ripped off his ear,” Dean huffs a humorless laugh and lets his eyes roam over the trees and the leaf-covered forest floor. He and Sam are walking through the woods behind the motel, searching for the body of its deceased owner with an untypical hobby. While they’re trying to follow the directions they eventually got out of his last victim, they keep tripping over tree roots and fallen branches every now and then.

Luckily, it’s only early afternoon and therefore it’s still bright enough for them to see, even though they’re entirely surrounded by the dense forest.

Chris told them that Richards had tried to get him from his pickup truck to the storm shelter. But as soon as Richards had unlocked and opened the hatch, he loosened his grip on Chris a little, so he could break free and uncontrollably tumbled away. He was blindfolded at first, but so scared and in panic that he held on to the first thing he could catch hold of during their fight - Richards’ ear - and yanked at it as hard as he could. Then he tore the blindfold off his eyes, just in time to duck away under the wild, infuriated punch his kidnapper had thrown.

The young man said he had a pen in the back pocket of his jeans when he was kidnapped and apparently his attacker hadn’t found it. The second he had the chance to fish it out of his pants, he slammed it into his kidnapper’s eye and watched him topple over backwards, pen still in his eye, almost landing inside the open hatch.

In his panic he dragged the dead man into the forest and only then he noticed how much his wrist actually hurt after he’d tried to break his fall during the fight.

“That’s why I couldn’t drag him that far into the woods,” Chris explained. “But I covered him with twigs and leaves, so he should be halfway well camouflaged… On the other hand- I mean it was around two in the morning and pitch-black, so I don’t really know,” he admitted.

It takes them 15 minutes of randomly sifting through the undergrowth, but Dean and Sam finally find the bloody pen that must’ve fallen out of Richards’ eye when Chris dragged him over the roots.

“Can’t be that far away then,” Sam states and straightens himself to take a better look around. “Wait- what’s that?” he asks, pointing the tip of his shovel past Dean.

The older Winchester turns around and crouches down. He pulls a rather big branch away and reveals a right foot, “Bingo.”

With the next few twigs both his legs are freed, and leaf by leaf, twig by twig the whole body gets laid open.

Sam and Dean dig a hole to use as a makeshift grave, while the sun slowly sets - they don’t want to accidentally start a wildfire after all - and Dean uses his foot to roll the dead body into it.

It hits the floor with a muffled thud.

The thud Dean emits when he hits the tree, however, is not that muffled.

“EVERY. Damn. Time.” The mixture of a frustrated grunt and a pained groan escapes Dean’s throat as he pushes himself up to his knees in haste. He reaches for his shotgun and fires a round of rocksalt at the ghost, causing it to dissolve into thin air.

Goddamn sunset. And goddamn nocturnal ghosts.

“C’mon Sam,” Dean urges, patting the dust off his pants, “Today would be good, if that suits you.”

The younger Winchester, who has already covered the corpse in salt, pulls out his Zippo. As it always is with these useless lighters, it takes several attempts before the flickering flame lights up - just as the ghost of Thomas Richards appears right in front of him. The ghosty pen in his eye twitches awkwardly at Sam’s face when the spirit glares at him and snarls, “You’re next.”

Sam doesn’t give him the chance to make good on his threats though, drops the lighter and watches Richards burst into flames.

When Dean’s done with his second shower of the day, this time to get rid of tree bark, leaves, and mud, he grabs his duffel and heads towards the door of their motel room.

“Where are you going?” His brother throws a puzzled look at him, lifting his head from his pillow while he props himself on his elbows.

Dean pushes the door open, “I got a date with my Baby, remember?”

“You’re really sleeping in the car?” Sam asks with an amused grin.

“You betcha,” Dean answers, yawning loudly as he takes a step through the door, “You can deal with those Echoes, tell them they’re dead ‘n stuff. Imma get some way overdue shut-eye now.”

Sam shakes his head, smiling at his defiant, stubborn brother and lets himself fall back into his pillow as the door closes again.

Dean crosses the parking lot and climbs into the Impala. He makes himself comfortable in the backseat, stretching his legs across the upholstery and snuggling down in the smooth leather.

They can talk to Debbie tomorrow to let her know that everything’s cleared and that she can go back to work without worries. The Echoes will probably disappear sooner or later anyway… most likely. And maybe they should seal the storm shelter too...

“Y’know, baby,” Dean mumbles contentedly into her leather seat, “I didn’t mean it when I said I hate having to sleep in you. At least you’re not haunted.”

With these words, he finally drifts off to a, admittedly not very comfortable, but therefore very un-ghosty sleep.

read the next chapter

taglist: @leatherandapplepies @demoninflannel @cross-roads-blues @thefandomforme @tiernayne

(please let me know if you wanna get added to/deleted from this list)

#spnclassicbingo2019 #SPN #spn fanfic #classic spn #spn fic #case fic #winchester brothers #my fic

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victorian-lad · 5 years

Text

Finally got to Chapter 3 of the Villain Deku Fanfiction.

Momo and I whipped around, braced to race away in the wake of our friends escape. Katsuki was safe and they were off.

Time to go.

Until a hand fastened itself around my elbow and someone’s rough palm whipped over my mouth.

Great. Now I couldn’t even call Momo back to help.

“Shh. I just want to talk. I won’t even make you come back with us.”

The man, whoever he was, lowered his hand slowly from my mouth. For a fractional moment, I contemplated calling out, but curiosity got the better of me and I kept silent under his grip.

“You are the son of Enji Todoroki, yes?”

Unsure of what he wanted and hesitant to give anything that could be a liability away, I nodded.

“Relax, like I said, I don’t want to hurt you or your family. I am just genuinely curious why you would follow in the footsteps of the man who drove your mother to insanity, abused you for all of your young life and sent your other parent to a mental hospital, all to further his own ambition.”

A shock of strange electricity jerked through my bones. “How the hell do you know anything about me!?”

The man, placing his hands on my shoulders, twisted me around, looking deep into my eyes, blue on aqua and slate. The deep maroon scars marring his face marked him as Dabi, one of the villains from the group that had kidnapped Bakugou.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, little hero?”

“Yeah, I would, that’s literally why I asked!”

“Spicy. Fine, you answer my question and I will answer yours.”

“Deal. I followed my dad’s path for me because I had no other choice. He set everything up, leaving me with no choice but to go along. Now answer MY question.”

“I have a better idea”

“NOW!”

“Let me finish. What would you do if I told you that there was another way, that I could offer you a chance to write your own fate?”

“I would say I don’t care. I may not love everything that my dad has done for me but I have met some honorable people and made some friends on this path of his.”

“Friends? Or just allies. You always were to distant for friends Shouto Todoroki.”

I couldn’t deny that. But it was distinctly and deeply unsettling how much he knew about me and my family.

“Even if you could convince me to run away from my life, how do you expect to stand up to my father. And you still haven’t told me how you know so much about us.”

“I will make you a deal. You come with me and not only will I show you another option but I will tell you how I know what I do about you.”

“That is blackmail, villain. And I do not condone that.”

“Nothing that I have do so far has warranted a slur like ‘villain’. And yet, despite not condoning blackmail, you do support what your father does?”

“What makes you think I would ever agree with that horrible man?”

“Well, you never protested.”

“I couldn't! In case you haven’t noticed he happens to be the No. 2 hero!”

“Do you really think that man deserves to be a hero?”

“No, at least not from a moral perspective. But power wise, his spot is earned.”

“And yet, heroes are, in your own words, honorable. So does he really deserve anything he has?”

“Stop talking in circles.”

“I am doing no such thing. I am only trying to make a point. Your father is unworthy scum. He should be taught a lesson and I’m offering to let you teach him. After all, it’s a win win. You get your revenge as well as a chance to make your own path and he gets some well deserved karma.”

He stopped, staring adamantly into my eyes, as if trying to relay some unsaid message. His flame-blue gaze was deeply penetrating, and somehow, distinctly familiar, rather than the cold evil I was expecting. He seemed to be almost…. Benign.

“How was that for straightforward?”

I sighed, mulling over his words in my head. No real argument, or even a weak protest against the scenario he has described really rose to mind.

“Let’s say I come and ‘teach Endeavor a lesson’ with … presumably you?,” at this he nodded, “What exactly would that entail?”

“Oh I don’t know. For starters, it would be fun to cause him the pain he has caused others.”

“So we wouldn’t kill him?”

“Ahaha, no. That would be far to quick and merciful for that monstrous man.”

He pushed off the ground, fully releasing me and rising up to his full height, stretching one scarred and stitched hand down to me. Despite his silence, the message was clear, take my hand, you agree to join me.

But it wasn’t like bringing my father some much needed karma would mean a commitment to villainy as a whole. In fact, a small part of me wanted me to believe it was my duty to wreak vengeance on Endeavor. After all, heroes were to take down those who were villains, morally incorrect and a danger to others. And for years, my father had been a danger to me and my family.

My decision subconsciously made, I felt my hand move toward his, grasping his palm as he gave my arm a strong yank, heaving me to my feet. Still gripping my hand, he shook it.

A deal.

Truce, between me and a known villain. That should have disturbed me more.

“So, what first? Should we straight up torture him or bring him to my place and have a little fun there?”

“Just so we are clear, I am not joining your league. I am still a hero and I will not be changing that. Not even for some much needed distribution of karma. I also don’t want you telling all of your little friends about this. Endeavor may have this coming but I am not a villain and I don’t want my reputation and the trust I have built to be tarnished by this.”

“Of course not. But if you see this in a different light when we are done, I will be here.” At this, he smiled, a grimace that should have been creepy, with his scars and the villainy behind those electric blue eyes. But somehow, it came out brotherly.

“Villain or not, you and I aren’t so different, Shouto.”

To this, I said nothing. But he was right. What really stood between a hero and a villain, beyond occupation?

I blamed my father blurring my lines between good and evil. The cruelest person I had ever know, so horrible that he had driven my mom insane and sent my older brother running for the hills. Or wherever he went.

` “I didn’t catch your name.”

‘I go by Dabi.”

Call me foolish and naive, to think that he would give me his real name. But, then again, maybe he had legitimate reasons, beyond a lack of trust, for not telling me. Villains weren’t always evil, I had found. Sometimes they were simply people running from fear, looking for a place to hide.

A soft, midnight cold breeze darted over the wreckage of the shattered buildings around us, blurring the lines between the lava red and the glacier white of heterochromatic hair. Just as the lines between good and evil had been blurred by this strange, scarred man in front of me.

“So… shall we go?”

Also I think I changed my mind about not having any ships. Because that would be no fun :3

This fanfic is on Ao3 and Wattpad but I only have chapter 1 on Wattpad so far because I’m lazy.

#fanfic #villain deku #villain au #villain todoroki #dabi #chapter 3 #ao3

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greenroverman · 6 years

Text

Needs A Title...

The sound of chewing snapped me out of this incredible dream I was having about a redhead in a convertible, a glossy red Ferrari with camel leather interior and custom chrome wheels with the high performance, low-profile tires. I just wanted to drive it around the block four or five times and see what it could do, maybe hit the open road and really open it up. In my dream, I was just about to ask the redhead to scooch on over and then sit in the driver’s seat when I heard the loud gnashing sound. I could feel tingling and moisture on my arm, sharp teeth were tearing into my hand. Surprisingly, I couldn’t feel pain – I guess that’s the first stage of shock. I believe shock is appropriate when being chewed on by a very upset chipmunk. It serves me right for falling dead asleep in that old sagging oak tree in the middle of nowhere. The most important question I had at that time was not: what was a pissed off rodent doing snacking on my arm, but where were my pants?

Pants are strangely important when lost in the middle of nowhere. My keys, wallet, and a fancy pistol that I took from an exotic dancer named Mercedes were also missing. I’m hoping they were together, waiting for me, maybe huddled together. After kindly removing my bloody appendage from the chipmunk’s mouth, and scolding the little rat for taking advantage of a passed out traveler, I sat up and looked around. The tree was the same, but last time I checked Earth had a blue sky, not green, and we only had one moon not five. I think this situation might bump the pants down to priority two. The air smelled like rotten garbage mixed with old motor oil. The green sky was surprisingly clear and the five moons shone bright, lighting up the vast emptiness surrounding me. I’ve got an oak tree, a chipmunk, and no pants – what was in that last cocktail? This is either an incredibly vivid trip or the most elaborate hoax I’ve ever seen. I guess a distant third choice was that I wound up on some alien planet after having the most insane night ever. I think I’m going to have a flashback here…

Things had started normal enough: dinner at Jimmy’s Fine Italian dining with my buddy Sal, then out to Bubble’s club on the west side – where there was this amazing act involving a…chipmunk! I knew I had seen that little guy before – he does good work! From there I was just a passenger in Ms. Cheeky LaPoosh’s limo. Cheeky kept plying me with social lubricant to get me to talk about what I do for a living, but why would Cheeky be interested in a trauma monkey like me. I told her I worked the late shift at the Emergency Center on the south side, the one in the neighborhood where gunshot wounds were passed out like popsicles on a summer day at kid’s camp. My job as a surgeon was a lot like an Asian kid in a Nike sweatshop – keep on sewing and keep the stitching tight. I suppose I was getting good at it – made employee of the month in June. But that was all she was getting out of me, at least at that moment.

The limo stopped at a place called Flush and we all stumbled out. The bouncer recognized Cheeky and hurried us to a private booth in the back. And that’s when thing got interesting: a bottle of some unrecognizable liquid and 3-4 bags filled with an assorted rainbow of pills. I wasn’t the type to participate – I usually just watched and waited for someone to pass out, knowing first aid would be needed. I’m not sure if something fell into my drink or if it was deliberate, but I think I swallowed a green and a red, and maybe a blue. I do know that the room was spinning and I was either on the floor or the ceiling. I finally woke up in the back of the limo with Cheeky and Sal and 4-5 other people I didn’t recognize. A deep conversation about some pop psychology drivel was forming, something about hand washing and moral purity. The theory presented by the pleather couch brigade was that people who wash their hands frequently were more likely to be upstanding humans. Based on the amount of pills and alcohol consumed, this brood had certainly never washed their hands in their lives. But honestly, I couldn’t hear details over the roar of the freight train running through my head. Someone handed me a bottle of something and I drained it – thankfully it was only water. I leaned my head back against the window and closed my eyes.

I was startled awake by a gunshot and a scream, the smell of gunpowder was close so “we” must’ve done the shooting. Of course, the sound of the scream was also close, so “we” must’ve been shot! One of the girls with us, a delightful stripper stereotypically named after a luxury automobile, Mercedes had shot Sal in the leg for having inappropriate body boundaries, which is normally appropriate, but there may or may not have been a transaction or barter. Can’t say I blame her either way. But eight years as a trauma surgery in the nastiest hospital in the metro-area had prepared me for this moment. I doused the wound with a half-bottle of Vodka then used the ice cube grabber to dig into the wound to remove the bullet. My tie made a decent tourniquet and then my Armani shirt became a compress. Did you know that Armani uses a specific type of wool found only in one particular area of Italy known for its high-absorbance properties – in fact after a rain, the sheep usually can’t move because of the amount of rain they soaked up. Crisis averted, I took away the gun from Mercedes and stuffed it in my suit coat pocket – why did she need a .40 S&W pistol with custom grips, easy-pull trigger, and 16-round high-capacity magazine? I suppose there are those out there that would question why I wouldn’t need one. Although, the thought occurred to me that we do live in a rather violent time in a violent city with creepy guys like Sal around.

Sal was a little worn out at this point, wanting to go home. We dropped Sal off at his place, it was a dump – walking in you would think that the place was tossed by thieves looking for something, but no, Sal was just a slob. I made sure he was tucked in bed with some pain killers and the roaches. I figure I would check up on him tomorrow on the way to work. I glanced at the clock on the microwave while walking out the door, it screamed 3 A.M., plenty of night left.

I decided to hitch a ride back to my car with Cheeky. I had parked in a dimly light space on the second floor of the hospital parking garage. Cheeky invited me back to her place for a night cap. I figured it would be prudent to turn it down at this point and head home – plus after witnessing the shooting of my best friend, and the strange mixture of whatever I had taken earlier, I figured that would be the safest place for me.

Unlocking the door of my midnight black Mercedes-Benz AMG coupe, I sat in the plush leather sport seat for a moment to catch my breath. I had expected a simple dinner and maybe a few drinks, instead I wound up hanging out with a stripper queen named Cheeky, a gun wielding psycho, and had one hell of a headache. Time to go home, take some Tylenol, (yes, Doctors really recommend it) and go to bed!

I backed out of my space carefully. Despite my foibles, I was a fairly cautious driver, mostly. I cruised down the spiral to the garage exit. The road was empty, so I gave it a blast with my right foot. The twin turbo V-8 engine with excessive horses roared to life and left a decent strip of tire and smoke in my wake. The ridiculous zero-to-sixty time passed smoothly and the speedometer told me I hit 100 mph in around 6 seconds.

Yellow lines blurred into a paste smeared behind me as I cruised on the highway. I decided to take the long winding road, the path I rarely travelled. I had the speedo pegged at about 110 mph when a deer bound out into the middle of the road. Hitting anything at that speed is like running full speed into a brick wall – it’s going to hurt and something will break.

Blood splattered the windshield. I went off the road straight into a tree. I heard the bang, slam, and smelled the acrid smoke pouring out of the engine compartment. Hollywood would lead us to believe that the car would burst into flames at this point and then explode into a three-story fireball. Fortunately, fireballs don’t happen most of the time. The Mercedes was a crumpled mess. I survived, thank God for air bags, and opened the door – good engineering required that the door still be able to open in a catastrophic accident. The deer was in the middle of the road, writhing in pain.

I never shot anything before, but the poor bastard didn’t deserve to go out like this – suffering from grievous wounds. The .40 S&W was a powerful, highly accurate round – the bullet caught the deer just below the eye socket, leaving a small entry wound but the back of its skull was blown out onto the asphalt. I figure that was the most decent thing I’ve ever done in my life.

This is the point where I get a little fuzzy. I was standing there shaking from the crash and from putting the deer down and I remember a bright light. I heard a ringing in my ears and a loud sound like a bomb exploding – and no, it wasn’t the Mercedes exploding into a Bay-esque fireball, I checked.

And that’s when I woke up to being a chipmunk snack.

The green sky and the smell of the air had a disconcerting effect on my fragile mind. I had one weird night, but this was over the top. Where were my pants? I don’t swear much, but I feel that this circumstance warrants it. So I looked at the beautiful five moon sky and let out a stream of obscenities that would make a trucker blush.

Bearings. I needed to get my bearings. I was standing in a field next to an oak tree. The chipmunk was a sleep – maybe he was dead – I could only hope! I stretched my legs, after a nasty car crash you would think that I would start to feel sore or cramp up. I surprisingly felt…alive, like I could run, jump, or wrestle an angry chipmunk.

Scanning the horizon, I saw a glimmering object about 30 feet away, hoping it was my pants, I walked towards it. It wasn’t my pants, but the gun. I worked the action and checked the magazine like I’ve seen in the movies; I knew I had at least 2 bullets. I would imagine that having a loaded weapon in a strange world would have a calming effect, but I felt scared. Where was I? What would I face? How do I get home?

I decided to keep walking in the direction I found the gun, maybe my pants were close as well. In front of me was a dense forest of blue pine trees – not blue spruce, but actual blue pines. Was I in a Dr. Suess book? The important thing to note is that they smelled like pine trees, that sweet sappy smell that I love. I closed my eyes and breathed and it was as if I was at home in my backyard. I lived on 20 acres in the woods – I might be a highly-skilled medical doctor, but I was a country boy at heart. Pine has a calming effect on my spirit.

Venturing into the woods further, I crossed a creek that ran with green water. Flowing over rocks and around sand bars, I figured it was safe to drink, even if it seemed to have a high algae content, at least that’s what I figured it was. The banks of the creek were lined with broad leafed plants that formed natural cups. I plucked off the nearest leaf and dipped it into the cool, flowing water. I had to test it, so I dipped my pinky into the water – it didn’t burn or melt my finger off. Test one, successful. I dipped my finger in again and put a drop in my mouth. It was the best tasting water I have ever had in my life. Although it was cold, I felt warmth in my stomach. I took a long pull from the leaf and immediately felt refreshed. I drank until I was satisfied – about half of a leaf full of the amazing water.

I decided to keep moving, those pants weren’t going to find themselves. After walking for what seemed like an hour, the forest started to thin out. I stopped at the edge of a clearing and there ahead of me was the most amazing sight I had ever seen in my life. A wall. This was a special wall, it was 100 feet tall – I guess. And it looked like it was made out of solid gold! But in my mind, all that mattered was that a wall meant civilization, that meant people, and that meant…pants.

The wall was a journey in itself. It took three hours of hiking around the circumference to find an entrance. The break in the wall was a wooden door, about 20 feet tall. There were cobwebs on the door and rust on the hinges – this obviously wasn’t the main gate. I tried the knob on the door, figuring it was locked. Surprisingly it was not and it opened rather easily. The door opened into the pitch black, but better there than in the woods – I was one step closer to pants.

I figured the room I stepped into was filled with books. There was that musty smell of old paper and leather, aged with time into a crisp mildewed odor mixing with the sweet mahogany of the bookshelves. I felt along the wall of the room for a switch, and was shocked to actually find one. I flipped the switch and a single light bulb flickered and began to give off a faint hum and then warmed into a steady dim glow. Sure enough, I was in a library or archive of some sorts, but from all the dust and spider webs I figure it hadn’t seen visitors in years.

The room wasn’t particularly large, about as big as a bedroom in a suburban house – one of those planned community things – little boxes as the song says. Shelves covered every wall floor to ceiling – and dust covered that. There were a few tables in the room, covered in books as well – stacks 10-12 books high in places, others were open and laying on top of the piles. The floor was just as dusty as the rest of the room and I didn’t see any footprints or signs of life – other than mine.

I had found civilization, but it sure seemed abandoned. I decided to look at the books that were open on the table to see if I could recognize anything about them. Imagine my surprise when I was able to read the writing! I picked up the book and sat in the only place in the room, a huge high backed wooden chair covered with intricate carvings in a foreign script. The seat was padded and covered in a rich red leather – and dust. I began reading the tome and found that it was a treatise on patience and I immediately wanted to skip that book to the next, but I decided to read a few paragraphs and found myself becoming calmer. As I read it seemed as though time stopped and I forgot I was in an alien environment. I finished the book and was amazed at the clarity and reasoning, I felt a measure of new confidence and security – was that book magic?

I picked another book from the pile; it had a wooden cover with the same intricate carvings as the chair, totally unrecognizable symbols. The book was heavy, much heavier than its size would let on, and after reading the first paragraph I figured out why it had so much weight – the subject matter was very deep.

A ship from a safe port had set out to sea, unsure of its destination. It began moving through the ocean in one direction and ran into a terrible storm. The waves pounded the ship and damaged the rudder. The poor ship was throw like a baseball from one wave to another, the sails were torn, and the crew was terrified.

When the storm had passed, the crew made a few repairs to the sails and started moving again, further into the ocean rather than back to the safety of the harbor. Another storm struck the vessel and tore at the mast and ripped at the crew, many lives were lost and the ship took on much water. But then calm came again and the remaining crew set about repairing what damage they could – a tattered sail with patches was the best they could muster. They continued on towards the open waters, hoping to find a new port for repairs. Eventually they came to a port, but it was filled with pirates and thieves, the crew barely escaped in their damaged ship.

Again they sailed out into the open ocean and finally, they ran into a hurricane. The waves ran higher than they had ever seen. The fierce wind hit like a sledgehammer. The ship, already damaged, was destroyed and the crew drowned in the horrible blackness.

The end of the book had a single note:

Think of your life as the ship and the storms as the trials you face. Do you continue aimlessly or do you return to your port of safety?

I sat for a moment after reading and wept. I realize that I had always lived my life going from crisis to crisis, my crazy night was a prime example. What did I need to learn from this?

That’s when I saw something that caught my eye on the table. A tall yellowed piece of parchment with bold lettering across the top: WANTED. The image was a familiar face – button nose, cruel eyes, buck teeth, and whiskers. Apparently his name was Charmine the Chipmunk. He was wanted for horrible, horrible crimes that I won’t mention here. Dead or Alive – I immediately felt for the gun tucked into my tattered underwear. How I wish I had pants!

#fiction #crazy #readme #adventure #scifi

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lady-fiona-rossi · 7 years

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Practice Challenge Two: Fiona you’re fucked as hell.

AN: I know this has already been posted once. However, the ending has changed due to the sleepover being the first night.

Girls will be girls. It’s the phrase that is rarely heard. Instead, it’s opposite, boys will be boys takes its popularity. At the flower farm, the tendency is untrue. Girls will be girls is more commonly said. The defense for why one girl will cut off another’s hair while they sleep, the defense for why they rise and fall in an over dramatic flare. It’s just what girls do. Humans act like they are so much higher than animals, really we are just like them. We are savages who fight in wars for popularity, thinking the eyes of others mean you have some kind of power. This contest will probably be filled with girls like these. Hot movie stars who will act however they want because they were raised to believe they are always on the right side, or always a victim, intense athletes looking to gain approval from their parents who never could just be proud of them, girls just looking for friends who will be torn apart limb by limb, the attack done by said girls. A battle. The excuse for this horrific and animalistic attack, the phrase girls will be girls. However, I was not raised to accept this battle. Rather I’d like everyone to be warm, regardless of how unrealistic my aspirations are. Thus gifts seemed like a reasonable peace offering. Gifts of what? It stumped me for awhile, but then I realized my surroundings and decided on flower crowns. Though, this is a battle to become Queen, they are all Queen in their own right. Every woman is perfect in her own way. Despite the views of Dom, I want to remind them that they are their own Queen. Each of them just as wonderful, strong, and beautiful as a Queen.

I worked first on sending the letters, mailing each of them to the girls with basically the same phrase, I didn’t want to show favoritism. Then I collected the flowers, the warden allowing me to do so, and made each flower crown. With a soft hum, I finished up the last crown as the time to leave arrived. I didn’t have any clothes to bring so all I had to pack were these crowns. Oh and a book for Prince Evan, and some cookies for Prince Percy and some of the girls. On me, I wore my necklace. My only memory of my mother, I had forgotten her face by now, I knew it in my mind. I would try harder to remember her but the memories only caused me too much pain to think. All I needed to see my sister, however, was to look in the mirror.

The black pants I wore clung to me like the tragedy that reminded me of the ways I was betraying her just by going. It had slipped my mind till recently. The ways we would curse the Royals. Wish them death for the pain they gave us. Now I was going to cozy up to him. I wonder what my mother would think of me? She might be fine with it, knowing why I’m going, Stella on the other hand…she was much more against them. It’s not their fault. It’s their relatives. I can help, I can help them see the darkness they’re keeping themselves blind to. I miss her though, I miss the warmth of her holding me in her arms, comforting me as I grew up far too fast, trying to hold me down and keep me in my youth without restraining me. I sang a soft song as I began to pack the flowers up, the suitcase I had asked for being cold with ice packs to keep the flowers fresh. A song that my mother used to sing to me when I had a nightmare played in my head while I packed.

“When you gonna make up your mind

When you gonna love you as much as I do

When you gonna make up your mind

Cause things are gonna change so fast

All the white horses are still in bed

I tell you that I’ll always want you near

You say that things change my dear

Boys get discovered as winter melts

Flowers competing for the sun

Years go by and I’m here still waiting Withering where some snowman was

Mirror mirror where’s the crystal palace

But I only can see myself

Skating around the truth who I am

But I kn-”

“Lady Fiona it’s time to go to the send-off.” An older man said as he leaned against the doorway looking down at his watch, interrupting me from my song, luckily I was all packed by now.

“Thank you for telling me, but who might you be?” I asked as I had never seen this man before, he was a little creepy. Not too much though, he didn’t have a very good nose. It was far too large, and his eyes were oddly distanced. They were a nice shade of blue, however.

“I work as a royal chauffeur. I’ll be driving you to the airport in Paloma.” He grumbled.

“I see. Thank you very much, sir.” I replied before picking up my suitcase and rolling it with me to the car out in front of the building. I turned back for one moment looking at my childhood. This is where I became who I am today, but it is somewhere I will never go back to, no matter how much it calls to me.

The people of Panama are primarily poor sevens, eights, and a few fours. It’s a province which serves as a large agriculture hub. As we drive I see it. My home, I had never known how far away I had run when they attacked. I was only about fifteen minutes from them. What if they were there? Always waiting for me? What if I had just driven past them? No, I needed to stop thinking like this. They are gone, I am me, I am not them. I am doing this for myself.

“Did they prep you for the send-off?” The man asked, his voice sounding a little concerned.

“Uh, kind of? They said I would have to say like one or two things before heading off to the airport.” I answered the male sighed in response.

“The people, they’re not too happy about the selection they may seem a bit rude. If it ever becomes too much for you, just leave through the back. That’s where I will be.” He explained. It made sense. Why would they be happy about the royal family, the family leaving them in such a shitty condition, throwing a game show about their son finding the proper fuck buddy? Yes flirting with men like him and his cousin Prince Percy would be fun, but I can also understand the people’s frustration at this.

Upon arriving at the stage I saw what the driver had meant. The people, covered in dirt, grime, the sweat from the sevens work in the heat, dirt or sewer water from the work, the sixes seeming much cleaner, but their clothes covered in tears, the eights hiding in the alleyways, some families of eights watching in horror, fearful that the crowd would become too wild and become a stampede. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

Then I stepped out of the car, making my way slowly to the stage, making direct eye contact with everyone I could. I wouldn’t let them forget me and what I was about to promise them. Once I got to the stage I stood straight as I could and let out a sigh.

“People of Panama. I understand your frustration. I am one of you, no matter how I am dressed up. I’ve lived on the streets that you live on, I’ve dug out of the same trash you have. I have seen the same shame in the eyes of those who pass us by that you do. The way they ignore us..like we’re nothing. I can’t promise you I will fix us, I don’t even know how much I will matter in this frivolous game, but I can swear to you, as long as I live I will be pushing for us to be treated as equals. We do not deserve the mistreatment we get solely dependent on the numeric ranking of our relatives.” I spoke, my words stern and precise as I listened for the response. However, the silence was the only thing left after I spoke. I took a deep breath in and out, then gave a small curtsey and turned to the back of the stage. As I walked back I began to hear the applause. I kept on my path and got back in the car.

“It was nice of you to try and help. You know though, you won’t have much influence just as a selected.” He said. I gave a soft sign.

“You’re probably right, but I still can try. I can’t stand to see their faces looking so sad.” I replied and leaned against the window drifting off into sleep. We had to stop in a different province for the night.

The drive was too long and the driver needed a break. So we went to a small hotel and got set up there for the night. The bed was low to the ground and rather soft when I laid on it like I was laying on a marshmallow. I had never slept on something so soft before. The curtains were made out of a thick fabric, they were a pale blue the color of a summer sky, one without a single cloud threatening to drown the citizens, along with the blue small sunflowers were embroidered onto it, like small drops of sunlight coexisting with the summer sky.

“Do you like sunflowers?” The male driver asked. He was staying in another room so I was a little startled to hear his voice suddenly behind me.

“Yes, I suppose. My mother loved them. She would tell me to be bright and sunny just like them.” I answered softly as I held the fabric running my fingers over the stitches making the sunflowers.

“Your mother sounds sweet, and from what I’ve seen of you, you seem to be listening to her.” He complimented. I turned to face him letting the curtains drop.

“Is there something you need?” I asked looking up at him with my eyebrows furrowed.

“No, I wa-”

“Actually what’s your name? I’m tired of not being able to properly address you.” I interrupted.

“It’s Nathaniel Volts, and I was just curious to what one of the selected was like.” He answered and finished.

“Well, now you know,” I replied and leaned against the window. There was a small lake near the hotel, I kind of wanted to go explore it but I doubt I’d be allowed.

“Sooo, Lady ginger. Why’d you enter this thing anyways? You don’t exactly seem too power crazy, or like you’re looking for a playmate. So why?” He asked. I crossed my arms not wanting to get to into it.

“You saw where I lived, I wanted to leave that place. Plus the food is probably awesome, and the prince doesn’t seem like he’d be a bore.” I replied. Nathaniel opened his mouth ready to speak, but once more I cut him off.

“Can you like, go? I’m feeling a bit tired and I’d like some sleep.” I requested though phrasing it as more of a demand, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Right, I’ll go. Sleep well.” He replied stiffly, gave me a pat on the shoulder and then left.

I laid down on my bed and closed my eyes. Quickly one of those dreams began. One of those dreams that cage me, dump ice water on me, then boil me alive like a lobster.

“Stella stop please,” I begged to my sister who was standing on top of a small cardboard box.

“Mamma’s gonna be mad at us, get down.” I pleaded as I tugged at her sleeve. Mamma was out scavenging. There was a parade going on, to celebrate the birth of Princess Callie. They happened to be going through our part of town and Stella was very insistent on having her opinion heard, and I was very insistent on us not getting beheaded.

“How dare these fiends force us to live like we do, while they parade around celebrating the life of another one of them, who will live just as they do in comfort!” She yelled. I felt tears begin to fill my eyes as she was starting to get the attention she wanted. Suddenly a man walked over to us.

“Oh look a little street rat? Just because your mother was a whore doesn’t mean we have to listen to your gibberish.” He grumbled and pushed her down off of her box and onto me. She toppled on me crushing me against the ground. How dare he hurt my sister.

“Maybe you’re a whore!” I yelled, not knowing the meaning of the word at the time but wishing to use his words against him. He gripped my ankle and pulled me out from underneath me sister.

“Oh look the brat’s got a clone.” He spoke as he lifted me up by my leg.

“Let go of me, you stupid person!” I yelled throwing my arms around anywhere I could and kicking my free one. The man tightened his grip on me as I felt my leg break.

Suddenly I was in the woods. It was the last day. The world was spinning as everything became gray. The face of my mother as I listened to her last words while holding my sister’s hand.

“It’ll be okay. I’ll protect you girls. Now can you promise me something?” She asked as we nodded.

“Promise me that you will both always protect each other and that you will always have kindness, courage, and love.” She said before kissing us both on the said.

“I promise mamma.” We said in unison. Me through muffled tears. Stella was always so much stronger than me. Then she pressed a ring into my hand.

“You will be fine, Fiona. Stella and I will protect you.” She added giving me the hug I needed. Then she ran. Then I was running. A loud noise, like a firework. A gun, and my mother’s pained scream.

“Stella you need to hide. Wait for them to pass by, then run away from us. You won’t make it if you keep slowing down for me.” I spoke to her sternly. My leg still had not healed from the past year, without proper medical attention. She hid inside a bush. The last thing I remember were her eyes. What’s next what’s next. What else can this dream hit me with?

Nothing. I sit up fast, not hitting my head this time. I’m drenched in sweat and my hands shake. I stand up and walk to the bathroom, happy to feel the cold tiles on my feet.

“You betrayed me.” I hear Stella say, looking back at me in the bathroom mirror.

“I’m dead because of you, you were supposed to protect me!” She yelled as her hands stretched from inside of the mirror gripping my throat and strangling me.

My eyes open, finally actually awake. I pant and throw the thick blanket off of me, sweat covered every inch of my body. I got up and walked to the bathroom, turned on the light and looked in the mirror. I slowly raised my hands to rest on my cheeks.

“I’m me. She is not me.” I said to myself slowly before taking a deep breath in and out. It was only two am. I couldn’t go back to sleep though. Not when she was waiting to claw her way back to life through me. I snuck out creeping down the hallway and to the outside.

The grass was damp. It must have been raining when I slept. Through the darkness, I made my way to the small lake I had seen from my window. I sat down on the wet grass and watched the resting water. There were no thoughts here, nothing plagued my mind causing the constant screaming in my head to continue, no sisters to save, no one to fail, nothing to do but rest with the water. Then the rain came. I laid down on the grass and let it drench me.

Each drop of rain beating down on my body, washing me of the past that plagued me. Cleaning off each desire that harassed me. The desire to free Stella from whatever fictional hell I had fabricated for her, the desire to impress all I meet, the desire for everyone to love me. The desire to keep up this gilded facade. I had no desire, but the desire to be me. I was clean. I was ready.

My life is mine, and I am going to take it back.

After an hour or so of sitting in the rain, I decided to retire back to my room, then got in the shower. I would need an excuse for my drenched body and hair. Once I was out of the shower I set my nightgown down and used a hair blow dryer I had to dry the nightgown, for the time being, I felt fine wearing only my underclothes. I laid down on the bed and felt the blanket on each part of my skin. I wasn’t often like this as there were so many others who slept in the same room as me. But for now, I felt comfortable, I felt myself.

Once morning came we quickly began our journey I would have to wear my clothes from yesterday as people still may see me and we were supposed to be in the formal wear of the selected until we arrived. I clipped the small flower into my hair, braiding two strands and tying them back like a tiara. I believed the flower was a lily of the valley. They were small flowers that looked almost like bells, they looked delicate and weak. Though someone who knew a lot about flowers can tell you, lily of the valleys are some of the most poisonous flowers if consumed. Normally it takes a lot of a flower to make one ill, not with these small things.

I was the last to arrive at the airport. The first thing I did was walk up to Madalena and give her a hug. We had been writing back and forth during the time after being selected. She seemed like a sweet daredevil. Then I gave each of the girls a hug with the exception of Margarita who settled for a handshake. Calista was very sweet. She joked saying she couldn’t tell if it was a friendly golden retriever who had hugged her or me. She’s blind but has very good hearing. She could hear the plane before it even was in sight. Maria was like me, never had ridden a plane before and was a little scared to. We held hands and made it together.

Upon arriving at the palace I was sat down in a large room to begin what they called a makeover. First, they took a before picture of me, I was wearing a dull colored dress. It seemed a little fake. Of course, I’d look better in a dress that wasn’t so boring. I sat down on a small chair that leaned back like a bad as they began. They put a hot liquid all over me and then ripped it off with small pieces of papers, used weird things I had never seen on my nails, then cleaned my hair.

“Do you think you could cut my hair?” I asked. I had still been meaning too after my first attempt but hadn’t gotten around to it with all of the talking, packing, and flower crown making.

They lady gave a small sigh. “Are you sure about that?” She asked. Why? Would it look bad if I cut it? I had never thought it looked bad short. Does Prince Dom not like short hair? Wait, why do I care what Prince Dom thinks? Maybe I should cut it. Yeah. I opened my mouth about to speak but found myself getting cut off.

“We’ll just trim it a bit and layer it. If you end up wanting that drastic cut, just ask one of your maids later.” She answered and sat me up to begin cutting the hair with a weird kind of scissor that would apparently layer it. Maids? I would have maids? I knew Rebecca had one made named Melissa, we all called her Mel though and were friends. It seemed weird for me to have maids. I would have to make them something.

Once I was finished I spoke to a girl named Debbie, I needed to hand out some of the flower crowns while I could, so I gave her hers, then we got caught up in conversation. Quickly she became a close friend. Next, I would need to find Madelyn, we had been writing back and forth for awhile so I was thrilled to finally meet her. She was talking with a girl named Emmalyn. Berklee and a girl named Charlotte were also talking. Though as our conversation began Charlotte seemed a little wary at everyone coming into the conversation. Berklee had a chicken nugget crown, she had specifically asked for chicken nuggets so her’s was in a different bag meant to keep the nuggets warm.

After the makeovers, we met some lady who would be training us on how to becoming proper ladies. She quickly went over things like table manners, the different types of dresses per each time of the day, and a thousand other things. It made me feel dizzy and sick to think of so many new rules.

Once she freed us from her sickening speech about etiquette, I found myself wandering off to the gardens. It was already fairly dark. The sun normally didn’t set so early in Panama. I walked outside and took a deep breath welcoming in the fresh outside air. Then I began my slow walk, after walking for a bit I bumped into Princess Alina. Rumor had it she liked flowers so it didn’t surprise me too much to see her. We had a rough conversation. I apparently was much more offensive to her than I had intended to be. Something must be wrong with me. Maybe I needed more sleep.

Afterward, I stopped by my room thankful that my maids seemed to have given up on waiting for me to come. I opened my suitcase of gifts. I had already passed out a few of them once I had finished my makeover. But now I would hunt down Prince Evan, and Prince Percy. I’d have to give Princess Alina her gift later.

First I spotted Prince Percy and made my way over to him.

“Hi, Prince Percy! I’m Fiona Rossi one of the selected. I wanted to make gifts for everyone for when I got here, and most of them include flowers but I was really very stumped on what to get for you, considering that my knowledge of you is very slim and I wasn’t sure if you’d like flowers, and Prince Evan has a very clear statement of liking books. So, I decided you can’t go wrong with cookies. Unless of course, you’re allergic to cookies, in which case I will hunt for something else to properly give you as a gift.” I said and held out a box of cookies to him.

“I’m not allergic, and who doesn’t love cookies? Thanks, gorgeous.” He replied. Ooh a flirt. This could be fun.

“Sadly I can think of a few sad girls who don’t. And thanks, you don’t seem to be too bad on the eyes yourself.” I replied with a sly smirk enjoying this conversation already.

“Well, obviously. I am a Schreave, after all.” He replied. Yes obviously.

“Mmmm I wouldn’t say I find all in your family are attractive, some seem a little poorly unshaven,” I spoke thinking back to a very unfortunate picture I had seen of one of them.

“Hah! And who would that be, I wonder?” He asked.

“Not sure I can trust you enough to say. Wouldn’t want someone hating me already.” I replied and looked back up at him making eye contact.

“Hey, if it’s making fun of someone in my family, I am all here for it. Your secret is safe with me.” He assured. I pursed my lips thinking for a minute over if I should spill it or not. Why not.

“Well, Prince Evan is clearly not the most attractive in the family. Maybe he would be a little better if he fixed his facial hair though. Since after all it’s not like I memorized the flaws and benefits of all of your faces before coming.” I explained, adding in the part about memorizing faces as a small joke.

Then Prince Percy began to laugh hysterically. I started to chuckle a bit too, proud I had succeeded in my comment.“Oh, wow. This is priceless. I agree. Evan is a troll. And of course you didn’t memorize our faces, but… if you had… what would you say are the positives about me?” He asked. Oh, so he wanted his ego to be even more inflated. Yeah, I’m gonna at the very least make out with him before I go. He was pretty perfect. Hot, funny, and a flirt. What more could a girl ask for? He then made a ‘smolder face’ waiting for a compliment from me. I leaned forward pressing two of my fingers against his lips.

“Hmmm well, I can’t properly judge when you’re making such a silly face. However-” I paused to move my fingers to give his nose a light pinch. “-your nose is greatly proportioned.” I complimented trying to think of something weird to compliment him with, wouldn’t want to tell him what he wanted to hear so soon. Probably something about his sexy eyes.

“My nose is proportional? That’s all you like?” He asked. Ah, such a wounded animal.

“Well, if I was held at gunpoint and forced to say something else it’d be your eyes, nice color, not too small,” I added trying to keep him hooked.

“Mmhmm. I see how it is.” He replied. Aw, did I go too far?

“Well, maybe I’ll say more if you say some good things about me in return.” I offered up, then very overdramatically batted my eyelashes. Oh how I loved equivalent exchange.

“I’ll wait,” I added.

“You’ve got nice hair.” He replied, such a boring compliment.

“Hmm if that’s the only compliment you can think of, I’ll be so disappointed. I hear it from too many people to enjoy it. To be fair my next complement will be that you’ve got nice hair.” I said before taking a step closer to him and running one hand through it.

“It’s a good color and very thick,” I added. That was when it all went downhill. Percy leaned away from me before saying,

“Hey, don’t touch the hair.” Aw, he was defensive over his mane.

“Why not? Spend hours on it in the morning?” I teased.

“This hair is insured for millions of dollars. Magazines everywhere are willing to kill for a chance to get this hair on the cover of their magazines. I do model, you know.” Goodness, he’s such a guy.

“No, I didn’t know that. I doubt you remember the caste of every girl but I’m the seven. I don’t get magazines often.” I joked.

“Well, I do. Model, I mean. And no one touches my hair. So… a Seven you say…” He said suddenly seeming awkward and closed off

“Yeah…do you have a problem with that?” I asked my eyebrows furrowed. Oh great. Not even in one day and I’m already being treated differently because of my caste. Everything was going fine until he heard that stupid number.

“Hmm… I don’t know yet. I’ve never met anyone in a lower caste than Three.” A three? That’s so high. There are plenty of girls here who are fives and sixes. Is he just going to ignore them?

“Well, there are plenty of people in lower castes here. And you shouldn’t have a problem with it considering regardless of whatever number we’re assigned for a particular job doesn’t change the fact that we’re just people the same as you.” I replied not being too aggressive but simply stating my beliefs as fact.

“I know you’re all people. We just may be very different people.” He said. Well, we weren’t very different people not even a minute ago. Suddenly we’re very different people just for saying a number?

“If that’s a concern of yours then fine, but don’t judge me until you know me. It’s getting rather late so I think I’m going to be off to my bedroom now. Have a good night Prince Playboy.” I excused myself, not wishing to be insulted anymore.

“See you later, Ginger…maybe.”

Now in a slightly upset mood, I went to see Prince Evan. I kept the meeting short and to the point. I got a small book for Prince Evan. I had read somewhere that he liked to read. So I got him a book about the history of flowers in war. As the types of flowers and colors, all had meanings and played a big part in wars. I was hoping we could talk about it, but I found myself too annoyed to keep the conversation going for long. Thus I got a book recommendation to read something by Jane Austen, and left heading for the library. As I made my way down to the library I looked at the wall, the paper on it was so detailed. When there was a door or a bedroom I would also look at everything I could in the time it took me to go down the hall, and on my way down I saw the most infatuating person.

Prince Dom Schreave. I knew we weren’t supposed to speak with him yet so I took in all I could see of him with a giddy smile as I made my way past his room.

Thank God, he’s hot.

At the library, I was in awe at all of the books. I didn’t even know one could have so many books. As I hunted for the Jane Austen books I found myself drawn to a book about social etiquette. I should probably work harder to understand how to act and such. Threes probably need good etiquette too, so regardless of how this ends up I’ll need to know it. I picked up three books, one on etiquette in general social interactions, and one on social etiquette in eating. How could one write a whole book on the rules of eating?

On my way back to my room for the night I bumped into Madelyn. She had made me a poem, it was inspired off of a picture of my favorite flower, peonies, then about friendship, it was actually very lovely. I had some cookies to give her as well and suggested we hang out for a bit in one of our rooms and maybe watch a movie. Maddie then told me there was a sleepover going on with most of the selected and we should probably go.

I do not get drunk often. Primarily because the few times Rebecca has snuck me to a club, or given me alcohol she says I become a very different person. She found this very funny. I, on the other hand, found this very embarrassing. But with all of the stress piling up I decided to chug as much alcohol that I could get my hands on. This resulted in a very drunk me wandering about the palace late at night, which one could see, is not a good result. I found myself wandering off to Princess Alina’s room. Someone had dared Emmalyn to flirt with Princess Alina. However, Emmalyn used everyone’s pick up line but mine.

“Hey hottie, do you like watering flowers, because you’re as pretty as as flower and I’ll make you wet?” I slurred as I leaned against the doorway.

“I told emmalyn to use that one but she said it was too much. It’s too good to go to waste.” I sighed as I turned to face the hottest woman in the palace.

“It’s decent. I’ve definitely heard better.” Alina replied. No freaking way.

“Really. Tell me them then or I don’t believe it. Also, here have some whiskey it’ll make everything so much better in life.” I challenge and motioned for her to take the bottle.

“I’m good. I’m not a whiskey fan. But here’s one: My watch says you’re not wearing underwear. Oh wait! It’s an hour fast.” Alina replied certainly proving me wrong as I began to cackle.

“Ooh that one’s fun! I admit defeat. My pickup line was personalized to you though.” I replied and took a chug of alcohol.

“your cousin came to the sleepover and basically had sex with Charlotte. I couldn’t take watching that and I had pickup lines to avenge so I thought I’d stop by you, princess cutie.” I added then gave her a quick wink.

“That’s a new one.” Alina said seeming slightly surprised at the nickname.

“A new what?” I asked wondering what I had said.

“Nickname. No one’s ever called me Princess Cutie.”

“Aw well, they really should have. You’re a princess-” I paused and walked over to her sitting next to her on her bed, then lightly tapped her nose. “ “-and you are very much a cutie” I finished.

“You’re a little drunk, Lady Fiona,” Alina stated as I chuckled, my face close to hers as I had bopped her nose. God, she’s so hot. How is she not like already married or at least dating?

“A little is an understatement. You should have seen Annette though. She could hardly stand. Prince playboy dared Charlotte to kiss her and she fainted. Though even if I wasn’t drunk I’d still say you’re Princess cutie. The cutest most badass princess of them all.” I said and stretched my arms out to quantify how much of a cutie badass princess she was, but then fell back on her bed now laying on it with my legs dangling off the side and my tiptoes on the floor.

“Compared to who? Callie?” Alina asked. Of course not. Well, Callie included. But not just Callie.

“Compared to every princess on the history of ever!” I exclaimed.

“That’s quite a few princesses.”

“Yup but you’re still the best of all of them, Princess cutie!” I cheered before throwing myself onto Alina giving her a hug.

Alina laughed as she pat me on my back. “Well, thank you, Lady Fiona.”

“Aw your laugh is even so cute. Honestly, they should say fuck all and hold a selection for you. You deserve the most perfect love of your life and deserve the optimal chance to find them. I’m sure everyone would swoon at the thought of signing up for you.” I suggested as I looked up at her.

“I’m perfectly fine without a Selection.” How else is she going to find her perfect love then?

“Ah right you find Sera sexy. I wish you luck with her. She threatened to kill all of us in the sleepover because we were annoying her with our conversation. Though I can see what you mean about her appearance. Like woah. Hot.” I’m not gay though, just can respect a hot girl.

Alina raised her eyebrows before clarifying, “I’m not looking for anything from this. I find plenty of you sexy but I still would never want a Selection.”

“Why not? Wouldn’t most people scream of joy at having 35 hot people of their preferred gender coming to their home and trying to date them?” I asked.

“It’s demeaning and sexist and incredibly constricting,” Alina said. I pulled away from her as my eyebrows furrowed. I hadn’t really thought about the social activism perspectives on this thing.

“How so? I haven’t put much thought into it since I mostly just used it to get off the farm.” I asked wanting to hear her ideas. She seemed like a very smart woman.

“Well it forces heteronormativity, it’s basically a pageant. And it’s not like if Dom doesn’t find the girl he’s looking for he can’t just… cancel this and start over. He’s trying to find someone he loves with only 35 girls here. It’s not as many as you might think. People meet and date tons of people before they find “the one”. He didn’t even get to pick you all for himself. Not that that would be a good thing either.” Alina explained. I hadn’t really thought of any of this.

“Are they not allowed to have a gay selection? I don’t really think of this as a beauty pageant if I don’t like Dom or anyone I’ll just act like a monster till I’m kicked out. I suppose you’re right though. In terms of activism, I’ve mostly thought about activism in castes. Because it’s personally hurt me my whole life and hatred against members of lower castes results in death, but I suppose when I think about it sexism here is pretty bad as well. Why can’t women have sex before marriage, if they wanna fuck they should be able to fuck. And why can’t people be gay? Man we’re really fucked. I should drink more, the best solutions always come from being drunk.” I said then took another chug of my whiskey.

Alina laughed then reached for my whiskey, “Maybe that’s enough for you.“ She then took away the only thing that mattered to me at that particular instance. My alcohol.

“Nooo, Princess cutie Lina, not my only love!” I pleaded and made a lazy attempt to reach for it once more.

Alina smiled at me before saying, “I’m sure you can find another love.”

I laughed and laid back on the bed. No, this is basically my last and only chance at finding a romantic partner. “I’m very sure I won’t Princess cutie. People don’t like sevens, let alone sevens who used to be 8s. I’m going to be a three now which means I’m not going to be around a lot of people who are around my true caste. I’m sure people will avoid me like the plague. Take me to the gardens Lina? I wanna see your garden. I bet it’s amazing just like you.” I said and tried changing the topic to her gardens. The book on social etiquette had said not to get too much into personal stuff.

“I don’t really show people my garden…”

“Oh, that’s fine then. I don’t want to overstep. Sometime though if you feel like it, I’d be more than happy to see it. I’ve always loved gardening. Even before I was a 7. When I lived in the alleyways with my sister and mom I would find dandelions and plant their seeds in places where I knew we’d stay for awhile just so I could hope that one or two of them would grow. I think it started because I was always wishing for a better life for my mom, I wanted all of the wishes I could get.” I said just blabbering on. I was getting into very socially incorrect territory though.

“That’s… I’m sorry.” Alina mumbled.

“It’s okay. She loved us and was happy with us, so it wasn’t too bad. I hated myself when I was younger for awhile. I would always wish for her to have a better life but I had hated myself for not wishing she would have a long life. I don’t mind as much now. I know dandelions can’t really make wishes come true.” I said and chuckled a little sadly, I used to be so stupid.

“Maybe they do, it just takes a while. I mean… you’re here right?” Alina suggested. Yes, I suppose I am much better now. But she isn’t, she’s dead.

“Ah, that’s true. I am at a better place now. I actually joined this not to escape the farm. I say that because I’m trying to tell myself that I did this for me, but I did it because I’m decisional and I think maybe my mom and my sister are still alive. I never saw either of them die. Or maybe my dad will regret being a jackass and get his ass over to this country and try and make things right. But mostly, I want them to be alive. I was supposed to protect my twin Stella. We were running from a group of people who harm 8s trying to clean them off the streets like weeds as they say. I had broken my leg a year before and hadn’t gotten the right medical help so it hadn’t healed, so I told Stella to hide and I would lure them away from her since she would make it further without me. But I never saw her again after that. I miss them. But I guess it’s improper for me to be talking about all of this. I would normally hold my tongue. I guess I’m just not the best at holding my liquor.” I lamented. Why couldn’t I just shut my mouth?

“It’s not improper to have feelings.” Alina excused, trying to make me feel better about my failure.

“But rambling on like this to you would be. I tried reading a book on etiquette, I really don’t want people to use my caste against me, it said to refrain from talking too much about your personal life to people you hardly know. I’m not doing too well at it.”

Alina shrugged, “You’re drunk. And, hopefully, you’ll be here for a while. We have to get to know each other eventually.”

“Hopefully so. I don’t seem to have too much luck with men though, so your brother might quickly toss me aside. I had one conversation with Prince Percy and he has deemed me most hated. Granted I did yell at him because he said we might not get along after learning about my caste. It just seemed stupid that we were having a fine conversation but when that stupid number comes up suddenly I’m an alien.” I exclaimed, day one and I already had been judged for a number.

“Percy’s a shallow asshole, don’t pay attention to him.”

“Really? Do you think your brother will be the same? I want to stay here long enough to get to know you better and finally see your garden, Princess cutie.” I said then lightly bopped her nose once more.

“I never know what my brother’s thinking.”

“Men, such puzzles. Princess cutie, I never made you a flower crown. You deserve one too. You said you like Azaleas right? Or do you have a flower you prefer even more?” I asked.

“Lilies. Peruvian lilies, specifically, but ya know… All flowers are nice. Except for maybe orchids. I hate fucking orchids.”

“I will make you a flower crown with Peruvian lilies then! And those grass looking flowers you said you’ve been growing lately, they’ll do well to hold the structure of it. ah, orchids…the vomit of flowers.” Vomit was probably not the best word. They were one of those plants that looked like vines, but the part of the flower that’s supposed to be pretty just seemed unfitting on them. They were more like the preteen flowers. Awkward and lanky.

Alina laughed “They’re little bitches is what they are.”

“I had this one rose I named Lincoln, he wouldn’t grow right. I kept fighting with him. He wanted to be a vine and grow on something but I didn’t have anything for it to latch onto and it just kept flopping over.” I explained. Poor Lincoln. He ended up getting stepped on. Far too tall.

Alina raised her eyebrows and smiled, “You named a flower?”

“I name all of my flowers. They all have personalities. Lincoln was Lincoln because at first he was sturdy, dependable, and had futuristic ideas like trying to be a vine.” I explained. The name was very fitting.

Alina laughed, “That’s cute.” Like her.

“Aw, thanks like you. I will name my next flower after you. It will be Princess Lina, Cutie of Illea. It will be a Peruvian lily!” I exclaimed overjoyed at my new idea.

Alina laughed, “Well… thanks, I guess.”

“You’re very welcome Princess adorabes. Soooo, what are you going to do with that alcohol that you took from me? Because if you’re not going to drink it I will happily finish it off.” I suggested trying to get my lover back.

“I’m going to put it back where it came from. And you, Lady Fiona, you should get some sleep.” No, I’m not ready to leave just yet, I want to talk more with the best girl.

“Aw but sleep is overrated. All it does it make you lose time that I could be spending talking to pretty and hot girls like you, or gardening, or learning by reading, or dancing, or so many other things!” I argued.

“But I suppose if I must, could you walk me to my room, I’m afraid I’ll go to the wrong one, they all look so similar,” I added still wanting to have as much time with her as I could get.

Alina laughed once more, “Of course, Lady Fiona. This way.”

“Thank you, Princess hottie,” I said before rising and taking Alina’s hand. It was so soft and warm. I leaned against her a little as we walked.

Alina nodded at our hands, “You don’t uh… I mean, you can if you want but… I’m not a guy…” She mumbled. Aw such a cute stutter.

“Do you only take people’s arms when they’re male? Personally, I need the balance help.” I laughed. It’d be a shame if I could only hold her hand if she was male. It was a wonderful hand.

“I mean, it’s not… Never mind. I’ll make sure you don’t fall.” Alina replied.

“Also I’m very aware that you are not a guy, you are the sexy, cutie, hot, badass, and above all 100% glorious Princess Alina Schreave.” I flirted before looking up at her and smiling while we walked.

Again I got to hear Alina’s amazing laugh, “I guess so, something like that.”

“Yup, not even something like that. You are exactly as I have described Princess. The very best.” I clarified.

Alina rolled her eyes, “You’re wasted.”

“But people tell the truth when they’re wasted, so you know what I’m saying is 100% accurate,” I argued.

One last time I got to hear Alina’s laugh, “Well… this is it. Your room.” She said. No, I would have to leave now. Part ways with the amazing cute button.

“Are you sure? I could have sworn it was much further than this.” I asked and pouted a little. Then I turned to face her. She wasn’t wrong it said my name on the plate.

“ well, I suppose it is. Goodnight princess cutie.” I added then leaned up and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek.

“sleep well!” I add then closed the door to my room before she could reply.

I walked over to my desk, pulled out a piece of paper and wrote a note.

To Do:

Make Alina flower crown.

Make Alina flower.

Alina.

Fiona you’re fucked as hell.

#practice challenge 2 #pc2 #fiona rossi #the fiona you're fucked as hell is in character #its the last thing on the list

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