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pinkjeanist · 4 years

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“the budding trees” || tamaki amajiki

⟹ After falling and crippling yourself in the woods, the forest spirit comes to your aid. [forest spirit/fairy tamaki - 2.6k words]

a/n: i thought of @knifeewifee while i wrote this just bc i know tamaki’s her fave, so consider this a pre-gift for another fic i’ll write for you soon, manda!!! this fic was completely based off of the idea of tamaki with antlers, which im going absolutely batshit for rn, and also because he’d make a cute lil fairy. if you guys want more of this, id be really happy to write more!!! i really like this idea, and i could make it a little series like the minecraft with shiggy, yanno? anyway, bone apple tit!!! [navigation]

There’d always been something a little odd about that forest, to say the least.

The trees were spaced considerably apart, with winding roots and huge canopies that held tens of bird nests at a time. In the morning there was always mist that kissed the earliest rays of sunlight. The streams were always clear, no matter how much washing was done in them from your small village on the outskirts of the woods. And every now and again, a white stag could be seen far away through the underbrush, just out of reach and swiftly out of sight. It was like something out of a storybook. Maybe that’s what made it so strange.

You’d never ventured too deep. You’d gather what you needed, be it berries or nuts or firewood, and you’d scramble back to your village before sunfall. There’d never been anything threatening in the forest- at least, you hadn’t seen any bears or wolves there in your life- but to be there at night seemed...intrusive. That was the first word that came to mind, though you weren’t quite sure what was so intrusive about it. It was all just very odd.

But there was one day you’d ventured out too far, too close to sundown, and found yourself rushing through the trees and over the winding roots to try and beat nightfall. The forest wasn’t so kind that night, however, as you tripped over one of the roots and toppled straight down the side of an overhang.

Your first thought upon opening your eyes was: “Something’s broken.” You could feel the hurt, though you were sure you would have been able to feel much more of it if you weren’t so in shock. So you laid there, and cried after a while when feeling started coming back to your broken leg as the night loomed o’er.

The patch of mushrooms beneath you glowed azure and violet, something you’d never seen from any forest, and the fireflies didn’t disperse with the lateness of the hour- instead, they began to grow closer, looking down at you before quickly flying off again. Then a badger came along, peering down from the overhang. You expected it to gouge out your eyes, but instead it made a strange noise, and hurried off just as the badger had. You felt strangely alone once it had gone.

There was no one for a mile at least, you knew, and they would have been asleep by now. There was no chance at help until morning. You weren’t even going to try and stand; you already knew your leg was beyond repair. If, by chance, you were rescued, they would probably have to amputate it, like you’d seen happen to one of the village elders when you were younger. You’d always dreaded that happening. You guessed you had no choice.

The whole forest floor seemed to start glowing just as the mushrooms were; the azure and violet met brilliant luminescent greens, and you swore you could see something twinkling gold somewhere far away. It gave you something to focus on instead of the pain in your leg that you were becoming increasingly aware of.

But then, from above the overhang, you could hear something approaching from the underbrush. You cried louder, unable to do much else, hoping it was a person.

From the overhang, a white stag peered down, just as the badger, had. But unlike the badger, it slowly made its way down the hillside to find you, looking down at your twisted leg. It then called out to the forest, low and blaring, until a human pair of eyes peered down from the overhang after it. Well, they looked human, but you couldn’t be sure from the colossal pair of antlers on its head.

You closed your eyes and assumed you were already dead.

Only, you were surprised to find that you weren’t when they opened again, this time to the inside of a little cottage of sorts. The gentle sunlight streamed through the open window and shined on a singular small room, its walls covered in shelves that overflowed with bowls and bottles. You were on a bed against the only open wallspace other than the small wash basin and counter beneath the window, and just to make sure you weren’t dead, you wiggled your toes.

You wiggled the toes of both feet, and only realized what that meant when you recalled what had happened before.

A round little bird came to sit on the windowsill as you shot up out of bed, looking down at your legs. The one that had been broken still ached, perhaps too much to stand, but it was healed nonetheless. The bird chirped at you from its perch, and you looked at it hoping it would provide some answers to your countless questions.

Instead, the door opened, and the man with antlers ducked through the doorway with a bowl under his arm. His eyes widened at you when he looked up.

“Oh! U-Uhm, you’re…” He stared, seeming almost frightened, and you couldn’t help the initial dread that sparked in your chest. However, just as you were calming down, he set his bowl down on a stool next to the door and turned around to leave. You reached out a hand as if he wasn’t across the room.

“Wait! Wait, please!” His hand was still on the door as he turned slowly his head, back still facing you. “I have...ah, a lot of questions, if you don’t mind.”

You looked down at the little chair by your bed. He must have been sitting in it when he was healing your leg. “Uhm...can you come sit, please?”

His hands gripped the white, silk tunic that flowed around his figure, swallowing before finally turning towards you. He made hesitant steps towards you, in a way that reminded you of a real deer. You stayed still as he came to sit in the chair next to you.

You cleared your throat, trying to twist your body to at least partially face him before giving up. “Ah...what’s your name?” You asked.

His hands wringed together in his lap. “Tamaki…”

“It’s nice to meet you, Tamaki,” You smiled, then looking up to his antlers again. “Are you, ah...human?”

“No- no, uhm…” He swallowed, refusing to look at you. “I-I’m a fairy. Of this forest. The fairy- guardian- uhm…”

“You’re the spirit of this forest?” You inclined, an old tale coming to mind. He finally met your eye, nodding furiously as he looked back down at his lap. His antlers almost hit you as he nodded, seeing as how they were really large. They seemed as tall as his chest, and fanned out even more so. The bird from the sill came to sit on them, as did another.

You fiddled with the hem of the blanket. “My mother once told me a story about forest spirits. She said they were devious trickers to any humans who encountered them.” You looked up to find him gazing back, his nervousness faded with how much he was focusing on you. “You don’t seem too devious, though. You seem rather kind.”

“I...we’ve only just met.”

“I know,” You smiled again. You then inclined, “How long was I asleep?”

“Just the night,” He answered, looking down at your leg beneath the blanket.

“You healed me overnight? How?”

His hands wringed together again. “Uhm...herbs-” He pointed to the bottles and bowls lining the shelves. “-and water, and- and magic.”

You nodded over to the bowl he’d left by the door. “Were you going to heal me again?”

“Oh, no- I uhm-” He stood, quickly making his way to the door. His antler nearly knocked a bottle off of a shelf before he quickly caught it. You kept your giggles to yourself as he brought the bowl back to the bed. “-I was going to wash the herbs off. Replace them.”

“Oh, I see.” You pulled the blanket back, realizing he’d dressed you in one of his floor-length tunics. You almost blushed at the thought of him having seen you undressed before you realized that nudity probably didn’t mean much to a fairy. But even with this assumption, you still watched him swallow as you pulled the tunic up to expose your leg to him.

It was wrapped in a fine white cloth, now stained green with the herbs packed beneath it, seeping through like dye. You saw him hesitate in reaching out, so you gave him a nod, trying again to shift your leg towards him and finding a bit more success than you had before. He started at our ankle where it was tied and slowly unwound it, careful not to let any of the now-used herbs touch the sheets.

He grabbed the bowl and brought a wet cloth tentatively to your leg. His hand began to shake as the cloth made contact with your herb-stained skin, but you didn’t shy away.

“Oh- I-I’m so sorry, I should have been more careful-” He began to apologize profusely, and you grabbed his wrist before he could pull away. Your eyes met his as you brought it slowly back to your leg. “I’m...I’m sorry…”

“I’m fine, Tamaki. You can keep going. You have nothing to apologize for.” You let go of his wrists to instead grip the sheets for leverage. “Of course, for even as much as you have kindly healed me, it will still hurt- but no matter. You may do your work. I do not shatter so easily.”

He bit his cheek as he looked between you and your leg. You sucked in a breath. “Though...if you wouldn’t mind...I feel I may find this easier to bear if you’d be so kind as to hold a conversation with me?”

Tamaki dipped the rag back into the bowl as it ran a bit dry. “Uhm...what kind of conversation?”

“Well, I’d like to know you better, if you don’t mind discussing yourself.

“I-I’m afraid I do,” He stuttered, slowly ringing out the rag, “but only because I don’t find much about myself worth sharing.”

“What nonsense!” You said, and he looked up at you with wide eyes. “You’re a fairy! No one knows much of fairies, much less of you! There is so much to discuss, Sir Tamaki!”

He blinked, and slowly brought the rag back to your leg. You were too busy staring at him to flinch. “Well- ah, what would you like to know?”

You spent the next half hour asking countless questions about his species and his life as he cleaned your leg, and then continued to do as much as he pressed more wet herbs into your skin and muttered little spells under his breath. He told you how he was born from the trees, though he couldn’t quite remember it, and how he’d always been on his own. He’d only met a few humans in his lifetime, and sheepishly admitted that none had been as interesting or forgiving as you (you didn’t ask what he meant by “forgiving”). He said that the stag was the forest’s heart, and that he was the forest’s breath. It was all very strange indeed, but alas, you couldn’t keep yourself from hanging onto each and every word as if it were scripture.

Tamaki must have grown tired of talking about himself, for as he finished wrapping and healing your leg, he began to ask about you.

“I live in a village just at the edge of the forest,” You said, picking again at your blanket. “I don’t do much else but wash and sew clothes for others. I probably won’t have much to do until I’m married, anyway.”

“I’ve heard of marriage,” He said, “though not much good of it.”

“It’s not very good at all. At least, for me, I think. There’s no one I fancy spending the rest of my life with in my village, much less bearing children with. I’m just fine sewing men’s trousers.”

“You’re not happy,” He said, more as an observation than a statement. You nodded. He looked down at his lap and picked at his tunic. “I don’t think I’m happy, either.”

“Why do you think that?” You spoke, your voice growing soft. He shifted closer with a sigh.

“I...It’s very lonely, out here. Which is silly of me, I know.”

“No, I don’t know. Why would you find that silly?” Your hand moved to rest comfortingly on his knee. He swallowed again.

“Well...fairies are very...independent creatures. We live only to breathe life into trees. There is no need for another, and very rarely any longing for another, as well. And yet...when the birds stop singing at night...it all becomes rather quiet.”

Your brow furrowed in thought. Though you hadn’t put much consideration into your next words, you were sure of yourself when you offered: “In that case, perhaps when I am healed, I can visit you?”

Tamaki blinked up at you, and you smiled sheepishly at him. “It’s just...we are both so unhappy without another to keep good company. So...I would like to be your friend, if you’ll have me.”

His eyes grew wet with emotion, and his hand slid over your own on his knee. You smiled even brighter at his touch.

“If I may be so honored.” With shaking hands, he brought your knuckles to his lips, kissing them delicately before resting it back on his knee. Your chest blossomed at the feel of it. “Though...I am not quite sure what companionship entails. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” You repeated, leaning forward. Tamaki smiled back. “I’d be more than happy to teach you of companionship. I’m certain you’ll find it easier and much less daunting than it seems.”

He studied you for a long moment, antlers tilting just slightly with his head, and you couldn’t help but grin at the sight. He nodded warmly in return. “I’ll take your word for it.”

You spent your time in bed chatting until you were well enough to walk that evening. In the morning, when it was time to return to your village, he lifted you effortlessly and set you on the back of the stag (who was so tall, it was hard to mount even as it sat for you) and led you to the outskirts of the forest. He stopped just far enough away that you wouldn’t be spotted by the townspeople and helped you off of the stag.

Your hands remained on his shoulders from where you’d used him as support, beaming up at him. “You have been so incredibly kind, Tamaki. When will I see you again?”

“A-As soon as you’re able,” He smiled, gesturing to your still-aching leg. You noticed that his stutter wasn’t so much from anxiousness as it had been before, and instead sounded with the implication of another meeting, another little adventure. It brought a warmth to your chest. “I’ll find you at night. You just have to wish for me, and I’ll feel you in the forest, wherever you are.”

“Thank you, Tamaki.” You stood on the toes of your good leg and pressed a gentle kiss into his cheek, perhaps as payment for the kiss he’d left on your knuckles before. His cheeks were flushed bright red when you pulled away, and you could feel your own heating with it. Your hands slipped from his shoulders as you stepped back. “Farewell, for now.”

“Farewell…” You took one last look at him before turning and limping back towards your village. You didn’t hear the stag set off for another minute or so behind you, but you couldn’t blame him. A part of you wished you could stay with him forever.

But, perhaps, some things come only with time...

taglist: @keigos-dove @/knifeewifee (already tagged uwu), @wesparklebitch, @hanniejji @bvnnyclouds, @katsukis-sad-angel @ushissugarcube

- dm/inbox to be added or removed from a taglist.

#tamaki amajiki x reader #suneater x reader #amajiki tamaki x reader #bnha tamaki #tamaki amajiki #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #reader insert #forest spirit tamaki

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hannahindie · 7 years

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Museum of Death: Part 1

Characters: Theodore (OC-brief), Maggie (OC), Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Reader Word Count: 2,581 Warnings: Canon violence, death, things being creepy A/N: I wrote this for @amanda-teaches’s UNDERCOVER HUNTING CHALLENGE! Congrats on the followers, love! (I left it in all caps because it just felt so enthusiastic. lol) This is just the first part, and though I was only aiming for two...it might have a third. My goal was to write it in an episode format, which is drawing it out some, but I really love it so far. I hope you all do too. My undercover job was museum workers. This part doesn’t get quite into that, but part two will!

ALSO a big shout out to @wheresthekillswitch for helping me brainstorm this whole thing, and for picking out sweet fake names for them. This fic would not be nearly as cohesive without her. Thanks for helping my gears get going, lovely. :)

Also, there is an actual Museum of Death in New Orleans, but disclaimer, I don’t know much about it. This particular museum is based loosely on it, and I know that the details won’t really match. Just...uh...roll with it, I guess. lol A special shout out to Manda for helping me with my Cajun dialect. It’s way harder than I thought it would be, so just a round of applause for all ya’ll fantastic Benny writers. Shew. lol If you have any suggestions that would help, I would appreciate it!

Beta’d by the always beautiful and wonderful waterbear, @trexrambling: “I wasn't supposed to feel this way about a side character... thanks for those unwelcome HURT FEELS HANNAH!”

And my lovely and encouraging and fantastic @pinknerdpanda: “Omg! I cackled. This is so 10000% Dean. I can hear his voice in my head.”

As usual, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please let me know!

The dull click of the security guard’s heels echoed through the darkened hallway, the sound deafening in the otherwise silent museum. Normally, this was his favorite kind of gig. There was something about walking through what would normally be bustling rooms and popular displays when it was dead silent, the only light the soft beam from his flashlight and the muted green glow of the emergency exit signs. But this time, something was different.

His wife had warned him when he’d taken this job that it was a bad idea. “You hav’to respek de dead, cher. Dat place...it is couillon*. You work dere, you will get notin’ but trouble, Theodore!” she had fretted as he got his things ready for his first day. He had assured her that, despite the unusual and macabre subject matter that the museum focused on, everything would be fine; it was just her deep-rooted superstitions that were clouding her judgement, and besides, they needed the money. She had stopped talking about it, but every night since then he had found an amulet of protection in his uniform pocket. Although he was not originally from Louisiana and did not share his wife’s Cajun superstitions and beliefs, he greatly appreciated her effort in trying to keep him safe.

He paused at one of the glass cases and stared at the contents inside. Staring back at him, her eyes almost as cold as the glass separating him from the black and white photo, was an angry looking woman, her eyes wild and hair a tangled mess around her weathered and scowling face. In all honesty, he did not like walking through the displays at this particular museum, but this one...this one was the one that always threw him off the most. There was something about the look in her eye, the flat, dead stare that always reminded him of a shark. He couldn’t help but stare, and he’d had to drag himself away more than once. He’d read the description over and over, had even Googled the woman’s name one early morning after he'd gotten home from his shift. She was unnerving, and he always felt an awkward shiver go down his spine while passing the glass case.

He jumped as the sudden booming sound of a door being slammed startled him out of his staring contest with the shark eyed woman. “Doc?”

His hand slipped down to the nightstick he carried, the only weapon he was permitted other than his heavy flashlight, and continued his round of the floor. Instead of turning to go towards the stairs leading to the second floor, he turned the opposite way, the direction that the curator's office was. Dr. Lyons, the most recent curator to come into the museum, often stayed late into the night. Lately, however, he had been staying even later in order to catalogue and sort the newest exhibit. He had been incredibly excited to share whatever it was and was working diligently in order to get it ready for public viewing as soon as possible. Dr. Lyons had always been nice to him, and in the few weeks that Theodore had been working at the museum he'd grown quite fond of the eccentric curator.

“Hey, Doc? You okay?” Theodore called quietly into the dark. He stopped at the closed office door and sighed. Lyons had always told him that, no matter what, he was welcome in his office, but something told Theodore that it was always better to keep closed doors exactly that; closed. “Doc? Do you need help with anything?” He reached out to knock on the door but paused, his knuckles just hovering over the pebbled glass. He was worried, the doctor was never this quiet, but everything in his gut said to walk away and to let someone else worry about it in the morning. After a moment of arguing with himself, the braver side of him won out and, instead of knocking, he let his hand move down to the worn, brass doorknob. “I'm coming in, Doc, it's just me.”

The door swung open with a groan, the old hinges cranky as they ground against each other. The room was dimly lit by an old desk lamp, the light a sickly yellow from the shade, and the shadows stretched long across the cluttered office. Unopened boxes and crates were stacked around the room, and one sat open on the desk.

“Doc?”

Theodore swung the MagLite around the room and the beam landed on a pair of leather dress shoes that were sticking out from behind the desk. “Oh, shit…” he whispered to no one as he slowly moved around so that he could see behind it. What he saw made him gasp.

Dr. Lyons was lying on his back, his glasses askew and his face frozen in what Theodore could only describe as pure terror. An already darkening bruise circled his throat, and his hands were clenched tightly at his sides. Theodore dropped to one knee, gently placed two fingers on the doctor’s throat, and groaned when he didn’t find a pulse. As he stood, he heard the dull thud of something hitting the floor. His hand automatically went to his shirt pocket where his wife had put the protection charm, and, finding it empty, he began to feel panic set in. He scanned the floor, looking for the small clay amulet. A wave of cold surrounded him, nearly freezing his breath in his chest, and he watched as the warm air he exhaled formed a small, frozen cloud.

“What the hell?” he thought to himself as the temperature continued to drop. He began to shiver, and the beam from his flashlight shimmied across the hardwood floor. The hair on the back of his neck stood up and he turned slowly to find himself face to face with the shark-eyed woman from the glass case.

“You...you can’t be here. You’re dead.” She gave him a cold smile, her crooked teeth dirty and sharp. “I looked it up, you were executed in 2002. You’re not real.” He heard the dull click of a pistol being cocked and his eyes widened. “Listen, I’m not a bad guy. I know how you feel about guys you think are bad, and I didn’t hurt you. I haven’t hurt anybody. I would never…” he trailed off when he felt the cold steel of a muzzle press against his forehead. “Please…no...I didn’t do anything! My wife is expecting me to come home, I promise I won’t do anything-” The loud crack of the pistol discharging interrupted Theodore, and he hit the floor, his wide eyes staring at the ceiling as a single drop of blood rolled down the bridge of his nose.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice echoed down the hall as he wandered the bunker looking for his brother. “Y/N! Where are you guys?”

“I’m in the kitchen!” Y/N shouted back as she blew a stray hair from her face, her flour covered hands too busy pressing dough into the pie plate to do the job themselves. She heard Sam’s long strides get louder as he approached the kitchen, and soon his large frame filled the doorway as he practically skipped down the steps, laptop in hand.

“Pie? What’s the occasion?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “Does your brother need an occasion to demand pie?”

Sam laughed, “No, I guess not.” He sat down at the table and opened his laptop, “I found something, and I’m pretty sure it’s right up our alley.”

Y/N grabbed a bowl of chopped apples and poured the contents into the pie crust. “Oh yea? It’s been pretty quiet, you sure it’s one of our things?”

“Yep, pretty sure. Two people killed in a locked building. One was strangled and one was shot.”

“How does that make it ours? Anyone can strangle or shoot someone, and I think we both know that picking a lock isn’t exactly difficult.” She carefully laid the top crust over the perfectly mixed apples, cinnamon, and sugar, then pinched the edges closed.

“The strangulation, maybe. But this other guy was shot and there is no gun, no bullet, no GSR. It’s like he was shot with an invisible gun. Plus, the alarms were still set and all the doors were locked. Not a sign of break in anywhere.”

Y/N slipped the pie into the oven and set the timer. “Alright, that’s a valid reason. Where are we going?”

“New Orleans. It’s been awhile since we’ve been to Louisiana.” Sam closed his laptop and sat back in his chair, “So, do you know where Dean is?”

Y/N shook her head as she wiped her hands off on a towel, “No, but give it a minute. He’ll be here.”

“How do you know?”

Y/N closed her eyes and held up five fingers. Slowly, she began to count down silently, one finger at a time. Just as she got to only her pointer finger, Sam heard footsteps approaching the kitchen and Y/N smiled.

“Where’s the pie?” he demanded, his eyes narrowed as he searched for the source of the delicious smell.

Sam looked at Y/N, impressed, “Nice. How’d you know?”

Y/N shrugged, “Call it a gift.” She walked towards the door, then stopped and looked at Dean over her shoulder, “You’re going to have to take that pie to go, sweet cheeks. We’ve got a case.” She disappeared down the hall and Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam.

“A case? Where are we going?”

“New Orleans.” Sam opened his laptop and spun it around so that Dean could see it, “So, get this…”

“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Dean griped as he and Sam strolled down the sidewalk, straightening his tie in annoyance as Sam’s last minute warning rang in his mind.

“It must have slipped my mind-” Sam started before Dean cut him off.

“Oh, really? You just failed to mention that this whole thing happened in a serial killer museum? That little nugget of information just ‘slipped your mind’?” Dean air quoted angrily.

“I didn’t think it was that important,” Sam mumbled.

Dean rolled his eyes, “No, it's because you have this freaky ass obsession with serial killers and you knew if you told me, I would have either relentlessly made fun of you or I would have refused to get involved. Luckily for you, I can't just let people get murdered. But I will relentlessly make fun of you. So what's the story with this woman, Nancy Grace?”

Sam glared at him and Dean smirked. “It’s the security guard’s wife. We’re going to see if her husband had told her anything about the museum. If it’s a haunting, maybe he mentioned something.”

They reached the front porch and Dean paused, his eyes narrowed as he leaned towards the porch post and ran his fingers over the small symbols that had been painstakingly carved into the wood. “Do these look familiar to you?”

Sam looked over Dean’s shoulder, “Huh...they’re five-spots.”

“Oh, yea, we saw them at that old hotel way back in the day, right? The one where that old lady was living in the attic.”

“Yea, it’s Hoodoo...but to make it a powerful charm for protection you have to fill whatever this is carved on with bloodweed. It wouldn’t be incredibly useful without it, and I don’t see any out here.”

“Huh, that’s weird. Oh well, maybe they didn’t realize that’s what it was.” Dean hopped up the steps and rapped on the door, “We are in New Orleans. It’s not like we aren’t surrounded by stuff like that, anyway.”

The door swung open, and a short, thin woman appeared in the darkened opening. Her red-rimmed eyes shifted from Dean to Sam and then back to Dean before she spoke. “I already spoke to de police.”

“Hello, ma'am, we truly are sorry to bother you. I’m Agent Tom Hannigan, this is my partner Agent Clay Miller. We’re with the FBI.” Dean flashed his badge, then quickly stowed it back in his pocket. “We just need to ask you a few questions.”

She looked between the two once more before pushing the door open wide enough to accommodate them, “If you are wid de FBI, I am Marie Laveau. You best make it quick. Close de door behind you, cher.”

Dean settled back into the flower print chair, the soft cushions nearly swallowing him, and balanced the hot mug of coffee on his knee. Sam was awkwardly shifting on the couch, his own mug of coffee cradled between both hands as he looked around the room. Photos of the victim and his wife were scattered around the room; on the coffee table, lining the mantle, arranged carefully on bookshelves. They looked happy, and Dean felt a sudden pang of sadness as the woman came back into the living room.

“Ma’am-”

“You can call me Maggie, cher. My mere is ma’am. Theo called me Magnolia… ‘My pretty Magnolia’, he would say, ‘Not everyone can have a flower to call dere own.��” She sighed, “He’s de only one dat called me dat.” She sat in the rocking chair by the window and picked up a picture of her and Theodore. “I knew dat museum was no good.”

Dean sat his mug on the coffee table and leaned his elbows on his knees, “Why did you think it was no good?”

Maggie raised an eyebrow, “De place is filled with killers, with monsters. It is like dey built a shrine to dese terr’ble people. I told him dey needed to respek de dead, but I didn’t mean de murderers. I meant de people dey killed.”

Dean glanced over at Sam, who looked down sheepishly. He turned his attention back to Maggie, “Do you think that’s the reason Dr. Lyons and Theodore were killed? Because they were being disrespectful?”

Maggie shook her head, “My Theo wouldn’t ever disrespek anyone. No, no...I made sure he’d be safe. Ev’ry day, I put a special charm in his pocket, a protection charm. When dey gave me his belongings, it wasn’t dere. I t’ink dat is what happened. De charm was lost, and den whatever got de doctor got Theo.” She sat the frame back on the table and sighed, “I don’t know what you boys really do, but you best be careful. Dere is somethin’ dangerous happenin’ in dat museum. Somet’in’ evil that shouldn’t be disturbed.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out two small charms, “Take dese, keep dem wit you. A lot of people t’ink I’m too old fashioned, and maybe I am...but it’s better to be safe dan sorry, and if I’m wrong, den not’in happens.” She held out her hand and both Sam and Dean leaned forward and took a charm.

Sam smiled gently at her, “Thank you, we really appreciate it. And I promise, we’ll take care of whatever this is.”

Dean nodded in agreement, “It’s what we do. I know we can’t bring Theo back, but we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else.”

Maggie smiled sadly, “I hope you do.” Sam and Dean stood and walked towards the door, and Maggie held it open as they left. “You boys be careful, now,” she shouted after them, and Sam turned and gave her a small wave. She watched as they disappeared down the sidewalk and into a dark car, her chest tight with worry.

*In this instance, couillon is to mean foolish. I linked it, but there were a few definitions.

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