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platypanthewriter · 3 years

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Take On Me

Art by @fae-vorite for the Harringrove Big Bang!

When Steve pulled up in the drive, he had a mouthful of blue slushie, and he was watching the tiny old lady he’d been driving behind. She’d barely been tall enough to see over the dash, and as he watched, grimacing, she barely swerved around a row of mailboxes, and then carreened through a four-way stop.

As he stared after her, there was a weird hissing noise by his elbow. Steve yelled and threw his arm up in the air, spattering himself with slushie.

“Bwah!” Max yelled, stumbling back, and smacking blue slushie ice off her arm. “Steve! What the hell.”

She hadn’t been in the driveway when he pulled in, Steve was fairly sure, and he stared around. “Where are the rest of you?” he asked warily, rubbing flung slushie off his chin. He glanced up, half-expecting Dustin to swing down on him with a vine from a tree.

Max squinted at him, her jaw working, and then glanced around. “In the bushes,” she said. “Get us inside, now, Steve.”

He rolled his eyes, stalked over and held the front door open—and then swore and dropped his slushie right on the ground and ran over to help, because it wasn’t Dustin and the Chipmunks hiding in the bushes. There was a woman, shaking, her hands stained with what looked like blood, and Billy Hargrove, who apparently wasn’t dead, barely staggering between Max and the lady. He was bandaged, and half-naked.

Steve elbowed his way in past Max, and got an arm around Billy, hefting his sweaty, shivering ass towards the door.

Once Steve had Billy, Max ran ahead and kicked the slushie cup aside, ushering the woman into his house. “Mom, come on,” she groaned, and it occured to Steve that he’d never wondered about Max’s mom. It seemed obvious, thinking about it, that most people had a mom. One of his girlfriends freshman year had had two, and didn’t seem to have a dad, which Steve had never quite figured out.

Billy looked dead, mostly, pale until he was nearly grey, like instant oatmeal. “I thought you were dead,” Steve hissed at him, and he snorted a laugh.

“Guess not,” he breathed, his head against Steve’s as he stumbled along.

When they got inside, the phone was ringing, but Max ran and stood in front of it. “Don’t answer,” she told Steve, staring at him with wet red eyes. He nodded, still half-carrying her undead brother, and trying to figure out whether the blood on Max’s mom could have come from under Billy’s bandages.

“We should call somebody,” Steve pointed out, as he lowered Billy onto the couch. Billy’s eyes were closed, and he didn’t try and get himself more comfortable, or anything, he just laid there. Steve threw a blanket over him, feeling like he was covering up a body.

Max’s mom looked like she wasn’t up for much, staring at her hands and the floor, and Max took a deep, shaky breath, rubbing her face.

Steve beckoned her into the kitchen. “We should call somebody,” he whispered, again. Max set her jaw, shaking her head, and Steve made a face. “At least a doctor,” he hissed, and she deflated, staring out at the limp shape of Billy on the couch.

“H-he should be fine,” she mumbled, digging her fingernails into her forearms until the skin whitened. “He—he didn’t get shot,” she gritted out, and her mom flinched, shivering, and rubbed at her bloody hands.

“Wait,” said Steve, staring between them.

“M-my husband,” said Max’s mom, and then covered her mouth, and a shaky sob.

“You have a dad?!” Steve yelped, looking around. “He got shot?!” he added, grabbing his car keys, because it seemed like somebody should probably find the guy.

“He’s dead,” Max’s mom whispered, staring at her bloodied hands. “He died right—right in front—in front of—”

“He wasn’t my dad,” Max said flatly, “—and we don’t need to go anywhere.”

Steve nodded, and then shook his head, bewildered. He hung the car keys up by the front door, and then braced himself, and sidled over to touch Max’s mom’s shoulder, waving at the kitchen sink. “Um, d’you want to…?”

She nodded, and took a couple weaving steps to lean against a chair, which she drug to the sink. Steve leaned down to whisper to Max. “...so...somebody’s dad got shot? That’s—that’s where the blood—” he asked, feeling well out of his depth. His fingers itched to call a functioning adult—Hopper, or Joyce Byers, even, because it looked like Max’s mom wasn’t up for much more than staring at the bloody water in the sink. “Should I try and find some...tea,” Steve hazarded, and Max snorted a laugh, rubbing her eyes.

“Billy’s dad,” she whispered, watching her mom. “The, um—” she dropped her voice further. It rasped in her throat. “—Mom let them in because they told her they were the CIA.”

“The CIA shot Billy’s dad?!” Steve choked out, trying to keep it under his breath.

“They weren’t actually the CIA,” Max said, rolling her eyes. “Obviously.”

“O-obviously,” Steve echoed, because it sort of made sense. It did seem weird that the CIA would come to Hawkins, Indiana to shoot anybody’s dad.

“Mom thought they were just...checking on us, you know,” Max said, sniffling, and Steve tried to imagine assuming that the C-fucking-IA had banged on his door just to roll out the welcome wagon. “Just—just like the FBI does, all the damn time,” Max mumbled, biting her lip.

“Wait, what,” Steve interrupted with a hiss. “The what now.”

“We’re, um, we’re not really from California,” she whispered, swallowing, and biting back a sharp laugh.

“Okay,” Steve nodded, raising his eyebrows, and watching Max’s mom cry softly with her arms in the sink, and her head bowed. “Okay, yeah, no, hang on,” he told Max, jogging the couple of steps over to her mom. He poked the woman’s shoulder gingerly. “You all cleaned up?” he asked, keeping his voice soft, and she turned big watery eyes on him, but she nodded.

“Come out in the front room and sit down,” Steve told her, feeling like sitting wouldn’t really help much, but crying into the sink had to be worse. He reached in and turned the water off, and guided her by the elbow into the front room. “Gonna get everybody something hot to drink,” he told them, hoping he still had...something. Ancient instant coffee from the last time his dad was home, maybe. Something old and dusty, probably, but Steve didn’t think Max’s mom would know the difference, not after having her husband shot by somebody pretending to be the fucking CIA.

After he pointed her at the big recliner, Max started fussing around with the color-coordinated throw blankets Steve’s mom had bought and never used, and Steve stepped over to the couch to squeamishly lift the blanket off Billy’s head.

“I-I’m fine, honey,” Max’s mom told her, behind them, as Steve surveyed Billy’s pale, sweaty face. His eyes were closed, but the skin around them was as red and raw as Max’s mom’s. His eyelashes were stuck together with the fresh tears leaving trails down his cheeks.

Steve dropped the blanket again, grimacing, and stalked back into the kitchen to find the teakettle, fill it, and put it on the stove. He found some packets of hot chocolate Dustin’s mom had given him at Christmas, and dumped them into two mugs. After a minute, watching the glow of the burner shine off the bottom of the kettle, he grabbed another mug, shrugging.

Max shook her head when he walked out and tried to hand her the hot chocolate. “I’m not a little kid,” she said, glaring at him, but her mom took it with a soft sigh.

“Thank you,” she said hoarsely. “Max, sit down, I—I’m fine.” She reached out and took the mug Steve had offered Max, and held it out to her, and Max sighed heavily, but took it.

Steve went back for the third mug, and then uncovered Billy’s head again. “Hey,” he whispered, and Billy licked his chapped lips without opening his eyes. He grimaced before he blinked and squinted up. “Here, at least hold it,” Steve told him. “It’s warm.”

“...you made me tea,” Billy growled, glaring at the mug, and then, warily, at Steve’s face.

“It’s chocolate,” Max put in. “You like chocolate, asshole.”

“...made me chocolate?” Billy asked muzzily, frowning harder, and Steve sat it on the floor, in order to get his arm around Billy-suddenly-alive-Hargrove, and help him sit up.

“Are you sure you’re not...dying?” Steve whispered to him, lifting the mug and pressing Billy’s hands around it. “Like, right here? I need to, uh...kidnap a doctor, or…?”

Billy snorted into his first sip of hot chocolate, biting his lips together as his chest shook with coughs. After a few seconds, he took a shaky breath, and opened his eyes again. “Don’t...kidnap anybody,” he rasped out, smirking. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Harrington.”

“I know a guy,” Steve told him, letting go of the mug, and reaching out to tug at the bandages visible over the top of the blanket. Billy went very still, holding his breath, which was creepy. If he wasn’t sitting up, Steve would have checked his pulse. “A doctor. M’not gonna let you die,” Steve told him, eyeing the stretched pink scars under the gauze. Some of the gauze looked wet, not red, but pale yellow, and Steve grimaced, brushing his fingers over it.

“It’s just the surgeries. Fuck,” Billy creaked out, his hands shaking on the hot chocolate so it nearly spilled. “They had to cut me open a few more times. Stitch me back together.”

Steve put his hands around Billy’s on the mug, to steady them. “...I got some duct tape somewhere,” he offered, under his breath, and Billy’s breath huffed against his fingers in a laugh. His mustache tickled, but Steve held steady, watching him drink the hot chocolate. His cheeks were pinking up a little. He stunk, kinda, sweaty, and sour from his bandages. It was weird to be anywhere near Billy Hargrove and not smell his cologne. “...I thought you were dead,” Steve said under his breath, and Billy shrugged a shoulder, wincing, and swallowing hard.

“Murphy’s law,” Billy hissed back, grinning, but his eyes welled up again, and he blinked rapidly. “Whatever you least want to happen…”

Steve helped him drink the hot chocolate, trying to think of something to say. ‘Sorry your dad got shot,’ seemed wrong. ‘At least your mom’s alive,’ didn’t seem right either, and then Steve realized he had no idea whether the woman was Billy’s mom. Billy and Max’s family seemed complicated, and it was entirely possible both parents were Billy’s, and Max had been snatched from a stroller outside a grocery store.

“So, um,” Steve started. “You’re...not from California? Why would you…”

“Lie about that?” Max asked, flatly. “The goddamn FBI told us to.”

“...the ones that…” Steve stared over at her, trying not to stare at whoever’s mom’s hands, where they’d been all over blood. Max called her mom, he told himself. Whatever she is, Max thinks of her as her mom.

Maybe they’re aliens, he thought, trying not to laugh, because why was the FBI checking in. Maybe they’d all raised Max from an alien egg they’d taken turns sitting on.

She seemed okay, for an alien, he decided, as Max said, “We’re in Witness Protection. Or we were, until the Starcourt Mall footage made the national news.”

“Ohhhhh,” Steve said, nodding. “That makes more sense than aliens,” and Billy choked on his hot chocolate. “Did you see a gang murder?” Steve asked politely, that being how it usually worked in Hawaii Five-O.

Billy coughed harder, and Steve patted his back, gently, grimacing as he tried not to break the guy any further.

“Noooo,” said Max, and when Steve glanced over, she was staring at him.

“What? Shit happens,” Steve said, shrugging. “Sometimes monsters steal your brother.”

“They didn’t exactly steal him,” Max said weakly, and Steve blinked.

“I was talking about Will Byers,” he said, and shrugged. “No gang shootouts, then?”

“We lived near Portland,” Max said, like that fact made Steve’s question the stupidest question ever asked, and then she sighed. “It’s, um, it’s actually...stupider. Than that. There, um, there was a...lab. There.”

“Ohhh,” Steve said, nodding, and thinking of Hawkins Laboratory, and Eleven.

“They wanted children to...experiment on,” she whispered, and trailed off. Steve turned to see her glowering into her mug.

“Set up this machine to check the local kids,” Billy said, suddenly, near Steve’s ear. He huffed a laugh as Steve jumped. “At the arcade. Looked like a normal arcade machine, but it was keeping track, high scores, you know.” He took a shaky breath, then cleared his throat. “Even had a fake name. Polybius.”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know?!” Max shouted, suddenly, her voice wet and uneven, and her mom grabbed her close, squeezing her with white-knuckled hands. “How the hell...we saw guys in suits parked around the place, we thought maybe the owner was like...running some kind of gambling with the machines and they were watching him, or something, how could I have—”

“Went to pick her up and they were shoving her in a van,” Billy’s voice rasped, and Steve jerked unintentionally, imagining it. “I followed them to the lab and they tried to tell me it was some...class for special kids,” he hissed. “Tried to tell us all to shut up.”

“They came and talked to N-Neil and I,” Max’s mom said. “They were...we did what they asked, if they’d leave Max alone. We couldn’t talk about it, not with anyone.”

Steve nodded, familiar with the way laboratories worked, and filed away the fact that Max’s not-dad had been named Neil, before somebody’d shot him. There was a long silence, then, as Billy bit his lips together, frowning into the nearly-empty mug of hot chocolate, and Max’s mom cried softly again.

“I called the fucking police,” Max said hoarsely into the silence. “I—I called the goddamn police, they were—they were stealing kids, they—”

“Yeah,” Steve said, grimacing. He’d found out more and more about what the lab had been doing, after he’d promised to keep quiet. They’d even killed the nice burger man, he thought sadly. His name had been Benny, Steve learned later, but at the time, he’d just been the nice burger man, the one who listened and advised as Steve told him about being terrible at college application essays, and his love for the smartest girl in school.

Luckily, in Steve’s case, the sheriff had already been told. “You had to,” he agreed.

“They shot the cop she told,” Billy said flatly, in Steve’s ear.

“They were kidnapping little kids—” Max yelled at Billy, her voice cracking with emotion and he raised his voice over hers, his voice wavery as he tried to catch his breath.

“Shot him in the head. They shot his partner, too—”

“The FBI helped us sneak out,” Max’s mom said softly, but they both shut up. “We were shuffled around a lot…”

“Why bring you here,” Steve said doubtfully. “Where our lab is? I mean, it’s better, now.”

“Maybe our FBI guys weren’t as on our side as we thought,” Billy muttered, swallowing hard, again, and Steve realized he was trying not to cry.

Steve tried not to do anything, push Billy away, or anything weirder, like hug him. He’d gotten too good at this babysitting thing, he thought with a grimace, if he was inclined to hug Billy Goddamn Hargrove. The problem was, Billy’s inaudible, bitten-back sobs felt like when Nancy’s little sister was scared of the noises outside, while her parents were at the movies. Steve was conditioned to pull that kind of thing against his shoulder, even when it was Billy Hargrove, with his broad, heavy, muscular shoulders, and heavier fists.

“Fuck,” Billy hissed under his breath, pulling his hand loose from Steve’s to rub his wrist across his eyes.

“...d’you want...anything,” Steve whispered, as softly as he could, fairly sure Billy didn’t want him to sing Old MacDonald even if he was really good at all the animal noises.

“How about my dad, alive,” Billy snarled, his unsteady breaths taking the sting out of it.

“Thanks for letting us in,” Max said, hoarsely, and Steve turned to frown at her.

“Of course I let you in,” he snorted. “I wasn’t gonna leave you hiding in my bushes.”

“We—we’ll figure out what to do,” Max said, as her mother squeezed her close again. “Soon. Before—before the lab people figure out where we are.”

“We need Hopper,” Steve told them, starting to stand, and then realizing he was holding Billy up, and he didn’t want to drop him on the floor. He wasn’t sure how together Billy was under the bandages—he didn’t seem very...healed—and the thought of dropping him on the floor, and just accidentally jostling all Billy’s internal organs out through a big hole in his back made Steve shudder.

“You can’t call him,” Max’s mom said bleakly. “They were listening to our phones. They said, as we...ran,” she choked out.

“...bet they aren’t listening to walkie-talkies,” Steve told her, absently spreading his fingers over the cool skin of Billy’s shoulder, to warm him up.

“Where’s yours?” Max asked breathlessly, and Steve gave her directions to his sock drawer.

Billy was shivering harder, and Steve waited until his little sister and maybe-mom weren’t looking to pull the blanket away from more of his bandages.

There was red smeared on them. “Billy,” Steve hissed, urgently, and Billy laughed wetly, wiping his nose.

“‘S not mine,” he laughed, a little hysterically. “S’my dad’s. He—he died right—”

“Shit,” Steve said, blankly, watching Billy try to wipe it away with shaking hands, tears rolling down his cheeks. “That can’t…” he trailed off as Max brought the walkie-talkie down, and she and her mom started whispering about what to say. “You need new bandages,” Steve told Billy, the one thing he was confident he could do. “I need to clean you up.”

“I’m fine, fuck,” Billy panted, sniffling juicily, and Steve nodded once.

“I’m taking Billy up to...clean him up,” Steve told the other two, and they nodded, watching him.

“He’s still got stitches,” Max said, glaring. “Don’t get him wet.”

‘Your dad’s blood got all over’ didn’t seem like the right thing to say ever, so Steve just nodded, and got Billy fairly upright.

“How far we going,” he panted, swaying, and Steve made a face, then turned around.

“Piggyback,” he announced, and Billy swore under his breath.

“Fuuuck,” Billy whispered in Steve’s ear, as Steve made his way carefully up the stairs, steadying himself with one hand on the railing, and one hand awkwardly supporting Billy’s ass. “Watch it there, Harrington,” Billy snorted, with a pained grunt.

“Sorry,” Steve told him. “Is this like how you can’t squeeze the donuts at the store unless you buy them?” he asked, because Billy was heavy, and his ass cheek was soft in Steve’s hand, and Steve’s tongue was on cruise control.

Billy coughed, his fingers digging into Steve’s shoulder and chest as he gave a strangled-sounding laugh. “...yeah, Harrington, it’s exactly like that,” he gasped out. “I’m...your fucking donut...now, asshole.”

Steve laughed so hard he almost dropped him, all the adrenaline of them showing up covered in blood draining out of him. “Shit,” he panted, staggering up onto the landing, and taking a minute to breathe. “Don’t make me laugh on the stairs—”

“You started this shit, I just finished it,” Billy mumbled against his neck. His breathing was uneven and shuddery.

Steve took a slow breath to steady himself, and carried Billy just that little bit further through his plaid bedroom, and into the bathroom.

Billy didn’t even comment on the extreme plaid, his teeth chattering, so Steve nearly dropped him on the toilet in his urgency to get a few inches of really hot water in the tub to plonk Billy in. It’d be just like with Holly, he figured, put few inches of water in there to keep her warm, but not enough so she could slide in and drown. It wouldn’t be enough to get up near Billy’s bandages, he told himself, then, while the water was running, he realized he didn’t know where all the bandages were, so he reached over and yanked at the drawstring of Billy’s sweatpants.

“WAH,” Billy said, grabbing Steve’s hand with his cold, sweaty, shaking one. “...what,” he breathed, his eyes falling shut, and then blinking stubbornly open again.

“Come on,” Steve said, grimacing at how pale he was. “You got any bandages below the chest?” Billy just shivered and breathed, staring into the middle distance, and Steve finally bit his lips together and grabbed Billy’s cold face, turning it to face him. “Billy,” he said. “Billy?”

“...Harrington,” Billy whispered, focusing on him, and then looking around, his eyes welling up again with tears.

“Come on, stay with me, I’m gonna get you warmed up,” Steve told him, ignoring his own heart pounding. He was aware of shock as a concept—he’d seen Joyce Byers after—after. But Billy had bandages, he could be bleeding out, or something, and the thought made Steve’s fingers clumsy as he tried to lift the guy enough to get his sweatpants off, and pull him into the bath.

“Come on,” Steve whispered, pulling Billy up until he was sort of standing. Steve had to reach down and lift Billy’s feet one by one into the tub, and he yelped, opening his eyes again at the heat. “Just gonna clean you up,” he muttered, pretty sure Billy wasn’t hearing him, what with the way he was slumped against Steve’s side. Steve lowered him into the water, and Billy shook his head, mumbling inaudibly.

Steve held his shoulders for a long moment, watching his face, and then yanked at the bandages. Billy still had some stitches underneath, but to Steve’s profound relief, it didn’t seem like any of the blood was his—or that the blood had seeped in anywhere. From what Steve remembered of reading Johnny Tremain in middle school, gangrene was a possibility if stuff got past Billy’s stitches, and so he was very careful to wipe around them.

Billy relaxed slowly against the back of the tub, his head tilting to rest against the corner as his eyes closed. His hands occasionally lifted to touch Steve’s, and then fell away as Steve washed him all over, until he was pink and warm, and didn’t smell like sour sweat anymore. Billy snored softly under his fingers, and Steve bit back a laugh.

The bath water started to cool, and Billy’s shoulders started to clench again, his legs goosepimpling, so Steve ran the hot water again. He pulled the plug on the cooler water, then when the tub was empty, replugged it. As the hot water rose, he ran out to grab an old plastic cup from his desk—he had to dump the pencils out—and pour warm water over Billy’s legs.

Billy screamed, this awful broken noise, scrambling to get out of the tub, and Steve yelped and turned the water off, helping frantic, naked Billy Hargrove out of the tub and half into his lap. He was slippery and warm, and Steve tried not to think about it, stretching to try and reach a towel, but Billy was laughing brokenly into his hands, muttering “I’m me, Harrington, I’m fucking sorry, I’m the best you’re gonna get, I’m still me, I’m Billy goddamn Hargrove—”

“Shit, I know,” Steve told him, as Billy’s wet shoulder soaked into his t-shirt. “You’re Billy, you’re okay, shit. You were just cold, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Maybe I’m better as the Mindflayer,” Billy laughed, gulping and sniffling. “Could’ve taken out that lab guy before…” he took a shuddering breath, wiping his nose. “Not just...let my dad get fucking shot,” he whispered. “F’I wasn’t such a waste of space I’d have answered the door.”

With a sinking horror, Steve realized he had his arm around a naked guy in his bathroom, a naked guy who’d once beaten him unconscious. A naked dude who wished he was dead. “Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference,” he said, after some thought. “You don’t know he’d have gotten away. Max’d be crying over you again.”

“Like she would,” Billy snorted, reaching for the toilet paper and loudly blowing his nose.

“She did, though,” Steve told him, and Billy glared over.

“Yeah, right,” he said, and then opened his mouth again, shut it, and wiped his eyes. “...what the fuck am I doing here,” he grunted.

“Uh, well,” Steve started, “—you were um, playing an evil videogame in Oregon—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Billy laughed, wheezing with pain. “Why are you...why’d you—” he mumbled, as Steve set his jaw determinedly and wrested him up from the floor, dragging Heavy-Ass-Hargrove out to his bed, and tipping him into the sheets.

The bandages were an adventure, with Billy falling asleep--and he finally fell asleep again right on Steve, as Steve tried to get him dried off.

He didn’t wake up for hours, until Steve was sitting up in bed, on the phone with Hopper. Billy blinked big blue disoriented eyes up at him, frowning grouchily, and Steve held his finger up to his lips, listening to Hopper explain the situation.

“It’s okay,” Steve hissed to Billy. “You’re with me, you’re safe.”

Billy stilled, watching him, then snorted a laugh as his eyes drifted shut. “...’kay, Harrington, he mumbled, sighing contentedly as he curled into the warm pillows.

Steve smiled, and rolled his eyes.

#The Hargroves were in witness protection #But the scary people caught up #Harringrove Big Bang #harringrove #Hurt/comfort

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the-slasher-files · 2 years

Text

REWIRED

Hello friends, so I've had Arkin on my brain for the last few days and I needed to write something that I've always had a hunch on that some people may disagree with but whatever, I did it. The concept of Arkin turning into The Collector has been stuck in my head forever ever since the last scene in the second movie and it kind of seemed like they were gonna push that angle but we will never know so anyway, this is my rendition of Arkin slowly becoming the Collector, and yes it is full of angst... Hope you enjoy🔪💕

MASTERLIST

The night was late but for him it was just beginning. He always said it was just one more job, that was years ago. His mind was filled with sick thoughts now and you hardly saw him, chasing a lovesick revenge that would put him 6 feet under. Shaking your head at the thought, your eyes darted to the clock on the wall and it pulled a sigh from your tired body. Slumping back in the old armchair, street lights streamed between the slits of the blinds as cars drove by, but none were his.

The minutes now seemed like hours as your body curled in on itself and slowly the exhaustion waited to take you into a soft slumber until the door abruptly swung open, the knob loudly banging on the wall as it always did. A sharp inhale filled your lungs as you jolted up, sleep still heavy within your eyes as you tried to stir it away.

"Jesus, Arkin" You breathed out and stood up, watching the man you loved hobble into the dimly lit kitchen; Searching for something from within the cupboards.

"Arkin?" It didn't seem like much of a question through your voice that quickly became weak when he didn't take as much as passing glance in your direction.

His clothes dripped from the pouring rain and he stopped, feeling you standing in the doorway. Blue eyes looked over his shoulder at your frame draped in one of his old t-shirts, Arkin's eyes held hell within them from what he had been through and slowly you saw the edges of pleasure seep in from the torture. He was claiming it as his own.

"Baby..." A soft whisper fell in the tense air and he clenched his fists as you begged. "Please don't go again"

His adam's apple bobbed up and down in a thick swallow, closing his eyes and taking in a long breath before turning around to you fully. Arkin's shirt was covered in dark crimson, hands dawned in black nitrile gloves, he held duct tape and some kind of wrench making your brows knit together and tears stung in your eyes. A hand came up to your shaking bottom lip as he walked toward you, putting down the things within his skilled hands on the countertop.

"Y-You... You're gonna get yourself killed, Arkin" You muttered and couldn't look in those eyes any longer, opting to look at the muted tv casting coloured shadows on the furniture.

Arkin's gloved hands shakily touched the soft skin of your arms and he leaned in, the familiar scent of his changed over time, becoming harder and harder to pinpoint now but his touch was still the same as you knew from years ago. Your body instinctively fell into his as he held you tight, the dampness and the cold from his body was merely an afterthought at this point, you just needed him again. The old him.

"I'm here... I always will be" He reassured and you took a long lingering look at his face, from every scar, line and imperfection you thought was perfect it was slowly changing into something that was no longer yours. "...But tonight" Arkin whispered, slowly pulling back, hands still focused on you like his heart wanted to be but the venomous taste turned sweet on his tongue for revenge.

He wasn't yours anymore.

A smirk of sadness yet pure desire coated in pride crossed his ageing face, removing his hands and picking up the things he put on the counter, your own hands replaced his on your body and slow silent tears cascaded down your cheeks as you stood with weak knees. The devil slipped in Arkin's bloodstream seamlessly and now he only lived for his desires, the thrill of his hunt and all air left your lungs as he pulled a black mask from his jacket.

"Ark- what, what is that?" You couldn't speak any longer, backing up against the wall your heart raced.

"I'll be back in the morning" A toneless voice rose from him, kissing your cheek with an ache in his heart.

He was gone only in a few moments, slipping into the night once again. Enjoying the view of his chaos and feeling more powerful and alive than he ever had leaving you to wait for him like he knew you would. He was going to show you his hell and he would fan the flames to be consumed by his own work.

You didn't know him anymore but you prayed for the old Arkin to walk back through that front door like he used.

#OK LETS DISCUSS THIS CONCEPT #my writing #horror #slasher #slashers #arkin o'brien #x reader #x you #angst #the collector #the collection #slasher x s/o #imagine #slasher fanfiction #slasher fandom

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lothirielswandc · 2 years

Text

THE DAY I MET JOHN CONSTANTINE

— TWO YEARS EARLIER —

Raven screamed when she awoke in the unfamiliar car—but no sound came out. The duct tape over her mouth sealed all syllables. Gray bindings burned against her wrists and ankles.

“Bollocks…”

Raven’s head slowly turned to the side, glaring at her captor behind the wheel. He reminded her of an Egyptian relic, once gold, now faded, with his sandy blond hair and a tanned trench coat. A cigarette perched between his lips.

The middle-aged man glanced her way, and gray eyes widened. “Oi, you’re up—”

“Mmm-mm-mmph!” Raven raised her bound hands. The muffled sound she made was barely audible above the whisper of ABBA on the radio.

Her captor’s gaze darted between her and the black abyss that surrounded them, “Sorry, love. Didn't have time to untie you—”

Wisps of shadows materialized at Raven’s command. A thick tar-like mist lingered over her mouth. The duct tape vanished.

“Who the hell are you—? You know what? Forget it. I don't care! Let me out! Right now!” Raven demanded.

“Will you just—OI! Quit moving around—!” Raven turned her back toward her passenger door, thrusting her joined feet at her abductor. Shadows ate at the duct tape caging her legs.

The car jolted from their movements as Raven aimed kicks and shouts at the stranger. He kept one hand still on the wheel, swatting at Raven with the other.

“Let me go—get off of me!” The pair struggled across the front seat; Raven had somehow ended up upside-down beside the blond as he awkwardly held her knees together. His hair was now lopsided from one of her kicks (although it wasn’t that well-kept to begin with) and his cigarette had fallen to the floor of the car.

“You kick me one more time, love—”

“Get away from me—ugh! You smell bad!” Raven’s nose wrinkled at the combined smell (it was its own entity, really, far too powerful to simply be an aroma) of liquor, brimstone, and vomit.

“I will turn this car around! Bollocks, those wankers are gaining on us.” Her captor’s eyes drifted to the rearview mirror; headlights flashed in the reflection. “I need to focus—here.”

The middle-aged man gestured at the radio. Her eyes widened as the dials moved without the slightest touch. He has magic too. But he’s old. And I’m pretty sure he’s drunk. I can take him.

Music suddenly blared from the dashboard above Raven’s head. She winced as ABBA filled the car, and her abductor sang along.

“Don't go wasting your emotion,” Raven expected a hoarse, croaky singalong—instead, her captor had a pleasant baritone. And that only made her hate him more, “lay all your love on me!”

Raven finally unfastened her fists and aimed two fingers at the man. “Azarath metrion zinthos!”

The man cursed allowed as a shadow bolt flew past him, shattering the window right where his head had been. He glared at Raven, “Hey! This is a rental! If you’re going to do target practice in the car, you could at least aim right and save me from misery!”

“You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met!” She yelled at him.

“Some grateful lot you are! Right after I rescued you from those nuns,” He remarked, gripping the wheel with white knuckles.

Raven stopped thrashing against him, shocked he would stoop so low. “Rescued me? Seriously? You think I buy that?”

“What, you think I would’ve taken you by choice? The only reason why I dragged you out of there is ‘cause I don't need another name on my ledger! You mean absolutely nothing to me, love—and believe me, it’s better that way.”

“Good! And just for the record, I didn't need anyone to save me. I had everything completely under control.”

“Yeah. Waking up in an unknown car covered in duct tape screams "control," love.” He retorted with a sarcastic eye roll.

Both of them jumped as gunshots thundered outside the car. Sparks mingled with the stars and lit up the night, just missing the blur of outstretched branches. Raven peeked over the front seat to stare at the origin of blazing light invading the vehicle.

Her eyes widened. The blond stranger scoffed at them in the mirror, “Nuns with guns. Bloody wonderful night this is...oi! Get back in the car!”

“Do you ever shut up?” Raven snapped as she rolled down the window and leaned out. The wind tugged at her hair, gently twirling the dark strands. She tucked them away from her face as she assessed their pursuers.

There were three cars following them. Cloaked women hung out the windows. Black and white fabric shuddered in the night as they aimed their firearms.

Raven raised her hands, fingers curling like a spider’s limbs. Ebony tendrils curled around the tires.

The car swerved, Raven’s torso scraping against the window’s frame. Her magic dissipated into the night. Flashes of gold cascaded down like little metal meteors across a dead sky.

Raven hissed, tentatively pressing a hand to her sore abdomen. She peered at the stranger clenching the wheel, “Drive much?”

Bloody Blondie didn't look away from the windshield. “Want to switch?”

Raven barely had any driving experience, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. “I would love to.”

“And let you drive us into a ditch? Hell no.”

“I would say “your funeral,” but I wouldn't be using it as a metaphor.”

“When this is over, your mouth is getting a bloody exorcism!” Bloody Blondie hissed.

Raven popped her head out the window once more. She focused on the tires of the approaching car. Weaving her fingers, the hairs on her arms stood upright. The breeze shushed the nearby shrubs and whispered in Raven’s ear.

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name—

—Nameless here for evermore.

One car veered off, smashing itself into a massive pine tree. Another lurched onto its side. The tires of the last vehicle exploded, sparks erupting across the dirt road.

When Raven slipped back into the car, the blond man stared at her slack-jawed. “How the hell does someone like you have control over demonic energies?”

“None of your business.” She said.

They drove in silence for a minute, putting distance between them and the defeated nuns. Raven was relieved that they were finally taken care of, but one issue remained. What now?

Was she really returning to San Francisco? Raven thought over the six months she had been away. She had gotten her ass kicked more times than she could count during her six months in Themyscira. Donna Troy had saved herself. And now this. Abducted by nuns (supposedly the purest form of humanity) that would’ve locked her in a cell for the rest of her life.

Raven bit her lip as she stared out the window, which was pitch-black, so the only thing visible was her murky reflection. Maybe I did learn something from Themyscira, their strong hatred of the “Race of men”...they’re right. People suck. I hardly get along with anyone, as proven with every single day of my life. And this. Humanity is the worst—wouldn’t it just be easier to be alone, on an island of my own somewhere? Away from everyone…?

Finally the car slowed. When it came to a stop, Raven’s hand was already gripping the door handle. She slammed the car door without looking back.

“Hey,” The stranger called out to her.

She kept walking.

Raven froze when a line of flames erupted before her eyes. She stepped back from the wall of fire, illuminating the woods that surrounded them. Raven casted a glare over her shoulder.

The old man would not let up. He stood a short distance away, hands on his hips like a tired, fed-up parent.

“What do you want?” She demanded.

“You used magic back there. That was some pretty powerful stuff for a sixteen year-old,” He remarked, slowly approaching her like one would an apprehensive rabbit.

“Seventeen. Not that it matters to you,” She corrected him.

The stranger stood before her now. “I’m something of a dark arts master myself—more of dabbler, really—”

“I don’t care.” She turned away from him.

The stranger made the mistake of catching her arm. “You should.”

With quick reflexes, Raven laid another kick to his abdomen—a move she’d practiced many times with the Amazons.

Bloody Blondie cursed as he crippled to the ground. Raven walked away from him for the second time...until dark plums of fog blossomed around her feet. Something churned inside the mist.

She tripped—crimson tendrils were wrapped around her ankles. The dirt was cool and damp beneath her. Raven sat up and made a sawing motion with her hand. Her power slithered forth. Ebony cut crimson.

When she righted herself, the stranger placed himself right in front of her. “Look. I’m a specialist in keeping your...stuff...in check. If you can't control this, you're my problem.”

“I thought I was nothing to you.” She recalled flatly.

“Believe me, love. I wish you were. That would be safest.” As he stood before her, basking in the golden glow of the flames nearby, his form shined like an Egyptian relic kept in perfect condition.

“I'm not a problem…” Raven inhaled sharply, “because I'm done. I'm done with people. I want to be alone. And I plan to stay that way, for the rest of my miserable existence.”

The man stared at her intensely. Flames crackled in the silence that followed. Then he burst into laughter.

“Your solution is to be a hermit! I love teenage logic—yes, that will work long-term, love,” His broad shoulders shook.

“It will. Being alone is better than being with you,” She snapped, truly believing it.

The man raised his hands. “Alright. Be by yourself. I suppose I can't judge, I'm the same way…”

He grumbled to himself as he retrieved a cigarette from his pocket. Raven studied him as he pursed his lips around the cancer stick.

He did—technically—help me escape the nuns. In his own weird way…as far as people go, I guess there’s worse than him. But I won’t tell him that.

“Thank you.”

His eyebrow rose accusingly. Raven met his gaze, trying to convey her sincerity. “For getting me out of there…you did help me—in your own way.”

“Sarcasm?”

Raven’s head tilted to the side. “Hasn't anyone thanked you before?”

“No. Never. Usually, the pleasantries exchanged after my work are along the lines of “fuck you.” No one’s ever thanked me before, really. You’re the first.” The man’s voice went soft at the end and he shrugged. “ ‘Suppose you’re right. Humanity’s pretty shitty. Maybe you’re better off alone, love.”

Raven nodded. He pulled out a lighter.

“Ah, there she is. Home sweet magical mansion.” The man blew out a plume of smoke as something materialized in the clearing ahead. Lanterns flickered on a front porch. A sloping roof towered over treetops. Windows peered out at the woods from the extended walls, promising a maze of rooms inside.

“The House of Mystery,” Her companion mused, his cigarette moving up and down in his mouth. “My nine to five shift is over. Time for home—”

The man paused midstep. He glanced back at Raven. “I suppose you’ll be heading off somewhere.”

Raven pressed her lips together and glanced at the ground. She said she wanted to be alone. She didn't know exactly where she could go for that solitude. “Yeah. Somewhere.”

The man looked at the massive house. Then at her. Back to the house. “Welp, good luck with that—”

The double doors opened. A red carpet tumbled down the steps and landed right before Raven’s feet.

“Um…”

Both of them stared in wonder at the lavish carpet spread across the dirt. The man cleared his throat, “I suppose you’ll be heading off—”

A gift basket suddenly popped into existence before Raven’s feet. It was overflowing with complementary lotions, bath bombs, and a fluffy hotel bathrobe.

She bent down and plucked out a greetings card sticking out. A beautiful cursive was scrawled across the parchment, Welcome to the House of Mystery, Raven.

“What's it say?”

“It says “welcome.” ”

Her companion leaned over her shoulder and groaned. “Fine. You can come in, because the house likes you. I suppose we’ll live in solitude together—a miserable coexistence…”

His voice trailed off. When Raven glanced back at him, his eyes were glued to the welcome card. “What?”

“Your name…”

“Yes? It's Raven.”

The man shot her an incredulous look. Raven sighed, “Is there a problem with my name?”

“...Nothing. Bad omens all around,” He sucked in a breath as he squeezed the bridge of his nose. He continued grumbling as he climbed the steps to the manor.

“And who are you again?” She asked, still unsure whether to follow him.

The man paused. He turned back, and as he did so, the golden luminescence from the beckoning double doors cascaded down upon him, draping him in ethereal light. Cloaked in an angel’s caress—as all demons were.

“Constantine. John Constantine.”

#love + fear #dc #raven roth #rachel roth #teen titans #damian x raven #dc multiverse #constantine #damian wayne #batfam #john constantine #john constantine x king shark #john constantine x zatanna #konrae #kon el #conner kent #dick grayson #jason todd #lothirielswan

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detectivecarlosreyes · 3 years

Text

Your heart out on the asphalt

Ao3 | 2.1k | Rated: Teen | Tarlos angst

Summary A serial bomber who uses bomb vests as their calling card is on the loose and they are targeting spouses of members of the police department. Unfortunately for Carlos, TK becomes their next victim.

For @silvarafael‘s prompt request: angst #36 - “Don’t tell me to calm down!” + tarlos

TK was missing.

Unable to be reached.

Nowhere to be found.

Missing.

It had been 24 hours since anyone had seen him last, when he had left the station after a shift, on his way to his dad's ahead of Captain Strand for their weekly dinner. He never made it.

24 hours wasn’t a long time, not even long enough for them to file a missing person’s report but the captain knew something was wrong. It wasn’t until they had tracked TK's phone to a back-alley dumpster that they could only assume the worst. He had been taken by the serial bomber, just like the other victims, it was the only assumption that Carlos could make, though he didn’t know why he was a target.

TK would be the fourth in a string of abductions, and as it turned out, became the missing link to all of the officers that were connected to the other victims, each being a spouse of an officer. He and TK had been dating for a little over year, which seemed to be enough for the serial bomber to consider him spousal material. The details didn’t matter to Carlos, all his thoughts were on TK and what his fate would be because of their relationship.

And that’s when he found him.

Carlos lost his breath all at once and for a moment all he could do was sit in shock as his car idled in the street. There TK was, with arms bound in front of him and his head bowed as he sat cross-legged on the dusty, worn asphalt lit by the Camaro’s headlights like spotlights in the late afternoon shadows.

And then TK lifted his head, even from this distance, Carlos could see his eyes shining with unshed tears as he took in the car before him. Carlos could see the bruising gash stretching across TK’s temple and the dry, crusted blood that had dripped down the side of his face. Carlos watched, unable to breathe when he saw the recognition blanket TK’s face and it was only then that the tears began to fall.

Carlos couldn’t recall when he got out of the car or when he called his Captain’s direct line, passing on the pertinent details as he was trained to do. All he knew was the smell of the tar that had been cooling from the then-gone afternoon sun. He wasn’t sure he’ll ever be able to forget the scent after that day.

He remembered feeling the rough, loose grit that scraped his hands and knees through his pants as he skidded down to land himself in front of TK; The way the small fragments of gravel clung to his hands as they ghosted around TK’s body, too afraid to touch him in fear of setting off the crude vest attached to his chest, like what happened with the first person.

“Carlos…” TK whispered as the tears ran steadily in tracks down his face. It was enough to break him out of whatever trance that he’d fallen into upon seeing his boyfriend in the street.

“I’m here. Everything will be okay.” He said as he gently palmed TK’s cheek for a second in an attempt to reassure him despite the frantic tone of his voice.

“You shouldn’t be here,” murmured TK, “This is what he wanted.”

“What do you mean? Who did this?”

“I don’t know who he is, but he’s watching from the street cameras. Said he’d set it off if I moved…” The vest beeped once, the sound coming from behind a small panel on the front. Carlos gingerly peeled it back to reveal a countdown that was trending downwards, “…and said he’d start the timer as soon as he saw you.”

02:58

02:57

02:56

Carlos looked down at the phone that he had haphazardly dropped beside him when he reached TK’s side, remembering that he was still on the line with his Captain. He picked it up with a shaky hand and described the device strapped to TK. From here he learned that his Captain had also added to the call the leader of the bomb squad who was already on the move to their location.

They weren’t going to make it in time to diffuse.

The bomber had made sure of that.

02:44

He had left them just enough time to say their goodbyes, but Carlos was not ready for that just yet. Staring hard at the device, an idea began to form, and he spoke hurriedly to the bomb squad leader, asking if she’d be able to possibly guide him in diffusing it himself if he showed her the vest through video call.

She had quickly agreed understanding there to be no other option, and listed what he would need, which he thankfully had in his Camero should he ever need to do any simple repairs. Carlos hurried to retrieve them before returning, glancing briefly at the countdown as he felt his whole body break out in nervous sweating over what he was about to do.

02:11

02:10

02:09

TK mirrored him and looked down at the countdown and also saw how little time Carlos had causing him to look back up sharply, “Carlos, you don’t have the time for all this! Just GO! Save yourself, please!” he pleaded in a rush, voice panicked as he tried to push at Carlos’s shoulder awkwardly with his bound hands in an attempt to get him to leave.

02:01

It doesn’t take much for him to catch TK’s hands and hold them in place against his struggling, “TK I need you to calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” TK exclaimed mostly out of fear than anger, “I have a bomb strapped to my chest, and I don’t want you to die with me if it goes off!”

Carlos changed tact and released TK’s hands in favour of grasping the back of his neck, forcing his boyfriend to look at him, “Look at me TK. I can do this. Trust me.”